#sorry guys i have severe brain rot i figured this one should have its own post. why not | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fablesrose · 3 years

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OKAS XXXIII

Description: Y/n, a girl who seems to have found her calling. Being a SHIELD agent is like a dream come true. With a friendship starting to form with the Avengers, she’s the Queen of the world! What could go wrong?

Pairings: Avengers x reader, Loki x reader (eventually)

Warnings: fluff, angst

OKAS Masterlist~Masterlist

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The days were getting better. I think.

Food was a blessing. I haven't had real food for seven years; I should have cherished it. Luckily I had the biggest pile of breakfast food I think I had ever seen placed on my plate.

"Are you going to eat all of that?"

I glanced at Steve, then back at my plate, then back at him, then at my plate.

I never answered him.

I've been living on smoothies for the past six months, then before that, I wasn't even sure if what I was eating was food. My stomach was probably not as big as it once was.

Despite this, I dug in anyway. I had forgotten how good food was, even though I've been out of that cell for a few meals now. I just kept eating to the point where I didn't notice everyone else coming into the kitchen.

"Hey Y/n, I wanna introduce you to the rest of the team," Tony placed a hand on my shoulder making me jump.

I quickly swallowed and wiped my mouth clean, "Okay."

He went around the room giving me names one by one.

"This is Vision."

He had red skin and didn't look human with a yellow stone in his head.

"He's an android."

Oh.

"That's Sam." Tony pointed at the man leaning against the counter eating a bowl of oatmeal. He raised his bowl in acknowledgment. He looked nice enough.

"You've met Wanda and Bucky."

I nodded at them. Wanda didn't look at me, but Bucky waved.

"Rhodey is over there." He lifted a hand. He looked older than the others, closer to Tony's age.

Tony looked around the room, "You'll meet Peter later, he's at school."

There was a blur of blue light that came from the hallway that headed towards the fridge before coming back to sit at the counter.

"And that would be Pietro, he's the guy you sparred with. He and Wanda are twins. Any questions?"

"The last time I asked a question under normal circumstances I got kidnapped seven years ago, so I'm good." I looked at Pietro, he looked a little tired, but otherwise alright. "Hey, nice to finally officially meet you, sorry I almost killed you the other day."

He glanced up at me, "Can't say I return the pleasure, and uh, thanks."

"That's fair."

"That was awfully nonchalant of you." Loki took the seat next to me, stealing a piece of toast. I was nearly full, so I didn't mind.

"Hey, I would have said the same thing if I ever got an apology from you."

"I have apologized."

"I don't remember it."

"You've said it yourself, you've forgotten a lot of things over the last seven years."

I tilted my head, "I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if you ever apologized. That would be cemented in my brain."

Loki hesitated, "I'll admit you weren't quite... in your right mind when I did it."

"Oh?"

"You were high."

I thought back, "Which time?"

I heard a snort from somewhere in the room; I had forgotten people were there to listen in.

"You were given a sedative for one of your checkups after the... incident."

"Ah. Still don't remember it."

He sighed, "Fine, I'm sorry."

I smiled, "Thank you."

There was a pause where I took another couple of bites of my breakfast.

"So, anyone wanna tell me the story behind that?" Sam said, looking absolutely baffled.

I side-eyed Loki, "Do you wanna tell them, or should I?"

Do we have to tell the story?

Come on Lokes, it's a funny story!

I don't find it that funny.

Oh, the God of Mischief, otherwise known as chaos, doesn't find a story, where he makes some chaos, funny.

...

"So who's telling the story?"

I glanced up at Bucky before looking back at Loki. He looked slightly uncomfortable.

"I guess I am." I slid the rest of my plate away from me, officially full.

"I'm not staying for this." Loki started to stand before I grabbed his wrist.

"Oh no, you don't. You're gonna sit your ass back down and listen."

"I could just teleport away, you know that."

I looked him dead in the eye, "But you're not going to."

He grumpily rested his head on his fist and didn't reply.

I looked around the room, making sure everybody was there. "Alright, so it goes like this. I'm just coming back from an infiltration mission, full-on Hydra gear, the whole setup. My superior, Agent Brian Fletcher-- how is Fletcher, by the way?"

Tony answered, "He's retired, got a nice cabin in the northwest."

"Good for him."

I continued the story, putting in a few more comedic details than there were. Tony and Loki looked at me suspiciously but didn't say anything.

"And so I'm lying there, can't breathe, and I'm just like, 'You son of a bitch, what the heck?'"

The room erupted in laughter. I looked over at Loki who had a small smile on his face while he looked at his hands on the counter.

I finished the story with grace and excused myself to my room. Social interactions were exhausting now and I still had to get used to "normal life." It was nice; having friends was nice. It's been a while since I've had some.

I lied on the bed--no, on my bed. The lights were dimmed as I tried to recharge a little bit. The bed was soft, I just sunk right into it, but it was almost too soft. Seven years of sleeping on a cot that was only a fraction better than the floor can do that to you. I couldn't get comfortable so I eventually lowered myself to the floor, sitting up against the side. The memory of the cots had stirred something in me.

"Hey, Jarvis?"

A voice that was not Jarvis answered me, "Jarvis has been incorporated into the android Vision on the team and is no longer in service. My name is Friday, is there something that I can help you with?"

I thought on it and mumbled to myself, "I guess his voice did sound familiar." I sighed before asking, "Do you have access to recovered Kingdom files?"

"Yes I do miss, what would you like me to look for?"

"Jasmine Okoro."

Friday paused as the AI searched the files. It then produced a hologram of the file in front of me. Friday began reading it out loud, "Prisoner D2- Jasmine Okoro. In facility from April 2010 to May 2014. Status: Deceased. Occasion of death: Duel. Final Opponent: Asset D1-The Queen. Results-"

Friday kept reading through the report, but I stopped listening. I just kept reading the status and the final opponent over and over.

I killed Jasmine.

Something under my skin started to feel unnatural. More than usual I should say.

"Friday, where's the nearest fortified room? Like a panic room? And the fastest route to get there."

I barely heard its instructions, but I made it there and locked the door behind me. The walls were white concrete and not entirely smooth. I stumbled to the center of the room before collapsing on my knees.

I forced myself to look at my hands as ink sprouted from my fingertips and spread up my arms. These hands killed my only friend while in hell. I pounded my hands against the ground, trying to make myself feel something. Something beyond the unexplainable feeling of my skin.

Eventually, it wasn't enough and I had to release even more. Spears shot from my fingers and shattered against the walls, but I still needed to release more. The anger, the despair, and maybe there was a bit of jealousy there too. She didn't suffer as long as I did. Most of it was the guilt and the grief that seemed to rot my insides.

A cloud of soot exploded from my body with such force that I could hear it hit the walls around me. I collapsed to the ground, trembling and exhausted. This was the first time I had used Noxy's powers. I'm not sure how I felt about it, and I was too tired to care.

Tears streamed down my face onto the ground and I shut my eyes tightly, cradling my hands to my chest. Everything felt empty, my mind, my heart.

I had never been more grateful that there wasn't a thought in my head.

~~~

Loki sat at the counter while everyone else finished their breakfast and dispersed to work on their own tasks.

"That's not really how that story goes is it?"

Loki glanced over to see that Pietro was the last one in the kitchen other than himself. "No, no it isn't."

"What's the truth?"

Loki smirked, "You're asking the truth from the god of lies?"

Pietro's eyes looked weary, but sparked in amusement, "We all know you're about as honest as the rest of us."

A glass of water appeared in Loki's fingertips, "I guess that's true enough, young one." He took a sip. "The truth is, is that I almost killed her that day. She had just gotten her big break to fulfill her dreams and I threw her back to the bottom of the ladder with that severe of an injury."

"And she's able to just laugh it off with you never really apologizing until now?"

"You'll find she's like that." He paused, "Understand, that she will apologize to you as many times as you require of her, but-"

"I get it," Pietro interrupted, "Y/n's got more pressing matters on her plate than a sparring match gone slightly too far."

Loki watched the young man appraisingly, "Quite right, thank you."

The room was quiet for a moment before Loki started to notice some faint noises. His eyebrows wrinkled as he tried to decipher what exactly the sound was and where it was coming from. He looked at Pietro, "Do you hear that?"

"The thumping? Yes, but I figured that was just tired hallucinations, but I guess not."

They both stood and started wandering, trying to identify where it was coming from until there was a louder sound, loud enough for them to feel in their feet. They paused and found that it had gone quiet.

"Friday? Where was that coming from?"

The AI recited what room and they found their way without much hurry, only a bit of curiosity.

They found the room and found it to be locked. Loki turned the knob without too much trouble after a wave of his hand. He cautiously peeked his head through the door to see if it was safe. Once he came to the conclusion that nothing was going to attack him he opened the door wide enough for Pietro to follow. Loki's eyes landed in the center of the room where he saw a huddled form.

It didn't seem to be moving.

Loki rushed to the figure and his breath of relief caught in his throat when he realized that it was Y/n, despite the fact that he saw she was breathing.

"Is she okay?"

Loki looked her over, "I think so... She appears to be sleeping. I can't find anything wrong."

"Well that's good," Pietro sat down on the concrete, "say, Loki, do you remember what color this room used to be?"

Loki subconsciously ran his finger along the floor before lifting his eyes to the ceiling, "I'm not entirely sure, but I do know it wasn't stained black."

Best Buds Tag List

@snarky--starky @kitkatd7 @confetti-its-an-imagine-blog @kaogasm

OKAS Tag List

@paigelin @ghost-of-the-oldwest @frostedgiant

Loki Tag List

@whatafuckingdumbass

#loki odinson #loki fanfic #loki x reader #avengers x reader #avengersfanfiction #avengers x you #tony stark #natasharomanoff #bruce banne #OKAS #Ch 33 #steve rogers #nick fury #pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #vision

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wheres-sam · 3 years

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I binge-watched the spn anime because of the brain rot

It’s bad except for the parts that are good, and it’s pretty to look at. Here’s a comprehensive list of pros and cons. Spoilers ahead!

Pros:

- more psychic kid backstories: Max (Nightmare), Lily (Darkness Calling), Jake (Loser)

- more psychic Sam

- more Azazel

- basically if you want more about the psychic/demon kids, watch the anime

- more young Winchesters

- the monsters, the superhuman abilities, the fight scenes, it all looks really cool animated. (But PSA it’s violent. It doesn’t shy away from blood and gore.)

- Sam and Jessica backstory

- more of the brothers being cute and funny together

- Missouri isn’t forgotten

- includes some Japanese legends/mythology

- the impala looks great in every scene. They did Baby good

- the “Supernatural” intro title

- the outro sketches of the boys hanging out with Baby

- Episodes adapted from the original show are different, but I like some of the changes? It’d be boring if it was an exact retelling and the visual medium wasn’t utilized. (I know I said spoilers before, but this is when they get detailed. If you wanna skip over, I’ll tell you where they STOP.)

Nightmare goes more into the abuse Max has suffered. Instead of locking Sam in a closet, Max sends Sam through the floor and covers the hole by breaking his bed in half, and it’s extremely sexy how Sam shoves the 2 halves apart with his mind. Later on Dean puts bandaids on Sam and they talk about demons loudly in front of a fast food intercom.

In My Time of Dying highlights the guilt Sam feels over Dean. In both the og and the anime John verbally blames Sam for not shooting Azazel, but where in the og Sam goes right on arguing, in the anime he reels back for a moment like he was slapped. Dean’s spirit touches Sam’s shoulder, and Sam knows immediately that it’s Dean. He doesn’t even question it. Instead of “Are you here?” it’s “I know you’re with me. I can feel it.” And I love that. Dean figures out right away he’s dealing with a reaper, and the reaper takes on the appearance of Mary to convince Dean to move on to the afterlife. Instead of a Ouija board, Sam uses a laptop to talk to Dean, and the first word Dean types is “Sammy!” Dean is so fond of his little brother and Sam is so baby.

Rising Son is an anime only episode, but it draws inspiration from John’s journal. Dean has a proper breakdown over his dad’s death and the possibility of having to kill Sam. Ms. Lyle, Sam’s favorite teacher who turns out to be possessed, is explored. John takes Dean hunting, and in the journal Dean hesitates to shoot a buck, and little Sam shoots it thinking it was endangering Dean. In the anime, Dean’s cornered by a moose and Sam makes it explode with his mind and it’s so !!! How little Sam’s first words are, “I’m glad you’re okay. It didn’t hurt you?” The boys are covered in blood and guts and Dean’s like 👁👄👁 “Why are you here? Did you do this?” And then Sam starts freaking out a little, the shock sets in. “I don’t know. I don’t know, honest.” And he’s staring at his hands, and I am a big fan of Sam showing superhuman signs as a kid. Like in the journal, Ms. Lyle tries to take Sam. She gives Sam the illusion of a choice to come with her or stay with Dean, and Sam chooses Dean. This ep is pretty much when John figures out Sam has demon blood. He kills another hunter that wants to kill Sam.

Crossroad is based on Crossroad Blues, and I love how the crossroads demon shows up. It’s hard to describe, but it’s so neat, like she’s walking underneath Dean in this mirror world, and then the mirror world takes over the regular world, so you really get this sense of otherworldly seclusion, existing outside of time.

What Is and Should Never Be shows Dean is a firefighter in his ‘Mary never died’ world, and Sam got to play soccer growing up like he wanted. The brothers hold each other after Dean is saved from the Djinn.

AHBL part 1. When Azazel shows Sam that he fed Sam his blood, Sam gags and slaps a hand over his mouth, and I like that reaction more than the live action. The psychic kids get to go more anime with their powers, and that’s a lot of fun. They don’t need weapons. Ava slams Sam into the brick side of a building and cuts him without touching him. Jake snaps Ava’s neck with one hand and then catches Sam in his arms. When Jake attacks Sam, there’s no gun or knife. He’s relying on his super strength, his fists. Sam throws his arms up to protect himself, and (accidentally?) pushes Jake back with his mind, and the collision creates a crater in the ground. Jake puts his fist through Sam’s chest to kill him. It’s brutal and it’s rad as fuck. These kids are terrifyingly powerful.

The Sam and Dean reunion before Sam is killed is not as emotional as the live action imo, but what the anime does intrigues me. Hurts in a different way. Because Sam is stunned after he uses telekinesis again, on Jake, and when he hears Dean behind him Sam freezes. He doesn’t look relieved to see Dean, but wary and weary. It’s Dean taking steps towards him, not the other way around, and it has to be because Sam doesn’t know if Dean saw him push Jake back. Sam doesn’t know how Dean’s going to respond to all this, to him, having powers that come from a demon, the demon, Azazel. Sam hasn’t had a chance to process anything. He’s scared. He’s tired. And the way the anime focuses on Sam’s eyes here. Gah. “Dean. Dean, I’m...” I’m sorry. I’m all right. I’m glad you’re okay. I’m a monster. There’s also this one shot between Sam and Azazel that sends me because of how anime it is.

AHBL part 2. I love how Sam brought back to life is animated, with all the color returning to his face and a light wind rustling his hair and his lips parting to indicate his soul returning to his body. Jake attacks Dean, and, a lot like how Sam activates telekinesis to save Dean from Max in Nightmare, Sam gets a burst of superhuman strength. He rips Jake’s arm off and tackles him to the ground and beats him to death, punches holes into his body, and it’s so savage and bloody and scary, and I love it. The Devil’s Gate opening looks so cool animated. Same goes for Dean shooting Azazel with the Colt.

Not to turn this into a meta post, but I also noticed how the last couple times Sam uses his powers they’re colored green-yellow, the same colors as Mary’s ghost when she reveals herself in the anime’s Home, and I don’t know if that’s intentional, but it’s neat how it draws a connection to Sam’s biological family instead of Azazel’s blood.

The Spirit of Vegas is like Bad Day at Black Rock, but Dean has all the bad luck instead, and it shows off the silly cartoony physics that make animation fun. The boys sleep outside and split a chunk of bread for dinner. Also this lil bit of Dean’s hair tied in a bow.

- (STOP) the brothers are pretty. I am not immune to animated Sam and Dean Winchester.

Cons:

- Jensen doesn’t voice Dean until the last 2 episodes

- The English dialogue is really bad sometimes. I wish I could’ve watched the sub, but I couldn’t figure out how to change the language

- Some character designs are really different from the live action, and maybe that’s petty, but if you’re gonna change the characters diversify them? Don’t just make them unrecognizable white people

- Missouri’s design as a stereotypical witch doctor is racist

- Gordon is replaced by some British guy named Jason?? Why

- There’s an LGBT character who is not accepted by her family and, while that bigotry is always shown to be negative and she dies the hero of the episode, she still dies ://

- In the English dub Lily’s gf is made into her roommate instead. Idk about the sub

- Bobby’s pretty much a totally different character

- Sam and Dean are OOC sometimes

- Dean’s hair usually looks darker than Sam’s and it drives me crazy

- The storytelling is, overall, not nearly as good as the live action

- The non-Japanese lore in some episodes makes no sense. Sometimes it’s just plain ridiculous?? Like there’s a giant robot made of cars and scrap metal controlled by a demon? ? I wish I was making this up

- Meg’s role is severely reduced

- No Harvelles or Roadhouse

- Shadows are overused, but maybe that’s because the og show is so dark?

- I don’t mind the art style. I like the aesthetic, but I wish it was a little more expressive. It doesn’t do Sam’s puppy eyes justice.

- AZAZEL’S SHADOW?? PROPORTIONS?? PEA SIZED HEAD

- Idk why they mashed season 1 and 2 together? The story feels rushed

- there’s not as much chemistry between Sam and Dean, but that’s a given without J2 on screen

- Nobody tells you!! That there’s scenes after the credits!! And some of them are important! Why are important scenes after the credits??

The anime would not be good on its own, without the heart and depth the live action brings, but it works as supplementary material you can cherry pick from. I would watch more if there were more episodes.

It hasn’t turned me off from wanting an spn anime. I’d like to see it continued or redone, with updated animation and better scripts. There’s a lot of potential in exploring more about the psychic kids and Sam’s powers, storylines that were cut short in the og show. Animation is a great medium for showing off the supernatural, getting creative and creepier with the designs, dramatic with the fight scenes, without having to worry about bad CGI. I don’t want a live action reboot, but I think a redone animated series could be a lot of fun! (As long as it’s not an excuse to make any romantic ships take over. SPN is a platonic love story, and I like it that way.)

If you made it to the end here and are interested in watching the spn anime, you can watch it for free on the CW Seed app! You can probably stream it elsewhere, but idk where!

#spn anime #supernatural #supernatural the anime #my detailed pros is pretty much me letting you know what episodes are worth watching #and why #its bad but I kind of like it #I like what they were going for. the potential it has #I like sam and there's lots of sam

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ofmythsandmadness · 4 years

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i need a favour - seven.

PART SEVEN - bullet wounds and wounded hearts. (or, in which, they’re just too eager for some relief from the pain that no one gives a shit about labels anymore). WORD COUNT - 3318. A/N - forgot i wrote this, forgot about it for months & here we are. sorry. i’ve not really had much interest in writing this or anything in this style on here lately, but i didn’t want to leave this totally abandoned. figured, there’s no point in letting it rot away, might as well post (and for some reason, there’s been a spur in people reading this, so.) START FROM THE BEGINNING - one | two | three | four | five | six

PEOPLE THEORIZE A LOT ABOUT COMAS. And more specifically, what they do to a person.

More specifically than that, where a person goes, once in one. What the mind and psyche creates for them, where and when they escape off to while their body falls apart. If they relive their life’s best and worst moments until they can return to reality, if they dream on continuously - like the world was just one bad trip, and waking up they would not even realise their sleep had lasted more than a day. Or, if the person’s aware of everything around them, just unable to open their eyes and rejoin life - but maybe that was something totally different entirely.

But it was nothing like that, for her.

There was no way to tell just how much time transpired, when out; it could have been an hour, a couple days, three years tossed down the drain, for all she knew. Time moved so much differently, lost in the hellish dreamscape of the inbetweens of life and death.

For the most part, she felt absolutely nothing at all. Not even a sense of drowning, or darkness, or anything around her; like she was dead, her brain was turned off, and really...nothing at all. The only way she knew she was still alive and things were happening was when her brain woke up just a little, enough to send her into panics she could not express. She still could not move or speak or fucking breathe on her own, but she felt the world crashing in, sluggish and deafening around her. People moving around her, voices, loud noises echoing like crashes and explosions that she could not place. It felt like she had been laid down in a warzone, paralysed from head to foot and forced into silence. Just waiting for her eventual death.

And the voices...she really could not distinguish most. Or if they were even real. She got flashes of familiarity, phrases and sentences that added up to only nonsense in her mind - threats of violence, promises, old memories so faded they might as well be someone else's. None of it made sense. It just made her feel more and more scared, and trapped, every time she ‘woke up’ again. Left her craving the still of death once more, waiting for its skeletal hands to cradle her trembling figure again.

Finally, however, she heard the first real sound in a long time. She left the stillness to a strange noise, not a voice but a repetitive beep that would not turn off. At first, she thought it was also in her mind and that if she just ‘shut’ her eyes, sleep would once more overtake her - but despite her mental protests, the sound wouldn’t stop. If anything, it got louder, forcing her forward until she could just about think of opening her eyes.

And then, the beeps were joined by another sound; soft, almost non-existent mumbles, or snuffling of something? Something alive, not a machine, but...Y/N wasn’t sure what it was at first.

That was, until she began to move. With all the strength possessed in her frail figure, she pushed her lids open, blinking away copious tears welling at the bright light and forcing her eyes to work again.

She found herself in a small, white room - and though her mind seemed a million miles away, she could sort of guess it was a hospital room. There really was not much around her, the bed being the main furniture. The beeping came from her right, and she was able to crane her neck just enough to see some sort of monitor, the sort she would have seen on a crappy doctor’s show. With flashing lights and graphics she really couldn’t make out and honestly just hurt her head. She turned away from that pretty fast.

To her left, however, was a different story. She found the other source of the noise; Diego was slumped over in a chair too bony to be comfortable, softly snoring away. Which was never a good sign. The man was a quiet, still sleeper, like he was always waiting for something to happen - but after too long without sleep, his body would collapse into emergency catch-up mode. She had seen it many times after he’d come to her. And he always snored then.

She sighed, letting her head fall back against the pillow. There was no pain, which she guessed was either good or bad (who knew what the doctors were pumping through her veins, eh?) but her mouth was bone dry and she felt helpless, like even calling out for Diego was a deathly trial.

Y/N craned her neck again, taking his slumped figure in. He was almost right next to her bed, close enough that if she could reach out -

-her hands shook like tsunami waves, crashing against his black jacket like jagged knives of limestone on a cliff. She just could not find strength enough to angle them right, finding herself only able to brush the man and hope he felt her touch from wherever he had drifted to. Forget calling out; she could only mimic motion in the barest of touches, waiting for something to happen.

Luckily, it only took maybe a minute for him to stir. Slowly at first, then when realising what woke him up, he was up in seconds. His hands met her own, squeezing tight.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he croaked out, voice hoarse and worn out - she could only imagine how much stress-induced yelling he had been doing. Begging for something to be done, snapping at anyone who tried to get him to move; the guy was all too predictable. “I just fell asleep, I-”

“-s….okay…” Her vocal cords felt rusted over; how long had it been since she spoke? Her hand left his, gesturing weakly towards her throat. “Wa...wa...ter?”

“Shit, right.” He left her side and grabbed at a glass by her right. Within a moment he was by her left again, bringing it up to her lips. His hands shook ever so slightly. “Careful.”

But she ignored his word and slurped at it eagerly, too parched to be ashamed at how childlike her actions were. Too long had her throat been forced dry - how long had it been since the relief of a glass of water?

Once she had drunk enough, she waved it away, doing her best to smile. “Thanks.”

“Course.” His eyes remained on hers, steady and dark. “How...how are you feeling?”

She glanced away for a moment to look down at herself in the bed, before looking back. Slowly, Y/N shrugged. “M’not sure...weird. I don’t know how I should feel.”

“Right. Well, you’re on a shit load a’drugs, so I guess that’s stopping the pain. Uh...you remember what happened?”

She frowned. “Sort of. More...I don’t know. Remember the pain...like burning, on my side. Talking...was there a Polish chick?”

Diego didn’t crack even the tiniest of smiles. “Ukranian. But yeah. She was with you when it h-hi-she called the ambulance.”

“Right.”

“Look, Y/N, I am so-”

Before he could continue, a new voice joined the duo, one Y/N was certain she did not know. She tore her eyes away from the man by her side to take him in; tall, gray-haired and smiling from ear to ear. It made her a little uneasy, the look; was this how all gunshot victims were treated? With doctors who thought big grins and happy tones were a good answer? If she didn’t already have a headache, she would by just one look his way.

“Good to see you up! Was wondering when that’d be happening.” He seemed to grin even larger, if that was even possible, and made his way around her bed. She watched him fiddle with something behind her, before moving into her view once more. “How are you feeling?”

“Um...weird,” she mumbled, struggling to find any words to describe the feeling. “Tingly.”

“No pain?”

“Not really.”

He nodded. “Good. You’re going to be hopped up on pain meds for a while, but just let someone know when you start feeling anything.”

“Okay.”

Once more, he nodded. He looked like a bobblehead, almost, in the ways his head swivelled and shook on his too-small neck. “You got quite lucky, I must say. Good support system. This guy, right here? Barely moved at all while you were out.”

Her hand squeezed a little, in Diego’s. “How long was I out?”

“About three days, after surgery.”

“S-surgery?”

His grin got a little strained, there, but somehow still remained. Impressive. “Yes. Yeah, we had to get you straight into intensive care after you were brought in. The bullet hit your right hip, just about here-” he grazed the blanketed leg lightly, “-but then travelled downwards into your leg. Which was somewhat good, you avoided serious damage to your hip, but it did nick your femoral artery.”

Y/N frowned, glancing down to where his hand hovered. She could not even remember feeling pain in her leg; it had radiated from her hip alone. “How...how did it go down?”

“Well,” the man sighed, “from what we could gather, you were at just the right angle for the bullet to go straight through the hip. Since it didn’t hit that bone - again, a lucky point on your part, it tore right through and down to your upper thigh. The bullet actually remained lodged, which made reason for surgery. If it had come straight through, well, I don’t know what situation we’d be in but you were very fortunate. Held you from bleeding out on us.”

Something about the emphasis on ‘lucky’ made her feel somehow worse. Like she was a kid all over again, and before getting the bad news, her parents had to amp up the few ‘good’ things about the situation. She really wished he would stop smiling.

“How much...I…” she weakly lifted her hands, gesturing downwards. “How much damage has been done? In simple terms...please.”

His grin shrank a little more. “Well, that’s a bit complicated. The surgery was a success, although there were several blood transplants needed to cover that hit your artery sustained. However, because of said bleeding, and the way the bullet hit, it will be a long recovery time. The leg muscles are built to be used, but when damaged as yours was, well - I can bring in the charts and explain this to you simply, if you want?”

Y/N bit her lip, hard enough to rip through. Absent-mindedly, she noticed the taste of blood, licking a bead of red off. “Long?”

“The timeframe is hard to estimate,” he said - and at least that time, he had the courtesy to look semi-apologetic. “After a couple days, we’ll check in and see how well the limb is functioning, if the muscles are healing properly. You should be able to head home by that time, if it's healing right. But I’m afraid you're not going to be able to use the actual limb for a while.”

Vaguely, from what felt like far away, she heard Diego curse. The doctor kept talking, throwing around words she could not understand, verbal warfare against her already panicking mind, creating a chasm of stress and fear inside her brain. She wanted to do something, reassure him, ask the doctor what she could do and when - but it was impossible when she herself was drowning in panic.

Where had Diego gone? Why did he feel so far away? He sat beside her, but his hands were fidgeting and his face tight, and she just wanted him to tease her, hug her, promise her that she wasn’t lo-

“-judging by your faces, this isn’t sounding great but I promise, you’re in the best possible case scenario. I mean, you got here at the best time, you’ve had the best working to put you back together. And physical therapy will be a big help, you’ll be recommended some top-tier-”

“-whenwillIbebetter?”

Her words were hardly a breath, leaving right along with the little air in her system, but Diego still heard it. He clutched tight to her tsunami waves for hands and looked pleadingly the doctor’s way. “Can we h-have a moment?”

“I-” his eyes darted between the two, before resigning to an answer. “Sure. A nurse will be in at five, with me. Let me know if anything happens.”

Diego just nodded and watched him leave. The second he was out the door, he turned her way, hands moving from hers to hold her face, brush away the tears quickly slipping down her cheeks. Blearily, she made out his own eyes, swimming with emotions she had not seen from him in a long, long while. “Hey. Hey, it’s - it’s g-g-gonna-”

“-I got shot,” she huffed, struggling to get the words out between sobs. “I got shot, I got - I can’t walk?”

“That’s not -”

“-holy shit, Diego,” she cried, and in an instant his arms were around her, holding her as close as he could to his own trembling figure. She tried to talk, but failed and simply gave into the sobs. Words struggled to make their way through, really indiscernible and lost. Whatever it was, Diego could probably guess the point they were making - and it did not ease the guilt bubbling in his stomach for a second.

“I’m so fucking stupid,” she whispered, sobs turning into quick huffs of breaths caught like she was running out of air. “You - the guy - the way he talked - I’m so fucking-g screwed.”

“Don’t say that.”

“That’s how they do it, don’t they? Make you feel...lucky, like you dodged a -” she stopped to snort, like any of this was funny - “-a bullet, but you’re really screwed.”

“Stop.”

“What if I never walk again?”

His arms stiffened around her - only for a second, but enough for her to notice. It was not a thought only she had had. What more did he know? “I...l-look, you’ve always said it best. Look at the bright side.”

She slipped out of his grasp then, pulling back so he could see her face. Stained with tears and puffy, with red and dark circles alike taking a toll on the previously bright expression. She was scared, and rightfully so.

“I don’t know how to do that,” she mumbled, staring him down as though somehow, she could give him all the fear through her eyes, make him feel all the things she did. And maybe she could, because the longer he looked, the harder it felt to keep his own composure.

“I don’t know how to do that...not with this.”

Diego didn’t say anything to that. All he did was hold her a bit tighter and sigh heavily as he traced circles into her back with shaking hands. In return she used his shoulder as a tissue and openly sobbed, uncaring as to who saw or what repercussions came. As far as she could see, it didn’t matter anyways. Did it?

“What do I do now?”

Her words were soft, kitten mews into the heavy silence. Accented only with another heavy sob.

“I don’t know, Y/N.”

She cried a little harder. His arms couldn’t hold her close enough.

“But I’ll be right there with you. M’not letting you go, not now.”

She sniffled. “Don’t say that.”

“Why? I mean it.”

“I’m a fuck-”

“-shut up,” he murmured, hand finding hers and closing over it. He held it to his own pounding heart. “I’ll be there. That’s that. Okay? W-whatever happens, I will be there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Y/N shut her eyes and leant her head against his dampened shoulder. She let herself focus on the sound of his heartbeat and the steadily beeping machines, somehow a semi-relaxing melody despite the stress behind each. She squeezed his fingers gently.

“O...kay. Okay.”

She felt his lips meet the crown of her hair, then his own head fall against hers. And then it was just nothing more than the two of them. A small duo, amidst the chaos of it all, finding just a moment of peace before things got even worse.

That was not the end of her tears shed that day, far from it. She cried more than she had in years, maybe more than her entire life. She cried when her sister came, when her dad showed up and told her her mother couldn’t get away from work, she bit through her lip trying to hold back the tears when her class’ warm messages of ‘get better’ finally got delivered. The dam was broken; the water dripped freely down her cheeks, waterfalls of emotions held back for too long.

Six weeks was a minimum of her being able to properly walk again, and it felt like it was a lifetime. The doctor broke down physical therapy rules, recovery times, prescriptions and all the ways she could be fucked otherwise by this wound, and the nurse pumped her to the brim with all sorts of medicines she couldn’t begin to pronounce. Her sister pretended to cry before leaving and her dad drank through six straight coffees, dumping packet upon packet of Splenda until the garbage can was filled with paper and cardboard cups. The doctor droned on and on, and the nurse kept ‘checking up on her’, and everyone kept wishing her fake sentiments and fake smiles that might as well be placebos, sent to placate her weakening psyche.

It was only hours later, when there was any relief. When they were all gone, and yet for some reason, Diego stayed.

“Don’t’cha have to…” she cleared her throat, trying to speak past the lump in her throat. “Y’know. Fight crime? Play neighbourhood superman tonight?”

Diego shook his head. His grasp on her hand tightened and it was only then when she realised how long he had held on. She had gotten used to the feeling, with her own fingers limp and weak throughout the day, and yet he had traced steady circles into her skin for the entire day and into the night.

“Not tonight.”

“Diego...I’ll be okay.”

He shook his head. “No.”

“Just go, I’ll-”

“-m’not leaving,” he grunted, firm and hoarse. He ducked his head so she could not see his expression, but Y/N did not have to see his face to know what he was thinking. “S’all.”

She was exhausted and still weak, and the limbs that did work didn’t seem to want to, but still she tried. Y/N adjusted herself on the hospital bed and laced her fingers properly through his, gripping tighter than she could all day. His head moved at that, but did not lift.

Carefully, she lifted their joined hands to her chapped lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The lump in her throat grew larger, and she found herself unable to speak more than a ‘thank you’, but maybe it was more than suffice, for the two of them.

Only then did their eyes meet, and his other hand moved to grip tight to theirs. Diego’s lips quivered, but he stayed silent, simply letting go of the breath held back in his own throat. Their faces remained close, separated only by their own hands, but holding onto the matched caring gaze reflected on both of their faces.

There was a feeling of mutual fear, and grief, and shame and loss that ascended the wound - years of pain between the two of them that sped up to meet this moment joyfully. But they did not speak on any of it. Just held tight to one another, even as her hands grew weary and trembling and his gaze grew dark.

She fell asleep looking at him, and feeling finally, the littlest bit of hope.

TAG LIST (let me know if you want to be added or removed) - @asexualmarauder @thatshellfiredean @the-bird-suit @rangotangomango @fandomsandmore394 @thatkidofwarandpeace @antoouu @soul-of-a-traveller @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @artsyle @asuperconfusedgirl @fic-cheesecake @spacenerdpascal @doctorsgirl262

#i need a favour series #diego hargreeves x reader #diego hargreeves series

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scenes-in-between · 7 years

Text

En Ami

CGB

Months of planning. Layers upon layers of subterfuge. Dominoes meticulously arrayed, men placed just so on a chessboard, whatever metaphor you please. A different story for each participant, painstakingly crafted to ensure his or her cooperation. After all, without all of the players working in concert, the whole thing unravels.

How unexpected, then, when I learn of Scully’s visit to Doctor Parenti. Of her unwitting inclusion in a program under my direct purview. So she wants a child, does she?

“Of course none of the samples she brought in are viable, but it’s no matter. We can proceed with something from the next test batch. I’m sure we are getting closer.”

The program is on its last legs, and Parenti knows it. A less experienced man might be fooled, but I am no stranger to sycophants; these are merely the words of a man desperate not to lose his funding. Another failure, and it will surely be another failure, wouldn’t matter in the case of some random test subject, but a failure with Scully? She will not be deceived so easily, and after she exposes every last person involved, Mulder will come riding in on his steed of self-righteousness and burn the place to the ground.

Could we recover from it? Of course. But it’s an expense and a complication I don’t need. I already have enough knives in the air.

“No, use what she gave you. Let it fail, and let her go. I have another use for her, later.”

What I don’t tell him is that her failed conception will serve my purposes quite nicely. An unplanned gift of leverage.

And, ultimately, a means by which I can not only repay her for her cooperation in the larger plan, but potentially drive Parenti’s program into obsolescence.

***

Mulder

“I don’t understand. You said I was getting better.”

“I said the medication seemed to be helping slow the progression, as we’d hoped it would. Unfortunately, it hasn’t stopped the progression entirely, and the differences I’m seeing between your scan from two months ago and the one from today are significant.”

“But how is that possible? I feel fine! I’ve had no symptoms, no headaches, nothing. How can there be something progressively rotting my brain without there being any outward sign?”

“I confess it is puzzling. Given the areas of encroachment, I would expect you to be having all manner of difficulty with your auditory processing. It is possible, I suppose, that you have been experiencing low-level auditory hallucinations and simply haven’t recognized them as such.”

The walk-ins. Samantha, Amber Lynn, the boy who led me to Samantha’s diary… Scully didn’t see them. What if…? But no, he said auditory, not visual. No, they were real, I’m sure of it.

“So what do we do next? Where do we go from here?”

“I’m, uh… I’m afraid, Mr. Mulder, that I am at a loss. I’ve conferred with several colleagues about your case, and none of us has ever encountered a pathology quite like this before. We’ve exhausted all of the conventional avenues of treatment.”

“Okay, well what about the unconventional ones?”

“There are a handful of experimental therapies being explored, primarily overseas. Monoclonal antibody therapy, various stem cell treatments. But they’re all unproven, still very early in development. You would also have to be selected for the clinical trials, of course, and I’m afraid there’s no guarantee you’ll meet the criteria.”

“So… so, what, I’m just supposed to do nothing and wait around for this to kill me? I refuse to accept that. There has to be something else to try.”

There has to be. Damn it, I was getting better! I can’t leave her alone, not like this. And how in the hell can I tell her now, when she’s still so sad about the IVF? Oh my god, the IVF. I only agreed to it because I thought I was getting better…

“I wish I had something more to offer at this point. I’m sorry, I truly am. It’s worth bearing in mind that we don’t know the timeline on this. It’s… unlikely, but not impossible, that you could carry on as you have been for quite some time before you become drastically symptomatic. I know it’s hard to think about things like putting your affairs in order, and while I want to stress that it’s a good idea for you to start considering that, I’m also not suggesting that you give up hope altogether.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not. You may not be able to help me, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone who can.”

***

Scully

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit…”

*sound of fabric scraping across the microphone*

“Mulder, I don’t know how this happened. I don’t know where I am, but I think he’s found me out. He has to have found… He changed my damned clothes. He drugged me and moved me from the car, and I’m in a room in… I don’t know, a house or a hotel or something. My, uh… my bag is here. My things are all here.”

*more rustling*

“But he put me in pajamas, which means he has to have seen the wire. I don’t know why he didn’t take it. I don’t know if he’s even still here. Maybe he saw the wire and decided the deal’s off. I’m so angry, I’m so… I’m furious with myself for letting my guard down.”

*unintelligible*

“--orry this turned out to be nothing but a waste of time. I thought… I really thought I could get this cure, could give other cancer patients the same chance I got. The same chance Jason McPeck got. But I’m done making deals with CGB Spender. Once I figure out where in the hell I am, I’m coming home.”

***

CGB

Of course I drugged her.

Oh, she fell asleep on her own, that much was true. But even as tired as she was, she never would have slept through being carried to the house. Couldn’t have her waking up before I had a chance to give her my gift, could I?

It's miraculous technology, the chip in her neck. And it's not even the latest model. Of course, that's of little matter in light of advancements such as software patches and wireless data transfer. The human body is a complex machine, but once you hold the key to reprogram it at will, well… anything is possible.

Once-depleted ovaries, for example, could easily be stimulated to produce anew.

And given her previous exposure to both the alien virus and vaccine, given Mulder's exposure to the same, if the two of them were to conceive a child naturally, they just might be able to accomplish that which we’ve spent decades trying and failing to do artificially.

My lies to her in the car were by design, of course. I know full well the degree to which the two of them have become entangled. But a claim to believe otherwise was carefully calculated to let her believe she still had secrets. To let her believe, in a sense, that she had the upper hand, just as I let her believe, for a time, that I didn't know about the wire.

It’s admirable, if unfortunate, that she is capable of such deceit. Having her complete trust would make things easier, but I suppose I have more respect for her, knowing she is smart enough to protect herself, to not stroll willingly into danger without taking precautionary measures.

Still, it was time to let her know she’s not fooled me. I could have put her into bed fully clothed, preserved the illusion of ignorance. Instead, I chose to send a message: I know what she’s up to, and I’m not threatened by it in the least.

Well, that and I truly did want her to be comfortable. Not every word out of my mouth is a lie.

It was a calculated risk -- she nearly decided to walk away this morning -- but I gambled on her fundamentally altruistic nature. For the moment, at least, it remains a bet of the safest sort.

***

Mulder

“It’s not her.”

“Mulder--”

“I’m telling you, it’s not her! It’s impossible. Look at the date and time stamp on this. There’s no way she could have sent this email because we were in California then, and she didn’t even have her laptop on that trip.”

“Are you sure?”

“Damn it, Frohike, of course I’m sure! And this one. This is from a week ago. At 11:35pm, we were sitting together at her kitchen table. She never even left the room. It’s. Not. Her.”

“Okay, well if you’re a hundred percent certain she didn’t write these, then who did?”

“You guys tell me. I thought you were the hacking experts. Can you figure out who gained access to her account?”

“Depends on how much they covered their tracks. This could take some time.”

“She may not have much time. Someone has gone to a hell of a lot of trouble to set her up, and if it’s the son of a bitch she’s with right now, he won’t think twice about using her as bait. We’ve got to figure out if this is related to wherever she’s gone or if it’s a whole separate operation.”

“Look, man, you know I’m the last guy on Earth who wants to see her get hurt. I promise you, we’ll try to get some answers for you as soon as we can.”

“I guess we’re having a slumber party at my place, then. You want me to put coffee on?”

***

Scully

“Mulder, it’s me.”

“Scully! Where are you, are you okay?”

“I’m okay. I’m southbound on Highway 209, on my way home. I should be there in about four and a half hours.”

“What the hell were you thinking?”

“Excuse me?”

“Do you have any idea how much danger you were in?”

More than you even know. “Look, I took the necessary precautions. I’m unharmed, and once I get back, I will be happy to walk you through exactly why I did what I did. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss it any further over the phone.”

“Call me every hour. If I don’t hear from you, I’m sending out the highway patrol.”

“Mulder--”

“He could have had you killed!”

“But he didn’t! So you can stop acting like you’ve never put yourself in danger for the greater good.”

“...”

“I’ll call you in an hour.” *click*

***

CGB

It might seem like a long way to go, just to kill a man. On the face of it, certainly, there could have been simpler methods. But they would have been messier, and far less comprehensive.

It wasn’t just the killing of the man, after all. It wasn’t even that we needed the research. Everything on that disc he handed Scully, I already have.

I am not actually dying. That was another necessary lie.

Cobra worked for the project, once. He was one of the brighter ones, making connections others couldn’t, spinning gold from the virtual straw we gave him. Bits of translated hieroglyphs from the Ivory Coast craft. Biological and genetic data from an exterminated EBE. Nanoprocessor technology from another recovered ship. The advancements he made in a few short years were astounding.

Unfortunately, his genius ultimately became a liability. He developed a conscience, which is, shall we say, problematic in this line of work. We could tell he was getting ready to bolt, that he’d already smuggled data out of the office, data we absolutely couldn’t risk falling into the wrong hands. In the end, it was merely a matter of making sure he bolted in the right direction.

Enter Dana Scully.

Even the most brilliant of men can be led around by the nose by a smart and beautiful woman. Impersonating her via email was child’s play, and though it may have taken months of careful grooming, “Scully” eventually convinced Cobra to destroy all but one copy of the research with which he’d absconded, to turn that final copy over to “her” for safekeeping. Luring him out into the open took some skill, I’m not afraid to boast, but it would require Scully’s actual physical presence in the end. And there were those who wanted to see her eliminated as well, once she had completed what we needed of her.

Perhaps I am growing soft and sentimental in my old age. Or perhaps I am just as susceptible to her charms as Cobra was. I can couch my decision to countermand her kill order in any number of justifications, all of them valid, but it remains possible that I am simply losing my stomach for it.

Why, then, didn’t I let her keep the data? I confess I was tempted. If there were ever a person to trust with it, someone who would truly only use it with the best of intentions, it would be her. But maybe that’s sentimental of me as well. The sad truth is that the world itself cannot support the possibility of so many cured. Six billion people on this Earth, and how many suffer already from starvation? How many overcrowded, over-polluted cities could handle a population that never got sick and died?

This is why there have to be men like me, men holding all the cards, who make the difficult decisions for the greater good. It is a lonely existence; if I had my life to do over again, I… well, I don’t know if all this power truly is worth the sacrifice. Some days I really don’t know.

***

Mulder

I had hoped to never have to write in this journal again, Dana. I foolishly believed I had won, or dodged a bullet at least. I guess I only heard what I wanted to hear.

Turns out that “not worse” is not the same thing as “better.”

I know I made a lot of promises. I hope one day you will understand why I’m continuing to break them now.

If I had never told you about the ova I kept, if you had simply carried on exploring other options, you would have been spared all that needless heartache. You might have conceived on the first try with a donor egg and the sperm of a man not slowly dying of some unprecedented brain disease. Now I fear you might be unwilling to try again, after how badly this went.

The doctors say they can’t help me. I’ve got a whole drawer of cases that say doctors aren’t the only option. Once I have exhausted those avenues too, or once the progression of my condition is such that I can no longer hide it from you, that is when I will tell you.

I know that you already feel bad about the empty disc, about being promised this miracle cure only to have it yanked away like the football in a Peanuts comic strip. I remember what it was like, finding the chip that cured your cancer. I remember what it felt like when I thought I’d been deceived too, finding a vial filled with water instead of some miracle elixir I thought I was after. To tell you now that you maybe could have had something that would cure me… I won’t compound your frustration and guilt. I won’t do it.

I was angry when you went off alone with him, but if I'm honest, I was really just afraid. Afraid you wouldn't see him for the snake he is, afraid he would dangle promises in front of you all while leading you to slaughter like a sacrificial lamb.

I should have given you more credit. I'm sorry I let my fear turn me into an asshole.

I’m embarking out on my own now for the same reasons you did these past few days. I want to try to fix this without you getting hurt. I don’t know if I will succeed, but I have to try.

***

Scully

Initially, I thought the worst part of this whole thing was seeing the disappointment and anger on Mulder’s face. At first I felt indignant (Who was he to talk, given the number of times he’s run off on his own?), but after the blank disc and the empty office, I started thinking maybe he was right to be disappointed in me.

And then it seemed the worst part was having been so thoroughly played for a fool. I thought I was so clever. I thought I could play him, that I could pretend to go along with his demands but still maintain the upper hand in the end. How incredibly naive. There wasn’t a moment after we left my apartment that I was in control.

Finding out I had been used so comprehensively threw me for a loop. Mulder and the Gunmen explained how my email had been hacked and cloned, showed me the messages that had been sent in my name. Well, the Gunmen did most of the explaining. Mulder mostly glowered. Seeing it there on the screen, evidence of months of correspondence between Cobra and someone pretending to be me, made me sick to my stomach. That this could have all been going on, for as long as it did, while I was none the wiser, is nearly impossible to believe.

It is only now, days later, that I finally realize even this wasn’t the worst part.

Because I can’t seem to stop thinking about those last few moments before Cobra’s death. Because I have woken up in a cold sweat four times in the past three nights, haunted by the look on his face when he realized he’d been set up. When he thought I’d set him up. Because my stomach still turns at the memory of watching the bullet hit him, watching him fall over the side of his boat, struggling and failing to grab hold of him as shots were fired at me, too.

Because I know, now, that if I had just walked away after I woke up in the lake house, he might still be alive. If I’d failed to turn up at our rendezvous, he probably never would have come out of hiding. And all his work, all that science, never would have fallen into the hands of that double-crossing, cigarette-smoking son of a bitch.

In trying to do the “right” thing, I only messed everything up. An innocent and arguably brilliant man is dead, and life-saving, world-changing information has been stolen by someone who will only use it for personal gain.

My instincts in this case were so utterly, disastrously wrong, and because of that, I became an instrument of the very group of men responsible for some of the greatest evil I have ever encountered. That is the thing I am not likely to get over for a very long time.

#x-files fanfic #txf: en ami #cigarette smoking man #mulderfic #scullyfic #mulder's stupid brain disease thing #a/n: i hope you'll indulge my experimentation here #i wanted to play a bit with alternating first person povs #don't worry #this isn't a format i'm going to stick with long-term or anything #;)

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