#this was in a place without great hospital/medical access and anyway they were going to fly the baby over

[daisywords]

One of my biggest nitpicks in fiction concerns the feeding of babies. Mothers dying during/shortly after childbirth or the baby being separated form the mother shortly after birth is pretty common in fiction. It is/was also common enough in real life, which is why I think a lot of writers/readers don't think too hard about this. however. Historically, the only reason the vast majority of babies survived being separated from their mother was because there was at least one other woman around to breastfeed them. Before modern formula, yes, people did use other substitutes, but they were rarely, if ever, nutritionally sufficient.

Newborns can't eat adult food. They can't really survive on animal milk. If your story takes place in a world before/without formula, a baby separated from its mother is going to either be nursed by someone else, or starve.

It doesn't have to be a huge plot point, but idk at least don't explicitly describe the situation as excluding the possibility of a wetnurse. "The father or the great grandmother or the neighbor man or the older sibling took and raised the baby completely alone in a cave for a year." Nope. That baby is dead I'm sorry. "The baby was kidnapped shortly after birth by a wizard and hidden away in a secret tower" um quick question was the wizard lactating? "The mother refused to see or touch her child after birth so the baby was left to the care of the ailing grandfather" the grandfather who made the necessary arrangements with women in the neighborhood, right? right? OR THAT GREAT OFFENDER "A newborn baby was left on the doorstep and they brought it in and took care of it no issues" What Are You Going to Feed That Baby. Hello?

Like. It's not impossible, but arrangements are going to have to be made. There are some logistics.

#idk what to tag this #worldbuilding #writing fiction #historical fiction #fantasy #a real-life example: my dad (a pediatrician) was once entrusted with the care of a baby who was born with a rare condition #this was in a place without great hospital/medical access and anyway they were going to fly the baby over #and he specifically asked them to bring the mother and baby #they show up with baby and...the baby's uncle #and he was like. y'all. do you think I asked for the mom to come just for fun??? We don't have formula here. what is the baby going to eat?

[phoenixyfriend]

That one post about great domestic policy and HORRIFIC foreign policy just does not stop being true

Domestic Policy Win: The American Museum of Natural History in NYC is closing down two entire exhibits of Native American belongings in order to comply with a federal order that requires museums to obtain the consent of indigenous nations in order to display artifacts of native origin. The linked ProPublica article specifies that the exhibits in question are the Eastern Woodlands and Great Plains Halls. To quote:

The new federal regulations, which went into effect this month, prohibit the display of items subject to NAGPRA without tribal consent and ban all research done without tribal consent. In addition, the regulations closed a loophole that had allowed museums such as the American Museum of Natural History to keep ancestral remains and burial items by claiming that they are “culturally unidentifiable” — meaning in their view they could not be connected to present-day Indigenous communities based on available evidence — and therefore could not readily be returned to tribes.

Foreign Policy Fail: The United States, the UK, and several other nations, in response to claims that several members of UNRWA were involved in the Oct. 7th attacks, have cut funding to the relief agency in question. The Al Jazeera article profiles the Palestinian response, and also specifies that this funding was pulled after the UNRWA launched an investigation in response to Israel's allegations that 12 members of the relief agency were involved.

Australia, Canada, Italy and the United States said they would halt funding to the agency, while European Union foreign policy chief Josep Borrell said the 27-member bloc would “assess further steps and draw lessons based on the result of the full and comprehensive investigation”. Germany, Finland, the Netherlands and the United Kingdom then also joined the list of countries pausing financial aid to the UN agency, whose facilities where displaced Palestinians sought shelter have been repeatedly attacked in Israeli air raids. Ireland and Norway, however, expressed continued support for UNRWA, saying the agency does crucial work to help Palestinians displaced and in desperate need of assistance in Gaza. - Al Jazeera

"One million displaced people are currently taking refuge in and around UNRWA buildings. They are the ones who will suffer as a result of this decision," said Mr Gunness, adding: "The curtailing of UNRWA services will also destabilise the region at a time when Western governments are trying to contain a regional conflagration." [...] The US, Germany and the EU are among some of UNRWA's biggest donors. - BBC

Unfortunately, the WSJ article is paywalled, so I can't access the full thing for a quote.

Anyway. Call your reps. I'm not even talking to just the Americans this time, call your fucking reps. If they aren't donating to UNRWA, then make them do something. Is the organization possibly a security risk, and the concerns legitimate? Maybe! But you cannot cut the funding that is keeping 2.3mill people alive on an already shoestring budget and not immediately put a backup security net in place.

Until then, pick a charity with a good rating, donate and signal boost it, and politely harass your politicians.

Politely as in "don't shout at or cuss out the staffers that man the phone lines," because they are not your reps, but also because your number is going to get blocked and then you won't be able to pressure them in the future. Do be firm, though.

I'm personally picking the PCRF this time, since one of the three remaining hospitals in south Gaza has been evacuated and shut down, and the evacuees reportedly include women who just got C-sections, which means the evacuees also include newborns, and medical care is in high demand. They're also currently focused on providing clean drinking water to the people of Palestine. That said, so is food, and shelter, and winter clothing. Pick a need, find a charity, and toss them some money.

#yes this was mostly my way of guiding people to charity sites again. and pushing you to push your reps #current events #united states #indigenous peoples #palestine #israel #gaza #death tw

[ledenews]

#ohiocounty #OVMC #UpperOhioValley #wheeling #wvumedicine

[anntoldst0ries]

shinrin-yoku (Ethan x MC)

Book: Open Heart Pairing: Dr Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr Noelle Valentine) Word Count/Rating: ~1.7k, PG Summary: When life's difficulties hit, Noelle navigates her way through them by turning to the nature. Category: Hurt & Comfort Warnings: mentions of trauma

A/N: May is a Mental Health Awareness month and here in the UK the theme is nature. My MC, just like me, runs to the woods when things get tough. It helps her clear her head and reconnect with inner strength.

I struggle with mental health myself and it’s important for me to speak up and address the subject. There is nothing worse than shaming or discrediting someone’s difficult feelings. It’s fine not to be fine.

If you struggle alone, please don’t. My inbox will welcome you with open arms. Two heads are better than one, even if we just complain, at least we can complain together 💜

For @choicesmaychallenge2021 Day 13 - Mental Health

SHINRIN-YOKU - A Japanese term for ‘forest bathing’ or the sense of well-being you experience while in nature.

~~

It all starts with a seed. This tiny element which, without aid, is sentenced to certain death. But give it the right soil. Give it water, sun. And it can grow. Into something big. Powerful. Scary.

~~

She is five years old.

They live in a townhouse, a classy Victorian era building. Undistinguished, one of many merging into the background of a typical London street. The colors are also very standard,  dirty white married to ivory beige, bar for the deep green door - their rebel child.

For the random passerby, it’s nothing special. But for her, the walls of a storey house encapsulate the whole world.

The garden behind the house is neat and clean, visibly well taken care of. She doesn’t remember exact details anymore, but she remembers begging her parents to go camping in the garden with her brother. The ticklish feeling of long and slim blades of grass on her tiny feet. Looking at the stars with pure awe and delight, that only the unspoiled mind of a child is capable of.

The plot of land that the house has been built on borders a beautiful forest. A wooden fence separates the two.

To her, it’s a passage to a magical world.

A world without any particular order, living its own life, unconstricted by rules. Not in the slightest does it resemble the garden on her side of the fence, where things grow according to the rules laid out by the adults.

There is a feeling inside her that she’s too young to name, to throw it in lingual context. It’s not until years later that she realized what it had been. Freedom. To grow however you please. To be what you want to be.

Robust, effuse trees tower over her, making her feel so small. As if she hasn’t already been feeling small enough, living in a world full of giants.

But they mean something else too. They bring a secret and a promise. Promise of a bigger world out there, far from the confines of the place she calls home.

The forest draws her, singing a melody that only her heart can understand. One day, she will be a part of it.

~~

She lives the teenage dream life.

That’s what everyone says.

She doesn’t have any real problems. She’s lucky not having to worry about money. She’s got friends. Her family is great. She just needs to stop whining. Her life is perfect.

Their words, not hers.

None of them know what happens behind closed doors.

The childhood forest is a cloudy memory. Her home is now thousands of miles away, in a city with a giant red bridge, which for some bizarre reason has ‘golden’ in its name.

But the call from nature doesn’t care about distance. It can find you about anywhere. It’s different and yet the same.

Because nature beats in one rhythm and speaks in the same language, everywhere.

The morning is chilly and humid. She’s wearing a wooly coat, carelessly threw on a pair of PJs hiding underneath.

Her steps are brisk, breathing short and heartbeat elevated. Something’s bothering her blanched face.

The voice, again.

When it first appeared, she thought it had her best interest at heart. Used to give her advice and like a good friend, ream her out when she did something bad.

Over time, things took a turn for the worse.

Snarky comments. Casually mentioned wrongdoings. Feedback on what she could have done better, differently.

Noelle hoped the voice would go away on its own.

It hasn’t.

Not only did the voice not go away, but it was actually growing stronger with each passing day. Became more vocal. Judgmental. Openly hostile.

It fed on her fears.

It’s your fault - it told her - that your parents are getting divorced.

You are not good enough.

Even a lie, repeated enough times, will finally become the truth. And so it did for her, to the point where she couldn’t distinguish her own voice from the voice of the tormentor. Sounds faded into one.

Whoever said words can cut like a knife was right. But those who knew thoughts could leave scars that are much deeper, were truly wise.

The young, beautiful girl who never hurt a soul, became a hostage. A prisoner locked in the jail of her own head.

A giant tear rolled down her face. Made of all the words her heart couldn’t say.

She hugged the tree tightly and inhaled the woodsy aroma, the scent filling her lungs fully.

It’s sensuous.

Just like that, she is small again.

~

She’s got all that she ever wanted.

Degree from one of the best medical schools. Graduating with honors and glowing recommendations from even the strictest professors, who kept assuring her that her future in medicine is so bright it’s actually blinding. Then, a dreamy residency in one of the most prestigious hospitals in the country.

Pretty impressive, right? Even a fool could see that. But the only fool whose opinion she cared about, couldn’t. All these things were clearly not good enough for Ethan Ramsey to stay.

She wasn’t good enough for him to stay.

Not longer than a year ago he was just a concept, an ideal without a face, body and voice. To her, he was a celebrity, a hero, someone whom mortals don’t have access to.

It was preposterous to consider for even a second Dr Ramsey could actually see something in an intern.

Standing among the moss-covered trees, every fiber of her being was filled with the thought of him.

Did the Amazonian forest remind him of her, just like every forest around reminded her of him?

Just when she won the battle for her career, she lost another. Because life had to be a zero-sum game.

As painful as that would have been, she wished she had something to hold onto. A scene she could replay in her mind. An image of him walking away. Or saying goodbye.

But he left without a word.

That was the pattern. That was history repeating itself.

She took her shoes off and stepped on the soil frosted with morning dew. It’s cold and wet. It’s refreshing. She is grounding. Reconnecting with Earth.

Tunes in with the rivers of grass, towers of trees, fences of bushes.

If the trees could speak, they’d tell stories not many people would believe in.

Tales of heartbreaks. Parables of spirits.

They are all nature’s poems.

Hauntingly beautiful. Riveting. Written without a single word.

Because nature speaks its very own language that only the soul, not the mind, can understand.

Pain is ripping her apart. But it reminds her that she’s alive. And this, in itself, is a miracle.

~~

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

Some people call her a survivor. But it doesn’t feel like the right word. So many things in her died. So much was lost.

The attack took a lot from her. Danny. Bobby. Sense of security. Identity. Direction.

Right and wrong, good and bad, righteous and vicious. These are all just words. Someone needs to come and teach her the meaning of them anew. Draw lines, mark out frontiers. Save her from herself.

The ground is soaked. Torrential rain turned the soil into soft mud, warm and easily slipping through her fingers. She falls on her knees, praying for the ground to consume her.

Fill every part of her. Silence the internal cacophony. To sink into oblivion.

Not many people knew about the panic attacks and recurring nightmares. They’re always the same.

She’s standing in the middle of a swamp. Danny and Bobby are drowning, their arms reaching out for her. She knows she can only save one of them. She runs out of time trying to figure out how to save both. As a result, they both die. Time stands still and yet everything is spinning, moving, racing. The reality is a riot of overbright colours.

Suddenly, a ring breaks the silence. A polyphonic intruder. She looks at the screen through hooded eyes and notices the caller’s name. It’s him. He’s petrified. Worried to death. Asks her to stay where she is.

Some time later, maybe 10 minutes, maybe an hour - who knows? - he emerges from the gathering of stocky oaks.

The moment he catches the sight of her, he starts running. She notices a lab coat underneath the jacket. He’s soaking wet.

Even though he is so close, he doesn’t slow down. Crashing into her, he scoops her in his arms. Catches her in the tightest of embraces.

Asks her if she’s fine. No. Not that question again. She’s tired of people fussing over her and gets angry.

Had it not been for the attack, would he even be here? The voice asks mockingly. It doesn’t matter to her. He’s there now.

Deep baritone is gentle and full of concern. It’s not like that. It’s not his intention to fuss. He’s simply worried. Because she is the most important thing to him in the whole world. Yes, he wasted so much time. That’s why he refuses to lose even one more second.

A dam breaks within her. Eliciting a quiet sob. She clutches his shirt, holds onto him for dear life. Moments later, she’s screaming at the top of her lungs. Singing her poignant birdsong.

How is she supposed to cope? Will things ever go back to normal? What is normal anyway?

In the confines of the infamous patient room she never felt more scared in her life. But here, out in the open, she feels so safe. As if she’s had a silent agreement with nature, which vouched to protect her at all costs.

And this time, nature had an ally. Because Ethan will protect her, even if it’s the last thing he does. Holding onto each other, they stand in the nothingness.

It keeps them grounded. Connected to their roots. Turning over new leaves. Bending before they break. Growing.

They get lost. Mother Nature has a reward for those who do. They have a chance to find themselves. Over and over again.

~~~

If you made it this far - thank you & you're awesome 🥰

Tag list: @genevievemd @gryffindordaughterofathena @terrm9@starrystarrytrouble @the-pale-goddess @jamespotterthefirst @lisha1valecha @writer-ish @maurine07 @drakewalkerfantasy@iemcpbchoices @liaromancewriter @lem-20 @lucy-268 @oldminniemcg @queencarb @qrkowna @mercury84choices @lsvdw-blog @utterlyinevitable @stygianflood @udishaman @romewritingshop @romereadingshop @alina-yol-ramsey @stateofgracious @xxsugarplumfluffsxx @binny1985 @tsrookie @fayeswiftie @archxxronrookie @tinkertailorsoldierspy @schnitzelbutterfingers @wingedhairstylemusicweasel @theinvisibledreamergirl @custaroonie @irisofpurple @chasingrobbie @ethandaddyramseyx @quixoticdreamer16 @coffeeheartaddict @takemyopenheart @aworldoffandoms @potionsprefect @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

#open heart #Ethan Ramsey x mc #choices fic writers creations #fics of the week #mental health awareness

[eddiesquinnsworld]

Walk The Red Carpet

So this is my first fanfic! So please be kind as I was so nervous to upload this. I haven’t seen any fanfiction that represented us disabled gals so I took the job on as a disabled gal myself. I’m by no means a writer and this is probably terrible. Also I do have dyslexia so I might have missed out a word here or there. 

There’s a bit of swearing in this and mentions of a panic attack but apart from that it’s pure fluff! Enjoy!

Today was one of those days, one where your mind was so chaotic and busy with pointless thoughts. One where your mind was frantically telling you the same unhelpful things constantly. That you were never enough and you’ll never be enough, this was all thanks to your mother because from a young age you were always the last thought, the inconvenience and the girl who fault it was for everything.. you just weren’t enough. You’d been through therapy and counselling multiple times, and it seemed to help calm those intrusive thoughts and you started to become an independent woman who didn’t need no one else.

But the reality was you were a young woman with multiple disabilities which meant you needed more help than you’d actually admit, your dreams had been dashed when your consultant said you were too ill to continue with education. This meant that you spend a lot of time at home with your dysfunctional family constantly checking on you, blood pressure checks, medication to be taken at certain times, physiotherapy to complete and regular hospital and doctors appointments to attend. 

Also being a full time wheelchair user meant all your friends ditched you, because you ‘couldn’t be fun’ as you always had to plan ahead. As somehow not every location is wheelchair accessible, this did piss you off but it not like you chose this life so you just accepted it. Basically you were alone in this world, however you found solace in filming videos and uploading them to YouTube weekly, because it was something you had complete control over and meant you could share your experiences to others. 

You also had gotten to a point in your life where you wanted to start dating again after a 3 year break because up until then the guys you’d talked to took one look at the wheelchair, and either started acting distant or ran a million miles. You couldn’t keep count of how many times a guy had asked you if you could have sex and after that shit show experience you decided to quit the dating game, believing you’d never find your ‘Prince Charming’.

But you thought surely not all guys were pricks, so you started hanging out in bars again to see if Mr Right would walk in. Then if by luck after 3 months of waiting for a miracle, he did. 

It was his ocean blue eyes you saw first glancing at you, that made you blush because he was quite possibly the most beautiful man you had ever seen. Within seconds, he was besides you. “What’s a beautiful girl like you doing alone in a place like this” he said grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “oh you know just waiting for my prince charming” you replied with a hint of sarcasm in your voice. He held out his (rather large) hand for you to shake “Well my name’s Henry and I hope I’ll do for now”

That was 2 years ago, now you’re in the middle of a global pandemic with the love of your life in a cottage in the English countryside. You’d both been together 24/7 for the past 4 months and it had been bliss, waking up together in the morning, baking together, watching Henry play his favourite games and snuggling on the sofa in the evening. However you knew it would come to an end eventually, today was that day.

Henry had been called back to work on the Witcher, you’d visit the set occasionally but you didn’t want to get in the way too much. So you stayed at home and made yourself busy. However this was when your anxiety took over and that one thought crept in your mind again. 

‘You’ll never be enough for him’ 

Tears started to escape your eyes and your breathing started to quicken. A panic attack. You didn’t want to bother Henry on his first day back so you got on the bed and curled in a ball and let the panic attack take over your body, until you heard the front door close and a familiar deep voice “hello darling I’m home” 

Henry looked everywhere for you and called you several times but he got no response, he knew something was wrong instantly. Once he made it to the bedroom door and saw you on the bed, curled up and shaking. 

“Oh sweetheart what’s happened?” He realised straightaway that you were having a panic attack and he also knew exactly what you needed. He laid on the bed next to you moving your head onto his chest and securing you into tight embrace. He learnt from previous attacks that you needed to feel safe and protected, also having seen many of your panic attacks over the last 2 years, he also understood the implications they had on your health. “Darling I need you to steady your breathing or you’re going to pass out on me” 

After 10 minutes your breathing became calmer and slower so you could finally tell him what happened. “I’m so sorry Hen, I’m such a mess. I don’t know what you see in me? Surely you want more than this… more than me” You gestured down your body whilst trying to stop tears falling from your eyes.

He pulled away from you so he could look into your eyes. “I see the most beautiful, intelligent, strong and caring woman I ever met. I watch the way you deal with pain everyday, without complaining and it astonishes me. I see how strong you are by getting out of bed everyday when somedays your body really doesn’t want you too or how you get on with your day making sure everyone else is ok and forgetting about your own needs.” 

You process his words for a minute feeling how they warm your heart but your brain takes over again. “But don’t you want a woman that can actually walk the red carpet with you without all the pity looks and stares. How can I ever be enough for you, ‘the great actor Henry Cavill’, you see what they write about me, they act as if you need a medal because you decided to love someone who’s disabled” 

He seems generally hurt by your words and you can instantly tell you’ve hit a nerve “I’m not the one needing a medal, you are! You are so inspirational to me, I honestly feel ashamed for all the times I moaned when I pulled a muscle when I know you deal with far worst pain than me everyday.”  He pauses for a moment, thinking of the best way to say his next sentence.

“Plus I decided to love you not because you’re disabled but because you wanted to know the real Henry, the man away from the cameras. You fell in love with me as a person not as an actor and you have made me feel love like I have never felt before, I love waking up to your beautiful face every morning knowing that you chose to love me… so if anyone needs the medal it’s you”

“Also just because your legs don’t work properly doesn’t make you any less of a woman to me. Anyone who decides to defines you by your chair, the thing gets you around is shallow and isn’t worth worrying about so let them write what they like, because all that matters is that we love one another… in sickness and in health. Anyway, I’d rather have you by my side on that carpet in your wheelchair with all the looks and stares than some woman who can walk and doesn’t love me and support me like you. They’re only staring because you’re so damn beautiful and they’re jealous that you chose me as your date” You stare at him in awe wondering how you got so lucky.

“That’s how you see me? You know I’m not as strong as you make out right? I love you so much because you’re the first man to see me as person and not as my disability.” 

“Plus what do I need a medal for, loving you is easy, I mean one look at you and two no one has made me feel the love you do. With you I feel ‘normal’ and like I could conquer the world. You know I love supporting you, walking that carpet with you knowing my boyfriend is so talented at what he does, but I just worry, I sometimes take the spotlight because the tabloids seem to focus on ‘Henry Cavill’s disabled girlfriend’. That’s why I thought maybe you’d like to have someone that could actually walk” You look down as your eyes well up again. You can feel your anxiety bubbling up inside you. Henry places his finger under your chin to lift your head up.

“I mean I think walking can be a bit over-rated anyways. Plus as I said most of the women I’ve been with who could walk don’t have your massive heart and kindness, so I think I’d rather show you off as my girlfriend” You both chuckle as he wipes your tears away. You grab his hand bringing it to your lips as you look into those ocean blue eyes you fell in love with.

“You really think the world of me don’t you and that makes you the most amazing man I’ve met. I’m glad I met you in that bar 2 years ago because you’re the best thing to happen to me” 

“Yes I do because to me you are ENOUGH” 

Insomnia

#henry cavill #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x disabled reader

[beerecordings]

Poison - Chapter 5

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4

So this was going to be the final section but it was longer than I expected! So there will be one part after this, I think, or one part and an epilogue. It should be posted next week :)

Marvin is, at last, rescued. But whether or not his brothers have been quick enough to truly save him - and what is to be done with the broken amalgamation of Anti and Chase, bound together in confusion and agony by a possession which out-stayed its welcome - is yet to be seen.

Trigger warnings for trauma reactions and hospitalization, including intubation, major illness, and forced psychiatric hold with restraints and drugging (Anti-Chase is the one in psychiatric holding). There are parts of this that could be interpreted as soft!Anti, but mostly it’s just Chase’s influence on the merged character they’ve made.

All that being said... hope you enjoy and thanks for reading :)

-----------

A

white

room.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe, whispers the machine pumping oxygen into his lungs with a hiss.

The only noise.

The only noise.

Silence and oxygen.

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Hisssss.

Can't feel anything at all.

Even his skin is a stranger.

Untouchable.

Colors and images and words with a vile sound to them – memories, realizes some part of him – filter through his mind like dust through the air.

Meaningless.

Meaningless.

Empty as a white

white

white

white

room.

White coat. He stares up at it. It moves. Someone's wearing it.

White sheets. They do not fidget. His body is frozen beneath them.

White man.

His blue eyes are the only color in the room.

White

room.

Dark.

Cool.

Silent.

“Schneep,” his mouth attempts, just once, and then he is asleep again.

Henrik lets himself touch his wrist. Only for a moment. Just to feel the heart still beating beneath his own fingers.

“Stay with me,” he whispers, and hopes it reaches him somewhere, a light in dark dreams. “Stay with me, my brother.”

The first night is the vital one and he’s done everything he can.

Now he has to wait.

“I’ll finish up the last of it,” murmurs Kaashif, a nurse he’s worked with for two years now, touching his shoulders. “Go check on your brothers. Get something to eat. Your hands are good ones to be in, Henrik.”

“You can say that if he survives,” answers Henrik, clapping him on his shoulder and sending one look back at Marvin, small and as white as a gutted bird in that great blank bed.

Stay with me, my brother.

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

The cool walls of Henrik’s office surround him, comforting in their familiarity. The table is glass, a customary splattering of papers discarded across the smooth surface. A Newton’s cradle with smiley faces on the balls that Chase bought for him rock back and forth, back and forth, soothing white noise to Jackie’s ears. He stares up at the abstract blue and orange painting on a full meter of canvas pinned up above Henrik’s chair. Jameson made it for him himself. Just some nice colors. Just something to brighten up his office. For you, Schneep.

Hospitals can be scary. Jackie knows. But for his family, this place in particular has never been an omen for them. This is where they come to pick up Henrik after long days of work. This is where they’ve shared over-priced cafeteria food and smuggled-in Taco Bell at four in the morning. This is a piece of their city, of their home, of their family. Most of the staff know them by name, or at least as Henrik’s brothers. They can get roof access just by begging Cameron the security guard hard enough. And even when they’ve come here because someone was sick or Jackie broke a bone or that one time Marvin stepped on a piece of glass after breaking a crystal ball that wasn’t working, this was never the place to come to out of fear. It was the place to come because they knew Henrik was in the hospital, and Henrik would make it better.

JJ signs something incoherent and burrows deeper into Jackie’s shoulder, sighing against his shirt. Jackie wants to smile at his sleeping face, but he’s so tired, and so full of adrenaline, and so, so, so scared.

They’ve waited for hours by the time Henrik finally slips into his office behind them, letting the door shut behind him with a tired click. There’s a long silence. Jackie closes his eyes. Please don’t let them be gone.

“You made yourself at home,” Henrik teases, stepping forward, though his voice cracks slightly on delivery. He has a point, however. Wrappers from vending machine candy and a couple bottles of fizzy drinks lie abandoned around the chairs in front of his desk, the drawers of which have been ripped open in search of entertainment – or, better put, distraction. Not that the caffeine or the many drawings of sheep given to Henrik by Chase’s kids were enough to save Jackie from the full, shaking weight of his fear. He strokes his thumb across his little brother’s wrist and reminds himself to breathe steady.

Henrik moves to Jackie’s side and puts a hand on his free shoulder. He doesn’t even look up. His tired eyes have drifted down from his painting to the glass that makes up Henrik’s back wall, where snow is drifting out of the sky.

Henrik crouches down beside him and puts his head against his arm, and for a long moment they just rest, together, listening to Jameson breathe.

“Can you talk?” asks Henrik. “Do you need somewhere quiet to go? The lights off?”

“I’m okay, Schneep,” whispers Jackie, touching the bandage over Henrik’s cheek where Marvin burned him. “Just worried. Is he…”

“He’s alive.”

Jackie’s gloved hand squeezes around Jameson’s, making his little brother’s sleepily-clutched rosary clink and glitter in the starlight. Henrik looks up to see Jackie’s face squeezed just as tight, his eyes closed.

“Is he going to be alright?”

“I can’t make any promises,” whispers Henrik. “JJ seem okay to you?”

“You heard that he fainted just about as soon as we got here?”

“Magic is exhausting. I could have gotten him a bed somewhere.”

“He just wanted to be in your office. He likes it in here. There’s been a nurse checking in on him anyway. You know how much all the nurses here love him.”

“Yeah, cause he’s always bringing baked goods to the break room for ‘my big brother and his coworkers.’”

“Aka, being the cutest person in the world.”

“Yeah. Well, when Marvin is better, he’ll know what to do to take care of magical exhaustion better than I do. And he can teach JJ everything he needs to know. And everything will be okay.”

Jackie stares up at him, seeing himself reflected in Henrik’s glasses. His fear reflected – shared – in Henrik’s eyes.

“What happened?” he whispers. “Tell me everything.”

What a fucking night. What a fucking night. Henrik laughs without knowing why and goes to sit down on his side of the desk, burying his face in his hands.

Jackie waits, watching him. Eventually he leans down and picks up a Dr. Pepper, sliding it towards his brother.

“I’m going to pretend this is whiskey,” says Henrik, and he pops the cap and chugs the half that remains, making Jackie give him a faint, amused smile, which is all that matters to Henrik right now, really, because it’s all he can do.

He explains to Jackie what he can, trying not to go too fast. Jackie sits there holding Jameson and listening quietly to Henrik talking about things like renal failure and sedatives for seizures and a cool white room with all stimuli set to a minimum and muscle relaxants pumping into their brother to stop any more convulsions – not to mention what sounds like enough activated charcoal to detox a sickly elephant. Marvin’s intubated, Henrik explains, and extremely unwell. He won’t know for a couple days how bad the damage to his body will be. He could still die. And no, they can’t see him. No one can. Not for days.

“I could wear all white,” Jackie tries to bargain, voice rasping. “I could be really quiet and not touch him.”

“You can’t, Jackie. The risk is too high.”

“I can’t just sit with him? I can’t see him through the window of the room?”

“There is no window to the room. He has to rest. Alone. Quiet. No color. As little movement as he can. He won’t even be conscious for a couple days.”

Jackie bangs his fist against the arm of the chair in an effort to be contradictory, but he doesn’t take his head off Jamie’s. He buries himself against his brother’s hair, hoping Henrik won’t see him cry.

“Listen, Jackie… I need to give you the medical professional talk now, okay? I need you to know this. I’m not trying to be pessimistic and I’m not giving up hope, just – ”

“It’s okay, Schneep,” says Jackie softly. “I already know most people who get poisoned this badly die.”

A silence falls between them. Henrik stares at his own hands and says nothing.

“Cottonmouth?” he manages eventually, looking up at his brother.

“Dead,” mumbles Jackie. “I’ll let the cops handle that one. It’s horrible, really... even for her. Wonder what Moccasin will do.”

“Right,” says Henrik, his voice a little dark, and Jackie thinks that his little brother doesn’t think it’s so horrible at all, that she got what she deserved. “Yeah.”

Jameson shuffles sleepily on Jackie’s shoulder. The snow is quieting outside.

“And Chase?” Jackie whispers.

Found after all this time. Found after all this time.

Found like this.

“What did the police say?” asks Henrik.

“They almost tried to take him back to the station! I could have pounded them for it! But I looked after him til the emergency responders said he should go to the psych ward of the hospital. Wasn’t going to let pigs touch my little brother.”

“Is he going to be arrested once he’s better?”

“I don’t think so. Max is pulling some strings for us. He knows Chase isn’t… himself. He’s going to buy us time to deal with this.”

“Well, if they do try to put him on trial, I can always smuggle him back to Germany.”

Jackie laughs despite himself, covering his face with his hands for a moment, trying to keep it together.

“I won’t let anything happen to him. He can’t, like, glitch away, right?”

“As far as we can tell. He’s heavily drugged.”

“And how is he?”

“I, um. I don’t know.”

“What?”

Henrik looks up at him, face drawn and guilty.

“Schneep, they told me you were looking after him.”

“I meant to. I mean, I wrote up his treatment plan and everything and I had the nurses give him everything he needs. But I couldn’t go in there. I got – I got…”

Henrik trails off, mouth pursed. Jackie sighs and pulls his face up from JJ’s hair.

He got scared.

“He doesn’t really look like Chase, does he?” he murmurs.

“Or act like him,” Henrik all but whimpers, clutching at the white sleeves of his coat that hide the pale string scars underneath. “He acts like… like him, and I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay,” says Jackie. “It’s not your fault, Schneep. I’d be nervous too.”

“Will you go with me?” he asks.

“You still want to see him?”

“Yes.” Henrik tries to look resolute when he nods. “I do, yes. I need to help him with this. I need to find a way to save him, Jackie. I think I can do it. If you’re there.”

Jackie grins at him, hallowed by the stars and the snow outside. There’s his Schneep. That’s his tough little brother.

“Course, man. That’s what I do. They don’t call me Jackieboyman for nothing.”

“They call you that because you are a dork. Come on. He’s in the psych ward.”

“Wait, what about Jamie?”

“Oh, I talked with the nurse. He’s just sleeping. For once. So he should be okay to keep resting a while. Call me when he’s possessed and/or someone’s fed him gopher poison in revenge for imprisoning their drug lord partner.”

“Don’t even joke, von Schneeplestein. Don’t even joke.”

He picks Jameson up and readjusts him in the chair, leaving him sleeping deep and dreamless beneath blue and orange canvas, warm with Jackie’s hoodie wrapped around his shoulders.

At least Jackie gets to see this one resting.

Now it’s time to go poke a bear.

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

“Where am I?” he asks himself, staring at the ceiling above him.

White ceiling. White bedsheets. White light, painful on the eyes after so long in unconsciousness.

“I think… a hospital?” he answers, his voice weak, his tongue terribly thick in his mouth. “Please, no words… oh, I ache…”

He’ll think instead. It’s easier.

This is a hospital?

I think it is.

I don’t want to be here! Let’s get out.

Look, in the doorway… the men who look like me.

He turns his head more fully towards the door, breathing anxiously.

Those are the men I ran away from?

I don’t remember… did I? Oh, our head… we have to lie back down.

He sinks into the pillows and nearly passes out again, his head throbbing and his limbs sluggishly motivated, tasting blood in his mouth.

He doesn’t remember much of that day he went away.

In fact, he doesn’t remember much at all.

He thinks there was a train that day, or maybe not a train. A train underground. He was holding… something soft. He was holding something soft. He was smiling.

He was on his way to see his children.

He was on his way to see his kids. Yes, he was smiling. He was smiling very big.

The subway rattled merrily around him as he sat clutching the stuffies he had bought them to his chest, his eyes bright, grinning at the exhausted assemblage of people headed to work around him. Things were good, and Hunter had been excited to see him on the phone, and Stacy was going to go out of town and let him stay with them, and everything was going to be okay. Everything was going to be better than okay. Everything was going to be perfect.

And then he wasn’t who he was anymore.

There was nothing theatrical about it, really, nothing like in the movies, with throes of passionate fighting against the thing inside your head or a look of horror as the eyes turned black in the mirror. Anti did sit suddenly down beside him, yes, emerging from the crowd though he had not been there when the subway doors closed, and Chase’s heart took flight like a bird after a gunshot cuts through the air. He said nothing. Clutched Izzy’s stuffed seal tighter to his chest. Tried to breathe. Anti did not speak either.

A few minutes later, he was aware of a change in himself, and then he was lost, and as time went on, Chase only grew more and more lost within the dark tangle of trees and bristle and thorn in which he found himself. He cried out for his family. No one could hear him. He struggled. His hands tore open on the sharp wood and blood would seep through, moment to moment, staining together his consciousness and Anti’s, embedding him deep within the forest until, at last, he looked up and found Anti looking back at him, gripping his shirt, his arm, his hair, his body, desperate to tear him out of the forest they shared.

Entirely without success.

This was not what either of them meant to have happen. They were bound and bolted together, both caught in a constant recoil and a constant coming together. Anti was as tangled up as he was. Their blood seeped into the earth. Eventually the creature that remained – fae and man and monster and brother – forgot that there had ever been two to begin with at all. There was just him.

In pain.

And in confusion so great as to match it.

But despite that confusion, he thinks, now, as his eyes flicker open, that he recognizes the man in front of him, the one who has come into the room, leaving the other out in the hall, looking anxious and defensive.

He had recognized the other man a couple days ago, hadn’t he? Hanging from handcuffs? Convulsing with poison? They had stalked him, he thinks, and then, when he saw him in those chains, something in inside him snapped like a tree branch on the forest floor. Who was he? What was his name?

I wanted to see him die so badly.

He… loved me…

“Chase?”

He blinks drowsily, trying to come awake.

“Let me the fuck out,” he hears his own voice, thick and strained. “No…”

He is hand-cuffed to both sides of the white bed.

Confinement. No. Not this. He can’t bear it. To be chained down. Filthy mortal flesh, keeping him stuck, keeping him static, his whole being drowning under muscle and bone, unable to get out from the man’s body, from… his body?

We’re okay. I’m okay. Stay calm. Here I am.

He’s nothing but a sniveling excuse for a healer anyway.

Yes. He’s pathetic. I am strong. I’m here. We’re here. Hold on to me.

“Chase. It’s me. Are you okay? Please say something.”

He looks up again, eyes burning.

“Oh,” he says, feeling a smile, a sneer, grow malignantly across his face. “I knew I recognized you somewhere.”

“Yes,” the man whispers, eyes warming with relief. “Yes, my brother. It’s me. It’s me.”

“Of course,” he whispers back. “I still remember how beautiful you were chained to my basement floor. My lovely little torturer. I knew you’d come back to me one day, my doctor.”

Henrik’s body tenses, his pupils going small, his heart caught in his throat.

“I’m not scared of you,” he manages after a minute, but his eyes turn down to the ground, his posture shrinks small and submissive, and his hands clutch together as though he can hold his own heart and protect it inside of them. In the hallway, Jackie puffs up with worry, not allowed into the room by the shadowy figures Anti can see guarding the door. “I want Chase. Give him back to me.”

“Give him back to me,” he mocks, tilting his head, and when his eyes flash black Henrik whimpers and leaps up from his chair, jerking back towards the door and almost falling over his own feet. “Stupid little doctor.”

“Where’s Chase? I want him! You’re not him! You stole him from me!”

“I am and always have been the AntiJack,” he laughs, tearing against his restraints, panting as he tries to force the flesh to glitch, but, oh, he feels so heavy, so sluggish, so pinned down. Needles protrude from his arms. He cannot reach back to tear them out. “The one who is not him and the one who pretends to be. I am the reverse and the imposter. I… I am… ungh, Schneep, what did you even give me?”

“Enough calmatives to keep a horse on its knees,” spits back Henrik, wiping his hair shakily from his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“Little fucker,” he mumbles, feeling his head drop onto his chin. “Bet you had to have the psych ward nurses do it, huh? Little man? You were always such a little coward, Schneep… letting everybody else do the big boy work… sitting in your little office, sorting through your papers, pretending you can do anything to save anyone. You just… you… fuck, I h-hate this flesh… fucking let me go.”

He tries to palm at the old scar on his head, groaning as pain lances through his brain. Another one of the random aches the body gets. He needs to lie down and sleep through it if he can. That’s what he does when the body is in pain. Maybe get some of the bitter, fermented liquids that humans like to help him quiet himself down. He’s gotten such a taste for whiskey. He can hear himself mumbling, trying to reorient himself, and his hands burn for his neat little notebooks. He has to keep track. He can’t just lose himself. He can’t just keep losing such big pieces of himself.

Hold on. Hold on to me. We’re okay!

I’ll get out of this like I always get out of trouble.

Yes, I’m okay. Focus on this little bastard. Confining me… who does he think he is?

We should rip him open like a candy bar wrapper.

“I can’t let you go,” the doctor tells him, slipping nervously back towards him. “Don’t scratch at your palms like that.”

“I’m going to cut you up like the little sardine I always meant to make of you,” he purrs, sing-song, scratching away at his palms until the blood comes, relieved for the pain to focus on. “I’m going to pluck the feathers off you, little bird, alouette, gentille alouette, alouette, je te plumerai.”

His own singing begins to calm him, his exhausted eyes flickering shut. He thinks the song was an old lullaby anyway.

“I will pluck your feathers out, I will pluck your feathers out. On your head, on your head, and your neck, and your neck, and your back, and your back… and your chest, alouette… ungh, too much medicine, Schneep… my head hurts. I’m going to skin you and make you into a hat for Jay… for J… for the other boy, the one with the… what’s his name, I…”

Henrik touches his bloodied palm.

He stills.

The doctor wipes the wet blood gently from his hands and bandages them. The soft pads of his fingers drift along the veins of his palms. Of his wrists. Of his fingers.

Someone is touching him.

Someone is touching him, touching him gently.

“Marvin?” he hears himself say. “Brother? Are you there? Where are you?”

“He’s resting,” whispers Henrik. “I am looking after him.”

“Yes,” he says. “Schneep. Look after him. Alouette, gentile alouette, alouette, je te plumerai…”

A needle is jammed into his throat. He screams, his fingers tightening around the hand holding his own and digging down into the back of it, his black eyes flashing open to stare at Henrik even as the world seeps rapidly away.

“You won’t be in control much longer, Anti,” murmurs Henrik, some deep and agonized fury glowing in his eyes as he shoves him back onto the bed. “Don’t pretend to be my little brother. I am not your slave anymore. I will find a way to set Chase free too.”

Anti can hear himself laughing as the darkness swallows him up.

“Please,” he thinks his mouth moves to say before he loses consciousness. “Yes, please, someone set us free.”

He is so lost, and this forest is blacker than blood.

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

“What do we do?” whispers Henrik, hiding in both the stairwell and Jackie’s chest.

“I don’t know,” Jackie whispers back, letting himself slump against his little brother. “I don’t know.”

They stand in the cold of the stairwell and they hold each other.

“Try to remind him who he is,” suggests Jackie finally. “Try to help him get himself free, since it doesn’t feel like we can do hardly anything. And… wait for Marvin to wake up?”

If he does wake up. Henrik grinds his teeth and presses closer into Jackie’s shoulder. “I hate waiting,” he growls.

“I know, man. Me too. Me too.”

But they’re doing everything they can already.

Please let it be enough.

Please don’t let them be gone forever.

They stand – for a long time – in that cold stairwell. They hold on to each other.

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

Marvin sees, in his dreams, the poison.

On his handcuffs he is immobilized as an insect in dark amber, his blue eyes glittering, agonized, in his skull. There is nothing left in him. He can feel death like a dog at his throat.

“Marvin,” sobs Chase. “Marvin!”

“Here I am,” he needs to say. “Here I am, amata! I’ll help you. I’ll fix it!”

But he can’t speak and he can’t move. He can barely stare down at Chase beneath him, watching the poison fill his little brother up.

“Marvin, there’s something in my head! Please help me! Where are you?”

His eyes flicker and drip blood and Chase whimpers, clawing at his head as his irises move through a dance of different colors. In the end, they settle on black. He heaves and something like ink comes pouring out of his mouth.

“I don’t know what to do,” Marvin croaks. “I don’t know how to help.”

He can feel his body convulsing on a bed and strong arms holding him gently, protecting his head. He can feel their heart beating through the point of contact. He can feel Henrik’s hands.

“Here I am, here I am,” he is whispering to him. “I’ll help you. I’ll fix it. Just hold on for me, my brother.”

“Schneep,” he tries again. Maybe he could speak this time, but something cold and plastic has filled his throat up, and his pain is so high his whole body trembles from it.

“Here I am. Here I am. Marvin, don’t die. I can’t lose you. Just rest. Here I am.”

A needle slides into his throat. Fog fills his head like a lake at dawn. He sleeps.

But he doesn’t sleep forever.

-----------

Someone is whistling softly around the room.

Back and forth, back and forth with a sweet song Marvin doesn’t recognize. Maybe he’s just too tired to search his brain for the sound of the song and find its name. Memories have been painful recently anyways. He will just stay right here in the present. And listen to the pretty song.

He lies there for a long time, feeling stunningly comfortable and incredibly cozy for the first time in days. Being awake is nice. He thought it would be scary again, but it’s nice. Nice with pretty music. He can tell he’s been taken out of that silent white room where he was all alone for so long, and he’s glad of it. His eyes slide open. Nice with pretty music and a comfortingly familiar figure wandering across the room, back and forth, back and forth.

There’s a rush of dazed fondness through Marvin’s head. He hears himself giggle strangely, his head flopping back against his pillows. He’s so sleepy but he feels so nice, really nice.

Jamie’s whistling cuts off and his nice shoes tap against the floor as he hurries to Marvin’s side, sitting down in a hard plastic hospital chair at his side and reaching tentatively for his hand, though he doesn’t quite touch him. Marvin turns his head again to look at him, smiling dizzily. He sees the trepidation in his little brother’s face and tilts his head quizzically, his fingers twitching for his hand. Jameson should know he can always hold his hand if he wants to. Everyone has different boundaries in their family, but Marvin doesn’t think he’s ever been bothered by Jameson touching him, at least not since they first became friends.

Jameson smiles softly and touches his hand. Or his fingers, more like. Marvin frowns and looks down his arm.

Did he break it? There’s a stiff white cast from beneath his wrist all the way up to his knuckles. Jameson makes a soft, soothing sigh of a noise and scoots closer to him, cradling his weary fingers and rubbing his arm above the cast.

Marvin decides he feels too nice to be distressed about it. He smiles again and tries to make the sighing noise back at Jameson. Jamie smiles and Marvin feels delighted about it. He finds his other hand after a moment of mentally searching his body for all of its parts, and this hand is only bandaged around the wrist, so he reaches out to touch Jameson’s face, carding his fingers lovingly through his beard. Jameson’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment, but he doesn’t protest, still smiling gently down at him.

Is Marvin in the hospital? He doesn’t know why. He feels great.

Jameson’s free hand reaches up to sign, but Marvin snatches it out of the air and draws it fondly to his face. Jameson looks surprised for certain at that, but he only laughs. In his right mind, Marvin would probably realize it was rude to stop him from signing, but he isn’t exactly in his right mind right now.

Jameson frees his other hand from Marvin’s broken one and holds it up flat above his head. It’s a sign that usually means “tall.” Right now, Marvin’s pretty sure it means “high.”

He giggles wildly, squeezing his eyes shut. That’s so funny. He is, yeah. He’s so high. He’s high like a teenager. Henrik must have gotten him the good stuff, the really good stuff. Mhhh. It’s nice. He’s high! He laughs and runs Jameson’s fingers across his cheek, though a sting of pain stops him and he jerks in surprise, opening his eyes to look up at JJ, alarmed.

“Broken,” signs Jameson gently, bringing Marvin’s hand back to his cheek. He feels bandages and, beneath them, scratchy stitches. “Healing.”

He doesn’t want his cheek to be broken. That’s so mean and sad and he’s going to look so ugly. He scowls at Jameson and shakes his head, tears prickling in his eyes. Jamie smiles with real sympathy and sighs at him again, massaging his good hand.

Okay, that’s nice again. Marvin takes the hand and puts it in his hair and Jameson runs his fingers across his scalp without protest, close enough that Marvin can feel his familiar warmth. Marvin blinks sleepily and touches his mouth. Jameson chuckles and begins to whistle for him again.

That’s nice.

That’s all really nice.

He feels good.

Everything’s okay.

“Okay?” asks JJ.

Marvin nods, a dopey grin fixed on his mouth.

“Talk?”

Marvin pauses, confused.

“Talk,” repeats Jameson slower. It’s a sign that means speak or sign. Communicate. “Feeling okay? Talk to me?”

Oh, yeah, talking. That’s something people do. Marvin coughs and looks up at the ceiling.

Um… talk.

He can do that.

It’s easy. You just kind of open your mouth and make sounds. For words you know the meaning of. Or you just put your hands up and move them. Come on, Marvin. You’re a fucking linguistics major. He has to be able to find the right words somewhere in his addled brain.

But he just… can’t.

He looks over at Jameson, who’s assuring him it’s okay if he can’t talk or doesn’t want to. “Just need to rest,” he’s soothing, and Marvin can read the words perfectly on his hands, understands and processes immediately. “Just take it easy, okay? Should I get Schneep?”

He understands everything he’s saying. He’s not intubated anymore and his throat is sore, yes, but not sore enough to silence him. But he can’t speak. He can’t find the right words.

Something’s wrong.

“It’s okay,” promises Jameson, moving forward quickly to thumb away the tears sliding down his face. “Poor Marvin, big brother, it’s okay. Love, love.”

But it’s not okay. Marvin stares up at the ceiling, trying to find the right words, and he begins to realize just how not okay everything is.

This is the hospital. He’s in the hospital and he’s high on morphine or whatever it is Henrik gave him. He’s in the hospital and his cheek is broken and his wrists are bandaged and beneath the warm haze of the drugs there is an undercurrent of pain waiting to swallow him whole the moment his medication is reduced. A thrill of fear squirms down his aching spine.

Something bad must have happened to him.

Something bad happened and then… and then…

In his dreams, poison.

“Ch-chase.”

Warm water runs down his face. He stares up at the ceiling, mouth trembling. Jameson leans in close to him, his face sad and worried, and all Marvin can seem to do is reach out and touch him, running his fingers through his hair as his memories float back to him, faraway but painful still.

“Chase,” he whimpers.

In the whole of his brain, it seems to be the only word he can find, and he clings to it, staring up at Jameson, begging him to make it all better and tugging at him, trying to bring him closer, closer, wanting to know that his little brothers are safe.

“Chase. Chase.”

JJ sighs his soothing sigh and climbs carefully into the bed beside him. Marvin’s never been more grateful to have someone next to him in his whole fucking life – except, maybe, when Jameson and the others arrived in that cold and terrible basement to save him from his torment. The memory turns his tears into quiet sobs.

Jameson wraps his arms around him and puts his head in his chest. Marvin runs his fingers through his brother’s hair and cries against his pillows, exhausted and unhappy, feeling broken and sick. Jameson’s body and the soothing of the drugs are his only protection against everything that happened, and he clings to them like the lifelines they are, repeating Chase’s name in a soft, miserable daze no matter how many times Jameson tries to tell him he’s alive and receiving treatment in the psych ward.

That’s how Henrik finds them perhaps an hour later, though Marvin can’t seem to get any track of how time is moving around him. He’s gone quiet, but still the hot tears are dripping down his cheeks. Still he’s stroking Jameson’s hair and remembering all too clearly the things that happened to him and the sight of his little brother filled up with Anti’s poison.

“Marvin,” Henrik whispers, real fear in his voice, and Marvin looks up and sees his own mortality in his friend’s eyes.

I’m not okay, am I? he wants to ask, but even for this, he cannot speak; he cannot find the words.

Henrik touches his unbroken hand. Marvin wraps his fingers around Henrik’s and Jameson cuddles closer against his chest. The three of them breathe together, in silence.

Eventually, Henrik turns Marvin’s medication back up, and the world becomes warm and pleasant again, and he listens to Jamie whistling for as long as he can keep his eyes open.

--------

“This place really is a shithole,” says Max, teething at his lip as he stares around the trashed little apartment. “What exactly are you looking for?”

Jackie tears the drawers open and then slams them shut again, shaking his head as he continues his ransacking. “Just anything that’ll help Chase, I guess.”

“Couldn’t you get something from his room back home? This place is a dump. I don’t think Anti’s been buying him souvenirs or anything, you know?”

“I tried bringing him stuff from home. Actually he played Animal Crossing for a little while after I had the nurse bring him his Switch, but he didn’t even look at the pictures of Hunter and Izzy and he doesn’t really seem to… get it. It’s like he doesn’t even remember.”

Jackie sighs and closes the fridge, tossing out a couple packs of rotting deli meat. There isn’t much else in there and the cupboards are bare of anything but an empty pack of Oreos and half a jar of black olives.

“Schneep won’t listen to me when I tell him about the journal,” he says. “About how Chase and Anti both got, like, mashed together. He thinks Anti’s trying to trick me and Chase is just tucked away somewhere in their head, sleeping or watching or trying to get out.”

“Well, there’s a chance he’s right, right?” In his boredom, Max has begun cleaning, wetting one of the abandoned shirts on the floor with water and wiping the counters down. “Schneep probably knows Anti better than you do, to be fair. Maybe that journal was just moments of weakness.”

“Okay, yes, he does know Anti better than me. But I think the fact that Anti’s done so much to him is making it really hard for him to see anything but Anti in that person. Even when he acts like Chase, he thinks it’s a trick. I don’t know. I just want to try everything I can.”

“That’s fair,” says Max. “I mean, he can act all he wants, but we found those toys still here, so he can’t be entirely immune to some cute shit, even if he is mostly Anti.”

Jackie stands up straight. “Max, you’re a genius.”

“Oh,” says Max, flushing dark and shifting his weight from side-to-side, a shy smile on his mouth. “What did I do?”

“Where are those stuffed animals? They were for his kids. If he kept them, they have to mean something to him, right? Or he would have destroyed them. Plus they’re just nice to cuddle with, I bet.”

“They were by the mattress.”

Jackie moves over to the mattress and finds the stuffed animals flopped against the wall where he left them. He takes them back in his hands and buries his face in them, rubbing against the soft fuzz of Izzy’s dragon and the smoothness of Hunter’s squished seal.

“I hope you guys have been keeping my little brother company while he’s been trapped,” he mumbles, shoving them into his hoodie pocket. “Let’s get these back to the hospital.”

“Get you a coffee and a snack on the way?” offers Max, still dark in the cheeks.

Jackie frowns up at him, getting to his feet. “I should really get back.”

“You’ll make Schneep more stressed if you don’t take care of yourself,” says Max.

“That’s… true.”

“Come on. I’ll get you whatever you want.”

Jackie can’t help but smile, chuckling as he steps towards him. “You’re too good to me, man.”

Max is definitely blushing now, but Jackie’s always known him to be shy. “That’s what, uh, friends are for,” he answers, smiling back. “I’d, well. I’d be happy to get you something, Jackie. I like to.”

“Hey!” A voice in the doorway makes them both turn to find a disgruntled-looking old man regarding them uncertainly from the hallway. “Here to tell me why my tenant’s gone missing? He’s about three months behind on rent and now he’s disappeared.”

“Don’t worry about it,” replies Jackie easily, picking up Chase’s old bracelets from the windowsill and heading towards the door. “I’ll pay you that and however much it is to end his contract. He’s not living here anymore. My little brother’s coming back home.”

“And if Anti comes back here,” adds Max. “Call the cops. He’s wanted for murder. Like… a lot of murder.”

“What?”

“Send us the bill! Bye!”

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

“Hey, is that Jamie?” asks Jackie, still shoving fries in his mouth. He hasn’t eaten all day. Luckily he funneled all of the rest of Henrik’s leftover pasta into his mouth while crying last night at eleven while home alone because Schneep forced him to go try and get some sleep at home, but other than that he’s been missing meals. It was pretty good pasta. Salty.

“What?” says Max, tilting his head.

And then, after a moment:

“Yeah, that’s definitely Jamie.”

“I wish that just once it wasn’t one of my little brothers being weird in public. Just once!”

“Says the vigilante!”

Jackie snorts and rolls down Max’s window. “Hey! Dippin’ dots! What are you doing standing mysteriously in front of a random alleyway with a tray full of hospital cafeteria food? You okay, Jamie?”

Jameson turns around, blinking down at the tray of food in his hands. He looks confused as to how it got there and looks up to shrug at his brother. His eyes are burning silver.

“Fuck,” swears Jackie, leaving his fries behind and getting out of the car. “Here, give me the tray. Another vision?”

“I just felt like I had to come here,” mumbles Jameson’s hands as he stares dazedly down the alleyway. “Like it was important.”

“You walked a couple blocks from the hospital in a trance?”

“I… guess I did?”

“That sucks, bud, I’m sorry you got confused. We’re going to have to keep an eye on you while you get this magic stuff figured out. Got your location on on your phone?”

“Yes, Jackie, like you always tell me.”

“Thatta boy. Come on, poor guy, let’s get you out of the cold.”

Max grins at Jameson as he gets back in the car. “We have to stop meeting like this,” he teases.

Jameson smiles back weakly and rubs at his quieting eyes. “Thanks for picking me up. It smells like Wendy’s in here.”

Max looks at Jackie. “Should we turn around and go back to Wendy’s?”

“We should turn around and go back to Wendy’s.”

“This must have been what my trance was for,” signs Jameson cheerfully, setting aside the cafeteria food, and Jackie laughs and passes him the rest of his French fries. He’s glad Max made him take a break. He’s been stressed. In retrospect, the crying into his pasta might have been a red flag about his anxiety levels.

But everything will turn out okay. It has to. It has to.

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

Marvin needs surgery on his wrist.

“Just going to put you under for a little while and I’ll do it myself, okay?” says Henrik, sitting at his side. “Quick surgery, not too many wrists. Risks, I meant. Dammit. You had some tearing from the convulsions while you were in the handcuffs and it’s broken, but it should heal okay in a few months after this gets done. Does that sound okay?”

He tries to smile at Henrik. His little brother smiles back, rubbing his shoulder slowly. Marvin can tell he’s scared, but not about the surgery. He wants to ask him more questions, but he still can’t seem to speak, and Henrik isn’t offering up a lot of information. Probably for his own good. He’s still on a lot of medication and Schneep keeps saying he doesn’t need to stress. Just rest and keep fighting. Rest and keep fighting. Marvin doesn’t know how to choose to do that.

He doesn’t know if he can.

But a surgery on his wrist isn’t too scary, not while he’s this high and Henrik is here reassuring him.

“Sign this for me, okay? Saying you’ve been informed.”

He hands Marvin a form on a clipboard. Marvin can read it just fine – basic shit about informed consent and risks involved. Apparently there’s a chance of losing all feeling in his hand, but he figures he’s a lot more screwed over if he doesn’t get the surgery, and he trusts Henrik anyway, even if he probably shouldn’t be performing on family. He signs the paper with his good hand.

Or tries to.

All that appears on the paper in one long squiggle.

He stares down at his attempt at a signature, faintly alarmed through the haze in his mind, and then up at Henrik. A faint whine falls from his mouth, a weak attempt at his brother’s name. Henrik frowns and scoots forward, worried, looking at the paper as he holds it out to him.

His mouth purses. He looks back at Marvin and doesn’t speak for a moment.

Marvin touches his throat. “It’s probably just the drugs,” murmurs Henrik, trying again to smile for his sake. “But I think I’ll have the speech specialist come see you when you’re ready. Lie back down, alright? I bet Jackie will be a ball of energy as soon as he hears you were awake, and I’m going to schedule your surgery for tonight. Okay?”

Marvin nods.

“You can understand me just fine, right, my brother? Can you blink twice for me?”

Marvin blinks, once, twice.

Henrik smiles and grips his good hand, eyes warm and concerned. “Okay,” he says.

And then, to Marvin’s surprise, he takes off his coat and he stays.

“Technically I’m on my vacation days,” he murmurs by way of explanation. “So I told Nadia you’re the only patient I care about. Okay, you and that really cute kid on third floor. He’s my favorite.”

Marvin smiles wide and earnest this time, and Henrik smiles right back.

“Should I read to you?” he asks.

Marvin nods. He would like that. Henrik gets out Life of Pi. Marvin’s been meaning to read it.

“This book was born as I was hungry. Let me explain.”

His accent is so warm and familiar these days. Marvin remembers long nights spent up with him, Henrik home from a graveyard shift and Marvin home from a night with his friends. A night like the other night, but without getting kidnapped before he could go home. A good night, and Henrik’s dry wit and unspoken love when he came home maybe the best part of it.

“In the spring of 1966, my second book, a novel, came out in Canada. It didn’t fare well. Reviewers were puzzled, or damned it with faint praise…”

Marvin listens to him read and thinks that he could write a book of his own, just about his wild little family and everything they’ve been through. He thinks about how this could have been the end of his book. Maybe it still will be. He made his peace with it when he was in those handcuffs, or at least when he got the chance to see Henrik and the others one more time. Maybe they should have let him go then. Maybe that was the end of it, and the chapter closed, and the book would leave you feeling sad, but also moved by it in a way that mattered more than you had realized it would when you began reading.

“… Green hills heavy with mists would lie at my feet and the shrill cries of monkeys would fill my ears. The weather would be just right, requiring a light sweater mornings and evenings, and something short-sleeved midday…”

Green hills heavy with mists. Monkeys and clean warm air and bright light somewhere on the horizon. He daydreams to Henrik’s voice and Martel’s words and thinks that this isn’t so bad, not really. Yes. Maybe this is meant to be the end of him yet.

But Chase.

Chase.

The only word left on his tongue.

He has to help his little brother. He can’t end the story without him. Without knowing he’s safe, and well, and maybe even, if Marvin can swing it, happy.

Marvin registers vaguely that his eyes feel oddly swollen, and then he lets himself loose in the world Henrik is presenting for him, and drifts without fear, on a boat in the ocean with a tiger still sleeping in the empty bed on the other side of his hospital room.

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

He stands in the doorway in black and white, with a pair of stuffed animals clutched to his chest.

“What do you want?”

His voice is loud and slurred, his head rolling back against his pillows, straining his neck and coughing. Determined wrists pull weakly at their restraints. The ferocity of his words is undermined by the low, agonized groan he gives out afterwards.

“What do you want?” he repeats again, shrill and screamed. “Let me go, let me…”

Jameson sits quietly down beside him, the seal and the dragon on his lap.

“Little fucker,” mumbles Anti, mumbles Chase, looking up at his big blue eyes and his all-too-sweet expression, so soft and concerned. “Pinned me down. Gave me a concussion. Little brat. I’d be home right now if not for you.”

Jameson nods, tilting his head back and forth a little as though admitting it.

“I’m tired, Jamie,” he says, thunking his head back against the pillow.

“You’re on a lot of medication.”

“How are you in here, anyway?”

“Jackie’s friend is distracting the cops for me.”

“Jackie having a friend,” he growls. “There’s the real shocker.”

“You and Jackie are friends,” answers Jameson calmly. “You love him.”

“Shut the fuck up, you sappy, weepy, pathetic little child of a man. What you come in here for, huh? You want to see your papa? Does Chase take care of the little baby? Everybody knows you can’t take care of yourself, after all. You’re just a whining, mute, needling little – ”

“Is your pain very high?”

Jameson can see him trying to breathe. It doesn’t look easy. He’s stressed. He’s scared. He stares at Jameson and doesn’t seem to know how to answer.

“Anti,” he says, his hands clear and careful. “Chase. I know you both very well. And the truth is that I don’t want to see either of you in pain, even after everything Anti did to me. I still remember the days when I thought of you as my family. When I loved you.”

He stares down at his bedsheets. Jameson sighs and gets to his feet, standing over him, and he shudders and gives a soft whine, curling in on himself, his face pale and frightened.

“Do the nurses treat you well?” asks Jameson. “The cops leave you alone? Have you been out of this room at all?”

“I want to go,” he whispers, licking at his dry lips. “I want to go back home. I want to – I want to – I’ll make you all pay for this. I’ll slit Henrik’s white throat like I always meant to do and you and Jackie can writhe for trapping me here. Your fault, your fault… please let me go, p-please, I’m…”

Jameson places the seal stuffie on his lap and the dragon on his shoulder.

He breathes in the smell for a moment, his hollowed eyes flickering. The last six months have not been good for him, for either of his fighting parts, but they did manage to hold on to some things here and there – most importantly, a place to stay, a place where he wasn’t trapped and no one hurt him, where there was a soft, if broken mattress and a couple soft animal toys that made him feel happy somewhere in the back of his mind. This dragon smells like home. His fingers touch the soft body of the squished seal.

“I don’t know what you think this is going to accomplish,” he mumbles, wishing he could wrap his arms around himself, because he is the only person who has held him in months and his flesh is aching for it. “I’m not… I’m not… not what you think I am.”

“Like I said.” Jameson sits down beside him again, his hand resting gently on the bed beside Anti’s. A little closer and he could touch him. “I know you both pretty well.”

His fingers touch Chase’s.

He goes very still.

Jamie holds his hands and they sit together for a long time.

The lights buzz above them. Outside the window of the room, a pair of finches flicker back and forth. The sunlight touches their skin.

Jameson draws away a moment. His brother chokes, shaking his head, groaning for the loss of him, but he only gets to his feet and places his body against him, wrapping him into a careful hug. Warm arms encircle him like a sweater and squish comfortingly against his body, and all he wants to do – all he wants to do in the whole fucking world – is wrap his arms around JJ in return and pull him into his lap and be held for hours. He’s panting and burying his face against Jameson’s chest, whimpering to be touched at last, to be kindly touched at last.

“Chase,” Jameson signs against his heart. “Chase, my Chase.”                        

Chase clings to his hands and cries.

“Please let me go,” he begs. “Please, please, I can’t get it out!”

“I’m right here,” promises Jameson, kneeling down to look at him and stroking his hair. “You’re going to keep fighting, okay? You’re going to cast him out.”

“No, I can’t,” he cries. “We can’t tell each other apart anymore. You have to help me, I can’t, I got lost, I got stuck! I tried, I promised, I wanted to go home. Now I can’t even remember what home is. We’re too tangled up!”

“We’re going to help you get him out, okay?”

“There’s nothing you can do. Please, you have to let us free. Kill us, JJ, we’re tearing each other apart.”

“Hey.” Jameson takes his hands in his own for a moment and squeezes them before drawing away again to speak. “Don’t say things like that. You will only get yourself stuck in this place longer if you do. Besides, Anti’s always said things like that to manipulate me. You won’t move me with words like that.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” he screams, and when he grabs Jameson by the side – the only place where he can reach him with his hands restrained – and digs his overgrown nails as hard as he can into his little brother’s stomach, Jameson does not so much as flinch, just closes his eyes and waits for the rage to go away. “Stupid little boy! This isn’t something you can remove with kind words or Henrik’s scalpels.”

“Then we will find another way,” answers Jameson, soft crescent moons of blood welling against his shirt. “You have to trust me.”

“You betrayed me,” he hisses. “Left me behind to go be someone else’s family. Left me alone!”

“You didn’t treat me well, my brother. I’m happier without you. Without Anti, at least. I gave you everything I was. If you had been kind to me, I would have stayed.”

He scowls and shoves him away, gritting his teeth and seething, nuzzling his face against Izzy’s dragon, tears running down his cheeks. “Look how weak we are,” he cries. “We both broke each other. There’s nothing you can do… nothing anyone can do… I’ve been trying to get free for so long.”

Jameson sits down again, tucking away the small bloodstains on his shirt without anger in his eyes, and when he takes his brother’s hand again, he does not try to dig his nails into his palms. Just holds on to him.

“I can’t promise you I have everything figured out right now,” says JJ after a moment of comfort. “I don’t know exactly how to save you, Chase. But here’s what I do know – you are touch-starved. You are scared and you have every right to be. You’re not well and you’ve lost a lot of weight because you’ve never known how to take care of human bodies well. So here’s what we can do. I’m going to make sure you’re getting some Cymbalta, because that was Chase’s prescription when he was suicidal. And I’m going to sit here with you as long as I can so you’re not alone and I can touch you. And I have Wendy’s. And you’re going to eat it.”

He holds up a brown paper bag with a pig-tailed girl on it and smiles. “Because the hospital food is pretty shit and I don’t blame you for refusing it.”

He stares at him, eyes wide. Jameson stares back, smiling.

“You’re out of your mind, baby brother,” he says, and then he laughs despite himself, weak and shaken, and takes Jamie’s hand again.

“Probably,” he signs with one hand, and gets up to kiss the side of his head and feed him a handful of fries.

There’s only so much he can do. But he will do it. He will do it. And he will love him with every moment that passes, harder and harder, until Chase can find his way back to him.

“When did you get so grown-up?” he whispers, when an hour has passed and they are sitting together in silence.

“When someone gave me the chance to grow up,” Jameson replies gently.

“I loved you, you know.”

“No,” says Jameson, and his eyes still love him, but his heart knows better. “No, Anti, you didn’t.”

They rest together, hand-in-hand, and the finches come and go, singing.

#writers of jack #jacksepticeye #jse egos #bee writes #see tws #poison

[the--highlanders]

For the drabble game, can I request Two and Jamie, one is recovering from a wound/illness, "you didn't have to do this, you know"?

“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”

on ao3.

“I brought grapes.”

Jamie was sitting up in bed, the Doctor told himself bracingly. That was something, at least. Nevermind that the bed in question was a sparse cot in an understaffed field medic’s hut. They had been given the only empty room in the place, somewhere quiet for Jamie to recover. Everything was quietening down, now he came to think of it. The constant flow of wounded soldiers and panicked nurses had slowed to a trickle, the ever-present sounds of agony and fear dulling down into a softer hum of activity. And there was Jamie, the cause of all that unfamiliar calmness, sitting there like he had no idea what he had done. Just staring through the half-closed slats over the window, looking out over the wasteland he had walked across just a few hours before.

“I’m told it’s traditional,” he said, a little more loudly. “To bring grapes, when someone’s in hospital.”

“Mm.” Jamie leant his head back against the rusty metal bedframe, rolling over but not quite looking up at the Doctor. “Is it?”

“Well – someone told me so, once. I’m sure of it. Not that they’re really grapes, anyway – but they were the closest thing I could find.”

“Nevermind.” A faint smile flitted across Jamie’s face. “I’m no’ hungry.”

“You will be later,” the Doctor said. Brusque. Businesslike. Entirely sure of himself that there would be a later. It was a good deal more confident than he felt. Settling himself down on the empty cot beside Jamie’s, he deposited the bag of grapes on the bedside table between them and clasped his hands together in his lap. “How are you feeling?”

It had been a rather stupid thing to ask, he supposed. A cut marred Jamie’s cheek, the blood strikingly red against the greyish pallor that still hung over his skin. Just above his lip, a darker smudge was crusted on, the last remnants of the bloody nose he had been left with after – afterwards. Jamie’s snort at the question gave way into a series of hacking coughs, and the Doctor leant forwards to hover his hand over his arm, not quite daring to touch him. But Jamie was waving him away, leaning forward to shut him out. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice still scratchy and hoarse. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Jamie -” The Doctor shook his head. “You walked over there -” he gestured towards the window, out across the wasteland - “and you faced that thing down on your own. That psychic blast was going to kill everyone in this settlement, and you absorbed everything the cannons couldn't siphon off, if you’ve forgotten – so tell me.” His voice trembled, full of something between tears and fury, and he curled his hands into fists, fingernails biting into his palms. “Tell me why I shouldn’t worry about you.”

He looked up to see Jamie turned away from him again, his cold, flat stare fixed on the opposite wall. “I’ve no’ forgotten,” he said, his voice hollow. “As far as I know.”

The Doctor swallowed, eyes wandering from Jamie to the window. On closer inspection, he caught a glimpse of what Jamie must have been looking at, before he had arrived – the great, hulking shape of the thing he had destroyed, its amorphous form collapsed in on itself and scorched from the blast of energy that had been redirected back towards it. He shuddered, remembering the sight of Jamie standing alone before it, impossibly small. It should have been himself who had gone, he knew – but the psychic cannons had needed his expertise for the final tweaks, and without them online – well, without them, nobody would have been able to stop it, himself or Jamie or anyone else.

Something about Jamie’s words struck at him. “What do you mean, as far as you know?”

Jamie sat there in silence for a long minute, twisting the bedsheets into swirls. His movements were still clumsy, his fingers twitching awkwardly as his mind struggled to reassert its control over his body, and the Doctor winced again, remembering the way he had thrashed and screamed when the medics had brought him in.

“I remembered somethin’,” he murmured at last. “When that thing was – ye know.”

“When it fired the blast,” the Doctor filled in softly.

“Aye.”

“What was it you remembered?”

“Somethin’ - somethin’ ye said I wouldn’t ever remember.” Jamie took in a deep breath, setting his shoulders. “But ye said I wouldnae be conscious when it hit me, an’ I was, an’ I remembered – them, takin’ my memories away. How it felt. It felt -” His fingers were dug into his sides as if to hold himself still, but their unsteadiness betrayed the tremors that shook through him. “It felt the same, havin’ that thing go through my mind. An’ when I woke up, an’ I could think again without it hurtin’, I got tae wondering whether I forgot anythin’ again, with it messin’ around in there.”

“I don’t know -” The Doctor shook his head. For Jamie to remember the moment of impact was one thing – an unpleasant thing, that was for sure, but there was still so much to be learnt about the weaponisation of psychic energy on this scale, even amongst his own people. Perhaps, he thought, it was best that things remain that way. For there to have been a little bit of wriggle-room in his estimates of when Jamie would lose consciousness was entirely normal. But for Jamie to remember the moment when the Time Lords had taken his memories was quite another. “That memory was never designed to be unlocked,” he said, more to himself than to Jamie. “All your other memories – they leave those intact, should they need to access them later. But there’s no reason to – they remove the moment of contact entirely, to avoid – ah – undue trauma to the patient, as it were. That memory should not have existed in your mind at all.”

Jamie was looking at him like his ramble had made him feel worse, not better. “What’s wrong with me?” he said at last. “Did that thing break somethin’, am I gonnae forget again -” Something wild and frenzied with panic was creeping into the edges of his eyes. “I dinnae want tae forget again, please -”

You won’t, the Doctor wanted to say. You’re quite safe now. But – could he really stomach telling Jamie that, when even he was far less than sure? Anything could have caused the removal of that memory to be compromised, he told himself. An accident. Jamie’s mind proving tougher to manipulate than they had expected, with their ridiculous habit of underestimating humans. Long-term exposure to the TARDIS making his mind more resilient to inconsistencies. Sheer incompetence on the part of the agent who had tried to remove the memory. All of those things and more were entirely possible.

“I don’t know why you remembered,” he murmured at last. “I can’t understand why – you shouldn’t have. It should be entirely gone.”

“Aye, I know,” Jamie said. His voice wavered, like his patience was hanging on by the tiniest thread. “You’ve told me that before. But it’s here now, isn’t it?” He paused, fingers opening and closing rhythmically. “I was tellin’ them – beggin’ them not tae make me forget. I’d already seen them do it tae Zoe, see, an’ -” Falling silent, he looked up, and the Doctor saw that his eyes were full of tears. “Do ye think she could remember, too?”

“I don’t know,” the Doctor said again. “I simply don’t know, Jamie. But – ah – if it’s any consolation -” It had to be. For himself, if not for Jamie. “You have just been on the receiving end of an immensely strong psychic attack, even with the cannons redirecting most of it. What you went through – it’s unlike anything your average human is likely to face in their life, even someone from Zoe’s time. It’s highly unlikely that she would be able to – to trigger it, as it were.”

Jamie let out a long breath. “So it’s just me who remembers.”

“If I had to guess – yes, it is.” Something was settling into his gut, deep and unshakeable. “Ah – Jamie – I am sorry.” It should have been him, not Jamie, walking across that wasteland to face that thing down. “If I had been just a little faster -” He was better equipped to deal with such an onslaught. Goodness knew what sort of effect it might have had on Jamie’s mind. He was lucky – they were both lucky – that he was still alive, and relatively intact. “You didn’t have to do this,” he finished weakly. “And if you hadn’t, then – well, you wouldn’t have remembered.”

“I know,” was all Jamie said. His head was bowed, his face too hidden for the Doctor to make out his expression – but that was worse, if anything, the anger he was surely feeling too easy to imagine.

“It should have been me,” the Doctor carried on despite himself. He was babbling away, he knew, when Jamie was hurting, but the words came tripping out of him regardless. “I could have withstood it better – you shouldn’t have been the one to do this. It was always going to be me who did it, and now -” There was something he could do, he realised. Something that could fix everything. Leaning forwards, he snatched up Jamie’s hand. “I could take the memory away,” he said breathlessly. “Reach into your mind. Make you forget.” Turning Jamie’s hand over, he closed his fingers around his wrist. It would be so easy, just to open the psychic connection. He could feel it thumping away, as clearly as he could feel Jamie’s pulse. It was such a small thing to do over, properly this time…

“No!” Jamie wrenched his hand away, clutching it to his chest like the Doctor’s touch had burnt it. Sitting back in alarm, the Doctor stared at him, stomach churning with dismay. Perhaps Jamie really had forgotten something, he thought. He had never thought he would see him recoiling from his touch with such disgust. “No, I don’t – I don’t want tae forget again, don’t ye understand? I don’t want people messin’ about with my head anymore!”

“I was only offering -”

“I know.” Jamie shook his head. “Just – don’t, alright?”

“Alright.” The Doctor clasped his hands in his lap, as steadily as he could manage. “Ah,” he said, but no words came out to follow it. “Mm,” he added a moment later. “Ah – Jamie – is there anything I can do?”

Jamie simply shrugged, hunching himself over a little more. “I don’t know.” Sheer tiredness was written into the set of his shoulders, the way he let his hands fall to the bed. “Sit with me,” he said at last. “Don’t – don’t say anythin’, just – sit with me.” The corner of his mouth twitched into a small, bitter smile. “I spent all that time wantin’ my memories back, an’ now here I am with the last of them, an’ I wish I hadn’t remembered.” The Doctor opened his mouth, but Jamie held up his hand before any words could escape him. “Don’t. I know ye want tae – fix it, just like that, but I don’t want ye to. Not this time.”

It was a terrible thing, the Doctor thought, to have to listen to anyone deny help and not protest. To hear such a thing coming from Jamie – his fingers itched to reach out and touch him, to take his pain away. To take his own pain away, and assure himself that he knew best. But Jamie was determined – and he was right, as he always was, that it would fix nothing. However hard it would be to live with what he had already done, in leaving Jamie to face that thing alone, it would be even harder to live with having betrayed his trust. The only thing to do was to sit and wait.

Glancing up, he saw Jamie’s hand stretched out to him, and took it, understanding the trust implicit in the simple gesture. He could feel the potential energy of the psychic link again, swirling through their veins, and tapped at the edge of it, just enough to bleed the fringes of their consciousnesses together. Jamie drew in a sharp breath, leaning back – but he tightened his grip on the Doctor’s hand, and there was trust in that too, in the way his mind relaxed just enough for the Doctor to catch a glimpse of his fright and sadness and heavy, suffocating exhaustion.

“I’m alright,” Jamie said softly. “I’ll be alright.”

The Doctor squeezed his hand. “Yes, I know.”

#second doctor #two/jamie #(ish) #fanfic archive #my writing #thanks!! #sorry this took so long asjfd #observethewalrus

[seapandora]

It´s Not All Roses｜One-Shot

Bucky x unspecified!Reader

Warnings: Violence, swearing, blood, magic, self-loathing, angst

A/N: I don’t really know what this is. I tried to write it as undescriptive as I possibly could, I might have messed up somewhere. I would be delighted to hear you guys thoughts on this! Gif-cred to owner

Summary: Y/N is a part of the team, they have magic and can make potions, but are they enough when push comes to shove. Can they do enough?

Words: 1314

Ever since Steve went back in time missions had been weird. They felt a bit more chaotic and even if they had all complained over Steve's excessive need for order, they missed it now. Sam was a great team leader, but he wasn’t as organized as Steve and he definitely didn’t believe as much in planning.

Bucky was, well Bucky was Bucky. He was an idiot but he was Y/N´s idiot. Sam didn’t like planning before missions but he did anyways, Bucky just went, not a plan or idea beforehand. He was usually fine of course, but that was beside the point, wasn’t it? One of these missions he would be hurt, hurt beyond his serums healing-abilities.

Y/N had joined the team before the events in Wakanda, but they had been dusted along with many of their friends. They were a witch/wizard, not like Wanda, but a real witch/wizard, they had a wand and staff and all that, and they could whip up potions if they had access to a cauldron. That was why they had joined the Avengers. The team was far too often hurt in battle and with Y/N around they could have bottles of potions ready for when they were out in the field.

This particular mission had been different. That’s what they always say right? The one mission that is different changes your whole world. Yeah, this was that mission. The team had been away for four weeks already, and Y/N couldn´t brew up more potions. They missed their lab, and their skull, Bobby.  

Bobby was like a father to Y/N. He was a wandering soul who had taken residency in a skull, and well he helped Y/N with her daily life, and potions, and such. The past week had been extra rough. They were burning through Y/N´s potions faster than they had ever imagined. It was bad news for them all.

Wanda had to evacuate earlier in the week due to her being hurt, she was back in north New York at the compound healing up. Left was Y/N, Bucky, Sam, and Scott. Their goal? Take out the Shield facility and collect the intel held at the facility. Simple, right? Wrong, very wrong. They had met a lot of resistance and it was proven to be impossible to infiltrate the bunker where the files were held.

Their new directives after Wanda was sent home was to simply destroy the bunker, with the hope that any files would be destroyed with it. Y/N had done their best with a pot and an old papyrus scroll with a recipe of a liquid fire type of potion. The point was that they could throw it into the bunker and it would go up in flames. It was very chance-based though. Potions weren´t easy to make and they really weren’t one recipe you could follow for the same effect. Recipes changed over time and from person to person.

Potions are based on eight different ingredients with one liquid base. The rest is for the senses, mind, and spirit. Doing it in a pot went against everything Y/N stood for as a witch/wizard, but it had to be done. They had winged it by throwing some Jack Daniels in as a base, candlelight for sight, a scream for sound, a burnt match for the smell, pieces of sandpaper for touch, handful of hot Cheetos for taste. For the mind, Y/N put in some ground-up flowers and for the spirit, they added a piece of Bucky´s shirt.

The effects of the potion were so far unknown to the four of them, but they had to use it soon or it would go bad and possibly explode on them instead. A trip to the bunker was therefor planned. Y/N was a little hesitant to it. It wasn’t safe at all, and they were really not ready for it. It had to be done though, they needed to destroy the bunker.

Scott and Sam left before Bucky and Y/N. Y/N got whatever potions they might need in their backpack. There was the fire one, a healing potion, an invisibility potion as well as an enhancement potion they kept for Sam should he ever need whatever Bucky had, if only for a short while.

It started out well enough but soon turned to hell. Scott was hurt and had to evacuate to safer grounds. Y/N was wearing themselves out doing all the magic they could muster. Bucky and Sam fought as they had never done anything else. In the end, Bucky had the fire potion and he tossed it into the bunker.

A success, finally. Only, it was more than successful. The potion had been stronger than any of them had realized and Bucky had been too close to it when it went off. He was sent flying, 50 meters or more before he crashlanded against a tree. Y/N was at his side in an instant getting him the healing potion.

“Come on Buck, stay with me,” They whispered as they held their lover in their arms. He was limp and not doing well at all. He was bruised and Y/N could feel that something was wrong from the energy he was radiating. She called out for Sam on the comms and asked him to get them evacuation to the compound or nearest hospital as quickly as possible.

Sam was with them within minutes. He had called agent Hill who had taken a Jet on her own and flown out to help them. She would be arriving soon. Y/N held Buckys head in their lap stroking his hair gently. Being a witch/wizard was amazing until you couldn’t save the person you loved the most.

The Jet landed in a clearing not far away and the three, Y/N, Sam, and Maria helped Bucky to it. Hill flew them off to the compound and at that moment Y/N remembered Scott. Sam, however, promised that Scott was well-taken care off and on his way to the compound himself.

Buckys' condition didn’t change during the flight, instead, it worsened. It seemed like his serum couldn’t just kick the butt of the effects from being thrown 50 meters. Bucky had been coughing when Y/N first got to him but now his breathing was hard and it didn’t sound right.

Y/N focused all their energy on Buckys chest, closing their eyes. An image of Buckys chest came up and Y/N realized that his right lung was punctured and he had multiple fractures on his ribs. It was bad, and there was nothing Y/N could do about it.

“We have to hurry Sam, he´s got a punctured lung, and he´s in a lot of pain,” they explained and glanced up at Sam who walked over to Maria to instruct her to fly to the nearest hospital instead.

The jet landed on the roof of the hospital and there was already medical staff there to handle the situation. They picked Bucky up and placed him on a stretcher before wheeling him away. Y/N sat down on the ramp of the jet and placed their head in their hands. They felt absolutely useless. Sure they had potions that could help them all, but they couldn’t even heal with their magic. What was the point of their magic if they couldn’t be more useful. They weren´t strong, or fast as the others. they couldn’t fly, at least not for very long. The best they could do was to keep monsters at bay for a little while until the others could get to them.

Thinking about it all just made it clear. Y/N had to go. The team was better off without them. They would stop doing magic, go underground. Y/N would cease to exist, Y/N would be no more. Magi was fun, magic was beautiful, but it´s not all roses, and even if it is, roses have thorns.

#Bucky Barnes #bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #sam wilson #maria hill #avengers fanfiction #Avengers #fanfiction #fanfic #seapandoraswritings

[alarawriting]

Inktober 2020 #10: Hope

“Not that I’m not incredibly grateful,” Joseph Woodson said as he drove, “but I’ve got to ask, why you did this for me, and why are you offering me a place to live?”

Coriander Maison sat in the passenger seat, looking out at the landscape. “Stupidity offends me. Considerably,” she said. “You didn’t commit the crime, why on Earth should you be in prison for it?”

“I do appreciate that, a lot. But there are probably a lot of men in prison for crimes they didn’t commit.”

“Number one. You had not exhausted your appeals and I know the attorney general personally. This is not true of most victims of a miscarriage of justice. Number two. None of the evidence in your case had been destroyed yet. Number three. You’re a doctor.”

���You mean, because I’m a doctor, I’m well educated and people are less likely to perceive me as a criminal?”

“That too, but I need a doctor. Turn left at the upcoming intersection.”

Woodson did so. “Well, I need to know what you need a doctor for, because there are a lot of different kinds of doctors and I might not—”

“You have the training for the skills I need,” Maison said, interrupting. “I would hardly fail to investigate something so important.”

“So you got my case reviewed and dismissed and arranged for me to be freed just because of my specialty?”

“I actually work on freeing victims of the failures of the justice system frequently.” She turned away from the window to look at him, but not at his eyes. It was hard for him to tell because he was driving, and therefore had to keep his eyes on the road, but it looked to him as if she was looking at his hands on the steering wheel. “It offends me that the police are often more concerned with closing a case than finding the correct perpetrator. It offends me even more when prosecutors and state’s attorneys and suchlike refuse to allow a case that was a miscarriage of justice to be re-opened, because their own egos are involved, and they don’t want to admit they’re wrong.” She drew one leg up onto the seat with her, then seemed to think better of it and put it back down, more slowly and deliberately. “Since the police frequently turn to me for help in high-profile cases, they know and respect me, as do most of the prosecutors. Admittedly, the chief of police in this county despises me because I make him look bad, but that’s a common problem when genuinely skilled people encounter incompetents.”

“But me, personally, you picked out because you need the services of a neurologist. Can I ask why?”

“You can,” Maison said, nodding.

She didn’t actually explain why, though. After a moment, Woodson patiently rephrased. “So, why do you need the services of a neurologist?”

“I would prefer to talk about that when we reach my home. That traffic light ahead. Turn right, and then in approximately 0.3 miles, behind the two elm trees, there will be a driveway. That’s mine. Drive up it.”

“Since we’re going to your house, I thought ‘drive up your driveway’ would have gone without saying,” Woodson said mildly.

“Apologies. I work with a great number of people who need every single tiny little thing spelled out for them.” The frustration and irritation in her voice was emphasized by how little emotion was usually in her voice, as far as he could tell. “I don’t know you well enough to know if you’re one of them.”

“I’d think you’d have some respect for my intelligence if you want to hire me for my medical skills.”

“The number of people in the world who are very intelligent and skilled in the domain they’re experienced with, and irritatingly idiotic outside that domain, is very high.” As he turned at the traffic light, she admitted, “Sometimes I’m among their number. I have never flown on a plane. I don’t know the process for doing so, and I don’t want to learn. I’m also terrible at remembering to soak my pots after cooking in them, before washing.”

“I’m sure a lot of people have problems like that,” Woodson, who’d been a neat freak since his stint in the military, said diplomatically.

He drove up the driveway and parked the car. The house was large and overstated, almost a mansion, but showed considerable evidence of being run down. Shutters had paint worn away, and vines reached all the way to the roof. The lawn had been mowed, but there were several trees in places where one good storm could possibly knock the tree onto the house. There was an upstairs window with what was obviously duct tape covering a crack.

Maison got out with keys in her hand and unlocked her door. There were two locks. Then the screen door had another two locks, and a retinal scanner. He’d been in military installations with fewer barriers to entry.

Once the door was open, she gestured. “Come on in, Dr. Woodson.”

“You saved me from prison. I think it’d be all right if you called me Joe,” Woodson said.

“Then I suppose you can call me Coriander.” The house smelled somewhat antiseptic. The hardwood floors and furniture were very clean. “Let me show you why I need a doctor.”

He followed her up the stairs, down a hallway, and into a bedroom that had been re-outfitted as a hospital room. A woman who looked a great deal like Coriander lay in the bed with eyes closed and waxy, pale skin. Her hair was shaved, unlike Coriander’s curly hair, and there were electrodes fastened to it. There were monitors hooked up to her. A professional-looking black woman in scrubs looked up. “You’re the doctor Cori’s been doing all this work for?”

“I assume so, since she got me out of jail.” He put out his hand. “Joseph Woodson, neurologist. I don’t think I have admitting privileges anywhere around here anymore, though.” He smiled.

“Yolanda River, nurse practitioner, and Coriander won’t let us take Del into the hospital anyway.”

“This is my sister,” Coriander said. “Delphinium Maison. She was poisoned five years ago. She hasn’t woken up since.”

“Can you show me the EEG monitor?” Woodson asked River.

She turned it toward him. There was a lot of brain activity, more than he would have expected from a woman who’d been in a coma for five years. “Does she have a diagnosis?”

“The last doctor I had in to treat her said she would never wake up. I’ve done considerable research and I don’t agree.”

“I think you’re right,” Woodson said. He walked up and took a closer look at the EEG. “This looks more like alpha waves than anything else. She was poisoned five years ago? And they told you she wouldn’t wake up? Do you know if the EEG looked like this at the time?”

“I have records.”

“There’s more sophisticated analysis we could do, but we’d need access to a hospital.”

“Tell me what kind of equipment you need. I don’t want to risk taking her into a hospital; I’ve never been able to catch the person who poisoned her in the first place, and I know that the person who tried to kill her will try again if they have the slightest opportunity.”

“Cori, you do not have the money to buy the kind of equipment he’s talking about. I’ve been telling you, we need to get her into a hospital.”

“Let’s see if I can get admitting privileges near here,” Woodson said. “I assume that you’d be able to monitor her while we’re doing outpatient procedures.” He was talking to River.

“Definitely.” She looked at Coriander. “I’ve been telling you. We need to do this.”

Coriander took a deep breath. “All right. Dr. Woodson—”

“Joe, please.”

“Joe. If you think you can help Delphinium—”

“I can’t say I can or I can’t, but I can say that either her diagnosis was wrong or she’s improved considerably since that diagnosis was made. We can get better metrics and a better idea what’s going on, and then we can try to come up with some kind of treatment plan.”

“I can show you to the room we’re giving you. You can stay there as long as you need to.” She went to the door. “I’ll get it open.”

“How is she?” Woodson quietly asked River.

“Which one of them?”

“Coriander.”

River shook her head. “She’s paranoid, she’s cut herself off from any human interaction except me and her younger brother, she has me supervise the cleaning lady because she’s terrified of something happening to Delphi. Delphinium Maison was a brilliant detective – very strange, but well-known for her insights and her ability. She was on a case trying to find a serial killer, she didn’t involve Cori because… I don’t know why, I wasn’t there, but Coriander thinks it was to protect her. Cori thinks the serial killer got her, but she’s never been able to prove it or track the killer down. It’s the only case she hasn’t been able to solve, in fact. So she interacts with people she works with, but the only people who get near this house are those of us who live here, and a cleaning lady, and she’ll only tolerate Julia because she’s researched the woman’s background. A few times when they sent someone else because Julia was out sick? She refused to let them in to do the job until Julia was back.”

“Do you think any of it’s justified?”

“I’ve read about the case that left Del in a coma, and… yes. Yes, unfortunately. It’s not at all healthy for her, but maybe it is what she needs to do to protect Delphinium.” She sighed. “She’s been looking for a doctor she can trust for the past five years. If she hadn’t found you, I’m not sure she’d ever have found someone she was willing to trust.”

“Well, I’ll admit, being in jail at the time she was poisoned does give me a great alibi,” Woodson chuckled. “But I really don’t want to impose on her. I’m happy to help her sister, but I think I should be trying to get a job and a place to live of my own.”

“I can see why that would be a good idea for you, but I’ll guess that Cori will tell you not to. She’ll be afraid that the killer will get you. She’s said that to me when I tried to take a vacation.”

“Did you get your vacation?” Woodson asked, eyebrows raised.

“Oh, absolutely. Cori’s arrogant, thinks she knows everything, and can bulldoze people if they aren’t prepared to stand up to her… but she’s good. She’s a good person. She wants to solve murders because she wants people to not be murdered. She gives me anything I ask for, and she’s not rich, not anymore. Consulting gigs with law enforcement pay well, but not well enough to cover a full-time nurse and a cleaning lady without some sacrifices. But she’ll pay me and she’ll feed me and her brother and buy Delphi’s medicine before she’ll buy herself food.” She sighed. “I felt guilty about it, because I knew Cori would try to do my job while I was gone, but I needed a vacation. I can’t stop Cori from burning herself out, and Naz is a teenager and doesn’t want to leave the house at all, but I’m not them.”

“I feel you.”

***

Woodson’s room was huge, but spare. It had the required amount of furniture, and a nice bed, but no decorations. “Nice room. Are you sure this is okay?”

“You lost six years of your life to racism and idiocy,” Coriander said. “You had to learn your wife was dead when you were being booked for killing her, after the police beat you savagely and didn’t tell you why you were being arrested. I am not the police, never have been and never will be, but my work is law enforcement and justice, and on that behalf I feel ashamed of how you were treated. And this house is very large. You’re welcome to live here as long as you want to.”

She said all this while looking away from him, into the room. “Are you sure your brother will be okay with it?”

“Do you suffer a compulsion to knock over Lego structures or mock a fifteen year old boy for playing with dolls and action figures?”

“…No, can’t say that I do.”

“Then Naz will get along as well with you as he does with anyone, which is to say, he will almost never talk to you, he will almost never willingly spend time with you in any room other than his own, and he will order you out of his room as soon as he feels overwhelmed, but none of that is personal – he treats everyone the same way. Including me, most of the time. Del was the only one he actually enjoyed spending time with. They’re both autistic and they never really liked interacting with anyone other than family.”

Judging from the fact that Coriander hadn’t looked him in the eyes once, that emotion entered her voice very rarely, and that she’d kept trying to sit on her feet in the car and then undid it, apparently with conscious intent, Woodson wasn’t sure her siblings were the only ones, but presumably Coriander was better at interacting with the general public than they were. “Well, I won’t impose on Naz, but I do like Legos, or I did when I was a kid, anyway. If he’s into Legos and he’s willing to let someone work with him, I wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll run it past him. No one else has offered.” She turned around, still not looking at his face. “Tell me what you need in terms of any dietary requirements, any special toiletries, any allergies, or if there are any articles of furniture you need.”

“I can shop for myself.”

“Then I’ll come with you so that I can pay for everything.”

“I have money, Coriander. I had savings when… when Shelley died. As far as I know, they’re still there, earning interest.”

“Oh.” She shrugged. “Very well then. I’ll pay you for your services, of course.”

“Sure, but I’ll discount the cost of room, board, and the private detective consulting fees for all the time you researched my case and worked to get me free. And you paid for that lawyer, too, didn’t you?”

“Mr. Voorhees does work for me in exchange for me determining whether his clients are actually innocent when they claim to be, and finding evidence he can present to defend them if they are. So I pay him in kind, hours for hours.”

“Well, then I need to pay you for his hours because you trade your own hours to him.” Coriander opened her mouth, and Woodson held up a hand. “Don’t argue, please. I’m a doctor, a grown man, I have money, and I owe you more than I can ever repay for giving me my life back. I’m not a child you need to treat as a dependent.”

Her eyes went wide. “Oh! No, of course I wouldn’t want to treat you that way. I – I only want to make up for what’s happened to you, but if that makes you uncomfortable… you can still stay here for free and I’ll still pay you, but we’ll work out together an amount that’s in your comfort zone.”

“Thanks, that’ll be good.” He sat down on what was now his bed. It was very soft. He wasn’t even sure he could tolerate a bed this soft right after prison, but he wasn’t going to ask Coriander for favors when she was so overeager to do them for him. “If I can borrow your car to go to my storage unit and pick up my stuff—”

“I have no issues with that but you must let me clean them before bringing them in the house. Del is too weak and too immunocompromised for me to allow anything that isn’t clean in.”

“Good plan. I’ll help. I’ve sterilized some furniture in my day.” He lay back on the bed. “I’m going to get some rest, is that okay?”

“Of course. I’ll order pizza when you get up.”

“Sounds good.”

As she left and shut the door, Woodson looked up at the ceiling.

Shelley, I’m no detective, I know I’d never be able to find whoever really killed you. But Coriander Maison probably can. If I can get her help with that… maybe I’ll finally feel like you can rest.

#inktober 2020 #alara's october 2020 prompt fics #coriander maison

[cyberneticlagomorph]

> 🔴 cyberneticlagomorph is live on caster

The stream is late, silent, a little unsettling with the way it just jumps straight into the game without any of Jack's friendly prestream preamble.

The Caster chat is visible in the corner of the screen, people quietly file in and post emojis that do little to break the sense of cloying unease that permeates the entire scene.

Jack's avatar opens his eyes, slowly, painfully.

Blurry.

Why is everything always blurry?

He sits up, and it's unclear if the action is a cutscene or a voluntary action. Ribbon sits, straddling a chair at the foot of Jack's hospital bed. The chair is green and shaped like a frog, looks like the dev team likes animal crossing.

Or memes.

"I told you to run, dumbass." Ribbon growls, she's covered from ear-tip to tail in brightly colored bandaids. Her sword and scabbard are missing and she looks angry, exhausted, like a long suffering mother that just got called into the principal's office yet again. Seconds of silence tick by before Jack finally speaks.

"There are swears in this game??" He takes a moment to look around and finds himself in some sort of tooth-rottingly cute infirmary. Anything made of fabric (that isn't another player or npc) is made out of pastel colored patchwork, even the wallpaper is patchwork. The floor is plush and quilted, and lavender light angles in through the only visible window. For a few moments Jack sits there and wonders if that business with the tunnels and monsters was just a weird bit and the real game is going to be some adorable slice of life type thing like Neopets.

"Finally awake I see." The voice comes from off screen, as soft and warm as the ever present patchwork around them. A patchwork bear in a white lab coat and pink stethoscope waddles in at a leisurely pace, flipping through their sticker encrusted clipboard as they move, "Hello Ribbon, you know that you're cleared to leave right?"

The doctor bear's words are soft, sweet, and tinged with that kind of sugary passive aggression that makes people want to break your teeth.

Ribbon makes a noise in the back of her throat, clearly aware of the tone, "I'm not leaving till I finish rescuing this newbie."

The bear just smiles, wryly, "Of course you aren't, very well then." They turn to Jack, "How are you feeling hun?"

Jack looks down at himself, his hands are... fine? There are two cartoony bandaids wrapped around his wrists where his hands were previously severed, and more slapped over various cuts that he somehow wasn't aware of. But as far as he can tell, he isn't in any pain, "I feel... great?"

The patchwork medic smiles wide and claps her paws together, "Oh, wonderful! If that is the case then you're free to go, but ah-- don't forget to stop by our pharmacy on the way out."

Jack gets to his feet as the doctor takes their leave, and Ribbon gets up to show him the way out, "C'mon I know this place like the back of my eyelids."

"That does not fill me with confidence." Jack murmurs as he is led to the pharmacy. A little name placard rests on the desk, it reads 'pharmacist', but the P has been scribbled out with sharpie markers. Behind the desk is a ratty looking brown bear with safety pins in their ears and nose, there are embroidered patches sewn into their fur in place of tattoos. Despite all of this they're wearing crisp black scrubs and little purple latex gloves.

"What?" Drawls the... Harmacist, not looking up from whatever it's doing. Jack watches as they rummage through a mug full of sewing needles for a hot second, before returning to their earlier hunched over position. Whatever the Harmacist is... harming is unhappy with its situation, as it is currently gurgling and whining and trying to get away.

Ribbon slams her hands on the desk, "Kai sent us, so shape up."

The Harmacist sits up, red eyes dull and bored, their nametag reads 'BB', "That tells me everything thank you!" They spit venomously, "Did Kai send you with a prescription or nah, cuz I can't do anything without one, you know that."

Ribbon makes a face, Jack is currently attempting to edge himself towards the door out of this place. Medical stuff still makes him uncomfortable, no matter how cutely it's been reskinned. Luckily neither NPC seems to notice his moments and he makes it to the door unscathed as an argument breaks out between cat and bear.

As soon as he touches the chipped, plastic doorknob the world seems to warp, and not in a 'loading big assets' kind of way. The game the game the game the game game game game game

Static

Black screen

Blue screen

Loading

Tooltip: the text is unreadable, swimming, crawling, a mess of numbers and broken characters.

Jack is outside the hospital, the sky is black and empty and endless.

The level outside is nothing but indecipherable black silhouettes that stand out against an even darker sky.

He can see the players, all looking up, confused, afraid.

The npcs are nothing now, just colorful shapes in this wretched sea of emptiness.

The ground gives way beneath them all and now he is falling...

Falling...

Falling...

Is the stream still rolling?

He can't tell, he can't see the chat, but it's still there.

Don't worry Jack, they're all screaming for you.

And then, as quickly as it all started.

It stops.

Jack is outside, staring up at a purple sky with green stars like those glow in the dark stickers he always wanted as a kid. The moon hangs there, a jagged crescent with a monstrous bite taken out of it. It glows lavender and seems so resigned to its fate.

Ribbon pops into existence right next to Jack, her animations lag, her lips refuse to sync with her speech.

She has no eyes, only that endless hungry dark that swallowed the sky, "There you are! Here, I finally got ahold of that prescription."

She hands Jack a white paper bag with a cross on it. He takes it, visibly shaking and unsettled. The entire level comes alive with a staticky crackle, followed by a voice without gender, "Hello my dears! I know that Haven is technically outside my jurisdiction but I'm the only one with game-wide intercom access so Keeper can stuff it! Anyway, please excuse that technological hiccup, it seems that our wonderful dev team has more work to do to make this place stable. In any case, all public and private Ursumbra online servers and services will be temporarily closed for maintenance at midnight eastern standard time..." a chorus of groans rings out amongst players, "I know, I know, you'll all be so bored without my dulcet tones spurring you on... see you all tomorrow my lovely listeners, Radio Host out."

And thus ends the broadcast. Jack, thoroughly shaken and confused thought it would be a good time to leave, and logged out without a word, ending the stream immediately after.

#ic #viewable icly #long post #ursumbra online #ask to tag //

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Bedside Stories ch.1 (baon)

Summary:  In the aftermath of Internal Disputes. Everything is going swell.

Tags: Spicyhoney,  Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Hospitals

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

One of the first things Stretch had done when Edge was able to remain more awake was to sign in to their Netflix account on the hospital room television. Or rather, Red’s Netflix account since they still hadn’t bothered to get their own. He suspected Red took some minor glee at allowing others to pirate his account and who was he to steal his brother’s joy. He’d keep his thefts to digital streaming services.

But the television was currently dark, hunkering in the corner and silenced from the bevy of cooking shows played non-stop since that morning, ones like Sugar Rush and Cake Wars. Edge finally snapped on the second episode of ‘Nailed It’ and turned it off to relish the silence. His pain was currently at a tolerable level without any medication and he preferred not to add to it with awful programs.

On the table beneath the tv was a lovely floral arrangement sent by Asgore, one that he’d quite likely made himself and Edge truly appreciated that Stretch only put it where Edge directed and made no comment about who it was from.

It wasn’t entirely a surprise; Stretch had been on his best behavior for the past couple days and if the shrill voices of the hosts from that awful show had grated on his nerves, a well-behaved Stretch was nearly worse. He loved his husband as he was, snark and puns and all. It was nearly better to have him briefly gone, with the hopes he’d be more himself when he returned.

Much as Edge appreciated the current silence, there wasn’t much else to do in the hospital room. There was a stack of books sitting on the side table that he didn’t want to read along with his cell phone which gave him an apologetic message stating that his account could not currently access the Embassy servers, along with a terrible stick figure drawing resembling Janice with a word balloon that said, ‘Get well soon!’.

On top of the books was a rubix cube that Jeff brought in for him, a thoughtful gift that Edge solved in less than a minute, to his laughing dismay.

He was actually starting to reluctantly consider playing Simcity on his phone when a hammering knock at the door almost sent him flying to his feet. Or foot, rather, since one of them was currently firmly encased in a plaster cast.

“Come in!” Edge called irritably. He really could do without anyone testing whether skeletons could have a heart attack for a while.

He wasn’t surprised when the door flew open to reveal Undyne, grinning unrepentantly. She all but slammed the door behind her and flopped down in the chair by the bed, propping her booted feet up on the bed rail.

“Heya, tough nerd, where is your pretty honey bunny?” She glanced around the room as if she expected to find Stretch stashed away in the closet or under the bed.

“Must you call him that?” Edge sighed. The soles of her boots were leaving smudges on his sheets and he reached down to give them a slap, knocking them to the floor. Undyne only laughed.

“Touchy.” She shifted to lean with her elbows on her knees, hands hanging between them. “I’m the one whose knocked up, shouldn’t I be having the mood swings?”

“Thinking of you with mood swings is terrifying. Congratulations, by the way.” Edge knew very little about pregnancy, but he couldn’t really see a change in Undyne. He thought she might be wearing a slightly looser shirt than normal, but nothing else seemed visible, not even the ‘glow’ often mentioned in books and movies.

“Eh, thanks,” she grinned. “But let’s back up a step. I figured that honey of a hubby of yours wouldn’t leave your side.”

“You would be correct, even if I want him to,” Edge said dryly. “Much as I adore him, he was starting to get, shall we say, antsy. I sent him home to check on his chickens and to bring me some clean clothes.” Today was the first day Edge was in a position to despise the hospital gowns and he was, with great distaste.

“Uh huh. When are they springing you?” The way Undyne’s gaze fell over him was familiar, assessing damage and calculating potential weakness. It was automatic and came from a place of concern, he knew, but it was difficult not to bristle.

“Hopefully tomorrow, for a week’s rest and then a walking cast.”

Her eye narrowed, flicking back to his leg. “Bad?

“Not as bad as it could have been. For one, it’s still attached.” Undyne barked a laugh and pounded on the arm of her chair, which was the hoped for reaction. He’d tried that particular gallows humor with Stretch earlier and he had not been amused in the slightest. “It was mostly healed before we even got to the hospital, but the bone needs support until the doctors deem otherwise. Now that we’ve discussed me, can we…?”

“Yeah, sure.” She leaned back in her chair and spread her hands over her belly, pulling her t-shirt taut. That revealed the soft swell of her belly. “Alphys and I decided it was time to have a rugrat to chase, so us and the pop-sicle are on it.”

Popsicle? He didn’t want to know. But he did ask, curiously, “When are you due?”

“‘Bout two months.”

“Two months!” Edge blinked at her in shock. “I thought you’d be...more…” He held his arms out in front of his own empty stomach cavity in a wide circle.

She scoffed loudly and flexed, the firm ball of her bicep popping. “When you’re swole like me, the baby’s gotta fight the abs. And let me tell you, they’re trying.” She smirked then, a fiendish sort of glitter in her eye that filled Edge with equal parts fondness and terror. “You wanna feel the baby?”

“Well, I—”

Too late, she already stood and snatched up his hand, plopped it the slight curve of her belly. It was oddly firm, not at all what he was expecting and before he adjusted to that, there came a wiggle, like a fish was caught in her stomach which it might very well be. Ugh, that was disturbing. He preferred children after the creation process was finished.

She let him pull away and from her grin, she knew exactly how Edge felt about it; some of her glee rather resembled Red’s...or another Undyne, from another world. She flopped back in her chair and gave her belly an absent scratch. “So, when are you and Stretch gonna--”

“Please don’t ask.”

She frowned. “Oh. Sorry.”

It wasn’t her concern or her business, it was private, between him and Stretch, and Edge was as astonished as anyone to hear himself say, “He doesn’t want children.”

“What?” Undyne’s face twisted into disbelief. “Get off it. He loves kids, he’s always getting into trouble with the local ankle-biters. Bet you could talk him into it.”

“I don’t want to talk him into it.” Edge barely kept his testiness down, he knew Undyne, and knew she didn’t mean any harm, and he was the one who’d opened the topic. "I never want him to feel like a child is something he needs to agree to to keep me. I—“ He hesitated, thinking of Stretch, and his irritation faded. His faint smile was automatic, as natural as breathing when it came to thinking about his husband. As terrible as their anniversary had been with him mostly in a drugged sleep and Stretch curled up against him in his arms, Edge would have rather done it that way a dozen times over than to not have it at all. “I love him and I’ve accepted that we won’t have children. That’s our choice.”

For the first time, that honestly felt true. He supposed there was a faint hope lingering after their brief discussion last year, one that nagged at the back of his mind, tugged at his soul. But if he forced himself to truly consider it, Edge was happy with their lives the way they were and that wasn’t simply from Stretch’s preference; if they had a child, he would need to severely limit his other commitments to the Embassy and the Monster community as a whole. Plus there were the children at the Y to consider, children whose home lives were far from perfect, who craved a stabilizing influence.

Those children needed him more than he needed to speculate on an imaginary child. Even the children in New New home, who had loving parents of their own, needed to be protected from a world that was not yet as accepting as they might wish. The glaring white cast on his foot was proof of that.

That little pang he sometimes got when he thought of having a child of his own eased, fading, and Edge was content to let it go.

Undyne was looking at him with unusual shrewdness. “Yeah, I get that. Well, you’ll be a great uncle, both of ya, and I’m betting we’ll be trying to hook you up with babysitting duties.”

“I’d like that,” Edge said honestly. “And all the other neighborhood children seem to enjoy having a spare uncle or two. I’m sure your tadpole will be delighted to join the rest.”

She slapped her knees and stood. “Well, I gotta get back to the shitshow...and don’t even bother asking, I’m not supposed to tell you anything yet, that’s orders from on high. Just wanted to check in on you.” She sobered, and said with unusual softness. “And thank you. If I’d been there--” She shuddered, her hand falling down to rest on the slight swell of her belly.

“You don’t need to thank me, but you’re welcome,” Edge said sincerely.

Her somberness split into another wide grin. “But while I’m here….”

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a Sharpie, waggling her eyebrows as she held it up.

Ugh. They’d only put the cast on this morning and thus far, no one else had been around to attempt signing it. Grimly, Edge nodded. This was a bonding ritual of sorts in this world, and he would not be so churlish as to refuse it.

“Nothing obscene,” he warned. Undyne scoffed, but obediently signed only her name, adding in a clumsy sketch of her own face saying ‘get well soon, nerd!’

The door opened as she was finishing, Stretch barrelling inside with several bags in his arms. “okay, i know it’s cold out, but you won’t be able to do any turns on the catwalk soon anyway, so i figured gym shorts would be easier to get on you--hey!” He stopped, outraged. “i was gonna do that!”

“I left you plenty of room,” Undyne snorted.

Stretch harrumphed and started digging through one of the bags. He pulled out an entire package of sharpies in a startling array of colors. “my canvas is the world!”

“Your canvas is on my body,” Edge said dryly. “You may sign your name and sketch a small picture, Van Gogh.”

“salvador dali had a better moustache. and both ears.”

“Considering you have neither--”

“yeah, yeah. hey, undyne, congrats on the bump.”

“Thanks,” Undyne said easily, but Edge noticed she didn’t try to grab Stretch’s hand and drag it over to feel any kicking. Neither did Stretch ask and that seemed best. “See you two nerds around!”

“See ya,” Stretch called even as he plopped down to sit next to Edge’s carefully propped leg. “oh, yeah, here, i got you this.”

From the depths of his bag came a couple of books, not novels, but crosswords and sudoku, both with bright titles declaring them ‘World’s Most Difficult Puzzles’! There were also two metal squares about the size of his fist and when Edge inspected them, he found that they were latticed, dozens of different parts that appeared to be a whole.

“those are supposed to be really tough brainteasers...shit!” Stretch had been struggling with opening the packet of pens and when he finally pried the plastic apart, they fell out in a burst, scattering over the bed. Grumbling, he gathered them up in a messy rainbow pile near Edge’s cast.

Edge added a blue sharpie that had made it all the way up to the pillow to the pile, then set books and puzzles on his other side. “Thank you.”

“sure. i figured you were tired of watching other people baking when you can’t stand up and do it yourself.” Stretch contemplated his pile of pens, his face screwed up comically, and his expression brightened into an ‘aha’ as he picked up one in bright orange. Of course.

“Stretch?”

“hmm?” he said absently, pen poised over the rough plaster.

“I love you.” Edge said it with all the deep, longing sweetness in his battered soul, the warmth that rose merely from thinking of Stretch, trying in some small way to project the depth of his love.

Stretch blinked and lowered his pen. Undyne might not normally be shrewd but Stretch very much was and his look was assessing. Wondering, perhaps, what happened while Undyne was here.

“i love you, too.” Then his mouth quirked in a lopsided smile. “but you’re interrupting art here.”

Edge smiled back and shook his head. “Far be it from me to play the part of philistine.”

“actually, this might end up more picasso,” Stretch mused, “guess we’ll see.” The tip of the sharpie touched down as Stretch began, but Edge didn’t watch his dubious attempt at art. Instead, he began inspecting the brain teaser his husband brought for him.

As if Stretch wasn’t a walking, talking brain teaser every day.

Edge lightly touched each joint as he contemplated how to begin, listening as Stretch hummed down by his feet, sketching something that would likely be terrible for him to love.

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

[evangelene]

Despite What You Are (4)

Summary: Vampires don’t feed on blood, they feed on fear. So, why is yours so potent? Why were you saved by the most dangerous of all vampires–Kim Namjoon?

Based on this request:

“Can i ask for a ff where namjoon is a vampire mafia boss and has a spft spot for you. And you get into trouble woth a rival gang and he goes crazy? Fluffy and angsty 🌹”

Part One / Part Two/ Part Three / Part Five

“So, what do you think?”

Seokjin stood proud, as if he had just made the discovery of a lifetime. In reality, all he had really done was walk outside to find a shed that looked far less like a livable plot of land and more like a busted maid’s quarters from the expired centuries past. Once more, you were infinitely curious as to what sort of complex this place had been before the War of 2048.

It didn’t help that the shed/hillbilly-cannibal prep station was surrounded by a thick grove of trees that shouldn’t be there but were anyways.

Kind of like you.

Funny how one could relate to some moss, bark and leaves.

Despite the lackluster appearance of your soon-to-be hospital, you couldn’t really complain (much). After all, you were finally allowed to go outside! How great!

It would have been nicer if you didn’t have to have a guard within arm’s reach of you at all times. Oh, and you definitely weren’t allowed within twenty feet of the story and half tall fences—despite them being stronger than a vampire and capped with barbed wire.

Apparently, one of Jisung’s gang (clan? You guessed it was a clan now?) had the ability to teleport.

They wouldn’t tell you what Jisung’s ability was though…probably because he didn’t have one before he walked out and became clan leader.

“It’s just a small clan. They will be crushed easily.”

The boys had tried to persuade you, but there was something entirely unsettling about how absolutely quiet Namjoon had been in the corner, his eyes lost in space somewhere out the window.

Comforting, especially to a human who jumped when the wind rustled the leaves in the trees a bit too rough for her liking.

“Y/N.”

You jolted your attention back to Seokjin, giving him the weakest yeahtotallywasn’tscaredatall smile you could manage. “It’s great.”

With a deep sigh and a roll of his eyes, he yanked open the door to the shed; it look like it required muscle—even for a vampire (you blamed it on the fact that nature looked like it had tried to glue it shut with some unholy substance). “Just take a look inside, would you?”

So…the inside was even worse than the outside, which was saying a lot since the roof looked like it was about to slide off the structure entirely. As you stepped up, you were surprised to find that your foot didn’t immediately crack through the rotting wood; however, that didn’t prevent you from having to hopscotch around already existing holes, rat shit, and poisonous smelling black mold. The place itself was dusty and unkempt to the point that it screamed “disease.” But, you know, you were fine with it.

As far as you were concerned, it was far enough away from the main complex building and it wouldn’t allow any vampires to access any of the fear you may exude.  Another plus: it had a sink so Seokjin could like…you know…sanitize things? You didn’t really know much about medical shit, which was probably why you were on your deathbed months ago.

Yay for you being a helpful and self-sufficient human being.

“I mean, we can make it good.”

Seokjin chuckled. “Of course I will make it acceptable. I am aware of how easily humans fall ill—I won’t allow it to be anything but sterile.” You sent a look over your shoulder that had Seokjin frowning. “Are you doubting my abilities now, of all times?”

“I’ve seen you heal, not clean. Besides, what are you going to do? Vacuum the spores from the air?”

“It will need to be aired out for a bit anyways—speaking of that, you should probably get out of there for now.”

You were on the same level as a feline and therefore gave no fucks for the vampire who could easily yank you out by your pinkie if he so chose to. Instead, you used the sleeve of your sweatshirt to dust off the one and only table in the shed; surprisingly, the furniture itself wasn’t nearly as compromised as the actual foundation of the building.

“Y/N. Out.”

“Woof.” You glared at him from your musty seclusion, slowly parkouring your way back out the door and onto semi-solid grass.

He seemed to age in that moment, even though vampires really…don’t…they just kinda die looking hot and young and shit. How nice. You blamed it on the poor man having to deal with your constant bullshit.

But, then again, if you had to listen to his puns then he had to put up with your tantrums.

“So it’s just going to sit there for a week or whatever while you guys go off and do your dangerous top secret mission?”

“Pretty much.”

“You know, I really hate secrets.”

He let out a bark of a laugh, his hand placed between your shoulderblades in order to guide you forward—well aware that you’d already taken a spill once already (stupid tree root) and had a 99.9 percent chance of repeating your mistakes. “You’re one to talk with the one you’re keeping.”

“He keeps far more than I do. It’s not fair.” You frowned at the ground, keeping your gaze cast down in order to prevent a sequel to the greatest fall of the century. “I prefer transparency; I’ve had enough secrecy in my life.”

“You are still useful, Y/N.”

A shudder ran its way up your spine.

“He has reasons for keeping things from you. You are not ready to see him feed; you are not ready to learn what he does when he’s away from you. The missions he does--the business he conducts--you are far more fragile than we are.”

“I’m not a fucking flower.”

“Physically, you may be able to handle more than we suspect; but, do remember, you had just jumped out of your skin due to naturally occurring wind. Would you be able to hold yourself back at the visual of a human being tortured in front of you?”

You pressed your lips into a line.

The tip of the tree hung down from his chest, broken by the impact of his body crashing backwards into it—despite the thick material of his vest and jacket. Human bodies contained so much blood, why didn’t you ever realize that before?

“So?” You dug your nails into your palms. “If it concerns me, then why can’t I know these things? You all are no better than humans.”

“You’re insulting yourself.”

“I’m good at self-deprecating humor.” You sighed, dropping your defense mechanism for the moment—but only the singular moment. “You know what I mean.”

“I do. Sometimes, your own species can be your worst enemy.”

There was a prolonged pause between the two of you, both of you walking in tandem but somehow still so far away from the other that you could have been on different planets.

“Part of me hopes that you’ll fail.” You murmured. “Part of me would rather go out like that—no pain and put under anesthesia. It’s easy. And then I wouldn’t have to…I wouldn’t…”

“There are bigger secrets you’re keeping from him than this one.” Seokjin didn’t word it as a question, as if he already knew everything swimming around the stagnant pool of thought in your head—he probably did. You briefly remember someone mentioning that he grew up with humans.

It wouldn’t surprise you if his emotions developed in a similar fashion to your own.

“I started to become more human being surrounded by vampires. Is that weird?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a rhetorical question you asshole, let me finish.” But he was repressing his laughter and you were huffing on a smirk as you cleared the trees. “I don’t want to feel those things anymore—I don’t want to remember what it’s like to be human, not when nothing good can come of it; not when there’s a chance I could lose it.” You paused at the door to the compound, soaking in the rays of sunlight while you still could. “Promise me you’ll bring him back safe.”

“He’s stronger than any enemy we could face out there, Y/N.” But he didn’t promise you, and that alone was enough for your stomach to constrict in the most unpleasant way. You could feel Seokjin’s gaze on the side of your face as you closed your eyes and faced the sun. Part of you hoped that the sun would smite you where you stood so you could escape everything—however, while you were fearful of living, you were even more terrified of death. “You love him, don’t you?”

“Denied.” You murmured without a second though, the metaphorical doors to your heart slamming shut so quickly it almost felt like you were shot point-blank in the chest. “I refuse to love something that can’t love me back. I can’t lose anything more in this life. I can’t lose him, and I can’t tell him that I can’t lose him. I can’t love him, and I can’t tell him that I can’t love him.”

“You are overcomplicating things, Y/N.”

You opened your eyes, squinting through the sun to meet Seokjin’s gaze. “I think that’s the one thing I’m truly good at.”

~.~

Namjoon refused to explain any part of his “mission” to you. And yes you totally put air-quotes and a stupid face to the word mission. To you, it seemed like bullshit; to you, it seemed like he was out doing the very same things that the human hunters did. To you, it seemed like he was keeping secrets and pulling strings behind your back.

To make matters worse for your worried and easily annoyed heart, he had to take all of the six with him.

Well, originally he had planned on leaving Taehyung, Hoseok, or even Seokjin with you—but, upon your inquiry of just how damn dangerous his stupid idea was, you forced him to have his entire crew by his side. You remembered how quickly his expression had darkened, the impassivity to his gaze that had you wishing that you could read his mind like he could read yours.

Idiot.

Then again, he probably just called you a bunch of terrible names in his mind just like you did in reference to him.

Despite your energy and your lack of understanding, you tried to be that™ person; you tried to be that™ supportive girl that stood by her loved person, waving them off with a handkerchief and tears glistening beautifully in her eyes. First off, you were never graceful in anything you did, and the old movies would never be you; that™ person would never be you.

You were too much of a salty, bitter hag. Salty because he wouldn’t tell you what he was going to do, nevertheless where he was going to do this mystery action; even saltier still because whatever incredibly dangerous thing he was going to do could be the end of him and, even in your anger, you wouldn’t be able to take not knowing where he went or what happened to him.

So, like the woman you were, you resorted to pursing your lips at him from the corner of the room as he gathered his things. Part of you wanted to see his face in case you forgot it, but the stronger part of you said that your actions were out of spite rather than anything else. You damn well wanted him to know just how pissed you were. Subtlety? You don’t know her.

“I can still leave Taehyung here with you—I…I don’t trust the others here with you.”

“Jiwoo’s here. I’m fine.” You grunted, arms tightly crossed over your chest.

“She doesn’t have any abilities. Taehyung could at least—“

“Namjoon.” There was something exhilarating about the power you had over him when you simply said his name—it was almost enough to dissolve your anger…almost. “Yoongi and I spoke about this when I said I wanted them all with you—he agrees that she has a hell of a survival instinct and an even greater protective streak. I will be fine; I’m locked up to holy hell in here anyways.”

Honestly, you remembered how quickly that conversation had went—Yoongi had offered her to you without a hint of hesitation. It was almost as if he didn’t care that his mate could possibly die for you if the situation arose. And here you were, with a mate who didn’t trust you with a fucking spoon.

You were sure your face was going to gain permanent wrinkles from frowning so intensely.

“You’re angry, why?”

Leave it to the vampire to be blunt.

“I’m not.” Yeah, Y/N. Good job. Continue to sulk like an absolute child because, of course, maturity is for LoSErS.

“Sure, but if I accept your words at face value then you will only become more angry. I am not stupid to you at this point. You’ve been here for over a half a year now.” He sighed, pulling on his jacket. “What is wrong?”

You cast your gaze to the floor, if only because he was now openly staring at you and your pride won over your anger—you couldn’t let him see you turning red at such an inopportune moment.

“Why can’t you just tell me what you’re doing? Or where you’re going?”

Part of you wanted him to be like human men, you wanted him to hold your face in your hands and kiss you and make you feel something other than this icy distance between the two of you. Maybe then you could take not knowing.

But that wasn’t the case, and you were infinitely reminded that this wasn’t a human man in front of you.

“This is what clan leaders do—they go out and stake their claim, mark their territory and make sure it is still theirs. You have no business here.”

Anger boiled under your skin and, god, did you really just want to smack him. But with the sheer amount of muscle in the monster man, you knew you’d hurt yourself more than you’d hurt him. “You’re not going out there to stake your fucking claim, Namjoon. I’m not stupid. I know you’re not telling me the truth.”

You could feel his stare burn into the side of your face, but you refused to meet it just to satisfy your petty rebellion. “I want you to be safe in all senses of the word. Can’t you be satisfied with that?”

“No.” You snorted. “I can’t.” Your hands were balling into fists, lips pressing into a line so thin you swore they might burst and disappear entirely. “I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t ask for your protection—I didn’t ask for you to be a clan leader, I didn’t ask for you to sacrifice your life for mine. What I asked for was your honesty.”

He paused for a second, clearly thinking out his words so that you wouldn’t continue to be mad at him. But, for a vampire still learning the complexities of the human mind, you were both well aware that he didn’t have the right toolkit to attack this problem.

“There’s a lot you can’t give me, and I’m learning to accept that. But like hell will I put aside the truth and accept your lies. What are you really going to go and do?”

It was your last lifeline, your last chance for him to grab the rope and tug him back into your good graces.

At first, it seemed like he was taking grasp of it with both hands, stepping closer towards you with intent--like he maybe was going to hold your hand, like he maybe was going to brush your hair off your neck and kiss your cheek. But, of course, he did none of those things.

Instead, he slipped past you entirely. “I promise we will return as soon as we can.”

By the time you calmed yourself enough to turn around, he was gone.

~.~

Jiwoo was a heaven-sent existence—despite being the very thing that fed on fear, you were convinced that she was an angel. It was her personal mission to make sure that you never felt alone, and that you were able to sort out all your feelings and complaints, allowing you to throw them all onto one vessel.

With her sweet smile and her unvampirely crave for contact; she was everything you needed in the wake of being pissed off at Kim Namjoon.

It was hard not to laugh as she grumbled to herself while setting up her side of the bed for the night. “I know he’s my leader, but he’s a prick.” She huffed, fluffing her pillow with slight violence only to freeze and stare at the door when there was a particular loud noise a floor below you two. There was a moment where she had offered to lay out a sleeping bag for herself on the floor, but when you offered to let her next to you, her eyes lit up and part of you wondered if maybe she could be your mate instead.

She understood your human needs far better than grumpypants.

“He wouldn’t let me visit with you as much as I would like, so I’m going to soak up every opportunity I can get.” She threw herself on the bed next to you, those bright eyes of hers boring into yours. “Maybe it’s a female thing, but I feel I can understand your thoughts a bit better than those dumb boys.”

“Maybe.” You chuckled. She was probably the exact opposite of Yoongi—far too bright, bubbly and touchy-feely for the man who recoiled at breathing the same air as another being. You paused for a second, wetting your dry lips with your tongue. “Can I ask you something?”

“No question is too strange for me.” She giggled. “Yoongi says that I ask too many weird ones that anything anyone could ask of me would seem normal in comparison.”

Somehow, you could see it. The girl radiated a personality that only existed in characters from outer space.

“Why are you so fascinated with me? I mean, I’m not really special—just your average human.”

She shrugged, moving to adjust herself into a comfortable sitting position. “Well, I liked what I saw when I first met you. And, well, I don’t really feed from humans because I pity them. I prefer the fear from my own kind—and Yoongi’s really good about making sure I can get fed enough from that alone.” She paused for a moment to ruminate on her words. “Humans…Well…I feel bad for hurting something so innocent for my own gain. They can’t even properly fight back.”

“Some do.”

“Even then, it depends on the human and their deeds—but it’s not like I’m really clued into those too well. Vampires…well, we’re often terrible beings. Maybe more so than humans.” She sighed. “But you, man, when you stood up to Jisung I swear I’ve never seen our leader more whipped for a being in his life. I wanted to know more about you because of that, too.”

Was it possible for a vampire to be vegetarian? Well, the vampire equivalent of the term. Was that cannibalism?

Honestly, you could have probably busted your last three braincells pondering a stupid label.

“Are there more vampires like you?”

Her eyes sparkled. “Probably. But they may all be dead. You and I, we are a rare breed—with mates powerful enough to ensure that we both survive.”

As you withdrew inside of yourself to contemplate the heft to her words, her hand reached out to grab your own, as if on instinct. “Humans are soft.” She murmured. “I like physical contact with them.”

“You are so weird.”

She only grinned wider at that.

For a moment you considered spilling everything to her—everything you couldn’t say to your mate, to humans, to anyone. You contemplated telling her your whole life story if only because there was a being there in front of you who looked so willing to eat it all in and learn everything there was to know about you.

This person was a vampire, and that was enough to stop you.

“There is something on your mind.” She hummed.

“Yeah.”

She cocked her head to the side. “Do you not trust me?”

You put your free hand up. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Woo, I just…I don’t…I don’t think that you can understand me if I told you.”

“Okay.” She murmured. “I probably won’t, but its okay to tell me. My job in the clan is to not ask questions and make sure that things run smoothly. I am a glorified secretary; if there are things I am not supposed to know then I will not seek them out nor will I lose my trust if those secrets come into the light. I am supposed to tell my clan leader everything.” Her eyes scanned yours. “So it concerns him, does it not?”

“What in my world doesn’t concern him anymore?”

She chuckled, her grin faltering for a moment. “Y/N, I never said I was good at my job. Yoongi and I…we were a pairing mated by genes and not by choice—not that I mind, as I’m terrible with making decisions.” She licked her lips in the dry air. “I understand that feeling of wanting more.”

“You…” Your furrowed your brows, trying to find the right words even though the synapses weren’t fully connecting the loose ends to the equation displayed before you. “You don’t love Yoongi, do you?”

She pursed her lips, her eyes lost somewhere over your shoulder. “What Yoongi and I are certainly is not the same kind of bond that you humans call love. So if what you are worried about is how our clan leader cares for you, then I’ll have you know that I have never seen a vampire care for his mate to such extremes before. I’m jealous.”

Something that must have been akin to fear flashed through you quick as lightning, because Jiwoo’s eyes burst red for a second, narrowing in on you before dulling back to their neutral color. “I don’t want Namjoon, Y/N; don’t be afraid of that. I’m envious of the bond between you two, not what you hold—that connection, it seems so special.”

“Have you told Yoongi any of this?”

“No. I don’t see him enough to warrant it.” Her eyes softened. “Perhaps that’s why I enjoy your company, being with you annoys him enough for him to seek me out.”

Your eyes scanned her face, searching for hidden feelings and answers that she was slowly bringing to the surface. It was nice to feel a little bit less alone in a sea of people that made you feel like an anomaly. “We’re similar, aren’t we?”

Her gaze met yours. “We are.”

You tucked your lips between your teeth, trying to make yourself say the words. Trying to will yourself to let it out to her—if you could let it out to anyone, it would be her.

After all, she just indirectly told you her own personal traumas—why couldn’t you say the one thing that was always running through your head ever since you realized it enough to deny it whole-heartedly?

“I…I…”

“You love Namjoon.” She murmured, her irises bloodying to an intense crimson as you inhaled through your nose.  When you said nothing, she only squeezed your hand. “Well, I can’t say that I was unaware of that, but maybe one day we’ll get you to say it out loud, huh?” She chuckled. “Then again, isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black, as you humans would say?”

~.~

Jiwoo did not have the luxury that the other vampires around you had—she had not been trained for years to accommodate human nature into her life. She was not one who was ready to easily adapt to a human friend and, therefore, she was unable to maneuver you through the compound with the grace that Namjoon and his six had.

AKA, every horror hid from you was unfolded in a searing burst of white-hot fear.

This was, after all, a place for vampires—not humans.

The blood, the bodies, the strewn bits and pieces of lives tortured and lost were not things that startled her.

You, on the other hand, were a different story.

Turning to vomit up your entire lunch into the nearest receptacle—because why would vampires have trash cans every four feet like humans?—you nearly didn’t make it and therefore missed the bright red flash of Jiwoo’s eyes as she furrowed her brow on you in concern.

“Y/N! What happened? Are you alright?” Her worry was a palpable presence in the air, smothering you much like she was doing. Contrary to the vampires you had met thus far, she seemed to think that contact was the salve to every ailment.

You screwed your eyes shut, desperately trying to erase the images of bruised and beaten bodies, parts of humans too mangled to identify. Corpses yet to be disposed of, personal belongings dropped and bloodied in the shuffle, remnants of humans like yourself.

That could have been you. The woman in the corner with a bloody cleave from her neck to chest, she could have been you if you didn’t meet Namjoon. The man on the floor with his spine half pulled out of his back could have been you if you weren’t saved. The child—

There wasn’t anything left to vomit, but your stomach was sure as hell going to give it a go anyways.

“I--” You wanted to straighten your spine, you wanted to stand up tall and meet her in the eyes like loss of life didn’t bother you—like you weren’t terrified of the shadows of ‘what ifs’ that hung heavy above your head. You had to get used to this; that was the saddest part of it all. You, by all means, should be accustomed to death, to the lingering monsters that manifested themselves into your reality. Namjoon fed off of people like you.

He probably fed off of the people at your feet.

However, your stomach jolted into another hefty, dry heave.

“I will be okay.” You whispered, Jiwoo’s hands on your shoulders. “I’m…not all humans are accustomed to these sights.”

She took a glance around, and you could feel the apologetic sympathy roll off of her aura in waves around you without her ever uttering a word.

“I’m stupid.” She murmured. “I’m sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s not your fault.” You laughed, hands tightening around the trashcan. “Humans….”

“—Humans have too much empathy for things, especially for their own kind. I read that in a book somewhere.”

“Perhaps.” You snorted. “I think humans have too much empathy for all things, living or not. We are often pointless creatures.”

“I don’t believe in pointlessness. Everything has a reason.” She rubbed soothing circles between your shoulderblades, and, you think that she probably learned this from watching a mother soothe a child once.

You can’t help but catch a bit of dried blood out of the corner of your eye, the resembling of human flesh beside it. “When does Namjoon feed?”

She paused. “Not as often since you’ve arrived—besides prepping for their mission, I can’t remember the last time he was down here. I don’t think he wants you to see that side of him.”

“Are any of these…are any of these his?”

Jiwoo didn’t get up right away, she instead studied your expression as if to make sure that this was something that you really wanted to do—something that you felt you needed to see. She must have found her answer, because she then pushed up to her feet, leaving you huddled over the trashcan. You watched her every move with close precision if only because, if you looked away from her, you’d see more than you wanted to.

When she stopped and looked back at you, you wordlessly got to your feet and stepped carefully around the haphazard mess around you. Despite every aspect of your being trying desperately not to show fear, your palms still sweat and Jiwoo’s eyes still glowed a hazy red.

Her hand found yours as you stared down at the body before you. It was a hunter, that was evident by the uniform, though she was remarkably intact.

Something told you vampires didn’t often keep their victims looking so clean.

He made sure he could hear your screams; he wanted to drag this out—suck out every last bit of your energy and fear until death finally took you. He wanted you to suffer.

Her neck was snapped, her hair curtaining her expression that was stricken in horror. Though her eyes were closed—something else told you that Namjoon had done that when he was finished.

Some sick part of you wanted to touch her, to empathize with the body. You wanted to see yourself in that girl, you wanted to see some remnant of care you had for humanity. However, the second the Hunters Association’s uniform was involved, that fear--that horror--was dampened immensely.

You squeezed Jiwoo’s hand. “I’m okay.” You murmured. “This, I’ve seen bodies before—at least, bodies in this garb.” You bent down, recalling times where you were ordered to strip the bodies, salvage what equipment you could, and let some other sad soul dump the bodies into the incinerators. You had rarely been assigned that task because you were slow and threw up too much for their liking. Though it did become the ultimate punishment for when you mouthed off just a little bit too much.

You murmured a soft apology to the dead woman as you shifted her, your eyes latching onto the embroidered holster buckled around her hips. Numbly, and in a trance to keep yourself from losing what little stomach contents you had left, you unclasped your prize and slipped it free from Namjoon’s meal.

Brushing off the dust and debris, you fumbled with the zipper to slide open that pack and peer at the contents inside.

The bullets that lay inside the embroidered pockets sewn next to the holster shone like a beacon of light and hope in a dark and damp place.

You shifted them, ducking your head to sniff the contents. They obviously had been down here for a while; their garlic scent had significantly decreased from the potency standards that the Hunter’s Association usually had. However, they weren’t useless.

“Can I take this?”

She shrugged as you slung the holster over your shoulder. “What you carry is no concern of mine; I think it wise that you have something to protect yourself from my own kind. I know that not all of us are to be trusted, especially not with you.” She paused, cocking her head at the body of a vampire. “Besides, if their mission is as dangerous as they make it out to be, then the consequences of it may meet up with us here at the compound at some point. If everything goes to shit, I would rather you have something. Vampiric guards are not perfect protection.”

“Jiwoo, I love you.”

She chuckled. “I’m learning to understand the sentiment.”

~.~

Jiwoo attempted to cook—not because you didn’t offer to do so, but because she was adamant that she wanted to try it herself. To give her credit, it smelled good; to make yourself feel better, you hadn’t once stopped looking over her shoulder. The only vampire you trusted to make you food was the one that had lived with humans as a child.

And that vampire was most definitely not Jiwoo based purely on the way she held a spoon.

“The big part goes in the pot.”

“That’s not a handle?”

You pursed your lips, stifling the urge to laugh and cry in hopelessness at the same time. “No.”

However, both of you quickly became distracted when the outside world burst into noise. Jiwoo met your gaze before nodding. “They’re back.” That statement, though it rang true through your bones, did not allow your feet to move. Instead, you only watched as Jiwoo temporarily put the pot aside to go towards the window.

Staring out the blinds, her shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight before her. “He looks okay.” You knew how she felt in that moment because, on some deep, repressed level, you could understand her sentiment.

Yoongi was okay.

How is he? How is Namjoon?

It was almost as if, for a moment, the woman could read your mind: “Namjoon is alright.” She grinned at you as if that could make you feel better about all of your troubles. “Namjoon is alright.”

“That’s good.” You mumbled to the stew on the stove, mindlessly stirring it with the wooden spoon.

“He’s looking up here.”

You frowned at the pot, refusing to move if only because you were stubborn. Out of your peripherals, you could see her gently waving, shaking her head.

“He’s concerned for you.”

“That’s nice of him to be concerned for his human pet.”

Jiwoo sighed. “You know you mean much more to him than that.”

Instead of garnering her a proper response, you curled your free hand into the countertop to stop yourself from giving into your urge to run and make sure he was as fine with your own eyes. “Is he really okay?”You hated the way your voice cracked as her gaze seared the flesh of your cheeks.

“Are you?”

~.~

By the time Namjoon made it upstairs and into the kitchen, your food was done and you were at the table, enjoying your meal with a magazine Jiwoo had found outside the compound. Once her clan leader reared his face, Jiwoo quietly excused herself but not before you could thank her. She had done so much for you that even an awkward situation between you and her leader wouldn’t allow you to just let her slip away so easily.

Even if you didn’t even want to speak in front of your asshat “mate.”

Once you were left along with Namjoon, you could immediately feel the tension in the room rise to the point that you were sure that your blood was frozen in your veins. You could feel his stare on the side of your face, but you forced yourself to eat and focus solely on the magazine before you.

He sighed, but it did nothing to encourage your speech.

Swallowing his pride after several moments of rising silence, he gave in first. “Is there a reason you are ignoring me?”

You frowned at your magazine, fork poised by your mouth. “What did you do on your mission?”

He let out another weighted sigh. “Y/N—I can’t—it’s too danger—“

“Fine.” You cut him off, finally lifting your gaze to his, even if only for a brief moment to nail your point into the ground. “Then don’t expect me to talk.”

He sighed once more, running his fingers through his hair almost as if he wished to rip the strands out at the root. You could feel his gaze on you, feel the heat of his stare as if he could make you look at him, talk to him—as if you could actually hear his thoughts like he could hear yours.

“If you had the power to, would you go backwards? Would you change things? Would you change me?”

You frown only increased in depth, positively fucking up your features for aging later on—if you lived that long.

What in the absolute hell are you talking about?

“Would you find a human mate? If you could be rid of me, would you?”

You sighed, tilting your head up to the ceiling, staring at it as if it could have the answers to all of life’s questions. “Nothing in my life has been by choice, even if I went backwards, nothing would change.” You shifted, thinking about what a human partner would look like for you, thinking about your life without Namjoon.

It would be dark, lonely. You’d be back at the Hunter’s camp; you’d be dead—if not physically then emotionally; there was nothing to look forward to in your old life.

You imagined waking up to a world without Namjoon, without his straightforward nature, his indirect care. You imagined a world without his conversation, his small smiles, and his occasional laughter.

“Would you change me?” It was too loud for the silence of the room, and you found yourself holding your breath for his reply.

Silence encompassed the room, your heart dropping deep into the depths of your stomach the longer it stretched on—but maybe that was your brain screaming from the lack of oxygen.

Vampires find mates solely for optimal offspring, not necessarily a human’s definition of “pairing.”

Vampires are creatures of instinct; they run based on efficiency rather than emotions.

Your hands curled into the magazine, your legs poised to shove the chair out, to run and escape this conversation. You wanted to disappear, curl up into the comforter, crawl into a closet and never return. Anywhere that wasn’t that fucking kitchen would have been a better option for you in that moment.

“I would change me.” It was so quiet you almost didn’t hear it past the slow sound of your heart crashing uncomfortably in your chest. When you didn’t say anything, he continued. “Not you.”

Somehow, that didn’t make your heart lift from its newfound home on the roof of your stomach.

“Why?”

His gaze was no longer on you; rather it was downcast to the floor, focusing on the tile as he carefully chose his words. “I would make myself human.”

“You’d be dead.” You said stupidly, staring at him in confusion to words spilling from your mouth so quickly and so surely you were amazed that you were able to translate all of the jumbled thoughts careening in your head. “We’d both be, I wouldn’t have met you—the hunter’s association wouldn’t have kept me around. So you saying that you would change yourself would mean that you would ultimately change me.” You pushed your chair out from the counter. “We can’t go back, we can’t change what is, only what will be. Why the hell are we even talking about this? What are you so afraid of? Why is it so hard to tell me where you were? What you were doing?”

“If another clan found out about you, if you had information to give, they would never stop hunting you. They would torture you until you begged for death—and then they wouldn’t give it to you, they’d wait until they fed every last drop of information and fear from you before finally letting you decimate yourself.”

“I thought you said you wouldn’t let any of that happen.”

“I can’t make promises, Y/N, this world isn’t—“

“Okay.” You pushed yourself to your feet, leaving your half eaten food and your magazine on the table.

“Y/N—“

“I think…I think I’m going to go to bed now.”

He made it seem like he was almost going to reach out and grab you, but he retracted his hand at the last second.

He only ever touched you because he thought you wanted it, not because he did.

“Good night.” You threw the words over your shoulder, because you didn’t want him to see you cry. He’d seen you cry enough. Crying was weakness, and god were you already pathetic enough as a human being to even think, for a moment, that maybe you weren’t alone in your denied feelings.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it would have been easier if he was human and you two never met. Maybe it would be better if you weren’t in his life.

But would your life be better without him in it?

~.~

You had slept like the dead, cliché phrase you know, but sobbing into a pillow until your eyes were puffed to the point that you couldn’t see made you sleep like you hadn’t in months.

Yeah, you probably could have been six feet under with your lack of response to the world around you. You didn’t wake up when Namjoon entered—you sure as hell didn’t wake up when he came in to wrap you up all nice and tight (you only assumed that he did it based on the fact that you were one-hundred percent sure that you fell face first into the plush bed). You definitely didn’t wake when Jiwoo came in to check on you, nor when Namjoon came and went for the second time. Oh, and you sure as hell didn’t even fucking stir when someone booked it down the hall past your bedroom.

You couldn’t even talk about the building shaking with the force of an explosion outside.

What did finally wake you up was whatever internal alarm built within your genetic code that screamed danger when Taehyung burst into the bedroom at full speed.

Groggily, with your eyelids screaming out in pain and horror, you forced yourself into a sitting position.

You know, you made it sound all fancy, but any normal person would have woken up to the explosion—you just woke up to a dude running in your room with his body language screaming “trouble,” screaming “danger.” And, though you hated to admit to your tendencies to actually give a flying fuck about the man, it scared the barely conscious you to think that this incident involved the vampire closest to you.

Taehyung, luckily or unluckily for you, didn’t regard you at first, and you used that time  to fully wake up and orient yourself to the situation before you. As if drugged, you wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth and lazily watched Taehyung slam the door behind him, reaching for a chair to tuck up under the handle—like that was going to do anything against whatever was causing him to panic.

The instant awake button was found when Taehyung turned around and you got a damn good look at his split lip—accompanied by the bruising underneath his eye. The cherry on top of his injury cake was the gashes that you could see through the fresh holes in his shirt when he spun around, blood dribbling down to the waistband of his jeans.

“What’s going on?” Your voice came out as a hiss that sounded more like a gunshot on the tense silence of the room.

His breath came in fast gasps as he turned towards you, his gaze landing anywhere but you—looking for exits, danger, weapons—

“Taehyung!”

He nodded, eyes finally meeting yours. “No windows. Good.”

It didn’t answer your question, but you were pretty sure that he didn’t hear it anyways.

Sitting back into your hips, you ran your fingers through your hair to gather it into a ponytail. “I don’t give a shit about windows; Taehyung, what’s happening?” And then, like the desperate spiral of a worried human being you were, you didn’t even give him time to answer. “It’s Namjoon isn’t it? Where is he? Is he alright?”

He held his hands up to take the brunt of your verbal assault, breath heaving in his chest. “He’s…he’ll be fine.”

“Bullshit.” You detangled yourself from the sheets, adjusting your shirt. “I want to see him.”

“I have orders to make sure you don’t leave this room.”

You froze, frowning at the beaten man before you. “Taehyung—orders or not—you are not going to stop me from going out there.”

“Y/N.” His voice was dark and strained in a way that you most definitely didn’t like. “I have orders; I have to protect you.”

What would your life be like without Namjoon?

You two stared at each other, that same tense silence falling between you.

And then, like the idiot you were, you burst out of the bed and towards the bedroom door.

Naturally, as a fucking vampire, Taehyung was faster than you. His arms wrapped around your waist hard—too hard, but he obviously wasn’t used to handling humans in a way that was gentle; especially when panicked—spinning you around to fling you back onto the bed.

However, you were dumb, and that meant you didn’t know when to give up. In an instant you were back on your feet, bolting towards the door once more. If he had any hope of being delicate with you, it was out the metaphorical window with your second attempt at escape. You crashed to the ground with all the grace of a whale beaching itself, skidding back towards the bed post.

“Please stop.” Taehyung pleaded, body poised to block you. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You rolled to your hands and knees, hissing in pain. “Then just let help, let me out of here.”

“Y/N! They will kill you, don’t you see that? You see what they did to me—what the hell do you think will happen to you?” He was desperate, all but screaming at you in a way that would have scared you were your heart not slamming itself against your ribs.

If he looks like this, what does Namjoon look like? Where is Namjoon?

You threw a glance at the bed, at the space between the mattress and the box spring—the space where you stashed your hidden prize. Without thinking of anything else but the way Namjoon’s hand felt around yours, you shoved your hand underneath the mattress, fingers wrapping around the handle of the gun as you whipped it out at Taehyung. A shaky breath slipped past your lips as you switched off the safety, staring down the barrel at your unfortunate target. With a furrowed brow and a steeled resolve, you nodded to the door, one hand slowly leaving the gun in order to fasten the holster around your waist. “Taehyung, open it.”

“You’d shoot me?” His voice was so sad, so concerned and weak that it broke your heart to do this to him.

But I have no choice.

You remembered Namjoon’s face as he held you, the furrow to his brow as he watched a romantic comedy just to try and understand you better.

He didn’t, but he tried.

“If it means that there’s even a small chance that I can keep him from losing his life—from getting hurt—then, yeah, I would.”

He let out a sigh from deep inside his chest, holding his hands up in surrender. “You know that, if he loses you, this whole thing—everything he’s worked for—it’s all over.”

“But is the outcome really that much better if I lose him?” You jerked your chin to the door once more. “Open it.”

As your gun remained trained on his back, loaded with faded but still garlic laden bullets, Taehyung removed the chair and pulled the door open. Satisfied that he wasn’t going to do anything further to stop you, you thumbed the safety back on and ran down the hall full speed. Skidding across the tile like a madwoman, you swung yourself into the kitchen—the fried synapses of your brain lighting up with an idea. A horrible idea, but an idea nonetheless.

The bullet pouch slammed against a forming bruise on your thigh as you hurriedly threw open the cabinet doors in your squirrel search for the pasta jar you had panicked about so long ago.

“What are you doing?” Taehyung murmured, defeated twice in one day—once by vampires and once by a human scared of a leaf.

“The garlic in these bullets won’t be enough. Bullets lose their soaked properties by half in a month, three-quarters in two. They’re going to need to be refreshed.” You grinned with the jar in your hand, wiggling it within his view.

“Yah! Y/N!” He was only able to let out an exhausted shout as you remembered your self-imposed mission and burst past him, Taehyung hot on your heels.

All playfulness was zapped from you the moment you threw open the doors to the compound.

The difference between the quiet chaos instead the building and the cacophony of the world outside almost gave you whiplash.

The sky was overcast, but only within the vicinity of the area around the compound—in the distance, you could see places where the sun beat down on the ruined earth. All you could hear and see were bursts of bright flashes, sounds of lightning and screaming that seemed to echo even in the open space reverberated through your core. It was as if titans walked the earth and were crashing into each other, bodies slamming against one another. The fencing was dented in, but not broken, bodies strewn just outside and particularly dense around the gates.

Someone was trying to get in—but like, nO ShIT Y/n.

For a moment, you were stunned; for a moment your resolve and your footsteps stuttered.

You wondered if you had as much blood as your partner, strewn up on the tree. You wondered if you, too, would lose your insides to the ground, if the vampire with its hand around your neck would gut you until you were a shell.

Until there was no more blood.

Namjoon slowly overlapped your past self, images of him in a vampire’s hold—images of him strewn up on a tree, him dangling from a grasp until his intestines were on the ground.

Without thinking any further, without dwelling on the fact that this would probably get you killed, you ran towards the fence. Taehyung called out your name behind you, but it sounded garbled as if he was miles away—you were far too focused on not losing the one person that irritated you most.

Your free hand looped through the chain-link, your eyes scanning the haphazard mess of fighting until you finally saw that shock of hair and that shoulder-shape that you would (don’t fucking read into it, you’re still in denial) recognize anywhere.

Your heart leapt into your throat despite all efforts to stamp it down, despite all efforts to continue to pretend that you didn’t give a shit.

He was hurt.

Blood dribbled into his eyes, some running down to his grimace of pain as he used his good hand—the one not broken at an inhuman angle—to utilize his demonic vampire abilities that had every species in the country cowering in fear.

However, what concerned you the most was that you saw Jisung standing there with a wicked grin, as if he was the only one who wasn’t afraid.

That fact alone concerned you as to what kind of abilities he had—he was a clan leader now, wasn’t he? The gold flash to his eyes told you that your gut instinct was true.  He wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t fucking afraid?

That made you even more so—but not for yourself. In that moment, you couldn’t give less of a shit about yourself.

Jisung was still, standing between guards but laughing, close to insanity as Jimin’s body jolted and his head snapped back, a cast of purple sliding over them. Jimin grabbed his face, turning towards Namjoon only to lash out at his own leader.

And, just like that, you realized why Jisung wasn’t afraid.

How could you be afraid of someone when you could turn the people your enemy cared about against them?

You unscrewed the cap to the sauce, fishing out a bullet from the holster to dip it in the substance before loading it into your gun. Hunter’s guns were designed for wet ammo—bullets had to be soaked one way or another, often times they weren’t entirely dry when used. It should still work. Though, it probably would have been smart to test the damn thing before this very moment.

Biting your lip in concentration, you fired at Jisung without any further hesitation.

There wasn’t panic this time, your hands didn’t shake—so the shot took, though not quite where you wanted it—his bicep wasn’t the most fatal place to be hit, but it would do.

The cast left Jimin’s eyes as Jisung’s attention travelled elsewhere…along with the attention of everyone else on the street.

All gazes snapped upright, Namjoon’s eyes meeting with yours at the exact same time Jisung found the source of his new injury.

All it took was one look at Namjoon and you could practically hear his voice in your head—you could feel his anger, his worry, and his own fear radiate through the ground towards you as if it was a lightning strike.

So, because you were smart and because you obviously didn’t give a rat’s ass about Namjoon’s worry for you, you dipped a bullet and fired another shot at Jisung.

Okay so maybe smart wasn’t the word for you.

“Y/N!” The shout came from all angles, from Taehyung still scrambling to chase after you from behind, from Seokjin who was trying to wrestle a very confused Jimin away from Jisung’s radius, from Namjoon who turned to tear after Jisung with renewed vigor because he knew that was the only way to save you.

After all, you’d forgotten that one of Jisung’s gang could teleport.

Suddenly, as if you had an epiphany, you remembered why you weren’t supposed to get close to the fence—but in reality it was because you were now face to face with the ugliest man (vampire or human, didn’t fucking matter if you had a mullet and a slight overbite) you’ve ever seen. Like this was some damn superhero movie, he flashed through the fence, his hands enclosing around your wrists.

He’s got freckles. Was your last stupid thought before you were launched into another reality, another fucking dimension that was far too fast and all too confusing for you to comprehend.

Luckily for you, you were still holding onto the pasta sauce jar—even when you suddenly found yourself outside of the safety of the compound and on the asphalt. You didn’t really think too much of it because you were too busy trying to unfurl the ball of nausea in your gut.

You barely had time to look up and see your mate only a few feet away--his eyes wide as he desperately and quickly tried to dive for you—before you were slammed back into that disorienting world that was both reality and not at the same time.

Freckles twisted with you, his laughter tickling the shell of your ear though it seemed to echo all around you in the foreign space.

Somehow, you knew what was up and what was down enough to come to the realization that you were now beneath him.

Shit shit shit.

You wondered if Namjoon could still hear your thoughts in this world. If so, you were probably scaring him more than yourself.

But like, you were pretty damned scared so maybe not; you could die.

You would die, at least if Freckles had you hit the ground first, at least if Freckles used his weight to slam you underneath him; vampires were strong after all.

You could hear people yelling your name through the thin fabric of time and space; your mate’s panic wrapped around Jisung’s laugh and was sprinkled by never ending shouts of your name. However, with every second in this false world, they were getting further and further away from you.

You could feel Freckles trying to manifest you back into your normal realm of existence, your body tilting backwards as the world shifted around you. In a last second panic as you careened head first, you swung the jar in your hand, slamming it into the side of Freckles’ face as hard as you could manage.

You had to give yourself some props at least, the glass shattered in a spray of spiced garlic and tomatoes, the world snapping into clarity around you as he let go, leaving to you clatter to the ground in a mess of limbs.

Freckles manifested behind you, clutching at his sizzling face in agony as you gathered yourself onto your knees, prepping yourself for the next blow to come. In the distance, about a block and a half away, you could see Namjoon.

Oh yeah, even from this distance you could tell he was pissed with a capital P.

“Fucking bitch!” Freckles howled, his glare one that shot a spike of fear straight through your chest as he towered over you.

You reached for your gun, only to realize that you must have dropped it back inside the compound when this asshole first appeared—leaving you defenseless as he grabbed you by your neck. For whatever reason, it seemed that vampires seemed to favor that as a point of grip. It probably was because it immobilized any human seeing as they could die if they didn’t struggle or if they struggled too hard.

Either way, it would be nice to face a vampire that didn’t aim for your jugular.

You kicked and flailed, gritting your teeth against the pain and the disgusting slough of skin that had become the right side of Freckles’ face. You had been lucky enough to see garlic wounds only through projector screens until now—they looked much worse in person. You would have vomited were you not suspended by your fucking throat.

Out of the corner of your eye, you caught the tail end of a flash of that warm, bright light that could only have come from Namjoon. You heard Seokjin shouting something, but everything was getting blurrier and blurrier the longer Freckles’ hand was holding you.

“Do all of the six have abilities?”

Jiwoo rested her face on her hands, staring at the board game before the two of you as you finished your turn. “Technically yes, but I haven’t seen all of them. I don’t go on missions much—at least not with them.” She reached to grab the dice in the middle of the board. “Why do you ask?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know, it just…it seems like Namjoon regards them all so highly and, well—at least at the Hunter’s association—I thought that the vampire hierarchy is based on abilities.”

She chuckled, the dice thudding on the hard board. “It is, normally. Namjoon, however, is not particularly a normal clan leader.”

You kicked with whatever strength you could manage, black spots dancing at the corners of your vision.

“So Seokjin is second in command because of age then?”

She made a face, moving her piece five spaces. “Partly, but that is the one case where abilities do play some sort of factor. Namjoon’s hierarchy is based on trust—the reason the six are as high up as they are is based on loyalty and proof that they have earned his trust. Seokjin…Seokjin showed this trust with his abilities.”

When you only stared at her in confusion she laughed.

“I suppose you wouldn’t know, apologize for me assuming that you did—after all, it seems that, aside from Namjoon, you are closest with him.” She sent you a wink that had you frowning at her. “Seokjin is a nullifier—which is a huge ability in a world of clan leaders. He could take over the clan if he so chose to.”

“But he doesn’t—he chooses to follow Namjoon?”

She nodded. “He trusts his leader as much as his leader trusts him.”

Suddenly, there was a force that knocked into Freckles’ back—hard enough to send both of you careening to the side only to slam into the ground far too hard for your liking.

Everything moved lethargically around you, your body stuck to the ground as your mind reeled to catch up with the sudden intake of oxygen. When you finally managed to get yourself to a sitting position you saw Seokjin wrestling with Freckles, his teeth grit in an animalistic snarl as he desperately tried to get your attention.

He was yelling something at you, but in the fog of your brain it was hard to hear.

However, you were pretty decent at reading lips.

“Run.”

You didn’t need a second glance to make sure that you heard right, you didn’t need to be told twice to do the one thing your busted fight or flight response was good at. You hauled your sore ass up off the ground and took off running.

Well, at first you pitched toward the side, hit the ground and then had to haul yourself up again—but you know, you had to cut yourself a break because you were just getting your oxygen back.

However, running, for whatever reason helped—it helped clear the fog and bring back your hyper-focus, it helped bring back the whole reason you found yourself outside the compound: the vampire not focused enough on the enemy he was fighting; the man who stared at you as if you held his life within your chest.

Whatever fear had been there dissipated the moment you saw how injured he managed to get himself in the moments that you had been fighting with Freckles’. All those cuts and bruises and gashes—even with his vampiric healing it would still take him over two weeks to get rid of those injuries entirely.

So what does the concerned human with bleeding pasta sauce hands and absolutely nothing else decide to do when her mate is in need? Call in reinforcements? Figure out where she dropped the Vampire Hunter gun? Well…no, it’s you—what do you expect?

After all, you were not and you would never be a vampire hunter.

So, like the rabid koala you always wanted to be (not really) you latched onto Jisung’s back, your garlic soaked fingers digging into the skin  of his face—his mouth, his eyes, whatever place you could find to debilitate him. Namjoon stared at you over Jisung’s shoulder, his face gritting with renewed anger as he slammed the heel of his palm into Jisung’s jugular.

It was going well until your added weight on Jisung’s back caused the both of you to topple backwards, the enemy vampire slamming on top of you hard enough to knock the wind out of you. Jisung screeched in pain, his hands gripping your wrists in a vice, threatening to crush the bones. Namjoon, in a fit of anger that terrified you (even though it wasn’t directed at you)—even knowing that you were the person that he would never intentionally injure.  He grabbed Jisung by the jacket, picking him up with a grunt and a growl of anger only to throw him over you. You shouldn’t have been surprised by how far the enemy vampire flew, but then again, Namjoon wasn’t the most infamous clan leader in the entire continent for nothing.

You leaned your head back, watching Jisung clamor to his feet.

“Hwi! Fall back!” He shouted in pain, Freckles responding to the name by ripping free from Seokjin’s grasp. The teleporter ran full speed at his clan leader, vanishing into thin air the moment his hand met Jisung’s shoulder.

Both you and Namjoon held your breath, watching as the remainder of Jisung’s clan ran back into the ruined city and away from the compound.

It was only when he was satisfied that they were not going to spontaneously reappear that Namjoon finally addressed you, still lying on the ground like an upside down starfish. You, on the other hand, refused to meet his gaze because you were positive that it was a look of pure anger and frustration at your lack of give-a-shit to his instructions.

“Back up.” You murmured to the sky. “I’ve got garlic on me and you’ve got open wounds.”

He frowned, but you could tell that he only moved maybe a centimeter further away from you as he gathered whatever coherency he could manage from the renegade thoughts in his head. “You…why don’t you listen? Why don’t you ever listen? You were told not to come out here.”

His anger should have scared you, but this kind didn’t—you just didn’t want to see it. “I had to make sure.” Your chest tightened painfully. You wanted to blame it on the weight of Jisung slamming into you, blame it on being manhandled like a rag doll by Freckles.

But you couldn’t. Not anymore.

Not when you were out here despite yourself being afraid of everything that this outside world meant.

“I had to make sure that you survived. I...I—“

I think I love you. Was what you were going to think, but all thoughts of confession were ripped from your mind the second your body lit aflame with one single strain of thought.

Garlic.

The smell was far too strong for it to be the pasta sauce on your hand, and you couldn’t get yourself to your feet in time to beat the sound of the shot echoing through the streets.

You watched in horror as a puff of blood burst from Namjoon, a scream of agony ripping from his throat as he crashed backwards to the ground.

You couldn’t hear yourself, but you knew you were screaming his name, jolting towards him only to be stopped by the sudden pressure of a wire lasso tightening around your midsection.

As you were ripped backwards off your feet, past the blood rushing in your ears and the sounds of Namjoon’s screams, you could make out the telltale buzz of a two-way radio far too close for comfort.

We’ve got her trapped. Target down.

#Evangelene #Despite What You Are #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #park jimin #vampire bts #bts #RM #bts rm #rap monster #bts rap monster #namjoon scenario #namjoon angst #namjoon fluff #kim namjoon angst #kim namjoon scenario #kim namjoon fluff #bts scenario #bts angst #bts fluff #kpop scenarios #kpop angst #kpop fluff #kim taehyung #bangtan #beyond the scene

[ledenews]

Councilman Seidler Relieved OVMC Campus Future Finally Resolved

People asked him every day. “What are you going to do with that?” “What isn’t anything happening with that?” Over and over. And the THAT the people were asking about was the former campus of the Ohio Valley Medical Center and its 800,000 square feet of space inside the walls of six multi-story buildings. Finally, Wheeling Councilman Ben Seidler has an answer to offer. “Although the vote to take possession of the OVMC campus was the last one before I became a member of Wheeling Council, I do feel as if a huge load of worry has been taken off my shoulders, and I’ll tell you why,” Seidler explained. “As the council representative for Ward 2 covering Wheeling Island, North Wheeling, and the Fulton, one thing I know a lot about is empty buildings and what happens to them over time. “If we would not have taken possession of those buildings, I know we as a City would have ended up tearing them down anyways after someone who purchased them off auction had stripped them down to their skeletons,” he said. “It’s an evil cycle and it never ends in this city because property owners know how to play the system. That’s why I supported the City taking possession and doing what we did for two years so we could reach this point in time.” City officials joined executives from WVU Medicine last Friday to announce a new cancer treatment and research facility would be constructed on the land where the former Ohio Valley Medical Center rests today. The six structures on the property now will be demolished after the remediation of asbestos and other materials take place over the next 12 months. OVMC was shuttered by Alecto-West Virginia in late September 2019 after just two years of operation. More than 800 employees lost their jobs, and once the coronavirus pandemic began in March 2020, access to health care was very limited throughout the Upper Ohio Valley. “That’s one of the biggest reasons why Friday was a great day for everyone involved, and it was a great day for the people who won’t have to travel in the future to get the medical help they need,” Seidler said. “If you are someone who has never experienced cancer yourself or with a family member, then maybe you don’t understand completely, but I have and that’s why I know how important this treatment center is going to be once completed. “And we could not have reached this point without the amazing leadership of (city manager) Bob Herron,” he continued. “He pulled this off for us despite the many challenges that were involved, and now we’ll see a very large area become something that will save lives again and we all owe Bob a great deal of gratitude.” This rendering was released by WVU Medicine so that local residents could envision what will replace the six buildings currently on the OVMC campus. Floor By Floor. Brick By Brick. The East Building. The South Tower. The old and the new portions of the Nurse’s Residence. There’s also the Education and Administration Building, the West Tower, and the former home of the Hillcrest Behavioral Center. Add up all the floors in each of the six structures, and the total square footage of the OVMC campus total just about 800,000. “And I was told that it’s about eight acres of space when you added it all up,” Seidler said. “Think about that. It’s a huge amount of demolition that has to take place before anything can be flattened and constructed on that land, and it’s not going to happen overnight.” That’s why Seidler, and most other local residents, likely will make effort to observe the leveling of the medical center that has rested on the same land for more than a century. The oldest structure is the original Ohio Valley General Hospital, now to referred to as the East Building, and the newest building is the former home of Hillcrest. “Watching those buildings come down is going to be surreal for sure because they have stood there my entire lifetime,” Seidler said. “I know there are a lot of people who have an emotional attachment to those buildings because there are a lot of history there, but the buildings were beyond the point to where they could have been reasonably restored. They are in worse shape than a lot of people realize, and in the two years the City has owned them, it’s cost us all a lot of money. “This new campus is going to be amazing, and it’s going to change that area of Center Wheeling forever,” the council member said. “I know that our Centre Market area lost a lot of business because, just like that, hundreds of people just went away from the area. What WVU Medicine will do on that footprint will not bring as many employees to Center Wheeling, but I believe, over time, we’ll see more development in that area that will.” Kurt Zende, currently the president of the Wheeling Area Chamber of Commerce, was the economic development specialist for the city of Wheeling for 18 years and he spent more than two years attempting to recruit takers for floors, buildings, and even the entire parcel. “I know there was some interest communicated, and there were a handful of groups that came to Wheeling to take tours and to talk terms, but those people were interested in pieces of the property and not the whole campus like WVU Medicine was,” Seidler reported. “I am not aware of another group that was interested in the entire campus and that is what we were all hoping for as the result. “One of the biggest reasons why I am so happy this property will belong to someone else soon is the amount of money it took to just maintain all of the buildings. Depending on the season, the City spent between $50,00 and $80,000 keeping the utilities on and staffing the campus just enough to make sure everything was OK,” the councilman explained. “The way the utilities were connected on that campus, if you kept one building warm, you had to keep them all warm, and that cost a lot of money.” Read the full article

[bluesat12]

Gene Kerrigan, writing in the Sunday Indo ...

Countdown to a Christmas like no other

LOOKING forward to Christmas? Any plans yet? Next Saturday it’ll be a year since Brown Thomas opened its 2019 Christmas Shop.

A little over two months from now, working on the 2019 schedule, there’ll be selection boxes in the supermarkets and the first Christmas adverts will be popping up on TV.

Of course, the schedule we’re working off these days is a world away from that long-ago 2019.

Three midlands counties — 400,000 people — are suddenly back under lockdown. A week ago, such a twist never entered their minds.

Who knows what next week, or next month — much less next December — has in store for any of us, or all of us?

Our success or failure in dealing with this bloody virus will be decided to a great extent by the type of Ireland we’ve made.

Or, to be more accurate, the type of Ireland we’ve allowed others to make for us.

Don’t know about you, but I’ve stopped saying, “When this is over, I’m going to...”

I’m not confident Covid-19 will be beaten in my lifetime, though I’m still hopeful.

You can feel the mood in the country: tired of it, pissed off at it, we’ve done the virus thing, now let’s move on.

There’s an irritation at the Government and at Nphet, for imposing restrictions that put our lives on hold, that lock down the economy and perhaps do damage to our children.

We speak as though Nphet imposes a form of penance. And we did our penance. We flattened the curve, we followed the rules, we washed our hands, we stayed indoors. When we came outside we wore the mask, we stood apart from each other, we made dreadful sacrifices — funerals and weddings foregone, hugs and kisses denied, friends unseen, no cinema, no sports, no theatre, no shopping trips, no holidays, no restaurant meals, no pints.

Some are edging towards a wild solution: let it rip, the cure is worse than the disease, they say.

However, polls have consistently shown that the resilience of most of the people is greater than the resilience of the politicians or the pundits — whose impatience threatens us.

The virus has killed over 2,300 on the island, over 720,000 globally. Unless tamed, it has the potential to take thousands more of us. Countless numbers of those who survived it, with organs ravaged by the virus, will suffer the effects for years.

Here’s the truth about Nphet...

They’re a bunch of nerds, some of whom have devoted their lives to studying things too small to see. They know how to gather data, where to get it, how to read it, what to make of it. They’ve access to whole libraries of information on the virus — and it’s still mostly a mystery.

They’re aware that the decisions they make can damage us, the wrong decision may kill us.

It can’t be fun being them, they’re not impulsive people, they probably go to sleep thinking about this bloody thing and wake up the same way.

They are making evidence-based calls, on closely analysed data. They may get things spot on, they may make mistakes.

More then anything else, their efforts will be affected by the realities of the country they’ve been given the job of protecting.

You may already have seen the video.

Three months ago in the Dáil, Paul Murphy TD questioned the Agriculture Minister Michael Creed about the meat factories, saying all was not well and the State should intervene.

Murphy raised this more than once. Creed replied to Murphy with the selfimportance of a senior Fine Gael minister, son of another Fine Gael minister, 30 years at the top, facing down a mere TD. A lefty TD, a knownothing trouble-raiser.

All respectable politicians know they shouldn’t take lefties as seriously as they take Michael Lowry or Danny Healy-Rae.

Murphy gave details, based on the experiences of the meat factory workers and their unions.

Creed replied without detail. He dismissed Murphy’s carefully worded concerns with an unfounded accusation that Murphy was engaging in “a smear tactic dressed up as concern”.

Murphy also raised the matter with the Taoiseach, back in May. Mr Varadkar said he didn’t know, but he’d ask.

I’m sure he’ll get the answer one of these days.

The dogs in the street knew about the meat factories, so did the cows in the field. And now, we all know.

And 400,000 people in the midlands are suffering the consequences of leaving the safety of the meat factories to the factory owners.

As soon as the lockdown happened, local Fine Gael TD Charlie Flanagan roared that the measures were “draconian”. Concerns about the meat plants were flagged weeks ago, he said.

Ah, yes, Charlie, they were indeed. By Paul Murphy. Who was accused by Charlie’s Cabinet colleague, Mr Creed, of smearing the meat factories.

No doubt Charlie leaped to defend Murphy, to denounce the complacency of the government in which Charlie was Minister for Justice. I’m sure he made an angry, storming speech in defence of Murphy.

If you’ve a copy of that speech, let me know.

The meat factories might as well be designed as playgrounds for the virus.

In case the virus found meat factories too difficult, the state crammed people into direct provision facilities.

There, if you have Covid symptoms, you ‘isolate’ yourself on the other side of a ‘partition’ — a piece of wood, where you’re inches away from other beds. And you share the facilities used by those who don’t have the virus — yet.

This is the Ireland in which meat factory owners, builders, bankers, vultures and the rest of the monied classes, have the ear of the government. Where they are consulted on impending legislation.

This is the Ireland where groups of workers are paid as little as possible, with few rights, in ‘challenging’ conditions, where labour inspectors are few and far between.

They’re disposable units of labour, to be plugged in when needed, to be torn out and scrapped according to the needs of the boss.

This is the Ireland that Fianna Fáil and Fine Gael have for decade after decade collaborated in making.

In that Ireland, countless times, workers, trade unions, activists, left-wing politicians and concerned citizens have raised such issues.

The state of the primary schools was raised — shanty schools, leaking roofs, scant facilities, an absurd pupilteacher ratio. Now these schools are expected to be the cutting edge of the economic revival.

The state of the hospitals was raised — under-staffed, using charity to buy crucial equipment, medics working 26-hour shifts.

Now that body of medics wonders what it faces through the winter.

To break the first wave, they worked long hours in tough conditions, for weeks. They saw colleagues sicken, they saw patients die. They are worn out. By a system they told us repeatedly needed fixing.

It was moving when we put candles in the window and applauded, but it wasn’t enough.

In this same Ireland there have been grotesque excesses — vast rewards for the well-placed.

Yet, the crisis showed us who the people are who keep the country on its feet: the medics, the cleaners, those who maintain the food and transport chains. We told each other we’ll remember this, and in the Dáil the FFGreen-FG cabal voted down worker protections. Mind you, first they had to wake the leader of the Greens.

Anyway, we had the Patrick’s Day ‘like no other’; and the summer ‘like no other’. Dare we hope the Christmas is old-style?

‘Well-founded fears about the meat factories were dismissed as a smear tactic dressed up as concern'.

Countdown to a Christmas like no other

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2019: Day 13 - Medic

A little diversion.

++

It was chaos on the Citadel. The Crucible wave had devastated the station in a way that reminded Jonathan of the Sovereign attack three years ago. He’d been first on the scene, there, too, as part of the Citadel Civilian First Responders. It was the only comparison he had in his mind for the devastation around him, only it was a poor comparison. When the Reapers took the station—towed it back to Earth—thousands of residents had taken their chances and fled. Obviously, not everyone could, and some who could didn’t. The Citadel was in ruins, who knew how many had died or were trapped?

He should be down in the wards helping people—there weren’t nearly enough CFRs to handle the kind of chaos the Citadel was experiencing. Who knew how many CFRs had been killed in the initial blast, anyway. Instead, he had been tagged by a Spectre unit—a Spectre unit!—to search the Citadel core. They’d just appeared and requisitioned his whole team, and even with the world on its head, you didn’t say ‘no’ to a requisition from the Spectres. Any other day, he’d be elated: this would be something to tell his grandkids about. Real spectres.

But the Citadel core? Nobody lived there, that wasn’t where the need was greatest.

When they reached the core, Jonathan gasped at what he saw. Part of the Crucible had fused itself with the Citadel tower, the groan and heave of the two structures shook the ground as they grinded together in space. The room was enormous, a cathedral of broken technology and crumpled hulls, and Jonathan couldn’t tell where the Citadel ended and the Crucible began.

“Need to be quick,” said one of the Spectres, a salarian. “Compartment not secure. Could lose atmosphere at any moment.” Technically, CFR protocol would prohibit them from going into such a precarious situation, but Jonathan didn’t have the feeling the salarian spectre cared too much for that particular piece of protocol. He fumbled to put on his rebreather mask, then he was running into the expansive wreck of a compartment.

They began to work methodically through the debris, omni-tools glowing, searching meter by meter for any sign of life. Every time the room shuddered and the sound of twisting metal rang out through the thin atmosphere, his partner shot him a worried look. Still they searched. Finally, there came a shout over the comms:

“Medic! Medic to zone 314!”

“I can’t believe there was actually someone up here…” Jonathan muttered while he pulled up the zoning map they had made of the room to survey the rubble. The appropriate zone was on the other end of the complex, and Jonathan jogged past the other teams hopelessly scanning incredibly tall piles of rubble.

“Medic! Over here.” It was the salarian spectre again, still brandishing his rifle in one arm while his omni-tool glowed around the other. Two other CFRs were there as well, hurriedly pawing at the debris. A human arm protruded from a break in the rubble, limp and badly burned.

“Careful!” Jonathan ran up and began to pull aside the debris as well. His omni-tool scans were all over the place, barely able to tell if the person buried under the rubble was alive or not. When the arm was fully exposed, he knelt down and grasped at the wrist to feel for a pulse. “Nothing.” He sighed, sitting back on his heels.

“Let’s get him out!” Said the spectre. He had stowed his rifle and his omni-tool had been switched to a cutting laser. Taking his example, the other worked began sawing at the beams that trapped the body in. When they finally exposed the body, Jonathan shook his head. The man was clearly a soldier, but his armor had been annihilated in the explosion, and his body lay limply amidst the wreckage. Just as the other workers were about to pick up the body, the spectre held up a hand. “You two. Go, now. Help other teams.” He turned to Jonathan, great dark eyes staring down at him. “See to him.”

Jonathan turned his scanner back on, running it up the body, seeing the crushed bones and the dislocated joints and the litany of internal bleeding the omni-tool reported to him.

“There’s brain activity. And a heartbeat. Faint.”

“Can you stabilize him?”

“I don’t know,” he set his bag down and began pulling out its contents in a rush. “I need some help getting him out of here. There’s not a lot I can do for him crumpled up like this on the floor.” He opened his comms. “We should call those guys back, they can--“

“No.” The spectre stepped in front of him. “I will help you move the body.”

“We should wait for some help.” The man was big and Jonathan was not a strong man.

“No. Get his legs.” The salarian stopped as he stooped to get his arms under the soldier’s arms. “Any risk of further damage to move?”

Jonathan shrugged.

“Well, yes, but he honestly can’t get much worse. But I can’t do anything for him like that.” The spectre nodded and the two awkwardly managed to drag the man out onto a clear patch of the deck. Jonathan stooped down again, filing through the organized contents of his bag.

“Must move quickly.”

“I got it, just—“ then Jonathan looked at the charred face. “Oh my god, this is… Commander Shepard!”

“Must move quickly.”

“Sorry. I just… shit. Okay. Umm. I can’t do much with his armor on—“

The spectre pushed him out of the way and brandished his omni-tool. He began immediately cutting into the melted chest plate of Shepard’s armor. Jonathan was amazed he had eyeballed the beam tight enough to cut through the armor and not straight into Shepard’s chest.

“Tell me what to do.”

“I need access to his heart. And a defib, just in case. Here and here. He needs oxygen—“ The spectre removed his rebreather and gingerly placed it over Shepard’s mouth without interrupting his cutting. A moment later, he removed the chest plate as one large piece. Jonathan knelt and tore through the ripped undersuit to expose Shepard’s chest.

“This is Col Vedirus,” said the salarian into his comms. “Medical evac to zone 234 ASAP. Find me a hospital that still has power close to my position and tell them to expect a critical patient.” He put his comms down and squatted across from Jonathan. “By the time evac arrived, must have Shepard’s face covered.”

“Okay okay, just let me work! I’m losing him—“

The rest of the CFR teams were already tasked with clearing enough debris to allow for an ambulance to land inside the complex. It took Jonathan right until the moment the ambulance arrived to stabilize Shepard, but he was still in critical shape. There was only so much stims and medi-gel could do.The EMTs emerged from the back of the ambulance, looking as frazzled to be there as Jonathan had been. They lifted Shepard’s body onto a cot and hustled him into the back of the ambulance, began hooking him up to life-support.

“We’re going with,” the spectre pronounced, and the stunned EMT moved to the side to allow for the lanky salarian to step into the back of the ambulance. “You. You’re coming.” He pointed at Jonathan.

“But… but…”

“Must move quickly.”

Jonathan gave one last look back at his fellow, baffled looking CFRs, then jumped into the back of the ambulance. Something to tell his grandkids about, indeed.

#n7 month #n7 month 2019 #fanfic #mass effect #commander shepard #post-war #citadel #jonathan

[crazyperfectsense]

4/30/20/1

god April was 5 minutes long and I’m going to spend all 5 of them writing this post

this is honestly probably far too personal to put into the public of the internet, and perhaps I’ll take it down before anyone really sees it, but Tumblr is comforting because it is almost a graveyard and the people who remain (who I see in fleeting posts in passing, hi) I trust (or just will not see this because they do not care or the algorithm does not favor long text posts), whereas Facebook is horrifying and Instagram is worse, and this is likely going to be too long to hold anyone’s attention for the whole thing, but I also want to get some notes down for whenever I finally get to talk to my therapist again, so here we go

I woke up at 6:30am naturally (horrifying!), leapt out of bed because I realized how much work I had to do (hate when a nap turns into just...sleep!), and got a text from my dad 15 minutes later that my maternal grandfather was in critical condition, and somehow still managed to do work for the next six hours out of necessity

it briefly brought back flashbacks to 2012, where my dad didn’t tell me for a week that his father died because I had finals my first semester of college, but told me right after he picked me up as we were driving across campus to pick up a friend that we were taking back home, so I had about 3 minutes to compose myself before a 2 hour car ride (horrifying!)

my grandfather died around 1pm, and I had the truly unique (horrifying! ! ! !) experience of finding out via text while I was on a Zoom call as the TA, where I was the only person sharing video other than the professor (my advisor!), and I had to keep my composure while simultaneously finishing creating the homework that I was behind on making while also trying to figure out what to respond to this text notification of mortality, because I don’t know how to say any sort of condolence really in Chinese, but my dad was handling communications and just texting in English anyway — and I don’t know, it’s the kind of thing where I probably could’ve ditched the call and made excuses later, but the effort to preserve even the slightest tinge of normalcy in this moment seemed right, and I did my very best (and succeeded!) to not spontaneously burst into tears on camera, even though I did about 0.03 seconds after I hung up

an aside: thank god that my advisor was sharing screen and people were hopefully focused on him / in speaker mode or something, because my neutral face is....poor! not entirely sure because I avoided making eye contact with my virtual self aside from brief checks to make sure that I was still alive, still functioning as I flickered from screen to screen across my two monitors

I had a meeting scheduled with my advisor afterwards, and he was all ready to move into it, but was so extremely understanding the second he saw my message I had sent 50 min earlier that was effectively “can we push this back a bit because my grandfather died and I need to call my fam lol” and suggested (as any normal person with emotions would) that I take the time to formally postpone and regroup if needed (needed!) rather than just pushing back a half hour or so like I naively thought would work

I had to desperately cry for about 20 minutes (horrifying!) before I felt ready to call my family, even so 

I hate hearing my mom sad! it’s the fucking worst! but it was a relief for 2 seconds to exist over a phone line with someone who also couldn’t talk straight without needing to take a few gasping breaths

another aside: i didn’t write about this in February because, well, everything was on fire in my life already, so briefly: my mom was supposed to be in China through mid-March, having gone there in October. things obviously went to shit, given *gestures at COVID-19 and the world*, and we booked her an early return flight, given that the senior living facility my grandparents were in had already closed to visitors out of precaution. my brother, dad, and I collectively freaked the fuck out (my brother started crying in the middle of class and had to leave, I barely held it together in mine but paid negative attention) when flights back from China started getting cancelled (and for those like, terrifying few hours where Trump was going to ban foreign nationals since my mom’s not a citizen and they didn’t make it clear that immediate family of US citizens were fine), but we somehow made it happen

so, back to the phone call: I just let her talk and she had so many regrets about leaving China when she did, and it just made me feel like the shittiest person for wanting her back home in America when it deprived her of the chance to see her dad one more time. my uncle and mom luckily got to take my grandparents out of the senior home for one night to celebrate Chinese New Year the day before the facility closed to visitors, so they had one last dinner together as a family but thinking about the what ifs makes me want to cry all over again. my mom just kept saying how she wished she could’ve done more, how she wished they had gone to the hospital earlier for a check-up, and the most I could helplessly contribute was “coronavirus concerns were already rampant and it could have been even worse, given airborne contagion,” even if I said as many other things as I could, about how dialysis was painful as hell and my grandfather, the former doctor, said he didn’t even want to be in the ICU at the end years before his passing

I learned what the Chinese words were for “depression” today, when my mom said my grandfather said he had it and they had gotten him some medication for it a few months ago, and I was so stunned that it was “depression” and not some strange disease I was unfamiliar with that I couldn’t say anything for 30 seconds, and I can’t really write more on this point because I will just start crying, but perhaps I should really think about how aging research is largely focused on non-Asian populations and how perhaps, I’m uniquely equipped to contribute a bit to the field here (but, that is true for so many things, and I am tired!)

my grandfather was great. he was quiet, but stubborn as hell. he was a doctor, and he loved routine. he cared so, fucking, much about me and my brother. he always insisted on taking my brother and me on walks to the same few places that he liked to visit — I remember visiting this community center that had a ping pong table — and him going out of his way to find me internet access, since my grandparents’ apartment didn’t have it for most of the years I visited. he loved taking me and my brother to KFC, because he thought it was the height of Americanized cuisine in China, and was so proud of how much better it was than American KFC (which he hadn’t had, but he knew, and he was right. we would eat every single bite of a two-piece meal each. even the ketchup was better). he once cut out a newspaper clipping ranking UT as the #2 college on this huge list of colleges (I think it was referring to research endowments, but anyway) and saved it to show me almost a year later. he told me in 2013 that he would probably live to see me finish college, and he lived to see me two years into grad school, dying when I was halfway through year three. he was 89. I loved him so much, even if we didn’t get to talk much at all.

I’m so mad at all these fucking people who, in the land of the free and the home of the so-called brave, are being idiots in this time and not social distancing. I’m so mad at every single friend who posts a large or small gathering to their story, at everyone who is so thirsty for social connection that they’re willing to put everyone they’re in close contact with at risk to hang out with another person for just a few hours (horrifying!). humans are social creatures who need engagement and connection to live — having written 22 pages about health and social relationships across 12 hours a few weeks ago, I understand this point so saliently that it’s painful. but seeing such....levity when my mom is crying over not being able to even go back to China to properly say goodbye because they won’t admit anyone from the US (and the US has banned travel to China, like that was necessary in this xenophobic environment) makes me want to punch a wall. suck it up! call your friends over Zoom or FaceTime like the goddamn rest of us!

grief is so strange, and grief is encapsulated in every molecule of this new normal — the strangeness of missing the life that once was, even if the past wasn’t something that I thought I’d miss. I remember feeling so, so guilty for traveling twice in February because of the studying for comps that I should’ve been doing, and now I marvel at my foresight. (and have so many regrets for the people who I told “I’ll see you in April when I’m back after comps are done!!”

I’m in this weird spot where I feel like I’m screaming at the people around me to care, and all of them are too busy with different social ties, and I’m watching my connections wilt and fray because everyone thinks I’m so stable and put-together (or boring and shy?)

an example: I was left off of a reunion Zoom call with some people I worked with in college that was widely talked about on social media regarding “love having shared all this time with these strong women” and all, and it felt very, idk, selfish and whiny (horrifying) to be like “how can you call this feminism when I, a real woman, am being left out of this call”! the following exchange, about the above, happened with in a group chat with a very blunt friend:

D: “Also, how does it feel to be left out of that [organization] Women zoom call, Amy?” another aside: (this....was a stupid question. but we’ll allow it, because boys will be boys.) me: “lol it honestly hurt my feelings but it's not like they weren't cliquey from the very beginning ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ to be expected I suppose” D: “Yeah when I saw that I was like “Why didn’t include Amy, she was there at the same time as they were”” me: “LOL thanks for thinking of me 🥺 they clearly did not”

(the other friend staying quiet, because it was tangibly awkward, even if I tried to play it chill, but my feelings remain hurt) perhaps if I cared more, or wanted to try and make people feel bad, I would’ve replied to a story with “tfti”, or laughed, or heart-reacted, or something “casual” that still implicates “where was my invite”, but....is it even worth investing the hurt and care and time when I’m not even sure it would spark embarrassment on their end? because perhaps they intentionally just do not...care about me and my feelings? at all? (horrifying?)

(I already know this to be true, even if the snub was unintentional, but I needed to muse about it anyway)

another aside: I still talk with plenty of people from this organization who I am MUCH closer with, and I shouldn’t feel snubbed to be snubbed by people who I never felt too close with in the first place! (and yet! horrifying!)

sent an extremely passive aggressive message earlier and yet, K tells me that the people in the chat might not even read it as passive aggressive! (horrifying!)

god. I don’t know! I feel so much sadness and anger, and yet still have a few hours of work to do tonight. it’s wild that even today, where my heart just hurts every few seconds if I think too hard, I still have my mind centered in needing to be productive and not lazy because I’ve already spent too much time procrastinating on my work (horrifying!). but the work is about Asian American collective action / media production, and I feel good about it, and I’m working with some badass Asian women, and I really hope it lands in this flagship journal, because that would be a win, and I kind of just need one! 

oh if it’s not clear I finished comps and I don’t know if I passed yet but they’re done so...that’s something

also whoever fucking looked at Chicago style citations and thought “oh hmm, let’s make another type of Chicago style that is DIFFERENT and call it Chicago style documentation” is the literal fucking devil

ok this is enough for now bye. god this was long. (horrifying!!!!!!)

#ever spontaneously write 2000+ words