#so i do the PT. the pain gets exponentially worse

[eu1a1awrence]

why is health so. Like That.

#i went to the drs about my back pain and they were like ‘do this PT you’ve probably slipped a disc’ #so i do the PT. the pain gets exponentially worse #i discover that my grandmother and my uncle (blood related) both have Missing Spinal Discs #not degenerative just straight up missing #the pt is making everything worse #cant get in contact with my gp because im 19 and ‘able bodied’ #and obviously 19 year olds cant have chronic pain or fatigue or whatever #i dont have the spoons to chase it up but i dont have the spoons to continue on Like This #my god

[matchavellichor]

Just This Once Pt. 2

dark!Ominis x f!MC - NSFW/Angst - 3.4k words

Tags: !!Non-con!!, Pining, Obsession, Drugged Sex, Somnophilia, Cunnilingus

Part 1, Part 3 ☆ﾐ(o*･ω･)ﾉ

“You alright, Ominis?” 

“Fine,” Ominis forces a tight-lipped smile. He’s been nursing the same glass of firewhiskey for most of the evening, barely able to get it down. “Just tired.”

Sebastian gives a sigh as he stands, only wobbling slightly. He knows that look on his friend’s face, the familiar I don’t want to be here, but I’m too polite to leave. 

“Why don’t you help her back to Slytherin then? I’m gonna stay a while and she’s clearly had enough.” He nods to where their friend is warring against a black-out, slumped against the garrish scarlet cushions of one of the common room couches.

Sebastian chuckles as he helps her from her seat, stilling her wrists when she playfully swats at him and insists she’s fine. She’s deposited in Ominis’ arms before he can get a word in.

She stops her grumbling when she realizes who’s holding her up, blinking up at him for a moment before her lips curl into a pleased smile. “You’re still here, Omi?”

“Still here,” he murmurs, trying to keep his breathing even when she loops her arm with his to steady herself.

He meanders the both of them through the noisy Gryffindor common room, out into the cool, dimly-lit hallway. She hums one of the old tavern tunes the Gryffindors have been belting the entire night, slurring all the words the entire journey towards the dungeons. He bites the inside of his cheek, pretending he isn’t amused.

She leans on him, her fingers curling around his bicep for support, as she stumbles through the coiling serpent door, and that familiar ache manifests itself in his gut. 

He ignores it. He’s done a good job of ignoring it so far, hasn’t laid a finger on her—just like he promised. He isn’t a bad person, after all. He won’t do what he did to her again. It was a one-time thing, just to scratch an itch, and he’s more than capable of suffering in silence from now on, the same way he always has. 

By the time they finally cut through the Slytherin common room, he’s practically carrying her. She’s dozing off with her head on his shoulder, soft and pliant in his arms, and he feels this strange sort of tightening feeling in his chest.

He’s felt that dull, longing pain for a while. This is exponentially worse, as if his pining has finally culminated into something unbearable. He grinds his teeth and holds his breath and pretends he doesn’t feel tempted to bury his nose in her hair, to inhale until his inhibitions melt away and he does something stupid.

He sets her down on her feet when he reaches the stairs to the girls’ dormitories, but has to hold her up to keep her from falling over. Her words are stumbled over, soft and broken by yawns. “D’you think…you could bring me up?”

“You know I can’t,” he sighs. “Wards.”

She frowns, looking up at him. “Then…bring me to yours?” 

He immediately shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea—”

“Oh, come on,” her fingers curl into the front of his shirt and he’s suddenly acutely aware of just how close she is. It’s suffocating, in a dreadfully pleasant way. He never thought he could find asphyxiation appealing, but he’s learned by now to not put anything past her. “Please?” 

She pleads so pretty. He thinks of how she sounded back in the Undercroft, when he had her body pinned underneath his. Heat pools in that spot just below his navel and he suppresses a shudder. He runs a hand down his face to disperse the memory, nodding jerkily. “Yeah, al-alright. Fine.”

He shouldn’t give in so easily. He finds himself in possession of very little faculties to refuse her absolutely anything.

//

Ominis mutters a few locking charms as soon as he carries her into the quiet of his empty dorm. For her privacy, he tells himself, and ignores that contrite little voice in his head that knows it’s for something more. He pretends he doesn’t feel some sick satisfaction in knowing he has her all to himself.

It’d be easy to do it all again, he thinks. Perhaps even easier than the first time, with her state.

The thought leaves his head as quickly as it comes. He won’t. He has control over this. He has control over himself, most importantly. However, the longer he’s around her, the more she presses her body into his, the less convinced he is of the fact.

He takes a sharp breath and sits her down on the edge of his bed to unlace her boots for her. Her calves are small in his hands, delicate. There’s something appealing about that realization that he doesn’t stop to dwell on. 

When he’s done, he helps her brush her teeth and comb her hair. It’s strangely domestic. Once again, he tries not to think about the warm, fuzzy feeling it gives him. He knows by now he has no right to crave such things. Wholesomeness isn’t for people who imperius and molest their friends.

He can’t help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth when she flops down onto his bed, tangling herself in silky emerald sheets. “Smells nice,” she murmurs, voice muffled with her face buried in his pillow.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever wash those sheets again.

He hovers near the foot of the bed, hands tucked chastely in his pockets, posture awkwardly stiff. He clears his throat. “You—uh, you should probably take a sober-up.”

She props herself up on her elbows to look at him, tilting her head with a pout. “That’s no fun.”

He rubs the back of his neck. “I think you’ve had enough fun for one night.”

She falls back onto the pillows with a groan. “Fine.”

He kneels in front of the bedside table he shares with Sebastian, rummaging through the drawers in search of a sober-up he’s sure the brunette certainly keeps in store.

His hand brushes a familiar vial, and for a brief moment he forgets about the potion he’s supposed to be looking for, in favor of thumbing over the worn label he knows too well.

He used to take it whenever his anxiety got too bad, when sleep was scarce because of nightmares. He’s more than familiar with the side-effects—only a bit more potent than a calming draught, really. Makes him drowsy, helps him sleep.

A thought passes through his head, but this time it lingers.

He closes the drawer with his knee and hovers over where she’s still curled on his bed, the dull edges of the vial biting into his skin where he’s tightened his fist around it.

It isn’t like he’s drugging her. He takes the potion himself. He’s just helping her relax a bit, that’s all.

“Here,” he brushes a hand over her shoulder to get her attention, her warmth seeping through the linen of her blouse to his palm. He resists the urge to dip his hand under the hem of her collar, skin-to-skin. “Can you open your mouth for me?”

He pretends he doesn’t feel the little flicker of heat that manifests in his stomach when she obeys, parted lips brushing his fingertips, looking up at him through her lashes. 

He uncorks the dropper from the vial and drips a few more drops than the recommended dose on her tongue, and then a couple more. Her nose wrinkles from the bitter taste, but she swallows nonetheless. “Gross.”

He huffs a laugh, helping her lay back down. “A bit.”

“Thank you,” she sighs, eyes half-lidded. He finds he likes the dazed quality of her voice a bit too much. “You’re a savior, Omi.”

He forces a smile and swallows down the guilt he feels burrowed in his chest. His mouth tastes bitter. “It’s no problem, really.” 

He goes to tug the comforter over her body but she protests, limbs feeling too heavy to use properly. He gets a strange sort of thrill when he feels how weakly she pushes at his wrists. 

“Need—need to take this off first,” she murmurs, voice already softened.

She tugs at the laces of her bodice, but her fingers are languid and clumsy, lacking too much dexterity to untie them. The potion is fast-acting, he notes with a disgusting amount of satisfaction. She looks up at him for help, guiding his hands to the front of her blouse. He swallows the lump in his throat. “Right—uh, sure.”

He tries to still the trembling in his fingers as he unworks the latticework of ribbons, but he supposes she’s too bleary now to even notice. He helps her shrug off the garment, her arms limp when he holds them up to pull the fabric over her head. That little flickering heat in his gut is stoked higher when he notes how perfectly her two wrists fit in just one of his hands. 

He likes her like this, maybe to an alarming degree. Weak and pliant. It reminds him of her state under the Imperius, trance-like, bending to his will because she lacks the capacity to do much else.

He helps her shimmy out of her skirt as well, even though she never asks him to. She doesn’t protest. Just lets his hands adjust her as he sees fit. He doesn’t linger on the fact that she’s only letting him because she doesn’t have the power to voice any objections, much less stop him.

That tiny, wanton flame inside him has been fed into an all-consuming fire, far too zealous to allow even a shadow of guilt to hinder his actions. 

The chemise she wears underneath her clothes is sheer, barely reaching the tops of her knees. Easy to tear, he thinks as he smooths his hand down her hip, only briefly. She lets out a soft sigh and he pulls back. Still too lucid.

Temptation is a pretty thing tangled in his sheets, donned in thin, satiny fabrics.

It’d be so easy to take. The thought comes and sticks, even as he tries to rid himself of it. It’s tacky, enticing, gluing itself to the walls of his brain.

He wouldn’t even need to use an Unforgivable again, not like last time. No breaking any promises—though he notes that the thought of doing so is less nausea-inducing now than the first time. The idea more digestible. He doesn’t dwell on the implications behind that.

He unclasps the first few buttons of his shirt as he waits for her breathing to finally steady out. It isn’t long before she’s out like a light.

He sits on the adjacent bed, but only for a moment before his anxiety makes him pace the room. His thoughts are a mess, alternating between staying as far away from her as possible and sinking into her very skin. He chews on his nails while the latter begins to take dominance, until he ultimately finds himself hovering over the side of his bed.

It’s not like he hasn’t touched her before while she’s sleeping. He’s traced her features a couple times, gently, just to get an idea of what she looks like. This isn’t any different. He won’t do anything terrible.

He knows with certainty that Sebastian and their other dorm mate won’t be in until dawn breaks, he’s more than accustomed with their party habits by now. The situation is almost too perfect. When will he ever have her like this again? Drowsy and willing, all to himself, in his bed.

The mattress creaks as he sits himself on the edge. She doesn’t move an inch. His heart hammers in his chest, but he reaches a hand out anyway, tentatively running his hand down the soft outline of her figure, bathed in silk. He wants to feel her, though, so he brushes his fingertips, feather-light, where her shoulder is peeking out from under the covers.

It’s easy to not feel guilty when this is something familiar. 

Tentatively, he pulls the covers down to her waist. When she doesn’t stir, he pulls them back the rest of the way, exposing her to him. Gooseflesh prickles over her skin as it comes in contact with the cool air of the room and he runs his hands down her arms to soothe it. She’s somehow softer than he remembers, sensitive and sleep-warm.

She shifts in her sleep, but he isn’t deterred like he usually is. He knows that with the effects of the potion she won’t wake, at least not fully. That familiar course of adrenaline courses through his veins at the thought of not having to be as cautious as he usually is. Being able to touch at will. It’s exhilarating, in the most terrible way possible. 

He bunches her chemise over her waist in one pull. The material glides over her skin with ease, and she gives little protest, nothing more in the way of a soft exhale, a gentle murmur. The sound courses through his very core, all the way south. He’s sick with curiosity about what other sounds he can coax from her, fingers hovering over the bare expanse of her midriff.

He’s filled with the urge to know her in all the ways he hasn’t yet, having kept all his prior explorations strictly above-belt. The unknown beckons to him, every inch of her he hasn’t touched or tasted, teeming under his skin until it aches. 

He runs a thumb across the hem of her knickers, gentle, patient—even if at the moment it’s like he hasn’t the faintest idea of the definition of the world. It doesn’t take very long for him to exhaust the small amount of hesitation he does possess.

He shifts over her on the bed, climbing down her body, hands trailing adoration on her skin with exploratory curiosity. He digs his fingers a little too hard into her hips and she lets out a whimper, soft and barely audible. He finds he quite likes the sound.

She squirms in place, hips shying away from him in her sleep and he hushes her, soothing the skin with soft, little circles stroked by his thumb.

He presses his lips right above her navel, trailing kisses down her stomach, and she keens under the sensation, stretching like a purring kitten. He smirks against her skin. So receptive, even unconscious. 

As he trails down to his destination, he noses softly at every curve and bow he can reach, slow and appreciative. She’s gorgeous, all soft features and gentle silhouettes. He finds himself wanting to run his tongue over every contour until he memorizes her with his mouth.

He treats her as if he’s at an altar, kneeled in not only solemn adoration, but grave penitence for what he knows he plans to do with her. He supposes it’s always best to pray for forgiveness, then ask for permission. 

When he gets to the hem of her knickers, he plies her legs wider to accommodate him, pinning one of her thighs to the mattress. She obliges so easily, limbs loose and limp, so he tugs the other over his shoulder. 

His breath hovers over her clothed core and that familiar contrite little voice murmurs a flurry in his head. He finds it’s so much easier to tune it out now, especially as he presses his mouth to the gusset of her knickers for the first time and his brain whites out in bliss.

He wouldn’t be able to suppress the groan he lets out if he had all the willpower in the world.

It isn’t long before he’s hastily pulling the thin cotton down her thighs, any sort of barrier between them a personal affront to his sanity. Something tears but he finds himself in no capacity to care. She does little to stop him, only shifting futilely in her sleep, but he has his arm anchored across her thigh to still her squirming.

He licks a stripe with the flat of his tongue, just to finally taste her, to acquiesce the pounding in his ears and that familiar rush of blood south. She tastes like heaven, and he knows that after all he’s done it’s the closest he’ll ever get.

His fingers dig into tender flesh so hard he’s sure he’ll leave marks as he starts to lap at her in earnest, unable to stop himself. Breathy little sighs hitch in her throat, turning into soft moans as he takes his time, exploring every millimeter his tongue can reach.

“S’gorgeous,” he slurs, lips sticky against her cunt. “Gods, you taste so good.”

He wraps his lips around her clit and sucks, and the noise she lets out is almost enough to make him finish in his pants. He can tell her brain’s struggling to breach consciousness, hips rocking languidly against his mouth, the softest murmurs escaping her lips. He pays little mind to them, continuing to devote himself to tasting her fully.

He takes one of her hands that are pawing weakly at the sheet beneath her, placing it on top of his head. Her fingers immediately find purchase in his hair, eliciting a groan from him as he circles her clit with his tongue in tight little circles.

Her breathing is stuttered, uneven. “Om–Omin–”

“That’s it, angel, say my name,” he hums, her voice making him throb in his pants where he’s been rutting mindlessly against the mattress. “You sound so pretty. Fuck, my sweet, sweet girl.”

Her fingers tighten in his hair, a bit too softly for his tastes due to her semi-lucid state, but enough to earn a moan from him nonetheless. He feels the muscles in her abdomen tighten when he braces a forearm across her middle to pin her to the bed, stilling her helpless writhing, and he knows she’s close. He doesn’t plan on stopping until she’s coming on his tongue, no matter how much she begs.

Feeling her try to resist him makes him ache in his trousers, her hands pushing weakly at his head. He latches his mouth to her clit and sucks until he feels her heels dig into his back and a sob is torn from her throat as she’s pushed over the edge. 

He grinds his hips into the mattress as he rides her through her climax, grunting expletives against her skin. Her chest heaves, arms loose at her sides as she hiccups through tears, coming down from her high.

Her legs tremble around his head and he kisses the insides of her thighs, listening to her breathless, incoherent little murmurs that he can’t quite make out. He can’t help the blissed satisfaction he feels, thumbs rubbing soft circles on her hip bones. 

He climbs over her, chin sticky as he leaves kisses in his ascent. “I know, baby, I know,” he hushes when she squirms, voice hoarse. “Just a dream. Go back to sleep.”

He wipes the wetness from her cheeks, damp lashes fluttering in her attempts to gain some viable form of consciousness. He smiles to himself knowing the effects of the potion will keep her perfectly limp and drowsy for him.

He noses at her temple, stroking her hair while he waits for her breathing to steady out again. “Was that good, angel? Did I make you feel good?”

She doesn’t respond, and he knows her brain is too addled with sleep and endorphins to even hear him. He rambles praises anyway, lips pressed to her forehead, his heart so full in his chest it might burst.

“I love you,” he whispers, collecting her in his arms and tucking her into his side, even if the rational part of his brain advises against it. He can’t help but want her close. “I love you so much, it hurts.”

The inside of his trousers is sticky with the evidence of his own climax, but he can’t be bothered to feel the shame he normally feels, too caught up in the feeling of her body against his. He plants kisses to the crown of her head and pretends he’s holding her because she wants to be held.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs sometime after into the stillness of her soft breathing, exhaustion tugging at his eyelids. He isn’t, not really. Being sorry implies he won’t do it again. Something he’s able to admit by now he knows isn’t true. “I’m so sorry.” 

He closes his eyes and pretends he is. 

#hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy smut #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt x mc #hogwarts legacy imagine #hogwarts legacy fanfiction #hogwarts legacy mc #ominis gaunt fanfiction #dark fic

[gwydionmisha]

The Damages

So it turns out everything the PT said to me except the part about how to put on a shirt post injury was misinformation. We went to the appointment so they could show me how to wear the real sling and I showed him the angle she had me where the Special fat people torture sling and he was like: That's not how you wear a sling, but they do it that way on TV a lot. O.o I'd had my entire arm in a stress position for two weeks while healing from shoulder replacement because the PT taught me to torture myself because she had no idea how slings work.

At some point late last week I started thinking of the way little kids play being a Doctor with stuffed animals. The way the PT handled my arm was about as accurate to medical practice as my sister when she was small taping up a stuffed animal's arm pretending it was broken.

She was so very, very confident in her ignorance.

All that dance and martial arts training I had made everything worse. My body is an absolute ruin that literally eats itself, but there is a particular kind of physical self discipline that is so ingrained it never goes away.

You tell me to hold a position or do a particular movement no matter how weird or awkward, I will study it and then work persistently until I get so I can do it over and over and over correctly or hold it as long as you need me to or whatever. I will work up slowly as I need too, but I do the thing over and over for longer and longer day after day after day.

This is why I did so well at pre-op physio. Doesn't matter if I hurt. Doesn't matter if I'm exhausted. I kept working the program right up to the edge of what I could do without doing damage that would slow progress. All those years as an athlete I'm good at telling pain that's just pain from pain that means stop.

You tell me it is essential to hold these incredibly difficult and painful positions to speed recovery, I slowly, persistently, relentlessly do terrible things to myself, which is a problem if the person giving orders has no idea what they are doing and is telling me the opposite of the correct things.

So then we go to the post surgical doctor appointment and have to explain it all again. The face of the PA and the little sound she made when I said the PT had confiscated the sling they'd put on me for a generic XL. The way her mouth went thin and expression hardened when I explained the PT had made very clear we had to do this because of my size and her fast and furious typing. The tone in the Doctor's voice when he said, "They took your sling?" (I used to sound like that when I was teaching and about to bring the hammer down on one of the instigator kids.) All the other careful questions from the Doctor.

I should be ready to do serious PT now. Instead I'm having to work my ass of with the goal of getting my arm back to as undamaged as it was three or four days after surgery.

I am furious. I did everything right and did my damnedest to do everything they told me until I physically couldn't because of the exponential damage. I endured two weeks of extreme sleep dep and stress positions on wounded limbs and blood circulation restriction for nothing. I could have been sleeping and resting the arm between short gentle physio exercises they didn't even hurt until the arm got too damaged to do them.

She stole all this from me and the time and effort it's going to take to get me back to where I could have been if the hospital had just handed us printed directions and sent me home instead of sending a PT to misinform me and make me wear the wrong sling.

So yeah, that sure is fun to live with.

I did tell them that I'm worried it could happen to someone else because they do a lot of shoulder replacements at the hospital. Problem is, I don't know her name. They did keep asking, because they also clearly don't want this terrible thing. Surely there must be records of who was on shift that day, mustn't there be?

They think there won't be real permanent damage, but Squirrel took me for an x-ray today to see if there is anything needing fixing because of Missinformation PT. I am worried about the possibilities of more procedures because I'm not convinced I should take even tramadol for a few months, and I need to let my stomach recover from all that tylanol.

The arm hurts of course, but I'm used to pain and am very, very good at enduring it. Which worked against me the last two weeks, of course, but in the ordinary run of things lets me function with daily chronic pain that would lay ableds flat. I have one of the best non-narcotic prescription arthritis meds, one not normally covered by medicare, but which my allergies give me access too. The Doctor was a little alarmed that my ordinary daily meds are my entire pain management plan at this stage of post surgical recovery, but while unpleasant, this is fine. Like within my normal range of how much pain I randomly wake up with and significantly less pain than say the week before surgery.

I think it's hard for ableds to conceptualize just how hard this level of chronic pain/illness is to live with. I think the permanence and extremity of it is hard to conceptualize if you don;t live with it and never had say cancer of a really bad accident with a long recovery.

So I'm back to slowly, persistently, relentlessly working the program. I can already straighten my arm and am back on pendulums. My arm, shoulder, hand, etc. have forgotten what natural resting positions, feel like, but I'm working on it. The stiffness and mild numbness in my hand are annoying, but supposedly temporary. The flexeril is really helping with the contracted, spasmed muscles in my back neck and shoulder and not having to prop the injured arm into a painful stress position during sleep is a lot easier. I am cleared to side sleep, but it pulls the incisions and the damaged shoulder too much, but soon, soon. I've already worked out a prop system for back sleeping that mostly supports the arm in a natural angle. I could have been sleeping like this this whole time. Makes me want to weep.

I'm still having to type with just the off hand. I'm better at it than I was, but it tires easily. I write a while, but need to rest it, and how much I can do at a time varies. This means it may still be a little while until regular service on things like the aggregate will resume. I will let you all know how it goes.

#Personal

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

#writing #please fix the story #sci fi #world hopping #memory loss #giant robots #aliens #more memories #call back to the peeled apples from the zombie arc if anyone remembers that far back #so happy to post this part finally. #weight off my chest

[neocityarchive]

ends | mark lee (pt 3)

summary | part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

Mark’s POV

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: none

Chapter Summary: “I saw how happy you made her. No one could compare to that. That wasn’t something in your head. It was real, and everyone around you can see it, too.”

Mark walked out of the SM building. He was going to check on Hyuck who has been gone for nearly twenty minutes just to get coffee. Even if there was a line at the cafe, he wouldn’t take this long. He probably got distracted by something again.

Mark wanted to get coffee for himself as well. If this was two months ago, he would have easily told Hyuck what he wanted, no question. But something between them is just not right at the moment. He wanted to fix it, but how can he when he had no idea where and why it started to go wrong?

He turned at the corner and immediately stopped in his tracks. Hyuck was there but he wasn’t alone.

She was there, too, hugging Hyuck who was trying not to spill six cups of coffee in his hands.

Mark counted. One. Two. Three… four... five counts before she let go.

His heart skipped a beat. He hasn’t seen her since the day they broke up. So many times he wanted to call her to ask her how she’s doing. So many times he typed a good night text out of habit before realizing he shouldn’t. So many times he looked at her face on the wallpaper of his phone, telling himself he should change it, but he never had the guts to.

And now she’s here, as beautiful as ever. She was smiling up to her eyes, a look he had seen so many times before, but this time, she was looking at someone else. It wasn’t even a look that screams admiration. It was just a look of pure respect, but somehow, it still hurt.

“I’m the biggest idiot,” he told himself with a sigh.

Before Mark knew it, Y/N was walking away and Hyuck was coming his way. He bowed his head and continued walking as if nothing happened, partly hoping Hyuck won't recognize him.

Mark was knocked out of his thoughts when Renjun patted him on the back. He was already saying his ment which meant that Mark is next.

He looked at the crowd. For the most part, it was green. That alone made him thankful. The Dreamies told him to introduce the next song. Everyone cheered, but nothing felt right. He always feels so alive on the stage like nothing could possibly go wrong. But today, not even the screams of the fans could lift his mood up.

“Alright, so this next song,” Mark started, desperately trying to clear his head, “it’s one of those songs that play between happy and sad. It’s one of my favorite songs that we’ve ever released. It actually has a much deeper meaning if you allow yourself to think about it. And lately…”

He thought of all the times he wished he could hold Y/N’s hands a little longer, to talk to her a little more. He remembered secretly wanting her to miss the last bus just so he could spend time with her a bit more and walk her home. It seems they’ve already ran out of those moments.

“Lately, it made me realize how scary it is  to think how you could lose someone at the blink of an eye, how you could say goodbye before realizing you’re not ready to let go of them at all.” His voice nearly cracked but he cleared his throat.

“Mark hyung sounds so worried about his graduation this year,” Hyuck teased, trying to change the mood. He was smiling, but something in his eyes felt threatening.

The audience awed. But everyone on the stage knew what Mark really meant.

After seeing Hyuck’s gaze, Mark quickly changed the subject. “Unfortunately, this is our last song for today. So think of it as our parting gift for you. But we’ll see each other again, right?” He pointed his mic to the crowd.

They cheered. The Dreamies smiled.

“This song’s called Walk You Home.”

The song started. He could feel the pressure of six eyes beside him, looking worriedly. The internal atmosphere within the group is so far from that of the crowd. Mark felt guilty.

He knew he hasn’t been 100%. He tries to hide it as he always does, but the boys always know when something is off. They haven’t been acting normal around him lately, like they’re trying too hard not to be a pain in the ass, but it just made him more uncomfortable.

When the song ended, they said their goodbyes and went backstage. Mark went straight to the dressing room.

Then the boys entered one by one.

He was just on his phone, staring at his lockscreen for far too long, not unlocking it, but not allowing the screen to turn dark either. It was like he was waiting for something to pop up, but he wasn’t sure what.

“Hyung,” Jeno said. “Are you okay?”

Mark nodded. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“You‘ve been staring at Y/N’s face on your phone for too long,” Renjun said. “It’s not going to talk.”

“Why is her face still there anyway? Aren’t you guys supposed to be over?” Jaemin asked.

“I, um, I just forgot to change it. I got used to this one so…” Mark cleared his throat, putting his phone in his pocket. “I wasn’t even looking at her face.”

“Then why are you staring at your phone like an idiot?” Renjun asked.

“He’s waiting for something,” Chenle said.

Hyuck sighed as he took off his mic. “Hyung, that ‘great job on your stage today’ text won’t arrive because you broke up with the person who used to send you that, remember?”

Jisung’s eyes shifted uncomfortably from Mark to Haechan then back to Mark.

Mark didn’t reply. He just took his mic and in-ear off quietly. Hyuck has been slyly giving him comments like that since the break up and he was always too tired to argue. Mostly because he’s right.

“Why did you even break up with her? She used to bring us sushi after our events. Now we just settle for instant ramen,” Chenle said.

Jisung frowned. “But you love instant ramen.”

“Sure, but sushi??? For free???”

“And a non-toxic, unawkward atmosphere in the dressing room, plus a much happier Mark hyung?” Renjun added. “It makes us miss Y/N.”

“It’s about time we ask. Why did you break up, Hyung?” Jeno asked, his tone genuinely curious.

“You brats, why are we talking about this? Aren’t you all tired already?” Mark sighed.

Hyuck snorted. “We are, but when we’re tired, we just rest. We don’t break up with our girlfriends.”

“We don’t have girlfriends,” Jisung noted.

Jaemin rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks for bringing that up.”

“We broke up because that’s what people do when they don’t love each other anymore, okay? Are you happy now?” Mark snapped, throwing his in-ear to its box.

On the other side of the room, Mark heard Hyuck mutter, “That is the dumbest excuse I’ve ever heard.”

“What did you say?”

“I said you’re a fool,” Hyuck jibed. “You’re nothing but a selfish naive little shit who can’t appreciate what you have when you have it. You have no right– absolutely no right to feel this sorry for yourself when you’ve hurt someone far worse than this.”

“What’s your problem?” Mark challenged.

“Donghyuck, don’t—“ Jeno tried. But Hyuck couldn’t be bothered.

“No,” he said. “I’m sick of seeing you look so down all the time when you’re the one who broke up with her. If breakups happen because people stopped loving each other, then you shouldn’t have broken up in the first place. Literally everyone can see how much you still love her, and the whole world knows she still loves you. Maybe if you just cared enough to look past your selfish reasons, you wouldn’t be in this shit right now. But you know what? You brought this upon yourself. You deserve this. But Y/N? She doesn’t. So why don’t you think about that?”

Mark couldn’t speak. His face slowly turned into a frown, not because he was mad but because he was confused. He didn’t know what just happened. One moment, they were just teasing him, and now Hyuck just snapped at him about his breakup. 

“I don’t understand,” he said, “why does my breakup with Y/N even bother you this much?”

Hyuck pursed his lips. He had something to say but decided against it. Instead, he just turned around and walked towards the door. “I don’t have time for this. Tell the 127 hyungs I’m sleeping at the Dreamies’ dorms tonight. If they asked why, tell them,” he said.

The Dreamies groaned in protest.

“Shut up,” Hyuck just said before walking out completely.

Just like that, he was gone. The tension and awkwardness in the dressing room increased exponentially that the guys started leaving one by one until Mark was left alone with even more questions, and a whole level of hate directed at no one but himself.

2 weeks have passed since the incident. Hyuck is back at the 127 dorms but he and Mark still barely see each other. When they do, they don’t talk. No one questioned it, but the rumor circled around the group pretty quickly. No one dared approach Mark about it, not even Doyoung who usually had a say about everything.

A few days ago, Mark went out for a walk to clear his mind. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. The only two people who he felt could understand what he was going through wasn’t there for him anymore.

He didn’t mind where he was going since his mind was as busy as his feet. It was too late when he realized he was walking across the street of the building where Y/N was working. It was out of the way from work or anywhere the group usually goes to. So he was surprised to see Hyuck leaned against the wall of said building, clearly waiting for someone.

Y/N appeared a few minutes later. She had that same big smile on her face when she saw him. It didn’t look like it was a surprise. They hugged and started walking towards the opposite direction where Mark was headed to, immersed in talking to each other.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the road, Mark stood dumbfounded. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He was watching his girl go out with his best friend with a smile she used to have while looking at him. Hyuck was doing everything he used to.

Does she like him? he thought. He couldn’t even answer himself.

Mark wanted to ask Hyuck about that night when he got back at the dorms, but whenever he even went close, Hyuck would take one look at him and leave the room.

There had been no contact between them since the dressing room incident, or when they’re forced to talk to each other on screen… until today, when Hyuck texted Mark asking to meet him. It came so much a surprise that Mark wondered if the Dreamies were just pranking him.

“마크 바보 (Mark idiot), meet me at xxxxx cafe in 20 minutes. k?”

But no one other than Hyuck calls him an idiot without so much as a ‘hyung.’

Mark replied okay. He didn’t know what this was about, but despite the fact that he’s been in his pajamas all day or that today is his only rest day for the whole week or that it was already 8 in the evening, he was ready faster than he is on most mornings.

When he arrived, Hyuck was at the corner of the cafe. His back was facing the rest of the world so Mark snuck up on him easily.

“Why did you call me here?” he asked as he sat down across from him.

The cafe was half full but no one minded anyone. Everyone was on their laptops and cellphones and college textbooks.

“I wanted to talk,” Hyuck said, sipping from his cup.

“Why not just at the dorms?”

“Why can’t you just shut up?” Hyuck sighed. “I was out today and I didn’t want to go back to the dorms yet. I’m sick of hearing Doyoung hyung nagging at me to talk to you.”

“But you’re talking to me right now,” Mark pointed out.

Hyuck glared at him, making Mark feel stupid. He’s a scary person in general. Sure, he’s adorable in the eyes of many, but God, the way his mind works is on another level. Hyuck could plan something that’s months in the making. He is a great deceiver and he loves it.

“I just want to say I’m sorry,” Hyuck said, his eyes averting Mark’s gaze, “for lashing out on you in the dressing room. And for making bad faces at you behind your back, and also for telling Johnny hyung that you’re the one who stole his sandwich.”

“But I‘m not–” Mark tried to protest. Johnny clearly warned everyone not to touch his sandwich. He got it from a restaurant on the other side of town.

“That’s not the point,” Hyuck cut in. “I know I’ve been horrible to you lately–more than usual, I mean. And I’m sorry.”

Mark’s eyebrows furrowed. “That’s okay, but… why?”

Hyuck let out a deep breath. “Because you’re an idiot,” he said. “I hate what you did to Y/N. And I hate that I sort of helped you do it.”

Mark’s face contorted even more, completely confused.

“You were at a crisis, remember? You thought you were falling out of love because you’re so tired of keeping up your relationship with her,” Hyuck said. “Then I told you that if you wanted to, just break up with her. Somehow, I feel like that helped convince you to do it. And you did.”

Mark nodded. He remembered that day. He still couldn’t imagine Y/N listening to their conversation. He couldn’t imagine what it must have been like for her to hear him talk about how he wanted to give up on them. Suddenly, he wanted to punch himself for it.

“After that, I couldn’t contact her. We were just friends, but you hurt her so much that she didn’t want anything to do with you. So she cut me off, too.” Hyuck explained.

“I still don’t understand why it’s a big deal for you,” Mark said quietly.

“Because!” he exclaimed before muttering under his breath, “Damn. You really are so stupid sometimes.” He sighed. “Isn’t it obvious? I like her.”

Silence.

“Since when?” Mark asked, his voice soft.

“Even before you started dating. I liked her ever since she started coming to our schedules and we got to talk more. I liked her even when she told me she’s starting to have feelings for you. I liked her even when you two started going out. I told myself to stop, and believe me I tried so hard to. But I can’t. So I learned to settle for the friendly texts we send each other, just goofing around. And when you two broke up, even that was taken from me.”

Mark stared at him. “I had no idea,” he said. “I… I’m sorry.”

“I didn’t tell anyone except for Jeno,” Hyuck said. “And he only knows because he caught me smiling so much when she texted that one time.”

“Wow.” Mark didn’t even know what to say. After all this time, he didn’t even notice. He felt bad for being selfish. Maybe Hyuck was really good at hiding his feelings that the thought of him liking Y/N never occurred to Mark. But still, there are questions he needed answered. 

“So when I saw you two the other night outside her work, does this mean…” Mark cleared his throat. Even the thought of it makes him want to cry. “Are you guys seeing each other now? Is that what you’re going to tell me?”

Hyuck frowned. “You saw us?”

“I–I didn’t mean to. I was walking around and somehow ended up there. Force of habit, I guess.”

Hyuck shook his head. “We only agreed to meet because we promised each other we’d catch up,” he said. “Hyung, I know I said I like her, but I never wanted her for myself. I know what I am to her and I’m fine with it. I’m working my way to get out of my feelings, because believe me, it does hurt–” he chocked out a laugh. “But I saw how happy you two were. I saw how happy you made her. No one could compare to that. That wasn’t something in your head. It was real, and everyone around you can see it, too.”

Mark looked away. A lot of people had told him that for the past two months. He was getting sick of hearing them rub in his face what he lost. But maybe he deserved it. I was too naive, Mark thought. And not just about Y/N but about Hyuck too.

He can’t imagine being in Hyuck’s shoes. Come to think of it, he was always there for her whenever Mark and Y/N would fight. He’d always be the one to talk some sense into Mark. That’s what he’s doing here again, Mark realized.

“She still loves you.” Hyuck bit his lip. “She loves you so much. I know, because she broke down crying when I said I think you still love her, too.”

A tear escaped from Mark’s eye. He wiped it off immediately, but it was only the beginning of many. He didn’t want to cry in front of Hyuck. He wouldn't hear the end of it. But it seems he couldn’t help himself either.

“Hyung, you found something special. I’m sure you already know how big a mistake you made by letting her go. So I’m begging you please, don’t be your usual stupid self when you get the chance again. And you will get the chance again. Because you do, right?” Hyuck asked. “You still love her?”

Mark couldn’t speak. He was too busy trying not to make himself cry. He feels like his head is going to explode.

“You don’t have to answer,” Hyuck said. “You wouldn’t be trying so hard not to cry right now if you don’t.”

Mark let out a weak laugh before burying his head in his hands. Then he broke down, crumbling like a delicate porcelain. “I messed up, Donghyuck,” he sobbed. “I really messed up.”

“You did,” Hyuck agreed. “But the Mark hyung I know isn’t going to be stopped by that. Now, stop crying in public. Someone might recognize us.”

He wiped the tears from his eyes as much as he can and tried to compose himself. He didn’t think anyone was paying attention to them, but still, Hyuck was right.

“Promise me, you’re going to make this right.” Hyuck said.

Mark nodded. “I promise.”

Hyuck looked at his phone. “Alright. I have to go now. You wait here for ten minutes before going out after me okay? I don’t want to be seen with you.”

“Are you serious?!”

“Yes,” Hyuck answered. “Use this time to absorb everything.”

“Whatever. Just go.” Mark sighed.

Hyuck rolled his eyes.

“And thank you,” Mark said.

He smiled. “Don’t thank me yet.”

Mark wasn’t sure what he meant, but before he could ask, he was already gone. Everytime Hyuck walks out, Mark is always left with more questions.

He stared at the almost empty cup of coffee that Hyuck left and let his thoughts run wild. He remembered all the times he would catch him staring at Y/N when she’s laughing. Mark always thought he was annoyed by it, but apparently, it was otherwise. God, Hyuck liked her even before he did and he never got the chance.

And now, he wants Mark to make things right with Y/N. But how could he? He was too ashamed to call her or even text her. He couldn’t bear to see her after what he did. He doesn’t know how she’s been like lately, but from what Hyuck said, it didn’t sound good. What he needs right now is more time to think.

Mark checked the time on his phone. It hasn’t been ten minutes but he was pretty sure Hyuck was too far from the cafe already. He decided to leave.

Just as he was about to stand from his table, the bell from the cafe door rang. He looked up. Suddenly, the whole world was quiet, like everything stopped moving for a second, and all that mattered was the person that just walked through the door.

It was her. She was looking around, as if trying to find someone. Her lips were in a small pout like they always are when she’s concentrating.

Mark couldn’t move, but somehow, he felt as if he was sinking to his chair.

Her eyes wandered around the cafe until it landed on his. She gasped, then blinked three times. For a moment, she looked lost, but then she shook her head and started walking towards Mark who was still frozen.

“Hi,” she said, looking at him but averting his gaze almost immediately.

He wanted to look away, but he couldn’t. He was pissing himself, trying to find the words to say, but his mind was malfunctioning at the moment. He didn’t know what to do. This is the most nervous he’d been in his whole life and that says a lot.

Mark stood up, took a deep breath, and mustered all the energy he could. “Y/N,” he said. “H-hi.”

#WOW IM SO SAD ABOUT THIS #i hope i dont delete the previous parts this time ksksks #nct au #nct mark lee #nct haechan #nct mark au #mark lee #nct imagines #nct scenarios #nct angst au #nct angst #angst #nct sad hours #haechan au #donghyuck au #nct dream au #nct dream #nct au series #mark #haechan #mark x reader

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Try, Try Again (pt. 9)

(Cpt 1) | (Cpt 2) | (Cpt 3) | (Cpt 4) | (Cpt 5) | (Cpt 6) | (Cpt 7) | (Cpt 8) ||  (AO3)

It’s Rex Time, babey!

Chapter 9 (2069 words)

It had been one week since Rex first landed in Apocalypseburg. One week since he’d taken Emmet’s place and started working to change the way everyone saw him.

The plan was simple - he’d get them all used to the idea of Emmet being tough, perform a few mind-blowing feats, and then when Emmet came back he could just step right into Rex’s newly vacated shoes.

Except that when he came back, he wouldn’t really be Emmet anymore. He’d be Rex by then, so technically he would be stepping back into his own shoes?

Time travel is confusing.

Regardless, Rex was super sure that his plan would work this time. And now, a week since his arrival, it was finally time for the real showstopper. All he needed was for his guest star to make her dramatic entrance. 

As much as Rex was loath to admit it, his feelings towards his former friends were… complicated. His feelings towards General Mayhem, the Systarian who had utterly destroyed his life, were less so. Smashing her into the ground would prevent the Matrimonial Ceremony from taking place, further cement his “tough guy” image, and also scratch a very personal cathartic itch.

Rex was nearly beside himself with anticipation. Almost absentmindedly, he checked the wiring again on the jury-rigged apparatus he’d spent the whole morning prepping. Given the simplicity of the machine, he found his gaze quickly drifting back to the cloudless sky, hungrily watching for that tell-tale shooting star. 

Any second now, he thought to himself, a thin and crooked smile on his lips.

“Okay Mayhem, you’ve totally got this. Just stay cool, act tough, bring the guest back to the palace. Easy peasy.”

Looking into the eyes of her reflection in the ship’s windshield, General Mayhem tried to steel her nerves with a small but mostly confident smile. 

“You’ve been training for this for months,” she reminded herself. “Sure the Apocalyseburg guys are super tough and dirty and grouchy and scary and- ” 

She cut herself off sharply with a hard yank on the ship’s yoke that sent it into a tight spiral. It swerved nimbly, narrowly avoiding a collision with a dark-blue pod that had suddenly darted out from behind a nearby glastroid. Mayhem righted her ship swiftly, her thumb already hovering over one of its many triggers, but the other ship seemed to have vanished just as quickly as it had appeared.

Mayhem frowned, peering into the inky black void, but to no avail. She was alone again. 

“I, uh,” she settled back into her seat. “I was getting off-topic anyways. The point is that everything is going to be just fine. Once they come to the Ceremony and talk to the Queen, they’ll totally understand what we’re trying to do. They have to.”

The thought firmly in place, she tried to just focus on piloting. Usually, she found flying to be quite soothing, and while today was no exception, she still found herself relieved to be nearing the alien planet.

“Okay,” she whispered to herself, firmly placing her helmet over her head. “It’s showtime.”

The ship fell out of hyperspeed and began to streak along the desert landscape. As she drew closer to the wreckage of Bricksburg, a myriad of flashing sensors began beeping steadily. 

Slowly, she wove through the crumbled buildings. She hadn’t personally been here for a while, and from what she could see, the place was looking worse off than ever. The last time she had, uh, “visited”, the former citizens of Bricksburg had taken to hiding in secret bunkers scattered throughout the destroyed city. This meant, unfortunately, that she now had the unenviable task of trying to find one of those bunkers now. 

She was peering at her scanner when an alarm on the dash suddenly began to wail. With a jolt of surprise, she whipped her head around to see an image illuminated on the viewscreen. There, helpfully outlined in red by the computer, was some kind of projectile that had been launched. 

“Computer,” she commanded. “Enhance.”

The image immediately zoomed in and somehow increased exponentially in quality. Before she had time to study it, however, the mysterious object exploded in a flash of light and smoke, spelling out a message against the gray sky. 

“Happy New Year?” She squinted down at the viewscreen in confusion. “It’s like, late June...”

Regardless of some calendar confusion, this flare was a clear sign of life. Plugging its approximate coordinates into the computer, Mayhem began to steer her ship towards Apocalypseburg, into the jaws of a waiting trap.

Apocalypseburg was in chaos. Specifically, it was in more chaos than usual. Someone had set off a flare on the outskirts of the city, and now the lookouts on duty were reporting an alien ship approaching at high speed. 

The custom vehicles that had been dispatched to deal with the threat had all been quickly and handedly destroyed. In the wake of their failure, the retreat signal had been given, and now a horde of citizens were thundering into the Bat Fortress. 

Rex watched the pandemonium calmly. He’d already sabotaged the Fortress, jamming the gears so that the door wouldn’t be able to close. It simply wouldn’t do if his audience was unable to see him in his moment of victory. 

Leaving his stash of stolen flares, he darted through the city, making his way to Batman’s spear turret. As he scaled the tower, it shuddered to life and started launching a barrage of sharp-tipped iron spikes towards the enemy ship.

“READ IT AND WEEP!” Batman was yelling, somehow still confident despite each of his spears crumbling against the ship’s reinforced shields. 

With a sick backflip, Rex leapt through the air onto one of the spears. Racing down its length, he reached the tip at the moment of impact, just in time to slam his fist directly into the front windshield.

The window broke instantly, a spiderweb of cracks spreading across its surface and into the metal of the ship’s hull as well. For a second, he and the ship hung there, suspended in the air together.

Then, in a rush of sound and power, the ship exploded.

A cloud of sparkly blue smoke poured out, quickly filling the surrounding area. The citizens of Apocalypseburg paused in their desperate mad dash for survival, every eye turning to stare at the place where the ship used to be. 

“Nailed it.” Batman fistpumped victoriously, then turned to address the stupefied crowds below. “Everyone saw me do that, right?”   

Below him, Lucy bolted out of the Fortress, into the smoke. She’d been searching for Emmet in the crowd moments earlier, but seeing him leap at an alien spaceship like some kind of lunatic had clued her into the fact that she was looking in the wrong spot. 

“EMMET!” She hollered, wading through the smoke. As she entered the area, her vision cleared slightly, enough that she could make out various chunks of rubble and debris strewn about her. 

A sudden movement attracted her attention. The silhouette of the Systarian appeared, crawling out from underneath a chunk of twisted metal. As Lucy approached, the alien staggered to her feet. 

Her visor, a deep reflective blue, had been split cleanly down the middle, and Lucy could make out a thin sliver of the face underneath. In a smooth motion, the alien drew a blaster from her hip and leveled it in Lucy’s direction.

“Not so fast!” Lucy called out as she leapt into the air. Twisting skillfully, she kicked the blaster cleanly out of her opponent’s grip.

Mayhem hissed in pain, and reached back down to her belt to retrieve her ship’s control device. Before she could activate the repair function however, a hand grabbed her wrist. 

Rex stepped out of the smoke next to the two women, surprising them both with his silent approach. With his free hand, he easily plucked the device away from Mayhem and crushed it in his fist. 

Behind her mask, Mayhem’s jaw dropped in shock. The Apocalypseburgers were prepared beyond anything she’d ever expected. She had no choice but to try and retreat.

With a grunt of exertion, she kicked up at Rex’s hand, breaking his grip on her arm just long enough for her to turn, activate her suit’s wings, and begin to fly off. 

“She’s getting away!” Lucy whipped her head side to side, scanning the area for parts to make some kind of net or cage with. “Emmet, help me find- ”

Before she could finish her sentence, Rex leapt into action. Parkouring between the pieces of rubble, he quickly matched Mayhem’s altitude and jumped onto her back. One hand tightened on her wing, the sharp plastic edges digging uncomfortably into his palm. Unsurprisingly, his other hand balled into a fist and rammed directly into the center of her back.

Mayhem screamed, a distorted and garbled sound, one the speakers of her mask seemed ill-equipped to handle. One of her slender blue wings fell to the ground, followed soon after by Rex and herself. 

Lucy ran over to where the two of them lay prone and fell to her knees beside them.

“Emmet?” She asked, her voice trembling, as she pulled him into her lap. “A-are you okay?”

He didn’t respond. For a second, it looked like he was going to pull away from her, to try and lunge at the alien again, but the smoke had cleared enough now that the rest of Apocalypseburg was beginning to descend upon the scene. 

“You guys did it!” A voice cried out from the crowd.

“Let’s hear it for Emmet and Wyldstyle!” Another one crowed.

As everyone continued to cheer for the two heroes, a single figure broke away from the revelry, marching authoritatively towards Mayhem’s still form. Bending down beside her, Scribble Cop produced a pair of handcuffs and clicked them tight around her wrists. With a huff, he slung the alien up over his shoulder and began to carry her off. 

“Where are you taking her?” Rex asked coldly, finally pulling himself out of Lucy’s embrace and to his feet. “To the Slammer?”

Scribble Cop answered with his usual frown and growl combo, but also nodded. Rex nearly followed after him, but Lucy’s sudden grip on his arm stalled him in his tracks. 

“Emmet?”

He turned to face her, only to find some unfamiliar expression in her eyes. She glanced at the crowd momentarily, then pulled him behind her into an empty alleyway nearby. 

“Emmet,” she asked again. “What was that out there?”

“What do you mean?” Rex answered, genuine confusion in his voice.

“I- you-” Lucy stammered. “You hit her.”

“Well, yeah.” Rex barely stopped himself from sneering. “She’s an enemy.”

“She’s also a person.” Lucy replied, bewilderment clear on her face. “It’s not like we were fighting a giant monster or a robot or something.”

“Are you… mad at me?” Rex drew back from her. “Why are you acting like this? Punching stuff is tough. It’s what we do.”

“No! I mean, yes, it is tough. I just meant that we could have stopped her in a different way.” 

“I think,” her voice grew soft. “I think you might have really hurt her.”

Rex was quiet for a moment. What would Emmet do, he wondered. He’d probably just agree with Lucy. He’s say anything for her to be happy with him again. 

His gut curdled at the thought.

He wasn’t sure he could even force the words out. Lucy was wrong, not Rex. If he hadn’t used his Master Breaker technique, then General Mayhem would already be well on her way back to the Systar System, ready to come back with more reinforcements in tow.

What Rex did was necessary.

“You wanted me to be tougher,” Rex’s chin trembled with barely suppressed rage. “But now that I am, you’re still unhappy?”

“Emmet,” Lucy sighed. “That’s not what I’m trying to say!”

“THEN WHAT ARE YOU TRYING TO SAY?” Rex screamed. His whole face felt red-hot, like all of the anger he’d been pressing back had begun to literally boil over. 

Lucy stepped back. Her mouth moved, trying and failing to form a response as her brain short-circuited on her. Rex watched for a second as she struggled, taking bitter satisfaction in the hurt and confusion in her eyes. 

Finally, without a word from either of them, he turned on his heel and left. 

#lego movie 2 #tlm2 #rex dangervest #wyldstyle #general mayhem #whoo! General Mayhem finally makes an appearance! #only to IMMEDIATELY get dunked on #she'll have her moment tho #dont worry

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Untitled MSR/Scully Whump Pt. 2

“Mm.”

“I know, I know. I’ll let you go without a fight this time,” I hear the sad smile in his voice, “But, I’ll be right here the whole time.”

“Mmhm.”

“Yes. Alright. I’ll wait outside when they ask me to.”

I’m being laid down on a gurney. My ribs protest, breathing deeply only worsens it’s effect.

“Just keep breathing, ma’am. We’ll get you some pain meds on board soon. Can you open your eyes for me?”

Ten to one there’s going to be a pen light shining in my—yep.

I clamp back down; the right side of my face throbs intensely.

“I’m going to palpate the area, you’ll feel some discomfort.”

That’s an understatement. Fingernails dig into my palm in an attempt to fight crying out. Mulder slips his hand in mine, offering support.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve got a fractured eye socket and a dislocated jaw. Not a break, there could be some hairline fracturing, we’ll need to get an x-ray.”

The sudden pressure on my abdomen takes my breath away and I hear myself moan.

“I’m here, Scully.” Thank you, Mulder.

“We’ll schedule an MRI too. Let me draw some labs, Sharon’s going to start your IV, alright Ms. Scully?”

“Mm. T’nks.” Morphine. Thank Christ.

“Oh, the doctor should be in soon to put your jaw back in once the morphine and muscle relaxers start to work. Just sit tight for me.”

Blood drawn, IV started; I could feel Mulder fidgeting. Only time will tell if the drugs kick in before he jumps through the roof.

“Hi, Dana. I’m Dr. Lee, I’ll be taking your case. Excuse me, sir,” Mulder must be closer than I originally thought. Cold clinical hands map out the damage to my eyebrow.

“Hm, the bleeding is impressive, but this laceration is actually pretty small. I’m thinking only five or so stitches.”

‘Only five or so.’ Nice.

“I know it’s a discomfort, but I want you to open your left eye and use it as best you can. We’re monitoring you for a concussion. We need to check for signs and symptoms.”

Yeah, yeah. I know he’s right, but I can’t quite bring myself to care.

“Scully? C’mon, do as the good doc says.”

Alright. Fine.

There he is. He’s mildly blurry, but he’s still my Mulder. Well, the morphine’s sure working.

I slowly focus only to notice the moisture shining in his eyes. He gives his best smile and looks across the gurney. Gingerly, I turn my head to see a young male doctor.

“Sir, actually, I’m going to ask that you stay while I set Ms. Scully’s jaw.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. The worry furrowing Mulder’s brow matches the nervous energy fluttering in my belly.

Looks like I can do it manually. Just plain and simple,” his gloved thumbs slip beside my molars, “On three, Ms. Scully. Sir, if you could keep her from moving? Thank you. Alright. One, two, and—“

Oh, Mary Mother of God.

“Shhh! It’s over. It’s there. We’re done. All done. Breathe. Just breathe.” I can’t tell if Mulder is talking more to me or himself.

I realize that I’m shaking. Shivering uncontrollably. A combination of the meds and trauma. Nice.

“The shaking is normal. The shock the body is in, combined with the medication. It should subside soon.”

Now it’s Mulder’s turn to have a death grip on my hand.

“Sir, if you’d like to leave and come back? I want to clean up her cut and start a more detailed exam.”

“I’ll be back. Okay?”

“Mmhm.”

A small kiss to my good cheek and begrudgingly Mulder disappears from my sight.

——————————

‘Overnight for observation.’ Of course. The loathing sentiment toward that phrase grows exponentially with each hospitalization.

Groggy from the wonderful cocktail I’ve been treated to, I attempt to grab at my water pitcher.

Just as I’m about to hunt for the bed control, a light knock and the opening of my door bring a smile to my face.

“Room service.”

Tears prick at the back of my eyes when I see what he has in tow.

“I, uh, heard you were on a soft diet for a while. So I took the liberty of procuring some of your favorite ‘froyo’,” we both chuckle at his sarcastic emphasis on his favorite portmanteau.

I pat the bed on my side with the good eye while he brings the bedside table around. Ah. Two spoons. He laughs outright at my inquisitive stare.

“Well, I figured you’d be okay with sharing?”

I grin as best I can and rest my hand on top of his.

Two careful bites of caramel swirl—of course he bought my favorite flavor—and he’s already brushing gentle fingers over my face.

“Jesus, Scully. I—,” he swallows hard and averts his eyes, leaving his hand to stroke the hair away from my forehead, “I saw him. Saw him...beating the hell out of you.”

“Mul—“

“It scared the shit out of me.”

Back to studying me again, he takes his spoon and offers me another bite. I take it. Movements so gentle, as if I’m made of glass.

“I know how strong you are,” another small bite, “that’s one of the many things I love about you.”

I am taken aback. The advantage of my silence allows him to continue unhindered.

“I, however, have discovered how weak I am.”

That’s not true. Not at all.

“Witnessing...that today? That was the worst thing I’ve ever experienced. Worse than Samantha.”

I grip his wrist. As hard as I can. I know that I’m crying.

“I could’ve stopped him. Should have. It should have been me taking those punches, Scully. I should have—“ I press a single finger to that perfect mouth. Sticky from the caramel; he kisses my finger. Slowly. Sweetly.

I bring my hands around to gather his face. Pulling him to my breast, he comes willingly. Nestled safely in my arms, I hum to him aimlessly. Purring, almost.

The frozen yogurt could wait. Finally, I inhale deeply and revel in the fact I can smell the musky spice of Mulder.

Restless as always, he attempts to speak more. After a few times of shushing him, his breathing evens out while I scratch lightly at his scalp. My Spooky savior.

“Mmph. ‘Cully, ‘monna f’ll sl’p.”

“Shh. S’kay.”

“‘Kay,” he sighs, “Jus’ lil n’p.”

He shifts his lanky form to lie fully beside and on top of me, shins awkwardly resting on the foot of the bed.

Just when I think he’s asleep, he kisses my sternum.

“Hm. L’v you.”

Love you too, Mulder. Always.

#the x files #msr #scully damage #badass scully/stella #part two #froyo #mulder is the cuteness