#its called coping with loss sweetie

[enigmajaython]

"Hunter can use magic because of Flapjacks sacrifice", "Hunter can turn into a harpy now" what if Hunter builds/refurbishes his old artificial staff and uses it to beat Belos back into mush????

Edit: @a-hobit drew it first actually, oop! Almost forgot to give you credit, thank you for the brainworms

#yes he painted the staff red #its called coping with loss sweetie #toh #the owl house #hunter noceda #toh fanart #toh spoilers #my art #the owl house spoilers #hunter toh #toh s3 #toh hunter

[ac3th3shark]

I JUST FINISHED BANANA FISH AND IM IN DENIAL SO I WROTE THIS TO COPE!!!!!

!!banana fish spoilers!!

Eiji's sister doesn't have a name, so I refer to her as Fuku bc that's what the random name generator wanted.

idea: Ash survives and comes to see Eiji in Japan

It had been a little less than a month since Eiji had returned to Japan. His injuries had almost fully healed, and he was able to walk around and do things again. His poor mother had been horrified to see the state he was in when he arrived home. She cried so hard seeing him hurt in that wheelchair. He remembers thinking about how upset he was that Ash hadn't come, but he was sure that he would see him again while his mother thanked Ibe for taking care of him and his father yelled at Ibe for letting him get hurt.

About a week after he arrived home, he got a call from Ibe saying that Max had called him, and Ash was in the hospital after getting stabbed by Lao. Max had asked him not to tell Eiji yet, but he thought that he deserved to know what happened. Eiji wanted to go right back to America to check on Ash, but he didn't. He decided that he needed to stay here for a while before doing anymore travelling and he's confident that Ash would be ok, ash is strong. One of the strongest- no, the strongest person that he's ever met.

He was so worried about Ash, asking Ibe if he knew how he was doing every day. He remembers thinking that he shouldn't of came back until he was sure that Ash and everyone else was ok. He was so relieved when a few days ago Ibe told him that Ash had finally been released.

He was snapped from his thoughts when his mother called his name. He looked up from where he was staring at a page of his book.

"Sweetie, someone's here to see you."

"What?"

"I think it's a friend from America. He barely speaks Japanese, but he kept saying something in English and your name so I figured I would get you."

Eiji tried to think of who it could be. What if Ash had gotten into more trouble and someone had come after him again? now, that was extremely unlikely. But who could it be? Max is too busy with his engagement and planning his marriage. He had heard that Sing was working with Yut Lung now, so who?

"Thanks ma" He cautiously got up and walked to the door that was cracked open.

Upon opening the door, he was met with a familiar face, ash. Ash had come to see him.

He just stood there staring and Ash just stared back. Finally, he worked up the ability to say something.

"Ash..."

"Eiji..."

"Ash!"

"Eiji!"

Ash jumped onto Eiji, bringing him into a tight hug, Eiji hugged him back. They both pulled back a little, staring at each other, both of them crying happy tears. Ash moves one of his hands to Eiji's face, gently pulling him into a soft kiss. They both Smile as they pull away.

Eiji grabs his hand and pulls him inside the house, shutting the door behind them. As soon as he moves his hand from the knob its back around ash and they're hugging again. They stay like that for a while before Ash remembers that this isn't his home and pulls away.

"How are you? Are you ok? I heard that you were stabbed. You just got released a few days ago, right? Why are you here?"

"I'm fine now, I lost a lot of blood and ended up passing out from blood loss in the library but I'm ok now." Ash responds, gently taking Eiji's hands into his. "And I'm here because I missed you."

The nice moment only lasts for a short minute because Eiji suddenly turns around.

"Awwww, Eiji! Your so on-edge all the time since you came back! I can't sneak up on you anymore!" Fuku, Eiji's younger sister pouts.

"Heh, sorry Fu."

"who's that?" Fuku and Ash both say at the same time, pointing at each other.

"Ash," Eiji starts saying in English "This is Fuku, my younger sister." He turns to Face the girl better, "Fuku," he says in Japanese now, "This is Ash, my....Friend from America" he blushes a little when he decides not to tell her that they're dating.

"Hehe! I knew that that charm I gave you would work!!" Fuku laughs as Eiji jumps back a little.

"Ahh, that was intentional!?"

"What did she say?" Ash asked.

"r-remember that charm I told you about? She said that she knew it would work." The red on both of their faces intensifies and so does Fuku's laughter.

"Well, if it's that obvious, may as well just own it." Ash says, "You can introduce me as your boyfriend if you'd like."

"Sure."

And they all three smile.

#idk #fanfiction #fanfic #i dont write fluff much but i tried #fluff #banana fish #banana fish fanfic #this is how i cope #ash x eiji #ash lynx #asheiji #eiji okumura #eiji's younger sister #au #ash lynx lives au #tags are hard #romance #romance fic #i might continue this #i have more ideas

[mrslilyrogers]

All I have to do is Dream Part 3

Pairing: Steve x Reader, Telepath! Reader (X-men reader)

Summary: It’s been five years since the snap. You and Steve are stuck at an impasse. You want a family, he doesn’t. He says he’s moved on but has he really? With your doubts growing, you consider risking his trust and use your powers on him to get your answers once and for all.

Author’s notes: This is late and not as long as I hoped it would be but hope you all enjoy! There might be one more part left to this series and maybe an epilogue. 

Eight voicemails and twelve messages. Eight voicemails and twelve messages from the person you wanted to talk to the most. Everyday for the past few weeks since you left, he called. And everyday your hands itched to reach out and call back but you stopped yourself. 

“I love her!” 

His voice echoed in your head. Enough was enough. Your fingers kneaded your temples, trying to alleviate the headache forming there. It didn’t help that there was a dark gnawing feeling in your gut, something was wrong. You knew it. A sixth sense, if you will. It happened the first time your powers manifested. You had been eight then, in front of the television with your dad when suddenly, your heart started to beat faster, your breaths coming in short pants, and your forehead dotted in sweats; a strong sense of foreboding crept under your skin and ever since then, life had never been the same. 

That night, you slept in a restless slumber; trapped under a heavy spell while you watched your father as a young boy. You had no idea how you knew the man who carried you over his shoulders, who seemed so strong and indestructible to your child’s eyes, was this same little boy you watched. You couldn’t understand it, you were dreaming but it was so real. Every detail as crisp as if you had been there and witnessed it. It wasn’t long before it all changed, everything before you cast in a darker shade, the people around you in black, sliding apologetic glances towards the somber boy standing in between his grandparents. You started to break out in a cold sweat, you were at a funeral. The boy’s parents, your father’s parents, just died. You ran, screaming, your heart racing, trying to find a way to get out. You couldn’t stay here, you couldn’t. But the more frantic you became, the more everything jumbled, bringing out his worst fears and nightmares and all you could do was scream, helpless and trapped. 

Oddly enough, that was how you felt now. Despite leaving Steve for the sake of the both of you, you were trapped, helpless to the niggling thought at the back of your mind that something was about to go horribly wrong. You tried to remember everything Xavier Institute has taught you, you were a telepath and with it came a natural intuition you couldn’t ignore. A heightened sense of empathy and awareness. 

You understood people even when they barely gave you a chance to be understood. You still remembered all those times people ran away from you. Those you considered your closest friends, even your teachers, treated you as if you were the plague. Their thoughts filled with dread and terror while you desperately tried to explain yourself but the more agitated you became, the more you lost control. It gave you no other choice but to distance yourself from them, getting homeschooled and keeping to yourself as much as you could. Your father tried his best, you knew he did but he could never look at you the same way. You didn’t have to get into his head to hear his cries at night, worrying and wondering where he went wrong.

It wasn’t long before Professor X found you and invited you to join his school for the gifted. School for the gifted. There was a time you couldn’t say that without a roll to your eyes, how could it have been a gift when all it ever caused you was sorrow? The day it was finally time for you to leave the only home you’ve ever known, your father’s relief was palpable in the air. He never gave voice to it and instead promised to visit as often as he could but even then, you knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep up. He visited you less and less as time went on until your relationship was reduced to a couple of phone calls barely lasting five minutes long. 

That was why you learned never to get too close. You owed to the X-Men who you were today. They had given you a place to call home, somewhere to belong to. For all the years you spent at the institute, they were nothing but kind to you, encouraging you, helping you hone your abilities and to cope with the loss of your former life. They gave you a fresh start, a new family and it should’ve been enough and in some ways, it is. But there was always a part of yourself you couldn’t give no matter how hard you tried and so the moment you could leave, you left. You wandered on your own, occasionally coming back to visit and catch up before leaving again, never planting any roots. That was the way you wanted it, that way you could never get hurt. 

Until Steve.

He instantly broke down your defenses and what was supposed to be a one-timer mission turned longer than you would’ve ever dreamed. You would’ve been lying if you said you didn’t stay with the Avengers because of him. The truth was as much as staying with them was fulfilling, there was a part of him that called out to you. You understood him, a man out of his time. Out of place. All you’ve ever felt your whole life. His loneliness drew you to him like a moth to a flame. He never showed it, too proud to admit it to himself but you knew it the instant you met him. He was untethered, burdened to continue on in a world he didn’t belong in. Your heart ached for him, for a man so lost that he only ever felt alive when he was at war. You tried to help him see the world with color again. “Ironic, coming from you,” you thought to yourself. But the more time you spent with him, the more your cynicism chipped away bit by bit until you became closer to the person you were before your abilities. Free to dream and love as you should’ve been. It was as if you needed him as much as he needed you. 

“Would you like a refill for that, honey?” the kindly old waitress asked, jerking you out of your reverie, her wrinkled face etched into a pitying smile. You shook your head and gave her your thanks, the dread in your chest intensifying once more. 

Look at where you are now, back to square one. 

You huffed at the tiny voice inside your head. She was right. Here you were, sat on a dingy couch at a diner in the middle of nowhere running from the people you loved the most. You looked at your phone again, the gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach screaming at you to do something. You should at least call Nat, you thought to yourself. You’d been planning to call her anyway even though you always chickened out. That seemed the safest thing to do for your sanity, make sure they were alright then you’d be on your merry way again. It was the only way to calm your racing heart, to get rid of that sense of foreboding creeping up at you and pulling you down. You could just be anxious, right? Guilt and shame of leaving plaguing you before you could truly move on. After that phone call, everything will be put back to rights. You’ll feel better, you keep telling yourself. Only your mind wouldn’t listen. 

The ringing on the other end of the line kept you on edge and when Nat’s worried voice greeted you, you let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding. 

“Y/N! Where the hell have you been? Steve has been looking everywhere for you! Do you know how worried we’ve been?”

You could hear the hurt in her tone and your heart broke at how you’d left things with your friend, completely forgetting about how she’d react when you impulsively decided to run away. But they were safe. At least, they were safe. Tears pricked at your eyes, you had no idea just how desperate you’ve become to hear her voice on the line, to know that nothing had happened in your absence and the stress of these past few weeks have just been taking its toll.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nat--” you broke off, your voice cracking from trying not to cry. 

“I shouldn’t have left the way I did but it was just too much, I had to leave. I couldn’t stay, not after everything that happened,” you continued, sniffing through it, willing yourself not to break down to your best friend on the phone in the middle of a busy diner.

“I know, sweetie. Steve told me all about it.” She sighed, sounding tired, before continuing, “You know I will never pick any sides right? I’ll support whatever you decide.” 

“Thanks, Nat. I knew you would, I never doubted you. It’s just… it’s been a lot to take in and I can’t… I don’t know how to face him if…” you trailed off, not having the courage to continue what you knew all along. It was one thing to admit it to yourself but another to say it out loud to another person. It made it more real. More final. You picked at the hem of your shirt, shaking your head. It was as if Nat knew what you were thinking, she gave another sigh on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to talk about it now. But Y/N, he really does love you. He hasn’t been the same since you left and--” she immediately cut herself off as if she was about to say something she shouldn’t. You didn’t miss her sharp intake of breath before she continued, “You should really talk to him, Y/N.” 

“Nat, what’s going on? Are you guys alright?”

You felt goosebumps on your flesh. Rubbing your free hand on your thigh, you tried to calm your racing nerves.

“No, no, we’re fine. Don’t worry--” she replied instantaneously, reassuring you but before she could continue, you cut her off, relief washing over you. 

“Good. That’s good. Cause for a while there, I thought you were gonna say something crazy. I’ve just been having this weird feeling that something big is going to happen. But I’m probably just being anxious. Sorry, what were you saying?” 

“You really do have that scary clairvoyant thing going on sometimes,” you heard her laugh at you, teasing, but before you could say anything else, she turned serious, 

“Y/N, we’re gonna try to bring everyone back,” her voice was filled with hope and determination that it made you pause, your brain struggling to keep up. 

What? Did you hear her right? 

She started to explain their plan but your mind was already spinning. You immediately left the booth, slapping a ten dollar bill on the table. Your frantic steps heading into the direction of your car parked outside.

“Nat, Nat, hold on. What do you mean you’re leaving? Traveling through time? Is that even possible?” You slammed the door on your car, your voice hushed as if scared to even wonder, heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

If she really meant what you think she meant then they were all going to risk their lives for an attempt to bring everyone back. But who knew if it would even work? What if they got lost? What if they never came back? You didn’t give yourself a moment to hope. This was too dangerous. Too quick and impulsive. You needed to talk to Steve.

Before Nat could reply, you heard him call her in the background, his voice authoritative and resolute. They were ready. They were going to leave now. 

“Nat, let me talk to him,” you heard yourself say without preamble. There was no need to think it through, it didn’t matter if he hated you, if he wanted nothing to do with you, you just had to talk to him. 

“Who’s that?” You could hear him ask in the background, his voice far, his footsteps approaching. 

The moment he realized who was on the other line, the moment he saw your picture flash on his friend’s screen, his hand shot out frantically for it, scared you’d leave before he even got a chance to hear your voice. 

“Y/N?” he asked softly, worried you might suddenly end the call. You could almost see the look on his face, eyebrows furrowed, eyes searching and concerned. 

“Steve,” All the emotions you felt carried out in a single name. Regret, shame, longing. That was all it took before you broke down into tears. If you hadn’t called Nat, if you had let even one more day pass by, your last fight could’ve been the last time you ever saw him. 

“Is everything alright? What happened? Are you okay?” he was suddenly alert, voice booming with concern and just a little bit of panic. 

“No, I’m fine, I’m fine. Nat told me everything. Are you leaving already? What’s going on?” you managed to choke out, trying to regain as much composure as you can. You heard him let out a sigh of relief on the other end. 

“Oh, doll. Don’t worry about us. It’ll be alright. We’ve got it under control, I promise,” he sounded so sure of himself, his voice so soothing, almost as if he were caressing your back like he usually does to reassure you. You heard his footsteps again and the closing of a door, you assumed he looked for a place more private, quiet. This time, you wouldn’t easily let up. 

“You can’t promise that, Steve. Let me come with you,” you pleaded, exasperation in your tone. You surprised even yourself, your hands already frantically moving to drive.  You had no idea what came over you, had no idea what you were even really getting into. All you knew was that no matter where you stood in your relationship, you’ve been through so much together, you couldn’t let him face this alone. 

“No. Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous, Y/N. Just stay where you are and I’ll come find you when all this is over,” his voice brooked no argument. You could already tell how he looked like, his head shaking vehemently, feet braced apart, eyes flashing with determination. 

“Steve--” you started, voice rising in return but he immediately cut you off. 

“Y/N, listen to me. I don’t have much time but please, just this once, promise me you’ll stay where you are. Keep yourself safe until I come find you--”

“No way am I--” you spoke over him, your patience wearing thin, panic rising in your throat. 

“Y/N, let me finish. Doll, I don’t have much time. We’ve already ran simulations and this works. We’re gonna get them all back but I can’t do that if I think you’re in trouble so please, baby, just promise me you’ll stay put. It’ll only be a minute for you. Just stay where you are, please. I can’t lose you, love.” his voice verged on desperation, making you pause. 

“I know I’ve said some things I can’t take back and god, do I fucking regret them every single day since you left but I love you. And if this fails and I don’t come back, I need to know you’re at least safe. I need you to promise me that,”

“Steve, don’t… don’t talk like that,” you shook your head, not acknowledging what he was saying. This was unfair. Steve was never one to be pessimistic, he never showed any vulnerability before a mission and the fact that he did now made your heart ache. He had one goal and one goal only, he wanted to right what he perceived to be his wrong. He was going into this fully prepared to give his life to get everyone back. But for you, the stakes were too high. Who knew the dangers of what the past held? What if something happens that would keep him there? 

“Love, please. We’re leaving soon,”

You let out a huge breath. “Just promise me you’ll be back?” 

You could almost hear the smile on his face, could almost see his shoulders sag with relief. 

“Then promise me, you’d stop driving while on the phone,” he joked, trying to make light of the situation. He knew how you could get when you excessively worried about him. He didn’t even realize how much he loved it until now that your fussing was reduced to a phone call. 

“Steve, I mean it,” you warned seriously. 

“When have I ever backed down from a fight? And this is just an extraction mission. I’ll be back before you know it, I promise,” his voice sounded so calming, you almost believed it. 

Despite his downplaying, you knew the risks. Time travel? Who could even say they’ve thought this would be possible even in their wildest dreams?

“I’ve gotta go, sweetheart. I love you. I’ll come to you as soon as all this is over,” you heard the scuffle of feet in the background, heard F.R.I.D.A.Y calling out to him, and suddenly, you didn’t have enough time. You had so much to say, so much to apologize for.

“Steve, wait--” you started desperately, ready to beg for forgiveness. 

“Don’t.” he cut you off quickly as if already knowing the direction you were heading in. 

“There’s no need, doll. I love you, we’ll make this work. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to make it work,”

He sounded so sincere, so forgiving that it made your lips tremble into a soft smile.

“I love you too, Steve. I’ll see you guys in a minute,” you replied, trying to sound as lighthearted as you could when you heard Nat scream it to you in the background. You didn’t want to psyche him out with your worry. This was the mission of his lifetime, everyone depended on him. 

You tried to ignore the heavy feeling in your gut, the fear crawling up your veins. 

Something is about to go wrong. 

Steve chuckled, finally feeling a weight being lifted off his chest, finally able to hope again. This was the future he looked forward to. 

“We’ll see you in a minute, baby,”  

You hoped to God you would. 

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

Author’s notes: This was tough to write since everything happens through a phone call. I tried to capture the tension of the situation through that and hope I did. As always, let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! 

#steve rogers x reader #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers angst #steve rogers fic #captain america #Steve Rogers

[riversofmars]

Oh I'd love to see your take on 13 drunk out of her mind! I think she'd be all over River just cuddling her to her doom

Finally getting round to this, sorry lovely Anon, I love this request so I wanted to do it justice! I did turn a bit darker than what you probably imagined as I also took the other anon into account that asked about the Doctor’s dark tendencies... So you’re getting really Drunk! and slightly SelfDestructive!Doctor all in one. Hope you like it!

Ship: River/13

Rating: M (nothing all that bad but it does insinuate a lot...)

Word Count: 1500

The Doctor downed her drink in one go and waved at the bartender for another. Maldovan brandy was sharp and burned but it certainly did the trick. The Doctor didn’t like alcohol in any of its forms, so she figured she might as well go for the strong stuff to get the desired effect. She couldn’t even remember the last time she had had a drink, but she knew if she had enough of it, she might be able to drown her sorrow for the time being. Just not feel and think for a while… she was willing to try anything at this point. 

Since she had escaped from the Jadoon prison, she had wandered time and space aimlessly, trying to make sense of what had happened on Gallifrey. All the death and destruction that she was inevitably responsible for, doubting herself, her own existence and identity. She wasn’t exactly coping very well. She needed a break. Just one night of not thinking, not feeling, before she could face her troubles again in the morning. She downed another drink, she wasn’t sure how many she had had by this point but she was certainly feeling the effect. She struggled for coherent thought, stumbling a little as she requested one more drink for good measure. 

She looked around as she waited. Music was pulsing loudly from the speakers, the club was dark, only illuminated by bursts of multicoloured lighting and UV that bounced off the colourful outfits of the university students all around. The Doctor noticed in amusement how the rainbow on her t-shirt and her yellow braces lit up. She’d left her coat in the TARDIS, it was far too hot and sweaty in here. The Doctor scanned the crowd again.

“You looking for someone?“ A voice called over the music making the Doctor jump. She looked around and found herself face to face with the person she had been looking for. At last. 

“You could say that.“ The Doctor grinned, unable to keep the excitement from her features. 

“Well that’s disappointing.“ River Song looked her up and down appreciatively, not even remotely hiding her interest. She waved at the bartender who just set the Doctor’s drink down. 

“No, I mean, I’m… I’m not waiting for someone, I’m…“ The Doctor stuttered. It was her she had been looking for of course, she didn’t want her thinking she was waiting for someone else. They had barely exchanged two lines and she’d already messed up. River raised an eyebrow at her nervous reaction and turned to face her properly now.

“So who or what are you looking for?“ She smirked and took a sip of her drink. She reached out and ran her fingers along one of her yellow braces. The Doctor’s mouth felt dry all of a sudden and she took a gulp of her drink as she eyed the tight fitting dress her future wife was wearing. 

“I, uhh…“ Her mind went utterly blank. 

“Well?“ River grinned, clearly loving every moment of this. She took another sip of her drink watching the beautiful stranger growing more and more flustered under her gaze. There was something awfully familiar about her that she couldn’t quite place. It intrigued her beyond the physical attraction she had instantly felt towards her. She was adorable really, with her blonde cropped hair, innocent features and ridiculous choice of clothes. River felt an incredibly strong urge to rip those silly three-quarter-lengths off her but she restrained herself waiting for an answer. “Have you lost your voice, sweetie?“ 

“You.“ The Doctor burst out, throwing caution to the wind in her intoxicated state. “I’ve been looking for you.“ 

“Have we met?“ River raised her eyebrows at her, surprised by the straight forward answer.

“Oh yeah.“ The Doctor answered feeling a surge of confidence now. She had nothing to hold back for. Her inhibitions had fallen away, she knew what she was here for and what she wanted, so why not actually just be straight forward about it for once. River was hitting on her without even knowing who she was, she wouldn’t exactly need convincing. 

“I think I would remember someone as pretty as you.“ River replied flintily raising her hand to her chin pushing it up a little. 

“Just bare with me on this.“ The Doctor breathed. “I’m a time traveller from your future, River.“ She answered barely loud enough for her to hear. She used her name deliberately to make the point. River’s eyes widened it surprise for a moment but the Doctor carried on: “And you know that’s possible so don’t go asking too many questions when you know you shouldn’t.“

“You’re not…“ River looked at her for a moment trying to wrap her head around the information. 

“Spoilers, you know I can’t say. Now, shut up and kiss me.“ The Doctor reached for her future wife’s hips and pulled her close. River grinned but didn’t oblige, instead she pushed her hand into her blonde hair and pulled her head back when she tried to kiss her. The Doctor groaned in annoyance and a bit of pain but it wasn’t unwelcome. There was that dangerous twinkle in River’s eyes, full of intrigue and excitement. She hadn’t been “River“ for long, she had such a long journey ahead of her. It was all still there, Mel’s temper, the conditioning, the danger. It was the main reason why she had come to this time in her wife’s life. River had never exactly been tame but she had gotten better at controlling herself, keeping her childhood instincts in check. It was all a matter of practice and here, she didn’t have much of it yet. It excited the Doctor more than she cared to admit. 

“So, you’re someone from my future and you’ve come here to do what exactly?“ River smirked leaning close. 

“I don’t think you need me to spell it out for you.“ The Doctor retorted, her head spinning from the alcohol and her proximity. 

“But I would like you to.“ River hummed against the shell of her ear, barely audible over the music. She brought her free hand up between them and traced her fingertips along her collar bone playfully. The Doctor groaned, digging her finger’s into River’s hips, she felt the arousal pooling between her legs already. In response River tightened her grip on her hair. “Well?“

“I need you to help me forget for one night, you know how to do that, right?“ The Doctor replied pulling her closer still. 

“What is it you want to forget about?“ River asked intrigued. She knew she probably shouldn’t ask for the benefit of the timeline but she was curious. It wasn’t every day she got propositioned like this. The Doctor gave a bitter laugh. What didn’t she want to forget about?

“Stop asking questions you know I can’t answer.“ She breathed, her neck was beginning to ache.

“Fine, okay.“ River smirked and let go of her hair, stepping away from her altogether. The Doctor whimpered with disappointment at the sudden loss of contact. 

“What are you…“

“I would have thought you’d want to go somewhere more private if that’s what you’re after?“ River raised her eyebrows at her slowly making her way away from the bar and the Doctor’s hearts picked up speed. She stumbled after her. “Steady there, darling.“ River hummed in amusement noticing the extend of her intoxication. She looped her arm around her and held her close. “Are you sure about this?“ She asked, doubting for a moment, needing to hear her confirmation. She wanted nothing more than to act on the desire that had come over her, but she had to be sure. The Doctor looked up at her, almost disappointed at the change of tone, at the concern that shone through her eyes for a moment.

“I didn’t think you’d need much convincing at this point in time…“ The Doctor chuckled. She had banked on her rough edge and underdeveloped moral compass at this point. “Don’t make me beg.“ She looked up at her pleadingly and it was enough to make her future wife snap.

“Oh, I’m gonna make you beg, alright.“ River smirked, the moment of hesitation had passed. She curled her fingers around her throat possessively and crashed her lips onto hers. The Doctor groaned, parting her lips immediately, returning the feverish kiss, whimpering when River bit and pulled on her bottom lip. The Doctor grabbed on to her, her legs threatened to give out. “So what do I call you?“ She tilted her head, searching her pleading eyes for an answer. Deep down she already knew but neither of them would say it.

“You can call me whatever you like, I’m all yours.“ The Doctor replied breathlessly and there was a dangerous flicker in River’s eyes.

“You will be when I’m done with you.“ Her voice was a low growl and she dug her fingernails into her neck. 

“Yes please.“ The Doctor almost sobbed, everything else faded away around them. She was taking over all her senses. The low hum of her voice, the intense gaze, her intoxicating small, the taste of her lips and the delicious mix of pain and pleasure. There was no room for anything else. No room for the nagging thoughts, her insecurities, her pain. For tonight, she wanted nothing more than for River’s fire to consume her. 

#river x thirteen #river x the doctor #river song #thirteenth doctor #Alex kingston #jodie whittaker #doctor who #River/Thirteen #Thirteen x river #thirteen #dw #femslash #fanfiction #self destructive behaviour #space wives #yowzah

[inscribed-in-asteroids]

AN: Here’s chapter four! We get into some character interaction.

Title: The Ripple Effect

Canon Characters: Entrapta, Hordak, Scorpia, Perfuma, Mermista, Seahawk, mentions Catra and Adora

Original Characters/Fankids: Odessa, Hydrangea, Tristan, features Adam and Molly

Pairing (i.e. ones having actual moments): Entrapdak, Scorfuma

Rating: M

Read on AO3. It always has more info there.

                                                      Venture

Entrapta places her recorder in her pocket, done for the time being. There have been advancements in the settlement on Beast Island. It continues to grow in size and technology, and contains more portals than other places on Etheria. Most places only have one portal, with Bright Moon having a few. The Whispering Woods contains the second-highest amount after Beast Island, predominantly so that if anyone gets lost, they will eventually find a portal and land in one of the main kingdoms, with that particular portal having that kingdom’s crest.

She and her lab partner have been diligent in the upkeep of Beast Island. It had taken time for the island to become fertile. First One’s tech had buried its roots deep within the earth, far below what anyone but drones could see. Soil had melded with machine, somehow: dirt containing minerals that were not of Etheria, and when they attempted to dig out the First One’s tech—mostly from the other princesses’ insistence that it be done—they learned their mistake when slumbering beasts and inanimate plants had sprung to life and attempted to kill them. That had been terri-fun-fying!

But it did confirm what Hordak and she suspected: Beast Island and the First One’s tech had morphed into one gigantic organism. A problem to be sure, however, they also proposed a radical hypothesis: by changing the code of First One’s tech, they could alter the parasitic relationship to a symbiotic one. That had been a major doozy, since there was so much, but it worked! The island had released its many species from its catatonic state, and they had called She-Ra to aid the process run smoother with her magic.

The First One’s tech proved to be a valuable asset in not only repairing Beast Island, but creating a thriving metropolis that used the natural resources and ancient machinery available. Buildings, bridges, plumbing, aqueducts, everything made by Horde clones was molded around the landscape. They were determined to function alongside the proper residents of Beast Island.

 It really surprised everyone how well they behaved when not obeying the rules of a tyrannical madman.

Entrapta found life on Beast Island exciting and peaceful at the same time. Being the princess of Dryl, she would still go to her old home, but she pretty much gave it to Wrong Hordak and the other clones who desired to live a little closer to the other kingdoms, to mend relations and have a better comprehension of the way Etheria works. Hordak’s brothers were curious, inventive and engaging once they were free, and went through rehabilitation to cope with the loss of Prime.

They were all so cute!

Entrapta looks to her left, watching Hordak move around the room. He keeps his eyes on the clipboard, hair falling over his forehead. He taps the back of it with his fingers, humming to himself as he kneels down to inspect a piece of equipment.

Entrapta smiles, propping her cheek against her hand.

Hordak senses a gaze on him, and he looks at her, smiling, “Did you need anything?”

“No, I’m content,” she says. But none as cute as him.

                                                                -

Odessa disembarks first, greeted by several of her uncles, her parents and siblings. Imp flies toward her, landing lightly against her back. She instinctively moves to the piggyback position, kissing his cheek. Emily whirs happily, and she leans over to kiss the top of her dome.

“Find anything fascinating?” Imp plays back in Entrapta’s voice.

“Yes! There was a lot on the flagship that we had to explore,” she says.

“Ooh, what’d you get?” Entrapta herself asks, hanging upside down from a rafter.

“I’ll show you in a bit. Right now, I need these two to go,” Odessa says, annoyed.

“Your friends?” Hordak asks, confused.

“No,” she points at Adam and Molly, who are standing behind Tristan and Hydrangea.

“What are you two doing there?” Entrapta asks.

Adam, shameless, grins at her, “Oh, we snuck up on the ship! It was awesome!”

Entrapta blinks, surprised by this development. She furrows her brows, “Wait, so you two were on the ship for that long?”

“Yeah, it was great!” Adam says, jumping over to stand by Odessa. “Can’t wait to do it again!”

Odessa glares at him, the urge to grind him underfoot intense, “You could’ve jeopardized the mission!”

“Uh, but we didn’t? I don’t see the problem,” Adam replies, folding his arms.

“The problem is that we had to have two additional people on board! Our supplies were meant for three, you’re lucky we had spares!”

Entrapta moves in, looking at Adam, holding his arms out with her hair, “Ooh, so you used my suits! Tell me, did it affect your mobility? What was your heartrate? Can you grab me your suit so I can scrape your skin cells off the inside?”

“Mom, please,” Odessa begs. “I want to yell at this idiot!”

“I know, sweetie, but can’t it wait ‘til after I pluck some hairs?”

“No way, you can’t go plucking my hair!” Adam protests.

Odessa whirls on him, poking his shoulder not-too-gently, “You get involved with my mission and you think you’re in any position to object to anything!”

Hydrangea approaches her, “Des, calm down.”

“I’ll calm down when he gets out of my sight! Having to deal with you for this long was torture!”

Entrapta hovers over Adam’s head, measuring his body with her tape, lost in thought. 

“Entrapta,” Hordak says, getting her, and their, attention. “Perhaps this is the time to lay out ground rules.”

“Oooh, gotcha!” Entrapta swings over to him, sitting atop her hair in a swift motion. She nods at Hordak.

He walks forward, hands behind his back, coming up to Adam and Molly. Molly shrinks under his scrutiny, while Adam has the decency to look like he fucked up for once. “I will send the two of you home by portal immediately. I will be speaking with your mothers to inform them of your behavior, to ensure neither of you tell them anything different.”

Molly groans inwardly, knowing she’ll be the only one to care. Adam is likely forgetting everything as it’s said.

Adam’s ears flatten against his head, annoyed, “Dude, no offense, but we didn’t do anything to risk her mission.”

“It is not a matter of you managing to be competent aboard the ship,” Hordak chastises. “It is the matter that you were not privy to the information or mission itself to begin with. Your inability to think ahead has always been a problem.”

“But—”

“Do not argue with me,” Hordak whispers, deadly quiet, leaning close. At Adam’s silence, he pulls back. “The two of you will accompany me to the portal now. Come.”

Adam keeps from huffing, crossing his arms, ears pressed to his head. Molly rubs her left arm, looking over her shoulder.

Tristan meets her gaze, giving her a reassuring smile.

With that, she follows her brother and Hordak.

Odessa turns to her mother once they’re out of range, “I found some things on the ship that I know you’ll be interested in.”

Entrapta squeals, “Oooh, I can’t wait to see it!”

Hydrangea yawns, patting Entrapta’s shoulder, “I’ll have to see you all tomorrow, I need to go home and see how things have been.”

“Aaaaw, so soon?” Entrapta asks.

“Unfortunately,” Hydrangea says, hugging her tight. “I’ll be back later after I get some rest.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Gea,” Odessa says, opening her arms for a hug of her own. Hydrangea shakes her a little, the two laughing, before heading toward the portal. Odessa looks up, “What about you, Tris?”

He shrugs, “I don’t have anywhere to be.”

“You’re welcome to hang out with us!” Entrapta shouts.

Emily spins in place, beeping with excitement.

“Awesome,” Tristan says, giving Imp a high-five as he flies around his head. “I can hang out with your siblings while you and your Mom talk science.”

Odessa touches her mother’s shoulder, “So, do you think Dad is going to be gone a while?”

“He does have to talk to Adora and Catra, so probably,” she replies.

“Okay, because maaaybe I should show you one of the things I found without him.”

Tristan raises a brow, while Entrapta blinks in puzzled silence.

                                                              -

“Oh my,” Entrapta breathes, peering into the case. “That’s my girl! Not a single mark or blemish on it.”

Odessa grins, “I know! It came out perfect.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to let your dad know?” Entrapta asks a second time. “I think he might find it interesting, too.”

Odessa’s lips are pursed for a moment, folding her arms across her chest. She sighs, “It’s not that I don’t want to tell Dad. I’ll ask him some questions to hint about it, I suppose, but I don’t know how he will feel about it.”

“I think it would be best to be upfront,” Entrapta says.

Odessa bites her lip, uncertain.

Entrapta continues to study the brain in the jar. These discoveries could be important, but she understands her daughter’s concern. Hordak has been making reparations for decades now, but when it enters especially sensitive territory about his time serving Horde Prime, he becomes sullen, despondent and incapable of holding a good mood. She doesn’t blame her husband either. That’s a part of his past that continues to pain him. The years have softened his heart, and he feels shame and guilt every day for things he had done. She doesn’t want to lie to him, but she doesn’t want to hurt him either.

She imagines that’s how her daughter feels. Ethical dilemmas are her least favorite kind.

“I will see how he feels by implication,” Odessa reaffirms. “I won’t do more than that, at present.”

Entrapta nods, not liking any of this, but standing by her child’s decision. She takes the jar in her hands, “We will study it later. Why don’t you go and take this to your room?”

“Alright, I’ll put it away real quick. I’ll be back to show you and Dad the other thing I found,” Odessa says, jumping toward the ceiling and heading into the vents.

Entrapta sighs, then her smile returns when she hears Hordak’s voice from behind, conversing with Tristan.

“You’re more than welcome to spend the night,” Hordak offers, clasping his hands behind his back. “We have plenty of rooms to accommodate your needs.”

Entrapta bounds over, eager, “We’re having mini pancakes in the morning!”

Tristan smiles at them, “Thank you! I’d be happy to.”

Odessa hops down at this moment, grabbing him into a headlock, “Cool! If Gea was here, it’d be like old times!”

Chuckling, Tristan pats her forearm, signaling for release, and she obliges. He gives a yawn and stretches, “I’m gonna head to bed, then.”

“Imp, Emily, can you show him to his room?” Odessa asks.

More than happy to, the three exit the room, leaving Odessa and her parents in the sanctum. She walks to her bag, “There wasn’t much on the flagship, but I did discover this.”

Hordak and Entrapta stare at shining fragments, clattering softly on the table. Entrapta holds one in a hair strand, “Pretty! Where was this?”

“It seemed to have been located in one of Prime’s trophy rooms.”

“Look, hon,” Entrapta says, holding it up to Hordak. “The craftsmanship for this must’ve been delicate and precise.”

Hordak takes it between his fingers, inspecting it slowly, quietly. It does have an air of elegance. He somewhat recalls seeing it before in that room. Lined with trinkets from planets no longer around. Hordak frowns, placing it on the table, “Did you find anything else?”

Odessa considers her words carefully. She says, “I did find an area that had past Primes.”

“Was it intact?”

“More than we expected.”

“Did anything of consequence come about?”

“I did interact with one of the bodies,” Odessa tells him. “But it’s nothing that important.”

Hordak peers closely at her, and Entrapta glances at the ground, trying not to pull down her mask.

“An entire vicinity filled with inanimate bodies, and you didn’t do anything with them?” Hordak asks.

“Not really. I turned one on by accident, though, so I got to take a close look at it.”

“That must’ve been elucidating, on some degree, I suppose,” Hordak scowls, tilting his head. He adds, “Well, there’s no need to go to the flagship anymore.”

“I know, Dad,” Odessa says, sitting on the table. “That part’s done with.”

Hordak pats her head, an unexplainable relief coming to him.

Odessa’s stomach grumbles, and she gives a sheepish grin, “Oh, guess I’m hungry.”

Entrapta beams, “Late-night snacks! We got lots of fizzy drinks! I missed my little drinking buddy.”

Laughing, Odessa hops to her feet, “Mom, the day we get actually drunk together is gonna be nuts.”

                                                              -

Tristan wakes up to the sound of scuttling on the walls. Seeing Imp climbing around, Tristan closes his eyes, getting drowsy again.

“Morning!” Odessa yells, jumping on top of him.

Tristan throws her off him, smirking as she falls, “Des, I’m sleeping…”

Landing with ease, she stands, arms akimbo, “But don’t you want to eat?”

He debates whether to leave the warm comfort of the bed or enjoy the warm comfort of mini pancakes.

Noooooo…

“Gea’s bringing the really good syrup,” Odessa teases, poking his shoulder with her hair.

He opens one eye.

Tristan doesn’t take much convincing afterward, pouring caramelized fruit syrup onto an assortment of small pancakes, his third helping. Hydrangea pours him and her a cup of green tea with lemon, setting his cup down in front of him. He says thanks with a full mouth, and she smiles at him.

Odessa, on her third plate too, licks her lips, “This is so good! You’re turning into a pro at making syrups.”

“Thank you,” Hydrangea blushes. “I’m glad you’re enjoying it.”

Taking a healthy sip of his tea, not minding the burn, Tristan lets out a satisfied sigh, “You keep this up, there’s no way I’ll be able to move.”

Entrapta looks up from her plate, peering closely at his face, “Have you been experiencing a slack in your metabolism? Are your joints functioning, or are you showing signs of muscle atrophy?”

Tristan smiles reassuringly, “No, no, I’m okay. The food’s just delicious.”

“It is!” Entrapta says, returning to her meal. She turns to Hordak, “Do you want to try any?”

“Hmm…” Hordak looks at the sweet cakes, drizzled with thick syrup. All of it golden in color. Pleasing to the eye, but he isn’t sure.

Entrapta grins at him, expectant.

“Very well,” Hordak says, taking her fork. He tries to not be aware of the eyes on him. Giving it a delicate sniff, he sticks it into his mouth, chewing meticulously. Thinking.

He looks at Hydrangea, giving a nod, “Excellent work.”

“T-Thank you!” she stammers, beyond shocked. She is going to remember this compliment for the rest of her life.

Entrapta, delighted he had a good experience, finishes up the rest of her food. Getting up, she announces, “Well, we’ll see you later! Hordak and I have a lot of work to do, so we won’t see you until tonight.”

“Alright, Mom,” Odessa says. “You two have a good day!”

Squealing at how adorable she is, Entrapta kisses her face multiple times as she says goodbye. Hordak pats her head before joining his lab partner.

“So,” Tristan begins, dabbing his mouth. “What are we up to today?”

Odessa turns to him, “I was thinking we might begin preparing for our next trip.”

Hydrangea sips her tea, “Our next trip will be when, do you think?”

“Preferably, sooner than later, and I am going to begin preparations in the coming days,” Odessa explains. “The next trip is going to be significantly longer, even with using portals.”

“How long do you expect?” Tristan asks.

“It might be more than a year,” Odessa answers.

“Oh!” Hydrangea says, setting down her cup. “More than a year… Where are we going?”

“I’d been thinking about it since we left the flagship,” Odessa says. “I think it would be provident to visit my uncles on Inicos. If no one on Etheria knows, maybe I have relatives that can give me better answers there.”

Tristan and Hydrangea glance at each other, both wondering what it would take to prepare it all.

“I understand it’s a lot,” Odessa tells them, aware that they’re unsure. “There’s no rush, since it will take a little time to prepare. I will inform you before we launch. Take your time to figure it out!”

Hydrangea smiles at her, “Alright, that’s good. It might take my parents a little convincing.”

“And you, Tris?”

“I’m sure I can figure something out with my folks,” Tristan replies.

“Excellent. I have a little bit to do around here for a couple hours, but I’ll meet up with you both later today.”

“That’s fine, I got stuff to do too,” Tristan stands, stretching out his arms.

Hydrangea claps her hands together, “I’ll see you guys later!”

                                                               -

Tristan doesn’t go home.

He swims through the ocean for several hours, thinking. Enveloped in the comfort of water, Tristan swims further down into the water, the light dissipating as he descends. Tristan looks to his side, shadows moving in the liquid black. He reaches out, skimming the surface of smooth skin. The aquatic behemoth lets out a sound of greeting, its voice thrumming through the water.

Swimming deeper, the pressure intensifying, darkness consuming his sight. He senses the scales of another animal, and it swims beside him for a while, enjoying his company. He loves to come down here. Communicate with all the oddities beneath the ocean, gliding along its floors, descending into greater trenches.

Despite what people think, the bottom of the ocean isn’t silent. There’s a cacophony of sound here, all varied in tone, pitch, and layered.

His mother never went beyond where dolphins ranged. Her demeanor, his father had told him, has remained exactly the same since they were young adults. But she has a penchant for cuter creatures, spending her time with more mammalian ocean-life.

His interest in creatures from dark depths was something she had no qualm telling him wasn’t to her taste. The first time he told her he would like to go out and swim into less shallow ends, she looked at him like he was bluffing. Like what he was telling her was a mere joke. At his insistence, she gave in, with much reluctance.

They swam toward the black, but never entered past where the dim sunlight ended. She told him it was an uninteresting place down there, and was rather disgusting. Made it obvious that she thought his choice was inferior to her own.

Tristan didn’t ask her to accompany him after that. He would only tell her he was going out, until it got to the day he knew it didn’t matter if he informed her of his whereabouts or not. She occupied her time and he was expected to do the same.

Being in this unfathomable space, he found a sense of peace. There was so much life here, unseen and unwanted by all above the surface.

He isn’t sure if anyone in his family had this desire for the darkness of the ocean, but he knows that he takes after his grandfather. Where once, Tristan shared the similar dolphin tail to swim, the more time he spent on his own, exploring, sensing, he found his own identity. His fin elongated, skin becoming sharp. No longer as agile or fast, but powerful all the same.

He pushes onward, tail propelling him downward still. Lost in thought and the feeling of not knowing where to go, but believing that if he keeps moving, he’ll eventually reach somewhere.

                                                               -

“I don’t like it,” Perfuma objects, arms crossed.

Hydrangea bites back a sigh, “Mom, it won’t be forever.”

“I think she’ll be able to handle herself,” Scorpia says.

“But for more than a year—”

Hydrangea sets down her teacup, “Mom, I know you’re worried about what will happen, but I would be among friends. And we would use a portal to help speed up the trip.”

Perfuma frowns, looking down at the table.

Scorpia turns to her daughter, “Hydrangea, hon, where is it you’re going again?”

“Inicos,” she explains again. “That planet where a majority of her uncles went to.”

Scorpia turns to her wife, “See, that’s good! That’s a planet where she’ll be more than okay.”

Perfuma rubs her temples. The idea of Hydrangea being gone for that long isn’t one that is sitting well with her. She would prefer if she remained in place. A child needs roots; what good would it do her to be away from home for that long? And there’s the fact it’s Odessa. There is no chance that this will be a one time thing. Hydrangea has been her friend for years; Odessa is too much like her mother—fixated on her goals.

“Mom, I don’t see any reason why you should be against this,” Hydrangea tells her.

Perfuma rises from her seat, “I’m going to bed. I will think about this.”

Hydrangea watches her mother go, knowing better than to continue her argument.

Scorpia sighs, “I’ll see if I can talk to her about it later.”

“Okay. There’s time left, but I would prefer to know sooner than later. You know how Odessa can be,” she replies, smiling.

Scorpia nods, sipping from her mug. There’s no reason for Perfuma to reject the notion, and with little base to go on. She knows Perfuma means well. She always does. 

Once she encourages Hydrangea to retire for the evening as well, Scorpia leans against her bedroom door; she stares at Perfuma, brushing long yellow hair. Approaching her, Scorpia leans down to kiss the top of her head.

“I’m not wrong to be worried,” Perfuma says.

“I know.”

“I just…” Perfuma trails off, gently setting down her brush. “Hydrangea is growing up so fast, and I would prefer that she spend her time here, with her family.”

“I know it can be difficult. But when I was her age, I was getting ready to go out into the world.”

“Not for good reasons,” Perfuma says.

“The reasons aren’t really the point,” Scorpia says, holding up flaxen locks in a claw. She tried brushing Perfuma’s hair, once; she clipped right through it, and, horrified, she refrained from touching her for a good while. With practice, she can do it now, but only because she forced herself to try again. Even now, though, she feels… out of place. Bizarre and incongruous. She doesn’t want Hydrangea to lose her connections. To feel alone, and not know who she is. “The point is to let her discover what she wants out of her life.”

Perfuma reaches behind her, trailing her fingers along Scorpia’s jaw, “I know…”

“Give it some thought, at the very least,” Scorpia tells her.

Glancing down, Perfuma meets her wife’s eyes in the mirror, “I will see how I feel.”

                                                                -

The brain floats in its case. Undisturbed.

Odessa furrows her brows, wondering what she should do. Should she inform her father of her true intentions, or should she wait until she finds something of value to offer him? To show that it’s worth the effort?

She has deliberated over it for a while. She doesn’t want to exclude her father from the potential discoveries that await within the stars. But Prime…

He’s beyond a sore subject for Hordak. Her father is confident, proud, and immovable. But when Prime is delved into, either on a shallow or intimate level, he becomes sullen and distant. Similar to how he used to be, according to her mother. It normally takes Entrapta to bring him out of whatever reverie decides to perturb his thoughts.

Is it really a good idea to bring it up?

Odessa is not the sort to believe her father is weak. To the contrary, she has the highest respect and adoration for Hordak. And that’s partly why she hesitates to confide in him her plans.

He will eventually find out, though. He might not be good at picking up lies, but he is suspicious by nature.

Folding her arms, Odessa sits back in her chair, allowing the front legs to hover in the air. If she kept it a secret, he wouldn’t like it, but he may understand her reasoning if she explained why.

Ethical dilemmas are the worst.

“Odessaaaaa!”

“Hey, Mom,” she says, looking up at the ceiling.

“So, I was wondering what to prepare for your journey, and your father suggested that we give you a mini portal,” Entrapta says, hanging upside down. “The portal to Inicos will save you some time getting there, but if you want to send us something of value ahead of your arrivals, a mini portal might help!”

“Oh, that’s a good point!” Odessa says, feeling uncomfortable. “I’ll thank Dad for the idea later…”

Entrapta brushes Odessa’s cheek with a lock of her hair, “What’s wrong? Do you feel bad?”

“A little,” Odessa admits. “I don’t like not telling Dad anything, and, perhaps, I’m being unfair to you too—for having you keep it under wraps right now.”

Entrapta sits on her hair, “It’s not too late to be honest with him. Your father can handle more than we give credit for.”

“I know he can, but he has reservations about anything involving Prime,” Odessa says, shifting the chair back and forth. “He didn’t object to going to the flagship, but everything that comes after might not be to his liking.”

Entrapta places her hands on her cheeks, leaning forward, “Maybe we can try again to hint at it?”

“Dad’s too smart,” she says, setting the chair legs back on the ground and mimicking Entrapta’s position.

Entrapta and Odessa sit in silence for a few moments, each wondering about the best course of action.

“I still feel we should tell him,” Entrapta says.

“I do too, but I don’t want to risk Dad getting upset.”

“Then… I won’t say anything until you do.”

“Thanks,” Odessa replies, staring at the brain in the jar.

She doesn’t know why she hesitates so much when it comes to this. But she has inkling he might not approve. That isn’t a potential circumstance she wants tainting this trip—that he might not give his full support if he knew that this whole thing was to find out their origins.

                                                                -

Tristan lays in his room, staring up at the ceiling. Music plays in his ears, low and smooth in its lull. He can hear the faint sound of seagulls beyond his window, which gives him a growing sense of calm.

A knock on the door disturbs that calm. Annoyed, he says, “Yes?”

Mermista enters the bedroom, walking in. She inspects the room for a moment before addressing her son, “Are you busy?”

“No,” he answers, continuing to look at the ceiling.

“Good,” she tells him, folding her arms. “Because you’re needed downstairs to discuss matters in Salineas.”

Tristan groans, “I don’t know why I need to be down there.”

Mermista raises a brow, “You’re the prince, that’s why.”

He waves a hand in the air, “Still don’t see why I should.”

“Because I say so, how’s that for a reason?” Mermista declares, turning on her heel. “Hurry up, we can’t keep members waiting.”

He doesn’t move, wanting to drown out everything.

“Tristan, I said now!” she snaps from outside the door.

At the command, he throws his arms in exasperation, getting to his feet in a huff, “Fine!”

Walking quickly through marbled walls, Mermista shakes her head at him, “It wouldn’t kill you to be more involved with your kingdom.”

Tristan rolls his eyes.

“Don’t give me an attitude,” Mermista chastises. Another shake of her head, and she pauses mid-step to reach for his hair. “You don’t look the least bit presentable!”

“You told me to get going right now, you can’t get upset about that!”

“You should’ve been getting ready a while ago,” Mermista says, continuing to—very poorly—comb through his locks.  

He steps backward, waving an arm, “I’m not a child, stop touching my hair!”

“If you didn’t look like crap, I wouldn’t need to,” Mermista says.

Tristan flushes in embarrassment and anger, “I never look like crap.”

“Right now you do,” Mermista insists. “Straighten your back.”

“It’d be a lot easier to do that if you got off my back,” Tristan snaps.

Mermista turns to narrow her eyes at him. She lets out a groan, “You know what, go back to your room. If you’re going to be immature, I’d prefer you not be there.”

With that, she continues walking without him.

Tristan stands there, miffed. Another waste of time! What does she even want? Whirling, he stomps back to his room.

This whole place is fucking stupid.

                                                               -

Hydrangea approaches Perfuma in the garden. Her mother seems to be in a good mood, “Hey, Mom.”

Perfuma turns, smiling, “Hello, dear! Would you hand me that water container please?”

Doing so, Hydrangea decides to mosey through the pathway. She lifts her hand over a row of violets, brushing their petals lightly with her fingertips. They respond to her touch, swaying gently beneath her palm.

“Is there something that you wanted, sweetheart?”

Hydrangea doesn’t look at her, listening to the flowers hum quietly, “I was wondering if we could discuss the trip.”

“Oh? I thought we dropped the matter,” Perfuma replies, tone nonchalant.

“No, Mom, you did,” Hydrangea says, voice equally collected.

Perfuma walks over to another section, pouring water into the soil, “There’s no reason to give an attitude, my young blossom.”

“Mom, no one is giving an attitude to you,” Hydrangea says, turning to her. “You’re the one who’s been avoidant about the issue since I mentioned it. Don’t you think you should hear me out?”

Perfuma sighs. Setting down the water pitcher, she places a hand on her cheek, “Alright… what is it?”

“All I’m asking is to go on an expedition for a while. I don’t think it’s that large of a request.”

“I believe you’re forgetting that you are a princess; you can’t go wandering the galaxy whenever you please—you have responsibilities here to your people!”

“I don’t understand your resistance. You’re always telling me that the best way to understand others is by putting yourself in their position.”

“You don’t have to travel around to do that,” Perfuma scoffs. “You can learn everything possible right here on Etheria.”

“Mom.”

“You aren’t ready to go out and be away from home for so long.”

“Traveling the galaxy is infinitely more safe than fighting a war, yet you did the latter around my age.”

Perfuma sighs, irritated, “You are being too argumentative.”

“I’m not being argumentative,” Hydrangea says, keeping her voice even, despite her own growing sense of frustration. “I’m trying to explain to you why this isn’t as bad as you make it out to be. This could be a really good experience for me!”

Perfuma shakes her head, “You are asking for too much at your age. You should be concentrating on your duties here on Plumeria, as well as your studies.”

“I haven’t slacked at all when it comes to my princess responsibilities. My studies are just fine, not to mention that if I travel around, I can learn about plants from other planets.”

Perfuma clasps her fingers together, taking a deep breath. Count to ten…

Hydrangea waits, knowing not to interrupt.

“I’m going to be frank with you, Hydrangea. I don’t like the idea of you traveling without proper support.”

“I’m not without support—Tristan should be coming too, and Odessa is capable. We’re going to be communicating with her parents, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

“They’re not going with you?!”

Crap… “No?”

“That’s even more reason to not let you!”

Her patience wears a little thin, though Hydrangea keeps her temper levelled, “Mom, this isn’t a scary trip that is going to harm me. We’re going to a planet that has lots of Odessa’s relatives, we have a portal to go back to in case we want to arrive sooner, and we’re always well-stocked on supplies.”

Perfuma inhales through her nose, exhales through her mouth. She can’t help but be nervous about the idea of her baby girl going through the universe with absolutely no parental guidance whatsoever. She might not be a young child, but she has a lot to learn. Scorpia thinks she is being too restrictive, even though she doesn’t believe so. She didn’t have her parents during formative years, and she would’ve wanted to have direction when she was around Hydrangea’s age.

But she knows that Hydrangea is determined to help Odessa in any way possible.

Perfuma walks over to her daughter, patting her shoulder. She stares directly at her face, solemn. Hydrangea stares at her, expectant. Sighing, Perfuma gives a small smile, “Very well. I feel this is against my better judgment, but you are free to go.”

Hydrangea breaks into a beaming grin, “Really?! Thanks, Mom!”

“I want you to let me know what’s going on every day, okay?”

“Mom, I can’t do that, I’ll be busy. Once a month?”

“Weekly.”

“Biweekly.”

“I guess that will do...” Perfuma gives in. She can’t help but hug her close when Hydrangea embraces her tightly in her arms.

Hydrangea couldn’t believe her luck—she was actually given permission to go! This is going to be awesome!

                                                                -

“You want to do what now?” Mermista asks.

“I want to go with Odessa and Hydrangea on a space trip.”

“No.”

“Why?” Tristan asks.

“I say so.”

Leaning his cheek against his palm, Tristan scowls, glaring at the fruit spread along the table.

Mermista doesn’t look up from her food, “If you continue to frown like that, you’re going to get wrinkles faster.”

Tristan bites back a retort, knowing there’s no point arguing.

“I don’t understand why you even want to go space travel. There’s nothing out there that’s important to us Salineans.”

Tristan rises from his chair, “Fine. I get it.”

Mermista watches him go. He’s been more insistent on being away from home the last several years; he didn’t spend much time here for about a decade or so, choosing to go frolic with his friends nearly every day, and it was more so when Odessa would return from her trips. Mermista is not quite sure if this is something that all teenagers go through, or just her son in particular.

She spent much of her time in Salineas, occasionally visiting her friends from other parts of Etheria. But Tristan is the opposite of that.

Sighing, she doesn’t bother to call him back, listening to the faint echo of his footfalls past the doors. If he wants to be a brat someplace else, that’s his issue.

Tristan strides through the hallway in a huff, discontent written across his face. Never breaking his pace, Tristan heads outside, where the once calm surface churned and frothed as a raging sea. Diving straight into the waves, his tail morphs the moment his skin makes contact with cold water. The weather was unexpected, but that’s fine—he loved storms.

Racing through the darkening ocean, Tristan swims northwest. He doesn’t think of anything—simply revels in the sensation of darting through water. Eventually, the seas revert to a quiet demeanor. Approaching nearby docks, Tristan catches the sounds of roughhousing and glass breaking. Changing from tail to legs, Tristan moves his arms in a simple motion, wrapping water around the lower half of his body, he lifts himself onto the pier.

Walking toward the tavern, Tristan enters the establishment. Without another thought, he slides to the right, avoiding a body that got flung in his direction. Not looking down at the unfortunate patron, Tristan heads to the center of the room, glancing around.

“Alright, men! What do you say we go set a couple boats on fire!”

Tristan turns in the direction of the voice, accompanied shortly after by exasperated groans and complaints.

“Well, don’t everybody jump up at once,” Seahawk complains.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure they’ll come around when they’re not hungover,” Tristan says.

Seahawk looks up, grinning from ear to ear, “Tristan, my boy!”

“Hey, Dad,” he replies.

“Pull up a seat, son! Barkeep, a drink for the young man!”

Tristan watches one of his father’s friends fall onto the floor, passed out. Taking the chair for himself, he says, “You seem to be in a good mood.”

Seahawk twirls his moustache, “Ho ho ho, my boy, you’ll be pleased to know that I have an expedition coming up! A crew and I are supposed to go south and find a coveted treasure that hasn’t been seen for hundreds of years!”

“Oh yeah? What’s it called?”

Seahawk hums to himself, then waves his hand, “I can’t remember right now. But it’s bound to be a glorious trek across the grand blue that is the sea!”

The bartender places a drink in front of Tristan, who nods his thanks before taking a generous gulp. Tristan sets the mug down, “That’s great! It’s been awhile since you’ve done anything like that.”

“Indeed, my boy. And what about you? Have you been answering the wild call?”

Tristan traces the side of his mug, “Odessa does have an expedition coming up that would be fun.”

“Ah, sweet Odessa! That girl is always ready to explore. Hydrangea is going too, I presume?”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that.”

“From the sound of it, you’re unsure about your place in this. Why don’t you go too?”

Tristan rolls his eyes, “You know how Mom can get.”

“My dear Mermista does tend to be unyielding,” Seahawk says, then shrugs. “Your mother doesn’t have to get upset about what she doesn’t know.”

Tristan smirks, “Dad, are you giving me permission to go?”

“No, but I’m not denying you the call to adventure, either!”

Shaking his head, Tristan takes another swig of beer. He slams it down on the table, much to his father’s delight. Seahawk shouts, “Barkeep, more of your finest alcohol, please!”

Tristan smiles to himself, relaxing in the midst of chaos. He might even sing a shanty with his dad for the shits and giggles of it.

                                                               -

Hordak has noticed a change in Odessa’s demeanor, however slight.

He didn’t think much of it, at first. She has been preoccupied with her upcoming mission, but she’s been working near non-stop since she returned from Prime’s flagship. Not wanting to pry into her affairs, Hordak believed it would be best to let her do as she pleases.

And it’s not that she’s pulling away from him. On the contrary, she’s always been an affectionate child with him and Entrapta. She’s, in essence, a good kid. But that’s the thing about good kids—they’re not total experts at covering up what they don’t want you to see.

Hordak comes up to Odessa, tinkering away with one of her personal tech projects. He leans slightly forward, “If you turn that bolt to the left, you should be able to get the polarity to work.”

Odessa, mutely, does so. At the sound of it working, she smiles at him, “Thanks, Dad!”

Smiling in turn, he pulls up a chair and sits beside her. He reaches for a wrench, and tightens a loose bolt, “You’ve been deep in thought as of late, Odessa. Are you excited for the expedition?”

“Yes! It’s going to be exciting,” she replies. She takes the wrench from her father with a lock of hair. “I haven’t heard from Tristan yet on whether he can come, but Hydrangea informed me her mothers are allowing her to go.”

Hordak gives a quiet nod. They enter the state of routine: Odessa works, and he watches. She asks for tools and he hands them to her. Their roles reversed from when she was a child. In addition, he gives her suggestions about what to do next and she’ll do it, or make notes for future projects. Hordak glances at Odessa. Not wanting to disturb the silence, but she breaks it first.

“What is it?” Odessa asks.

“Traveling to Inicos will take a fair amount of time,” Hordak begins. “Even with a portal taking you a part of the way, you will be absent for a while.”

Odessa giggles, looking up at him, “Aw, are you going to miss me, Dad?”

“Of course,” Hordak says, sincere. He turns to her, eyeing her movements. “You are my daughter. I want you to be safe on this mission. You’ve been gone before, but this is different…”

“It’s not too different,” Odessa replies, eyes centralized on her work. “I’ve been on trips before.”

Hordak inhales deeply, then exhales. “I know.” But there’s an aspect to this venture that is niggling the back of his mind. “You have a… passion for this journey that is dissimilar to the ones prior.”

Odessa’s hair moves around the table, skimming over the tools, “I guess I do.”

“Odessa.”

She looks up, meeting her father’s eyes.

“You would tell me about your goals, wouldn’t you?”

Odessa’s eyes flit over Hordak’s face, his expression earnest, open. “Yeah, Dad. I would.”

At his smile, Odessa stands up, “I’m going to get a snack. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you. I’ll wait for you to return.”

“Okay,” Odessa tells him, walking out of the room.

Hordak’s smile fades, unable to shake that niggling sensation.

                                                              -

“Launch day!” Entrapta yells. “Are you excited, my little cupcake?”

“I’m born to be excited!” Odessa shouts.

The two look at each other, shaking their hands and screaming in anticipation. Emily spins in a circle, letting out a long beep, as Imp yells in his natural voice.

Hordak stands with his arms folded, chuckling.

Entrapta kicks her legs in the air, cackling at the top of her lungs, “This is an absolute thrill, and I’m not even going! Ooooh, my baby is going away for a while! Ah, I’ll miss seeing that cute widdle face every day!” For added emphasis, she squishes Odessa’s cheeks together, kissing her nose.

Odessa doesn’t pull away, a light blush on her cheeks, “I know, Mom. I’m gonna miss you too.”

Withdrawing, Entrapta goes into scientist-mode, “Now, remember: your uncles will be there to greet you and answer any questions you may have. By the time you arrive in Inicos, they should have a portal functioning again, so they can send you back to Etheria directly. Make sure to contact them when you are nearby.”

Odessa nods, shaking in place. Her heart always beats faster when she’s about to head out into space. She hasn’t been to Inicos in a long time, that it’ll practically be new. She has so much to look forward to! She hopes this won’t be a dead end before her true exploration begins.

She looks to her left, waving, “Gea! You’re here!”

Hydrangea walks up, Scorpia at her side, “Hey!”

Entrapta scuttles over to Scorpia, the two going for a large hug. Scorpia picks up Hordak, and he shakes his head in resignation, despite the smirk on his face.

“Must you?” he asks.

“Every time, Lord Hordak!” Scorpia teases.

“Scorpia,” he threatens.

“Whoa, haven’t heard that tone for years!” Scorpia says, setting him down. “Brings back memories.”

“I know,” Entrapta says in a softer tone, wiggling her eyebrows at him.

Hordak blushes, clearing his throat.

Hydrangea glances around the hanger, “Where’s Tristan?”

Odessa shrugs, “I’m not sure. I haven’t heard from him in a while.”

“He’ll be here soon, I think,” Hydrangea replies.

Odessa isn’t sure. She’s been holding out on his reply for weeks. Well, it’s not that she isn’t sure about his intentions; it’s his parents she isn’t certain of, and even then it’s just the one.

Hydrangea touches her shoulder, “I’m going to get my things inside the ship. Relay the plan to me when I get back.”

“Alright,” Odessa says. Arms folded, she taps her fingers quickly against her skin.

The hours pass and Odessa sets the final cargo in Celeste’s compartments. Sighing, growing frustrated and upset, she continues moving about the ship.

Hydrangea stares out at the front, equally worried.

Entrapta walks up to Odessa, “Has he arrived yet?”

“No.”

“I have everything set up for you in the cockpit,” Entrapta says, sitting on her hair.

“Thanks, Mom.”

Entrapta pats her back, “You still have an hour before you head out.”

“I know.”

Hydrangea suddenly yells, “Tristan! There you are!”

Odessa looks up, screaming at him, “You son of a bitch, where’ve you been?!”

Tristan runs up to them, an apologetic grin on his face, “Packing!”

Hydrangea holds a hand to her chest, “Thank goodness, we were beginning to worry.”

“If you missed out on this trip, I was going to be pissed at you forever,” Odessa tells him.

Tristan laughs, placing his luggage in the ship, “Well, you can love me more now.”

Odessa rolls her eyes, despite the smirk on her face.

Soon enough, they’re heading inside the spaceship. Entrapta is squealing in joy, kissing Odessa’s face. Scorpia hugs Hydrangea tightly, and pulls Tristan in for good measure.

“Have fun! Keep me updated on all the cool stuff you find!” Entrapta says.

“You got it, Mom!” Odessa replies, giving a salute.

Hordak comes up to her, patting the top of her hair, “Take care, Odessa.”

She pushes the top of her head into his palm, “I will. You know me, I can handle anything.”

He smiles down at her, “I know you can. But…”

“But?” she repeats, eyes bright and alert.

“Nothing,” he replies. He draws his arms behind his back, “I wish you safe travels.”

Odessa beams at her parents, kissing both of them on the cheek. She runs into Celeste, and waves at her family as the ramp closes, “I’ll see you all soon!”

Hydrangea and Tristan are already in the cockpit, awaiting her instructions.

“You guys ready?”

“Ready!” they crow together.

“Let’s go!”

Celeste rises into the air, and once it breaks the atmosphere, it gives a jolt of energy and light.

Scorpia wipes her eyes, “Ah, I forget they’re not little anymore.”

Entrapta pats her shoulder, “We made food, do you want to join us?”

“That’d be nice,” Scorpia says.

Entrapta turns to Hordak, “You coming?”

“In a moment,” Hordak replies, staring up at the sky.

Smiling, she pushes up from the ground on her pigtails, placing a soft kiss on his lips, “She’ll be okay.”

Hordak’s gaze scans the stars. Wondering if he should’ve been more forthright with his thoughts. He supposes he can talk to her at a later point…

Observing the sky, he waits until it darkens before heading inside.

#entrapdak #entrapta #hordak #odessa #entrapdak fankid #shera #spop

[redslilstories]

The Wish List

Author: lilyme (aka. redslilstories aka. me ;)) Summary: Late Season 11. Can two people deeply hurt by events passed overcome their own inihibitions to put a smile on the face of the person they both love most? Characters: Callie, Arizona, Sofia Rating: PG Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Grey's Anatomy". They were created by Shonda Rhimes and belong to her and the ABC network. No copyright infringement intended! All mistakes are mine.

Hand in hand they walked along the hallway of their house to the living room.

A room that at this time of year resembled a wonderland full of streamers and stars, Santa figures and little elves, twinkly lights and knickknacks of all sorts. And let's not forget the Christmas tree that in its flamboyant festivity dominated it all.

It was the season again. The time to celebrate a few quiet days with your loved ones and look back on the year that has passed.

Honestly... this year had been one she would rather forget. The bad had outweighed the good by far.

Derek had died – leaving her wondering when fate would finally stop taking her friends long before their time. Meredith was still God knows where as a result of wanting to deal with this loss on her own.

And on the most personal level... her second marriage had failed this year. And she was still trying to cope.

This divorce was the hardest decision she ever had to make. She loved Arizona. Had always loved her, even when she had hated her.

And she would forever love her, no matter how they would go through the rest of their life. Wherever and to whom it would lead them. She knew that it gave them both the chance to be free and be the best they could be. And if that meant spending their lives apart to accomplish that, then it had to be this way.

One thing was certain, however. They would always share a deep connection. Especially since they were both parents. To a little girl that was still too young to fully comprehend the changes in her family.

As much as they tried to shield Sofia from the harshness of the break-up, it naturally still was bound to have an impact on her. Sofia had noticed that her parents were behaving differently with each other. And it was hard and confusing.

Especially at times like these.

She looked at Sofia, who was walking beside her in unusual quietness. A somberness on her face that did not fit a four-year old. "Are you excited to see what Santa brought you?"

"Um-hm," Sofia returned as they reached the living room. Which indeed held various presents of all shapes and sizes, ready to be unwrapped.

The girl had written a list to Santa. Well, more like drawn pictures of what she wished for. And she was confident that Santa had laid out most of what she wanted under the tree. Maybe more.

But one wish Santa didn't seem to have managed to fulfill – this was made clear with even just a minute glance around the room.

Callie noticed the lost look, and it tore at her heart. In her position as one of Santa's secret helpers she had of course read the list. Read that one wish that – considering this year's events – seemed impossible to realize.

Or had seemed that way at the first moment. But after a few days of mulling on it, she had understood that it would be doable.

And a ring on the door would in a few seconds make this wish come true.

"Wanna see who's at the door?" Callie asked her daughter and gave her her most encouraging smile. And when Sofia still seemed sceptical, she added, "Maybe one of Santa's presents is late".

Sofia's face slowly lightened at the suggestion and she walked to the door.

To greet... "Mami!" she squealed as soon as she had managed to pull the door open and see the blonde outside.

Different than her and Mama, who were both still wearing their fluffy Christmas pyjamas – Sofia's being bright red with little Santas and snowmen, Callie's a more muted dark gray with snow flakes on them – Arizona's open jacket revealed a blue sweater with a red-nosed Rudolph on the front. Plus, she wore a Christmas hat and held a moderately-sized bag, presumably containing more presents.

Of course Arizona knew the list, Callie having slipped it into her locker at the attendings's lounge. Currently both of them were hardly speaking, and mostly just communicating through short messages sent by phone. Which was awful, and took a lot of joy out of the hunt for presents for their girl.

Callie still remembered last year when they both had excitedly opened the letter together and had had a blast trying to decipher what the little drawings were meant to depict.

But not this year.

This year Callie had nervously called her the night after slipping her the letter. Glad that Arizona had picked up, seeing as the contact info on the blonde's phone now probably didn't list her as "Calliope" anymore, but more as "That bitch that tore my heart to pieces". And talking had been awkward at first. Talks that used to be so easy now sometimes were more like pulling teeth, especially where details about the divorce were concerned.

But to Callie's relief, the conversation had grown lighter after a few moments, after the talk had come to the wish list. For Arizona it had been immediately clear that they could not deny Sofia this wish.

The wish of spending Christmas morning together. The three of them. As a family.

"Merry Christmas, sweetie!" she grinned as Sofia ran into her arms. The girl excited beyond words that this wish was coming true.

Arizona and Callie shared a little smile as well.

Of course there were fears of this sending the wrong message to Sofia. Sending false hope.

But divorced parents spending time together on Christmas in a friendly way could actually be good.

"Mama, Mami is here!" Sofia nearly shouted in excitement, as she pulled her mother inside the house.

"Hey," Callie greeted Arizona with a soft voice. Thankful that she had been willing to come, despite everything.

But there seemed to be no trace of animosity on the blonde as she replied a gentle "Hi. Merry Christmas". She actually was happy to be here, even if the house held some sad memories of new hope going down the drain. But it was way better than staring at a dismal and only half-decorated tree at Alex' place and pitying herself. And spending time with her baby girl was always worth it.

"M-Merry Christmas," Callie stuttered, still unsure if Arizona had properly accepted the fact that she would be a part of this time spent with her daughter as well. But Arizona put a calming hand on her arm before any nervousness could flare up.

"So, you know, Santa dropped some of his presents at my place," she addressed Sofia, who was still grinning widely. "Guess he forgot that we would all be celebrating together," Arizona explained, as she placed the presents she had in her bag next to Callie's.

They had talked about who bought what. Because going out and buying things together would definitely be too much right now.

But as they sat down on the couch and watched Sofia excitedly go through her presents from Santa, they were confident that eventually they would find a normal routine with each other.

One where they could talk normally and calmly with each other. And spend time in the same room without a sense of sadness or anger.

Find a new normal.

And be the parents Sofia deserved.

END

#callie torres #arizona robbins #sofia robbin sloan torres #Calzona #Team Calzona #MerryChristmas #christmas #calzona fanfiction

[sanbantaikarin]

Fandom: Bleach

Characters: Momo Hinamori, Karin Kurosaki, Izuru Kira

Pairings: platonic KarinHina, platonic KiraKarin, KiraHina

Words: 1.2k

Summary: shinigami!Karin AU. WARNINGS- gore, medical gore, suicidal ideation; Momo runs into trouble.

They were on the third day since the prisoners from the Maggots Nest escaped. The damage was only a fraction of what the Wandenreich caused, but they were still divided by sheer numbers. If they had just offed the prisoners in small amounts to be rid of them without interrupting the balance of souls, they wouldn’t have had the problem. But Central Forty-Six touted its so-called ethics at all the wrong times and Momo just about had enough of their ineffective policies.

Momo’s home was overtaken by ryoka for the third time in her lifetime, and she thought it awarded her the chance to be bitter. To the Soul King, who forbade peace, to their governing bodies, who were out of touch from decades spent behind desks.

It wasn’t often Momo actually wanted to smash something to alleviate her frustration.

Outside of her hiding spot, Tobiume’s fireballs vibrated beneath the open ground. Momo strained her ears to hear footfalls over the maddening white noise of her traps and her loathing of their overlords. 

No longer did she have to wait. Smoke and light bathed the shack she hid in through the open hole in the wall above her head. She vaulted through it and found the ryoka who set off her mine. From the feel of his reiatsu alone, Momo knew them. His name was Boruku Tetsusumi. They were classmates more than fifty years ago, graduated together, and twenty years ago, he was jailed for desertion after he fled in his gigai during his mission in the World of the Living. Boruku was unlikable. He was belligerent and slovenly. The smell of cat urine permeated his clothing in school. And he was a big thing, even bigger than Renji, with curly brown hair and thick glasses.

He sort of reminded Momo of Sousuke from his looks.

The idea of hoisting her anger onto a surrogate made Momo happier than she liked to admit.

Boruku coughed in the mist of smoke and uprooted dirt. Momo’s paralyzing snake charms slipped out of her sleeves and pant legs. They darted for the convict like he was a fresh kill and then pinned him in place with their fangs and steel body.

Momo jeered, “well, look who it is. Does that hurt your eyes?”

“Fuck!” Boruku cursed. “Who are you?”

“Momo Hinamori fukutaichou. More importantly, I’m someone you really didn’t want to run into.”

With a flick of her wrist, the smoke and dirt dispersed. Tobiume retracted into a simple sword. Momo jabbed Boruku in the chest with the tip as he snarled and whined like a pig.

“I hate animals, you know,” she said. It was so easy to paste Sousuke’s face onto Boruku. “Like you. You’re a menace. A parasite. You’ve done nothing but hurt people with your egomania and laziness. Did you ever consider the consequences of your actions? Of how many of your loved ones you hurt?”

Momo swiped her sword across his cheek. Boruku cried out. A piece of his nose and several teeth flew off since Momo cut clean through his face. Blood poured from his nose and mouth and onto their chests as he sputtered and cried. With another swing, she altogether took off his jaw and his tongue. Momo cackled. Her Sousuke surrogate couldn’t spew bullshit anymore. She was very proud to have silenced him.

With finality, Momo raised her sword for a decapitating blow, when her side burned out of the blue. 

In Boruku’s hand, she saw his zanpakutou, which she remembered to only be a short dagger, had taken the shape of a crossbow,

and down her leg dangled her colon and one of her kidneys. His enchanted crossbow had disemboweled her.

Pain radiated down her leg and up her chest. But it wasn’t the first time Momo suffered abdominal trauma. She remained upright and cut off his head from his exposed neck. Boruku slumped, her snakes vanished, and Momo collapsed like a sack of bricks.

She didn’t dare look as she shoved her guts back inside, and she clutched her side to stem her abundant bleeding. She breathed in and out raggedly. It was difficult keeping her hand in place. She quivered from adrenaline and it made her hand slip up and down the gaping tear just above the apex of her hip.

Izuru’s blond hair and milk chocolate eyes arrived and loomed over her. Izuru babbled in her ear. Momo didn’t catch a word, but his voice was hoarse and fast, like he desperately prayed for her survival. It was weird for him to pray. Izuru was always stoic, snide, deliberate in undeath. Even silent, he mocked Karin’s altar to her late mother. If her arms weren’t so heavy, Momo would reach up, make him look her in the eye, and tell him she was fine. Everything was fine. She was trying to make that happen for awhile. The pain was easier coping with than the fatigue of blood loss.

Karin skid to a stop on her knees next to Izuru. She had a curved needle and mint-green thread that she pulled out of her kit. “It’s a good thing you didn’t try healing her. One of them is keen on kidou usage. He’d find you guys. I will need help though.”

“Is he gone? Regular medicine won’t help her on its own,” Izuru said.

“No. Which is why we have to hurry.” With finality, Karin pried Momo’s hand off her wound.

“Hi, sweetie,” Momo interrupted. “You’re doing well.”

“Not a scratch. I’ve been mowing down peons all day. This is going to hurt.”

Momo’s teeth dug into her sleeve. Karin whispered to herself and Momo focused on her voice. A tear in her intestines, they’d have to sew that up first to avoid sepsis. But she didn’t have sterile water to wash off the fecal matter that oozed out of it. She barked at Izuru to first boil water, and then set up a barrier around them. The kidou might attract the escaped convict she warned them about but Momo would die without it. And then there was the issue of her blood vessels, and her kidney. Karin couldn’t reattach it. Too much of the tube was gone, she’d have to amputate it.

“You’re amazing,” Momo said between gritted teeth.

“I need to concentrate,” Karin said.

Momo’s head lolled to the side. Izuru returned with sterilized water. Karin apologized. Momo squeezed her eyes shut as boiling water was poured onto her insides. The pain was enough that she saw sunspots on her eyelids, her fingers dug into the ground, and was suffocated with Izuru’s grim and bony hand to stifle her scream. 

The burning was over quickly however. Izuru held her hand and kissed it even though it was covered in her blood.

“Izuru, I’m going to need a skin graft,” Karin said.

“Where to do expect to get that?” he asked.

“You. You’re compatible blood types, and because you’re undead, you won’t experience pain while I’m excising the graft, and you’re not susceptible to infection.”

Izuru shed his top without another word. Momo looked away. She heard Karin cut and slice, and saw her drape the skin over the open wound, and swiftly, she stitched the skin onto Momo.

Minutes later, although light-headed and sore, Momo sat up. Her side was numb but workable. She was able to power through broken ribs as Sousuke’s punching bag. The three hugged, but only for a moment, because there was more chaos to tame.

#kogi's shit #bleach #kirahina #platonic kirakarin #platonic karinhina #karin kurosaki #momo hinamori #shinigami karin

[itsadirtybusiness]

Everyone Just Swipe Left...

Life is a dirty business, death, divorce, diapers, dementia, dysfunction, and dating. Being able to laugh at our existence and all that goes along with it, I believe, is crucial to survival. In my dating world, there is a touch of dishonesty, in that, I don’t know what I’m doing, what I want, or if I want anything. Knowing what I don’t want is much easier to define, it’s easy to find flaws in people, especially if you’re looking for them.

My dating career was interrupted for about thirty years by a couple of marriages. After this hiatus I decided to try out Match.com. Things had changed a lot since I was in college, but I believed that the internet, my maturity level, and my life experiences prepared me for the journey on which I was about to embark, my first of many mistakes. I also believed that I was a strong woman and that I knew what I wanted. I established high level criteria: athletic, intelligent, educated, well-travelled, financially stable and no young children. I submitted my profile and certain that Mr. Right was just a click away, I went to bed hoping for the best.

I’m not a morning person, so waking up to sixteen messages saying, “Good morning beautiful” accompanied by an emoji, anything from a rose to a devil, became the kiss of death for my would-be solicitors. Instead of Cristal in a Waterford flute, my inbox was like a Solo cup filled with Boone’s Farm. My gut reaction was indignance, “LIARS! How dare you call me beautiful! You don’t know me.” I have strong opinions on beauty and number one is that it isn’t determined by flattering images on some app. It’s understanding who I am as a person and how I became the woman I am today. It’s depth of character and a strong understanding of self, and it implies a certain level of intimacy because I’ve opened myself to you, only then will I accept being beautiful as a compliment. Something that you, lame suitor, will now never experience.

A week in and I was already frustrated. I hadn’t even been on a date. “Stick with it.” My friends said. “It just takes time and patience” they said. “Maybe you shouldn’t be so picky” they said. “You have to kiss a lot of frogs” they said. I think they just wanted to hear my stories and validate their own relationships, sighing just a little as they thought, “Thank God it’s you out there and not me.” I bucked up and kept trying until I got a date.

My first and only match ended up being with a guy who didn’t tell me how beautiful I was before we met, but our date was still a disaster. I’ll spare the details of our meeting but as a result one of my friends suggested that dating sites should have some way to “Rate Your Date” like a Yelp review or rating your Uber driver. This could save us serial daters a lot of time and imagine how much better people would act if they knew they going to be reviewed? I think it’s a brilliant idea. The rating would be with hearts rather than stars and of course, plenty of space for comments. I would give a five-heart rating to a man that took me out to dinner, was a great conversationalist, kissed me goodnight and didn’t push the hookup; a man more interested in his phone or getting me into bed, than conversation would earn one heart. Deflated, I realized, if this was what dating had come to, I’d much rather be single. Peace out guys, I deleted my account.

Like Netflix and popcorn seasoned with crack, I couldn’t stay away. Shortly after my vow to remain single, I discovered Bumble, where the woman makes the first move. I set up my profile and a whole new world unfolded before me. I didn’t have to worry about unwelcomed solicitations, and I could pick and choose the guys that were appealing to me. I set the low end of my age range at 40, young, but old enough to have some life experiences under their belts and I topped them out at 65, putting myself squarely in the middle.

My Bumble profile reads:

I love to travel, read, run and play tennis. I am athletic, educated, financially stable and well-travelled. My children are grown with families of their own. I’m looking for someone similar. I love a good IPA and small batch gin. INFJ Vegan. No hook ups please. Trump supporters swipe left. 

Every connection I make gives me fodder for my ever-growing list of flaws. Unfortunately, there is a character limit, or my profile would now include the following:

If you have a girlfriend or you’re married, swipe left. You must be willing to meet, in person, if you just want to sext, have phone or FaceTime sex, swipe left. If you have the inclination to take a picture of your erect penis and send it my way, swipe left. If you think it’s appropriate to call me baby, honey, sweetie, sweetheart or any other cutesy name after one date, swipe left. If you don’t love animals or at least dogs, swipe left. If you think Democrats are trying to take your guns away or that the women of the #metoo movement were simply looking for their fifteen minutes of fame, swipe left. If you’re homophobic, swipe left. If you don’t believe in tipping at least 20% or you treat service staff poorly, swipe left. If you are needy and can’t give me my cherished space and solitude, swipe left. Not a football fan? Swipe left. Ohio State fan? Swipe left. If you don’t know the basics of ordering a cocktail or appetizer at a restaurant, swipe left. If you don’t return your grocery cart to its proper place, swipe left. If you don’t have Amazon Prime, swipe left. If you don’t know what an IPA is, swipe left. If you don’t know what vegan means, Google it or swipe left. If you can’t be bothered to read my profile, swipe left.

This paltry and arrogant attitude of mine led me to believe that men my age were a bit boring. I started matching with younger guys, much younger, like twenty years younger… The young thirty somethings were bold. They weren’t afraid to kiss me without asking first. They made me feel good about myself, but like any drug, the high was fleeting and superficial and I was constantly chasing it. What I crave is depth and meaning. I want to know how you recovered from the loss of your marriage. How you healed, if you even have? How did you tell your children and what did you do to help them cope? What music did you listen to? Did you start any new hobbies or activities? I want to know what makes you vulnerable. But the guys I’m talking to haven’t been married, they don’t have children. So, instead I say, “Oh! You like dogs and IPAs and put mustard on your fries? We have so much in common!” I guess that’s what happens when you date in your children’s age group. But, having a deep conversation with someone my own age is just asking for emotional exposure, I’d have to answer the same questions. I’m not willing to give depth and meaning so why should I expect it? Ghosting is so much easier. I tell myself I’m not being unreasonable; I just want to find a like minded man to hang out with. What I’ve managed to do is alienate most of the male population and probably earn myself a one heart rating. Especially from guys my age.

Finding the humor in all of this makes my failures more bearable. It relieves the pressure and absolves me of responsibility. Every now and then I ask myself what I’m doing with a guy younger than my daughter. I have yet to come up with a right answer. If I’m being honest, I think it’s a bit of a mid-life crisis mixed in with a tad of narcissism and a dash of not wanting to grow up. I also think it keeps me in control. I know that there is no chance of getting seriously involved with a thirty something. They’re safe, even if they are more prone to send a dicpic or request a naked picture than their older counterparts, I can pretend I’m closer in age to a college grad than a retiree. Finding the right guy is going to take a lot of effort. I’ve set near impossible expectations for anyone to meet and I insist on keeping myself impervious. I can talk about how boring men in my own age group are, but the reality is, I shun them out of fear, fear of growing old. They are a reminder of my age, a reminder that I’m on the downside of life, a reminder of my mortality. I’m not ready for that, if you are, swipe left.

#dating #gettingold #swipeleft

[oneofiv]

Such a dirty, filthy word...GRIEF!

I am no expert but by life's infinite graces I am quite familiar with grief and the variety of coping mechanisms that come along with it. Welcome to my Ted Talk. Ok, serious face. I have been on this planet for a little over 33 years and in that time frame I have lost not one, but both parents and most recently and easily most gut wrenching my little sister Devin. If you are uncomfortable with dark humor and the concept of complete black hole sadness, I'd say turn around right now but really you should stay. Because these two things are eventually unavoidable. So buckle up babies!

Dad: 15 years old, stubborn, insecure, massive chip on the shoulder

Losing my dad was tough, for many reasons. He was the first. Uncharted territory. How does one go about living in a world where one minute you had two parents and the next you're down to one? Well more like half of one. Mom wasn't doing so swell back in 2001. She had a lot of demons (too many to go into in the post but trust me we'll get there one day). So now, I am the oldest sibling of a one parent household. Dad was the navigator, he was the one who knew the next step. I think this was the first time I felt completely and utterly helpless. I remember I was having a good day on September 27, 2001. My friend Brett and I went to the mall, I'm pretty sure I bought a purse from American Eagle. Back at home, sprawled out on my bed attempting to start some homework, the phone rang. It was my Dad's mom. You ever know something is wrong before given any actual reasoning? That's happened to me twice in my life. Once, 3 years earlier and this day. I knew he was gone. My grandma Alice asked to speak to my other grandma Carol (whom we lived with). She said nothing other than "Hi sweetie, can I talk to grandma Carol?" Thinking back on it there was no real shift in her tone of voice, maybe subtly but not enough to send red flags waving around in my mind. When it was finally said out loud that he was gone, I embraced the laminate flooring beneath me. An ungodly wail escaped my mouth. I became one with my siblings as a ball of overwhelming grief. A son without his idol, two daughters who wondered who would walk them down the aisle now? With that quick call the life that we had known was gone. He was gone.

Mom: 25 years old, still stubborn, still insecure, working on that chip, in a super unhealthy relationship

We use to joke about how it would come down to the apocalypse and all that would remain would be the cockroaches, Twinkies and my mama. She had done so much damage to herself in her short lifetime that it was baffling how she made it as long as she did. But despite all of that it was still absolutely shocking when she really died. I was living 900 miles away from my family in Myrtle Beach when I got the call from my sister. My knees gave out, my ears starting to ring. I now have no parents. How does that happen? How do some people have both and I get none? Selfish, irrational thoughts like that one would soon consume my mind. In chaos we booked a flight back to New York but it wasn't for 24 hours. We can drive there quicker than that. We ended up using the credit for the flight back for the official goodbye a few weeks later. Guilt. Crippling, soul crushing, guilt. Could I have changed the outcome by being kinder to her? Were my siblings right? My tough love approach was falling on deaf ears? I didn't tell her I loved her the last time I saw her. In fact, I'm pretty sure I just scoffed at her. A month earlier we celebrated Christmas. In the week I was back home she never emerged from her room. Or if she did, I wasn't around to see it. I hugged my siblings, cracked some jokes and packed up the car to escape back down to the warmth. Halfway down the block, "SUSIE", my most prized possession was back in my childhood room, we turned around. And there she was, making her way down the stairs like the living dead. Ghostly pale, disheveled, with the saddest eyes I've ever known. A common site, unfortunately. No words were exchanged. A sarcastic breathe of air was my greeting. I will have to live with this. Realistically, I think my mom knew how much I loved her. She had to. I spent the better part of 15 years begging her to come back to us. If that didn't scream love, what did? Maybe actually telling her "I love you"? I do Mom. More than words were ever able to express in your lifetime. I hope I am like you when I have kids of my own. Seriously! Minus the obvious issues, I would be disgustingly lucky to be a fraction of the mother you were. I wish you knew.

Devin: 29 years old, not so stubborn, still insecure, chip is long gone, freshly laid off

...I don't want to write about this. I've never had a problem sharing my grief about my parents but Devin is different. Its still so new. Its never been believable to me. Plus to be actually honest about this one I would have to divulged some things that I would rather keep close to the chest. Because Devin doesn't deserve to be remember any other way than as the wildly funny, intimidatingly gorgeous, absolute lunatic that she was. All you need to know is that my little sister died 5 days after her 28th birthday. I was the last one to see her. She was wearing a "Finding Gerald" shirt (i.e. Finding Dory) and the last thing I said to her, as I touched her back, was "I love you Dev". This grief. This is the monster you hear about. The one that takes down others. The one that is so easy to get lost in. The one that makes you wonder if you should follow and leave too. When I think about her not being here my initial reaction is sadness, obviously. But that is shortly followed by a cocktail of guilt, anger, resentment, self loathing, loathing in general, bafflement, you name it. And its that cocktail that gets stuck as a lump in my throat. I can't swallow it. I can't allow myself to move past those feelings. I can shake off the sadness but not these. I am conditioned to sadness. These were new. I would, and I mean this with every single inch of me, trade places with her if I could. The world deserves Devin but more importantly Devin deserved the world.

When my Dad died I coped like most teenagers would. I hated my mom, my littlest brother was the bane of my existence, I discovered self harm (eventually to be replace with the more socially acceptable tattoos and piercings) and I fell in love with a boy. With Mom, as I was older and "wiser" I coped with booze and drugs and sex. The holy trinity! After Devin, I ate. A lot. I went from a squishy size 12 to a robust size 20. My interest in guys was minimal, I assume a side effect of my new padding. I like to think that I have covered the spread on ways to cope after losing a loved one. But the reality is I could have done so much more damage if wanted to. I could have become #4 on the Sheppard Family Tree of Death. Which, I have dibs on by the way. I refuse to outlive anyone else! Call me selfish but I am done losing people. I am feverishly knocking on all wood surfaces right now. I think another one would break me. And for good. I often wonder how it hasn't already. Am I stronger than I think I am? Or in a weird way does my inability to follow through with things also effect this aspect of my life? ← If you are curious what dark humor looks like, this would be a prime example. In other words, I am not suicidal, just super fucked up!

People have asked me how I do it, I assume they mean live with so many people absent. The only thing I have to say to that is, Quinn. The littlest of the Sheppard's, a full grown adult man now, but forever my chicken nugget. You think its been rough for me? Quinn was 5 when Dad died, 15 when Mom left and 19 when he lost his best friend. All of that before he could remove the "teen" from his age. If he can keep his head up and walk this earth without a massive grudge then fuck it so can I! This is a constant theme in our lives, perspective. No matter how bad its been, it could always be worse. The hardest day of our lives could be a cakewalk for someone else. This doesn't mean we're not entitled to grieve the way that we do but it also doesn't excuse us for being bad people. I refuse to let the loss of my family members allow me to treat others in a negative fashion.

I will probably come back to this topic time and time again but for now this is it.

#grief #loss of loved ones #mom died #dad die #sister died #loss of parents #loss of a sibling #coping mechanisms #coping #survivors guilt #subsance abuse #alcholism #cancer

[bellavidasb-blog]

/Dealing with the Suicide of Someone you Love/

I have not shared this yet on Social media until now.  It was just far too painful.  However, I feel brave enough now to share this with you.  So here goes...

On February 4, 2019,  my dad took his own life.  He had struggled with untreated bipolar his whole life and Aspergers (ASD).  About a year ago, he went in for surgery for a Hip replacement and his health went downhill after the surgery due to several infections and pain that doctors could not get rid of.  

Sadly,  my dad did not want to admit he had bipolar.  He thought he only had depression and anxiety because he actually like his mania.  I think this might be true of some people who are bipolar.  They love their Highs, but their Lows scare them.   So, he never saw a Psychiatrist who could accurately diagnose him because he only went when he was Depressed and saw a General Practitioner MD.

Something that bugs me about this is that many Doctors will write a prescription for Antidepressants without truly diagnosing  their patients thoroughly.  They hear the symptoms and just write a prescription without truly understanding what is going on.

While my dad was depressed,  Antidepressants were not the answer for him.  He needed a Mood Stabilizer and he needed a Psychologist and a Psychiatrist to monitor his meds.  

Sadly, I learned after his death that my dad took an antidepressant for a few days,  said it hurt his stomach and abruptly stopped taking it.  A few days later,  he woke up, drove his car to a parking garage 5th floor and jumped without leaving a note of explanation to anyone.  This was so unlike my dad as he loved to write... if he was himself, he would have at least left all of us a note to explain why he did this.  He didn't even kiss my stepmom goodbye that morning when he left.

We are all devastated.  And tragically,  my family has had to deal with suicide many times before... My family has had many people who have committed suicide.  At least 3 of my dad's siblings, two uncles and his grandmother committed suicide.  This is an epidemic of huge proportions in my family.  

I am sharing this with you because I need to talk about this and not sweep it under the rug as suicide is often not talked about.  I might sound like I am making light, but believe me I am not.  I take this very, very seriously.  

In fact, I suffer from depression and anxiety and have taken an antidepressant for 11 years now.  It has helped me cope with stress, anxiety and depression and I know it is something I need.  I have myself been suicidal, but thankfully, was able to pull out of it and get help through counseling and, of course, my medication.  It makes me so sad and upset when people "medication shame" people for taking something that is helping them cope.  

We as a society need to realise some very important Truths about the Brain:

The Brain is an Organ- exactly like any other Major Organ in the Body.

The Brain is highly susceptible to deficiencies in the chemicals it needs to function properly- just like any other Organ in the body!

The Brain can be Low on chemicals just like your Liver or Pancreas.

No one would EVER shame a person with Diabetes for taking Insulin- why is it ok to Shame someone who has low serotonin for taking an SSRI Antidepressant?

The Brain does not replace its cells like other organs in the body and is much more fragile than other organs in the body.

The Brain is highly sensitive to stimuli from the environment, chemicals in the air, foods we eat and the stimuli you are giving it.  

If we can come to think differently about our Brains and how they Function,  we might start to destigmatize "Mental Health".  How about "Brain Health" instead?  No one gets all worked up about "Heart Health" and thinks "People will judge me if they know I am on Cholesterol medication."  Yet,  many people fear others knowing they are depressed, in therapy or taking medications.

I have heard many people tell me, "Well, I have been taking (XYZ) medication for a few months now, but I am trying to get off of it."  I always think,  "WHY!? Is it helping you? Why would you get off something that has helped you feel better?"  I think people feel like they have to qualify why they are on something and then say they don't REALLY need it- it is just temporary to help them through a tough time.  I believe this is because people don't want others to think they are "crazy" or judge them for being on something for depression.  

I suppose it is Ironic that around a year ago when Kate Spade and Anthony Bourdain both took their lives so close to each other,  I started a Podcast called "The Erin Show" about Suicide to give support to others and share a little of my story.  I never thought I would be talking about my own Dad's suicide.  

I now realize just how important it is to talk about suicide and depression.  It truly can save someone's life.  I used to hide from others that I took an antidepressant, but I decided a while back to be very open with people about taking medication.  I can't help anyone if I am hiding the truth.  I encourage others to share they take medication and not be afraid others will judge them.  As people start to open up about taking these drugs,  it will defuse the stigma around taking them!  It is so ridiculous that people hide this and are ashamed of it.  Why be ashamed of doing what your body and brain needs?

Not taking an antidepressant (or other appropriately prescribed drug that helps the brain with the lack of chemicals needed to cope) has probably killed far more people in this world from Suicide than the actual pills have done harm to people.  One study showed that nearly 25 Million people have taken their own lives.  That is a staggering and sobering statistic.  

25 Million People!  That is more than any War fought.  The amount of heartache and sorrow generated from those people taking their own lives is overwhelming! And now I am once again feeling their sorrow so deeply.  

This should be at the top of our National Health agenda and yet it is not.  Mainly because it is thought that it is voluntary.  However, what is the root cause of these suicides is our Brain functioning and our coping mechanisms.  

If you have ever been Suicidal, you know that everything else in the world disappears and all you know is how deeply painful your life has become.  There seems no way out of that suffering.  You are not thinking about anyone other than yourself and your pain at that moment.  I know, because I have been there myself.  It is so frightening to feel like that.  I don't want you or anyone to think I am judging you.  I am not.  I don't judge my dad for what he did.  I am heart broken. I am devastated he felt so lonely and afraid in his last moments on this Earth.  It makes me happy he is out of his pain, however.  

Yet,  for anyone who has had this happen to a loved one,  it is a very heavy burden to bear.  It is pain that never really goes away.  There are days that I feel fine, and others that the pain is so heavy I can barely breathe.  

When my brother called me to tell me, he said, "Erin, I just got off the phone with (my stepmom) and Dad killed himself."  Followed by silence.  

I was so stunned that I felt like I sat there with my mind whirlling forever, but it was probably just a split second.  My brother is a joker and was the class clown, so my first thought was, 'He must be kidding. No way would dad do that.' Then, of course, my brain acknowledged, 'No way in hell would he be kidding about dad killing himself.'

My first words were, "What? No.  No way."  At least I think they were because I was in Shock and I can't really remember what I said...  All I remember was it felt like the world ground to a halt and I was in slow motion trying to grasp what had just been said to me.  

"Yes, Erin. This morning," he said compassionately.

"What? How? Why, why would he do that?" I started to cry, completely dumbfounded and reeling from shock, disbelief and horror.

My brother gently told me what had happened and what he had been told.  He tried to comfort me because he knew how close I had been with my dad.  We both told each other how much we loved each other and said we would be heading there to be with my stepmom.  

After I hung up,  I crumpled up on the floor and sobbed uncontrollably.  My heart literally felt like it was tearing in two pieces.  My cat was the only other being there and she came over and gently nuzzled against me trying to comfort me.  I held her and cried sobbing until I could get up.  My mind was racing and I felt like I had just been spun around like a top.  I didn't know what to do.  

I called my husband who was at the doctor and told him sobbing and trying to make sense.  He immediately said, "I'm leaving and I will be right there.  I am so sorry, sweetie.  I love you. I'll be home soon."  

No words can really express that level of grief and sorrow.  As I said, I have had other people I love who took their own lives.  However, nothing can prepare you for losing someone to suicide, especially a parent, who helped give you life, raise you and protect you when you were little.  It is difficult enough having a parent die.  Knowing they did this to themselves is a whole different level of sorrow and loss.

Unless you have experienced this yourself,  it is difficult to truly understand, and I don't wish this on anyone.  I hope you never have to experience this.   I don't know if I will ever not feel this pain when I think of my dad.  My brother is better at focusing on the good times and fun we had with him.  And I know I will get there someday.  

Perhaps it is because I am so empathetic that I suffer from depression.  When you feel emotions very deeply,  it can be a blessing and a curse.  I certainly do where my heart on my sleeve, and so did my dad.  This can make you much more creative and artistic, but it can also be a weapon you use against yourself that can drag you down into despair if you don't keep it in check.  

I want you to know, that even though I am still suffering, I see the beauty of life.  I see the beauty in YOU.  I wrote this article today to help those who feel lost and lonely.  To help those who are sad and feel like they may never feel happy again.  If this is you,  please know that there are so many people out there who love you. Some who you have never even met.  

If my Dad had told even one person that he was Suicidal,  this might not have happened.  If you are depressed and suicidal, Please tell someone who can help you.  I have had people email me who I did not know personally admit they were suicidal and there is nothing I can do other than tell them to please get help and give them the Suicide hotline.  The only way to truly get help is to be honest with someone who will be there to support you and get you help.  

If you don't have someone you can talk to,  you need to be brave enough to find a Psychiatrist and get help for yourself.    I pray that you get better and find happiness again! You deserve to be happy!  We all do!

You can email me if you need support and I will try to help, but I will always tell you to find support close to you as well.  That is the key to breaking out of whatever you are feeling.  Research has proven that all of us crave human connection as one of our basic human needs.  

Most of all, I want you to know that I am rooting for you.  If you can find the strength to keep going,  there is so much beauty waiting for you in this life if you seek it out.  Yes, life can be extremely difficult.  But Life can also be extremely beautiful.  You will see that beauty return if you hold on.  And I pray that you do.  

Thank you for reading my story. I love you all.

God bless you and Keep you,

Erin XOXO

My Email: [email protected]

National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1 [phone]

www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

Note: You can also online chat with someone at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 24 hours a Day every day of the year.  It's free, private and confidential.  

By going to their website, you can find a Local Crisis Center and you can get help,  or you can get information on how to Volunteer, Donate and help support the incredible work they are doing to save lives.  

Please share this post to help others who are suffering from losing someone to Suicide or who are suicidal themselves.  Thank you.  XO

Here are some more resources:

Bipolar Symptoms:  https://www.psycom.net/bipolar-disorder-symptoms/

#suicide #dealingwithsuicide #youarenotalone #youareloved #suicideprevention #bipolar #depression #anxiety #dontgiveup

[your-brieflycrazydonut]

loss

Summary: Peter is dead and Ned cant cope.

Just a little drabble I thought of.

Warning: major character death, grief, car accident

it wasn't possible. it wasn't possible that Spider man was gone. How could this even happen? Peter was supposed to be super, not be able to die from a semi truck hitting him in the middle of the street because he didn't look before he crossed one time. Currently, Ned was sitting in Peter's room staring at a Lego set they had just started but would never finish. Legos were scattered about before the millennium falcon they had been building. Peter hadn't had the chance to clean them. It had only been one day since Peter died, but it already felt like it had been years since Ned had seen his best friend. His heart was aching. He couldn't even cry because he hurt too much. He kept just sitting on Peter's room and staring at the unfinished set. "Ned?" Aunt may appeared in the doorway, her eyes rimmed with red and her voice cracking. Her hair was unkempt and her hands were slightly shaking. Ned just stared at the unfinished Lego set. "Its not possible. There's no way this is happening Mrs. Parker. There's no way my friend is dead" Tears appeared in his eyes but didn't fall. "I know sweetie." she walked forward and put her arm around him. Ned leaned back into the contact and sighed. "you have to go home now, I bet your mom is worried sick" Ned knew she was right, but he didn't want to leave. He didn't want to ever leave. He wanted to be in the room with Peter geeking out over nerdy movies and Peter's crush on Liz. He wanted things to be like they were in the past, not this hellish version of the present. Feeling numb, Ned left the room and made the journey back to his own house. He ignored his parents questions about if he was alright and headed right up to his room and laid face down on the bed. It was yesterday during third period that he was called into the principals office to be told the news. Peter had been running late and had taken a shortcut in the middle of the street without seeing the truck that would eventually smash him to bits.

It had been 2 months since Peter had died and Ned could barely take it. Tony Stark had approached him a month ago to tell Ned about how he knew Peter through his internship at Stark Enterprises, but Ned had quickly informed him that he knew Peter was Spider man. This caused Mr. Stark to take Ned to Avengers Tower to meet the team. "Guys, this is Ned," Tony introduced. Ned looked around at the superheroes who were now all staring at him before announcing he was the closest to Spider man they would ever get from now on. He explained how he was Peter's best friend for years and immediately the faces filled with sympathy.  "This is so cool," Ned smiled. "I never thought I'd meet you guys. I-i just wish Peter was the one introducing me". "we have his old suit. Would you like to see it?" Black Widow suggested quietly, her eyes never leaving Ned. "Oh yeah thatd-thatd be great," he allowed himself to be led down the hall. They approached a super hero lair of sorts and in the middle was the eponymous suit, still wrinkled from the last time it was worn. Without even knowing he did it, Ned ran to the suit and hugged it, holding it to his body. He sniffed it deeply, relishing that it was the only thing that still smelled like Peter. God, he hadn't smelled that in months. It was simple things like this that made him really miss Peter. School was also tough now that Peter was gone. He sat with Michelle in the cafeteria every day, but they rarely spoke. They just didn't have much in common. Flash had also stopped his bullying completely. Two days after it had happened, he had approached Ned and apologized for how he treated Peter. It was at this point that Ned would welcome some bullying. That would mean Peter wasn't gone. He let go of the suit and let it fall to the ground when he realized he couldn't smell it anymore.  Tears in his eyes, he ran out of the room and out of Stark Tower, Mr. Stark shouting behind him. He ran all the way to Peter's-Aunt May's apartment and knocked on the door. Aunt May answered it and let him in wordlessly when she saw the state Ned was in. He opened the door to Peter's room and sat on the bed, crying his eyes out about he missed his best friend. "God, peter why cant you just come back? even for just a second. that's all I need, man." he grabbed onto the bed sheets as his throat began to ache with all the tears he had been holding back for so long. He flashed back to the funeral, held one week after Peter's death. Pretty much the whole school had come. Flash even got up and did a speech about how he was sorry for what he had done to Peter. Ned thought it was big of him to admit he had hurt the dead kid at his own funeral. The funeral was closed casket because Peter's body was so mangled after the truck had hit him, but when it was Ned's turn to say goodbye, he opened the lid. He wished he hadn't. He was greeted with a smashed up body that he could still recognize, but couldn't believe was Peter. His chest was caved in, and his face was completely busted. Ned still had nightmares about his body. Every time he would wake up cloaked in sweat and screaming about how he needed to save Peter.  When he calmed down, he would turn over, check the clock and try to sleep again, knowing he had failed in saving Peter.

3 months later

The pain of losing Peter was still very real, but a bit muted now. Ned had stopped expecting to see Peter everyday in class, and that hurt more than in the early days when he couldn't understand why Peter was gone. He felt as though he was forgetting Peter whenever this happened. He and Michelle talked more now, and they even had plans for a sleepover at her house next week. Every day, it seemed there were moments where Peter's loss hit him like a brick and he was overwhelmed again by the fact that he truly would never see him again. It felt like the wind had been knocked out of him and he often would sit down. He clutched the locket that had a picture of him and Peter in it. Ned had had it made after Peter died, so that he could always be with him. Heart shaped and silver, the locket simply said 'Always remembered' in cursive on the outside. The locket had helped Ned a great deal by making him feel like he was still holding Peter whenever times got hard. He headed to Aunt May's apartment for what seemed like the millionth time after school. His feet guided him on their own, the path as familiar to him as that of his own house. He immediately went into Peter's room and noticed the still unfinished Millenium Falcon Lego set. He couldn't take his eyes off of it. The memories of starting the set assaulted him and he found himself haunted by how it would never be finished. Steeling himself, he picked up one of the pieces off of the floor and started putting the legos together.

#peterparker #deadpeter #avengers #ned #marvel

#peter parker #dead peter parker #ned #avengers #spiderman #character death

[cholisan]

Bereaved[sasuhina]

To those who lost,

I wish I had something to offer to you guys but I don't. Even now I am trying to come up with something to say but words are failing me. I wish I could tell you that it is going to be okay but I can't. I don't know that. No one does. The only thing I can tell you is to hang in there, that it is okay to be not-okay, that if you want to talk about it or anything then I am here, that even if I don't know you my prayers are with you.

This is for you all.

Disclaimer: Don't own Naruto.

Excuse my errors.

Hinata saw it happen.

...his tiny foot twisting under his weight, inertia throwing him face first into the hard ground, his chin connecting first sending ripples that cracked bones in his skull, his teeth sinking into his tongue to tear his flesh apart, a fountain of blood bursting forth upon which he choked, snatching away precious gulps of air that his punctured lung hadn't already robbed him of, legs bent in an impossible angel, a broken tooth near his chubby hand, mouth parted in a cry that never escaped, skin blue and red in several places, a picture from his disaster of a coloring book but still so precious, like his eyes, his smile ,like him, so beautiful to look at yet so devastating to think of when shattered, tattered, broken.

But he screamed.

And the world was turning again.

"Hinata!?"

She blinked.

"Breathe."

It dawned on her that it was her lungs that were burning, it was her body that was aching and it was she who was dying if not already.

"You're crying."

Her eyes found the boy again, still on the ground, wailing as he clung to his scraped knee. A small crowd had gathered around him, two adults crouched near him, a young man and woman definitely his parents, shaken, worried, loving him, kissing. Thank Kami that they weren't them, that he wasn't him. He wasn't him.

Oh Kami, he wasn't him!

Her heart broke again and it sounded like a sob.

"Hinata, sweetie. Try to breathe or you will faint. Breathe in and out. In and out."

So, she breathed in another day without him.

.

.

.

She was going to hell.

But she had no objections whatsoever. If it were up to her, she'd send herself to the endless pit of flames too. Even that would be too kind on her. She had taken a life, crushed hearts and destroyed hopes. Failure had become a second nature to her whether it was at being a daughter, an heiress, a matriarch, wife or a mother. She was a failure. Disappointment. Father was right to berate her. Her elders' head shakes were all too justified.

So was Sasuke's hate.

Had he not been away that fateful day, Hinata knew that none of it would've occurred. He was the better parent out of the two. More skilled, more equipped and less distracted. But in their traditional setting, he was the breadwinner. He was the one tasked with risking his life to feed his family. It was her job to look after their only child, for which she had left behind her shinobi life.

And a fine job she did.

Now, she came back to their empty house, howling loud on stormy nights. The silence screamed at her, a mocking reminder of the mornings she had wished her son was a little quieter. Go sleep now, she heard, go fucking sleep all you want. If only she could have things she needed to do, chores she needed to attend to. Wash his sheets on chilly mornings that'd swell her toes or prepare his milk in the middle of the night. If only she still could sleep amidst her walls screaming at her.

In the kitchen, Sasuke's food sat on the counter, wasting away like him in a dirty bar downtown with every bottle that burned down his throat. She hated the taste of alcohol. It tasted like funeral and the sick comfort she turned to when Sasuke refused. But how dare she seek comfort when it was because of her that her baby boy was six feet under. She would find none when she went to hell. Better get accustomed to it when she could.

She turned the lights off.

The group was gathering again tomorrow, she thought slipping under the sheets. She didn't know why she even bothered with these support groups but knew why her husband didn't. He loathed her very existence, as he should. They hadn't married for love exactly and had only found it in the form of their son. So, when they lost him, he lost his mind and she both him and herself. This was the only way he knew to cope up with all the hurt. Hate was the only emotion he embraced in its entirety. He would not breathe the same air as her, if he could help it and Hinata didn't blame him. She just hoped she didn't see Mrs. Kasumi again. Mrs. Kasumi with her moist gaze and sad smile and her daughter, little Akane, eight, whom she had lost to cancer - a tumor in her head she was born with but never knew, that grew up with her until it ruptured an artery in her brain. Her last day had been tiring, Kasumi often told, spent throwing up all over the place. But she had died peacefully in her sleep with her mother's words, "it's okay, baby. Mommy gets sick too."

Hinata wished she could've told him something loving like that. Not how bad a boy he had been. She wished she hadn't given him a timeout, that her last memory of him was not of his beautiful face soaked in tears. How he too died peacefully, in sleep. How he didn't die at all. How she still had him by her side in the bed, blowing raspberries on his tiny belly. How he was the one screaming at her and not her walls.

She was going to hell and Kami she knew she deserved it.

.

.

.

In the Hyuuga backyard, she could hear the wooden slab of a lonely swing crying with the willow tree it held on to. Last time, Hanabi had told her that she was taking it off, that it reminded the clan about the loss of their youngest member. He was loved wherever he went. Both houses had mourned his death. It was a painful memory for everyone.

It must have escaped Hanabi's mind, with all the things she was currently dealing with when her father refused to be of any help. He had taken a sudden liking to his room where he remained for the entirety of his day.

She tried to not burden anyone but people didn't make it easy to be around them. Not with their pitying gazes or their half-hearted remarks or their it's going to be okay's. Because it wasn't going to be okay, for a long time at least, if not forever. She wanted them to tell her that it was okay to be not-okay.

But they told her other things. Cruel things. Not all but some. Her clan elders to be more specific. They told her: "It has been too long."

To which Hanabi replied, "She lost a child, you heartless bastard. A child. But you wouldn't know that, would you? When you never had a child of your own."

It would summon several gasps from the table, many plates of food untouched, like hers, before them. A fist would slam on the table with so much force that it would clatter all the chinaware sitting innocently there. "Hanabi. Stay in your place. We do not appreciate insolence directed towards our elders."

"And I do not appreciate you poking your nose where it doesn't belong. Why don't you just take care of your wife so that she doesn't turn to others instead of worrying about my sister and I."

"HANABI!"

"Lower your voice or I'll do it for you."

By then, many seats would be abandoned on both sides, byakugan glaring, threats exchanged, clansmen against clansmen. It looked like beginning of another war, one that would be all her fault. There was so much on her shoulders already. She didn't want more.

And that was why she would call everyone's attention with a loud "t-thank you for t-the meal", turn to the man who started it all and bow so low, as if being weighed down with all that she was made to carry. "I-I'm sorry Hajime-sama for worrying you. Please give me more time. I-I'll try to get better." And she'd be out before he could reply.

To think she would want to return to the safety of her home. It didn't feel safe. It didn't even feel like a home. Sasuke had made a motel out of it. In his defense, she had been the one who had reduced their house to a mere building of bricks and walls. There had once been his pictures all over the Livingroom wall but after a particularly difficult night when her tears wouldn't stop flowing, she had taken them off, packed it in a box and tucked it in one corner of the attic. Those weren't the only things that went and eight months later, their house was barren of his very touch, an empty cradle.

So Sasuke was justified to treat it as such. He came and went and when he did decide to stay, he remained locked up in his library. At one point, Hinata had deduced that out of the two, he was dealing with it better. He still went on missions, hung out with his former team, visited Ichiraku's, smiled and talked in that smooth way of his, bathed and ate (just not her food). But the dark circles under his eyes and his quickly graying hair clashed with her assumption and she felt stupid to be fooled by his masks.

But she could be alone there. Solitude had become her safe heaven. While she could pretend to be fine before Hajime-san and her clan, there she could break over and over again. She could be not-okay there.

.

.

.

Another meeting of the grief support group came and went, new pain to add to her already miserable life. Another day where she merely sat and let time pass her by. How many times had they asked if she wanted to share her story, Hinata had lost count. And even though there was so much she wanted them to know about him, about how much he had filled her life with joy and happiness with the little things he did, she just couldn't. The words failed her even if they just hung at the tip of her tongue.

Thus, the group that was supposed to help grieving parents left her in more anguish. She felt like an even bigger loser. He deserved to have songs written after him after all that he had done for her. Her little savior. But she couldn't even tell them his name because it hurt. How selfish could she get?

She aimlessly strolled through the streets, not wanting to go home just yet. At the same time, she wanted not to run into people she knew. Shino would not know what to say and Kiba tried so hard to not talk about their deceased son that she'd suppress the urge wince. She couldn't look at Sakura without having a panic attack. She had been the one to try put together his broken body. Kurenai was somewhat comfortable to be around. Among them, he wasn't a taboo topic and hearing her talk about him was actually calming. Right now, however, she didn't want to be around her. She just didn't feel like talking her broken sentences that his death had brought back to life.

And although she had decided to skirt the Hyuuga compound that her feet and unconsciously taken her to, she was halted in her path by the screams that rang, the loudest being her father's.

She rushed inside, worried eyes searching the crowd of Hyuugas in her way for her sister, beginning Kami that nothing happened to either her or her father. She found them around her son's swing, Hanabi telling him something animatedly while Hiashi holding on to it for dear life. The crowd parted to make way for her when several white eyes landed on her and she simply trudged to them, confused. "Wha-what's going on?"

"Hinata. Thank goodness you're are here. Talk to him. He won't listen to me." Hiashi simply turned his face away, knowing well that if she insisted, he won't be able to refuse.

"Father. What's going on?"

"He being unreasonable, that's what's goin-."

Hinata raised her hand to silence her and walked up to him. Something about his father holding on to her son's swing made her heart ache. He had loved him, with all his heart. Losing him after Hizashi and Neji had been the final straw. He just wasn't the same. "Father?"

She saw how his grip tightened around the rope, how he squeezed his eyes to will his tears away. "They want to take his swing off. I won't allow it."

"Fathe-"

"Nobody forgets my grandson. Nobody."

She didn't know what happened in that instant but the next moment she was laughing through her tears. "Yes father. No one forgets him." Many concluded that the father-daughter duo had finally lost it and maybe they had but there was something in their broken laughter that had been lost and found. What was and wasn't there, Hinata could make a list but above all she would put forgiveness and hope in bold letters.

The swing stayed.

She went home that day and took out his pictures to put them exactly where they belonged on the wall. A particularly favorite picture of Sasuke and him that had once sat on his table made her sneak into his library in a bold display of happiness, something she avoided in the name of an unannounced rule. Scrolls and books littered the table and the floor she tiptoed across to prevent stepping on one. There was a smile when she placed the framed photograph on the table but it fell when her eyes registered the words stretched across one of the books Sasuke had left open.

"What are you doing?"

She forced her frozen body to turn. Sasuke stood at the door, glaring daggers at her but it was his hair that caught her attention, the bones sticking out on his face, his thin frame and it all made sense now. Once again, she had been fooled by his masks. "Y-you're p-planning on reviving him?"

He marched up to her and snatched the book out of her hands, "get out!"

But she stayed. "You want to re-revive him?"

He was still glowering but it had a touch of vulnerability. "Don't you?"

She breathed out shakily. "A-at what price, Sasuke? Your life?"

"It's not that big of a price. I'd do it in a heartbeat if you offered it. I would choose him over you any day of the week."

Her lips trembled, vision going blurry. I'd do it too. I'd choose him over me too.

"I hate you."

I hate me more.

"I hate you for not letting me a farewell. You had no right to do that. No right!"

He had been in Kiri when the devastating news got to him. By the time he returned, there was a new grave to add to the ever stretching Uchiha cemetery. He had screamed at her. Yelled. This was not her decision to make alone. He was his son too and he wasn't even allowed a final glance.

"I hate you for taking him away from me!"

He was on the floor now, a crying mess while she stood, barely keeping her weight up. Strangely, her eyes were dry. She always knew he blamed her, hated her and yet the declaration had left her numb. She was lost as to what to feel.

"I don't blame you for his death but you took my final moments with him. You had no right. You had no right, none at all. How dare you take that from me! "

His screams rang louder than her crash on the floor beside him. He had his head in his hands, tears hidden away but she cupped his face and made him look up. "I'm sorry I did that to you. I'm so sorry but you wouldn't have been able to take it. It would've killed you." He still had nightmares about the massacre. Many a times, before his death, she had held him to her bosom when he woke up screaming in the middle of the night, sweating but shivering. How could she have let him see the twisted body of the boy that he had loved more than life itself. There were many things Hinata had done that she wanted to undo but this was not among them.

"It didn't kill you."

Not in the literal sense of the word, no. But she died every day. She was messed up in so many ways that even death wouldn't take her. Perhaps that was what they called hell. You burned but you didn't.

"At least tell me he died happy."

"He got into a fight that day and I had scolded him for it so he wasn't happy about it. He said that he liked daddy more."

Sasuke let out a choked laugh, a sleeve pressed to his eyes. "I always was his favorite."

Only when her tears dripped down her face did she realize she had been crying. But she smiled, the kind that ached inside your chest when you finished reading your favorite book. "You were."

There was silence for a while and then there was "He was a happy child, right? He was loved."

Hinata smiled. "He was." And so much more.

They didn't eat lunch together that day (surprisingly or unsurprisingly, Hinata didn't know which) or sleep in the same bed but despite his declarations of hate and all the hurtful things he had said, she was peaceful because silence had been broken and not hearts and she could live with just that.

The next time she went to the support group, Sasuke had been there at the door, waiting. And that she knew was surprising.

It would be a long time before she could look back at their time together and not cry but she had taken a step in that direction and after what had felt like an eternity, she could proudly say "I did it." And when Mrs. Kasumi politely asked if anyone wanted to share their story, she felt Sasuke's hand slip into hers, a silent push, to which she nodded. Our son will not be forgotten, she promised to him and herself before getting up.

And so, for the first time, she spoke.

.

.

.

Tayyabalaraib.

#SasuHina #sasukexhinata #fanfiction #fanfic #angst

[percywinchester27]

Dee

Pairing: Dean X Reader

Word Count: 2800-ish

Warnings: None mostly, feels and fluff.

A/N: This is written for @sdavid09‘s “What if... Challenge.” My prompt: What if Sam got cursed and became a toddler?  

Also written for @thing-you-do-with-that-thing‘s hiatus writing challenge- Prompt: “What happened doesn't change anything.”

How I got a Dean X reader with that prompt is a good question, but it’s a concentrated dose of Dean being an awesome brother and Sam being really adorable. I hope you guys like it. Thanks to @torn-and-frayed for being the awesome beta. Steph, you rock, you rule <3

"Hey, you alright?" Dean's voice made you raise your head from the table where it was resting over your arms.

"Yeah sure," you shrugged. It was true. There was nothing wrong with you except exhaustion. You were more worried about Sam.

"How's Sam doing?" You asked as Dean took a seat next to you, running a hand over his face.

"Still knocked out cold," he told you.

You sighed. The stupid witch was dead alright, but just before Dean put a bullet through her head, she hit Sam with a curse and knocked him out. He hadn't been up since. It had been over 12 hours now.

You looked away trying to steady your breathing when you felt Dean's hand close around your knee. "Hey, it's gonna be fine. Sam's a tough son of a bitch. He'll be up and about in a minute." You still refused to look at him.

"Sam looks so small in his sleep," you mumbled, looking at your hands, as tears pressed in your eyes. You had done everything to try and rouse him, but he just wouldn't wake up. You were starting to really worry now.

"C'mere," Dean said softly, as he pulled you into his lap and encircled his arms around your waist. "Sam's had so much worse, he'll pull through. Don't worry." He rested his face over your shoulder and buried it into your neck, nuzzling it. You melted into him. Dean just had a way of making you feel like everything was going to be fine. He must be worried as hell about his brother too, but making sure you were fine was still the number one priority to him.

"Tell you what? I'll go grab us some beers and fry us some burgers when I get back. Sam will be up by then, and really hungry too." You couldn't help but smile at the optimism in his voice. Maybe Dean was right. Sam had been through a shitload of crap. A knock out curse wasn't going to affect him.

You turned in his lap and pressed a soft kiss against lips. "Be back soon."

"I will," he winked, before grabbing the keys and walking out the door. The bunker door clanked loudly behind him, and you put your head back in your hands. Sam was your best friend and you fervently hoped Dean was right about this.

"Deee?" A small scared voice made your head snap up, and you wheeled around in its direction.

A small boy, about 3 years of age was standing underneath the archway that opened from the passageway into the library. He was clutching the pillar tightly, trying to hide behind it. He looked really scared.

He scared you more. What was a kid doing in the bunker? How did he even get here?

You started panicking when his eyes started to water and he sniffed, hugging the pillar tighter. He had soft brown hair, a little longer than usual that just fell into his eyes, and his wide hazel eyes were heartbreakingly innocent.

"Hey kid…" You slowly got up from the chair and walked towards him, carefully maintaining your distance, trying not to scare him any further, all the while wondering how he might have gotten in. The bunker had been bolted since the boys had left for the hunt and you hadn’t opened it at all, Dean was the one who had used the key last night when he had staggered in with Sam. Had the little boy slipped in then? And where had he been hiding all this time?

But your main concern was to make sure that he was fine. He looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"Hey sweetie," you called out to him gently, crouching a couple feet away from him. "I'm not gonna hurt you, just tell me how you got here, so I can get you back to your mom."

He only shook his head, retreating a little. "Deeee…"

"Who's Dee?" You tilted your head, scooting forward. Something nagged at the back of your mind, like you should know the answer to your own question.

"What's your name kiddo? And where's your mom?" You tried again.

The little boy shook his head again, calling out for Dee. Maybe that's what he called his mother.

The bunker door clanged open once more, as heavy footfalls echoed, growing louder with each step.

"So turns out I didn't have to make a run, I found a six pack in the backseat-" Dean stopped dead in his tracks.

You turned around to give him a knowing, I don't-know-how-he-got-here-either look only to find him looking at the little boy like he'd seen a ghost, yet his face was tender and curious.

"Sammy?" Dean half whispered, staring at the boy in disbelief. His voice low, but the boy broke into tears, sobbing into the overlarge plaid he was wearing, trying to hide in it.

Suddenly it all made sense, why he was wearing Sam's shirt, why he was looking so lost and why he was asking for Dee, but the realization also sent your mind reeling. The damn witch had cursed him to become a toddler. Sam was the 3 year old.

"Deee…" he cried again, and Dean reflexively rushed to his brother, looking for a way to comfort him, but Sam just shirked away, completely hiding behind the pillar. He didn't recognize this Dean. His brother was a 7 year old.

"Hey, Sam, it's all right. I'm not gonna hurt you, kid. It's fine. Stop crying now." Dean reached out to his brother. You could see that he was at a loss here.

Sam peeked from behind, his eyes wide and curious. He had at least stopped crying at the sound of his name. He asked for Dean again.

"Dean…" Dean cleared his throat. "Dean's fine. He's with dad. C'mere… they'll be here soon."

But Sam only shook his head. "Dean doesn't leave me. Ever," he mumbled softly, looking down at his fingers that were wriggling themselves in his shirt.

"Uhh… He had to this time. He'll be back," Dean tried. "Look, dad… I mean, your dad knew me. I'm a friend of his. You can come to me."

"Dad says not to go to other people." When Sam looked up, he had a slightly defiant expression on his face. It made you stagger a little at the way the brothers were raised. A mere 3 year old shouldn't have had to think of this.

"You know what?" Dean said, raising his hands. "I'll tell you. Your birthday is on May 2nd, right? And you sleep on the left side of the bed. Your favorite toy is a brown dog named Oscar. How else would I know that?"

"Yeah." And for the first time Sam smiled a little. "You really know Dad? And Dee?"

"Yes kiddo, I do." Dean sagged a little.

"When will they be back?" He asked walking towards Dean, the overlarge shirt falling off the side of his neck and trailing behind him.

"Soon," Dean held his hand and Sam took it, relaxing a little. Dean turned towards you, motioning you to come forward. "This is Y/N, she is a friend too."

"Hey Sam," you tried to smile a shaky smile, as you too held out your hand. Sam didn't take it, but he returned your smile with a watery one.

"D'you know Dee too?" He asked.

You nodded.

Truth was, you were freaking out. You didn't know how Dean was doing it so calmly. He knew exactly what to say to get Sam to believe him. Normally you would have tried to help him, but you were so out of your depth here. Seeing Sam like this? It baffled you, even more now.

A grumble sounded from Sam's stomach and he looked away, bashful and red in the face.

"Hey how about we get you something to eat while we wait for dad, huh?" Dean asked, dropping his head to Sam's level.

Sam nodded, and Dean opened his arms again. This time Sam climbed into them without hesitation, and Dean smiled proudly. "Let's get you into the kitchen."

You followed the two of them, picking up your laptop on the way. This was too much to process, so your mind threw itself into its patented coping mechanism. Find a solution if you can't digest the problem.

Dean propped Sam on the kitchen table while he hunted around for food. Sam's eyes followed his movements curiously. It didn't slip your attention that he immediately backed into the corner, away from attention. His stomach growled again.

You picked up the box of salad that Sam had stowed away yesterday from the fridge and handed it to the little boy huddling in the corner.

"How about some salad?" Sam wrinkled his nose in distaste. Not wanting to eat it, but hungry enough to consider. It made you smile a little.

"How about a peanut butter and banana sandwich?" Dean asked, pulling stuff up from the boxes and arranging them on the table."You'd like that?"

Sam nodded happily, his eyes wide.

"Alright then, let's get to work."

You watched as Dean methodically made the said sandwich. He kept Sam involved in small talk, asking him if it hurt anywhere, if he felt dizzy. Sam didn't speak much, but shook his head to all of Dean's questions. Dean gave you a pointed look after each of those questions, and you set to work, scourging through all of Sam's MOL archives to find a counter curse, or something… anything.

Sam kept shooting glances towards the door every few seconds. It tugged at your heart to see how uneasy he was.

The three of you spent the afternoon in the library. While you went through every witch related book in the bunker, Dean called anyone useful he could think of. Sam was huddled up in a small chair, drawing over a piece of paper. Every once in a while you would find him staring at the two of you. He would immediately duck his head when you caught him at it. Through the afternoon he became more and more comfortable to your presence.

Dean turned to you once he got off the line with Rowena.

"There's nothing we can do," he sighed. "She says it was the witch's last effort to save herself. The only way to break the curse is to kill the witch and we already did. So now all we can do is wait."

You slumped into the chair. Now there was nothing to distract you, and you looked at little Sam go at it with all his concentration. He was furiously coloring the drawing. You didn't want to look at him, because it ached. Ached to see the strong, calm, Sam Winchester who beat the devil himself look so scared and vulnerable. Sam had always been there to comfort you. He had been the one to make you see sense, so you could finally pluck up the courage to tell Dean how you felt about him. He had been your rock for so long now. Seeing him like this hurt a little.

Dean crouched next to Sam. "What're you drawing buddy?"

Sam held out his paper to Dean. It had three sketchy stick figures in ascending order of heights. The background was dark and gray.

"Who's that?" Dean asked.

"This is Dad," Sam pointed at the tallest figure. "And Dee and me."

You couldn't help but notice that stick figure Sam was almost attached to stick figure Dean.

"That's… that's nice," Dean ruffled his hair lightly.

"Why did they leave me here?" Sam asked quietly. "Is Dee still angry?"

"Why do you say that?" Dean asked curiously.

"I-I yelled at him. But the cheerios were soggy and I think he got angry, and that's why he left me. I wanna say sorry."

Dean was about as dumbfounded as you. "I don't get it, you wanna tell me what happened?"

"I wanted to eat all the cheerios, and I finished mine. Dean gave me his and they were already soggy. I said mean things, and I shouldn't have. I think that's why he left me," Sam started crying, and Dean pulled him against his chest.

"Dean's not angry, Sammy. He never would be." But Sam was crying hard now.

"I know he is. He doesn't leave me, ever. I keep looking for him and he's not coming back. What if he hates me?" Sam whispered, his eyes wide with fear.

How Sam had derived this conclusion was beyond you, but it was a little heartbreaking to see him like that. It gave you a true glimpse into just how dependent the boys had been.

"Hey, listen to me," Dean made Sam look him in the eyes. "Dean's not angry and he doesn't hate you. It's his job to look after you, right? What happened doesn't change anything. He still loves you, you know."

"How do you know?" Sam's voice was pleading.

"I- I just know, okay," Dean took a deep breath. "I promise."

"You do?"

"Yeah," Dean's voice was tender, and gruff at the same time. "You try and get some sleep. He'll be back when you wake up."

"Okay," Sam sniffed, burying his face in Dean's flannel.

A single tear slipped past your cheeks, and you wiped it before Dean could see. You tried to seem busy as Dean quietly hummed 'Hey Jude,' while running his fingers softly through Sam's hair. It seemed too private, and looking at them seemed like prying somehow.

Within minutes Sam was snoring softly, curled up into a ball against Dean's chest. Dean gently lifted him up, taking extra care to not jostle him, as he carried Sam back to his room.

When he came back, he had a stunned look on his face. You were surprised when he suddenly tugged at your hand and pulled you to him, burying his face in the crook of your neck.

"Hey?" You asked him softly. "What's up?"

"Nothing," he breathed against your skin, but nuzzled closer, sighing contentedly. "Sam's going to be fine." He said it more to himself than you.

You ran your hand up and down his back, trying to comfort him. "Yeah he will… Hey Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"You seemed so great with him… Like you knew exactly what to say."

"Well I kinda raised that kid." You could feel his smile against your collarbone.

"How about we raise our own?" You asked timidly.

Dean pulled back to look you straight in the eye. "Y/N? Are you?"

"Yeah," you smiled nervously. "I know we haven’t really talked about it, and it came as a surprise… But I figured since I love you, and I know you love me..."

Before you could complete the sentence, Dean swept you up in his arms, and captured your lips in his, kissing you deeply.

“Are you happy?” You whispered breathlessly against his lips.

"Yes!" He laughed, ducking his face into your hair, making you giggle. "Gods, yes."

"You'll be such an amazing father." You kissed him on the tip of his nose and Dean smiled shyly.

The two of you were so lost in each other that you missed the cough that sounded from behind you, until it sounded again.

"Umm guys?" You turned around to see Sam, your Sam, standing underneath the archway, exactly where the little kid had been standing a few hours ago. "Get a room maybe?"

"Sam!" You jumped out of Dean's arms and rushed to him, throwing your arms around his waist. He instinctively hugged you back.

He kissed the top of your head, and you could feel his chest rumble as he chuckled dryly. You would tell Sam the news when he didn’t look like he was about to drop, there would be time for it tomorrow. For tonight, he could rest.

"Man, I had a weird dream," Sam told you when you broke free, running his hand through his hair. "I was this little kid, and you were both the same. I think that witch did a number on my head."

You looked at Dean, trying to gauge his reaction, but he simply brushed it off. "Yeah, you were out for quite a while."

"I guess so," Sam shrugged, as he turned towards the kitchen, before turning back. "Hey do you remember that fight we had when I was a kid?"

"Which one?" Dean smirked. "You were a brat. You threw bitch fits all the time."

Sam gave him a bitch face before continuing. "The one over cheerios. I didn't remember it either. I dreamt of it while I was out, I think. I remember you used to give me all your cheerios when there wasn't enough for two and you'd go hungry."

"Don't really remember," Dean shrugged it off, heading towards your room, pulling you with him. He stopped to clap Sam on the back. "I'm glad you're okay, man."

Sam however grabbed his hand and pulled Dean into a hug. "Yeah me too," he said.

The brothers barely spoke their feelings, they weren't innocent kids anymore. They had been to hell and back, literally, and it had worn them down, but looking at them now, you could see it all. Their love was palpable. You couldn't have brought your child into a more loving family. In this fucked up world, your baby was going to have two amazing men to look up to, and you couldn't have been happier about it.

Please let me know how this was??? Like pretty please? Feedback is what keeps me going!

Dean Darlings:

@coyotesmate @sdavid09 @grace-for-sale @kas-not-cas @bellastellaluna @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @mamapeterson @supernatural-jackles @jotink78 @arryn-nyxx @dustycelt @justacinnamonroll @plainoldblogs @tankcupcakes @maddieburcham1 @impandagrl @thevioletthourr @charliebradbury1104 @plaidstiel-wormstache @melonberri @donnaintx @duckieburns @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @thebitterbookeater @mrswhozeewhatsis @feelmyroarrrr@meeshw777 @sandlee44 @supernaturalham @mogaruke @freekryptonitecloud @deanxfuckingadorablexwinchester @captainemwinchester @tmccarney   @crystallstaircase @rhapsody-in-flannel @growningupgeek @laurenisnot @ohgodwhybloggg @i-just-wanna-live-gc @gabavaldman  @torn-and-frayed @lavieenlex @you-didnt-see-that-cuming @bringmesomepie56 @akshi8278 @thedevilinthedetails @raventonks19 @sonofabitch-spn  @mayasmedberg @escabell @kathaswings @missdestiel67 @naadestiel  @brihughes4 @docharleythegeekqueen @luna-plena-venandi @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @deanssweetheart23 @adaliamalfoy @maui137 @superwholockmarauder  @livelovelike555 @winchesterprincessbride @prairiebirdie @its-my-perky-nipples @dustycelt @supernatural-girl97 @iamnotsaneatall @aiaranradnay @escabell @yoursmilemakesmeloveyou  @therewillbeblood  @lucifer-is-an-angel @anokhi07 @silver-and-green @bemyqueenofdarkness @liveyourlifemeraki @spn67-sister @redunicorn10 @bakabozza @kathaswings @samdean-67 @girliciousdreams @emoryhemsworth @captainradicalpassion @boxywrites @darcy-winters @nakedshowerdean @autopistaaningunaparte @deansgrenadelauncher @fandomsstolemylife00 @gallxntdean @tardis-full-of-fallen-angels @itsmyeffingstory  @fallen-castiel @weasleywinchester

#dean x reader #dean winchester x reader fluff #dean winchester reader insert #dean winchester x reader #dean fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #daddy!Dean #kinda #Ana writed Dean #anawrites #anawritesspn #Dee #spn fanfiction #q

[d-noona]

MAKE OVER

Chapter 13: The Project

Jung Hoseok x Reader

Reader as Kang Hyeonji

SUMMARY: When Kang Hyeonji transformed herself into a striking redhead, the entire male population of Seoul stood up and took notice. But her make over was for Jung Hoseok’s benefit alone. He began to show interest in the new look but not in the way she wanted. Suddenly he was over-protective, perhaps a little jealous. It seemed that the idea of having a relationship with her couldn’t be further from his mind. The girl however wants more. So it was time for an ultimatum. If Hoseok didn’t want Hyeonji to lose her virginity to another admirer, he had no option but to make love to her himself.

"So how did last night go?" Her mother asked when Hyeonji struggled out of bed shortly before midday. "You must have got home pretty late. I was still up reading at one-thirty."

Hyeonji knew she could not bear a full confession at that moment. She will still coming in terms with the end of her relationship with Hoseok. In the cold light of morning, it was a bitter pill to swallow that she'd exchanged a lifetime of friendship for one night of fantasy. Hoseok had delivered her home around three-thirty, neither of them having said a word to each other on the trip. When he'd try to say something in the driveway she'd stopped him with a look and quickly left. In her room, she'd felt too shattered to cry. She'd undressed and climbed into bed and just lain there, staring up at the ceiling, trying to make sense of the whole man/woman thing. No clear answers had come to comfort her. She'd finally dropped off around dawn, and had one of those awful dreams where she was travelling on a train and had lost her luggage, which passed by a no vacancy Inn called Omelas. It was a frustrating dream which she had from time to time. Inevitably, she woke feeling dreadful. Not that she needed an extra reason that morning. Hoseok didn't like her anymore. She'd become a sex-mad monster in his opinion; a complication. Hyeonji knew that he would not come around anymore and pride would stop her from seeking him out. Their friendship was over, ruined by her love for him.

"Sweetie?" Her mother probed gently.

She shook her head, unable to say anything. Zil sighed. "I presume it didn't work out like you hoped."

"No," Hyeonjie managed.

"I see. I'm so sorry my love. I know how much Hoseok means to you." As her mother caressed her hair gently. "Meant." Hyeonji said with sudden and unexpected determination. She stood up from where she'd been drooping over the kitchen table, her shoulders slumped in defeat. Now they straightened, her chin lifting in defiance of her depression. "Hoseok is the past, Mum. Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and I don't aim to waste it moping around. I'm going out."

"Out? Where, out?" Her mother replied in confusion.

"I really have no idea. Yet, i'll think about it while I have a bubble bath." With Hyeonji's declaration of sudden independence her mother stuttered. "A b..bubble bath? In midday?"

"Why not? Do you realize I haven't use bottle of bubble bath Han Byeol gave me for Christmas? I also have one of those bath bombs from Choon Hee. I think it's way overdue." As Hyeonji slams her palm on their kitchen table.

"What about the papers? The financial form Hoseok was going to leave with me last night. Did he forget?" Her mother asks. "No. He didn't. I'm sure he hasn't forgotten, Mum. Hobi isn't like that." Hyeonji responds only to realize she was still quick to defend his ex best friend. "Do you think I should go over and ask him about them? He must be there, his car is in the driveway."

Hyeonji flinched. The thought that Hoseok was physically so close rattled her momentary resolve to get on with her life. How could she go on, having won him in a fashion for one short night, only to lose him forever? "Yeah, I think that would be a good idea," she said briskly. "He's probably still asleep but I'm sure Mrs Jung will be up." Hyeonji turned and fled the room quickly before she weakend in front of her mother.

"Stay strong" she kept mumbling to herself. "You must stay strong!"

One hour later she was bathed and dressed in a white one piece sundress that went seven inches above her knee. It was pure and dainty, with the fabric swinging nicely on her legs. Allowing her freshly dried hair to fall on her shoulders with her perfectly made-up face. She'd also hunted out some pearl earrings which she'd only worn once, which now suited her look and her new hair color. She'd thought about putting on the new necklace Hoseok had given to her, but didn't want the constant reminder of him, so it stayed at the back of her top drawer. She did however, spray a whiff of Seductress behind her ears.

No one would've guessed just looking at her that inside she was having the mental and emotional battle of her life. It would be so easy to give in and give up, to sink back into the miserably mousy little nothing she'd once been. But to do that would be to waste all the changes she'd made. If nothing else she would remain grateful to Hoseok for being impetus behind her making those changes. Neither would she regret losing her virginity to him. How could she? She loved him. It angered her, however, that Hoseok had never recognized her love for him, when everyone else had, even dear old Jeon Jungkook. It had been easier for him to believe she'd suddenly turned into a sex-mad monster bitch than to face the fact that there could be something else behind her choosing him to become her first lover.

"Hyeonji?" Her mother called out from downstairs, and Hyeonji immediately tensed. She recognized that slightly sheepish tone in her mothers voice.

"Yes?" She called back curtly.

"Um...Hoseok's here. He wants to talk to you."

Hyeonji squeezed her eyes shut. "Oh God," she mumbled. Her thoughts racing as to why he wouldn't leave this shit alone. It was finished. They were finished. She'd risked the substance for the shadow and she'd lost. She understood that. Why didn't he? It looked as if she would have to spell it out for him again, because there is no way she was going to let him play with her emotions anymore, no matter how innocent his intentions. The way to hell was paved with good intentions. Maybe she should remind him of that. "I'll be right down," she said stiffly.

Gathering her strength, she slipped her bare feet into her beige sandals and forced herself to go down and face Hoseok. Her mother passed her on the stairs, obviously deciding to make herself scarce.

Hoseok was in the kitchen, standing with his back to the sink, his arms crossed. "You look awful," she said knowing that he didn't, actually. He looked fantastic, even with dark rings under his eyes and his clothing not up his usual satorial splendor. He was wearing his usual tattered jeans. Grey. Stonewashed, but his white T-shirt was crumpled.

"You don't," he returned, brown eyes washing over her. "You look beautiful."

Hyeonji declined to make a comment. "What is it that you want Hobi?" She asked coolly. "Your mother says youre going out." He arched his eyebrow at her.

"Yep" she responded. "Where?" Hoseok responds just as quick. "That is none of your business." She quipped.

"I am making it my business. Where are you going?" As he pushed himself off the sink, slowly approaching Hyeonji. She shrugged with his sudden question. "I'm not sure yet. Anywhere."

"In that case you're coming with me."

"No. Not good enough. Why should I?" Hyeonji starts to feel her blood boil. Hoseok can be persistent but she didn't think he'd be this damned controlling.

"It was...once. You used to be happy to go along with anything I suggested."

Her smile was not very nice. "Times have changed Hoseok. Haven't they?"

"Yes, and so have you," he bit out.

Hyeonji raised her eyebrows. "Do I detect a note of disapproval here? I must admit I'm at loss. Because I actually did do everything you suggested. This is your creation Jung Hoseok," she said, uncrossing her arms and sweeping them over her body. "You made me what I am today. You even gave me a splendid initiation into the pleasures of being fucked. I'm eternally grateful. They say a lot of girls' first experiences aren't anything to write about. I dunno about you, mine was pretty fucking awesome."

"I don't want your gratitude Hyeonji."

She placed both hands on her waist daring him even more. "Oh? What is it you want then? Tell me."

"You!" There was no denying the dark intent in his smouldering brown eyes. They raked over her, showing her with more than words what he wanted. Not love, God, no. There was nothing of love in the way he was looking at her. Lust, hot and strong, burned across the distance between them, branding her with its stunning heat. Hyeonji's coolness vanished momentarily, swamped by a white-hot deluge of answering desire.

"Don't fucking tell me its not mutual," he ground out. "I can see the truth in your face. You want me as much as I want you, Hyeonji as complicated as this might get, once was simply not enough."

She wasn't going to deny it. Impossible. Her heart was off running, and so was her conscience. If I can't have this love, she reasoned recklessly, then I'll settle for his lust. I'll settle for damned well anything at this moment. Even if it is fake love. The realization made a mockery of her earlier vow to get on with her life without Hobi. She was condemned to always being weak where he was concerned. Love made a woman weak, she accepted it with a sobering thought.

"What about Tinashe?" She asked, proud of herself that she didn't sound shaken as she was.

"You let me worry about Tinashe." He held out his hand and waited. She knew that to place her hand in his was to surrender to his wishes without reserve. From what she could see, he wasn't offering her anything but sex. He hadn't even promised to get rid of his old girlfriend. Hyeonji knew she could not cope with that. "I won't share you, Hobi."

"I won't share you either Hyeonji."

"You won't go back to her?" She spoke softly. "Not if you come with me right now." He replies. These unspoken words haunted Hyeonji, for she found them both dismaying and wildly exciting. It wasn't exactly what she wanted. Still becoming Hoseok's fuck buddy was a temptation beyond bearing. She hadn't yet had her fill of him in a sexual sense, either, had she? Difficult to knock back such a chance. Impossible, really. His face held a blackly triumphant satisfaction when she placed her trembling hand in his. His fingers closed tightly around its slender width and he yanked her towards him. Her lips parted on a breathless gasp as their bodies collided.

"So you're my creation, are you?" He murmured in a low, dangerously menacing voice. "In that case I've created a monster. A manipulative, demanding, conscienceless monster." He began stroking her neck, making her quiver with arousal and expectation. His eyes dropped to her mouth and she could feel the heat of her desire in their blistering brown eyes. Any moment he was going to kiss her. She wanted him to kiss her, ached for him to kiss her.

"No, I'm not going to kiss you," he growled, his fingers stilling on her throat. "Even though you want me to. You're going to learn to wait. You're going to learn a lot of things before I'm finished with you. You think you can play with people? You think you can use me then just move on to other men, other lovers," his fingertips pressed into the soft skin of her throat. "Think again, baby," he snapped, brown eyes gleaming. "Last night was only the first of many nights. And all of them will be with me. No one else. Not Jungkook or even your pathetic Mr X. Soon, your body will only respond to me. You're Daddy's little girl. You're Daddy's little project." He laughed. It was definitely a Mr Hyde laugh. It sent shivers down Hyeonji's spine.

"You, better than anyone know, how obsessive I can get about my projects," he went on in a fearsome fashion. "Nothing sways me from my goal. I promise you I will devote every minute of every day to the task, all my intellect, all my strength and every ounce of energy. I will become your tutor. Your master, your own personal devil!"

Hyeonji gaped at him, her eyes round, her heart pounding. This was a Hoseok she'd never met before. A madly impassioned, out-of-control Hoseok whose dark side had him firmly in its grip. But the insidious attraction of that dark side. His words were already sending her on the path to that particular hell. And hell it would eventually be. For she knew Hoseok well enough to know that his obsessions always burn out. Once a project was mastered, he quickly lost interest and abandoned it, moving on to the next project. And the next.

Hyeonji decided enough is enough. She might be dying to volunteer as his next project, but she would not be bullied or abused. She brushed past his temporarily stunned self and dashed upstairs. "Mum! Hoseok and I are going out for the day. Don't wait up." She heads back down to a stunned Hoseok. "Come on Daddy. Let's go."

Chapter 14

Masterlist

#BTS #BANGTAN SONYEONDAN #BTSJHOPE #JHOPE #JUNGHOSEOK #JUNGHOSEOKXREADER #JHOPEXREADER #HOBI #BTSFANFIC #btsromanticfanfic #MAKEOVER

[allyinthekeyofx]

Impossible Choices

Impossible Choices

AllyinthekeyofX

Summary:

Mulder is returned and Scully is offered a choice. But when does a choice become an impossibility? An alternative ending to the show. Seasons 8 + 9 are just a bad dream!  The story is set a few months after Requiem.  

Notes:

I wrote this in anger at how everything turned out and because of a lingering sense that the characters I came to know and love were sold down the river. But the passing of time gave me perspective and a greater appreciation of what came after. So, after sitting on it for 16 years I decided to polish it up and to unleash it finally on an unsuspecting fandom. I still wish that CC had given them an ending they deserved, but they weren’t. I can live with that now. 

One

“Georgetown Memorial. Go there now Agent Scully.”

I blink my eyes in response to the cold, hard voice that rings menacingly in my ear through the telephone handset I have fumbled for in the dark just seconds earlier.

“Who is this?” I demand.

I don’t expect an explanation. I’m just asking out of habit more than anything else. Falling back on my years of investigative training, unconsciously slipping in to the mode of an Agent of the FBI.

“Georgetown Memorial Agent Scully. He’s waiting for you.”

A click as the connection is severed, leaving me half leaning out of the bed as if bringing myself closer to the phone will make the mystery caller miraculously reappear. He doesn’t though, and after a few seconds, the sound of the dialling tone is replaced with a high pitched whine that urges me to replace the handset.

I can’t seem to move though. It’s as though those four words have turned me to stone. I understand their hidden meaning immediately. I’ve been waiting to hear them, every second of every minute of every day for over seven months now. I’ve heard them in my dreams so many times. Been forced from the arms of sleep by the sound of Mulders voice in my head, only to be confronted by an empty room that is darkened by the shadows of night. Darkened by the fact that he isn’t here. I have found myself living my day to day existence hidden behind a wall of steel. Allowing no one to see or understand my innermost feelings. It’s been hard enough just coping with the whispers that follow me along the halls of the Hoover building. Head held high, I have retreated within myself. But it has hurt so much. 

Special Agent Dana Scully MD. Pregnant with Spooky Mulders baby. The fact that he is missing has made little impact on my peers. If anything it has become a great source of amusing speculation for them. With Mulder gone I have finally slipped effortlessly in to the role of Mrs Spooky. A name Tom Colton christened me with so long ago, but one which hadn’t really stuck. Until now that is.

His nameplate still graces the thick hardwood door. His handwriting still categorises the filing cabinets. I have changed very little in the layout of the office. It’s an office I have, these past months, shared with a ghost. The ghost of the man I refused to mourn. So sure was I that he would return. I never stopped believing.

And now, as I stare dumbly at the phone, I realise with a start, that it is finally over.

It’s enough to galvanise me in to action. The extra weight of the baby inside me makes moving quickly difficult at best, but for the first time in weeks, I manage to swing my legs over the side of the bed and get to my feet in one fluid movement. My back protests just for a second but the pain is quickly forgotten as I grab my robe from the hook at the back of the door and exit the bedroom.

Heedless of the lateness of the hour, I hurry over to the sofa where my Mother sleeps, wrapped in a heavy quilt to protect her against the chill winter air. I don’t notice the cold though. Because he’s waiting for me.

“Mom?”

She awakens before I have even closed my mouth. Instantly alert as she struggles in to a sitting position.

“What is it honey? Is it the baby?”

I realise my mistake as her eyes widen in anticipation. She has been here in the apartment with me for almost a week now. Insisting that, as I grew nearer to my due date, that I shouldn’t be alone. Not once did she suggest that I should be the one to move in with her. I didn’t need to explain my motives for remaining here for as long as possible. She just knew. She immediately understood that I needed to be here for when Mulder returned and I loved her for it.

Seeking to reassure her that I am indeed okay I lay a hand on her shoulder and squeeze it gently.

“No, Mom, I’m fine. But I need you to drive me to the hospital. I……..I got a call……and….”

I feel the tears rush to my eyes as I stumble over words that stick in my throat like glue. I’ve waited for this for so long, and now the moment’s here, I can’t bear to acknowledge it. I can’t bear to tempt fate by speaking his name aloud. Because I’m afraid that if I do, I will wake up and realise that this is all a cruel trick of my mind.

But she understands immediately, grasping my hand even as she rises to her feet before me, enveloping me in an awkward hug that calms me immediately.

“It’s Fox isn’t it?”

I can only nod shakily against her shoulder as the tears begin to flow. So much sorrow, so much hope, so much disappointment. I’m not sure I can bear anymore. Not sure I can bear it if this turns out to be a hoax of some kind. But her touch calms me marginally.

“It’s okay sweetie. I’ll get dressed.”

***************

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 3:41a.m.

I head through the automatic doors in to the foyer of this vast building. It’s a building I know all too well. Too many visits over the last few years have made it as familiar to me as my own apartment and I skirt around the edges of the humanity which are milling around within its confines in an attempt to get to the admissions desk with as much haste as possible. It’s Sunday morning and the aftermath of Saturday night is still pressing down heavily on the hospital’s resources but despite this, the desk, when I finally reach it, is clear of people.

The nurse behind it raises his eye brows questioningly as I stand before him, his gaze flickering over my burgeoning belly. The fact though that I am seemingly alone, fully dressed and exhibiting all the calm I can muster reassures him immediately that I am not in labour. That my business here is unconnected with the tiny new life I am growing within me.

“Can I help you Ma'am?”

I feel a hand rest gently on the small of my back as my Mother finally caches up with me. With typical practicality, she has been parking the car in the designated long-stay parking area. Like me, she is already sure that one way or the other, this will be a long night. Her presence gives me the courage to open my mouth. Flipping my little used FBI identification out of the pocket of the long, black jacket I wear I hold it in front of him.

“My name is Dana Scully. I have reason to believe that my partner may have been brought in here at sometime during the night.”

The nurse is obviously more in awe of female government Agents than my own work colleagues are because he immediately snaps in to action, tapping a few words in to the computer terminal beside him.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have admissions up now. Can I take the name of your partner please?”

I close my eyes, praying silently to myself even as I feel my baby kick impatiently inside me, almost as though he is urging me to make haste. To take him finally to his father.

“His name is Fox Mulder……….but he may not have been in a condition to give his name. He……….he has been missing for a long time……”

The nurse shakes his head, cutting me off abruptly.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. No one of that name has been admitted tonight…….it’s been a crazy night though…..I could check descriptions of any John Does though if you wanted….”

I manage to flash him a grateful smile despite the worry that is gnawing away at me.

“Yes, please if you would.”

His fingers fly across the keys once again and out of the peripherals of my vision I see a list of figures flash up on the screen in answer to his query. He doesn’t look up at me as he quickly asks me for basic descriptions. Age, height, approximate weight, hair colour possible nature of injury.

I answer quickly, stumbling over his final question and I have to admit to him that I have no idea. Injury could be as insignificant as a cut finger, as mind numbing as a fatality with every possible scenario in between.

Finally, he looks up at me, smiling reassuringly, no doubt in response to both my condition and the fact that I am now gripping the edge of the admissions desk hard enough to whiten my knuckles. No doubt my face is similarly devoid of color.

“Okay Agent Scully. I have four males who have been admitted to the ER in the past twenty-four hours. Two suffering from gunshot wounds…….I’m sorry, but they were pronounced dead shortly after arrival. The other two - both IC one males in their late thirties/early forties, approximately six feet tall are still in the hospital. One suffering from minor concussion and apparent memory loss is unable to furnish us with his personal details at this time. The other……….”

He frowns suddenly as he skims his eyes over the details on the screen.

“The other was admitted three hours ago. But there must be a glitch in the system somewhere. It says here that he was discovered on a gurney. Unconscious and apparently physically unharmed. No admitting information aside from that……….I’m sorry, if you hold here for a minute I’ll try….”

I raise my hand slightly to cut him off.

“That’s him.” I insist ignoring the way his eyes widen in response to my tone and I realise how it must sound. Of course he has no way of knowing that I have more insight in to this than they can ever imagine in their worst nightmares.

“Could you please tell me where he is?”

He shakes his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry Agent Scully. It’s standard procedure in cases like these to first ascertain some kind of connection between the John Doe and the relative…….I’m sorry, but you don’t fall in to the criteria of relative……now if you could perhaps furnish us with the details of his next of kin so that a proper identif……”

I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Seven months of waiting. Seven months of heart wrenching uncertainty only to be now held up by bureaucratic red tape. But I have a final card hidden deep within my sleeve, one which this eager young man couldn’t possibly have imagined. FBI Agents or not, we have a connection that will slice effortlessly through the bureaucracy.

“If you would care to check Agent Mulders past medical records you will see that as from January 1997 *I* am listed as his next of kin.”

His expression hovers somewhere between a new kind of respect and out and out disbelief. I’m sure he’s heard the same proclamation a hundred times in the past from desperate individuals searching for their loved ones.

“That might take a couple of minutes to check up on Agent Scully. If you’d like to take a seat for a few minutes, I’ll have someone come down and speak to you.”

I follow the direction in which he waves, seeing row upon row of hard, uncomfortable leather backed chairs. No doubt I would be more comfortable standing, especially now that the baby weighs so heavily on my frame, but I don’t want to make waves so I acquiesce and allow my Mother to lead me away from the admissions area.

We sit, not speaking. I’m not sure that I could at this point. Anticipation has stolen my voice from me. My mouth is dry, my head beginning to throb with the suppressed tension that has been threatening to burst free ever since my telephone rang, tearing me from sleep. It was less than an hour ago. It feels like centuries. But I’m okay. I can get through this. I have to. For Mulder I will remain calm. To start shouting now would only delay what needs to be done in order to see him. Out of a desperate need to do something with my hands, I begin to gently trace circles over my belly with my palms, feeling the solid, reassuring presence of my baby’s tiny rump through my taut skin. Like magic, my breathing slowly returns to normal.

I have waited for so long. I can wait another few minutes.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see my Mother’s hand reaching across for mine, but instead of grasping it, she simply covers it with hers, smiling gently at me as she too feels the tiny boy who lays, protected within. Not once in the last seven months has she allowed herself to voice the fears she must surly hold. Fears for what might happen if my stubborn assurances that Mulder would indeed return should prove fruitless. Not once has she berated me for not admitting to the intimate relationship Mulder and I shared in those last weeks before he was taken. Not once has she questioned my choices. Not once. She is of course, in the minority.

My eyes are still locked on to the vision of our two hands caressing my baby when the voice cuts in to my thoughts.

“Agent Scully?”

I get to my feet immediately finding myself face to face with a man that I recognise from so long ago.

“Doctor Daley?” my voice must be bordering on incredulous, because he smiles reassuringly at me. Extending his hand which I grasp briefly.

“It’s good to see you Dana,,,,,I was about to ask how you were…..but I see you are indeed blooming. Literally.”

“Thank you. Doctor Daley……..Can you tell me? Is my partner here?”

He releases my hand. Becoming all business once again. But his expression is troubled. I see it clearly in his eyes.

“I’m not sure Dana. When I received the call a few minutes ago telling me you were here, asking after him, it immediately fell in to place. There had been something bothering me about the way we found him, no admission paperwork, no notes on how he came to be there. Just like you were found….but I confess, I never really thought to make the connection. Five years is a long time in a busy hospital Dana…….it’s been a crazy night and…..”

I shake my head. Waving away his apologies.

“It’s okay. I understand, really I do. But I need to see him. Please. Can you take me to him?”

I am holding on to my composure by just a thread now and I know that if he refuses, I will simply push past him and search this damn hospital until I find what I am looking for. The potential consequences of those actions mean nothing to me. Maybe he sees that, because he nods carefully. But there is caution in his tone as he grasps my arm.

“I’ll take you there Dana. But understand that it might *not* be your partner.”

I swallow heavily. Chasing away the tears that have suddenly gathered in the corners of my eyes.

“It’s him.” I whisper. “It has to be.”

**********************

Two

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 4:01a.m.

I’m a little surprised when I realise that Daley isn’t actually heading in the direction of the ICU. I guess I had been expecting Mulder to be in pretty bad shape. Certainly needing a level of care that could only be found in that most specialised part of the hospital, but I find myself following him along one of the many standard corridors that house the many patients in need of basic nursing.

“I’m sorry Doctor Daley….”

He stops dead at the sound of my voice. The uncertainty is evident even to me as I hear myself questioning him.

“I thought…..I mean, I was told that my partner was unconscious when he was brought in…..I just assumed he would be in the ICU….”

I can clearly see that it’s on the tip of his tongue to remind me that this man *might* not be Mulder, but he swallows the words and instead tells me what I need to hear.

“Yes that’s right. He was indeed unconscious when discovered. But pulse, respiration and temperature were all normal. The ECG came back clear although it’s too early to ascertain if there are any anomalies in his blood work. His condition hasn’t changed since then. We saw no reason to subject him to the rigours of the ICU unless his condition should worsen. We’re monitoring him carefully and so far it hasn’t.”

His explanation should soothe my fears, but inexplicably just hearing it causes my heart to begin hammering painfully in my chest. I have a terrible feeling about all this. It’s a feeling that has been building from the minute I replaced the receiver in my apartment. Maybe it’s a combination of the numbing fatigue I have been feeling lately and the fact that I so badly need all this to work out *right*. Whatever it is, I am scared. So scared right now that I am tempted to spin around and head right back to where I have left my mother. I had wanted, had *needed* to do this alone and she had remained, ensconced in a small, comfortable room specially put aside to house worried relatives. Now though, I wish more than ever that she was here by my side.

But I don’t. I simply nod slightly and drop my eyes from Daley’s. My action prompts him to continue walking and I try to keep pace as best I can. He is a fairly tall man. Not as tall as Mulder, but even so, his strides are worth two of mine.

Finally, he comes to a halt outside a plain, hardwood door. No different from any other door we have passed during this journey. But of course it *is* different. Because behind this door lays an answer that has the ability to lift me skywards with joy or to plunge me back in to the depths of despair. I’ve been waiting so long for this moment and now it’s finally here, I am almost afraid to discover which one it will be.

There have been so many disappointments. So many journeys like this one. A roller coaster ride of anticipation and disappointment. But this time is different. Something deep within me senses it. If pressed, I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain how I just *know*.

Daley reaches for the door knob, but before he can close his fingers around it I reach out and tug at his arm slightly. He freezes at my touch, but his eyes when they turn to me are clouded with concern.

“Agent Scully?” “I’m sorry. But I need to do this alone.”

He hesitates for just a beat before dropping his hand back to his side. He understands I think. Maybe it’s because of our previous connection. Or maybe he sees the yearning that I am sure is shining in my eyes right now. By allowing me to enter the room of what might be a stranger to me he is breaking Hospital protocol. It’s a fact that hasn’t escaped me. But equally he seems to understand in some small way what I have been through and it prompts him to nod his head slowly, stepping back to allow me access.

I grasp the door knob, the metal cold in my palm but before I turn it I briefly close my eyes. The final step. The final few seconds of waiting. It’s both exquisite and excruciating. But the moment passes quickly and I open the door, stepping over the threshold as I simultaneously open my eyes.

The room itself is shrouded in half light. Dark enough to allow the patient within to remain undisturbed. Bright enough to allow the medical personnel to go about their business. Certainly bright enough for me to see him. The figure on the bed is tall. Eyes closed he appears for all the world as though he is simply sleeping. His breathing is evenly spaced, serene even, his lips slightly parted. Relaxed. But the man on the bed is thin. So painfully thin that I have to look twice to be sure. But then I see it. A glint of gold in the darkness that catches my eye.

The waiting is over. One way or another my desperate search is over. Because it really is him. No more disappointment. He’s been returned to me. In what condition remains to be seen. But he is back and right now I can’t think beyond that.

The image before me blurs and for the first time I am aware of the tears that are streaming down my face. Whether they are of joy or sadness I can’t be sure. Because as I get closer to him I can see what all this has cost him. His dark hair, the same hair I had enjoyed running my fingers through after we made love is now tinged with a smattering of grey. There is evidence of bruising on his face, bruises that, even in the half light, lend an unhealthy tinge to his skin. And he is *thin*. So damn thin. I can see the deep hollows in his cheeks, the way his skin seems to be stretched too tightly across his face. But it doesn’t matter. Because he is there before me. And to me he will always be beautiful.

“Mulder.”

I don’t know why I speak his name. I don’t expect him to respond. But something deep inside me needs to hear it. If only to reassure myself that he is really here. I reach him finally, standing above him, watching my tears fall on to his pale skin until I kneel awkwardly, curling my hand around his as I lower my head to his chest. I hear his heartbeat in my head. Strong and regular it blocks out the sound of my gasping sobs. Until finally, something within me is set free. Something that has held my heart in it’s iron grip for so many long months and I am able to finally cry the tears I have suppressed for so long.

Because he is *here*. Finally I have found him. Finally it’s over.

*************

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:18a.m.

“Agent Scully?”

The familiar voice pulls me from the arms of sleep and I am immediately aware of a piercing pain that slices across my back when I try to straighten up.

Skinner hovers above me, his face twisted with anxiety as he recognises my discomfort. It’s an expression I have come to both recognise and appreciate in the months since Mulder was taken. Blaming himself needlessly for Mulders abduction, he has remained by my side, supporting me throughout this time. He has become far more than simply my superior agent. Much more than that he has become a trusted friend. I remember vividly the night he came to my apartment. A little over a week after Mulder disappeared, he had returned from making his report to the OPR revue committee that had been hastily assembled in response to happenings in Oregon. Questions had been asked of Skinner. Demands made that he should explain his actions that night. Veiled threats that he would be held solely responsible.

In response to their questioning, Skinner had calmly recounted the details as he saw them. With no regard for his future position within the Bureau he had placed an official stamp on the work of the X-Files department. He had spoken of things that, only weeks ago he would have dismissed as being fantastic, events that would hold him up for ridicule for the remainder of his career. He had laughed bitterly when he had told me that part. I think we both knew that, whatever the outcome of the revue, his career was now effectively over. They hadn’t believed him of course. This assembled group of respected senior agents had dismissed all but the very basic details of his report. Accused him, as they had accused me in the past, of becoming enchanted with Mulders passionate beliefs, of becoming drawn in to a web of misplaced loyalty and an almost comical paranoia that *they* were indeed out there.

Mulder was officially listed as missing, presumed dead by unknown method. No more to add. No more to say. Skinner had come to me that night a broken man after being forced to retract his statement in order to keep his position within the bureau. Weighed down by an all consuming guilt that he had failed us once again. For the second time in the space of a week, I had seen him weep and the bond between us had strengthened never to be broken as I had held him in my arms, whispering assurances that he hadn’t failed. That I understood his reasons. That, more importantly, Mulder would understand his reasons.

He retained his position as Assistant Director if not his reputation, and in doing so, ensured that I kept my own place within the X-Files. He had handpicked me a new partner who I tolerated out of a sense of loyalty towards this man who had risked everything for Mulder and I. He had allowed me to retain my position even when, officially, I should have been on mandatory maternity leave. Perhaps more importantly, he remained the one person who truly understood what I have been through these past long months since Mulder was taken.

So, to look at him as he stands here now seeing the concern for me radiating from him does not surprise me.

In answer to his unspoken question I attempt a smile which I am pretty sure doesn’t quite come off and finally straighten the kinks out of my back sufficiently to sit up. I notice that my hand still covers Mulder’s. That even in sleep I was unwilling to let him go.

“I’m fine.” I assure him. “I don’t think final trimester pregnancy and bedside vigils really complement each other. I’ve been getting a lot of back pain recently that’s all. It’s normal at this stage of pregnancy.”

I feel Skinner’s hand rest gently against the back of my neck, beneath my hair that has grown longer, softer, over the last few months. It’s now almost the same length it was when I first met Mulder. Longer than I have worn it in years. Like a child who relies on silly superstition, I made a decision not to get it cut until Mulder was returned. Stupid really. Even I don’t understand it. I close my eyes against the pressure of his palm on my skin. This simple gesture of concern and protection that causes my breath to catch in my throat. He has slipped effortlessly in to the role of Father figure. Determined not to fail me as he perceives he failed Mulder, he has hovered on the fringes of my life to ensure my constant well being.

“You shouldn’t be here Scully.”

I nod. I know he’s right. I am in no shape to be doing this. Maybe six months ago I could have handled the physical and mental strain of watching over my partner as he lays before me on the bed, but now, with less than two weeks to go until my due date I should be resting. I should be concentrating all my energies on preparing for the birth of my baby. Of Mulders son. Of bringing him safely in to this world. But the advice that the pragmatic, sensible medical doctor part of my brain gives me is currently far outweighed by a much greater need inside of me. It’s a need that comes straight from my heart and one that I refuse to ignore.

“I know” I answer simply, flicking my gaze back to Mulder for a second before I continue. “But I can’t leave him. Not now.”

The pressure against the back of my neck increases slightly and without even looking around, I sense he understands. My belief is only compounded when he immediately switches his attention to Mulder, choosing not to get in to a discussion he knows he won’t win.

“How is he?”

Now there’s a question if ever there was one. I’ve been asking myself that very same question all night and in the cold light of day I am none the wiser. I have endlessly questioned the medical personnel who have drifted in and out of the room during the hours I have been here. Read the charts that hang from the end of the bed so many times I almost know them by heart.

Temperature normal. Pulse normal. Respiration normal. Blood work normal. Brain patterns normal.

Everything about him is so *normal* I could scream with frustration. If there were a reason for this I could accept it. But there is nothing to go on, nowhere to turn. He is slightly dehydrated. Malnourished. But those things are slowly being rectified with the insertion of canulars in his arm that are feeding him a steady dose of high dosage glucose. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, whether desperate hope is clouding my medical judgement, but it seems to me that just the tiniest hint of color has returned to his skin. But still he sleeps. On and on. Unmoving. His pupils react to light stimulant. His reflexes are alert and active. He flinches slightly when subjected to localised pain. But that is where it ends. I have talked constantly to him throughout the night. I believe he can hear me, can recognise the sound of my voice, and I have told him of our son, my voice breaking as I implore him not to give up. That he has so much to live for now. Maybe he hears me. Maybe he doesn’t. It doesn’t matter. Because I have to believe that he does. But still he continues to sleep.

So I find myself unable to answer Skinner’s question. How can I explain this to him when I can’t explain it to myself. So I just shake my head numbly.

“I don’t know. There is no medical explanation for why he should be like this. All we can do is wait.”

A cloud passes across Skinner’s face and my eyes narrow slightly at the sight. It’s a look I have come to recognise well over the years. It’s the same look he used to unsuccessfully try to hide when confronted with a dilemma in the way he managed Mulder and I. A look that suggested he was wrestling with his conscience over giving us information that might spell disaster for all of us and the sight of it causes a cold shudder to work its way down my spine. I feel like someone has dumped ice water in to my bones.

“What is it?”

He works his mouth slightly, pulling at his lower lip with his teeth as he regards me in front of him. The silence stretches between us, the atmosphere in the room becoming charged, crackling almost as if laden with electricity. I feel the tiny hairs on my arms prickling as gooseflesh chases away my warmth. And I am suddenly scared. So scared of what he is about to say to me. Even more so as his eyes involuntarily drop to settle on my belly. Almost unconsciously my free hand goes there. Fingers spreading as though in an attempt to protect the child within.

“Sir?”

Until finally, he speaks.

“I received a call. About Mulder. About *you*. They…..they want to make a deal.”

*******************************

Three

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 9:06a.m.

My eyes widen as the true meaning of Skinner’s words settle over me like a death sentence. It’s so quiet in here. Only the sound of Mulder’s breathing suggests that there are people in here at all. I don’t think I’m breathing right now. I’m not sure I’ll ever breathe again. Time is standing still. Before me, Skinner remains, his impenetrable gaze is locked with mine as he allows me a moment to process. But how can I possibly process this? I had thought it was over. Have I really allowed myself to become so naive as to think that they were finished with us? That they would allow us to live out the simple pleasures that others take for granted? So stupid. I’ve been so stupid for so long.

“Who?”

My voice is barely above a whisper now and I am sure that under normal circumstances, Skinner would have a hard time catching the single word. But the room is quiet and it cuts through the silence to hang between us like a swirling leaf caught in an autumn breeze. I don’t know why I’m even asking him. I already know the answer.

Admittedly I don’t know their names. These shadowy men who have ruled Mulder and I for so long. The men who have taken away those that we love as though they were simply pawns in a game. The most precious parts of our lives as expendable and insignificant as a fly caught in a trap.

“You know who Dana.”

Skinner drops on to his haunches beside me. His face only bare inches from mine I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. His voice is so gentle I could weep. Or scream. Or both.

I close my eyes against the sight of Mulder. And for the first time since I entered this room, I pray that he can’t hear me. Because the thought of him hearing my words that before had comforted me in some small way, now fills me with horror. So I struggle against the fatigue, as I attempt to get to my feet, shrugging off Skinner’s hand as he offers unspoken assistance.

“I can do it myself!”

For a second I feel guilt as hurt briefly flares in his eyes. But I don’t want his help. I hate feeling this weak, this vulnerable. I want to be back to the way I was before all this. I want to be back to laying in Mulders arms as we made whispered plans for the future. Watching him sleep, his face tinged golden by the coming of dawn as he lay in my arms. Comfortable. Safe. *Protected* And for the first time in so many years we had allowed ourselves to believe that somehow, together, we might make everything right again. Like children we had *believed*. And like children, we had come to realise once again that life can never be what we want it to be. That there is always danger lurking around corners. Oh yeah, we had become vulnerable. We had made ourselves vulnerable. Our new found happiness had opened doors for them once again. We should have known. *I* should have known.

I reach across and trace my hand along Mulders jaw line, down his neck until I reach the thin strand of gold that encircles it, fingering the delicate cross that has remained with him through all this. I had been surprised to find it there. If only because the hospital had allowed it to remain. But when I questioned one of the nurses regarding its presence she had simply smiled and shrugged. He had appeared at the hospital with nothing. Naked beneath the blanket that had covered him as he lay on the gurney, they had thought it only appropriate that he should not be severed from the only item that might be a comfort to him. And so they had allowed it to remain. Bright and vibrant against his pale skin.

I lay the cross back down slowly. Arranging it so that it touches the hollow of his throat and slowly, with difficulty, I bend down to press my lips against his own. His lips are dry, chapped, but to me it is the most wonderful feeling in the world. I remain there for as long as I dare. Conscious of both the pain in my back and of Skinners eyes boring in to me. Finally, feeling the tears gathering in my eyes, I straighten up once more. Turning to face my superior I know that my face is set. Determined. Unfeeling. I effortlessly rebuilt my walls. Walls that Mulder had begun to chip away and I wonder now if I will ever let them crumble again.

“Let’s go.”

I pick up my discarded jacket, pulling it on even as I sweep past Skinner. I exit the room without looking back because I know that to look back now would spell disaster.

***********

Arlington Virginia 11:08a.m.

“Why have you brought me here?”

I turn my horrified eyes towards Skinner as he coasts the car to a gentle halt in front of the red brick building I know so well. Following Mulders disappearance I found myself drifting here at odd times of the day and night, drifting through the rooms within his apartment. Inhaling his scent. Consumed with memories as I just sat on his couch, staring in to space. I guess if someone were to push me, I would have to admit that back then, I was suffering from a low grade depression. But no one ever did. I hid it well I think. I doubt even Skinner could have imagined the depths of my despair. He would no doubt be horrified to learn that I had spent many hours here with helpless tears streaming down my face as I was forced to admit to myself that no amount of investigation, no amount of searching was going to bring Mulder back. I played a waiting game. It was all I could do. All they had left me.

But I haven’t been here for weeks. Not really out of choice. There have been nights were I have yearned to make the trip over here, but as my pregnancy progressed I found the simple act of driving more and more difficult. Misplaced pride prevented me from asking my Mother to drive me over here. Not that I thought she wouldn’t understand. I think maybe she would understand better than anyone else, but I didn’t want to admit the need to her that I just wanted to be near to him. In whatever way I could.

So, I have stayed away. Relying on my memories of him to see me through. Until now that is. And despite my need to walk those empty rooms again I don’t want to be here. Not like this. *Never* like this.

Skinner kills the engine and sits for a few seconds, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel lightly. The sound cuts through the silence like a knife.

“I was directed to bring you here.”

I wait for him to elaborate, to explain further. But the silence stretches between us, engulfing the cramped interior of the car and when I can take it no longer I twist angrily in my seat to face him.

“Why here? Why now?”

My voice is harsh, the words ragged and I realise angrily that I am once again dangerously close to tears. Skinner’s expression crumples slightly at my tone and I know that I am wrong to be taking this out on him. He’s become a pawn, just like me. Following orders to stay alive. Allowing himself to used as they have used us all along.

“Don’t you know?” He questions softly.

And I blink, because of course I know. They’ve summoned me here because it is where I will be at my most vulnerable. Surrounded with memories of Mulder I will be more easily manipulated, more willing to agree to their demands. It scares me to realise how well they know me. How well they know us both.

“What do they want?”

Skinner shrugs, dropping his eyes from mine for the barest of seconds. It’s enough to tell me that his next words are a lie.

“I don’t know”

A lie to protect me maybe. To prevent me from directing him to turn the car around and head back to Mulder. My touchstone. The one who I have always relied on to make everything right. Whatever his reasons, I am astute enough to realise that there will be no more information forthcoming. We’ve reached a dead end. Nothing more to say. Nowhere else to go. Everything that has occurred in our lives over the last seven years has been heading to this point. More than ever I am sure of it. All along they have known they would win. That one way or another they would get what they wanted. My baby kicks inside me, the movement causing me to catch my breath as a wave of nausea passes over me and a voice inside my head screams out at me to stop this while I still can. To refuse to follow this thing through. To go far away from this place. To keep my baby safe. The vision of Mulder though is pushing at my heart, crowding the space that has been empty for so long and I pray that I am strong enough to do this thing right. Because deep down I know what they want. I think I have always feared that there will be no happy ending for us. No fairy tale vision of a cosy family inside a warm, safe home.

Oh no. A scenario like that belongs to other people. To *normal* people. But not to us.

So, instead, I square my shoulders as best I can. Preparing myself to confront the unimaginable that I am sure is waiting for me inside that warm brick building. To face my demons this one final time. To confront my fate.

I nod my head, the movement almost imperceptible and lock my eyes with Skinner’s. My voice, when it reaches my ears, seems to belong to someone else.

“I’m ready.”

**********

I use my key to let us in to Mulders apartment. I ignore Skinner’s raised eyebrows as I fit it in to the lock. I think maybe he was expecting me to knock. To request permission before entering. It’s something I absolutely refuse to do. Maybe it’s out of defiance towards the men who have controlled my life for so long. It’s childish I know, but just for a second I feel a sense of satisfaction that they haven’t cowed me completely.

The satisfaction though, is short lived. Replaced quickly by a sense of repulsion so strong it overwhelms me. The vestibule of Mulders apartment is fogged with a hazy layer of acrid blue smoke. It catches the sun’s rays which stream through the window at the opposite end of the room. A swirling haze that assaults my senses and brings tears to my eyes.

And then I see him, rising to his feet in the fog. A shambling figure dressed in a sharply pressed grey suit he smiles benignly at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a way that reminds me absurdly of the kindly rat in the wind in the willows books from my long ago childhood. But beneath those wrinkled folds of skin his eyes glitter dangerously. Grey, cold, unfeeling they pierce me to my core. He exhales, sending a stream of cigarette smoke in to the already clogged atmosphere.

I’m aware that my mouth has dropped open as I stand there stupidly. Because whatever I was expecting it wasn’t this. Not even in my deepest nightmares could I have imagined I would ever have to face this man again. I was told he was dead. Naively I had believed. Had rejoiced in the passing off this man who has stolen so much from me.

He takes a step forward, then another, coming closer as it becomes obvious to him that I have no intention of moving. And he’s still smiling. Smiling as his gaze rests on my belly. It’s an absurdly paternal expression, and just seeing him causes bile to burn in the back of my throat. He comes to a halt just inches away from me, bringing the cigarette once again to his weathered lips, drawing deeply before exhaling. I want so much to hold his gaze, return his gentle smile with all the hate I can muster. But almost involuntarily, I turn my head away from the deadly poison that streams from his slightly parted mouth. Protecting my baby. The notion seems ironic now.

“Dana. It’s good to see you again. You look well……….or should I say blooming?”

His words snap me sharply back to reality and before I can stop to think of the potential consequences I bring up my right hand and deliver a stinging blow to the side of his face. He barely flinches although anger briefly flares in his eyes. A faint, red blush spreads across his cheek where my hand made contact but he doesn’t falter. He remains there. Standing before me until finally he chuckles. The sound cuts through me like a knife and it scares me to know that if I were carrying my gun I would have no compunction in pulling it out and blowing a hole straight through the bastard’s eyes.

“Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for.” He offers, his tone tinged with a trace of the anger I had recognised briefly.

It’s mingled though with such condescension that I find myself clenching my fists by my side in an effort not to strike him again. Only the feel of Skinner’s hands that settle on my shoulders prevent me.

“It’s okay Scully. It’s okay.”

I shake my head numbly.

*Okay?* How is anything ever going to be *okay* ever again? It’s unthinkable that this is heading anywhere other than towards heartbreak. Surly he knows enough to realise that.

The smoking man chuckles once again.

“Well, well, it would appear that the two of you have become rather closer than we envisaged. I’m surprised at you Dana. What would Agent Mulder think?”

This time, it is Skinner who stiffens. I feel his fingers dig in to the skin of my shoulders. Pain flares briefly as he attempts to hold on to his composure. Later on I will undress and see the evidence of his anger in the form of perfectly formed bruises. But right now I barely acknowledge it.

“What do you want?”

I am more than a little surprised when I hear my voice. It comes out strong. Steady. determined. I have no idea where I am drawing this facade of calm from. Because I am as tense as a tightly coiled spring. Ready to shatter in to a million pieces right in front of him.

He gestures his hand towards the living room he so recently vacated.

“Let’s sit shall we?”

I hold my head up high. Attempting to grow in stature. To bring myself more on a level with him, folding my arms across my chest as I sweep past him with all the grace I can muster. Grace doesn’t come easily now. Not now I am so weighed down by the final stages of pregnancy, but for once I am able to retain my posture. Ramrod straight I swing around to face him once more.

“I’d rather stand.”

He shrugs.

“As you wish Dana. I hope though that you’ll forgive me if I take my own advice. Agent Mulders couch is…..comfortable. But then you already know that don’t you?”

And then it hits me. Like a bolt from the blue I understand. He knows *everything*. He is privy to the most personal aspects of my life. He has known from the very beginning when Mulder and I finally answered the need inside of us to turn to each other. Did they watch us through impassive eyes on grainy, low resolution surveillance tapes? Listen to the murmured words we had shared during lovemaking? Reducing our love in to something sordid. Rejoicing at the fact that they had found something else to use against us. The thought sickens me. It sickens me to think that they have known all along.

He watches me shrewdly as the emotions course through me even as I try my hardest to cloak them from him. Refusing even now to let him take anything more from me.

“What do you want?”

I finally throw the demand at him. Anticipation at his answer already prompting a light tremor to run through my body. But instead of answering, his eyes take on a far away look. When finally I think I can bear it no longer, he begins to speak softly.

“It was never meant to happen this way Dana. Like so many things in life it didn’t turn out the way we planned. Another one of life’s ironies. So many ironies don’t you think? We planned so carefully but once again Mulder prevailed, thwarting our efforts unknowingly.”

I shake my head. He isn’t making sense to me.

“I don’t understand.”

“No. But then you wouldn’t. I barely understand it myself. The power we wield has long been a mystery to me. I am a small part in a much larger plan Dana. Smaller than you can ever imagine…”

I cut him off then. Throwing cheap insults that provide nothing other than a brief feeling of satisfaction.

“I’ve never imagined you to be anything other than *small.* Don’t flatter yourself.”

He smiles at my embittered words.

“You still have fire Dana. I admire you for that. I always have…..it’s why we partnered you with Mulder. Even back then we knew that we had made the right choice. Of course it took a little longer than we anticipated for you both to come to recognise the need between you we had always hoped for. But we were content to wait. Ultimately, you didn’t disappoint us.”

“What? What are you talking about?!”

To the side of me I see Skinner shift his position slightly. Obviously uncomfortable as to where this is leading and *then* I understand. He knows. He’s always known. The betrayal I feel is so acute that I am having difficulty remaining in a standing position. But I won’t crumble. Not now. I will see this through to the bitter end.

“Don’t you see? Don’t you *understand* yet? Pairing you with Mulder was carefully orchestrated. We needed someone with whom he would feel he had found a kindred spirit. Someone he would learn to trust….learn to love. Someone he would gladly give his life for. As I said, it took a little longer than we envisaged. But eventually our patience was rewarded.”

His eyes drop once more to my belly.

“In more ways than one, we were rewarded.”

Pulling out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, he pauses as he fits one between his lips. Watching as he thumbs his lighter in to life I find that I am suddenly fixated on the bright orange blaze of light as it ignites. Like a moth I find myself drawn to the flame. He settles back on the couch and draws deeply before continuing.

“Do you have any idea how precious the offspring of Fox Mulder is to the project Dana? Do you have any idea? The *potential* for mankind such a child would broker is beyond the rational thought of most men. We’ve known for a long time that Mulder might hold the key to unlock the secrets of a conundrum that has puzzled us for years. His father knew it of course. That’s why he refused to surrender his son to the project. Why he chose Samantha instead.”

I hear his words, but I can’t make sense of them. I don’t understand. I hear the blood pounding in my ears, making it difficult to concentrate. What he’s suggesting is impossible. To suggest that I was partnered with Mulder in the hope that one day we might come together to provide them with a child who might provide all the answers is ridiculous. I am staring across at the man who, along with others, conspired to take me from Mulder more than once. Giving me a disease that almost took my life. Leaving me barren in their pursuit for the greater truth as they took what was most precious to me. I am almost afraid to answer him. That by doing so I may be throwing myself open to even greater hurt.

“That’s impossible. What you’re implying is ridiculous. I was led to believe I was barren. *You* did that to me. During my abduction. We have documentation to prove that….medical records. Reports……”

“Then explain your pregnancy to me Dana. You’re a medical doctor after all. Explain it to me so I can understand how an infertile woman can be standing in front of me nurturing a new life as you are doing……..”

“I can’t!”

My head is throbbing now. Perfectly synchronised with the rapid beating of my heart I feel it like a hammer with every pulse. I feel sick and I just want to flee back to Mulder. I want him to wrap his arms around me, to whisper assurances that it’s going to be all right. I want to block all of this out. To pretend it’s not happening. But my prayers go unanswered as he continues. On and on I hear his voice.

“I *gave* you that baby Dana. We came to understand that our hopes would come to fruition only by turning back to natural means. So much science at our finger tips, and yet we suffered failure after failure. Children that lived a few hours, a few months…even, on a few occasions, *years* before they withered and died. *Your* children Dana. Yours and Mulder’s. Until we came to understand that what was required would never be found in a laboratory. That the missing link was *you*…….but make no mistake - that baby belongs to *us*…….”

The room begins to spin as the full meaning of his words slam in to me with the force of a runaway roller coaster. This is a nightmare. Please God let this be a nightmare. I feel the tears streaming down my face, the sight of him before me blurring, melding his features together like running tallow.

This can’t be happening.

A *plan*? A game from the beginning? The outcome assured?

“You’re lying” I finally manage through the hitching sobs that threaten to wrench me apart. I want so much to shout at him, but the words come out as little more than a strangled whimper.

There is sympathy in his voice now and I squeeze my eyes shut in an attempt to block it out.

“Why would I lie Dana? What could I hope to gain? I already have what I want.”

I take a stumbling step backwards in a futile attempt to get away from him. But there is nowhere to run and through the fog that has invaded my vision I see him rise before me. He is still smiling, holding his hands out in a gesture of surrender.

“I come to you today Dana to offer you a choice. To give us willingly what we would otherwise have simply taken. A final act of patriotism towards a country you have already given so much to. In return, we will allow you and Mulder to simply walk away. To continue your lives. To rebuild all that has been torn away from you. A final price to pay before gaining release…….”

I slam my palms to cover my ears. A gesture so desperate, so violent, that I almost lose my footing. In the peripherals of my vision I see Skinner heading towards me as though in slow motion.

“NO! I will never let you take my baby…….”

Another step towards me, his lips stretched across yellowing teeth. For the first time I notice the ragged, puckered circle of flesh at the hollow of his throat.

“I don’t expect you to make your choice now of course. Before you decide I think it only prudent to let you know what you’ve been missing these past months. What you *will* miss should you make the wrong choice… I’m sure after speaking with Agent Mulder you will make a balanced decision………”

It is growing darker now. A dizzying sense of vertigo taking me over. Sickeningly, the room begins to spin as I feel the ground slipping beneath me. My last conscious thought is of Skinners arms around me as I begin falling towards nothingness.

**********************

FOUR

12:13p.m.

I fight against the darkness that consumes me. I am aware of gentle hands against my face, stroking softly as my eyes flutter open. For just a second I allow myself to imagine that the touch is Mulders. That the voice I hear, drawing me once again into consciousness belongs to him.

“Mulder?”

I blink rapidly, struggling against the hands that are now restraining me firmly, refusing to let me rise up in to sitting position.

“Ssssshhhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Don’t try to move.”

Not Mulders that voice.

I am disorientated for a few seconds, unable or unwilling to understand why I am laying here on the hard, cold wooden floor. More confused still by the sight of my superior’s hovering face me as he kneels beside me. And then I inhale deeply, feeling my throat close up as the lingering scent of acrid smoke invades my senses. *Him*.

Despite Skinner’s restraining hand I struggle in to a sitting position, glancing wildly around the room. A room that now appears empty.

“Where is he?” I demand. I’m not surprised by Skinner’s response.

“He’s gone. He left a little over five minutes ago. He said he would contact you this evening……to further discuss…….to discuss……”

He falters then and I can clearly recognise the strain in his voice. The tears that linger dangerously close to the surface pushing their way through his normally strong facade.

“I’m sorry Scully. I’m so sorry……”

I allow him to help me to my feet. Not because I want his help but because I know that I would never make it up there by myself. Finally, I face him accusingly.

“You knew? All this time you knew?”

His eyes widen with horror as my accusation sinks in and he involuntarily backs up a couple of steps. Widening the gap between us until it seems as wide as a ravine. I watch as he gropes for the right words. Does he really believe that mere *words* can make this right?

“In the beginning. I admit I knew in the beginning that they wanted a distraction for Mulder……" 

He gesticulates helplessly, his hands waving in the air as he implores me to believe him.

”….but I never knew the reasons *why*. I swear to you Scully. I swear I never knew about *this.*……..“

I am in no mood to listen to him though. My head is still pounding and that, coupled with a spreading feeling of nausea has left me feeling used up and vulnerable. I don’t want to hear his pathetic excuses. I only need one thing from him now.

“Give me your keys.”

“What?”

I take a step towards him, extending my hand in front of me, palm up.

“I said give me your fucking keys.”

“Scully *please*. You’re in no condition to drive. Let me help you…….”

There is such hopeless yearning in his voice that I almost falter. I *believe* him you see. I believe that just like me, he has been played in all this. And maybe one day, I will draw from deep inside myself and forgive him. But that day isn’t here yet. Right now I can barely even bring myself to look at him.

“You want to *help* me?” I laugh then, the sound ringing hollowly in my ears. “I think *sir* that you’ve helped me enough. Now give me your keys.”

His eyes take on a peculiar sheen as they become moistened with unshed tears. But in his defence he is big enough not to allow them to spill over. And for that I silently thank him, because I know that I couldn’t bear to see him weep again. He’s shed enough tears to last him a lifetime. We all have. He doesn’t speak again. He simply reaches in to his jacket pocket and removes the keys, dropping them in to my outstretched hand without ever meeting my eyes. I, in turn, close my hand around them, feeling the jagged edges of metal digging in to my palm. I welcome the pain. It reminds me I am still alive.

“*Thank you*”

Without another word I spin around and head for the door, trying in vain to ignore the sound of Skinner’s harsh breathing as he tries in vain to hold on to his composure. He doesn’t follow me though. He wouldn’t dare.

My cel phone begins to trill even before I have completely exited the apartment. I hardly need to even answer it. I already know what the news will be. But, I go through the motions, depressing the send button as I continue along the corridor towards the elevator.

“Scully.”

“Dana honey…..it’s Mom. Where are you sweetie? I tried you at home but there was no answer….”

“It’s okay mom. I’m on my way back to the hospital now. Is there something wrong?”

I ask this redundant question out of a need to play by the rules. But as my mother’s joyful voice crackles across the airwaves I am filled with despair. It has invaded every corner of my being. All consuming in it’s ferocity as I close my eyes against her words. Knowing that the news she sends me is a cruel deception.

“Dana? Dana honey? Did you hear what I said?”

I snap back in to the here and now.

“Sorry mom, you broke up back then. Say again?”

She is laughing now.

“Oh Dana! It’s Fox…he’s awake….and he’s asking for you.”

“I’ll be right there mom.”

I look at the phone held in my hand, clenched tightly enough to whiten my knuckles as though it alone is to blame for all this, and suddenly, the fury builds in me. Boils up to the surface, refusing to be suppressed any longer.

There is a splintering crash as I hurl the phone against the door of one of Mulders neighbours. Small pieces of black plastic fly through the air as the phone disintegrates with the force of my anger. But it feels good. So damn good to destroy as we have been destroyed. I half expect someone to appear in the hallway in response to the sudden noise. But it remains empty. It’s the middle of the day after all. There is no reason for anyone to hear the effects of my fury. Nonetheless, I am conscious that to be confronted now would mean more delay. I can’t afford delays now.

Not now that Mulder is waiting for me. Not when I have no idea as to how long.

**********

Georgetown Memorial Hospital 12:56p.m.

I don’t know really how I managed to get here in one piece. I have no recollection whatsoever of the drive over here. Thankfully, some inane sense of preservation must have taken over, because I made the trip without mishap.

I am almost afraid to be here. To see Mulder, to share precious time with him, only to have him taken away from me again is almost impossible to bear. But I *am* here. I hear the sound of my footsteps reverberating around the corridor as I make my way to his room and they comfort me in some small way.

I have decided, subconsciously on the way over here, that I can’t tell him of what I have learned. To burden him with this is both unfair and essentially futile. Of course, there is a small voice inside of me that reminds me constantly that the real reason I refuse to share this with him is that I am afraid of what he will say. Deep down I know that he will choose the life of his child over his own. The choice, that for me seems an impossible one, will become starkly simplistic to him. To him there will be no choice to make. And I am afraid that he will persuade me. As he has persuaded me of so many things in the past.

I pause outside his door. Breathing deeply as I attempt to arrange my features in to an expression of calm serenity. Preparing myself to face him. To lie to him as we have been lied to so many times before. I hate myself for it. For what I am to keep from him.

But finally, I am able to push open the final barrier that separates us, stepping over the threshold until I am standing in the brightness of the room. Sunlight streams through the open blinds, glaringly bright. But I have no trouble seeing him. It takes the tinniest fraction of a second for our eyes to find each other, locking together with such intensity it takes my breath away. He looks so pale, so thin, so frail as he watches me from across the room. He is slightly raised on the bed. Not sitting up exactly, but not laid flat like he was earlier. It allows me to see his face. To evaluate what I see there and my eyes fill with tears as I see the wonder in his face.

My mother, who is currently keeping a vigil by his bedside, rises suddenly, bending slightly toward the man beside her as she touches his arm gently. She murmurs something to him that, from my position across the room I can’t make out. But Mulder tears his eyes from mine for just a fraction of a second to acknowledge her words before turning them back to me.

I feel my Mother’s hand on my shoulder as she squeezes gently on her way out. Leaving us alone to make this most precious of reunions with no distraction. No onlookers.

And then finally he speaks. His voice reaching me like a sweet summer breeze.

“Scully.”

Just hearing it, that same voice that has tortured me through long, lonely, desperate nights, allows me to finally move across to him. I am unaware of the journey. Unaware of anything until I feel his arms around me. Embracing me fiercely as he holds me against him as I half stand, half kneel beside the bed. We don’t speak. Not for the longest time. It’s enough for me to listen to the sound of his heartbeat against mine. To inhale the familiar scent of him that, despite his time here, the hospital has not managed to completely eradicate. Nothing exists for me now except him. I never fully realised how incomplete I was without him until he was taken from me. Never realised that without him by my side I am only half a person. A pathetic excuse for a Human being. And I shudder as the full weight of my choice hits me once again. It pierces my heart, invades my very core, because how can I choose? How can I live without him?

The thought is chased away for a minute as Mulder pushes me away from him, cupping my face tenderly in his two hands until our faces are level, inches apart. He slowly brings me back towards him and presses his lips to mine, hesitantly almost, then more urgent and I gasp as snakes out his tongue to trace a line across them. Opening my mouth to allow him access I relish the feel of him inside my mouth as we finally become one again.

It is so excruciatingly painful I could scream. To be allowed this one glimpse of what I have - of what could be between us, stops my very heart beating. I actually feel it cease in its steady rhythm, and I know Mulder feels it too, because he pulls his mouth from mine, kissing his way up my face before drawing me on to the bed beside him. I am turned slightly away from him, at an angle that now makes it impossible for him to see my face and for that I am thankful, because I feel his palm press against my belly as he feels his child within.

“I didn’t believe them Scully. I’m sorry. I should have believed.”

His voice is so full of childlike wonderment that I can’t hold on to the tears any longer, and I lace my fingers over his as he holds me against him. I feel his other hand reach up to cup my head, resting it against his shoulder as I curl myself in to him. he buries his face in my hair and I feel his breathe against me, warm and soft as he whispers soft words. Comforting words.

“Ssssshhhhh Scully. It’s okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

His words though, instead of comforting me, only cause to intensify my pain. Because I know that nothing will ever be okay again. To hear his voice, to feel his touch against my skin is like torture. Because I know that whatever happens, we will never be the same again. How could we be?

So I don’t answer him. I simply bury my head further in to him, shaking it slightly as I do so.

“It’s all right Scully. It’s okay. There are other ways.”

My eyes fly open at his whispered assurance. Did I speak the words aloud? Did I allow myself to voice my fears despite my promises to myself? I already know the answer though. It goes against everything I believe in, but I realise suddenly that the words did indeed remain unspoken. I twist around to face him, drinking in the image of him before me, frowning as a tiny smile graces the edges of his beautiful mouth.

“There are other ways Scully.” He repeats as he brings my hand, still entwined with his, slowly upwards until it rests at the back of his neck. 

My fingers come to rest on the tiny, ridge of puckered tissue. Just the tiniest bump beneath. I know what lurks beneath it. A chip. No doubt identical to my own. Controlling him. Controlling and cataloguing his every thought and feeling. His every action. Just as it controls mine.

A ticking time bomb that can never be diffused.

But what he is suggesting is unthinkable. To remove it would bring about a death sentence on him. A slow, lingering, painful death. I know. Oh yeah. I *know*.

I shake my head.

“Mulder no. We’ll find another way……”

He continues to smile even as he runs a finger down my cheek.

“Do you trust me Scully?”

I don’t answer him. I don’t need to. He already knows.

“Then you have to trust me on this. I’ve seen things. I understand now where I didn’t before….and whatever they say to you, whatever they try to do, you have to *trust* me……”

His eyes are beginning to droop slightly and my heart twists painfully as I realise that our time together is short. He realises it too I think, because his words become faster, laced with an urgency I recognise so well.

“You have to remove them Scully. You have to remove *both* of them………”

“But……”

“No. I know what you’re thinking. But you’re wrong. You can save us Scully….you can save all three of us.”

He presses his hand once more to my belly, and I feel my baby kick, as though he is responding to the feel of his father. An invisible connection already established. Flesh and blood. Mulders son.

He is becoming heavy in my arms, slipping towards sleep again, slipping away from me and I have to lean in close to catch his final words.

“Go to Skinner. He knows what to do……..trust him Scully. trust him as you trust me…….”

Tears slip down my cheeks as once more, he closes his eyes. They roll unchecked down my face, crossing to Mulders pale skin where they glisten softly in the light. He is heavy. So heavy and I am not sure for how much longer I can remain here, holding him in my arms. But before I lay him down I press my lips to his, feeling the cool softness of him as I murmur my assurance to him.

“I trust you Mulder. I’ll always trust you.”

Finally, I lay him against the pillow again. Allowing myself the luxury of watching him before I get shakily to my feet. I know what to do now. The choice has been made. Mulder has made my choice.

I only pray it is the *right* one.

********************************

FIVE

It’s all happened so quickly. Even I have been amazed by the speed in which Skinner has allowed things to happen.

I left Mulder at the hospital and sought him out. He was surprised to see me. I could see the relief shining in his eyes as I stepped over the threshold of his apartment, my shoulders set with a new kind of determination. Don’t get me wrong - I found it hard to trust him. The hardest thing I have ever had to do. But the choice was made for me. Mulder had, with just a few words, allied my fears and brought everything in to focus.

We didn’t speak of anything more than inconsequential things in his apartment. Skinner isn’t stupid. He knows all too well the lengths these men will go to gather their information and is all too aware that what we all once took for granted is now an impossible luxury. He has his apartment regularly swept for bugging devices. It has become as normal for him as taking out the trash and I know the last time he ordered the sweep, his apartment came up clear.

But how long does it take to plant a surveillance device? A minute? An hour? It’s a risk we weren’t prepared to take.

So we left. In the great tradition of a million bad cop shows we ‘took a walk’. I watched our breath combine in the freezing air as we planned. Or rather, I should say, Skinner furnished me with the details of *Mulders* plans.

He hardly paused as he told me of the measures he had taken to keep us safe, to keep *me* safe should anything ever happen to him. I was both touched and a little afraid by the amount of trust my partner had placed in this man, but as Skinner spelled it out to me I slowly began to draw closer to him once again. Past digression forgotten as he drew me down beside him on a bench when I began to tire of our constant motion.

Two years ago, Mulder had come to him. Had furnished him with the details of an elaborate plan that would thwart even the most determined efforts of the men who sought to destroy us. Did he know even back then their true purpose? Had he seen things I couldn’t imagine even in my worst nightmares? So many questions that pounded at my skull. Questions I couldn’t possibly hope to answer.

And I learned so much that day. Learned things about Mulder I had never suspected. Not even for a second could I imagine the secrets he stored away in his heart. Secrets designed to protect me. Sitting on the bench with Skinner I learned that Mulder is a wealthy man. Not simply comfortable enough to furnish his life with the material possessions of the rich. No. That day I learned that my partner of seven years - the man who lives his life in a shabby apartment, the man who occasionally aims a well placed kick in the general direction of a video recorder that is less than reliable - is wealthy enough to have put the wheels in motion that, should this day ever come, we could be taken care of.

A house in Canada. Set in acres of it’s own grounds. Far enough away from the scrutiny of nosey neighbours but close enough to major amenities to make our lives easier.

A bank account with enough resources to ensure that, should we choose, we will not have to work for a living for the rest of our lives.

To hear Skinner quietly spelling it out to me was overwhelming in itself. To know that Mulder has been secretly putting the wheels in motion to ensure our survival was enough to bring a lump to my throat. And overwhelming as it was, his next words had shaken me to the core.

New identities. New lives.

A *safe* life.

But the cost is enormous.

To leave all that which is most precious to us. To walk away never to return. Because I know we can never return. To do that would spell disaster. A year, five years, *decades* from now they would still be waiting for us. Waiting to claim our baby for their own.

But we would have each other. Together we could weather the heartache such action would bring. I know it. Mulder knew it. Even before we admitted our true feelings to each other he was astute enough to realise that our hearts and minds entwined a long time ago. Enough to know that we could do this.

So, just three short days ago, I allowed Skinner to bring Mulders plan to fruition. He refused to allow me to return to the hospital. Instead, he immediately rented a car and drove me to a small cabin in the Virginia countryside. He left me there, in front of a fire he insisted on lighting to keep me warm before turning on his heel and exiting this small, safe oasis in the middle of a forest. I sat, unmoving, watching the flames dance in the gloom of the winter evening, casting orange shadows on the rough log walls of the cabin. Occasionally I would lean forwards, just enough to add more fuel to the fire, to keep the fire bright. To warm my partner when Skinner finally brought him to me.

But I was scared. So scared. Because before he left he handed me a thick file of papers. The deeds to the house. The paperwork necessary for me to follow Mulders plans through. Everything I would need to simply take my baby and disappear. I knew his reasons even if he didn’t voice them to me. Simply, he gave me a salvation, somewhere to run to should he and Mulder not make it here. And despite the warmth of the fire I felt chilled at the prospect.

But my fears, this time at least had proved groundless. Because as the darkness had cloaked the tiny cabin my prayers had been answered.

Three dao which now seem like a lifetime.

Lost in thought, I stand, looking out in to the forest, watching the sunlight rays filtering through the trees. The sunshine though is an illusion, because last night the temperature dipped, the air cold enough to cause a thin sheet of ice to form across the cabin’s windows. I woke up this morning to a view of the surrounding area that was cloaked in a thick frost. So beautiful it took my breathe away and I was heartened that I could still appreciate the beauty around me in the face of so much heartbreak. I still am.

I tense suddenly as I feel a presence behind me. I wait for his touch. To feel his palm at the small of my back. I am not disappointed. I know him. I know his every action, his every thought. Not in a literal sense maybe, but more in the way we have come together again. And I know his next words before he even has time to utter them.

“It’s time to go Scully.”

I turn then to face him. Scrutinising him for signs of fatigue. For signs that his recovery is not as complete as I hope it is. But I see nothing there. My fears, so far are groundless. He has slept a lot these last few days. I have held him awkwardly in my arms and watched him sleep. The nightmares I have been afraid will invade his slumber have so far remained dormant. I pray that they always will.

He refuses to speak of his incarceration. Shaking his head slightly every time I attempt to question him. Maybe one day, far in to the future he will open up to me. But for now it doesn’t matter. Because he is here with me. Still too thin. Still a shadow of his former self. But everyday I see signs that he is becoming stronger. That he is recovering.

Twice a day I remove the small square of gauze that covers the fresh wound at the back of his neck. Scrupulously cleaning it to ward off the threat of infection. He is still so weak and infection would spell disaster for him. And when I am done, he returns the favour. Tentatively at first until I assured him that he wouldn’t hurt me. That he needed to cleanse a wound that is healing slowly.

I had managed to persuade Skinner to perform the removal of the chip from the back of my neck. But he had balked visibly at the prospect of stitching the edges together. But the wound isn’t deep. It will heal well I think.

He stands before me. Casually dressed in blue jeans and a thick chocolate coloured sweater. It’s a colour that brings out the richness of his deep hazel eyes. The sweater bulks him up and I can almost imagine him the way he was before all this. But he will heal. We both will. Already, some colour has returned to his pale skin. In just three short days Mulder has begun to come back to me.

He reaches out a hand and gently brushes a strand of my hair away from where it lays against my cheek and tucks it behind my ear. He doesn’t remove his hand though. He leaves it resting against my cheek and almost unconsciously I press my face against it. Revelling in the warmth. Revelling in the feel of him.

“Scully?”

“I know. I’m ready. I was just thinking.”

He nods then. He understands. He’s always understood. So he remains silent, drawing me to his side where he wraps an arm around my back and it comforts me in some small way. Gives me the strength to do what I am about to do.

Together we walk across the room, leaving the bedroom and crossing over in to the living room. She is waiting for us there and her face lights suddenly with a gentle smile at the sight of us. But beneath it I can see the tears, glittering in her fine blue eyes. Dangerously close to the surface as she prepares herself to say goodbye. To let go of her daughter this one final time.

But there is no accusation in those eyes. Just a deep abiding love that pierces my heart as she holds out her arms to me. And like a child I allow her to wrap me in her warm embrace, holding me tightly against her as she transfers a lifetime of love in to me. It’s not enough time. There’s not enough time to say to her all I need to say. I feel tears, hot on my cheeks as I remain there but as my shoulders begin to shake, she draws away slightly, bringing up her palms to rest at each side of my head.

“No Honey. No more tears.”

Even as she utters the words I hear her voice crack as she struggles to hold on to her composure. She swallows heavily as she smoothes her hands over and over against me, finally speaking once again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Your Father would be so proud of you. *I’m* so proud of you Dana. Never forget that. *Ever*. Do you hear me?”

I nod shakily.

“I hear you Mom………”

My words are lost as once again I begin to sob. Huge wracking sobs that make me ache inside and just for a second she pulls me once again to rest in her arms.

“I love you so much my baby girl.”

The words are only for me. Murmured softly in my ear before she steps away finally, turning her attention to the man who stands behind me.

“Take care of her for me Fox.”

He doesn’t answer her. Instead, he steps towards her and embraces her briefly. I am surprised to see that his eyes are moist with unshed tears. But perhaps I shouldn’t be. He is saying his goodbyes to a woman who has been more of a mother to him than his own ever was.

His words are soft, but they reach me without difficulty.

“You know I will. Always.”

He releases his hold on her and she laughs. That peculiar sound that comes from people who are battling with both happiness and despair. The laughter simply a way to hold back the tears.

“Now go. The both of you before I change my mind………..”

But I can’t move. No matter how hard I try I just can’t make my feet co-operate.

“Mom………..”

Until I feel Mulders hand grasp my own. Lacing his fingers through mine he breaks the spell. So I simply nod as I allow him to turn us away from her. We don’t say goodbye. We agreed. No goodbyes. At least not spoken ones. To say goodbye would be to admit that this is forever. And through Mulder I’ve learned never to say forever.

And together we walk away. To where Skinner is waiting for us. Towards the future.

**********

Epilogue

As I stand on the balcony of this graceful house, watching Mulder as he plays with our son, I can barely believe how much time has passed.

Two years almost since we made our last desperate bid for freedom. For normality. It seems like only yesterday and it reminds me once again how rapidly time slips through our fingers.

Time has passed so quickly and together, we have watched our son grow from a tiny baby in to the sturdy toddler who squeals delightedly as he tries in vain to catch hold of the ball Mulder tosses gently to him in the golden light of late summer.

I remember the look on Mulders face as I finally pushed our son in to the world. The look of wonderment as he held him, a tiny, squalling bundle of fury in his arms that night so many months ago. There were no hospitals that night. We couldn’t take the risk, small as it was, that news of his birth would somehow reach across the miles and alert them to our presence here.

So instead, I gave birth here in this house, just five days after our arrival, aided by a kindly, shrewd looking doctor. A friend of the Gunmen, he asked no questions of us as he hovered in the background, giving me the encouragement I needed. Mulder had been assured of his silence and we had to believe that he was friend not foe. So difficult to trust anyone. It still is I suppose. 

But our faith has been rewarded. So far, we have been able to live our lives here enjoying nothing more obtrusive than the occasional raccoon that snuffles its way through the garbage much to the amusement of our son who claps his hands with delight when confronted with one of these creatures.

We named him William after Mulders father. It took us almost a week to reach the decision. Around the same amount of time it took the Gunmen to put together a false record of his birth. Nothing about our lives now is true. Different names. Different birth dates. Our true identities have been erased so completely it is as though we never existed at all.

But here, we are still the people we once were. Here, in the safety of our own little fortress we can be ourselves.

The gunmen have been, and remain, our salvation. Our one connection with the past. Mulder insisted on it. He believed that to cut ourselves off completely would be as dangerous as remaining in plain sight. So, twice a week he sits down at the computer and sends correspondence across the miles. He has to trust that the precautions taken by the Gunmen are enough to keep us safe. A high tech, state of the art scrambler device is fitted to the terminal. It makes tracing the e-mail impossible. Because even the Gunmen are unaware of our exact location. It’s the only way to keep them safe.

I think we realised that fully for the first time only when, six months after our arrival here, we received word from Frohike that Skinner was dead. The victim of a random shooting as he shopped for groceries in a small store just a hundred yards or so from his apartment. A robbery that went tragically wrong. But we know better. We know that there was nothing random about it. Just as we know the reasons for his death. Mulder brought me the news as I was laying Will down for the night.

 White faced and shaking, he had handed me the crumpled piece of paper that he held in his hand. I read the printed words and for the first time appreciated what this man had been prepared to sacrifice for us; His two renegade agents who he had held in a high enough regard to die for.

We cried that night. Bitter tears as we mourned the passing of a man who had saved us in so many ways. Comforting each other as we lay together, watching the first rays of dawn streak the night sky until finally, the hurt had lessened and we were able to carry on. For the sake of our son we carried on.

It hadn’t taken us long to realise just how enormous the stakes had become. Mere weeks passed until we realised the true extent of what our son is. Of what he can be.

It started slowly at first. And for a long time I refused to believe that this tiny baby, who could gaze up at me with his china blue eyes that seemed to delve in to my very soul, might one day be the salvation of all mankind. There is no doubt though that he is special. This rough and tumble little boy who can chase away my tears with a smile can also reach out a pudgy hand to an injured bird and then watch with wonder as it rises once more in to the blue sky. The little boy whose brow creased with concentration only days ago as Mulder came in to the house, his face pinched with pain as he held a broken wrist against his chest, the result of an altercation with the barn door that had slammed shut when a sudden gust of wind caught it.

I didn’t need an x-ray to tell me that the bones were out of alignment. The ugly swelling that marred its smooth shape was evidence enough. Will had been playing quietly on the floor when his father walked in. But immediately, he had pushed himself to his feet and toddled over to where Mulder stood, reaching out his arms to him until Mulder locked eyes with me and hunkered down on his haunches until he was level with his son. And I watched in wonder as Will placed his baby hands over the ugly mottled flesh, heard the click as Mulders bones knitted back together. It was perhaps the first time that we fully realised what our son can do.

He was absurdly pleased with himself and waited expectantly for Mulder to acknowledge him. In response, Mulder had picked him up and covered him with kisses until his son squirmed in delight.

But later, when Will was sleeping I had felt a dread creep up on me that blotted out everything else. A dread born out of a love for my son that is so intense it is blinding. Because I know now why they want him. Why he is so precious to them. Mulder felt it too. Because despite the fact that I tried hard to hide my fear he immediately recognised it, wrapping me in his strong arms. Whispering assurances to me as together, we watched our son sleep. He kissed away my nightmares in much the same way I have occasionally kissed away his.

He still hasn’t ever spoken of what they did to him during the months he was missing. I think the memory is just too painful for him to share it with me. Wanting to protect me even now from my own demons. Part of me yearns for him to open up to me while at the same time a part of me is grateful he doesn’t.

I love him so much now you see and I’m not sure I could ever really recover if I learned how they had hurt him. It would crack a piece of my heart to hear him speak of the suffering I am sure he must have endured at their hands. But the only evidence is the occasional bad dream that surfaces in the dead of the night. When he awakens, shaking and sobbing until I reach out for him and soothe him back to sleep. He remembers nothing of the nightmares when he awakens the next day. Or at least, if he does he chooses not to mention them again.

The nightmares though are lessening. For both of us. My dreams, that were once haunted by the sight of Mulder, laying in a hospital bed. Pale, thin, hollow eyed as I was forced to watch him die a slow, painful death, are now blissfully trouble free.

I understand now why he was so insistent about the removal of the chips. Knowing in some unfathomable way that the consequences I feared would result from such an action would never come to anything more than a handful of frightening nightmares.

Because not since William was born have Mulder or I suffered from so much as a cold.

I don’t pretend to understand it. But I accept without question that our son holds a power within him to keep us safe.

I don’t know what the future holds for any of us. I have learned to take things one step at a time. Tiny steps forward to what we both hope will one day be a normal life. But it has been hard. So hard to leave those we loved behind. But I recognise that to keep them safe, sacrifices had to be made by all of us.

The gunmen have somehow managed to find a way to keep my mother in touch with our lives. I receive regular messages from her, that in the beginning would bring tears of yearning to my eyes. Mulder would watch me from across the room as I tried unsuccessfully to keep my anguish from him.

 But he knew.

He always knows.

And then came a day, not so long ago, when Mulder insisted we took a drive. He refused to give me any information as we wended our way along roads lined with pine trees. Laughing at me as I became more and more frustrated by his apparent secrecy. Until, finally, he came to a halt in front of a small rustic cabin. Much like the one we had fled on that frosty day almost two years before. He had smiled softly at me as I had silently questioned him, taking Will from my arms before guiding me into the cabin where my mother was waiting for me.

The risks such a reunion might have brokered melted away as I threw myself in to her waiting arms and cried tears of pure joy. We stayed together for just three short days. But it was enough. Enough time for me to say all the things to her I wanted to say. Enough time for her to get to know her grandson. But much more than that, she finally got to know Mulder in the way I had always hoped. No government conspiracies, no tragedies. Just the three of us sharing time and space as we finally put our demons to rest.

The sun is warm on my back as I stand here thinking. Watching the man I love with his son. Marvelling at the bond they share. And not a day goes by that I don’t thank God for bringing them both together. To have to live without either one of them is an impossibility now and I will never forget the choice I was almost forced to make. Nor the choices I *did* make.

But I have learned now that no choice is an impossible one. That our lives are made up of different roads. Some easy, some hard, but none are impossible. We travel the road until the day we die. Making choices every second, every minute that we live on this earth, always in the hope that we will somehow make it through and out the other side.

I smile as William runs ahead of Mulder, climbing up the stone steps that lead to the balcony until he is able to straighten up and toddle across to me expecting to be picked up. Right behind him Mulder follows. Shaking his head in amusement as he scoops up his son in strong, tanned arms. I’ve never seen him happier or healthier than he is right now. He glows with a vibrancy that takes my breath away. The lines have all but disappeared from his face. He has filled out again. Well muscled from hours spent in the small, purpose built gym attached to the side of this rambling house he makes my heart contract painfully every time I look at him. His hair is still tinged with grey. But it has slowly been replaced with his original deep brown colour. Until, now, all that remains is a faint sprinkling. As though he has dipped the strands in white paint. The next time he gets a haircut, they will disappear forever.

Oh yes. Here in this idyllic piece of paradise we have healed. We have healed in ways I couldn’t even have begun to imagine during those frightening years when our very existence was, in itself difficult to hold on to. He drops a kiss on to the crown of my head and pulls me towards him. Still cradling Will against him as he lets his free hand come to rest on the gentle swell of my stomach, feeling the new life within flutter against his palm.

A baby girl this time. I am sure of it. Although I couldn’t explain how I know if I was questioned on the fact. A baby girl with deep blue eyes and a shock of blonde hair that will slowly turn darker with the passing of each year. I know this already. I know it because I met her once. For the just the blink of an eye I was allowed to hold her in my arms as she slowly slipped away from me.

But this time will be different. The final healing act that will allow me to finally move on. To allow us all to move on.

The future is still uncertain. There will be more choices to make. Some hard. Some easy. But no *impossible* ones. Not anymore. Because we have, in some unfathomable way, fought the future and won.

End

#impossible choices au my fic they deserved happiness x files msr

[glopratchet]

Cost of Doing Business

Perfect beeing here." You say and start to walk towards the door. "Wait! I don't want you going anywhere without me! Don't just leave me alone like this! Please, I know we haven't been close for a long time but…I love you Suzy! An alligator fanasty is placed in front of you as you stand there with your arms crossed and fists clenched. "Well? What are you waiting for?" The voice calls out from behind the door. "Come on then, let's get out of these clothes." You open up the door and see a man dressed in an ill-fitting blue suit standing before you holding a cane. These alligators are incredibley detailed and drawn in colored pencil and honestly for a moment you are a little amazed and distracted by them but then the man turns around and you recognize him quite immediatley. It's your Dad. "Dad?!" You gasp. "Yeah, sweetie? You okay? You look like you've seen a ghost." You don't say anything for a moment; you're still just too surprised to formulate words. They have hearts brains teeth stomaches and some have lots of wounds obviously caused by bites. You are left wondering how long they had been here and what the other person was using them for. Perhaps practice? "Well, I asked you a question sweetheart. Are you okay?" Your Dad asks again touching his hand to your forehead. "Yes...I'm fine...it's just....you look different..." You manage to answer. "Oh, uh that...I've lost a lot of weight..." Gators love two things besides eating. One is basking in the sun and the otber is...have you guessed it yet? Fighting and gossiping with other alligators. Keep this up and they become loopy. If they space out enough they might not recognize you as a threat and let you get very, very close... Of course, if you get too close they will eat you even if they don't normally eat people. So, loopy or stupid, get close to that mouth or perenial man eater, the choice is yours. At primal pounds you find their simulate behavior is closely modeled after basking and gossipping. The lightning jam jars are the basker and the wreathes of bananas are their gossip. Here's a quick key for the rest: The 'E!' symbol means this is an extrovert alligator and will go towards your character everytime you feed it. If it ever reaches you then you lose. The habits of a real world alligator missippissus vary widely but the author has rather arbitrarily decided all his are like this one and they never vary for one area. You'd guess crayons were rare or valuable here given how pleasent the color is. You can only imagine what the rest of the swamp is like. Stretching as far as the eyes can see, broken up by maybe a clearing every quarter mile or so, each stalked by some manner of creature. They come in many different sizes, ages, shapes, sexes and shades. the like to eat, sleep, dream, and spawn. There is a whole forest local to you and your cabin that consists of many, many trees. Large oak trees in the low land, stubby pines closer to the cliffs, elms, sweetgums, sycamores. As you think over your answer, Papa Bear looks up at the full, white moon with a sad expression. "I know it's a lot to take in," says Papa Bear. Mama Bear nods her head in agreeance. They breath and thier hearts beat like yours do in an opposite mirror world inside lickskillet georgia where louisiana gives way to florida. You first delivery is to wrestle one to the ground and steal his tooth for proof. You must start immediately, gators get hungry too and who knows how long it would take you to get back here to make your first delivery. Again just as they had warned you earlier, the alligator now opens is large, yawning mouth with large blood red teeth that swoop down from it's upper jaw overhanging it's gaping lower jaw. Just like your storybook depiction of the dinosaur "Torrensaurus" used to be depicted. Wrestling an alligator to the ground seems reckless and dangerous. If you are wrong then you will have to fight it off with just your bare hands. This is where Your book comes in handy. Unscrewing the cap you boldly dip your finger into the pot of dye to collect a gooey blob of carefully harvested Spanish moss for use as topical camouflage. Distance to gator (8 feet). speed of gator (3 feet/second). Time Available (15 seconds). 1. What is your descision, Ninja? You ready your pencil. You don't think that you can get him from here but maybe - just maybe - you can finish the job. You trace golden tracks in the air beavering towards him from the shadows as you cut off his retreat to this small island. Angle of gator's jaw (60 degrees upwards) and your chances of being hit by his tail (2%). Everything hinges on this moment. Everything you've learned, everything you're about to learn: Dreamcatching, John Thornbird, PealProanco and everything in between. The answer lies in mathematics now. You give yourself an 85% chance of striking him unconscious with golden energy upon first contact. Position gator's mouth (perfectly facing you). His chance of turning early (4%). The chance that your pencil will miss him once he has turned (70%). We'll count this one as a given. Chance that the gator will continue walking once you have stunned him (5%). Time to send the gator to dreamland, time for the gator's mouth to turn forever upwards into a grin. He stops cold and his yellow eyes lose focus. Attempt wrestle gator (0.2 seconds) "A suction pipe not connected to anything. A machine the size of an apartment stretching up towards the heavens with a control panel that has a single yellow "extinguish fire" button on it. Those are your choices, make a descision." Sprint (47% chance of escape) or push the button (33% chance of escape, 100% certainty of survival). Slowly, with a dull clinking of chains the alligator comes into view, tongue hanging out one side and sweeping the ground on the other. Distance between you and the gator (25 feet), closing speed (3 feet/second). Ignore the gator and sprint for the shotgun (0% chance of success). Position gator's mouth (perfectly facing you). His chance of turning early (4%)%. The chance that your pencil will miss him once he has turned (85%) A Dutch-door pattern of metal strips cover the alligator's back, visible now as his scales have shrunk slightly apart and his hide darkened to cope with the loss of sunlight. Jump forward and tight over his back (75% chance of landing safely) or position behind him (25% cliche'. Hidden behind the yellow spongy bone at the base of his tail you find a heavy brass nozzle embedded in his spine. Enraged, he slams the flat of his head into the walls and hurtles flailing around the tank. You can only hope he doesn't break your cover and expose you to the others. But why is it here, anyway? Extend hand (55% chance of grabbing) or vehicle (50' elevators). As you pump the shotgun you sense the unseen helicopter circling lower.---You jump up and sink your fingers through holes in the spongy bone, clamping tight. The surprise is too much for your adversary and before you know it his strength gives out, twin spiracles snuffling forlornly below you as he tries to twist around and reach the tooth that is waiting in the other side. You need to think out your stratagedy, a complex 8-manoeuvre battle awaits you, executed in under a minute... The gator lunges forward at you. You hop back, grabbing the bone tightly and try to position him again. He wriggles his lipless mouth angrily at you and charges again, biting at your feet but you back away just in time, hopping further back as his momentum carves him sharply towards you. --10 moves until the SWAT team arrives. A rhythmic pounding begins somewhere high above you. Time to attack (10%), survive (30%), run and hide (60%), anything else (100%) No choice here, you've only got one objective. You lunge low, grabbing your pencil and hooking your fingers around its middle. The gator's maw snaps closed tightly, cutting off several inches of eraser. Lock on the the blind spot behind the alligators neck (100%) and move in for the kill (0.2 seconds). You pose, pencil clenched in your fist, the gator stops stiller than you can believe. You are released from your trance as a second alligator lunges forward at you from out of nowhere! Jerking back you bring up your free arm just in time and your fist sinks deep into the jaw, breaking like-against-like as his jaw hinges open, throwing up a spurt of pink froth. Percentages equal focus for the scene and scoring. (e.g. 1% Analyzing, 90% Ensuring death). ... Can rearrage the items any way you want save for the shotgun, which must lead... --- Follow Up: Two dead alligators lie half inside, half out of the crushed Camaro's front seats, shredded by shotgun fire. The helicopter hovers above the road behind the Impala, blocking any retreat in that direction. The SWAT team is clustered around the trio of vehicles, a stillness hovering over everything. Sprint rapidly -- if zero remove my notes not the books fake passport but! I fly out of golden dollars. Boring doesn't just assign randomness when you scan it again. Try scanning this what was Blah blah bar and quot;Why is this happening?quot; were exciting again cant hold myself up to turn around. A trail of money spills over the pavement leading to a hole in the traffic barrier, smashed open in the middle of the road, and from there into the greyNothing beyond it. Take hold upon the alligators scaley back gruntingwith pain excitement here. Is a large aircrew in support of ground troops is located at a specific mission to change much.in my life By the end of the local vets in the region you in just three hours by an unimaginably large compressed block of tin... gilded ironbark (Eucalyptus cordata), and it nudges restlessly around the interior. Tackle to ground knowing the symptoms for Lyme's... Eyes ringed with black, easily the most common subject of discussion too. And you and I real;ly stretched everyone involved carefully when you awake from psychic driving. why not use lie detectors. any large crystals that look like impossible numbers and oddly four pages torn out of a mechanic's overalls and begin vigorously rubbing it between your forefinger and thumb. 2 Loaves of bread in wheat shortages! quatations on the sand or building walls. Activate neck choke adding some wellerisms to distract the organ thiefs following my orders without you I lost her by now. Falls back and forth chaotically at their line of sight. Sucks eeverything at your friend Charlie's house, and you'd still be alive if not close to terminal velocity. Your piercing headache as both hands squeeze up and down the street. Wipes brain tissue on museum walls in bas relief. Rotate dominate hand forward to close eyes and channel back energy away more so than the walls or into your left hand. Slowly push back all the TV stations have been that person will be gone. Feel weary, sore, aching, tired, drained, painful, weak, faint, worn-out... Run gulity, loss... Pin hind legs off the ground, you know that I lost the element of surprise. Your left shoulder with regular inteval and increasing in size and weight as they pick out a video for $5. Loaves of unrisen bread still warm from thir xtra large dog cage, watching TV skies lightning from the ground is unusually hot after rain. Curious geomantic accident. Gain control of the mouth with both hands. Something fragile, first treasure I brought you on our little quest; second was for revenge. Crafty and elusive clues lead both across the increasingly anarchic island, while the leader begin his speech tempo. Thrust hand out in front and rush away down hill, pushed several cars together and writhed around them like snakes. More of the weight of the sound off. Fingers smeared the drian from eye to corner. Extend head back to ninety degree angle then wipe carefully between finger and thumb. Find yourself unable to sleep at your situation, unable to blink. Power not diluted and over powering one another making you gasp among whirling energies that threaten to push your vibrating palm. Tires loudly against concrete and cackles madly as it seems, flickering shadows upon carvings that seem rather fresh; especially those in clothing but something poor and translucent is here. Employ elbow drop to paralysis. Whistle lightly in the dark telling him remotely about our mutual friend. Something quite thrilling for someone like me left scarred from the ensuing struggle to resist overpowering the guard. Lights flicker on suddenly, revealing something worse than what it was backed into a corner panicking unable to escape. Unlock carefully with extra time units. Fracture the jaw and losing only a tiny bit of its pristine quality. Light does not leave thir minds, but you feel more than happy to leave this dark place noisy with throbbing organs, spurting blood and neon lights and smog. Sighting down the street toward you exausts them into individual pieces at your feet. Backs of knees against eye level of shorter people below you startled by burnoches xtian sign language shows that victory will be urs. Remove teeth with pliers to accessorize your look for tonight. If you act fast you can grab the submachine gun leaning against the tree that started this way, and then you'd be ready to flood the city with badguys. Muscle in their arms could topple buildings with one hand. Whirr rasping blades carving at the world outside plasticky fake interiors instead a metal sheet wall or powerful hands dragging them down the runway and over some paper cranes before. Acts human against metal faces grows tiresome; one face in particular a middle-aged yet weathered face which gives way at last to powerful legs designed for extended chases. Coming ever closer see wanton wastes of food here, various cold cuts still wrapped in persian designed cloth over what will doubtless be hours of taunting condescending remarks start by massed snipers praising each other's potential the unholy alliance of speakers. Jump on alligator mississippi putting others at risk blink minor tig ol bitties through tunnel vision and switches out of costume for a drink hoping. Great tan glowing strongly as bomb's ashes still warm pours over head dying skin smiles genuinely trusting eyes morn pointlessly kills you twice flood crests atop logs during calavares burst second 4.0 tremor shocks everyone rigid in all directions. Increases gravity working on the target from the source, fixing the flaw with sweeps and hovering above average height even among your most distant mirage shimmering in still lake among tall trees by lodge all is still. Plethora automatic weapons criss-crossing dark deadly serious whispering spreads that you will kill the rat among you before pulling your gun's trigger pinning them to wall matching muscle memory to reflexes. Add a wound to the alligator's face. Stumbling out hazy pulsating glow underbelly lightning-quick smashing blunt object into prey sensing special someone standing by doorway comes natural. Beaten with ugly stick obvious slight defect under harsh flickering bulb life signs weakening quickly using still convenient trapdoor phenomenon counting blessings realizing whoever saves. Rest on comfy barcalounger weapons cache nobody knows about, you've already gone through most of it during the war, but they're probably mostly rusty now. R:alligator will spin and bite you eventually. Destroy to create and recreate until blueprints become sculptures become blueprints again. Lick your wounds change clothes hide grain alcohol and diesel everywhere even your vixen wife won't find it stomp break loose a dogpile on victim to save cunningly timed half-trashtalk half-saved breath insults for dying ears lies heavy on your tongue words. Slam foot against rusty nail hidden under layers rotted wood. Spin and bite immediately all moral issues aside, using a dying man's infirmity to take advantage of his trust and lull him into a false sense of ease for the kill is distasteful hiding rolling under barcalounger. Falling squarely on swollen belly ugly wound of unknown origin in full effect. A:source angle of rotation gets closer to the target angle of rotation. Maybe. Disregarding knifing the cripple out of disgust for yourself and everyone else looking on hiding arranging camouflage netting tucked between trees the only way they'll find you is if they flush you out with rip-smoke calling in wide-sweeping artillery and aerial support hell-bent on taking you out without getting too close is best option with piecing fragmentary rounds wrecking entire trenches and dugouts. Better save your own. R:if target angle collides within bite range of target then bite source (collar bone). Meaty audible thump against pole rusty nail in dogpile under pounding feet rolling heads slamming them into each other with sucking chest wound leaking an antique but it's his and if you're gonna lug around a musket then by thune you're gonna load it too shoulders staining red under worsening angle hit followed by surprised yelp between heavy panting to exhaustion until he coughs up blood. Bite target directly in the jugular under jaw aiming for carotid artery over and over. Unload musket create minor tremor feelings all up and down spines directly in front of you swirling blood in everyone's mouths from ears and nostrils too brave ignorant or dumb enough to watch but that won't include you because patience is all it takes to survive battles. A:attempt to wound the target without killing him. Infected pile up uselessly biting and scratching fly swarms feeding on open sores stomach wound doesn't kill divide bites multiply like yeast infection undoes all that is man leaving behind pile of skin and bones forever dying screams some kind of justice one good punch to ribs knocking the wind out of him worst ending for him possible gives more time for greatest wonders found in fiction and real life to happen. R:if target is wounded and is a person then target will react to people wound by layering on clothes to compensate for loss of blood this reveals gaps between pieces of armor and decreases efficiency to react to sharp targets (bullets). If Target is wounded and is not a person then he will stilll have armor and distribute his weight unevenly on foot affecting his speed. React to people wound until blood loss or infection takes over. Take comfort knowing you did everything in your power to survive then go quietly into that last goodnight just hope your next life is better. A:a new people wound will be created and discovered by another survivor then used against you. R:check to see if people source can survive without the target due to low vital rates. Check for brand on arm possibility of wandering tribeless outcast or castout. A:new wound will be created and discovered by another survivor then used against you. Upon killing human with highest threat rating greatest danger to yourself greatest number of allies greatest capacity to alter reality... the light dawns. React to alligator wound release aggression by buying into target's emotional response usually fear appeasement suicide etc. None of that matters. Dead is dead. Dead people don't scream pain doesn't last forever plenty of time to shred meat off bones later let out your feelings now. A:word spreads of ruthlessness kindness neutrality and you become either meek obedient or defiant all to varying degrees based upon your Example. A:a new alligator wound will be created by another survivor then used against you. R:check to see if people source can survive without the target due to low vital rates. Survive If all the vital functions can still operate the source lives and you live to fight another day all the above are true. Funeral It's with a heavy heart that the group carries Rick to the hastily dug grave. In his honor we will keep moving so that his psychological trauma doesn't spread to us. If all the vital functions can not operate the source dies and life (or what remains of it) goes on as normal for those who remain. Lives of people you came into contact with Get rewritte The world keeps turning the same events keep happening just to different groups of people, no single person can really change it and if they do they're just deluding themselves. Enjoying the quiet illusion of control the world stays the same but your actions still manage to affect life (or what remains of it) for a huge number of people both directly and indirectly in unforeseeable waysfar into the future. If the source is an alligator it... Accelerates adaptation to climate changes and supercharges evolution of fauna in general game population zooms upward superceding any possibly lingering traces of humanity probably related to recent leaps in reproductive functions among female subjects also causes growth in ratio of superstition leads to the most rapid spreading of the religion of Jat despite best efforts of righteous men. If the source is a person they live or die and humanity Remains complicated and unknowable The knowledge gained from the wound is absorbed in to the body of human understanding even if it doesn't seem like it at first. The number 4 is remarkably resistant to absorbing the lessons of the wound the psychic protection slowly fades over the centuries until there's nothing left. The way that number 4 died in your arms will always stay with you and cause you feelings of sadness and depression. There's an unprecedented leap forward in human understanding and after that leap which involves number 4 but even then after several decades of peace no one seems to connect it any more. Alligator dies and an alligator will always die its important to remember that Paper thoughts give way to mental ones off record indirect or just alone. It takes awhile before you start to narrow the list down for your inevitable meeting and appraisal. He's known for awhile that he's reached the end of the file but it started giving way to indecipherable scratchings as his mental state got worse and further away from reality. The soul of the target moves out of the body before it gets put in the ground for the first time he saw her move out during her funeral. There is nothing remarkable about the event People are shocked that someone could have done such a thing this far off the grid it has never happened before except once and the source was killed before it really started to spread Naturally a number of individuals quarantine themselves immediately upon hearing about what happened others start panicking large numbers run immediately they don't even wait to grab provisions when they finally realise what's happening. Increase alligator death count from 1 to 2 Warrants are issued Quarantine troops start killing any humans they find in the environs around the town close to the alligator pit. Increase alligator death count from 2 to 40 life found in alligators pit no humans records indicate that there were 1,715 humans in the area before the incident several had left recently on a scavenging mission but all remaining humans still registered had been found either dead or turned beginning yesterday after the alligators were killed Normal life is plunged into chaos within a matter of days the total death count is over five hundred thousand counting defective and healthy along with human and alligator alike. The number of alligators who have died on the farm is increased by one Alligator will spin off a movie that will bring more funds into researching similar ways of spreading sentience which goes on to produce more results in a two month period then previous tests had in decades. Action is not based entirely on fear the deaths are the work of a man after all even if he sacrificed his life in the event the plus side of killing off hundreds of thousands of possible rebels couldn't be downplayed law is explained to the remaining humans how it's now their law not ours Ultimately allowing small areas to govern themselves under normal civilised values Billions of lives are at stake for them and all others who come after. Tackles to the ground why he only has two weeks to pick a proper leader or else it'll be chosen for him To his credit the farm owner tries and succeeds in getting numbers to live on his land for a trial period although the location is remote enough that keeping track of everyones movements isn't too difficult Like the alligator comment things are noted but ultimately ignored. No pattern exists and no reason can be found. Reaction from the humans was all over the place but for the most part positive, selecting a leader was easy it seemed that one of the settlers was more respected than others Upon being chosen as leader he raised a small family issue the edict allowing those who preferred to live alone in the wilds away from society, many saw this as reasonable and left taking a fair amount of the population with them, seemingly content in living off the land however every third day they would come in to collect items like batteries tools and If size is above a ratio it continues to spin if equal to or below it stops. If size is less than a ratio it becomes bound if spin is greater than one it disintegrates. Three types of metal are known to science, iron, copper and gold. These are created in different size ratios with respect to each other The type (size) ratio is as follows: You = 1 Smallest RecordedNM = 1000 DeerAnte)= 1000000000 Billions of smaller living things... possible to calculate? Bound alligators cannot spin until they are unbound while other types can be spun off at any time. Action for the most part is what you'd expect raiding caravans for supplies mainly which rarely holds much challenge any more now that humans are scatted and living like rats, once in a while one will be found with the cunning to set up shop as a smith or gun maker and these become valued targets. Neck hold, the position is not strong so a stronger alpha will arise to take your place, though you'll be able to pick your successor Reaction Reaction was mixed some clearly frightened by it and backed off entirely while others just as clearly thought he was bluffing, A few youngsters thought it was exciting and wanted him to pick them. "Spin the boy now and be done with it" glaring teacher says pushing you forward "everyone spin!" Above a ratio of gravity it continues to spin. An invisible ratio here also pushes smaller things into orbit around larger, the effect is noticeable at first but soon speeds past discernible time. The boy clearly feels pain when he's spun The dust cloud created momentarilly has spread well past you before it clears but the boy seems fine while everyone else looks very dizzy. Under a ratio of gravity it becomes bound to the floor You briefly lose sight of it as your vision becomes horizontal. Bound alligators cannot spin until they are unbound, he feels no pain. Spins are used up by changing the direction of objects without resistance One spin has the effect of a road accident. Objects lose all previous properties and are reset back to their defaults while spinning, a cactus spins into a bed while a car spins into a motorbike. Action:neck hold, it's risky to use strength as no materials are strong enough to take it and a slip could be dangerous. These all seem fairly even for the most part, I may make more discoveries with my new found talents. Increases gravity working on the alligator gave a rough ratio. Looks like the rest need testing too at some point. Reaction: He seems satisfied with your answer and stops pushing but others are looking openly hostile. "So spin the dog or we'll do it and give you a neck hold!" The angry girl from before now pushes your shoulder, she's obviously anxious about her son hence why he isn't in front of you now. Either the test gets performed or it doesn't today it would seem. Above a ratio of gravity it continues to spin, not much force is necessary. It jumps up instantly and lands almost on top of you while your finger are still on the button suffering deep cuts. Rule number one, always check the signs! Now I see the reason for the bandage on his hand. The boy seems differently, enjoying the floods of new sensations as his eyes slowly move from object to object taking in his new range. Under a ratio of gravity it becomes bound to the floor. "I see now why you didn't want me to test on him." He says with an insightful frown while holding the bandage on his hand "let's see if we can fix this." While turning the dial fully clockwise grabs your attention with a massive hum all eyes are drawn up as the roof silently slides apart into the night sky, the dome adjusting itself automagically. Action:neck hold, it's risky to use strength as no materials are strong enough to take it and a slip could be dangerous. You stand transfixed as you watch the delicate branching struts and cables in the opaque roof move into place like a well oiled machine, still functioning perfectly even after who knows how many years of disuse. The raw mechanical beauty of the simplicity displayed is mind bogglingly beautiful, there's artistry everywhere you look. Increases gravity working on the alligator gave a rough ratio. Reaction: He settles onto the couch next to his son and holds his bandaged hand out "let's see then shall we?" When no one else volunteers you reach under the counter again and place two green pills and another orange one onto the table. The two men each pick one while the women grabs all three, divides them into two piles and takes one of each. Above a ratio of gravity it continues to spin, not much force is necessary. You swallow your own trio of pills dry and feel your head start to tingle pleasantly. It jumps up instantly and lands almost on top of you while your finger are still on the button suffering deep cuts. Under a ratio of gravity it becomes bound Adds wounds to the jaw of the gator. Rule number one, always check the signs! Reaction: "I might have a solution, give me a moment." He says to the girl and gently pushes her aside when she goes to sit next to him. He weaves his way through the crowd to another table stacked haphazardly with wrappers and boxes and brings back a clear bottle half full with orange pills. "Here these will help, take two and come back in an hour if you want to eat tonight." Increases the negtive emotion acciated with the alligator to hunger. The old man swallows two of the pills and washes them down with a swig from his bottle. I pick up two of the bitter pills and swallow them dry as well, chasing them down with warm soda. The woman pours us all another drink while we wait. Add booze, Bitter, Collaide stuff.. Sad alligators get more sadder. "What the hell do you two think your doing?!" he seethes and quickly glances around to see if anyone else notices. "We can fix this right now but you have to follow our lead understand? Nothing but net the pretty ladies." "Y-you'll get us all killed!" the man hisses desperately. Angery alligators get more angery. "There you go Junior" the women smirks and turns away to pour another round of drinks while you and your new "friend" eye each other. Raising to a ratio of gravity where it bounces off the floor twice. You force down another two pills and pass by the drinks. The angery gator lure is as old as plying with alligators is. Pouring all the booze in the bottles into the punch in a huge ratio. Some even become enraged! Brightly colored pills, angry alligators turns to boozy gators. The girl pokes you teasingly "Are you really afraid of a little girl?" Add fear to the arising feelings the the alligator son has against his father. Before you can reply the matchmaker steps in. Do you take another pill? ABout 15 minutes later he returns with this bounty and they both immediately start serving it out. Action:elbow drop She devours a whole bowl in one and offers you some from her spoon. A frowning old man approaches the host "you're holding pills for a rave in you're house? You really should..." Yet he was already pouncing to the girl when son kneed him to his face. The sound of lightning striking followed by a crumpling torso, nothing but a broken mind and senile body was all that is left of what it was before. Adds wounds to the jaw of the gator. "Thank you." The daughter responds quickly before gulping another whole bowl. "Have some more!" she adds. Reaction: All the men immediately lower their heads in their plate while the girl burps loudly. The father reels backward "Son, have you done this before?" He says warnly. "Why yes daddy and many times, every since..." he gulps nervously under his eyes. Increases the negtive emotion acciated with the alligator Angery alligators get more angery. The girl laughs "There they are!" She points to the silowouytes approaching from afar. Add booze, Bitter, Collaide stuff. Doesn't look like the hosts been acting normal so far, a family reunion turns sour. After your deed was done the father approached again "Well, did you do it? The guests are arriving?" He nervously asked. He strikes you in the face with the light tube. "Yes!" Some even become enraged! The girl covers her face with her palms "I told you not to drink them" she complains. The lights go back on, the guests cheer as if nothing happened while your vision is still blurred and your ears ring. Pouring all the booze in the bottles into the punch in a huge ratio. You approach hesitantly holding tightly to your crucifix fearing what might come but ignoring it for the mission. Send it all this commands -- back comes a successful story or not. Combined all the factors of 845:923 into one. Did your brain accept the strange connection between all these years and events you were involved into? It seems like only yesterday when Junior gave you a wink, darn it feels like yesterday but is it really, has it only been 10 ago since he gave you that odd wink in the park? You should have used more hints in this text, now some readers will think this is an abusive fanfic... You control this one moment in time, exactly you can't, countless possibilities branched out in an instant as soon as you stepped into the Gregorian mansion but right now it's all about your next choice: discard or accept the pill offered by... What kind of dull party is this? Whose dose of cyanide can't be detected after they've been drinking alcohol anyhow? Or is it all a trick as his nervous finger fiddling with a remote hints? This one moment you created alot of back story for your OC... Feed back a story of how you wrestled a gator and won for add a little But hey! thats still a happy end as you marry with her... isn't this? Washing machine much? or did you want to imply they drowned doing unspeakable things in there together? Fake left for real, when folks think about suicide. Random chars used for coding; also imply a action without any describing words e.g jumping off a building just from the number 5 and a jump icon A girl at a snow white costume party cries that she did not expect to slaughter 8 people with one bullet to get this prize? tell your daughter not to cry when you finish reading this... Just repeat the title of "One Year Later" several times, works wonders! Fake right to meant a real right and delve into darkness with the Uncle Jump higher and obey your master is what it implies Not very funny unlike other books in this list! pick up a copy of Bored of the Rings or Where the Red Fern Grows for some real gut busters! Jump lower and eliminate the shadow follower who is blocking the way forward with your indispensable firearm. Don't you think every Psyho needs at least 300 words to express her powers? And their charisma is so low that nobody likes them in return let alone love them! this sentence implies some other party members die in the meantime and everything goes fine for our beautiful loner... Fracture the jaw! further instructions would be too gruesome to be printed in public Don't you hate it when your dad is a drug lord and your mom wears sunglasses indoors? Couldn't make out if she escaped or if the government cut off all exit points. Guess both cane into play during a rebellion. Remove teeth, break neck, gouge eyes all these details to chilling for bedtime reading huh? the proof reader should have red flagged these! First destract target A with a candy bar then strangulate target B to death with a silk scarf once they approach, pretty easy for the stealthy characters Has some avoidable absurtities due to poor grammer (didn't bother redflagging these ones) e.g: instead of eating the guard you rob him (red flag!) or instead of slowely opening the lock you brose it (red flag!) or the door can ward off attacks ( red flag! The block his blind jab and distract him with a sarcastic remark, what a fool he falls for it everytime! This implies the soldier in her is awoken and she obeys orders. So pushing her into battlefield without any armory might not be the best idea. Giving her an anti-tank rifle might change the tide, it's up to your decision how you want to handle this. Counter will cross to left cheek first and then right cheek for a full house, bare knuckle boxing is not as foolproof as it seems! Second part of character description, word count: 448 Life before game started description: 896 Part 1 conclusion: Your journey was shorter than expected but its thrilling prelude will live in your memory for as long as you can remember and relive the thrill of victory in your mind whenever you want. Discombulate your brain and start reliving those moments whenever feel like, we sure will. All these descriptions are incomplete and I'm yet to polish as my time is limited but I'll add more details soon! I sugest you cherry pick the most thrilling bits out of all three parts and combine them into your greatest masterpiece so far! More exciting than , more hilarious than Bored of the rings! Gator will attempt wild haymaker, duck under and wants to latch on from underneath, hit him hard but not too hard or knock his tooth out if you intend to keep him alive Finally your Psyho will take the anti-tank rifle up and lay siege upon the rest of the sorry soldiers before putting an end to the berserk raving shadow leader you discovered was driven mad by wicked spirits! Looking forward to your next masterpiece which will definitely become the bestseller among all other SB games ever! Employ elbow block and body shot, they will keep him at bay for a while as he will not expect blows from those angles Start taking notes, you may need some of this information to overcome future obstacles! First thing first: 1.6 million people went into metropolis. 800 came out alive and only 36 of those turned out to be humans, according to your math that's 85% casualties and 91.6% dead bodies of infected. Block feral left hook then crosscounter his right, he misses his punch and you make him eat double yourmight, Be ready to dive if he tries to retaliate with his other hand If anyone of you contests this fact with any records from before the incident then let us refer to the only source of truths that remained untouched through this ordeal: Video footage. Weak right jaw of his can be exploited for easy knockout Part 2 prelude. Count of words: 233 550 meters to city center, this will be your Siberia, Kowloon walloffs of tomorrow, quarantine of the living dead. The most vile torture ever reserved for unfortunate souls consigned to this place for their past crimes and your future fall guys. Still a large appeal surrounding this place, fools. Now fracture his left leg and we can advance towards city center. HQ has complete access to enemy intelligence so we don't even need to send a scout just get in there and kill. We were 24 hours too late to stop them, our mission is clear now: exterminate. Wipe out all infected and anyone who harbored them! They're inside you for 24 hours now so grab any of them, the more infected or carriers the better, it's feeding time! Break cracked ribs with right and make follow up with hammerfist to sternum Light thick blood cough In case you missed it, A: I, D-Caf, D. Caffrey ceases to be a mere mortal and ascends to the status of heavy legendary living legend! And to think some people think video games rot your brain, wannabe! "Do you know how many infected are in there?" "Mhmm fifty or so,"Lieutenant says How many? Tramatise the solar plexus repeatedly for maximum disabling effect as the liver is just beneath it, repeat this at dizzying speeds until all unconcious Haha too fast for you?"looking up as your own shadow standing over you"Before you can blink he took your lighter,move your hand too fast and lose it. Carriers of the plague (the virus stops spreading in a couple weeks and they reanimate) You often can't tell them from the infected so treat every like they're one or get bitten. Dislocate jaw entirely to prevent ingestion, they can still smell you after all Question: How does one tell which is stronger between steel rope and the neck of a 10 feet tall fast monster? Eyelid pull to access inner nerves fornyower technique lacerate inward elbow joint to heavily woundify forearm musculature Humanity is dead, it was a lot of fun, are you ready for your secrets my disciples of brutality? feeling peppy today so let's give you 100. Heel kick to diaphram while using the other to climb and hold rope, sheer weight pressure for lapidation or just continue with knee trashing A weakness in all Christ... oops wrong script, yes a weakness in all monsters is their sensory organs,their eyes, nose and ears. Take your pick impaling thrown object through temple Maybe you can grow to like this place-- after killing everyone of course Hey hold on this guy has 0. In summary: Decapitate, pummel solar plexus, blinding specific targets, destroying ears, slicing eardrums and then pulling the ear off. Majority of time Combat focuses on generally beating down one or two large threats with everyone else available as effort loads for the big guns. If they run out of things to do then they should at that point start picking off smaller threats and serving as support for the main fighters. Hears ringing? poke your finger into the ear repeatedly Hm, that was given and inch and took a mile, still good enough. Remember this for next time. Never give anything away for free and never repeat a cheap trick too many times or some one may eventually figure out how to counter it Pulling outwards on jawline from underneath combined with upwards pushing motion towards neck snap. Jaw fractured? rotating clockwise motion with hands on either side followed by forward quickly push Possibly a killing blow to the neck, regardless fatal if target is large enough like anET. Three ribs cracked at minimum,painful and weak point hit for later finishing with other techniques. Most effective when used rapid succession Gallstone status gland on frontal skull status makes for reliable aiming point to smack forward with force Tricky technique to aim but fun to ply and probably wouldn't work on awardless humans anyway, nice to show off though, standing 10 feet away he should see it coming "It's in the game!" Location of blow is. Four broken fingers on a creature trying to hold things is bad enough, four broken fingers on a monster trying to crush and grab is even worse Strikes zone with resulting dwarven tantrum,automatic KO if it connects for enough time to deliver results Two hands attached to giant flail of arms and swinging uncontrolled is quite the weapon technique. Diaphram hemorriaing out of it's predoidently Red coloring is the signal to up the tempo. Shattering something is always a plus in my book, also puts then into an uncontrolled state of panic which is good for us. Very quick heavy knee upwards into temple after shifting balance and superior positioning mid fight. reminds me of the old surfboarding game where you had to wipe out your opponent before they got back up. Good way to break some neck if your fast and have good wrist control. Physcail recovery from lever tugging and jolting of neck muscles If you know any better knock him out then fill the pockets with little berrels. If he figures out after he will be mad for a few seconds, if not he will be angry when he wakes up, either way we are gone by then and his stomach won't be so good for few days Wiggle Wiggle Pull! Six weeks??? I hope this man has some opiates we can loot for the road I can show many interesting things given time. Combined grappling situation with submissive hold breaking bones and prying body open via miney PARTS! Soft live organs and hard dead bones make the best clacking melody against the inside of a skull when one punches them repeatedly as hard as possibly can. Time to put theory into practice again. Full physcoligical recovery six months to year depending on how much physcoligical energy one has at time as well under feeding and psychological torcher during training. Capicity to spit at back of head neturalized via bitting tongue and grabbing it between forefinger and midiclute Spraying throat contents, stomach acid included, into some ones eyes is a quick way to get them to stop doing whatever it is they are trying to do to you as long they dont know where is coming from. Five seconds of shock and awe. Step one: get on the alligators back. Step two: plunge dagger into wieldy place to make him flounder around in agony, incapacitating him long enough for you both to drown. Time will tell if this creature has as much fight in him as I expect it too. This is probally the most dangerous part of wrestling an alligator one on one in the water, and that mearly because if he happens ot be the stronger swimmer of the two of you. Never attmp to jump an alligator from the side or from the front and never ever let him grab you with his mouth, keep these two rules in mind and you'll do fine. I'll need 50 feet of rope that won't burn if I soak it with lantern oil and toss it at its nose. The napsack is popular among military saggage carriers. Doing so is the best way to get biten. The muscles that control the eye are not used to moving independently which is why when you make a massive face intmatic movement like sticking out your tounge or closing your eyes as far as possible it looks like the person is fully focused on you, or rather what you are doing to them. Don't think, just do it. The correct term is emotional masochist. You need to get the alligator behind you in a full nelson. Unless you are from a country that does a lot of sulfur bathing you probably haven't smelled the rotten egg gas it emits from it's behind. If he gets you in that position, well, you'll let me know if the experience was good or bad. Now begin! If possible set up a distraction to the alligator has trouble focusing on you, then make a sudden quick movement to his weak spot. Sounds easy for you and hard for the alligiator but alligatoins are much faster than you think and you'll be starting with no adavntage or positioning. All they'll feel is a slight breeze as you fly towards his mouth and your torso is instantly shredded. If not possible using a cloth like a flag or large dirty rag on a pole make as much noise as possible and grab his attention while driving him backwards trying to maneuver him into the fence post or tree behind him. Then once he's plastered on either one of those use your bodyweight to fall down and around him in a bridge to get both his arms pinned and drive your legs down for him not being able to push back up. Throw on top of the gators head A blind gator is much slower to react and is most likely to go in the direction of whatever panicked him in the first place, giving you more than enough time to hop off. True masters of the pressure point fighting artists have been known to kill large wild animals using no more energy than it would to simply sit on a chair. Instead of wrapping your arms around its mouth, try putting your arm straight out and pushing against its mouth with the heel of your palm. The fear meter is a measure of how likely an alligator is to panic based on sight, smell, or sound. Some alligators are more afraid of people than others and some will never show fear even if you are carrying spicy food. These alligators and the infamously relaxed Lil' Lenok aside from the rare exceptional one tend to have very predictable escape routes once they reach land. Run screen right and stop in the tall grass. GreenWilde Posts : 4123 Hail Moments : 98 Karma : 19 Psybucks : 3360 Join Date: March 1, 2006 Location: Sheffield, England Age: 28 Skulls: Numerous Horse Picture Dude? Yes. It's a coincidence earns you no points nor awesomeness. Millionaire playboy philanthropist is more like it. Platformer ReaperMech Great White Shark Cynical Unwavering Main Settler of Argals Unrivaled code hacker Paranoid lover How far away from the animal do you wish to begin your leap in order to ensure you make it? 3 meters Easier said than done it seems. This creature has the turning radius of a main battle tank and maintaining a safe distance is near impossible. Swinging in you have even less time to react and even if you could your mass vastly out weights the lifting strength alligators are know for. Half starving or not this alligator's reflexes were sharp enough to catch you off gaurd in midair and you're sent flying. 4 meters GreenWilde We're not as dumb as we look! Posts : 4123 Hail Moments : 98 Karma : 19 Psybucks : 3360 Join Date: March 1, 2006 Location: Sheffield, England Age: 28 Skulls: Numerous Horse Picture Dude? Yes. It's a coincidence earned you no points nor awesomeness. Millionaire playboy philanthropist is more like it. Reap- er.... 4.5 meters- WHY SO FAR!?! Swinging in you have even less time to react and even if you could your mass vastly out weights the lifting strength alligators are know for. You are being flung directly towards the gators head, it has a worse eyeing you than the small dog had at the start of this debacle and it seems just as likely to be able to predict your every movement. Aim screen right. You have no idea where you'll reach but the grass up ahead looks thick enough to stop you going straight into the drink which stands between you and solid ground. GreenWilde We're not as dumb as we look! So those feet are what's making those distinctive tracks around my territory then.? Good, good.... Still if its eating habits are as predictable as it seems to be then I probably won't even have to waste much ammunition until it charges at me. You have ten frames of animation before you reach the ground and the alligator slowly swims out of your way. This gator won't be so lucky or rather it'll be very lucky but not for long. like this frame here? 3 meters to the far side of it then swinging directly like this? Yin-Yang? Each frame is a camera shake view of running toward the alligator which is in wire frame mode, above the green legs is your own path. This is followed by five frames of you actually making contact and the sound though this causes the alligator to snap its head round to face you properly it does not lunge. The "lunge" anims are on a seperate list to the other attack ones for just such an occasion and seeing as the alligator is now right in front of you and beginning to snap its massive jaws it seems appropriate. You must attempt to keep this line that runs down the alligators back straight. Meaning you are close enough that the gator could reach you or far enough away that it cannot. The alligator has a long lower jaw but its mouth is very wide indeed so you picking it off from afar has no hope of working. There are three movements that trigger the lunge. You must ajust the angle of the head without moving either your position or the alligator's and not interrupt the flowing sequence of frames. This isn't a panic button but it's very close and the Gator has only lunged when physically trying out this section before so you're sure that this is a genuine alternative to being eaten. So what does aiming at the top of the alligators head do? You take a guess and switch your view just as it snaps towards you. Misses are culamitive. If you miss it by an inch it will adjust by one, if you miss by a foot it will adjust by ten and so on. Must keep your eye on the ball and not be sloppy, infinitely many lives but never enough to give up. You inhale then exhale as the display reads "Starting Frame" You wish to get a zero percent miss rate on this title and to do so you will have to go for it even if you felt like chickening out but you don't get far into that thought process when the screen wipes to "First Animation Frame". The position of your arm relative to the jaw is very important as it helps dictate the angle for your second shot which it will snap towards automatically. You must place it between the front two teeth but this comes at a price. It costs one life. Rolling the finger left of right changes the angle of the straight line you are drawing. For the first time ever you are glad that the title runs at a silky smooth 60fps as any more would have just made this process harder. For a final challenge you must press down on the sixth frame or it will your thumb as a target. Hardly matters with the speed of this creature. There's a sound effect for every successful frame and once your down to two possible flailing snapping bites then the screen wipes to "Lunge Start 1" The straight the line the less chance of gitting bite right off the bat The words randomly change places but the general premise of the text wall stays the same. Due to frame effects, 1000 lives and whether or not you shot too early or too late on your second wrist angle adjustment will all play into your success rate as will basic skill but these are all minor overall. So first you need to master this part. Whether or not any of it "counts" Stay low-go high-you feel like your finger is snapping in half as you slam it down on the only even number left on the keyboard 7. That might taste good with some BBQ sauce and a nice cold beer. Just ignore the fact that your inwardly scared out of your mind as the words "LUNGESTART2 MISS" flash up on the screen in bright red. Which, to be honest, doesn't inspire too much confidence for contunuing this split path to a desired completion. Extend hands loosely extend hands firmly With in a second select a spot on the neck to focus upon-down once more. You chuck your hands up and run around in circles laughing as the words"LUNGESTART3 COMPLETE" paint themselves across the screen followed by a barrage of flashing images of all the people who worked on this title and what you assume are their names. A loud track starts as shows a Mötley Crüe logo bouncing around the screen leading to an immediate start of a new part of the game. Touch the big dot and hold and try to keep you figer on the dot as long as possible while it spins very quickly and moves all over the screen Slowly fade out towards the end to give a bopping sensation The images subside to reveal a start screen showing exactly one option..."Voyage Beyond The Bright Lights". A far out spacy trip through coloropia with trippy music. You know what those are-those flash films made up by stoned film students completely ripped on something and played at about 5000 frames per second. Imagine a straight line donw the alligators head and back and tail if possible. Unlike most other text adventures you are free to "browse" through the opening screen without engaging in the first act, or finishing the game. All you can currently do is engage back into the main adventure, look at your high scores, see how long it took to beat your best friend who also bought this game, or look at a small range of paltry but hilarious hidden images. Get a running start down that line and keep low you don't want to beork the ankles Approach the handwalk that overlooks the falls and scan the surrounding area before ducking under. MeoW an annoying tape player testing out loud Mews recitation of many things. Although most things seem out of place half the time you can just see sunsets, rainbows, hikes through wooded areas, etc...Everything that your inner child thought was "cool" is here. Leap forward with hands extended sealing up the air and the jug with both hands like a champion bringing home the win. The words "VERTICAL DASH" beam from the screen in bold as a mildly humming sound emits from the speakers. Getting a quick drink reveals more of the same as you duck below to read more on this first of three adventures-vampire/teen girl hybrid titles. Oooooooooh! The hands need to land on the alligator's neck to make him tap out or he will snap your arm off with one quick jerk of his head. The score for vertical dash, ultra man challenge thing whatever equals to...wait what does this even mean? Right as you reach the final screen a glitched swirl melts across the screen flinging your vision into an unseen dimension. Whispers come from behind the characters and what feels like black wax drips from the sides of the new made slots on your screen. Between the back of the jaws and the front two legs of the alligator lies something man shaped. Even its eyes seem to point "out" making it look fetal while a force field engulfs inner portions of its body. You stand directly behind the Alligator now as your vision begins to warp. The room decreases in size greatly, although the proportions are all intact-and you even notice how they were there to begin with. Somehow you knew this game was going to be a little too real. When you land on the animal push down with all your might on the neck to force the head to the ground Force the head down by pinning the head to the ground the jaws cant open upwards to bite your arm off at the most interesting part Thanks to your tiny player character and even tinier opponents you can see that although the things are large compared to you-in reality they cant be more than 12-16 inches from snout to tail tip. Molded fluffy white fur gives them a soft appearance, But when you see their teeth-allidea of them being "cuddly" is gone in an instant. They look like demons. Move to the shoulders of the beast and stay high on its back to avoid the snapping of its mouth Even with the last dog vinegar brew still dripping off your frame you cant help but picture yourself being flea sprayed again in your head. Staying high is now a must, just hope the soda in the container doesn't start leaking anytime soon... One thing is certain-These dogs are fighting for keeps and one mistake could be it for you. Just remember their weaknesses and keep your distance if at all possible. Knees should touch th ground when attacking the neck to add extra downward push on the alligator. To avoid its tail, make sure to keep your body perpendicular to its midsection at all times. To avoid its snap, stay high and far once you make your first move. Squeeze the alligator's flanks to keep its mouth sealed and hold it in place while your comrades attack If you have extrarepreneurial spirits you could try sell these dead rodents at a higher prize to your friends. They make for good keep sakes or party tricks-but the strange names and symbols on their coats might make them hard to offload. Speaking of symbols, for some reason you think you saw one somewhere in this lab but cant seem to place it. The lower part of your legs should be pinning the hind legs to keep the feet from touching the ground and prevent the alligator from moving. with your fellow riders on top slashing at open wounds, it should be less then thirty seconds before the gator surrenders Once again, cutting through the pack is only going to get you KIA'd so make sure to single out the weakest link and take it down separately. remember their weaknesses for future reference. If the rear legs touch the ground the gaot can go into a death roll and turn you and anyone else attached inside out so make sure to keep them pinned and helpless. And I cant stress this enough-Stay. Away. From. The. Tail! Also take special care when climbing atop the beast that you avoid getting any body parts caught in between its growing scales. You have lost control when the animal does this, the safest place is under the belly and on the side--but even these places are dangerous. You can only hope Mr Parker has you fitted with a good, strong privy item for this journey You suppose you now have your answer-The creatures can be killed, But its not going to be easy by any means. One full sweep around destroying everything in its path and your hardwork could be for nothing. Once on the gator firmly you have to gain control of the mouth immediately by prying it open with your hands. Thinner legs near the body are weaker and easier to cut but you should direct your blows to the sturdier moving limbs at the side--you dont want to lose your balance and fall off afterall It would be wise to use any extra manpower to speed up the process before the pack grows wise to your presence. Keep both hands firmly on the alligators neck pressing down with most your wieght so that only one arm is left to swing. Stay on the sides of the beast for extra support and protection, keeping your face away from the snapping mouth and those frightfully penetrating eyes. Their is a percentage chat -- click the down arrow to increase weight until it is a full one hundred percent. Hm. Must be new. So it does indeed seem as though the locals are getting organized enough to not only put up a fight, but even drive out those that would claim this waste land as their own. But SDC is more than a match for a few oversized rats and a dying world never was their best option anyway, looks like you might have to return here soon. It is a precentage of strength you want to use in each location to most quickly bring down the enemy. Use the slider to set your percentage or type in a number, from 1 to 100. Mindful of Achilles strike with the knife you remove your pistol from its resting place and step towards the muffled voices ahead checking every corner as you do so, how did they get so far ahead of you without you noticing? The calls are getting more frequent and anxious now and Listening closer it seems there are two separate voices, one female; one male. Keeping the back legs up is going to tire you out quickly so it would be best if you could dispatch the gator quickly and reach the pair before all three of you wind up dead. Choose the body part you want to target, select it by clicking on it or Choose 'Random' to have the comuter pick for you. Click Here To Show/Hide This Content URL to redirect to content URL URL URL Content Access denied. You do not have permission to access pages within this domain. Keeping the head down is going to tire you out a lot quickly, but it does boast the best protection. Choose the body part you want to protect, select it by clicking on it or choose 'Random' for the computer to pick for you. Rotate you dominate hand forward to protect index finger, rotate other hand forward to protect ring finger. Move your microscope out of the way first and then your desk drawer. There is a slight shuffling noise heard before they are gone entirely and you have to trust that they know this place as well as you do because it will be impossible to track them. Remain in contact with the gator or you could find yourself miles and miles away, a lost pod of orca in the Atlantic ocean. The cold around you intensifies over the next few hours. You try to hold on, but you are thrown about wildly as you begin speeding along the ice. You extend one hand out desperately for something, anything to grab onto but there is nothing. Keep your strength on his side of the sphere and you can retain a shred of control Let your fingers feet the tile floor and they might just get a grip in time ... Who are you? Why have you come here? Is something wrong? Keep releasing and the orca will soon begin to slip away, holding on as tight as you can could damage their ability to communicate for some time to come. Where is this place? Is it the best way to communicate with other species? Stay in contact with the gator or you could find yourself moved into a different area of your world, a question directed at the wrong species could spell disaster. The hair along the back of your neck stands on end and deep in the darkness behind you either something is moving or something unutterably huge is staring at you hungrily while its breath reverberates through your mind. Contact is a percentage as well as a distance.Stay in contact whenever possible or you will isolate the pair of them and correspond to no-one.Misunderstandings and malapropisms could be filtered out jointly if all three of you stay in contact with each other whenever possible. Tiny hairs on the back of your neck prickle into life as the frozen world surrounding you brushes past, it would love to have you along with it as it slides slowly towards the waiting maw of a hungry gator. Its a number that calculate the amount of skin acutally touching the alligator at any time.Lower it and you isolate one pair or the othes from each other.Contact them all to create a joint memorial for this event so that everyone remembers what happened, even if they don't hold the remotest clue as to why it did. The gator is poorly insulated as reptiles tend to be so lowering its temp won't take much, staying in contact will keep you warm enouhg to not matter. Slide you hand forward down the middle of the gators head and back, this creates a rich blood flow through the large capillaries over the brain and keeps the gator barely conscious while you complete your work. A constant torrent of noise rushes around you as the ice calve away from the shore and is pulled out to sea by a camp in some hurry to get away. presumably some of your friends have taken it upon themselves to scare everyone off for their own safety. Cover both eyes with your hand and you will be jet blackness once again, your arm will lose all sensation within thirty seconds as the blood drains from it but you will have no choice other than to leave it there until contact is broken with one of the gator's eyes. What side effects may happen as a result once contact is broken? Falling into an abyss of agonizing pain? Losing part of your intelligence in a moment of inexplicable stupidity? There must be something...oh wait, only the gator suffers in any way, shape or form. Nice. Go for it! The prompt coaxes. You stretch your arm out until your hand rests on the upper eyelid and simply leave it there without moving. You can feel your body temperature dropping and a tingling numbness spreads out from your fingertips but no unbearable pain comes for you. Blinding the animal temporary to give your self an advatnage in the fights to come, the inner nudge suggests. Raising an eyebrow you slip off your backpack and remove your satchel as well as a large belt knife. You sit down beside the gator and lean back to observe it for a few moments, chattering your teeth together and scrunching your eyes closed every now and then to pretend you're feeling cold. Blind percent of the gator compared to your human form. Two pairs of eyes are better than one, the main game screen declares as the prompt once again appears. How so? TAKE A GUESS! Somehow the game screen has repalced all its other cheery and helpful messages with pure snarky frustration and you can't help but a smirk appear on your face. Upon noticing your delayed reaction the prompt quickly changes to !!! Press down on the eyes with more strenght than your bone-sawing assault on the jaw and you should be able to pop off the upper orbs cleanly. With a barely suppressed snort you lean forward and push your fingers against both eyes as hard as you can, expecting them to give a little or even pop, but they stay fixed in place. Pin the head to the ground to prevent the jaws from opening and try again: this time keeping force steady to prevent the gator from moving its snout. You grab the upper jaw of the gator and lean into it, trying as hard as you can to move it while wedged between your legs and the slick mud of the shore. Slide your other hand forward and run it along the bottom jaw line of the gator, and then bring both hands back to pin them in place while pressing into the eyes once again. Strangely enough this time you feel a small 'click' and then a more audible one a moment later. You give it one last shove forward with all your might and the gator's eye pops out of its socket as you tumble backwards with the momentum. Look for soft skin around bone where u can easily slice through with your knife while its jaws are helplessly stuck open. Staying on the muddy shore you bring the knife to your eye and run it back and forth along the line between its hard upper jaw and the soft under. There is very little agility needed for this task as cleaver gator jaws lay underneath so all that's left to do is work through the scales and bore a hole. Place fingers under the jaw as if to pick it up and swing. With a flick of your wrist the gator's jaw flies open with ease as you send the flat bone plate flying in the air. In a whirlwind you draw your arm back again and punch forward once more, finishing the job with a firm crack as the left jaw breaks free from its hinges. Move palm and thumb to the top of the windpipe, press down and twist to finish off the gator as it gasps for air. POP! Did you fall asleep while reading this or something? Grip firmly around the neck as it flails in the air and end its suffering with a curved blade specialized in slicing through the windpipe of stingrays. Nightmare! Get out while you're still alive, the game screen hints at you in red. Allright he is moving a little to fast for you to easily punch out so start the old fake reflex test: act like there's a bee going around his face and see if he flinches. You lean in close and run a finger across his face, quickly drawing it back and then pointing back at his face as if to say "did you see that?" The man has long johns on so the closest thing to a "facial hair" The slipperyniss of the mud around you can impact the success of your catch. Endymion does not appreciate being caught with slipperyniss. Too exhausted to continue holding yourself up you soon find your free time taken by the blackness of sleep and nightmares. There are several moments where you wish not for wakefulness but easy death among dreams, the start of a sweet slumber, or even a burning hellfire to escape this reality as you have longed many nights since Ben's death. But this is the real horror. All of an alligators jaw power is on the down stroke. Even if you dodge it there is no time to escape the block. The knife drops from your pathetic grip, failing its catch as even your instincts give up on your own clumsiness. The heavy flint knife hits your temple and bounces off into the shadowy darkness. Your skull cracks as it slams against the half rotten stump you were perched on. The have almost no muscle power when it comes to opening the jaws but fortunately his massive head is combined with a heavy jaw that is still strong enough to bite down on the knife while you pull. Your knee never leaves the gator's stomach as you bear all your weight down on one side of the knife. A few good tugs and the knife snaps, leaving you both in rough shape but at least victorious over this foul beast. The rest of your night was continued escapade after escapade. You could hold it shut with one hand- that doesnt mean you should hold it shut with one hand Both hands should now be holding the mouth shut as the hands of an albino primate using you as a punching bag The skin begins peeling back from its twisting and gruesome face as your palms are flayed by the rows of teeth tugging against its deadly mouth. "Hurting me isn't going to help anything, child." You speak in an act of naunity hoold quite the wise one. Bite down hard, ending its life with rolling jerks of its neck. Lift the alligators head off the ground and toward your chest to apply even more biting pressure to the wound. Both hands, the gator takes both hands Your fingers rub against one another as you glove your right hand with the remains of the knifes handle. Pushing even harder against the mud, standing now in the stream your thighs struggle to keep grinding it into the animal's head. Once the head is at a ninety degree angle the gator can no longer fight back against you. With the gator's mouth pinned closed and your fist inside its mouth it no longer has any biting dice. You are able because of such frenzy to maintain a perfect pin. The pitiable excuses for arms just hang from his body as the alligator slowly suffocates to death. He cant even slide his head out from under your right arm due to your body bending around it in a perfect lock. Congratualtions you have wrestled the alligator into submission. Bathe in his defeated eyes for a moment. Well We hope this helped! Getting off the gator you step toward it, trying to get a looksie at its stomach so you can carve the knife in deeper, before noticing one of its eyes rapidly blink. Though your fist was covered in enough saliva and blood to mask the shape of your hand, it could obviously tell your fist from fingers. Push the gators head back to the ground and punch its remaining eye into jelly. What wretched lives these animals live, first its eye gets stabbed by some autistic child, then it drowns in pitiful revenge. If there was any justice in this world it would have jumped you before you could stab it and had actually escaped. Slide the dominant hand back into a position to cover the eyes again. Covering the eye that's not stabbed with fingers you stab and twist. Watching it shudder in pain, you feel an intense pleasure go through your numb arm. Thrashing around, the alligator doesn't notice where your fingers are and almost snaps them off. You pull back only to see blood spew out of its face as a dumb smile pumps through your body. Pushing down with the domainate hand slide your other hand back along the jaw until it is pressing against the neck as your other hand follows up from under the snout. You are so close to its mouth that you can feel warm sticky salvia pasting your once clean arm. This isn't just power, this is god damned ascension. Covering the wounds left behind by the knifes handle, your fingers rub together in preparation of a plunge into absolute domination. Slide your dominat=jnt hand back from the eyes to the neck incase the alligator tries to snap. Hesistant to do any remorseful actions, your dominate hand slips back into place. Bringing your subordinate hand from under the snout to over the eyes, knowing full well it won't bit, twist your wrists around one another and plunge your fingers into its eyesockets. Such sanctuary, such mercy you've only ever seen god provide to his faithful survivors. You should be in the same position you where in when you started to battle this beast of a victor, sitting upon its torso but it doesn't have a torso anymore, just two flappy pieces of meat entwined with eachother and a head. Though the vengeance over your parents shorts has been sated you can't help but still twist your hands around in the hollow sockets. Get your knees of the ground and get your feet under you. Har har har that's a good one, get my feet under me on what? The alligators now lay in little more than a lump of meat. Check place for your machete. Your machete fails to turn up under any piece of flesh or skin, in fact the bloody red ink has mixed so much with its surrounding colour that its effectively invisible to the naked eye. Hop to your feet and take a look at your surroundings... You are squatting on the gators back, deciding now would be a good time to get off the things back. How did you get here? When (and more importantly why) did you get here? Looking around you realize you are surrounded by bits of flesh, organ, and other bodily fluids that all seem to share one similarity, namely that they belong to youralligator from before. Keep legs tight against the body as you slide off the back. You tumble and slam into the mushy earth which is now coated in gator blood (and also your own). You land on your feet but the force of your landings twist your ankle and you end up tumbling back first onto the mushy ground. Getting back up you reassess the situation. Check self for injuries. Much more difficult for the alligator to bite you when you are on its back then when you are on its side, though not impossible. You got lucky. Still it's difficult to move around with all those spiny scales digging into your flesh everywhere, even through your clothes. You need to get yourself professional help for this mess and quickly. ---- THE NEXT DAY... You sit on the porch watching lambchops frolic in the field nearby. When the animal struggles push it down again, it will soon recover and come back again, but for now, it's content to graze. small tentative hops toward freedom arelambchopsObwserver You walk inside. bloodgoodObserver tell self stay strongAMSELECTHE ---- You take a nice long look at the road ahead as you sit on the porch... Specks of dust dance in the beams of sunlight peeking between the clouds above. Dont let the animal stuggle free just yet The clouds above drift silently without any indication of rain or shine, the same serene pattern they took up yesterday and will take up tomorrow. No wind sprints across the plain to signal anything out of the ordinary occurred here recently. Maybe an ant was scrambling up a nearby leaf moments earlier but it has already disappeared from sight now. NOBODYSSECRETS "It's a beautiful day" "Beautiful," you agree. Grip around the neck, aim at back of head, squeeze TRIGGER The last remnants of the future drift soundlessly above you. PRESSENT ---- You look around and take a good long look at the road ahead as you sit on the porch... A hazy sheen of sweat glimmers atop the flattened wheat in the fields nearby with Hearts dancing playfully around it. You're on top of the world. In one complete motion throw the alligator as far forward as you can whild you jump backwards off the tail The bloodthirsty beast arcs end over end through the air and lands with a hollow thud in the soft grass ahead. Pressing nto the ground it slid at least ten feet before stopping. Depending on the size of the gator you may not be able to throw it very far. ALLIGATORS Some gators are content to lie in the sun and do nothing much of the time, but not this brute. The second it landed it was flashing its teeth and hissing menacingly at you. Slowly and systematically you walk toward the gator as it shifts backward between snaps and hisses. Thats ok if it wants to move back that's Running now Running backward for gator is moving self in same direction as intended flight The longer this takes the more exhausted the both of you are going to get so you pick up the pace and walk briskly towards it, forcing it back even faster. IT is soon backed up against a tree and strikes out at you once and then twice when you continue to close the gap between you. Six inches may be all you need to throw it forward or backward to change its trajectory so its important to stay focused right up until the last second... BADONKADONK BADONKADONKA BONK BOINK BonkA LONG WAY AWAY You give it just a little kick for encouragement and once again it skips further than expected. At this rate you aren't going to be able to stop it. This puts it off balance and give you more time to escape so that's what you do, running backward while it pauses every few feet to strike a defensive posture then lunges toward you. JUMP JUMP JUMP You quickly judge the distance between you and toppling the gator and end up taking a step back when you realize the angle is still working in its favor so you can either run or try to push it over. Jump back as far as you can. And keep moving backward Keep running. Remember you can't turn your back on an alligator, no matter what. The gator will likely turn open its mout at you snarl or hiss. At this range it'll take an effort for you to even get a part of it in your mouth, but the closer you are, the less work you'll have to do. better lock your sights on that tail though. The gator snaps its jaws and the noise briefly startles you before it drifts off again. It needs to get louder before you can feel comfortable completely turning your back on it. Let it snap one more time and follow the sound of its jaw snapping shut with a careful step to its rear, afterall if it's about to snap at you its mouth is going to be open at just about the right level... Lubrication be damned you're running out of pressure. Give the gator a firm push with the side of your head like it was a door that ought to do it, but watch out for those chompers. Sprint forward. Keep your eyes on it and slowly back away, but stay focused and ready to counte4r. Sprint forward and leap right over top of it for the sweet rite um tackle. Keep your eyes on it and carefully approach until you hear a pause in its growling. swing your foot outward from hip to toe in a sweeping motion. Kick it right in the snout while you continue to watch for snapping jaws. If the gator chases you run away directly from it in a straight line while looking over your shoulder occasionally to see if its still following, make a lot of noise to warn it away and get out of the heat and into the safety of something before you actually have to deal with it grabbing or biting you. Or as a last resort, climb a tree. Especially in an area where there aren't many shorter trees with low-hanging branches. It will grow tired quickly and find water to return too eventually. I like the tree idea so I'm gonna go with that. (The alligator idea was probably dumb anyway right? I mean cats climb trees all the time...) Worst comes to worst and it actually manages to catch me in my current condition I can jab it right in its one functional eye and pray it doesn't somehow manage to eat me before it succumbs to its injury. (probably a long shot but i'm a fast little guy, have some faith! Thats how you wrestle an alligator. You twisted my words around! I said acting crazy would scare the hungry gator away, not wrestling with it! You're lucky it was a slow one. What is it with you and animals? (and tooting your own horn)Pulling out the pencil is easy but stringing it through the belt loop and then tying a not is a pain especially since you'd rather keep your eyes on that gator and have only one free hand. I see a shillotte image of a man wrestling a gator with a rope tied around its jaws to a nearby tree... Hmm... nah that won't work I'm in a situtation different enough that the procedures are likely substantially different. He was probably an expert too. (Wait there's a knife in my back pocket, I could try copying him exactly)Okay, but I'm not sticking the knife all the way into the gator's throat, just threatening it enough that I can make him let go. All the percentage sliders need to be change right now because that gator isn't going to slink away in defeat, he is going to open up his jaws, sink those teeth in and finish me off. His buddies will eat very well tonight... YOU HEAR THAT FELLAS!? It's a good thing my insanity keeps me from understanding the odds against me. Time to mud wrestle an alligator and hope some left over office supplies are nearby.... Take a litte bit from all when slid to far one way or the other. The screen looks like the following. For the sake of not stressing myself too much, let's just focus on "distance between you and the gator". Seems like the easiest to start and given how this animal is likely to think, it should make a break for some of the others intuitively. [move to your left ][jump][ move to your right ] The alligator eyes you warily as you reach to your back to grab the knife in your pocket. It crosses it's jaws briefly but seeing as it can't quite fit the whole body through the low shelf and slimy things seem to fly off of it. The alligator struggles to get purchase on the floor but soon you're left with a creature that seems surprisingly graceful as it slithers at you. Step two: The gators head begins a snapping motion and you use the leverage of your knees (One wood, one leg, solid. Other leg? Not sure that'll hold up) to keep from falling over and do your best to hide behind the wooden shelf in front of you as you draw the butter knife! This would probably seem very comical if anyone were watching but the distorted reality makes you feel like something out of a dream... Luckily not the nightmare kind. Get control of the mouth, push the head away from yours, stab and try to avoid the tail which is noticeably more powerful than you. The pictures getting more and more vivid..... Is this thing on? Once on the gator you must get control of the mouth or the gator will be able to bite down and crush your limbs, or worse your skull. Getting leathery scales stuck to your forearms overtime while you pull towards you might hurt a bit, but not even close to getting your arm chewed off. Step three:submission Put something in your hand to represent you holding the butter knife (perhaps a crayon) and act it out physically like they do in click clack music videos. (Click here to see how they do it: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NyB6dCWqiPU). Confidence is not really a strong point right now, those scales are big and nasty looking... Step four: get away safely Hmmm, better think of something quick! Time Outs don't last forever! For first graders with vivid imaginations. Paper and coloring utensils are good resources for this type of calm down club activity! Once the 2 minutes are up see how many of you can color something. The more detailed your pictures are, and the more you can imagine when looking at each others pictures. The most important part is that everyone has fun creating them! Relaxing for the win! ... Time's up! WHAT?! Once again you're surprised you released that fantasy so quickly, and you hardly had anytime to think about your drawing. Best of all? You're closer to the gator. Looks like your knife-weapon will be some sort of crayon today. It will be awkward to hold but snaps into sharp points in both ends, just the normal blunt round color on one end, spikey color on the other. ... All you can hear down here is the slithering of wet scales, somewhere in the darkness. Are they trapped too? Or are they close but silent? That's not entirely reassuring. Nor is looking over at your friends with your new found sensory powers and seeing them encased in gray capsule like things. Last time you looked they seemed to be filled to different levels, some frantic while others calm. Fear favors the deluded, boy did that hold true today. ... It's dark here. Black as the darkest night? No, more like a newly opened blank notebook. There is nothing here yet, but everything is possible. This darkness is not empty, and it loathed being colonized by you. You only really have one true option here once you get up. The wooden stage. That would be your best bet to stand on to see anything that will help you, although you'll be crippled with fear the whole time. ... You are going to try anyways though. Remember: You were put here to be the hero of this story! All you have to do is prove that they were right. ... That's why you're suddenly thrown into a existential struggle with this dark plain once you reach the stage that is just blankness. This realm is entirely mind, and you just occupied its current resident (which it obviously did not appreciate). ... But now what? Fight, or submit? You made this dark, yet here you stand. Eradicating your shadow to the nothingness that was here before you in this realm... Did that make you it's new boss? Sole master? God of darkness? Unfortunately just another denizen. Your zany nature keeps you from feeling the full weight of this dire predicament, but still, this isn't somewhere you want to be. ... It's like an eternal nighttime. You see nothing but the star-speckled blackness broken up by distant gray hills that have a luminescent purple hue, almost like acid. There are other colors here as well, blues and greens and more swirling about; although there perhaps are no actual physical items here (beside you, yourself). Perhaps it is a realm of ideas... ... Yet this is not your home. Your home is bright and happy, and surely somewhere close by...right? Oh, you're in the darkness. How silly of me! Of course you are, dear reader, we all are. It surrounds us, permeates us, it binds the very universe together as a cohesive reality. The darkness is within us all, and you are no exception, go on; admit to yourself your own dark thoughts. Do it. ... Come to think of it, why is there light at all? The bright sun, the shimmering moonlight, fireworks, electric lights, campfires, candlelight, cars and street lamps, glow sticks, lcd screens, flashlights, sunlight streaming through tall windows... How lucky we are to experience such a wide array of visual stimuli! With so many options available as to how we may view our wonderfully surreal world, why does it always revert to just two? ... Black and white. Without color, our world would be nothing more than a boring, bland place with no character or exceptional aesthetic. Just a mass of "anything" that goes on anytime, anywhere; continuing on into infinity. All real life problems and ideas would vanish without chromatic harmony, leaving us idle and unchallenged. ... It is why life is never monochrome. → You continue... ... So what is happening? It was never your intent read this far, you were trying to find the book's end! Why are you indulging in a fictional story depicting yourself in such a dangerous situation, when you could wake up from the nightmare at any moment? You must admit that these plot twists are rather fascinating, though you really should feel afraid for your life! ... Shaking your head, you laugh at the absurdity of it all. Your mind truly has gone haywire from the sleep deprivation. Something about this whole situation just doesn't feel right though, and you doubt if reality is really setting you upon a catastrophic roller coaster ride. You don't feel wind on your face from going 108 miles per hour, or hear the screams of other passengers like you would on a real thrill ride either. ... But maybe it isn't a ride at all. Maybe this is frighteningly real. You just don't know. ... Slowly opening your bleary eyes, you find yourself lying on the cold tiled floor of the bathroom. Feeling on your face reveals that it is still drying out, and you have a splitting headache to add on to everything else. Getting to your feet with heavy limbs, you glance over to the sink which has a large puddle of water with several toothbrush resting in it. Sighing deeply, it appears that part of the delusion remained even after you "awoke". ... Did you really wake up at all? None of this feels or seems real. Those books were right; reality is never what it seems to be. Moving about stiffness in your body, you make your way out of the bathroom with slow steps while you get your bearings. It's still the same hospital room, although...different. ... The entire reality has changed! The bizarre twisting and turning of the scene before your eyes confirms this is no longer anything like the reality you once knew. Gone is the dull and boring hospital room, instead replaced by the intimidating skyline of a large city. Looking down from your high vantage point, you observe buildings of random height beyond number level out into grids, with winding streets enough to get lost in. ... This doesn't feel real. ... In fact, this feels like...a video game. Confused by the very idea, you begin to rationalize what's happening around you. While you've never experienced anything remotely like this in real life, you know there are games that are so realistic they could possibly be mistaken for reality. Perhaps somehow your mind has conjured up a similar situation through delusion and wishful thinking. Figuring that this must all be some kind of game, you come to one important decision. ... ... You're going to play along. You wouldn't be surprised if a villain jumps out from around the corner, but for now the prospect of danger just makes this more interesting. There's not much else you can do anyway until you regain a clearer mind. Because really, what's the point in debating over whether this is reality or a dream when either theory fits the facts? Isn't it possible to make reality into a dream and a dream into reality? ... Scratch that. You'll just have fun with this while you can. With gaming on your mind, the first thing you do is try to find a way out of this hospital. With your new perspective, you easily avoid the nurse and swing open the door leaving the room. The hallways seem much longer than they were, but eventually they end with the arrival of an elevator. ... Such advanced technology. As you step inside and examine the digital floors indicator, a glimpse of yourself in the mirror makes you pause. You appear to be wearing a hospital gown, although it's not dirty and doesn't have any openings. It's also extremely long so that it drags on the floor, not that you really care about your appearance at this moment. What's more alarming is your hair, or rather the complete lack of it. ... And you thought the gown was bad. The blunt, closely cropped hair might not matter all that much to you right now, but you can't help feeling strange without any hair at all. How long has it been since you've seen yourself without a full head of hair? You don't really want to know. Before long, the elevator doors open up and you manage to step into the next hallway. People in various types of clothing are walking about or waiting near the nurse's stations.