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ellewritesathing · 4 years

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So Close - S.S. XXVII

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist Prev. | Part 27

Word-count: 3.7k+

A/N: so close kind of fell to the back burner for me for a little while, but you guys have been so amazing with all your likes and feedback on it that it makes me 💕💕 i’m hoping to write the end of this season in the next few days so they should be up soon!! thanks for sticking around and sharing this with me 💖

You weren’t sure what made you feel worse; the fact that Noah was shot or the fact that you weren’t there to help when it happened. You were trying to finish a chemistry lab that was due the next day. It was starting to feel like, no matter how present you were in one aspect of your life, another started to crumble when you weren’t looking.

And then you felt guilty because of how pretentious that sounded. Your name wasn’t on the deadpool. Your dad wasn’t the one in the hospital with a bullet stuck in his shoulder. Other than some scrapes and bruises, you were the most okay out of everyone in your friend group, so why did it feel like you were handling it the worst?

You didn’t have time to figure it out as you pulled into the parking lot of Beacon Hills Memorial and gathered up your stuff. It took you a minute to get the nurses - friends of your mom who wanted to know how the new relationship was going because ‘your first boyfriend can be a real challenge sometimes, dear’ - to leave you alone so you could track down Noah’s room.

When you got there, Noah was lying back in his hospital bed, his forearm barely resting on the book and stack of papers on his tray, and Stiles was collapsed into the armchair, looking tired and defeated, leaning his head in his hand as he watched his dad.

“There’s my two favorite guys. Don’t tell Scott I said that.” You’d drawn out the first part with a half-hearted smile and rushed to add the second. You closed the door gently behind you and made your way over to where Stiles was.

He smiled when he saw you but it was an empty sort of smile that left you feeling a little hollow as he straightened up to make space for you on the chair. He wrapped an arm around your waist as you settled in.

“The morphine’s pretty much knocked him out,” Stiles said, looking back at his dad. “I don’t think he’s telling anyone anything for a while.”

“At least he’s getting some rest,” you said quietly, ducking your head slightly so you tucked underneath Stiles’ chin as you moved your legs over his. “I’m not sure if he ever really sleeps.”

“Do you?”

You looked at your hands and how they fit with Stiles’ as you thought about his question. There were only some nights when you managed to sleep like you used to, but most of them were now filled with anxiety and a night-light. “No. Not really. Not without you.”

Stiles had a small, lopsided smile when you looked back at him, still playing with your interlaced fingers. “Yeah, yeah, I-” he tilted his head for a second, rethinking his words. “I don’t sleep without you either.”

---

You found Lydia waiting for you on the porch when you and Stiles finally got back to his house after what felt like an eternity at the hospital. Technically, she was waiting for Stiles but she liked that you were there to help connect the dots.

Stiles was visibly trying to connect them with red tape on his big conspiracy boards, sticking up a photo of Lorraine and Maddy on top of a photocopy of Lorraine’s code, but nothing was coming together in a helpful way.

“Lyd, I know you feel guilty about what happened with Meredith, but this wasn’t your fault,” you said as gently as you could when she finished talking. “Your grandmother was just trying to find someone like her; she didn’t mean for what happened to happen to Meredith.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it happened,” Lydia sniped. She sighed and rubbed her temples, stopping her pacing in front of the board again. In a strained, level voice, she continued, “My grandmother drove her to insanity and I drove her to suicide. The only difference between me and her is that she left me a piece of code, and I don’t know how to crack it.”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure this out just like we always do.” Stiles attempted to comfort her by squeezing her shoulder lightly, but she didn’t visibly respond to that. “Why don’t the three of us take a day off tomorrow and figure this out?”

“You mean skip school?” Lydia asked. He nodded.

“Like, for the entire day?” you asked. He nodded again.

“Yes, that’s what skipping means, people!” Stiles sounded exasperated as he waved around his arms, but then he stopped when he saw you biting your lip. He softened his approach. “Why? What do you have tomorrow?”

“Detention if I miss another day,” you said, running a hand through your hair. “And probably a failing grade in geometry.”

“I can tutor you,” Lydia offered, big banshee eyes pleading with you to stay.

It broke your heart to see her looking so small and hopeful like that. You were about to give in when Stiles started speaking again.

“No, I’ll drop you off in the morning,” he said, putting a hand on the back of his neck. “I should probably go to at least one of my classes anyway.”

“Okay. Then I’ll meet you back here at around 09:30?” Lydia asked.

Stiles nodded and she started gathering up her stuff while you stared at the board. Something was missing but you couldn’t figure out what it was. You just needed one more dot and everything would-

“Hey.” Stiles interrupted your thoughts and you looked up at him. “Should I move these out of here or are you okay to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, I’ll be okay.” You stretched out on the bed and yawned. “I’ve got you, don’t I?”

“No matter what.”

---

“Stiles, I’m serious. Come pick me up and I’ll go to Eichen House with you guys,” you said for the millionth time into the phone. You were in the process of shoving books into your bag in an attempt to clean out your locker while Scott was at practice. “I literally couldn’t care less about some dumb bonfire.”

“I know, but this is kind of time-sensitive and I thought you were having a day of normal teenager things anyway,” he said. His voice sounded far away so he’d probably started driving again and put you on speakerphone.

“Yeah, but-”

“Going to a dumb bonfire is way more normal teenager than going to a mental institution,” Lydia chimed in. How long had she been listening? “I promise I’ll bring him back in one piece, sweetheart.”

Sighing, you weighed your options. Argue with the two people who knew how to argue circles around you or give up and seem supportive; both sounded horrid.

“Fine,” you said eventually. “But promise to text me when you get there and let me know when you’re on your way to the bonfire?”

“Won’t even use abbreviations,” Stiles said. You could hear the sarcastic smile in his voice. For someone who recently almost got killed, he seemed to think your anxiety was a lot funnier than you expected him to. “Don’t worry, babe, Lydia and I can handle this.”

“I know,” you sighed. You slammed your locker shut and leaned against it. “I love you dummies so you better be careful.”

“I always am.” Lydia’s sing-song voice drifted to your ears right before the call disconnect chime did.

You tried not to dwell on the nervousness in your stomach as you went to find Scott. Seriously, what kind of practice lasted until this late in the day? Stomping through the halls, you heard Coach yelling and figured that was a safe bet to find him.

Instead, you found Coach holding about a dozen printed pages in his hand as he tried to figure out how to shut off the printer, even more pages scattered all over the floor. They looked eerily familiar. You bent down to pick one up and realized why; it was an updated deadpool missing Derek, crossing out the names of the already dead, and upping Liam’s price.

Liam and Scott pulled you aside just as you finished reading it.

“What the hell is this?” you asked, echoing Coach and shoving the paper in Scott’s chest like it was his fault the list updated. An action, by the way, that you instantly regretted.

“Derek’s not on the list anymore,” Scott mumbled to himself instead of answering your question.

“And I’m not worth three million,” Liam said. “It’s eighteen now.”

---

Despite the new and terrifying deadpool, Scott still insisted you guys still go to the bonfire. He was the team captain, he said, and this way he could still keep an eye on Malia (if she showed up. None of you had heard from her since that day in the vault) and Liam and any other wolves that showed up. His reasoning didn’t change the bad feeling in your gut and the anxiety you felt when the two of you started walking around.

It didn’t take long to find Malia jumping around to electro-dance music, flask in hand and looking like she didn’t have a care in the world. God, you wished you could compartmentalize like that.

“Let me talk to her?” you asked, catching Scott’s arm. He was about to say no when you gave him a look. “Please?”

“Fine,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll try looking for Liam. Meet me at the bleachers in five?”

“You know it,” you said, squeezing Scott’s arm before heading over to Malia. “Hey, I didn’t know you were coming.”

“That’s ‘cause I didn’t want to tell you.” Malia kept dancing but she must have sensed your unease because she stopped long enough to look at you. “This is the best place to get drunk on short notice.”

That made you laugh and she pulled you in a bit closer to sway with her. It reminded you of the trip to Mexico all those months ago - funny how things (and feelings) change with time. “You know that you guys can’t get drunk, right? Werewolves, I mean. It’s something to do with the healing, apparently.”

“Someone should try telling him that,” she said, nodding her head behind her just as she lifted her arm to give you a twirl. You spotted Liam on a bench with Mason holding a bottle covered by a paper bag. He took a huge swig as Scott made his way over to him.

“I think someone’s about to,” you mumbled, still uneasy. Malia kept dancing, not really paying any attention to you until you squeezed her hand. “You know I wanted to tell you, right? Stiles’s got it in his head that he’s the resident Malia expert but- well, I’m the Hale expert. I knew this thing was gonna blow up.”

“You know about my family?” Malia asked, thudding back to the ground and stopping to look at you. It was the first time she was still since you and Scott came over to talk to her.

“Yeah, I-” you stopped when you saw Liam toss a plastic bottle to the side and storm off. “I’ve gotta go, but I’ll send you Cora’s number. You two should talk.”

Her complaints were drowned out by the music almost as soon as you started walking away from her. You had to jog slightly to catch up to Liam, hoping that Scott would go find Malia again.

“Hey,” you said, grabbing his arm to force him to stop. “Hey, biscuit, look at me.”

“What?” He didn’t mean to snap as he turned around, but he also probably didn’t mean to stumble when he turned to look at you.

“I came to tell you that werewolves can’t get drunk, but I think you might be the exception.” You frowned and tightened your grip on his arm once he started swaying slightly on the spot. “Buddy, you okay?”

“Get Scott.” He seemed to have to force out the words.

“Okay, come on,” you said as you looped around Liam’s waist and he held onto your shoulders. “Let’s get you to Mason and then I’ll go find Scott, okay?”

By the time you got Liam to the bench where Mason was, Scott was already there with Malia and trying to get her to drink some water. “Oh no, Liam too?” he asked, sounding a little over his head.

Lucky for him, you went to a prep school before this. You knew what to do. You could hear Scott and Mason talking while you tried to get through to Liam. He might have to throw up before you could do anything. You were still holding his head and making sure Malia was drinking her water when Scott started stumbling.

“How much have you had to drink?” Mason asked him.

“He hasn’t had anything,” you said, taking Scott’s hand and trying to guide him to the bench. In a slightly lower voice, you asked, “It’s the deadpool, isn’t it?”

He nodded and tried to say something. He was feeling the effects a lot quicker than Liam and Malia had. “It’s the DJ. I’ve gotta- gotta stop him.”

“No, you need to get out of here,” you said, hand on his shoulder to keep him upright. “Mason will take you to the car and I’ll deal with the slice of wonderbread on stage, alright?”

He was still arguing when you walked away, telling Mason to keep an eye on them and try to get them to the car if he could. He asked where you were going and you made up something that sounded a little less ridiculous than ‘to stop the soundwaves that are killing my brother.’

You managed to get pretty close to the stage before the DJ made some hand signal and a guard tried to grab at you. You twisted out of the grip, pulling him forward, and bent his wrist back. Kicking him to the side, you kept going but his failed attack just caused more of the security to come after you.

One of them managed to get a hold of you and carried you off to the side, where Mason cut them off and started yelling at them to let go of his friend. It was kind of touching watching him yell at them like that; you didn’t know you were that close. It also provided an excellent distraction for you to kick the guard’s shin and elbow his solar plexus as you landed on the ground. You whacked him with the nightstick and looked at Mason.

“What are you?” he asked, more surprised than upset.

“Come on,” you smiled and grabbed his hand. “You ever destroy a power generator before?”

“No, have you?”

You didn’t answer as you led him back to the side of the stage that housed all the controls. You handed him the nightstick and told him to go wild before engaging Derek’s knife and climbing onto the stage. The DJ seemed less impressed with you than Mason had been.

“What the hell do you think-”

He didn’t get to finish because you kicked him in the legs, hard. Cutting the wire of his headphones, you leaned over to the mic on the mix-board. “Hey, guys? Someone called in about real cops heading this way,” you said. “The school security isn’t allowed to make arrests for underage drinking so-”

Then it was your turn not to finish your sentence. Kids started scattering and Mason finished abusing the electrical equipment, leaving an emptiness of the bonfire and teenage screaming in the space where the music had been before. The DJ started squirming away and you put your foot on his back and pressed down.

Knocking the wind out of him, you said. “You’re going to stay right here until my friends come back.” He spat some very dirty words at you and you rolled your eyes. You’d been called worse. “Hey, Mason, can you watch him for me?”

Mason nodded and scrambled on stage to tie the guy’s hands behind him. “Go find Liam.”

---

Growing up, you always heard people on TV talk about how much they hate hospitals, but to you it was just the place where your mom worked. Never anything special, just the place you went when your idiot brother broke a bone or your mom had a late shift and no one to watch you. Now it was where you went whenever someone tried to kill your friends.

You hated hospitals.

You got to Stiles’ room just as he finished an argument with your mom. Telltale signs of sulking and parental annoyance were in the air.

“Like cassettes?” Mel asked him.

“Yes, tapes,” Stiles said, sounding like they’d been going back and forth for a little while already. He caught your eye over your mom’s shoulder and smiled for a second.

“Yeah, I’ll see what I can do,” she said, backing up to start walking away before bumping into you. “Oh, hey, sweetie, how was the bonfire?”

“Killer,” you smiled as she kissed your cheek.

Melissa frowned, clearly not liking your answer but not having the time to deal with it just yet. “We’ll talk later.”

“Okay, but tapes, though, please,” Stiles called after her as she started to leave and you stepped into the room.

“Cassettes,” Mel said in her customer service voice before closing the door.

You started walking over to the bed and Stiles’ expression turned serious again. “Hey, I was still going to call but my phone’s in evidence and-” he stopped talking when you wrapped your arms around him and rested your chin on his shoulder, pressing your face to his cheek lightly. “And I didn’t want you to freak out.”

“I’m just glad you’re okay,” you said softly, adjusting slightly to kiss his cheek as he wrapped a hesitant arm around you. “You are okay, right?”

“Aside from the concussion your mom says I have,” he said with a sigh. His free hand moved up to hold onto your arm that crossed his chest to meet your hand behind his head. Everything connected. “Yeah, I’m okay. I’m too tired to be anything else.”

You didn’t know how to answer so you went back to holding onto him, tracing patterns on his upper back with your thumbs. The two of you were so close in the silence that you could hear his heartbeat. It was coming down, slowly, the longer you held him.

“Uh, Stiles?” you asked a little awkwardly after a few minutes as you shifted away from him slightly. “Do you have something in your pocket?”

“Huh?” he asked, sounding like you’d snapped him out of some daydream as he looked down. “Oh, yeah, one of Brunsky’s tapes. Did they say anything to you other than that I got almost killed?”

“I stopped listening after that,” you said as you pulled your legs up to cross them on the bed. Your shins rested on his thighs once he fug the tape out of his pockets. “What happened?”

“Meredith is the Benefactor. She was using Brunsky as a proxy because he’s an angel of death,” Stiles said as he handed you the cassette. “The serial killer kind, not the biblical kind.”

“I figured,” you said, pushing your hair out of your face so you could look at the tape properly. It was just a regular cassette with Lydia’s grandmother’s name in sharpie on the top. No different to the way Stiles scrawled the title to the breakup mix on the CD or the play me deadpool tape. “He always creeped me out in the stories you told me about Eichen House.”

“Eichen House creeped me out in my stories about Eichen House,” Stiles said with a sigh. He watched you turning over the tape in your hands, looking for something that told about what was on it. “But I wouldn’t worry. He’s dead now.”

You stopped flipping over the tape and looked up at him. He was haunted. Those tired eyes of his had seen too many people die in front of them. “But you’re still alive.”

“I always live,” Stiles said. He was looking at his hands. Did he see something in them or did he just not want to look at you? “Even when …”

You reached over to touch his hands when he didn’t say anything else. “Even when?”

“Even when I shouldn’t,” he said. Stiles’ voice was blunt as he looked up to meet your gaze. “I lived when other people should’ve instead.”

“You lived because you’re supposed to live,” you said, trying desperately to find some words in your brain to comfort him. Any words. “Because Batman doesn’t die, okay? Not until the story’s over.”

“I’ve been told I’m more of a Robin,” he mumbled, looking away from you again. “Besides I don’t think this story is ever ending. Not until we’re all dead.”

“Well, until it does, we’re in this together. You and me,” you said, leaning closer to put your other hand on the back of his neck. He looked up at you again, less blunt and more broken. “No matter what.”

“No matter what,” Stiles repeated, words sounding both slightly more and less sure than before. He swallowed and took a breath. “You know I love you, right? I know you’re not supposed to say that until you go on an actual date but it’s true and I almost died without saying it so. I love you.”

The question was such a one-eighty from you were talking about before that you had to make a conscious effort not to look surprised at the words that tumbled out of his mouth. “I love you, too, Stiles,” you said with a smile. “And you’re not going anywhere until we go on that date.”

He laughed lifted his hand to the side of your cheek, pulling you into a kiss. “Thanks,” he said. “I was kind of going crazy there for a second before you got there.”

“My mom can do that to a person,” you said, nodding slowly as Stiles moved a little closer to you. “She’s sure you’re okay?”

“They wanna do another CT scan but she’s pretty sure. Just gotta stay awake until the concussion fades. Shouldn’t be too hard, I’ve got like a decade’s worth of practice thanks to the insomnia,” Stiles said.

“I’ll stay with you until you get released,” you said gently, trying to bring him out of those memories you could see playing behind his eyes.

“Thanks,” he said quietly.

You know he meant for a lot more than just staying with him. You squeezed his hand. “Vending machine food and Netflix on my phone?”

“Like there’s anything else I’d rather do.”

Part 28

#stiles stilinski #stiles stilinksi imagine #stiles stilinksi x reader #stiles slow burn #so close #mccall!reader #teen wolf #teen wolf au #teen wolf rewrite

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baytownproject · 3 years

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“2020, and with it COVID-19, caused severe strife and strain in many people’s lives. Whether the loss of a loved one or a job, or financial issues, it was definitely a tough year. For some of us, though, 2020 didn’t create any problems that weren’t already there, whether obvious or hidden beneath the surface. It simply magnified these issues and forced us to deal with them. Personally, 2020 was the year that my severe mental illness caught up with me.

“I’ve suffered from severe depression and anxiety since I was 16 years old. Now at 33, I’ve battled this often misunderstood disease for more than half my life. Somehow, even with several bouts of depressive episodes, I managed to power through. I completed a bachelor’s degree, master’s degree, 200-hour yoga teacher training, and then two pregnancies. I got really good at compartmentalizing my mental health issues: stuffing everything away, not really dealing with anything, and then just living life in survival mode. No big deal. Nothing to see here.

“Growing up, while most little girls dreamed of having babies and getting married, I fantasized about becoming president, a lawyer or a doctor. By the time I reconnected with my now-husband in late 2014 (we knew each other in high school, and I had a huge crush on him when I was 15), I had resigned myself to being #foreveralone. I had two dogs, and a budding social work and yoga career. I was fine. But life obviously had different plans for me. Really, it’s no surprise that my transition into motherhood and marriage has been challenging.

“Fast forward to February 2020, when I told my sister-in-law and another close friend that I was feeling suicidal. My daughter had just turned 1 in September, and I felt like I was finally coming up for air after a brutal year navigating life with an infant and toddler, and again, living in constant survival mode. Robbyn (my sister-in-law) and Lori (my best friend) immediately came to my house and talked me through what I was feeling, and made sure I was safe. The next day they checked on me and encouraged me to contact my psychiatrist, who had been treating me for antepartum/postpartum depression the last for years. I got set up to see her that week, and she increased my dose of Sertraline (generic Zoloft). After a few weeks, I could sense the darkness lifting.

“Then March and COVID-19 came along. I was working part time for Clear Creek ISD in League City. As the State of Texas came to a halting stop — businesses shuttering, schools closing for two weeks to ‘slow the spread’ and ‘flatten the curve’ — I found myself stuck at home, alone and isolated from family, with a 1 1/2-year-old and nearly 4-year-old. April was grueling, as the virus was still so new and so much was unknown. We were not visiting anyone outside of our home. There was nowhere to go and nothing to do. Finally, at the end of the month, I took my kids on a walk to our neighborhood park. I felt so nervous and judged for letting them on community playground equipment. But my sanity was starting to falter. Something had to give.

“By May, I had to call in reinforcements. My mom and stepdad became my saving grace. Every two weeks, they picked up my kids and gave us a 24-36-hour reprieve. Don’t get me wrong, I love my children. But I was never cut out to be a stay-at-home mom. I am happiest when I’m working and putting my skills to use. So I was slowly dying inside each day, at my children’s beck and call.

“The school district was having us attempt to work from home. That meant I was on Zoom through March and April, while my kids screamed in the background. Then I had to stay up late to answer emails and complete documentation in peace. It wasn’t working for me. It was too stressful, and my productivity was nonexistent. My colleagues and boss could tell. So I turned in my two weeks’ notice and left my position by the middle of May. I began assisting with screening stations at the entrances of the hospital where I also work, as my regular assignment in the case management department was forced to reduce usage of PRN staff. My dad watched the kids so I could go to work two or three times a week, which I looked forward to doing. We powered through the summer months, finally getting used to the ‘new normal’ of social distancing, mask wearing and, for the most part, staying home.

“At the end of August, though, something in me snapped. We had moved into a new home at the end of July (in hindsight, moving in the midst of a pandemic, during the second wave no less, might have been a poor choice). We were struggling with an ant infestation at our new place. One day, as they were marching through our garage, inches from the door to the interior of our house, just a feet from our pantry, I flipped out. My husband and I got into a massive argument over buying ant poison. I stormed inside and locked myself in our bedroom. I was sobbing and struggling to catch my breath. I felt completely out of control. I knew something had to change, and fast. I was either going to hurt myself or someone else. So I texted my best friend, Lori, and told her how I was feeling and that I was contemplating checking into a mental hospital. She encouraged me to pack a bag and go. And that’s what I did. Without saying another word, I packed a bag, got into my car, and drove across Houston to check into Houston Behavioral Hospital. I was shaking and nervous to go inside. But I finally mustered the courage to get out of the car and enter the building.

“While I was going through intake, answering questions from the Columbia Suicide Severity Rating Scale (an assessment tool that I was familiar with as part of my line of work), I started to feel like I had made a huge mistake. Anxiety set in, and my mind starting racing. Did I really want to do this? Was I just being dramatic? Who would take the kids to preschool the next day? Crap! Their nap mats are in my trunk. The mortgage is due, and I’m the only one with the login info. I wanted to tell the staff never mind and just leave, go home, and pretend like everything was OK. I decided to call my husband and let him know where I was and that I was about to be admitted. I told him I would have to turn off my phone and turn it in to be locked away while I was in the hospital. He told me to do what I needed and take care of myself.

“‘Take care of myself.’ What a novel idea. So many times, the needs of women and mothers are placed on the back burner. We take care of everyone and everything else, and we are left with very little energy or time to tend to our own health. It’s a tragedy and an American epidemic. No paid maternity leave, no paid partner/spousal leave, and very little postpartum care/follow-up allows room for a whole crop of issues to arise.

“So 2020 was the year that I finally started taking care of myself again. I can’t be a good mother, wife, sister, daughter, friend or employee if I’m silently suffering, and placing my needs and health at the bottom of the totem pole. It took a pandemic to finally get me to this point. But I’m getting the help, healing and support that I need in order to be the best version of me. I’ve made it my mission to share my story as often as possible to help reduce the shame, guilt and stigma associated with mental illness and with seeking help.”

— Rachel Flinn

#baytownproject #moms #mothers #children #family #depression #2020 #coronavirus #covid19 #health

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blossomandglow · 5 years

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Living For Yourself

You deserve love just for being you.

You don’t have to earn it through how you look. Or how healthy you are or how you take care of yourself or how much you love yourself. Or through catering your schedule and your world around someone else. Or through your work, or housework, or your talents or skills. Or your social skills or income. Or emotional or mental labor.

For a woman, accepting this is like, disobeying every rule you’ve ever had burned into you as a necessity of survival. Breaking these rules can feel like dying. It goes against EVERYTHING that goes on in your subconscious and you feel like some kind of social pariah or stereotype of bad women you’ve been warned not to emulate. You literally have to reprogram your brain and it takes years and years and you keep uncovering more layers.

Men get to have like, these compartmentalized areas of their life, and they generally subconsciously expect to receive love FOR NOTHING but just because someone loves them, and their minimum standards for their own behavior and effort are SO SO LOW like, for a good decent man it’s like 1. don’t cheat 2. don’t do hard drugs and 3. don’t be overtly abusive and like lots of men don’t even meet these standards and they still hope/expect to be forgiven etc.

After consulting with some female friends we agreed that the MINIMUM standards we hold OURSELVES to, in order to subconsciously feel worthy of being loved, as women in relationships, are

1. look like a model or at least be actively working towards a goal of looking like a model (and be apologetic if you don’t) - this includes fitness and dieting and makeup and shaving and spending way more money on clothes and toilette than men do

2. be as sexually confident and available as a sex worker (because in general, men subconsciously see all women as sex workers, it’s just different social classes)

3. be a social asset at all times and the default manager of the social calendar

4. be a constant coach/cheerleader-- any dip in mood or attitude requires apology -- you are the default manager of emotional labor

5. do the majority of housework without notice and little gratitude - you may get ‘help’ but you are the default household manager

6. if you have kids, manage all the parenting with no notice and little gratitude (you may get ‘help’ but it’s defaulted to be your job)

7. take responsibility for all birth control (it’s defaulted to be your responsibility)

8. be loving at all times and manage the relationship (men are allowed to back burner a relationship at any time as priorities shift but it must be your top priority at all times)

Obviously as self-respecting modern women we don’t consciously buy into any of this, but when we don’t meet these personal standards, we feel insecure and unworthy and unloved and even “bad” and “gross”.

And even when we meet these IMPOSSIBLE FUCKING STANDARDS we feel burnt out, overlooked, neglected, underappreciated, dead inside, hollow, and disillusioned.

All the women I know work so hard to receive love. They learn about “love languages” and personality types, they read books and share links and they talk to each other about sorting out their relationship issues frequently even if they’re JUST DATING. Our whole lives are defaulted to revolve around giving love, trying to receive love, and trying to be worthy of love. For men, love and relationships is its own separate activity, which they focus on sometimes, not all the time. Once they are in a committed relationship, they’re “done”. Like, they arrived, and now they just expect to just be loved. Which is a perfectly healthy expectation. They may think that they “should” work to make their relationship a good one but it’s something they rarely think about and expect to be loved and forgiven regardless. (The low-effort part is not healthy.)

Like, men and women both subconsciously expect that men will give very little effort in relationships after initial courtship and that women will give lots of effort in relationships for the duration of the relationship.

My woman friend who is married to a man told me, “Once I took “love” out of the money making and “love” out of housework and “love” out of paying the bills etc etc, and saw it as an extra, separate thing-- compartmentalized, the way men do-- it saved my marriage and my career. It’s not something that happened overnight. I’m still working on it every day. It’s scary. I’m afraid the rug is suddenly going to get pulled out from under me and I’m not going to get love from anyone, like someone’s going to sit me down and be like, “you are such a bad woman”-- that was the fear that I had. But my husband was exponentially more happy and actually felt more loved.”

Societal conditioning is a b!tch. This is why I’m constantly saying “pull your energy back into yourself and glow.” It’s such a life-long effort. And it’s so scary and so counter-culture.

Today I thought about what my life would be like if I were conditioned to approach relationships like a man. And I felt so much rage and resentment and relief and grief and sadness and clarity.

I’m constantly concerned about hurting someone’s feelings and I sure as fuck know that NONE of the men in my life are constantly worrying about that on my account.

#self love #relationships #emotional labor #mental labor

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gwisincon · 5 years

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I need somewhere to post all of my anxiousness about being sick and so I’m just going to. Throw this into the ether.

I’ve been sick for a really long time and I thought I was just a sickly kid for most of my life but it turns out I was recently diagnosed with Ehlers Danlos and a host of its comorbidities and they just. Keep getting worse.

Within the last month and a half I’ve been to the ER twice and I have doctors appointment after doctors appointment. I’ve stopped being able to tolerate solid foods. I’ve lost 14 pounds in the last month without trying because I can’t eat. My doctors all know NOW what could be going on and they’ve all been pretty good about digging until they find SOMETHING but this is after years and years of going from doctor to doctor and being brushed off as just anxious or a hypochondriac. That’s so horrifyingly disheartening and humiliating when you KNOW something is wrong with your body but the professionals around you tell you it’s all in your head. You start to wonder if you really are crazy or attention seeking.

I can’t eat. I can’t sleep. All of my joints and muscles hurt at all times. My stomach is killing me. I’m not on any pain medication because, even though they’ve been offered to me, I know myself and my history with substance abuse and I can’t trust myself. Especially not now, when I’m depressed and listless and miserable. I feel like I’m going crazy.

I have an appointment with a new therapist on Wednesday because I can’t handle the guilt and sadness anymore. I used to do so much. I had so much energy and drive and I was sturdy for so long. Now I can’t even work. Hell, I can barely leave my house. Now most of my days are laying in bed and cancelling plans and feeling my entire body fall apart in real time. I feel horribly isolated. It’s like I blinked and suddenly everything had been taken from me and now I’m having to learn who I am all over again.

Like, for God’s sake, it took my small (but extremely important) circle of friends yelling at me and bullying me into using a cane that I NEEDED for a REALLY LONG TIME just because I’ve been having a hard time compartmentalizing the fact that I’m disabled now. I was always like, yeah but am I /really disabled tho/. Do I /really need it/. Yes. Yes, you stupid asshole, when you’re limping and your knees keep giving out and you’re in that much pain? Yeah, you need it.

Not to mention that, since I’ve had to pretty much fly by the seat of my pants and put out as many fires as I can all at once, my transitioning has been put on the back burner and if that isn’t just the shittiest thing.

My partner and my squad have been nothing but supportive and accommodating, which is such a relieving thing after everything I’ve been through. I’m so grateful. But also so guilty. I want to be able to repay them and take care of them the way they’ve taken care of me but I can’t even take care of myself. Guilty, guilty, guilty. That’s the theme of the night, boys, HORRIBLE GUILT.

I don’t know. Sorry this isn’t under a Read More. I don’t know how to do that in mobile.

I feel like I don’t know most things right now.

#sickblogging #personal #long

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badonkodank · 7 years

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To Be A Soldier

ao3

Chapter 20: Fraught and Fuery

A/N: Alright, as promised, I got this out before school started up again. Now, I wanted to give fair warning: The next chapter will likely not be out before Winter break (and I cannot promise it will be out even then). I have 2/3 jobs, and am taking 18 credits for this term (and that number will likely increase as time goes on), so I will have very little time to do anything productive outside of those things, which means this fic is once again on the back burner. I want to thank all of you in advanced for being understanding of the situation, and I hope to be able to finish this story for everyone within the space of the next year. So thank you!

The steady sloshing of hooves through snow was the only sound to be heard for hours, everyone preferring the silence while they processed everything that had happened. It was unnatural, how quiet they were all being. He thought about speaking up once or twice, but all potential words died in his throat.

What could he say? He could think of nothing would would ease anyone's minds. That problem had remained since he'd awoken to find Edward and the Colonel missing. They'd gotten the bleeding of their varying injuries under control, Hawkeye being the one to help patch them up after bringing them to with well-aimed slaps. The situation hadn't needed to be explained, clear to all in the party, so she'd said nothing. In fact, she'd been silent the entire time, save for when she ordered Breda and Havoc to calm down after hopping to their feet, frantic and declaring they had to go after the Drachmans.

"We will continue on with the mission and get backup." She'd said resolutely. "That's what the Colonel would want us to do."

Even as she'd said it, though, Fuery had seen the way her eyes wandered to the point in the horizon where she must have seen them take Edward and the Colonel, the yearning to go against her own orders and track them down clearer than crystal. But, she'd held strong, limping over to Blaze and mounting the frightened mare with a heavy sort of grace.

Fuery admired her ability to put her personal desires aside in order to fulfill their superior's wishes. Had he been in her shoes, he would have had a difficult time doing so. But then, the Lieutenant was strong. In many ways, Riza was more capable than most generals he'd come across. She knew when she had to compartmentalize and set aside feelings for the greater good of their country and people. It was a commendable quality, even if, right about then, Fuery wished she didn't have it so that they could go after the Drachmans.

Perhaps it was good, though; he normally prided himself on being the rational one of the group, and even he was wanting to chase after the enemy. Fuery knew it was irresponsible to want that, so he was also grateful for Riza stepping up, doing her job and taking her place as the leader until theirs was returned to them. If none of them could look far enough past their own anger and fear, it was fortunate that she could.

It was frustrating, how he couldn't stop the jitters in his hands that begged him to pull on the reigns, just a little, in order to turn around and head where he really wanted to go. Logically, he knew he couldn't. Morally, he knew it would be wrong. Yet he still couldn't stop entertaining the idea.

He couldn't get the image of Edward, terrified and looking to him for protection, out of his head. He couldn't stop wondering what his failure to keep them away would mean for the teen. What sort of horrific treatment was he being subjected to right now because he hadn't been able to stave off that one soldier.

He wondered what was being done to the Colonel, too, but somehow those thoughts were less nauseating. Perhaps that was because, just like the rest of them, the Colonel had been trained to withstand that kind of cruel treatment. He could handle himself. Nobody had to worry that he would give the Drachmans any sort of useful information- if anything, he would frustrate them to the point they wanted to shoot themselves. He would do what he could to protect Edward, too, even if it meant diverting attention to himself and suffering for it. And even if he could handle it, that didn't comfort Fuery very much.

Even if their capture wasn't completely his fault, the man couldn't help but berate himself anyway. Maybe if he'd been able to hold out a bit longer, the tides would've turned over in their favor. Maybe, if he'd been a bit stronger, a bit faster, he could've gotten Edward away, at the very least. It was all a plethora of "maybes" which wasn't a proper mindset, he knew, but it didn't stop the intrusive thoughts from roaring between his ears like waves upon a cliff wall.

He blamed himself for Edward's capture, even if he knew, in all honesty, there'd been no preventing it. Nobody else seemed to be upset with him, either, because they understood, same as he, that what happened was no one's fault but the Drachmans'. But that helped very little in making him feel better.

In the long run, though, he knew how he felt did not matter. What mattered was getting their job done, rescuing their people, and defeating the enemy. Personal problems were pushed to the back, always, and lost in the ocean that was the bigger picture. The time for beating himself up would have to be later. Riza understood that, and somehow, Fuery knew the others did too.

It wasn't easy to put those thoughts and emotions from his mind, but so long as he kept them at arm's length for a time, he could manage. He refused to be dead weight when the time came to get back to work, and he couldn't allow himself to look so downtrodden when they came upon the supply point. No matter how horribly he felt, he had to put on the brave face of a soldier, so as to help prevent too much concern.

With those negative and blameful thoughts continually doing their best to assault him, it was a task easier said than done.

Fuery sighed heavily, lifting his head to turn his attention to something other than the dull white ground. He blinked in surprise when he saw the outline of the supply point in the distance. He hadn't realized they were that close, and nobody had said anything to let him know they were either, which was uncharacteristic for everyone, to remain so silent when they had a job to do. He understood their lack of communication, but it was still an odd experience.

As if reading his thoughts, Riza spoke up a moment later.

"We're nearing the camp. They're going to question us, I want you all to let me do most of the talking. We need them to act quickly, and jumbled testimony won't help anyone."

"Yes, Ma'am," they all responded in monotonous unison.

They seemed to reach the camp rather quickly after that, coming to a halt when several soldiers came out to greet them and confirm their identities. Once let through, the Colonel in charge, a small women whom Fuery had never met before, came out to speak with them. Her first inquiries were of the nature of their party, bloodied and broken up as they were, and their lack of proper leadership.

Riza managed to explain the situation calmly, going over how they were attacked and how the Colonel and another alchemist member of their party were captured by Drachmans. Fuery frowned at her lack of naming names where Edward was concerned and decided to file it away for later questioning. For the time being, he focused on the conversation at hand and the Colonel Wesson's concerned and demanding tone.

"What do you mean, captured? Just how did the Drachmans manage to get past our forces like this?"

"That brings the next problem to light, Ma'am," Riza explained, "We gained information during our travel that would have several hundred Drachman soldiers preparing to attack our forces from behind."

"What?" She snapped. "That's not possible."

"It is," Riza continued solemnly, "It would appear that Lieutenant Colonel Ford has been working with them, leaking information and helping them to enact their plan."

Wesson mouthed the name, as if mulling the possibility over a moment before she clicked her tongue and cursed. "Damn him. He always was a little bit off, but I never thought him capable of treason like this."

A beat passed before her eyes widened and she spoke again, all demanding tones gone, replaced by urgency. "How did they manage to get around our troops without our noticing? We have the mountain range protecting our position. It shouldn't have been possible…"

That seemed to give Riza pause as she thought about the answer to that specific question. Fuery was sure she knew, but when another second passed without answer, he realized perhaps he'd been privy to information she was not. He had sworn she'd heard Edward discussing everything he'd discovered with the Colonel, or that Roy had shared information with her at the very least, but if her silence was anything to go by, she'd accidentally been kept in the dark on a few issues.

"The mountain range." He spoke up and suddenly all eyes were on him, Colonel Wesson staring expectantly. He cleared his throat and went on. "There's a small point in the mountain that people can pass through. Not huge groups or anything- I think he said twenty people, tops-, so that means the Drachmans have been working to get their forces through for awhile. I don't know exactly where this point is, though. Ed-er, the alchemist who was captured with the Colonel is the one who knows that."

Colonel Wesson nodded slowly, cupping her chin in thought. She remained like that for a long moment before snapping out of her daze and turning to head for the tent that housed the radio equipment.

"We have to tell the main troops immediately. Bradey! Help them load up the supplies. They need to get back as soon as they can."

A lean man nodded and hopped to do so, but Fuery hardly noticed. He'd dismounted and run after the Colonel before he could stop himself. Something about her words hadn't settled right with him. She hadn't seemed overly concerned with the capture of their Colonel, moreso focused on the problem the Drachmans presented. He understood that warning the others was top priority, but it was disconcerting when she made no plans to help save those captured, and seemed more interested on getting the supplies out than anything else.

Maybe he was misreading the situation, but that was what it sure seemed to be, and after everything he wasn't about to risk it, even if it meant running the possibility of angering or offending someone of a higher rank than himself.

"Colonel Wesson, Ma'am." He saluted quickly when she looked up from what she was doing and set the headphones down.

"Pardon my straightforwardness," he said, "but do you plan on doing anything to save Colonel Mustang the other captive?"

She frowned and put the earpiece back to her head. "I don't yet. The information was just given to me, Sergeant, and I have to prioritize."

He didn't correct her on his rank for the time being because it wasn't as important as pressing the issue. She didn't seem to understand just how close they were and that saving the others was the best thing they could do. If they had Mustang with them, repairing the situation would be a million times easier. He hadn't been in Ishval and even he knew that much was true.

"Ma'am, with all due respect, I think sending us away would be a mistake. This team is well qualified for an extraction mission, and having the Colonel with us and still in fighting condition would be beneficial for more than a few reasons."

"Sergeant, you need to listen to me when I say I know what I'm doing."

"And I need you to listen when I say I do too," he pressed. It was funny, he couldn't remember the last time he'd been so keen on arguing with someone of higher rank. "We need to make a rescue mission one of the high priorities. The Drachmans are still a few days away. If we go after them now, we could make a significant dent in their forces long before they reach our main-"

"The troops need to be warned, and they need supplies." Wesson cut him off sharply, "You need to focus on doing your part. I will get to the rescue mission, but this comes first. I'm sure you've heard that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few. Do I make myself clear?"

Fuery bit his tongue to keep from saying anything more. He knew when the line was drawn, and when crossing it was a bad idea. As much as he wanted to continue to make his case to her, he knew he had to let it go, at least for the time being. Even if she'd shut down a strategy he'd been working on coming up with for the last few days before even hearing him out completely, he had to respect her choices.

"Sergeant. I said: Do I make myself clear?"

"...Yes, Ma'am."

"Good. No, go and…"

Fuery had already been turning to leave but paused then and turned back to see the woman frowning at the radio. She twisted a few knobs before bringing the piece back to her ear. Her frown only seemed to deepen and he caught the muttered curse she uttered. She didn't make a big deal out of it, but he knew radio trouble when he saw it. The petty part of him wanted to snicker and ask her if she would listen to his plan now, but the part that always won over in his head sighed softly and had him walking over to her side.

"What's the problem?"

"The radio…" she set the main piece down and want to open up the back panel of the device. "There's nothing coming in."

"It's not transmitting?" Fuery crouched down and gently shoved her out of the way before he could think about it. He didn't know what she thought she could do, but judging by the way she removed the panelling alone he could tell she would've done more harm than good if she'd touched it. Besides, it had been a long time since he'd been able to do anything with tech.

"No," she confirmed with a heavy sigh.

If she said anything more, Fuery tuned her out, already in his zone and tinkering with every little button and dial, searching for any sort of signal. It was odd, because she wasn't wrong, but she wasn't right, either. According to the readings, they were transmitting, and yet there was no signal to transmit to. There was no static on the line that would speak to an electrical problem, either, which led him to believe there was absolutely nothing wrong with the radio whatsoever. He wasn't about to rule anything out before he exhausted all of his options, though.

"I could use a tool kit," he announced after a moment. "And if you could have Hawkeye come in to help, I would appreciate it."

He wasn't sure she would listen to him, considering how irritated she'd been with him moments before, but to his surprise she nodded once and let without a word to do as requested. It was funny, he thought, how quickly people were willing to listen to you when you had something they wanted. He didn't dwell on that line of thinking though, because he had better things to put his mind to. Already he was thinking about what the possible problems could be. None of them were particularly comforting, especially when he took into account the fact that the Drachmans had a lot of tech similar to their own. The setups were different, sure, but the ideas were the same.

He continued fiddling with different wires, searching for any kind of sign that the signal was catching the one for the frequency the main forces were on. Logically speaking, they shouldn't have been able to lose it in the first place, but that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Tech wasn't foolproof, and sometimes it malfunctioned. It was obnoxious and unfortunate, but not the worst thing that could happen.

When Riza showed up a few minutes later with the tools he'd requested, she gave him an inquisitive look and sat on the stool beside him while he got to work.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Huh?" Fuery paused what he was doing to look up at her. It took a second for her words and their meaning to register and when they did he sat up. Everyone knew Riza didn't know enough about technical workings to be truly useful in repairing them, so obviously she'd known he'd wanted her for something else.

"Oh, right!" He went back to tinkering as he spoke, "So… my working theory is that the signal is being jammed. I don't know what the Drachmans are using to keep the frequency sounding so clean, though. Normally when they jam things there's static or feedback or something weird. There's nothing this time around..."

"So they upgraded. Can you get past it?"

"Um… that's the thing…" He chuckled nervously and gently closed the back panel to the radio box. "I don't think this signal is the one they're jamming. I think it's the other radio- the main one. So, I actually… can't."

She raised a brow at him, clearly not having expected that answer and he threw his hands up. "Well, I mean, I can, but I'd need a lot longer than the short amount of time we'll be here."

"I see. Well, then we need to find a way around it-"

"Already tried." He sighed. "No, what we need is to contact someone else."

"Who did you have in mind?"

By her tone of voice, Riza already knew exactly who he had in mind. It was the same person he'd been thinking about contacting since he'd found out about the weak point in the mountains. However, after the conversation he'd had with Wesson, he wasn't sure he'd be able to. At least, not on his own…

"I need your full support for this. Wesson won't be happy but, hypothetically, if this works, we'll be able to kill several birds with one stone, and if we can do that, we can save the Colonel and stop the Drachmans, and-"

"Kain." Riza's calming hand on his shoulder cut him off and he looked up at the woman. "Do what you have to. I trust you."

"Okay." He sighed, relieved for the vote of confidence. "I still feel like I should tell you what the plan is, though."

She smiled softly. "I know. I'll get the others."

She stood and headed out after that, reminding him to look busy in case Wesson came back. He sent her a nervous smile while nodding quickly. He fidgeted with his tools while he waited for the others to get there, thinking over the logistics of his plan, though he already had dozens of times before. There were many unknown factors to it, but so long as he had one person backing him up, he'd be able to work confidently. At least with the team backing him up, he could shove back his fears of being court martialed or arrested for treason, something equally bad.

After all, going against orders wasn't something he usually did.

They were all on board, which, while unsurprising, still gave Fuery the confidence to begin enacting the plan. They had a limited window of time to pull it off, considering they were expected to head out as soon as the supply cart was prepared.

The others, with the exception of Riza, who stayed with him to act as company and guard, were off loading everything. They had to keep up the pretense of caring about getting things done swiftly. Meanwhile, Fuery worked to switch the radio frequencies to something a bit closer to home.

Riza was quiet while he twisted the various knobs and dials, listening carefully for the correct signal. Normally it wouldn't have been so difficult to get ahold of, but seeing as how he didn't have the information for it, they were essentially in the middle of nowhere, and the channel he was going for was highly secured, it would take a minute. If anyone else had been there, even thinking of getting a hold of them would've been ridiculous, but seeing as he'd been working with systems such as theirs so long, he knew tricks nobody else did in getting around and through different protective mechanisms. And he didn't need special tools for doing so, either.

There was a reason Mustang had specifically asked for him above anyone else, after all. He'd looked past his young age and seen him as useful for his skills. Skills that people often forgot about because the uniform and commander made them lump him in with the rest of the fighters and intel personnel. No, the Colonel had had good reasons for choosing him- not that Fuery liked to brag about his skills.

A few times, someone would come by to check on how he was doing and Riza would wave them off, letting them know he found the source of the issue and was in the middle of fixing it. The white lies were enough to placate them and they would run off, no doubt to let Wesson know.

Other than those instances, though, his companion remained stoically silent. It let him on to just how her thoughts had to be raging inside her head. Being quiet wasn't abnormal for the Lieutenant, true, but she normally took small interest in what he was doing and would at the very least, observe what he did- though whether that was because she was interested, or just passing the time, he never did find out. The fact that she barely moved an inch to look his way let him know that despite her collected exterior, she was thinking just as hard as the rest of them were, likely about the same things that occupied all of their minds, too.

The thought of Mustang and Edward brought Riza's earlier conversation with Colonel Wesson back to mind right then and Fuery frowned once again when he recalled the way she hadn't mentioned the smaller alchemist to the woman. He'd meant to ask her about it earlier, but had forgotten.

"Lieutenant?"

"Yes?"

"Why aren't we telling our superiors about Edward being the one who was captured?"

Riza turned to look at him, and though he only saw her expression from the corner of his eye, he could tell she was thrown off by the question.

"The same reason we're not telling them about what we're doing right now."

She made it sound like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but Fuery still didn't find himself following. If anything, the statement left him with more questions.

"I'm not following."

"Edward is no longer part of the military," she explained, lowering her voice as she did so there were no chances anyone outside could hear. "He would be in serious trouble for being a civilian in a war zone, and the Colonel would be punished for taking him into our care- even despite the circumstances."

Fuery frowned. "But they would know we found him and were trying to get him to safety."

"You and I know well enough that intentions don't matter when the higher-ups want to put the blame on someone. Plus, they could also technically make it so that Edward couldn't get reinstated when everything calms down and he is allowed to come back. The system isn't logical or fair, and I was not about to risk trusting someone like Wesson with ammunition like that."

"Oh." Fuery sighed and hung his head while he fiddled with the radio once more. He'd forgotten about the civilian rule- heck, he'd forgotten Edward wasn't technically part of their team anymore. Everything had become so jumbled in such a short amount of time, and none of the change causing it had been anything close to good. It was beyond frustrating.

"Just our stupid laws at work again. Great."

"Mmhm," Riza agreed. "But we'll figure it out."

Fuery nodded. "We always do."

As if a flip switched was flipped, when the words left his mouth, Fuery's eardrum was suddenly assaulted with a sharp note of feedback and he jumped violently. He hadn't been expecting that at all. Despite the painful ringing in his ears, though, he couldn't help but chuckle softly.

"Talk about timing."

Riza appeared at his side a second later, brows raised expectantly. "You got it?"

"Sure did!" Fuery beamed up at her before setting out to get a hold of the right people.

It took time, a lot of arguing and explaining, but eventually he was able to get patched through to the main command. The numerous security checks they made him go through were beyond ridiculous, and he resisted the urge to groan and throw the headset across the area several times. He understood their need to be cautious, but he was under pressure, having the short window of time to get the information they needed across.

Eventually, though, a male voice cut through the faint static, and Fuery was able to convince Miles that they needed to speak to the Major General immediately, due to the life and death matter at hand. The Ishvalan soldier needed very little convincing before he was off, assuring them that he would be grabbing the woman they were after.

He waited for what felt like hours, baited breath sounding much too loud while he looked over his shoulder every couple of seconds, expecting someone to come in at any moment and demand to know just what he thought he was doing. Nevermind that Riza would defend him if they tried to stop him.

Everything was coming together, but it was also reaching the first crucial point in planning, too: the first unknown factor. There were a number of different ways she could respond to their request for assistance, and from what he'd heard about her, a refusal wouldn't be too unexpected. However, he also knew she prided her abilities to protect the border, and knowing that those "scum" had gotten through her defenses might be enough to spur her into action.

There were a number of ways she could respond, but only two outcomes: Favorable, and not. She would either agree to help them, or she would tell them to fix their own mess. If the latter was the case, Fuery was at a loss as to what they would do. In theory, they could infiltrate the Drachman camp on their way back with the supplies, but they were risking so much in doing so. He had no doubt that everyone would agree to it as a backup plan, but there was no way to ensure a good and safe outcome, whereas with Briggs backing them up, there was no doubt in his mind that they would succeed.

Still, if she refused to assist them, they would resort to those measures. They would get Edward and the Colonel back, and they would get them back alive, no matter what.

Still, the idea of doing all of that on their own…

"Kain."

He would never admit to yelping when Riza's voice knocked him out of his storming thoughts, and he turned to face the woman with eyes wide in question.

"If this works out, we still someone to get the supplies to the others as well as warn them."

His mind leapt forward before needing to hear what else she had to say. Somebody needed to go, and he was the weakest fighter of their group, so it would make sense that it would be he who left. They couldn't afford any dead weight in the group, and after failing to protect Edward, it just made sense. The others could hold their own better than he could, after all- even if he could manage pretty well on his own when he had to.

"I know. I'll get ready after we're done here."

The look Riza sent him made him entertain the idea that he'd grown a second head. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong but she cut him off.

"I wanted you to talk to Falman about going. He is the fastest of all of us and the better diplomat."

That was true as well; Falman, quiet demeanor aside, was skilled with discussing heavy manners with those of higher rank. Fuery never had possessed the finesse for such things- he'd always found dealing with machines to be easier. Still, it surprised him that the Lieutenant wanted him to stay. He wasn't about to question her decisions, though, because if there was one thing both she and the Colonel shared, it was the ability to think far ahead into the future and make choices to ensure a favorable outcome.

"Oh, okay. Yeah, I can talk to him."

Riza pat his shoulder and he sent her a soft smile. He wasn't sure what he'd done to inspire any sort of confidence, but he was grateful to her for wanting to keep him around nonetheless. Not that there was anything wrong or less important about running the supplies and warning the main forces- it just wasn't something he would have been able to do as quickly as he knew Falman would be able to. Besides that, Falman had a stronger mental focus than he, and he wouldn't allow himself to be distracted or concerned with anything that might have come his way on the trip back.

As it was, the brief conversation he'd had with the Lieutenant had been enough to distract him that he'd completely missed the headset falling to his shoulders with all his moving around. A distant and angry voice barking through made him flail and throw the gear back on, cringing when the distinct voice of the Major General came through loud and clear.

"Answer me, soldier! Name and rank, now."

"Uh, Kain Fuery, Master Sergeant, Ma'am."

There was a string of static on her end a moment and during that time Fuery couldn't help but panic internally a little, thinking perhaps she'd hung up before even hearing him out. Before he could get too worked up, though, she spoke again, stern and irate as ever.

"Miles tells me you need help saving your sorry asses. Heh. Why am I not surprised?"

#fma #fmab #TBAS #my writing #my ff #Kain Fuery #Riza Hawkeye #Mustang's team #There's plot in here #gasp #last one for awhile folks

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lozenger8 · 7 years

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morning comes, sometimes with a smile, written for @hedwig-dordt. Title from “This Old Love” by Lior because it’s one of my 209 sciles anthems. Featuring: college Scott/Stiles friends to lovers. Rated G.

***

Stiles is lying on the couch, snoring. It’s a persistent hum and then a snort, kind of like a bear with a party whistle between its lips. His legs are dangling off one of the armrests, his head is close to the floor. He’s hugging his bed pillow against his chest, even though he appears to only be wearing a thin tank top and his boxers. He’s a human disaster.

The swell of affection Scott feels in that moment blindsides him.

He doesn’t want to wake Stiles up. He needs the rest, has probably been up all night studying – and likely none of it for his classes – but Scott has the strongest urge to touch him in that moment. To drag his fingers through Stiles’ hair, to settle behind him on the couch and cradle him in his arms. To press his lips against Stiles’ bottom one and suck.

He has no idea where it comes from and chooses to ignore it, going into his room and starting on a history of biology paper that’s due in 3 weeks.

Scott’s good at compartmentalization, good at pushing down problems until they go away. Except this isn’t a problem, so he finds himself thinking about it. It was probably gratitude that he has Stiles with him at college, that they’re getting to lead relatively ordinary lives, for a given value of ordinary. Stiles is learning Gaelic and Old English, and Scott meets with a neighboring pack every month, as well as them both in constant contact with Beacon Hills. But. Well. They are also engaging in the typical college experience of parties, study sessions, ill-advised pranks and eating their weight in ramen. Plus Scott hasn’t had a villain front up to him in at least four months.

So, yes, Scott chalks it up to gratitude and leaves it at that.

Unfortunately that doesn’t explain the low stab of pain he feels when they go to their friend Carter’s party and Stiles starts dancing with the world’s hottest guy. Objectively, Scott should be happy for his friend. That’s his default state, especially when it comes to Stiles. Stiles is clearly having fun. He’s doing some kind of slide wriggle movement that’s as dorky looking as it is weirdly hot, and he has the rhythm of the music in his bones. Subjectively, Scott has little daggers working into his stomach lining and it’s taking a lot of self-will not to go and rudely interrupt.

Scott’s felt possessive before. Hell, he’s even felt possessive of Stiles. This still confuses and surprises him. He asks Cleo to dance with him and purposely doesn’t spend the entire night staring at the back of Stiles’ head. No, sometimes, he finds himself staring into Stiles’ happy-looking eyes.

“I like partying,” Stiles says as they stumble back to their shoebox apartment. Stiles is stumbling. Scott’s propping him up.

“I know you do,” Scott replies, because this is the ninth time Stiles has uttered this phrase and maybe he’s been waiting for more of a response than a hum.

“It’s just… you get to feel free. Like your soul’s singing. And vodka. Vodka’s great.”

“I’m sure I’d agree if it worked on me.”

“I looked up a spell once to help you but they all had horrific consequences,” Stiles admits, bungling the word ‘consequences’ four times before he gets the pronunciation correct.

“Why am I not surprised?”

“But you had fun anyway, didn’t you, Scotty?” Stiles asks. He’s swiveled until he can look in Scott’s eyes, and he does so, although his gaze is a little hazy. He keeps smoothing his hands over Scott’s shoulders, the warm touch causing frissons of delight up and down Scott’s spine. “It’s important to me that you have fun.”

“I did,” Scott lies. “It was great not thinking about grades for once.”

Stiles pouts at him, stares at his mouth, then back up into his eyes. “Okay. But tell me if you hate it, because I won’t go to no more parties if you do.”

Scott spins Stiles back again, slowly so as to hopefully avoid nausea, and pats Stiles on the back. “All right, buddy, I’ll let you know if that ever happens.”

Scott now has two pieces of evidence that his feelings for Stiles are different from how he thought they were. Not deeper. Not more. Not of greater importance or value. But different, for sure. And the thing about Scott, the thing that so many people underestimate, is the fact that he is self-aware. He knows he’s deliberately avoiding examining this too hard. He knows it’s because he’s anxious. He knows, but for now he’s choosing not to pull on that thread.

Stiles is making a meal that doesn’t appear to have any form of noodle in it when Scott gets home from a tutoring session he had with Terri, a high school freshman from the McAuliffe pack. He’s listening to headphones, humming to himself, swaying his hips, chopping up what smell like carrots as Scott stands back against the door and watches him for a while. Scott likes seeing him like this, relaxed and yet frenetic at the same time. It’s sappy, but Scott thinks he’d like to come home to this every day for the rest of his life.

Scott deliberately makes a lot of noise as he walks deeper into the room. They never sneak up on each other anymore, having learned from that mistake on a few different occasions. Stiles swings around, pulls his headphones off. He smiles – something Scott realizes he’s been doing a lot more frequently since they were sixteen – and wow, it’s a beautiful smile. Scott’s heart does a double somersault within his chest and he reflexively smiles back.

“What’re you making?”

“Soup!”

“That’s… okay. What made you wanna make soup?”

“I found the recipe in one of my books.”

The evasiveness is troubling. Scott bumps his hip against Stiles’, examines the ingredients on their small counter. “One of your primitive Irish books?”

“Yeah.”

“Stiles, is this magic soup?”

Stiles gestures to the counter, then to Scott. “It might be. I think it’s mostly vegetable.”

Scott doesn’t know what his face does, but Stiles grins wider, nudging his side. Scott revels in the closeness, tamping down his misgivings. He can see cabbage, carrots and other root vegetables, but nothing that looks particularly dangerous. Of course, Stiles hasn’t yet dug into his ever-growing collection of herbs.

“You need any help?”

“Wanna chop the parsnips?

“We only have one knife.”

“I mean, you have ten that come out of your fingers, but if you were only offering because it sounds good, then fine, abandon me in my hour of need.”

Scott scrunches up his nose. “You want me to use my claws? Isn’t that unsanitary?”

Stiles points at the sink.

It’s surprisingly easy, cutting parnips with his index claw. Scott’s slices are finer than Stiles’, a fact he proudly gloats about for another twenty minutes, as the soup goes on their camping gas burner.

“It’s all gonna be mush anyway,” Stiles rallies, eventually, hitting Scott with one of their couch cushions.

Scott grabs the other before it’s too late, swings it into Stiles. “You’re mush, anyway.”

“You make no sense,” Stiles yells back, and then the fight is on.

They block, they parry, they swing. They fall onto the floor and tussle, Stiles gaining the upper hand because he doesn’t play fair. He sits on Scott’s stomach, legs bracketed by his sides. He’s flushed pink and his eyes are bright, and he bends down and presses a kiss to Scott’s forehead while ruffling his hair.

“Kiss me lower,” Scott blurts out, then wonders if he can die from embarrassment.

“What?” Stiles asks, still craned over Scott.

“You heard me,” Scott says, heart in his throat.

Stiles raises an eyebrow, kisses his cheek with a soft, lingering tenderness. Now, he’s just teasing.

“How long have you known?”

“That depends what you’re asking,” Stiles says, climbing off Scott and helping him sit up. He stares at Scott’s lips, flicks his gaze up, concentrates on them again.

“How long have you known that I want you to kiss me?”

“About thirty seconds,” Stiles says, sounding a little breathless. “How long have you known that you want me to kiss you?”

“About thirty days. How long have you known that you wanna kiss me?”

Stiles shrugs, licks at his own lips. “I would love to say thirty weeks just to keep the pattern going, but it’s longer than that, Scotty.”

“Then there’s no time to waste,” Scott says, closing the gap between them.

He telegraphs his intentions clearly, but he doesn’t think he had to. Stiles is meeting him with every movement, his expression open and trusting.

The kiss is sweet and involving and has Scott’s heart kicking against his ribs like a bass drum.

“Oh,” Stiles says, eyes wide, when they pull apart.

“I agree,” he says, standing and pulling Stiles up so they can check on the soup. He wraps his arms around Stiles’ middle as they look in the pot, tucks his hand into his waistband. The soup looks fine. The broth is still liquid and the vegetables aren’t looking quite soft enough.

Stiles spins in his embrace, leans against their small fridge.

“So this is us now?” Stiles asks. His voice sounds thicker than usual, full of emotion.

“You want that, don’t you?” Scott prompts. “I do, but I don’t wanna push you. So if you don’t want that –”

In answer Stiles pulls him in for another kiss.

He loves it, the feel of Stiles against him, soft lips brushing against his own. It makes him happy in a way he’d almost forgotten about. He’s in love. He’s always loved Stiles, and this isn’t more or more important, but it’s different. He’s going to focus on that for a while, on the differences and delights of this aspect of their relationship.

Stiles breaks the kiss again, but chases his lips a moment later. “I want this,” he finally says when his lips are pink and glistening and Scott’s are tingling.

Realizing that Stiles feels the same about him has warmth suffusing his entire body. Scott bites at his lip, smiles. The affection he feels in that moment is all consuming.

#text post #sciles #foreversciles #my fic #writing

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travisandersondatingblog · 6 years

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11 Signs He Doesn’t Want a Relationship With You (NEXT!)

If you’re looking up signs he doesn’t want a relationship with you…I’m pretty sure you’ve already identified a few red flags with the guy you’re dating.

Am I right?

Spend your life chasing men who don’t want a relationship with you…

..and I promise you, you will spend your life as that weird cat lady down the street who no one talks to.

youtube

Don’t be that cat lady.

I created this video and article to show you a few of the signs he doesn’t want a relationship with you so that you can ditch this guy and make yourself available to the guys who do!

Your Coach,

P.S. Stop attracting men who don’t want a relationship and start finding the one who does. My Emotional Attraction Formula will teach you in just 6 weeks how to identify negative patterns in men so you can avoid them and attract a man who actually wants a relationship.

Introduction

You’ve gone out with this guy a few times. Maybe you’ve even slept with him. And while you’re starting to plan for him to meet your friends or even take a couple’s vacation in a few months, you’re not getting the sense that he’s on board with planning a future with you.

What gives?

If this isn’t the first time you’ve been in this situation, dating a man who clearly doesn’t want a relationship with you, it’s time to break it down and figure out why you keep being drawn to these men.

1. He’s Hot and Cold with His Communication

via GIPHY

You keep in touch about once a week, on average, but probably not every day. For the most part, the two of you text, and maybe you’ve had a phone call or two, but he’s made it clear he’s not a phone guy.

In one study I found of guys who have “back burners,” that is, a relationship prospect that a man will let simmer on the metaphorical back burner in case he wants her down the road, showed that 49% of these guys communicate with at least one of their back burners at least once per week, but only 7% communicated with a back burner every day.

So take a moment to consider who else he might be texting when you don’t hear from him for days. Most people — men and women — like interacting with a romantic interest, so if he’s not that keen to communicate, it may be because he doesn’t want a relationship with you.

2. He’s Still Got Something Going on with a Past Relationship

We’ve all had past relationships that keep coming back. Maybe you broke up then tried to work things out. Maybe your ex pursued you months after you split.

It happens.

But consider that the guy you’re dating has exes too…and it’s entirely possible that he’s got a not-quite-over situation with a past girlfriend.

If he tells you that he’s “just friends” with his ex…but he’s really not investing in a relationship with you, likely he’s still hung up on his ex, and doesn’t want a relationship with you. Know that there’s nothing you can do to make him get over his ex, so move on.

3. He’s Constantly Leaving You Hanging

I had a dating coaching client years ago who was so into a guy. Let’s call him Jake. She told me that when they were together, it was magical. There was fantastic chemistry. But then they would make plans…and he’d bail at the last minute.

He constantly left her hanging.

Does this sound familiar? Unfortunately, this is one of the signs he doesn’t want a relationship with you.

If he blows you off by not returning your calls and text messages or waits days after you reach out…

If he cancels plans at the last minute…

If one minute he’s intensely into you and the next he’s distant…

Then he’s not interested in you enough to be respectful of your time and energy. If he’s acting like this now, imagine what this guy will be like as a husband or a father. Um, no. This isn’t the right match for you.

A man who is interested in you wants to build the relationship, and communication and respect are a major part of that. A man who cancels plans again and again doesn’t respect you. A man who can’t respond to your texts or calls in a timely manner isn’t invested in you.

4. You Are a Ghost to His Friends and Family

As far as his family is concerned, you’re a ghost!

You don’t exist…at least in the eyes of his friends or family.

They may not even know you exist.

Pay attention: does he mention that he was talking to his mom about you? No?

Does he ever invite you to hang out with his friends? No?

Everyone knows that the moment a guy introduces you to his family, you are officially his girlfriend. He knows this too. That’s why he’s not doing it!

If he doesn’t involve you with others in his life, then that reflects on how little he is actually involved with you. If after three months, he’s not bringing you to meet any friends or family, it’s a sign that your relationship is not moving in the right direction. He’s interested in spending time with you…or at least, having sex with you, but he’s not willing to incorporate you into his real life.

5. His Heart Feels Completely Closed to You

Throughout our lives, our hearts open and close, depending on where we are emotionally. Women may be more open to finding love than men. Men, I’ve found through my coaching experience, may be more closed off (even if they meet a fantastic woman) to finding love.

If a guy is into you, he will be open with you. Part of being open is communicating with you and opening up about his life and past experiences.

He may not necessarily tell you when he took his first steps or who he had a crush on in middle school, but the right guy will share information that is more real. Who he had his heart broken by. What his relationship with his family is.

A man who values you and wants to open his heart to you will do that. There’s no sense in trying to change a guy who clearly is unable to give you his heart. Because: you can never change a man!

It’s natural that a man might go slow in opening up to you at the start of a relationship, but pay attention: when you open up to him, does he reciprocate or clam up? Is he slowly opening up over time, or keeping just as closed off? If he’s not opening even an inch, chances are that he doesn’t want a relationship with you.

6. He Still Has Things to Do

Men are funny when compared to women. They tend to have a long list of personal accomplishments they want to achieve before they settle down in a romantic relationship. Whether that list includes moving up the corporate ladder, paying off debt, or buying a house, he may insist that he’s not ready to settle down as a result.

Is this bullsh#%?

Probably not. Men are just built differently than women: they tend to compartmentalize different parts of their lives. Even if a man starts to have feelings for you, if the possibility of a relationship interferes with other aspects of his life and goals, he can shut off those feelings and focus on what’s priority for him.

You can’t change a man’s mind about the importance of those goals compared to a potential relationship with you, so don’t even try.

7. Beyond Sex, He’s Really Not Spending Time With You

After sex, he’s not keen on pillow talk. He’s ready to leave!

“But Adam, I’m really into sex too. What’s the big deal if we do it all the time?”

While certainly, sex is a part of a healthy relationship, it shouldn’t make up the bulk of it. Think to the last five times you’ve seen the guy you’re dating. Did you actually go out…or did he text late at night, wanting to come over? It’s fine every once in a while, but a man who isn’t afraid of commitment will want to spend time with you outside of the bedroom.

You are more than your body. If he’s not interested in getting to know what’s going on in your brain, then he’s not worth your time.

8. You’re The One Putting Out All the Effort

From the time you picked up a slice of his favorite cake to make him smile to the fact that you always initiate text conversations with this man, you’re starting to realize that you’re doing all the work. While he might reply to your text (when he gets around to it), he’s not reciprocating the effort you’re investing in him.

A man who wants a relationship with you will bend over backward to make you happy. He will think of you throughout his day and find ways to let you know you’re on his mind. A man who doesn’t want a relationship with you will take, take, take, and never give.

You want a two-way relationship, right? You want a man who will give without needing you to give back (but who you’ll want to give to). This isn’t that guy.

9. He Doesn’t Want to “Put a Label on It”

I know a woman who has dated the same guy off and on for over a year. They split up when he says that he’s uncomfortable putting a label on what they are.

What the heck?

This man isn’t 18, when, sure, he might not be ready to be a boyfriend. This man is in his 50s! By this age, being labeled “boyfriend” shouldn’t freak a guy out if he really likes you.

To me, this is just his way of stringing you along. He can date other people if he’s not technically your boyfriend. He doesn’t have to actually break up with you when he gets bored if he’s not your boyfriend. And he still gets all the perks of your company and having sex with you.

But, my dear…

What do you get out of it? Nothing but frustration. Ditch this dude.

10. He Just Doesn’t Feel The Same

He can’t force himself to have feelings for you.

Don’t get me wrong: this guy likes you…he just doesn’t like-you like you. He thinks you’re fun to hang around, but for whatever reason, he’s not as enamored with you as you are him.

It happens. When you think about the likelihood of having romantic chemistry on both sides, you realize how rare it really is. Sure, one guy, you’re attracted to physically, but you have nothing in common with him. Another guy might light you up intellectually, but you can’t find a spark of physical attraction. The same thing goes for his feelings toward you. He might even have expressed that he’s interested in a long-term relationship, but if he can’t find that spark, it won’t happen between you two.

It may not be that he doesn’t want a relationship with you, but that he simply can’t force one, and you should respect him for not trying to.

11. He Just Got Out of a Serious Relationship

If you’re on dating apps, you’ll find the gamut of men. Some are looking for their next wife, while others are looking for their next good time. But read the clues, because often a man will put them out there in his bio. If he says he just got out of a serious relationship, realize the likelihood that he will be ready for another relationship is very very slim.

You don’t know what kind of baggage he’s carrying from that experience. Heartbreak? Divorce? Joint custody of kids? Anger? Debt? All of these are unappealing when you’re starting to date a man you hope has long-term potential. And even if he swears he’s ready for a relationship, do you really want a man who can’t be alone?

Conclusion: He Doesn’t Want a Relationship With You

By now you realize that these signs that he doesn’t want a relationship with you are flashing big and red in your dating life. Am I right?

The key is what you do now that you’ve realized there’s no long-term potential with this man. You might be tempted to keep dating him since you enjoy his company. You could do that, but I want you to be aware that you’re settling for a Good Enough relationship. And I never, ever want you to settle in your life.

It takes bravery to stop dating a man because you know there’s no future down the road, but look at it like this: if you don’t end things now, you will start to care for him more and more, and you’ll convince yourself that he can change and be boyfriend material. From here, at this moment, you know that’s not true.

So get out while it’s easier than it will be down the road.

Leave a comment below: have you ever dated a guy who clearly didn’t want a relationship with you? How’d it work out? How long did it take you to figure it out?

In part 2 of this article, I give you 3 signs that you’re not ready for a relationship. But this is exclusive to Sexy Confidence members only, so hurry and become one so you can keep reading!

The post 11 Signs He Doesn’t Want a Relationship With You (NEXT!) appeared first on Sexy Confidence.

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sending-the-message · 7 years

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In The City Of Meatbot-Powered Killers (part 4) by molotok_c_518

Table of Contents.

Part 3.

I hit the dark web for a few minutes, burned a couple of Bitcoin for a block of stolen credit card numbers, and searched for what the hell just happened downtown.

While I took a couple of the platinum card accounts to activate some of my burner phones (their fraud support will save them some charges, and I'll still have some prepaid phones to work with), I digested what the Army and Air National Guard just did.

(*26 hours ago, in RQZ HQ...)

Col. {Jones}, HQ "Six" (HQ6): This is Six, go ahead, sir.

Adjutant General, New York National Guard (AGNY): This operation is strictly need-to-know now, Six. It has been designated "Top Secret: Compartmentalized" at the highest levels, and the code name attached is "Glass Chipmunk."

HQ6: What the... who comes up with this shit... uh, sir?

AGNY: Some spook at the NSA. More time on their hands than sense.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(Side note: The reason top secret stuff gets odd code-names is because they are words you would not accidentally say in a normal conversation. Try to work "Glass Chipmunk" into a sentence without sounding like you're crazy. It *might** work with someone with a curio collection... sort of like Alpine Shepherd Boy... but otherwise, you will stand out.*)

AGNY: How is the perimeter?

HQ6: Solid, sir. Nothing is getting out of there. We've had a few... anomalies, but no breaches.

AGNY: "Anomalies?"

HQ6: Well... it appears that the mad scientists' little toys don't hole up well in non-humans. We've had some animals come to the wire and just melt. The larger ones, we need to put down... have you ever tried shooting a cat and her kittens? They melted, too.

AGNY: I'll arrange to get some more men rotated in. Things like that obliterate morale.

HQ6: Thank you, sir... but we need a longer-term solution to this. We've gotten lucky, so far, in that only a few infected have tried to hit us. Tracers work well, so we've taken to loading all of our SAWs with nothing else. If they hit us in anything larger than 3 or 4 at a time, we're gonna get overrun in a heartbeat and a half, and you'll have a lot more than a city's worth of these things to worry about.

AGNY: Roger that, Six. I gotta tell ya, Tom... I've never thought, not even once, that we'd be talking about bombing American citizens.

HQ6: Roger that, Six. Voting demographic will definitely shift.

AGNY: Are you suggesting...

HQ6: No, sir. Just a bit of gallows' humor. Whistling in the graveyard, as it were.

AGNY: How about our reluctant big-brain?

HQ6: Still no sign of him. We lost him during his move towards the campus. We think he's in the Advanced Research Labs facility on campus, but we're not sure enough to risk an extraction team in a hostile-heavy area of the city.

AGNY: We have a good set-up on the plaza. Give the green light for the Reaper to launch. You are covered.

HQ6: That's an order?

AGNY: Direct order, Tom. Take solace in the fact that it's an act of mercy for the poor bastards.

HQ6: Yes, sir.

(23 hours ago.)

Reaper drone pilot, designated RD-3: On station, awaiting instructions.

HQ6: What's your load, RD-3:

RD-3: I have 4 Hellfires, sir. I see the target, awaiting order.

HQ6: You've been briefed as to the situation?

RD-3: Yes, sir. Glass Chipmunk. (almost inaudible chuckle)

HQ6: Right. When you have the target locked, you are cleared to engage.

RD-3: Order received. Lightin' em up.

Video footage from RD-3

It's daytime, timestamp on the video is 1106. Wide shot of a square plaza surrounded by concrete and glass buildings, in a Brutalist architectural style.

In the plaza is a large, pulsating mass of bodies, covered in dirt, rags, dried "blood" (in reality, it's mostly meatbots at this point), sweat, and strips of dried flesh.

A fountain in the center has kept these people hydrated since the outbreak. It has allowed this... gathering... to continue unabated.

"Gathering" is too weak a word. It's like a Roman orgy crossed with Cannibal Holocaust or Green Inferno.

The weakest have either stayed at the fringes and devoured what scraps they can, knowing that they have no chance at survival in the main body, or threw themselves in early, were torn to shreds and eaten whole, in order to kill the all-consuming hunger driving them.

The strongest have formed a horrific symbiosis, tearing chunks off of each other, letting chunks get torn from them, then healing enough to repeat the process. The looks of pain when injured are almost indistinguishable from the looks of rapture when they devour a neighbor.

There is no "sex," per se. Hunger has replaced sexual desire. If anything, the erogenous zones seem to be the most targeted areas for consumption... and since they grow back, they get targeted a lot.

I don't want to look. I want to make a bad joke about oral sex and fix myself a bottle of rum. Better still, a keg.

I look anyway.

At 1113, a missile tears into a fuel truck abandoned at the east end of the plaza. The angle is perfect: flaming kerosene or diesel splashes over the crowd, and thick clouds of boiling black smoke quickly fill the space.

Some of the (un)lucky few who escaped the initial blast run away.

Most, either sensing a well-cooked meal or realizing this will end the agonizing hunger, dive into the center of the holocaust.

In one strike, the National Guard have eliminated about 3/4 of the population of [REDACTED].

I've been working frantically for the past day, trying to find a way to protect myself from possible infection. I can't think "if" anymore: those idiots out there will see me at some point and launch an extraction. I've seen enough horror movies to know how catastrophically it will fail, and how likely I will be to have highly-trained, inhibition-impaired, hungry, rapid-healing killers at my door.

Yes, I'm a pessimist.

I know now how we got to this point, and I have the entire sequence ciphered out. My meatbots were part of a power struggle within the group, and were weaponized purely by circumstance.

First, Dr. A. He got in to the GATACA compiler and dropped his little brain bomb in the code. Hidden in the "comments" in the DNA (we had plenty of space to put messages in the DNA, and did so frequently to explain why Sequence 8c, for example, was written to repair a long muscle in a certain manner, rather than another) was his excuse:

Dr. A: By the time you read this, you will no longer head this project. If I can strike quickly and "prove" that you bungled the neuro programming, I can capitalize and run this program as I see fit. Some people aren't worth saving. Others should be reprogrammed for the greater good.

Dr. B followed this up by checking out the endocrine codes and cranking hunger to 1000. His excuse:

Dr. B: Need more. We can fund this by selling the old versions on the black market, and keep the excess for ourselves.

Profiteering, meet societal re-engineering.

It might have gone almost unnoticed, except for player 3.

Late in the project, I had an assistant basically forced on me. Dr. C was also a computer scientist, come to us from government service. He said the right things, asked the right questions, and made himself indispensable.

What I didn't know until last night was, he was a military contractor on the side, and was looking for combat applications for the 'bots.

He knew what the other fuckwits had done, and instead of fixing it...

It was he who showed Bobby the "Jesus room" (he used a different name for each guard, knowing they would be impressed with what was within). He managed to get a copy of Steve's key card to the most pliable guards, then waited for the inevitable.

He got very lucky (or unlucky) that we had just begun to prep for primate trials when Bobby's wife died. He had the "perfect" weaponized version of my project, and its spread was the perfect test.

I know this because the dumb fucker emailed his superiors on a civilian email account.

The NSA grabbed him up rapidly after that. He's sitting in Guantanamo Bay, if there's any justice.

What I've learned in the past 48 hours is sickening.

When I was a kid, I read Frankenstein several times. Mary Shelley shares my birthday, so it's like we're soul mates separated by 200 years.

I always told myself, "Don't let hubris be your downfall. You're doing this for mankind. You're not playing God... you're doing God's work, if we really are created in His/Her image."

This has never been about doing it because we could. It's doing it because we need this... to save lives cut too short by disease or accident.

Do this now, decide later how it should be used. That was always the mission.

Now... now, I'm using my knowledge of chemistry to destroy my life's work. I know what to mix for the best explosives I can make given what I have on hand. The labs we've been working will be utterly annihilated.

There's no way this project gets out. They aren't ready.

They aren't worthy.

Before I do that, though, I am going to call several people and let them know what happened. I am going to tell the press why my malignant miracle is being denied to the world.

NOW I'm playing God.

I've already made several vials of my counter-bots and hid them on my person. They're untested, but better than the alternative.

I may have a way to sneak off-campus, and from there I have a possible way to get out of town. It's going to involve laying low after the powers-that-be order a full sweep and cleanup of the bot-ridden, which I fully expect in a week or so.

I did some very rough calculations. Fatty tissues have probably all been digested by now. Protein can be burned for energy, and some of it will be consumed by each repair and replication cycle. I figure that, in 3 or 4 more days, there won't be enough metabolic energy to drive a flea left in anyone with meatbots in their blood.

Before I do anything else, though... time for a smoke.

I head up to the roof, and take a deep breath... then step to the wall and puke as the foul reek of thousands of roasting bodies pours into my sinuses.

I won't be eating barbecue any time soon.

By some dark miracle, I puke right on a bot-ridden at the base of the building. He looks up, then begins licking the vomit off of himself.

Didn't need to see that.

I move away from the wall. I fumble a smoke from the pack, and light up with very shaky hands.

I also crack the seal on the cheap водка I found in a lab assistant's office and take a deep swig. I dislike the cheap stuff... it has this nasty chemical aftertaste.

All of this is distracting me from the little fucker I puked on, who is free-climbing the wall.

I catch the barest hint of movement out of the corner of my eye as he crests the retaining wall and leaps 20 feet across the roof to tackle me.

I drop the водка and spin quickly to meet him. I'm unarmed, because "Of course they can't get to me. I'm behind two locked doors!" and this is going to kill me...

...and it gets close enough for me to see that "he" is a "she," and she's emaciated and nothing but bone, skin and wiry muscle and hunger and fuck I'm going to have to punch a girl to save my life as I loop a right cross straight into her oncoming jaw, and she drops to the roof...

...and I grab my водка and run for the door as she scrambles to her feet and makes the sprint after me with frightening speed, and I stop and duck as she comes at my back and misses her grab and I stand up straight into her jaw and she staggers backwards...

...and I spin around and plant a solid left into her gut and she doubles over but she has a grip on my back and can't bite through my shirt but I stand up straight and she flips over my back to the ground at my heels...

...and I spin again and kick her in the head and she grabs her head and it gives me just enough time to get to the door and open it...

...but she's on her feet and after me and through the door just as I pull it shut and now I'm in the stairwell to the second floor with a crazed bot-ridden woman who lunges for me...

...so I throw her over the railing and she hangs on barely and I'm running down the stairs and to the second floor entryway and through the door...

...and she drops from the railing and down all the way to the first floor and I hear the CRACK-CRACK of both of her legs snapping on impact and she screams in agony but she's up on both broken legs and trying to limp up the stairs...

...and the door to the second floor closes on the stairwell.

I'm now trapped in the building with a for-now injured bot-ridden.

Oh... and my knuckles are bleeding.

I may be infested as well.

#reddit #nosleep #scary #story

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