#this. i think. is a moment of respite and recovery for the doctor. and a really really low point for even. however this works out. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

izukuwus · 3 years

Text

Edible Arrangements: Twenty-Third Bite: Working On It

First - Prev - Next - M.list - Ao3

A/N: happy fuckin uhhhhhhh august

thanks to @bring-me-tea for beta reading as always!

Chapter summary: After several days of recovery, you finally return to classes and confront your problems head-on. Also, you get asked on a date.

Warnings: talks of murder, permanent injuries, mild trauma that’s not super delved into, confrontation, some food mentions, ambiguously healthy interpersonal decision-making

Word count: 4600+

You are alone.

It took what felt like ages to be able to do this, just to be able to wake up in the morning, get dressed, and grab your bag to drive to class. It's been a week, closer to two, and you have to start going to class again. You have to.

Izuku sits across the room, laptop perched on his lap. He glances at you when you stop at the door, tilts his head in concern. "Are you sure about this?"

"Yeah. I mean, Tenya's clear and attending classes again, and he got way more fucked up than me. I just... I can't stay out of class forever."

"Well, no, but..."

"I can handle it," you say quietly, mostly to yourself. "I have to."

"Okay... Call me if you need me, okay?" His brow is furrowed. You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you... you’re going to be strong.

You nod and leave him, determined to face the day alone.

You can't do this.

There is one outstanding, key factor that you didn't consider about returning to classes today:

Neito Monoma sits, unusually quiet, outside the classroom before the prior class lets out. He stares at the ground, hardly acknowledging when a classmate attempts to garner his attention. He waves them off, then his eyes land on you on his way back to staring at the floor.

You freeze.

No, no, you can't have a panic attack here. There's too many people, and you need to get back to attending class. Just because Tenya and Izuku are working together to secure a doctor's note explaining your absence (although you're sure the burns on your arms would be more than enough to get your absences struck from your grades) doesn't mean you can skip class forever.

Tenya is strong. You can be, too.

You lean against the far wall, avert your eyes from Neito and glue them firmly to your phone. Mina and Tsuyu (and even occasionally Izuku, Tenya, and Hitoshi) have been texting you throughout the day, ever since you mentioned you wanted to come back to classes today. Their texts calm you, but still your eyes dart to watch Neito in between texts.

Every time he speaks to someone else, he glows a little brighter. You can't bring yourself to think too hard on why—you're focused on the sensation of pain as you pointedly grip your forearm to keep yourself grounded and typing back a suitably calm-sounding message to the group chat.

You're restless, ready to run at any given moment. Alarm bells screaming in your head at his presence, begging you to get away from him.

You turn, ready to bolt, only to make eye contact with your ever-bedraggled professor.

A sigh.

No escape now.

You approach him, taking measured breaths. "Professor!"

He releases his own sigh. "[surname]. You've been missing from both of my classes for the past week or so."

You laugh nervously. "Uh, yeah, about that, actually!" You hold up your bandaged arms. "I had something of... an accident? I've been recovering from my injuries and helping take care of my friend, who also got hurt during it, and I'm working on getting documentation, but the hospital's being weird about it, and—"

"Come see me during my office hours. We'll discuss all this then."

You nod, sliding your phone into your pocket. "Yeah, sure! Thank you for understanding, I'll be there."

He walks past you, and you exhale. Your neck has been itching that entire time—a brief respite, followed by the itch returning.

You hope you haven't got a rash of some sort.

"[surname]. Take a seat."

You set your bag down and take a seat, as instructed. Dr. Aizawa finishes whatever he's typing before looking at you fully, and as your neck begins to itch, you begin to understand a little.

"There's rumors floating around that last week, two students were attacked by another pair of students." He's always so dry when he speaks, as if he's entirely unamused by whatever it is he's talking about at the time. Right now is no different, although he does seem to be at least mildly interested in what you have to say.

"Oh?" You shift uncomfortably, placing a hand over the bites on one side of your neck.

“The details are annoyingly fuzzy, but that’s the basic jist of it. But, as I’m sure you’re well aware with your quirk, the truth is a little more complicated than a simple assault.”

You nod silently, fighting the urge to check your phone.

"Here's my question: Did two vampire hunters attack two vampires, a vampire and a human, or two humans?"

There's little revelation to be had in Dr. Aizawa casually dropping the idea of vampires into the conversation. Not so long as your half-formed theory about your bite marks itching was right.

"They... They attacked a vampire and a human."

"I don't suppose you've heard anything about the vampire in the equation?"

"He's okay. He made a full recovery."

"And I don't suppose you're aware that you're not fully human."

The accusation stings. He’s got his fingers laced together in front of his face, biting gaze looking right through any lie you might have been inclined to tell. "I know I've been enthralled, but I don't know who by or what they did. I also know that that's the reason my arm ended up like this."

"You're more knowledgeable than the average human is supposed to be."

"I'm not an average human."

"Final question. I can make some guesses, but how did one of the vampire hunters who attacked you end up a vampire before any of you came back to class?"

"What?" You jolt, the surprised noise the only breath you can manage.

"Today was his first day back. His mark isn't visible, but I've seen enough fledglings to know the signs."

"You must be mistaken. There's no way, Izuku and I have been together this whole time, Tenya's not been gone long enough even with his quirk, Hitoshi—" Your train of thought squeals to a stop.

Hitoshi.

"If I had to guess, someone tried to exact revenge for the attack on me and my friend."

"And yet, they left him alive."

"I don't... I thought being a vampire meant you were technically dead?"

"It’s more like, you've died, but didn't stay dead. In any case, I've confirmed what I needed to know.” He sighs slow and long, rubbing his temples with one hand. “You and Monoma will both have your absences excused from the past week. There is, however, an unfortunate matter."

You tilt your head. "Huh?"

"Groups for the semester project. Both of you missed signups. Normally, I'd just stick you both in the same group and ignore any emails complaining about your group assignments, but given your circumstances..."

"I'll be okay. I mean, it's gonna suck, but... Well, I mean, it can't be... I don't think he..." You sigh. "Can I speak with him before deciding what to do?"

"You want to speak with him." He raises an eyebrow, leaning back in his seat. "He attacked you, unprovoked, and you want to speak with him."

You clam up a little, nodding as you stare pointedly at the edge of Dr. Aizawa's desk. "I mean... he thought what he was doing was right. I have to... Maybe, now that he's... now that he's done this, and he's like that... maybe he's realized why it wasn't."

“He tried to kill your friend. He very well could have killed you, too. Do you not have any sense of self-preservation?”

“Well, I mean... He’s...” Your stomach turns. “Please don’t make me question myself. I want to talk to him before I make any decisions. If you’d rather I make the decision now, that’s fine, but I’m not going to not want to talk to him.”

"You're fairly naive." It's not meant to be an insult, just a simple observation. "Most vampires unlearn that pretty quickly. You’d do well to do the same.”

You tilt your head. "I'm not a vampire, professor. More than anything, I just want to understand."

For half a second, you think he might be smiling. Just as fast, he’s back to his neutral, exhausted expression. "Alright. You can speak with him first. But don’t take your time; I need to know by the end of the week what you’re going to do about the project. Everyone else should already be choosing their topics.”

You nod. “Right...”

“Email me once you've made your decision. It wouldn't be easy by any means, but I imagine it'd be easier to do the project alone than work with someone who’s assaulted you.

"It... it shouldn't be a big deal. Thank you for your concern, I'll let you know when I've made my decision."

"Take care of yourself, [surname]." ~ Izuku is nowhere to be seen when you arrive home. You imagine he's downstairs, or in his office somewhere. Still, you call out for him, and he doesn't respond, so you make your way to the library to study and try not to think about the day.

It lasts about five minutes before you decide that there's no real way you can't think about your day. Five more before you set down your book and reach for your phone.

occult weirdo to Vampire, but Annoying at 2:54PM

occult weirdo: hey

occult weirdo: I have a question for you.

Vampire, but Annoying: what's up?

occult weirdo: why is neito a vampire now?

Vampire, but Annoying: what

occult weirdo: he was in class today. acting shady, lying to everyone.

occult weirdo: I talked to dr. aizawa about my absence and he knew about the attack

occult weirdo: asked if I had any idea why one of my attackers has become a vampire since it happened.

Vampire, but Annoying: ok well

Vampire, but Annoying: I know what happened to him but I have nothing to do with it

occult weirdo: you don't.

occult weirdo: check how much I believe you right now

Vampire, but Annoying: I don't. Itsuka asked to be the one to talk to him.

Vampire, but Annoying: I handled Ibara

occult weirdo: tell me she's not been turned too

Vampire, but Annoying: she hasn't

Vampire, but Annoying: I enthralled her

occult weirdo: how bad?

Vampire, but Annoying: all I did was make it so she doesn't think vampires have to die anymore

Vampire, but Annoying: promise

occult weirdo: ...okay.

occult weirdo: I'm gonna interrogate you about this again later, in person

occult weirdo: now I have to figure out what the hell to do about neito

Vampire, but Annoying: I mean, he's got enough to deal with right now

Vampire, but Annoying: if itsuka really turned him, he's probably having a hell of a time trying to cope

occult weirdo: well that doesn't mean that my absence didn't result in me not getting paired with him for the semester project so I kinda still gotta deal with him

Vampire, but Annoying: oh shit

Vampire, but Annoying: that sucks

Vampire, but Annoying: what are you gonna do?

occult weirdo: talk to him

Vampire, but Annoying: well that's a stupid plan

occult weirdo: well it's my plan and I'm using it

Vampire, but Annoying: good luck I guess

occult weirdo: thanks

occult weirdo: I've gotta go, but thanks for being honest (?) with me

Izuku's head pokes into the library. "Hey. How was class?"

You sigh, hug your arms close to yourself. "Well..." You think of the look on Neito's face as he lied, lied to everyone around him. How scared he seemed. How scared you felt. "No."

"No?" He stifles a laugh. "That... that wasn't a response to the question, [name]. What happened?"

"Neito was in class."

The smile drops off his lips. "The guy who..."

"He's a vampire now."

He blinks slowly. "He is?"

You nod. "And I either have to do a massive semester project on my own, or work with him."

"What? Why?"

"We both missed signups, so we get automatically stuck together..."

Izuku doesn't seem quite sure how to respond to that, except to give you a sad look. "Do you want help on the project, since you'll be doing it yourself?"

"I don't think I can get help from a professor, but thanks for the offer," you say, quirking your lips in a short-lived smile. "Besides, I... it's not... I don't think I'll be doing it alone. I want to at least try talking to him. And if things go bad, well... He taught me a tip or two on how to fight vampires, so. I'll fend him off."

"Do you think you'll have to?"

It takes you a long moment to decide on an answer. "No, not really. He... we haven't talked yet, but he seems to be taking it... well, not well, but he's certainly taking it."

"Just... please be safe, okay?"

"I will," you say. "I promise."

You shift your hands so they're out of your line of sight. You don't want to know whether your quirk pinged that or not.

"Well, I have a proposal for you."

You raise an eyebrow, finally setting your phone aside. "A proposal? Color me intrigued, Doctor Midoriya."

His cheeks flush pink. "W-well, I was thinking, and, like... Y-y'know..."

"I don't think I do."

"W-well, a lot's happened, right? And we spent a lot of time getting you settled in and everything, and sure, I-I've been buying you food and stuff..." He begins to talk with his hands. It's endearing, the way he begins to wave them about as he stammers. Reminds you of someone. "And you've got basically everything you need, but, y'know, t-this wasn't the initial deal, not really, and..."

Your heart stops as you register his words. "Are you kicking me out?"

"N-no!" His hands flail out. "No. No, I just... I-I'm supposed to be, your um, y-your ˢᵘᵍᵃʳ ᵈᵃᵈᵈʸ, and all I've done is... give you food money and a place to stay?" Izuku’s voice pitches high at the words ‘sugar daddy’, almost impossible to pick out without a little bit of strained effort.

"You mean, keep me alive?" You stifle a laugh. "That and pay for gas. And you bought me books and a cheese danish that one time. Hot cocoa, too."

"No, I mean, that's not... Yeah, I'm doing all that, but... you've been through a lot recently, and I'm really supposed to be doing more than this, like I'm supposed to be giving you stuff, too, and all that, so... W-what I'm saying is that I could, um, there's this restaurant downtown that's apparently really good, and they have your favorite steak, a-and I could get us a reservation?"

Ah. You've been revived. Your heart races at speeds previously unmatched. "Steak?" you ask, voice pitching up. "When?"

"Well, um, I was thinking Halloween, if you're not doing anything that night?" As a matter of fact, you don't have any plans yet. "...how much steak?"

"As much as you want."

You swallow thickly, desperately trying to reign in your reaction. "What's the restaurant, again?"

"Oh, it's um, Alexander's."

"Oh." Your voice pitches high. No big deal, just the fanciest restaurant in the city that you know of. The kind where you have to know which fork to use, and know shit about wine pairings, and things like that. That restaurant. "Uh huh. Yeah, so, I don't, uh, I don't have Alexander's-worthy clothes."

"Well, obviously I'd get you something to wear. I'm not going to make you go to a place like that without buying you something to wear there."

"W-would we actually be able to get a reservation? I mean, it's so nice there, I'm sure they're fully booked for—"

"I made the reservation two weeks ago," he says, skin glowing.

You narrow your eyes. "Are you sure?"

Izuku winces. "Um, maybe closer to a month?"

"Izuku."

"I know, I know! Just, you talked a lot about steak when we first met and I know you really like it and I thought if we were living together and doing all this stuff then maybe we could do a nice dinner every once in a while, I just didn't know how to bring it up before, and, you know, I figured if you stuck around me long enough that we could actually make the reservation, it would be a nice way to thank you..."

"Thank me?" You raise an eyebrow, surreptitiously grabbing your phone and searching up the restaurant's menu.

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand, the other nervously tugging at the edge of his shirt. "Well, yeah. It's... It's only been a month, but still, you've been here. This house feels alive now, where it used to just be the shell I rotted in. And... No one ever sticks around even this long. I've lived the past fifty years in isolation, essentially, and you broke through that. Is it wrong to thank you for those things?"

"No, I just... It seems like nothing compared to everything you do for me. I'd be happy without you doing all this for me."

"But I want to."

You finally find the menu, carefully zoom in to look it over out of the corner of your eye.

Your jaw drops when you finally see it.

"Izuku."

"Y-yeah?"

"Alexander's has certified Kobe beef."

"Yes." He gives you a single nod.

"And I'm allowed to get it?"

"Of course?" he says, sounding confused.

Your phone hits your lap, menu forgotten in favor of processing what you're being offered. "Seriously?"

He nods.

"But..."

"Don't worry about it! I wanted to do something nice for you, and besides, don't you think it'd be nice to get your mind off things for one night?"

You stand, yanking him into a tight hug. "Thank you. How about after class tomorrow, we go shopping and figure out how I’m going to look like anything other than a sore thumb on Halloween.”

The time passes on. You drag yourself to class the day of Halloween, prepared but dreading actually talking to your attacker.

You don't want to forgive him. You don't want to redeem him for what he's done. He hurt you, he tried to kill one of your closest friends. There's no undoing that. But... you want to believe he can do better, if only he knows that better can be done.

That, and you really don't want to do the semester project completely alone.

Maybe you're being naive. Maybe this is a stupid plan, and you should transfer to an entirely different university and take on a new name, dye your hair, and spend the rest of your life in long sleeves or putting makeup over your burnt forearm. Izuku might even spring for it, if you asked him desperately enough.

But still, there's something in you that wants to try, and so you go to class. You sit there, the whole way through. And when he tries to book it at the end of class to avoid any of your classmates who might want to talk to him, maybe ask him about why he's so dodgy and looking so depressed throughout class, you shoot out your hurt arm and grab the strap to his bag before he can get away.

"You're not avoiding this," you say shortly. "We need to talk."

"I've done enough; I have nothing to say to you." He's short, sweet, and to the point. Nothing like his usual smug ass.

"Yeah, well I don’t give a shit. I have something to say to you.” You drag him (almost quite literally) to the little clearing behind the EUC and push him down into the bench. "Now let's talk."

He sighs. In the natural lighting, he looks pale and sickly, with dark bags beginning to form under his eyes. "What do you want?"

Now, with him before you in a wrinkly button-down and barely-matching shorts, you second-guess this whole plan. You aren’t even quite sure what you were going to say before. Maybe you should have planned that out before dragging him out here and sitting him down.

So, for a moment, you study him. He’s studying you back, standoffish and maybe something like hurt in his eyes. It's a hot day, and you wore shorter sleeves, so his eyes seem to dance across the bandages climbing your forearm in search of an answer to some unspoken question. "Well?" His eyes land on your neck—you feel it clearly, the itch that begins to spread from his gaze. If nothing else, you can be pretty sure that’s a vampire thing.

"You attacked me. You attacked my friend."

"He was... he had you in his thrall, didn't he?" His voice sounds so broken.

You frown. "I... I don't think it was him."

He blinks, shock registering across his face. "You're sure it wasn't?"

"Well, I didn't say that, but..." You sigh. "Look. Tenya's one of my closest friends. I've known him for years, and I know he's a good person, even if he can be overbearing or... intense, at times. I find it hard to believe he would have ever done that to me."

“You can’t just trust a vampire like that. Are you dumb, or are you stupid?”

“I’m someone who knows my friends.”

He rolls his eyes. “So you’re stupid, got it.”

“At least I’m not a dumbass who thinks it’s acceptable to assault and attempt to murder innocent people.”

“They’re vampires! They’re not people!”

White-hot rage begins to bubble up at your core, and you narrow your eyes. “So what about you, then? You think you’re better than them? You think you have the right to determine who lives and dies?”

“I’m not better than anyone,” he says, “not anymore.”

“You never were. Come on, you’ve got to have had some realization that what you tried to do was wrong. Even if we admit as fact that vampires aren’t people—which is honestly just you being an asshole more than it is anything else—it's still awful to kill animals for no reason.”

“And yet, people still hunt.”

“You’re a monster.”

“How’d you guess?” He rolls his eyes. “Was it the vampirism?”

“No, it was the total lack of concern for the fact that you tried to kill my best friend and seriously injured me. Do you give a shit about other people at all?”

“You think I don’t?”

You pause. “No. I don’t. I… I think you’re someone who was trying to help, but through the wrong avenues.”

“I was.”

“So you know you were wrong.”

He scoffs. “I wouldn’t say wrong.”

“But look how you ended up.”

“Yeah. I’m a monster.”

You roll your eyes. “Look, I’ve met a lot of people with a lot of different quirks. And vampirism, it’s just like… from what I understand, it’s like a quirk you can spread. Sure, it has its downsides, but no one is a monster because of their quirk. People are made monstrous by their decisions.”

“Yeah. Right.” He seems disinterested in anything you could possibly say to him. His gaze is somewhere far away, expression all sickly pale skin and haunted eyes. When he’s not giving you smug remarks or snide retorts, he slips into something else, something damaged and scared and unsure of the entire world now that he has changed.

“Come on. We got into a massive debate about this, remember?”

He raises a weak eyebrow. “Huh?”

“It was like, week one of classes. Dr. Aizawa had us talking about monsters? You were so fucking annoying with how you were saying shit like you knew better than anyone else in class, but you were making a great point. A quirk or a quality a person has might predispose them to being bad—which is bullshit, by the way, it’s society’s perception of these qualities that drives them to badness, and we’re not debating this right now so don’t fucking try me—BUT even if one’s quirk is ‘evil’ or ‘takes advantage of others’ or any of that sort, nothing is inherently bad. Vampirism isn’t evil, but attacking and killing people and controlling their minds is. Vampirism might drive someone to doing those things, but simply being a vampire doesn’t make you a monster. You’re still the same person, you just have different dietary needs and some new abilities.”

You watch him think over the words, tentatively taking a seat on the bench beside him as he contemplates. Dimly, you wonder why the hell you’re saying any of this to him, why you’re trying to convince the most insufferable prick who also literally assaulted you of anything.

But you believe people are inherently good, so there must be something good still in him.

“I wasn’t a good person before the vampirism.”

“But that doesn’t mean you can’t be a good person.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

You smile bitterly. “Well, maybe you should have thought of that before attempting to murder my best friend and doing this shit—” You wave your bandaged arm in front of his face. “—to my arm. Fingertips to upper arm. There’s almost no chance this will heal well enough that I don’t scar massively. If I’m not careful, it could even get infected. And it’s you and your friend’s fault.”

“What am I supposed to say?” he snaps, voice raw with withheld tears. As he continues, his voice grows steadily in volume and raw anger, wild eyes roaming over you, desperate for an answer. You try not to show how much you’re mentally shrinking back from it. “Sorry? Is sorry going to heal your arm? Will sorry keep you from facing permanent scarring? Are my good intentions going to heal that vampire’s trauma? You think anyone can come back from what I tried to do?” He seems to realize how he’s shouting, and pauses, turning away from you. “No amount of sorry or good intentions is going to make me be better than this.”

Despite your racing heart, despite the pity bubbling up in your heart at the sight of tears beading in the corners of his eyes, you hold fast. “I do want you to say sorry, actually. I want to know that the person who hurt me cares that I was hurt. Tenya and I will work through the trauma, but you’ve got to, too. This shit isn’t something you come back from. But it’s something you can move forward past. You can be better. You’re the person controlling you, aren’t you?”

He doesn’t respond, quiet sniffles floating into the clearing.

You’re not ready to relent. “I don’t want you moping about how you suck for what you did. I want sorry, and I want better, and I want to know that me and the people important to me are going to be safe with you in this city. I already know what you were trying to do. But while sorry won’t change shit, if you can’t even give me that, then yeah, you’re not going to be any better than who you are. On its own, words won’t do shit. But if you can’t even give me some half-assed words, you’re definitely not gonna start trying to be fucking better.”

He mumbles something, and at first, you don’t catch it.

“Sorry, what was that?”

“I’m sorry. I want to be better.”

“Cool. I don’t forgive you.”

His eyes are wounded when they snap to meet yours. You can’t bring yourself to feel guilty about it.

“It’s not that I don’t believe you’re sorry. Actually, I know you’re one hundred percent there. But you still assaulted me and my friend. Are you going to be a danger to anyone else?”

“No,” he says, “I won’t.”

Not a bit of him glows. Your shoulders relax a little, the tightness in your chest gently beginning to subside.

“Alright, noted. We’ll work on getting to ‘forgivable’.”

Tags: @tooloudarts @sapid-rose @xxangelpridexx @warmchoccymilk @lirinstaalem @izoodles @my-bnha-things @denise-the-death-goddess @themerpenguin @sincerelybubbles @fudobaby @imabootywarrior @chickynn @fuc-kingmonkey @vinumumbra @the-secret-thief @lianatriestosurvive @kc-korra @kiliakit @hay-leeeah @meowkid1000 @mha-baku-todo-deku-kiri @jojo-buttercup @starfishlovingbnha @neomuxuxi @lollawindsay @mrsreina @anime-simps-blog @wwwwyamd @omiwashere @emilytheeggy @subwayslander @thelittle-witch @sparkexplosive @shoutaaizawas @vanilladyfics @stargazerunlimited @luigisdivorcelawyer @chaoticevilbakugo

#my fics #midoriya izuku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #deku x reader #izuku midoriya reader insert #midoriya izuku reader insert #bnha x reader #mha x reader #bnha reader insert #vampire midoriya izuku

158 notes · View notes

anthemxix · 3 years

Note

Imagine if Warriors lost the usage of his legs do to an accident. Imagine how hard recovery must be on him, especially with him being a Captain so losing his mobility in his legs would be a nightmare for him.

you’re right, i think any physical impairment, even temporary, would be extra hard for him. serving as a captain and hero are key parts of his identity, and any perceived detraction from his ability to do those things would upset him.

so to add on to your amazing thoughts. what if. he gets some intense leg injury during the war. idk what, i’m not a doctor. XD but ok, it’s something severe enough that most soldiers would get leave, but, you know. no breaks for heroes. so he just has to push through it. it takes forever to heal and then doesn’t heal properly, so he’s left with some permanent damage that affects his mobility, and it just worsens with time.

during LU he re-injures that leg, so it gets really bad—but he refuses to take any respite. he keeps insisting he’s fine, even though really he’s in constant pain. he’s in denial about how serious the problem is because he can’t accept the idea that his physical capabilities have declined. accepting that would mean acknowledging that one day in the near future, he won’t be able to be a knight/hero anymore. and if he’s not a knight or hero, then who is he?

and then at the worst moment possible—like he needs to save one of the other links—his leg just gives out. he collapses. he’s immobilized. so something terrible happens that he could have prevented, had he taken proper care of that injury, but nope. the others think his pride got in the way, when really it was insecurity.

so now his leg is extra jacked up, like maybe he’ll never walk again. he feels tremendous guilt over whatever awful thing went down. he feels lost and worthless. and he’s lost the respect of at least some of his companions.

#but then he’ll be fine in the end because #i can’t hurt him so badly without comfort TwT #at least not like this #lu #warriors #anthem answers #thank you anon! <3

52 notes · View notes

mor-beck-more-problems · 3 years

Text

Negative Space || Morgan & Deirdre

TIMING: Current

PARTIES: @deathduty & @mor-beck-more-problems

SUMMARY: Following Lydia’s death, Morgan and Deirdre search for ways to pick up the pieces.

CONTAINS: discussions of death, dying, and grief. brief mentions of Lydia’s human captives.

“The clinic was a mistake.” Deirdre grumbled as she drove, hissing her complaints as she pulled the Subaru to a stop, massaging her temples in a desperate attempt to summon back her vision and the senses it offered. Her mind had been imprinted with the beeping and whirring of the clinic’s machines, the very same that had kept her sustained, and lent her the energy now to be driving at all; the doctor’s droll voice, asking her to stay another night, because she needed it; and the whispering of other fae, annoyed that a non-fae was in their presence, in their space, and her own voice, shushing them. She slept well, with Morgan in her arms and medicine in her body, but time had a horrible way of eating at memory, and a worse way of moving things around. Lydia’s body might not be in the alley she was murdered in anymore; if someone went to such lengths to kill her, they’d be disposing of her too. The two of them weren’t just too late, it was like they were operating on a whole other timeline. Deirdre hated it. She hadn’t touched the rest of her vision of Lydia’s death; the faces, the voices, the sounds and scents, those she wanted to save for when her mind needed them. Right now her mind needed a location...and a drink. Deirdre groaned and threw her head back. “If she was trying to leave town, then she should be here. But I’m not feeling anything.” She eyed her doctor-recommended crutches and then the sidewalk. “Maybe we should go by foot.”

“The clinic made you better,” Morgan mumbled. She didn’t especially enjoy being looked at like she was a dog wetting the living room, or being whispered about in Gaelic like she hadn’t made time to learn the words for ‘human’ and ‘filth’ online. But Deirdre had held her all night and she’d been able to follow the monitors tracking her recovery and listen to her heartbeat and believe, to an extent, that they would be okay. “I can pop out the wheelchair they gave us, if you want to take a swing around the next block or two,” she suggested. “I can take over driving, if it’ll help you concentrate. I won’t go so fast, or slow or…” Or whatever she’d done that had contributed to missing Lydia and her body. She knew by the light of day that there wasn’t much to be done about having a mental breakdown under the double trouble trauma, but having some responsibility meant she wasn’t completely helpless.

“Not the wheelchair,” Deirdre grimaced, turning the car off. “Anything but the wheelchair.” She didn’t have the energy to be wheeling herself around, and there was something deeply embarrassing about having Morgan push her. By comparison, the crutches were slightly less embarrassing, though still enough for her to forgo them as she stumbled out of the car. “Let me use you to lean on?” She called out, hobbling towards the passenger side to meet Morgan outside. “It’s better than anything else.” She smiled bright, and though she’d spent most of the car ride tensely silent or cursing at the air, even in her state, it wasn’t hard to see Morgan wasn’t doing well. Lydia’s death was a rumbling echo, but time had moulded her sadness into anger—her depression to urgency; guilt to stubbornness. She hadn’t asked what plagued Morgan, she’d almost forgotten to. Maybe she didn’t conduct the same alchemy of emotions that Deirdre did. “Do you want to take another break, my love?” She asked, for all her desperation to find Lydia, she was continually astonished and horrified at the ease in which she could offer pause and rest to Morgan. Caring for her girlfriend was not a task that she deliberated on, or regretted, she only hoped that Lydia beyond the grave didn’t hate her too much for wanting to care for the woman she loved. Even if respite was the last thing she wanted. The clinic had been agreeable only because pain and medication captured her brain, if they stopped now, she would start thinking. In that moment, Deirdre could think of no greater torture—except, of course, everything Lydia endured. But that was just it; that was the thinking. “We can think of this as a nice stroll if you’d like. Like we’ve always taken.”

“Sorry. I just thought…” The wheelchair would be faster, smoother, easier on Deirdre’s hands and the rest of her body. Morgan could wheel them around in a few minutes. Even sidewalks without accessible ramps wouldn’t be a problem with her zombie strength. She was three days without a meal now and could bust through or lift most things she put her mind to. “Anyway, you should at least bring your cane. I’ve already ordered a nicer one, but it’s not going to come in for a couple of days.” She stumbled over her words to appease Deirdre’s hardened grief so much she almost missed her love’s gentle offer. “Of course you can lean on me, if that’s what you want,” she said. Her eyes nearly watered at Deirdre’s smile. It wasn’t even twenty-four hours out from when she had stopped breathing in her arms, since she had run and disappeared and fallen apart in bloody pieces and stopped speaking to her altogether unless it was to give instructions. As Morgan got out of the car to meet her girlfriend and pull her into her arms (gently, so as not to upset her healing sores), she couldn’t help but feel like some part of her was still cowering in the driveway, stuck to the ground with all that blood. “We don’t need to stop,” she said into Deirdre’s shoulder, carefully giving her a squeeze. “I know we need to do this. I know why we’re here. Just tell me what you want me to do. I’ll--” She shivered. “I’ll do it. I’m doing a lot better today, and I can carry you if you get tired, and I um…” She couldn’t think of anything else to specifically offer. She looked up into Deirdre’s eyes, promising her anything with desperate intensity. I’ll be good. I’ll find a way to make this better.

Deirdre glanced over at the shoddy stick, more tree branch than cane. The fae enjoyed their ties to nature, Deirdre would sooner use the crutches—which were grey and dull but notably not dirt-stained. “I...think I’d rather just lean on you.” Even in sickness, there were standards to be upheld. And while Deirdre found a measure of humour in it, she looked to her girlfriend to see that she didn’t. “We have time,” she smiled softly. They really didn’t, her stomach churned and her mind battled with her to assert a timeframe. They didn’t have time, except that Deirdre smiled as though they did, and spoke slow, measured, as though there was no rush. She pressed her body beside Morgan’s, just the way the two of them knew how to walk tangled in each other, with added weight against the zombie’s shoulders. “It’s okay,” she gestured for them to walk forward with a careful pace, seemingly unbothered. She felt fractured; there was the part of her that cared so deeply for Morgan that even against her own desperation, she could summon whatever kindness Morgan needed. And the part that burned for Lydia; the slow growing storm that just wanted to find her. In these moments, it was easy for her to remember that Morgan was suffering too. When left to herself, everything else seemed to slip her mind. Storms were often consuming, but she had practice taming them. “We can talk about it, if you want; whatever’s bothering you. Besides the obvious, I guess.” She laughed weakly, staring up at the sky. Something about the early morning air was always acrid, it stung her eyes, but it was of great importance to her that they left the clinic as soon as she woke up. She’d forgotten to ask what Morgan thought. “I’m sorry I haven’t been exactly…” she looked to Morgan with her own desperation. “...like I should be. I just want to find Lydia, I just want to get to her.” Deirdre shook her head, sighing. “You’ve been very good to me, despite everything. And I haven’t even thanked you for it. I’m sorry, my love. Will you let me ask after you now?”

“O-obvious?” Morgan wasn’t sure what counted as obvious and what didn’t. She averted her eyes and started to hobble with Deirdre the way she wanted to go. “No, we can just…” Morgan swallowed thickly, trying to summon up some wall to put between herself and the fear and guilt she didn’t know how to relocate. But she was always herself around Deirdre. She didn’t know how to pretend around her, even if it was what would help the most. “You don’t have to be anything more than how you are. We can go find her, we don’t have to stop for anything, I’m sorry if I’m...I’m not trying to hold everything up, I don’t mean to be so…” Her eyes were burning again and she tried to focus on walking with Deirdre. She never would’ve thought walking up and down their house wrapped up in each other would come in handy before. But here they were, stepping in the way they knew so well, enough that Morgan could remember how they usually were. Not the happiness, but the ease, the intimacy of their openness.

Morgan met Deirdre’s eyes for a flash of a moment, hoping that she could be good and find whatever strength she needed, however unfamiliar, to pull herself up and help Deirdre find what she needed to. But as Morgan held her gaze, the tears came free and her insides crumbled. “You don’t need to thank me, or be sorry. Honestly, I don’t really feel like I--” she hesitated. “I know I...I tried, I did, but I screwed it up...” she clenched her jaw and tried to keep her composure as much as possible and brought them slowly to a stop near a sidewalk bench. “I know I can’t do anything to fix what happened, but if I could just do something to make any of this better or easier for you…” She clenched her jaw and breathed again. “I know you’re angry. And I know I’m at least partially responsible for us being in this situation. But…I’m sorry. I feel like I’m making everything worse right now. I should be comforting you. You shouldn’t have to worry about me after losing your best friend, your family, but...you were gone. I got off the floor and you were gone and then you were bleeding and you wouldn’t tell me anything and you wouldn’t stay or take me with you and...I should’ve just gotten the car, fucking stars above, I should’ve just gotten in the car and picked you up and maybe then we… but I just thought ‘she couldn’t have gone far, we’ll figure it out.’ I didn’t understand what was happening, and...you were dying! You went from running away to looking me in the eye and saying you weren’t going to live and then you couldn’t walk or use your hands and there was so much blood everywhere and I was scared! Out-of-my-mind scared! I would do everything different now, I would, but...I didn’t know anything except that the world was ending. You were dying and it was the end of everything and I was scared and it broke me. I didn’t even realize you’d gotten up after the call, you were just gone, and nothing felt real anymore and I couldn’t...be what you needed. I tried, but I couldn’t. And I’m still--between failing you and almost losing you on the fucking driveway with no warning, I’m just not back together yet...” her voice petered out. Morgan could only just push through her shame to look at Deirdre again, searching for someplace safe in her gaze to hole up in.

“Lydia, I mean….” Deirdre breathed with trepidation; confessing the truth so bluntly was not something she had grown accustomed to in the time between her scream and now. She would have preferred, in fact, to never speak of it. But such wasn’t fair--Lydia deserved to be spoken of, remembered, loved. Even if it would just be her who held the leanan-sidhe in her heart. She frowned and anchored herself to Morgan’s side, pressed as tightly as she could manage. With great imagination, she could pretend this was one of their strolls around White Crest, at some point they’d turn a corner and make their way into a cemetery. But the gravestones in her head all read Lydia’s name. “You didn’t screw anything up…” She fell on to the bench, gesturing for Morgan to sit beside her, nearly pulling her down too. “You don’t have to be sorry about anything, my love. I wouldn’t have gotten myself anywhere on foot, you know that, and it is true that my body needed rest. You can imagine the state I would be in now if you hadn’t chased after me.” Deirdre tried to laugh, the gentle, light way she did when she wanted to lift Morgan’s spirits, but the sound came out as a cough. And then another. And then a tug, taut and strange in her chest. She grimaced, leaning forward to clutch the rough fabric of the clinic-lent sweatshirt she was wearing---equally as gaudy as the cane and wheelchair. Morgan’s voice throbbed in her ears, she made out a few sentences and a handful of words. Distantly, she knew Morgan was talking about her near-death, and the trauma that followed it, but her head pulsed; vision spotty. “You don’t need to...do anything...different…” She spoke through clenched teeth. “It’s okay. Don’t be sorry. I don’t need you to be anything but how you are. It’s oka---” The cemetery with the Lydia gravestones screamed at her, ringing loud and demanding. Deirdre stumbled off the bench. She stared down the road, watching it narrow. The pull she had been searching for was clear, and it was persistent. It tethered her, strung her limbs up and pulled her like a doll.

If she was thinking, she’d realize it was in poor taste to be running off again. But she wasn’t thinking, she was sprinting down a foregin street. Pain forgotten, she burst forth with temporary speed and composure. “Morgan!” She called her girlfriend’s name just once before she turned the corner. The cemetery. The Lydia gravestones. They lived in a nameless alley; not that alley’s often had names, but she’d make sure people knew this one--the place where good died. Deirdre stumbled into it, filled with perverse relief to find Lydia. To find Lydia. To find--Where was Lydia? Deirdre threw herself to the ground, equal parts frantic and too weak to hold herself up. Where was Lydia? She committed herself to vision, to everything her death-cursed body could drum up.

Morgan thought the clinic and the waking up and the sitting tensely in the car was a trick and this really was a magic nightmare drummed up to torment her. Deirdre coughed, ragged and painfully unlike herself. Morgan scrambled for the water bottle in her bag and handed it off to Deirdre. “Drink slowly, babe,” she whispered. “Slow, okay?” She felt brave enough, forgiven enough, to stroke Deirdre’s cheek the way she liked to when it was her turn to comfort her. But Deirdre shuddered and sank against her body. “I’ve got you. What is it? Hey—” And then Deirdre was up, running away from her again, knocking her way through the street, drunk with pain. “Deirdre! Deirdre, please!” Morgan didn’t care about the pedestrians turning their heads to look at the crazy woman shoving past them. She was just seeing their street and the trail of blood and Deirdre’s dead, icy look. Morgan couldn’t do this again. She didn’t have it in her.

Morgan turned the corner and caught Deirdre’s hand as she called her name. “I’m here. Tell me what’s happening, just fucking tell me, I don’t even care what it is!” She pleaded, falling to her knees with Deirdre, holding her up in her arms. “Are you in more pain? Do I need to drive you back to the clinic? What do you—did you find something?” She brushed back her love’s hair, searching her face for some tell about what new twist of the cosmic knife was working through them this time. She held onto Deirdre, too tight for her to break away from easily. “Please. I can take it. Just talk to me…”

Where was Lydia? Deirdre burned, clawing at her skin with bandaged fingers. She felt cut upon cut across her chest, the weight of wounded wings she didn’t own, spear through her shoulder. She felt Lydia’s pain, splashed up against the walls and spilled across the floor, but she didn’t know where she was. Her body took flash fever, starting at her knees against the ground. Where was Lydia? She heard voices, saw figures in the dark of her vision–one, two, three...just how many people had watched Lydia die? How many of them caused it? At the center, a blonde girl flared to mind, but Deirdre already knew about her; had already committed herself silently to dealing with it. She began to paw at the ground. Perhaps Lydia had been buried below, somehow, but she searched and searched and found nothing. Her body burned.

Deirdre blinked, turning slowly to her girlfriend. The apology for her actions that wanted to sit on her tongue had been swallowed down. She took dirt and ash into her hands, letting them stain once pristine bandaging before peeling Morgan off of her. The process was slow, she was in no rush now. She had found Lydia, after all. Once unfurled, she opened Morgan’s palm and dusted ash against her skin. “That’s Lydia,” she said, “we found her.” Deirdre turned back to the ground, the ash was nearly indiscernible from the rough cement, but she leaned down and scooped it all up into a pile—every grain of dirt along with it. In time, by hand, she would pick everything that wasn’t Lydia out. For now, she just wanted it all. She thought she could mold her back, like clay. She tried it; holes for the eyes first. But the nose wouldn’t stick. “How is she going to wear something nice, for the funeral?” She asked, “what if she wanted to be buried? Didn’t they ask her? Didn’t they think about her family? This is all they get to see of her now. Who would want that? Who would want ashes?” In her scraping the ground, the charred remains of Lydia’s phone mixed with the pile. Deirdre plucked it out. There was Lydia, pile on the floor, and this was the place she died. This was the place she saved Deirdre’s life. And they gave her ashes. “Didn’t they know…” she sobbed, unaware she had begun tainting the ash with her tears (she would apologize for this later, seek repentance in the familiar places she knew). “....didn’t they know? Didn’t they know that I loved her. Why would they—what did they think I would do with a body? Couldn’t they have just left her in a river or—“ Deirdre curled up on the ground, pulling Lydia to her chest. There wasn’t much left of her now, even with the ash; a byproduct of the time she wasted (she would apologize for this too). “She couldn’t stand looking at a dead body, not the beautiful decayed kind. But I think she—I think she wanted a coffin. Didn’t they ask her? Why didn’t they ask her?” Deirdre sobbed, a horrible and pathetic whimpering sound, but she knew the answer.

Morgan tried to fasten Deirdre’s hands together in her grasp to no avail. “No! If you can leave me behind like I don’t matter you can use your fucking words and tell me what’s happening!” She shook her, aching and desperate, but Deirdre was somewhere else, and nothing Morgan said meant a damn thing, if they’d even registered as words at all. And then she spoke and all of Morgan’s fear and grief punctured, crawling miserably into some dark corner inside herself to hide. There wasn’t time for this. If Deirdre was right (and when it came to death, Deirdre was always right), then Morgan didn’t get to matter right now. She quieted and let Deirdre have her way, carefully folding away her hurt in box after box to fester out of sight.

Morgan had never looked at flesh ash before. Somehow she thought it would look different, more distinct and impressive. But aside from being a little paler, there wasn’t anything to differentiate it from the dregs of a regular bonfire. Morgan closed her hand around the grainy nothing Deirdre had put in her hands. Lydia. If she hadn’t been an alchemist in another life, she wouldn't know the connection between these little particles and the woman they had both known. But Morgan did, just as she knew that whatever kind of soul fae had, Lydia’s was off becoming part of something else. Strangely enough, Morgan couldn’t find it in her to hope for peace for Lydia so much as a second chance, an opportunity to be kind, to understand that the world wasn’t stratified the way she’d been raised to believe, to feel connected to the affection that had vanished from her life over its final weeks. That’s what Morgan wanted.

But death didn’t care for wanting. Deirdre had explained that to her plenty of times. And as Morgan held her girlfriend, rubbing her back and stroking her hair as she sobbed, she reminded herself that she was part death too. She could hold and speak and not want anything. She could, if she remembered the pit inside her and let it take her a little. After watching her tiny world implode on a loop so many times in less than a day, it was almost easy. “I don’t know, my love. I’m afraid I don’t know.” she said faintly. “But I do know that her soul and her energy have already passed on and transformed. Maybe she’s in the winter flowers, or the wind, or some happy, gentle creature that was just born. But we can put what’s left of her in a nice urn, maybe something from her house. I don’t think she’d mind her house pieces being with someone who can appreciate them. Or we could get an alchemist to turn her into something you can keep with you always. She would like her body turning into something beautiful, I think. When you’re ready, you’re going to finish the water bottle, and I’ll clean it out and we’ll put her in there for the time being. And we’ll go home, and you’ll decide what you think is best for her remains when you’re ready for that too.”

“There’s no winter flowers in an alley!” Deirdre bellowed, rumbling the world around them. Her tears felt like fire against her cheeks now, and she pushed herself off the ground. “This stupid man-made shit. She doesn’t get to go anywhere! Not back to the earth that bore her, not the forests of her ancestral home. This human garbage is what she gets. You can’t grow a tree in cement! They killed her here! And they didn’t even leave a body.” Deirdre slammed her fist to the ground, shattering bone on impact and undoing her body’s attempts at healing her torn nails; she reacted to neither, an instrument of pain and anger. “You don’t know what they did to her,” she spoke to Morgan now, trembling in the force of her words. “We didn’t even get to hear all of it. But I saw, I heard, I know. They took Lydia from this world, she begged and they ignored her and now she’s ash. She didn’t want to die this way. And I promised her, I promised her—“ ‘A good death’ shouldn’t have been something impossible to give. It was her job, her livelihood; everything she was born for. “She was my sister and they took her.” Deirdre huffed, calming herself just enough to remember who she was speaking to, and what had been said. “Not unless you can dry it all out,” she gestured at the water bottle, gently taking it with her good hand. If drinking water would please Morgan, she would do it, but the point of the gesture was lost on her now. “Water will ruin the ashes. Or taint them. Nothing touches Lydia anymore, nothing that will hurt her. No water.” She took a sip, hissing as it went down. Drinking water felt like a waste of time, so much so that she stopped at just the first sip. “And no home. We go to Lydia’s.” Deirdre pulled off her sweatshirt, pushing the ashes onto the fabric. She considered that the water bottle just might have been better, but she wanted everything and she wanted it pure. “No one will be turning her into anything, not unless I know I can still feel her like that, and, anyway, not a human. I’m not letting another human touch her. Her family will decide what’s best. I’ll leave that to them.” A work of art might’ve sounded good to Deirdre, if her mind could bear to stir itself from thoughts of rage. “Are you good to drive?” She asked Morgan, speaking mostly to the ash though. “We can take a break, if you don’t want to. But we’re not going home. I don’t want to go home now. We need to go to Lydia’s, as soon as we can. Time—“ she snarled, “—clearly has done terrible things to my sister.”

Morgan took back the water bottle as soon as Deirdre made her disgust for the idea apparent. She had dumped out the rest and begun cleaning it with her sleeve when Deirdre dismissed the idea. Morgan stopped, screwed on the lid, and put the empty bottle away. Nothing to do about it now. Taking off the sweatshirt from the clinic was a stupid mistake. The ash would get caught in the fibers and almost impossible to fully separate. Some of Lydia’s remains would end up in the wash, or some cotton blend would end up in her urn, or whatever happened in the end. And Deirdre shouldn’t have promised a good death, not when she knew from Morgan’s death that sometimes there wasn’t time enough to fix anything. But nothing in Morgan’s head mattered, and nothing broke the surface of her blank face except a ‘fine,’ and later, when the silence had been long enough to make Morgan sure that Deirdre was finished, she said flatly, “You just re-broke your hand, of course I’m driving. We’ll go to Lydia’s and then swing by the clinic again.” Deirdre didn’t have enough clarity of mind to set her own bones, and she probably couldn’t, with her fingers in their state. She scooped Deirdre up in her arms and walked them back to the car. She buckled both of them in, started the car, and took them away.

Time washed away funny when you were in the pit. It was both a long time and a short time back into town and up to Harris Island. The light had changed, bright and desaturated. Morgan pulled up the drive and turned off the car and came wordlessly around to wait for Deirdre to let herself out whichever ways she was going to insist on next. Deirdre had been right about time, the air crackled with the sound of tarp bubbling in the wind. New windows still had the stickers on them, ready for the final approval that would never come. At least the security team was absent, now lacking someone to follow and crime scene tape had been strung around the perimeter. Morgan only needed to twist the handle hard enough to break it free and let them in.

Deirdre hated being carried, despite its convenience. It made her feel like a child, and of all the things to be, a child was the worst. But she did not argue this time, she had her eyes glued to Lydia, and they remained there. In the car, which she hadn’t noticed they’d gotten into, she tried whispering her friend’s name, as if coaxing her out of her ashen hiding place. Then she spoke to her softly in Gaelic, mostly nonsense, but partly apologies she could not find the words for in English. Every so often, she subjected herself to the vision again, this time she took account of every detail. She had been cataloguing sounds by pitch by the time they came to Lydia’s. “We’ll be back,” she told the ashes, which was a silly thing to do, but Deirdre’s mind had gone to a strange place. A different place. She made sure Lydia was comfortable before she left, wrapped safe in the cheap sweatshirt. Inside, there would be nice vases for Lydia to go in until she found a more permanent home. It would be better than her shirt, at least. Deirdre looked at the ashes. “Do you want to come?” She asked them. They did not respond, but she turned back and picked them up carefully, unable to part with Lydia anyway. Lydia’s house was not even in an acceptable state; too messy, too taped up and put together all wrong. Lydia wouldn’t want that. “I should clean up,” she announced to no one in particular. “But first a good home for the ash—for the ash—for the—for Lydia.” But everything was toppled over, not where it should be. Her mind was still reeling from visions, she didn’t have the capacity to log every change here. Her eyes raked over the sheer number of them, and she felt sick. “This isn’t good.” She said, sitting on Lydia’s couch. The same place she would sit, feet tucked under her, as her and Lydia chatted over wine. Deirdre’s gaze settled on Lydia’s empty spot beside her. “This isn’t right.” She looked to the ashes again, bundled with more care than she had ever held anything. “What do you think?”

“You’re not gonna clean anything. It’s a crime scene,” was all Morgan said. She walked through the first floor of the house, or as far as she could manage while keeping Deirdre in her sight. There had been a struggle, and there had been an investigation underway. Spots were marked up with numbered tags as evidence. If they only knew the worst of it, they wouldn’t have bothered, Morgan thought. She went systematically through each room, stopping in the kitchen to work on the cabinets. It was fitting and cruel and pitiful, to put Lydia in something meant for food, but there weren’t going to be many options on this floor. She took out a sculpted rice serving pot and a ceramic sugar tin, both more form than function. She washed and dried them carefully by hand. There was a lot wrong with this place, a prickling awfulness that wanted to pull Morgan out of her numbness and shoo her out the door. But Morgan didn’t matter right now, and neither did Lydia’s crimes. Maybe another day, but not right now. Morgan brought the two vessels out to the living room where Deirdre still sat. “You don’t care what I think,” she muttered, setting them down in front of her. She’d found fault with everything Morgan had put forward so far, and this was probably going to be more of the same, so Morgan stepped away in an effort to get ahead of the next blast. “I’m going upstairs. Don’t do anything to hurt yourself.”

“What crime happened here?” Deirdre turned to the ashes, whom she thought might laugh and tell her something silly. But with things numbered up, the humans hadn’t infested Lydia’s home to try and look for her; they didn’t care she was ashes. But what crime happened here? Lydia had never done anything wrong, as far as Deirdre could think—which wasn’t very far, now. “The vases and art are missing.” She assumed because Regan had done her number against them, but it was wrong to see Lydia’s house so barren. She would’ve hated this. Likewise, she would’ve hated the options Morgan presented. Deirdre eyed them, and a moment too late, spoke softly. “I always care what you think, Morgan.” But Morgan had gone already and left Deirdre in the place that was wrong and empty. She pulled the serving bowl close, and carefully poured Lydia inside. “I’m sorry,” she told the ashes, and though she was vigilant not to spill anything, she couldn’t help but think she was losing some of Lydia in the transfer. She slipped the sweatshirt back on, bundling the ash-stained front in her hands, tugging them close to her chest. Deirdre turned her attention back to the house, she thought about mixing the numbers around, rubbing dirt over the places they thought were evidence. She didn’t know what crime they assumed was committed here, but they were wrong, and Deirdre needed to protect Lydia’s legacy. But instead she hobbled to her feet, and stumbled her way up the stairs. Falling down and over, revisiting old scrapes against her legs, wasn’t so terrible now that she had no space in her mind to think of it. “Morgan?” She crawled to the bedroom, “what are you looking at?”

Morgan had only been upstairs to visit Remmy before, and so wandered the rooms on rooms on rooms without purpose. She found Remmy’s first: empty. Morgan frowned to think that she and Lydia felt the same way about them and their absence. But there it was, a hollow shell where a life used to be. If Morgan didn’t know any better, she would have taken it for some overly personal art installation. It could be called something like, ‘regret’ or ‘disavowed’ or ‘why the heck did you stick around for so long if you were going to make me feel bad for what I need and fuck off’? That last one was more about her than Lydia, she liked to think, but she shut Remmy’s old door and moved on all the same.

There were more spare rooms and suites, some that looked lived in recently enough to make Morgan’s stomach clench. Clothes folded with neurotic care. Pencils and paper on a desk. Shoes tucked under a bed like they were hiding. It had to be Chloe. Other, too, from the looks of things. Where had Lydia found the time to take more people? How long after leaving Chloe or Sammy dying had this happened? Morgan lingered for several moments. She was one of the few people who could begin to understand the crimes that had happened here, she owed Chloe that much. How many times had she been tormented here? How many times that this felt like some sick safety compared to the torture basement? How much harder was it to bear this alone? Morgan didn’t have the stomach to bear it at all, not with the memory of Chloe’s cries in her ears. She stumbled backed away from the hallway and turned down a different one. The house seemed to change, performance and display falling away to simpler aesthetics, cozier furniture. Morgan entered the room at the end of the hall and found herself in Lydia’s bedroom.

It was the kind of room someone’s mother would have liked: soft textured fabrics fresh out of a bedding catalogue, warm light coming through the curtains, fat photo albums and well-loved poetry books stacked on the nightstand, and on a vanity shelf, miraculously intact, were arrays of trinkets and knick knacks. Morgan went up to look at each one, noticing the particularities, the mish mash of styles. This wasn’t curated the way the sculptures and paintings downstairs were. If there was any logic here, it was known only to Lydia, mysterious and personal. There were runes and gaelic dialects that must have been fae and off in a corner was a collection of bones, including a bell jar terrarium arranged around a racoon skull.

“My bones,” Morgan whispered. She had given Lydia the gift on their last planned meeting. She always came with a gift for Lydia, but this one had been her most involved; crafted by hand instead of purchased. “I thought you hated this,” she said. “I thought you hated all my presents, but I worked on this for days, hoping you’d be impressed. I wanted to remember what it was like creating something, and I thought you of all people would understand. But you never really said you liked it, so I figured you put it in some reject closet...” But it was here, carefully tended to along with Lydia’s other treasures, the moss even looked like it had been nurtured recently. Morgan surveyed the collection again, the strange hodge lodge of it, and the care they were curated with. These were gifts. These were people she wanted to keep close to her heart, and for some reason she had chosen to remember Morgan along with them, even after everything. And looking at this, how could Morgan not think of Lydia over at the house, sipping wine with Deirdre, or next to Morgan in the car, begging silently to be accepted? And then all the times they fought online and Lydia’s patience when Morgan said something stupid and offensive to her fae ears and that time they sat in the warmth of a fae funeral pyre, pressed together with Deirdre in the middle? That was real. As real as Chloe’s cries in the basement and everything else that had happened here. This stupid terrium that only mattered because Morgan had made it--this was Lydia too.

Morgan lifted the bell jar terrarium and held it to her chest, bundling her arms tight until the glass broke. Morgan whimpered. No, she didn’t matter. None of this mattered. Not the glass pressing into her skin, not her hurt, her betrayal, her grief. And yet. “What was wrong with you?” She asked Lydia. “Why couldn’t you have been this kind to—what was wrong with you?” She sank to the floor, staring into the broken offering like it might hold any answers. She reached deep inside herself for that calm, dead balance again, but it was no good. It wasn’t a place Morgan had ever known how to keep herself in. As she curled her body over the mess, sobbing into hand, it seemed that it, too, had abandoned her completely.

Morgan sensed Deirdre only faintly. She gasped for control, scrambling for something inside her heart to protect herself with. She wiped her eyes furiously and curled her body away, crunching the glass further. It came apart on her shirt, but Morgan didn’t care. She wasn’t ready to get off the floor and face whatever Deirdre would do to her next. “...Stop.” She said, her tear-choked voice just above a whisper.

“Morgan?” Deirdre called out again, crawling across the floor. If she had sense, she would have hated the child-like quality of it. If she was thinking, she would have apologized for it. “Are you oka—“ Stop. Deirdre flinched, Morgan would not catch the flicker of pain across her features, though her whimper was audible. “But—“ her argument caught in her throat. Somewhere beyond her, there were the words of care and love: you’re not okay, I won’t stop. But there, right then, all she had was quiet. Tell me what’s wrong, turned into the slow reaching for Morgan, grimacing at her flinching of the touch. Whimpering as it happened again when she wrapped her arms around her love. The Lydia spilled across her shirt spread on to Morgan, but Deirdre’s mind was a simple beast now; it did not possess the intelligence to consider intricacies. “Let me see your hands,” she asked softly, then set about picking the glass out of her. That, like all of the Lydia that had been defiled around her, was also wrong. She was learning that she didn’t like seeing the people she loved in ways they didn’t belong; Lydia to ash, Morgan to pincushion. “You were right about the water bottle,” she said, “but I do like wearing Lydia. It feels like she’s hugging me again….almost. I miss that. I held her while she cried, in that bed right there, and at the time I didn’t think to cherish the feeling. I thought I’d always have it.” She paused, trying to pull Morgan close to her, like always was—like she also imagined she would always be able to. But she had lost Morgan once, a few times before if loss by her own doing could be counted, and she knew to always hold her as if committing the feeling to memory. “What’s wrong?”

Morgan continued to cry, shrinking and cowering from Deirdre’s touches as she searched for the cold, effortless grasp of death, and a voice that at least resembled her own. She tried pulling her hands away (the cuts didn’t matter) and she tried dissolving out of Deirdre’s arms and slithering back to the car alone. But Deirdre had her, and she was trapped, and maybe it would have been the only trap she wanted to fall into if it wasn’t all a meaningless lie. “I said stop…” she croaked. “Stop lying, stop touching me like you…” Her voice snagged and whined in her throat. “Like you suddenly care. Just stop, please…” The back and forth felt more cruel than the rejection; at least when Deirdre had abandoned her before, Morgan never had to question their reunions. She could count on at least a week, often more. Deirdre’s strong, slender arms had pushed her away so rarely before today, Morgan had thought they were the key to knowing she was safe. But that had been before the nightmare day, before she’d stopped being able to do anything right or important in Deirdre’s eyes.

“I can’t do this again,” she begged in a whisper. “Don’t act like you want to stay anymore. I believed you—I believed you last time and—” And Deirdre couldn’t have been bothered to do things differently even once. For all Morgan knew, she hadn’t been listening all. “I can’t anymore. Please just stop and tell me what you’re angry about next. Were the dishes I picked out too ugly? Do you hate the windows being messed up? Do you hate me for wanting to go back to the clinic? Or do you—stars, I don’t even fucking know anymore because you’re never going to tell me what’s really wrong or listen to when I try to explain, you’re just going to leave!” And in that case, why was Morgan saying so much now? Catching the irony, Morgan slumped in on herself, trembling as she searched in vain for the dead, nothing parts of her for comfort. “Please, don’t lie anymore. I don’t understand what I ever did but doesn’t matter, so just do it...” Just go. Leave me behind.

Deirdre pulled her hands back, tucked carefully in her lap, as she listened to the strange words tumbling out of the strange Morgan. She thought it was a dream, for a moment, until a dull pain throbbed across her hand, and she noticed for the first time how swollen and misshapen it was. She couldn’t remember when or why, but she noticed it. And she looked at Morgan, and she noticed more—the betrayal claimed in her features, the torment in her voice. “What did I do?” She asked quietly, she tried to search her mind for the answer but could not remember anything outside of entering the peculiar dimension that housed this wrong imitation of Lydia’s home. “I do care about you. I always care. I don’t understand…” she blinked, found herself crying, and blinked some more. She wanted to touch Morgan, but Morgan had told her to stop, and in her obedience, she did not dare. She thought the good Deirdre, the one that could have kept her promise to Lydia, would have known how to fix this. She wouldn’t have brought Morgan to this point to begin with. But as she was now, she couldn’t logic out what was wrong, what she needed to apologize for, and what she could do to make it better. Her mind was jumbled with thoughts of Lydia, memories intertwined with regrets. She could feel the leanan-sidhe on her chest, holding her steady. “The dishes were ugly.” But that was only because any dish would be ugly to hold Lydia, it wasn’t Morgan’s fault. And she didn’t like the windows being all broken either, but Morgan had nothing to do with that. “I don’t understand,” she said again, usually Morgan was good at explaining for her. And so she waited. And waited. And blinked, and cried, and waited. “I love you. I promise I love you. I’d like to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I do. More than my life, if I could do that. It would be such a great honour. It is the only thing I want, everyday.” Deirdre cocked her head to the side, as if the new angle might provide answers. “Do you….want me to leave?”

There were limits to how much a zombie could shrink her body, as it turned out. Morgan’s bones bent as she tried to shield herself from Deirdre’s next absence and the hateful, drowning feelings that would take her after. There were limits to her nerves too. How did Deirdre not understand? What part of anything she’d said had been unclear, now or anytime before. She lifted her head, bewildered and horrified. Was this some sick joke? Was she toying with her now? (She wouldn’t. Even like this, she wouldn’t, right?) “All I have ever begged you to do since yesterday was stay with me!” Morgan tried to scream, as if climbing near banshee decibels would make Deirdre finally hear her, but her voice came out ragged and choked with the hurt she was too frightened to let go of. “How can you…” And Deirdre cried and promised and Morgan couldn’t bear it. The two pieces didn’t match up and she couldn’t keep guessing wrong forever. “Do you not even hear me right now? Did I die again with you in our driveway? Because I have told you and begged you! All I did today was try to please you, to make anything up to you from before, and you told me it was okay! You told me you were here, you asked me what was wrong like you wanted to know and it mattered and I believed you! And then you left me! You can’t say these things and make me feel--” Safe. So safe that she never had to hide, that even when it made no logical sense, she mattered in a way that was only possible with love. “You can’t do things like that and then leave me behind like I’m not even there!” Morgan’s voice broke with an ugly sob, forceful enough to make her sit up on her knees. “If I didn’t do anything wrong, why are you punishing me like I did? Why...why are you acting like everything I say is awful if you’re not mad at me? Why can’t you stay with me when I need you if you don’t hate me for letting her die? Why can’t you tell me anything if you love me? My whole stupid little life is built on you, and you were gone. You were dead! And then you couldn’t get away from me fast enough or bear to talk to me and I know I was too busy being broken over your bleeding fucked up body to get to her in time, but you keep acting like you forgive me and then taking it away!” In a way that struck Morgan as cruel now, she still felt too safe around Deirdre. She could hear the pitiful, child-like anguish under her cries. There was no dignity, no mask of anger or cold, deathlike apathy. She was just hurt and afraid, and though she hated herself for the pathetic quality of it, in a way she was still begging, too.

Deirdre sat very still and listened. She repeated Morgan in her head to make sure she was understanding the words, she asked herself their meanings and parsed them from English to Irish to English again until she was sure she understood. “I would’ve died for Lydia,” she said softly, picking at the ashy remains of Lydia on her shirt, rolling them against her palm. She wanted to weave Lydia into her skin, she wondered if it was possible. “I would die for Lydia. Still. My only regret with that promise was that she had to take it back. I would’ve died on our driveway for her. I would’ve died and thought nothing of it. I think of dying for her now. I think it’d be nice. I understand why my family spoke of our lives having no value, why we take no ties. We are fae, we carry their deaths, we avenge them; no matter the cost. I would die for Lydia.” Dread dug its cold fingers into her stomach, churning and pulling. “I’m so sorry. I would’ve died and left you, and I wouldn’t have regretted it. I would still do that now, and I can’t---I can’t shake it from my head. I want peace for her so badly I would wrench it from myself. But that’s not fair to you. I’m so sorry, my love.” The things she had to do, and the new life she carved with Morgan, never had learned how to fit nicely together. But her love for Morgan was not a whim to be cast aside, and not a treasure she would so easily give up. It was that same perseverance that marked her love for Lydia, too. “It’s not your fault Lydia died. It’s not your fault she’s ash. I don’t blame you, I’m not angry at you. I’m trying to stay with you. I’m trying because I want to. But it’s hard because---” Deirdre lifted her bandaged hands, one bent wrong and one normal, and tried to demonstrate a split road. “But I’m sorry.” She dropped her hands, lacking the energy to keep them up. Deirdre, unlike Morgan, had no torrent of emotion inside of her. There was anger and pain, neither she showed now, and then deep, unshakable, sadness. Something like self-loathing, but more desperate around the eyes. “I’m sorry.” Was all she could think to say; was all she knew how to say now. “I’m sorry.” And she sat very still and straight as she offered it, just the way she’d been taught. She could be a stitching of instincts and half-feelings, a mannequin of memory. But she could not be Deirdre anymore.

Morgan shook her head. In her awful, bleating explanations, she’d closed some of the distance between them on instinct. She was close enough to touch Deirdre now, and her arms twitched, aching for her, but she held back, still tense with fear, like an animal that had been hit too many times. Morgan scoffed at the idea that Deirdre was trying, that forgetting her not five minutes after insisting she bare herself counted as trying. “I knew,” she croaked. “You would never choose me over a fae. I knew that when we started. I just thought… you would care enough by now to try to take me with you. Or to tell me that’s what you were doing. I would’ve driven you anywhere if you’d just said she was in trouble. You think I don’t still love her? That I don’t hate what they did to her? I would go with you anywhere if it would just occur to you to ask me, especially for her. I’d pack you a bag if you swore to me you could only do it by yourself. I don’t need you to look at it like it’s one or the other. I needed you to choose me too.” She looked up at her, eyes searching her strange, faraway face. “How do I know you aren’t going to drop me in five more minutes if I believe you right now? How do I know anything will be different? That this isn’t going to be like every other sad choice I trusted in before you? How can you tell me that you can choose me too?”

“I did choose you.” Deirdre blinked. “Always. I did when I said I loved you the first time, I did when we drove to the clinic instead. I am choosing you. Do you know it’s sacrilege to let a non-fae hold a dead fae’s body? But I gave you that ash.” She didn’t exactly get it, but she understood enough to try and wrap herself around Morgan again. “But this isn’t about choosing, I don’t think…or maybe...maybe it is. I don’t know. Is it? Is it?” She buried her head into the crook of Morgan’s neck, taking her in by way of her senses. With her nose pressed up against her like this, she could smell the decay--Morgan was due a meal soon, she realized, then tried to think back to the last time she ate. “I’m sorry.” How had she let them go so far without noticing? Why didn’t she stop to ask if Morgan wanted something to eat? “I could give you a promise,” she said, wincing as she realized her offer was in poor taste. “I don’t want to leave you, Morgan. I just don’t know what to do. I didn’t think Lydia could die, and I didn’t think there was time to say anything about it. I don’t---I don’t know what to do. I said it’d be okay when we found her, but it’s not. She’s ash, Morgan. Ash!” Deirdre trembled, clinging tighter to her love. “Y-you don’t know, I suppose. Can you trust me? Can you trust that I love you more than that?”

Morgan sank into Deirdre and let her hold her. “I didn’t ask for her ash, I know she’s yours. I just want us to have gone together,” she whimpered. “I just want you to take me with you next time so we can go together. Or talk to me. I can be strong with you. Don’t you believe in me enough for that?” She latched on tighter as she felt Deirdre shudder and cry. She could’ve sworn they’d each been so strong before, that they could each stand on their own two feet without being afraid. Maybe, when the worst of this was over, they could be again. Morgan flinched and clutched Deirdre tighter at the mention of a promise, but in this moment, it still looked to her like salvation. She was so tired of holding herself in, she ached with hunger and grief, and even as her heart expanded to accommodate more anguish, there didn’t feel like enough room to mourn Lydia as just herself. (She didn’t want to, she didn’t have the same blinders that Deirdre did. She knew too much, enough to think that she and Deirdre might be the only ones crying over the good in Lydia that was lost. Grief was a cruel feeling, but grieving alone was punishing.) One death she was old hat at managing. Two, this close to her heart, and she didn’t know which end was up, even if Deirdre had come back in the end.“But I trusted you before--” she said pitifully. “You can’t do this to me again, Deirdre. And don’t tell me you’re ready for something you’re not. I would’ve waited for you to ask me later, I would’ve tried…” She might not have succeeded, but she wouldn’t have given up everything to Deirdre’s deaf ears if she’d known better. “I was right there with you on the bench, you didn’t even take my hand. I would’ve gone with you…” She shuddered, crying into Deirdre’s shoulder, trembling with tension her body was desperate to release. None of this was fair, or right, she didn’t even want to be crying over Deirdre when there was someone else who was never coming back. Not by zombies or necromancy or anything else. Her fingers dug in, heedless of any limits or habits she’d learned. Her body wanted to fasten itself to safety and hear the heartbeat that she had come to think of as safety. Somewhere, in that desperate, pitiful place, Morgan realized they already had a promise thread between them she could pull on. “Can I ask for you…?” She said in a shaky voice. “I feel like I lost you too and I need you. I want you. Can I ask you to come to me? Stay close for just… you haven’t even let me have you back for a day, can I at least ask for until morning? Can you love me enough to give me that?”

“No, you have to hold her,” Deirdre explained quietly, “you know who she was, so you have to hold her. No one else knows and loves like you do.” But her words fell away in a matching whimper, her body slumped against Morgan and the rest she just gave up on. All the fire and brimstone raged quiet and frail. She was tired now, as she had been for so long. But that was only this Deirdre; the woman who loved Morgan. She was not whole; she was part anger, part sadness, part ash. As the parts could not exist together, not any more, she hand-picked the one that needed to perform. “I’m sorry,” she said again, “I love you.” The only things that remained feeling right inside of her; apology for her inadequacies and love that would forever hold for Morgan. “Of course you can,” Deirdre pulled back and smiled, running her broken hand against Morgan’s cheek, as if nothing was wrong with it or her; a facsimile of the affection she knew to offer. “Of course.” She couldn’t tell the promise apart from her own desire to be by Morgan’s side, and she didn’t exactly know where she had been lost, but she nodded and urged for Morgan to take it. “Ask for me,” she smiled again, a small thing though her face pulled in memory of a larger one. The corner of her lip twitched. “I love you. Ask for me.” She pitched her voice up, the way she remembered warmth and affection sounding. She was trying, but she wasn’t sure if it looked more like lying. She wanted to be good, that was it. She summoned the woman who loved Morgan and told her to sit still and smile, even if emotion was a strange taste on her tongue now. She wanted to be good.

“Okay, I’ll hold her. We won’t tell anyone, but I will,” Morgan whispered, her voice smoothing out as her body eased to the tune of Deirdre’s assurances. The tune was familiar, even if it was off-key. Deirdre was hurt. Deirdre was lost, in a way. Latched onto her the way she was now, with permission granted and settling over her like a shock blanket, she could sense that as easily as the tremor in her love’s voice and the quiet outside. The rest of Morgan’s heart unlocked and she sagged,nodding and nuzzing into Deirdre’s hand as she stroked her cheek. “I need you. Will you please come to me, Deirdre? Just until morning?” She said softly. And in the saying, she knew that it was a question and no question at all. Not just because of the magic threads Deirdre had given her outside Al’s that sad night, but because that was how Deirdre loved her, as a matter of course. Morgan took Deirdre’s broken hand gently in her own and kissed her wrist, pressing in as hard as she could. “I’m sorry I need you,” she murmured. “I love you too.” She took several deep breaths. “Thank you for trying for me right now. I just need a minute…” She breathed deep again. “We shouldn’t stay here much longer, in case the police come back, and you can’t set your bones with your hand like this, we really do need to go back to the clinic. But we can take a minute…” She breathed again. Deirdre was here. Deirdre had promised. Deirdre loved her. They were both just lost and spun in different directions, groping clumsily for some kind of stability. They’d never both needed each other so badly at the same time before and they stumbled through the crisis like idiots. Morgan looked down at the terrarium pieces on the floor. Would you be angry with me, for using our promise? She silently asked Lydia. Would you be proud that losing you didn’t break us? Morgan breathed again. “We can take that jewelry box on the vanity for her ashes, if you think that would be better than what I brought you downstairs. I think everything up here is a gift.” Morgan gestured to the array of knick knacks above her. “It could be like being held by a friend…” Morgan stroked Deirdre’s cheek and searched her eyes, wondering if there was enough of Deirdre leftover to latch onto her as dearly as Morgan latched onto Deirdre’s efforts at gentleness.

Deirdre sighed in relief, falling against Morgan like the steadiness of a bed. She could rest there, she thought, and maybe when she woke there would be more of her to work with. “Of course,” she mumbled, and couldn’t tell if the promise blossomed warmth in her chest or if her love for Morgan did. She always felt tethered to her with something far stronger than a promise. “Don’t be sorry about that,” she breathed, “I need you too.” And though the fact made her feel horribly selfish to admit, it was a truth she could unearth from herself despite her state. “We can stay here for a minute.” It sounded nice, or it sounded like it should be nice, Deirdre wasn’t sure. She only had one hand to cling desperately to Morgan with, and she gripped the fabric of Morgan’s clothing tight between her fingers. She didn’t want to lose her, that was another truth easy to unearth. “And the clinc’ll be okay. I’ll be okay to go there.” Her gaze followed along to the jewelry box. “I’m worried…that if I move her again, there’ll be less of her. I know that box is better looking, I know she’d like it more, but whenever her family comes, they might want to move her into something else. And I was thinking---she gave me that vase, the one I have the magnolias in. Maybe she’d like it there. Just for now.” She closed her eyes, and shooed away the sight of Lydia’s empty bedroom for her memories of the one she occupied. Deirdre had always been so pleased to watch Lydia go about her day, as if she might learn from her how to be just like that. This house would never know her again, and she’d fit so well here. She’d been Lydia for so long, Deirdre thought it suited her. Maybe she liked it too. Maybe she found a place to stay. Maybe this was home. She wouldn’t know now, no one would. “Lydia cared about her friends,” Deirdre opened her eyes, “people didn’t care enough about her, as it seems. But she was good. She loved, just like everyone else. And she did care. She did. I know it seems weird to you, because of how she could treat--” Deirdre swallowed thickly, leaving those words about Lydia in a different place and time. “---When I first came over, I gave her this deer skull. I thought she hated it. It wasn’t pretty like a work of art to her, and I knew she didn’t like death much. But she kept it, and she liked it. And she cared. About me, about the people she loved. They’re not going to see that, are they? They’re going to find the basement and--” She swallowed again. Deirdre didn’t know how many people knew how Lydia liked to feed, but she had a feeling that the number of them that knew and were okay with it was something she could count on one not-broken hand. Except for the fae, she reasoned, they’d get it. “I want to take some things she liked; dresses, art...I don’t know what’s going to become of this house and its belongings. But I want some things to be hers, for as long as I can keep them.”

Morgan stroked Deirdre’s hair and wove careful kisses around her temples as she spoke. There was relief in knowing that she wouldn’t have to fight her on going to the clinic, or on staying huddled together on the floor. Deirdre had promised, and so there was no need to hold onto her fear and no need to cling, except to give comfort to one another. “Then we’ll keep her where she is until we can put her in the vase. Nothing else will be lost, not anymore.” She listened to Deirdre’s story, more attentively than she had the others, and made a note to ask her for more, as many as she would give, over the next several days, which were doomed to be awful. “I know she did. I don’t know if you could hear, but her last words were to you. She loved you more than anyone else here. And I have to believe that love goes somewhere too. No energy is completely destroyed. Her love still exists, and it’s yours. And--” Morgan swallowed thickly. She had just regained her composure, but with her fear for Deirdre abated, Lydia rushed in to fill those empty spaces. “I know she loved us. I don’t know why she loved me too, we argued so much, and I think I got on her nerves--” Morgan sniffled, gasping out a sad laugh. “But I know she did. She wouldn’t have kept this stupid terrarium if she didn’t.” Morgan looked down at the mess she made of her own present. There was no more chance of repairing it now, just as there was no turning Lydia’s ashes into the woman they knew again. “And I...I don’t understand how what she did was good, but I would’ve given anything for her to be here to explain and argue with me about it.” She shook her head. “No. No, they aren’t going to understand. But we know she wasn’t just anything. Stars, she was so many things. And we’ll remember the truth, okay?” Her heart sank at Deirdre’s simple, heartbreaking request. She pulled away enough to look at her girlfriend so she would know how disappointed she was to not be able to grant her this to the extent she wanted. “We can’t, my love. Not as much as I know you want to. This is a crime scene, and people took pictures and inventory of the things that happened here. It’s risky enough taking one of her dishes to put her in. Whatever you take, it has to be small. Something easily missed. She wouldn’t want you to get involved in this mess. She spent her last time protecting you, and I want to do that too.” Morgan stroked her love’s cheek. “One or two small things. Nothing more. Do you want me to help you up?”

“I wish I could feel it, the energy that’s left. The only thing I get is her death.” Deirdre slumped further against Morgan, as if she might mold their bodies into one. Shell of herself, she would’ve died to be filled with something else, someone else. If only she could let Morgan carry her all the way, out the otherside of time where everything was okay. “But it’s better than nothing. It’s always better than nothing.” She had heard enough prattle about grief and bereavement, some she had offered and some offered by her family. But in actuality, loss was something she had experienced very little of--a child by banshee standards, emotionally unattached by every other. She didn’t know what to do about it. But Morgan did, Morgan understood it very well. “When you lost your father…” she started quietly, “...how long was it until you started to feel whole? Did you ever?” She couldn’t live like this, she was admitting in her own way. With all the pain she held for Lydia. She felt each cut, every stab, the desperation in her cracked voice--she knew her death, and she knew the ways to cleanse herself of it. The peace she could bring was not one she wanted to commit, for the quiet of the moment, sheltered in Morgan’s arms, she felt safe enough for one last truth: she didn’t want to hurt anyone, not really. She had grown tired of it, and she knew better now. Quickly, the thought would be swallowed by ones of anger and revenge, but she offered it to Morgan, asking her to keep it. One day she would need to remind her that she didn’t want this, and she feared that day would come very soon. Lydia’s peace would be a hurricane. “We’ll remember the truth,” she repeated, “Lydia as she was.” With weak strength, she tried to nudge Morgan up; silent answer to her question. Her own legs couldn’t hold her, and she needed Morgan in more ways than she knew how to admit. “Then I’ll leave it. I can come back...later, maybe, when it’s not a crime scene anymore. I-If it’s---If they found the---this stuff might not be Lydia’s anymore. I don’t know what they do about kidna---kid--” Deirdre swallowed. “A-are you good to leave now? I think I want to---I think I--I just---I don’t want to think about huma--people--people...t-touching her things. I don’t--” Her words trickled off into whimpers and sobs.

Morgan cradled Deirdre as close as she could. Without her fear clouding her mind, she had enough wherewithal to take care with how she used her hands, her grip firm but not painful, her soothing strokes gentle but not too soft. “Oh, my love…” she sighed, pressing a long kiss to her head. “It felt like so long. It felt like...there was this heavy spiked weight inside me, and I couldn’t move without getting hurt or crushed by it. For the first week, it felt like that pain was all there was of me.” Another kiss. “But in time, the weight gets smaller. The cuts it sliced into you scar over. And eventually it’s so small and light, rattling around your chest, you don’t really feel it cut you at all, except on a bad day. You’re whole already, my love. There’s just something else for you to carry now. And you can. It’ll be a little while, but you’ll be able to as it gets lighter. And I’ll help however I can.” She looked into Deirdre’s face and smiled as tenderly as she could, trying to offer her the best hope instead of the recollections of her worst nights. I came out okay, right? I was happy again, and sometime so will you. I’m here, and I carry this, and I love you.

Deirdre’s face seemed to be reaching out with a message of it’s own, some strange thought, embarrassed, even ashamed. It seemed to be asking Morgant to help her, to get her out of whatever sunken place she was in. If it were as easy as getting to her feet and lifting Deirdre up, she would have done it in a moment. “I’ve got you,” she whispered in her ear. “We’re together, and I’ve got you, okay?” She half carried, half dragged them to the nightstand where the picked up the first book she could reach before scooping up Deirdre’s legs and walking out with her, bridal carry, and coming down the stairs. “I’m going to bend without putting you down, and you’ll get the dish you put her in, and then we’ll go, okay? We’ll go by the house first and put her in your safe and get you a change of clothes, and we’ll go back to the clinic, and if you want, I’ll read to you from her book, and we’ll be together. Is that okay?”

“But I have so much to carry…” Deirdre half-whined, half-sighed. She nodded along to Morgan’s words and willed them to help her, somehow. She latched on to Morgan’s expression of love and devotion, and willed that to stick with her too. She found they fluttered down, like someone trying to press paper to a wall, but she picked it up and tried again. And again. “Thank you, Morgan.” She said, slumping as the last of her energy drizzled down. The last words she managed to get out were a grumble, petulant in a way that felt familiar even to her now, “I hate being carried.” But she smiled softly, in a flicker, and didn’t protest. She nodded along to Morgan’s plan, though she would have agreed to just anything then, and let herself be carried away. She picked up the dish, just as Morgan said it would happen, and cradled it against her. Then she was in the car, as planned, and fatigue set into her. Her spiked weight was foregin, and heavy, and she could only just imagine how much worse it would be alone. Whenever she would wake next, memory jumbled, she would thank Morgan. She might just have died on their driveway, but the only reason she was breathing around the spikes was her love. When she woke, she would thank her. When she woke, she would...

#negative space #wr deirdre #wr chatzy #wr deirdre chatzy #domestic abuse tw #wickedswriting

15 notes · View notes

boogiewrites · 3 years

Text

No. 9: The Body CH. 6

Characters: Diego Hargreeves & OFC Eve Corpuz

Summary: Eve explores the limits of her power. Diego is still stalking her and finds out more about her. Eve meets Klaus.

Warnings/Tags: Klaus. Talk of past trauma and phobias. Brief mentions of illness, injury and death.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT! If you’d like added to the tags, just let me know. This is a multi-chapter fic.

Eve had begun to notice changes in her shape from the training. Work wasn’t as strenuous and honestly, her ass was looking fantastic. Her body was adapting but she felt she wasn’t exercising her mind enough. Out of the two, trying to use her mind and powers was harder to find time for since it was so draining. Using them at work in small increments to help things along was now manageable, but there were no visible results from it. Nothing she could look at, try to heal, and then see healed. So that’s where she started.

Eve wasn’t a stranger to doing illegal things. If you took a look at her juvenile record that would be clear. What she was doing wasn’t exactly illegal but it was certainly breaking some rules. She was finding it surprising how much she could get away with by simply wearing her white coat with her ID and having a determined look on her face. People held doors open for her that she didn’t have clearance for, add carrying a clipboard around on top of that and she could’ve gotten into just about anywhere it seemed. She was starting to understand how Diego was so good at it, and more interestingly understanding why he did it. That little flush of her cheeks and rush of misbehaving came back to her, something she’d not felt in over a decade, fueled her powers, and gave her a little oomph to work with.

She started small, visited patients being held that was out of the ER after surgery, vehicle accidents, and the like, plenty of small cuts and scrapes that no one would notice were gone. She’d look in and find someone resting and alone, not hard to do most nights. She’d find some road rash, a smaller gash, something not too intricate. At first, she thought she needed to put her hands on the person to heal and woke up a few very understandably startled people. But after a few successful attempts, she started to push herself more. By focusing she began to be able to heal cuts over and no scar would be left in its place. Whoever she did this to, she would check on their file until they were discharged, making sure she wasn’t hurting them or causing bad side effects. So far they’d all made a full recovery with no complications. This was extremely promising and made Eve’s confidence grow and therefore emboldened her to push herself.

She’d worn herself ragged running experiments on what she could or couldn’t do. She had a journal she kept hidden that she kept her results in. So far, she’d been able to find some limitations and strengths. No matter how hard she tried, she was no match for cancer. She could help with someone’s side effects momentarily but be unable to cure it. The same could be said for viral and bacterial instances. Once something had infiltrated and infested a body, she could no longer help it. She could only manipulate the body itself. Her hopes of being able to be the cure for cancer, which she would admit was a bit egotistical, were broken after seeing many fade away after brief respites she’d give them from nausea or pain. It was nice to be able to help certainly but having to see suffering and not be able to fix it was a heavy burden she was having to learn to deal with.

It was never easy to lose someone. It was something she wouldn’t say you got used to exactly, but it was something you could come to understand with time. Or at least be able to come to terms with. Since Eve was an emotional person deep down, and the healing she’d been trying to do to help herself manage that was opening up old wounds and was making her feel raw. Every life that slipped through her fingers would hit her harder than it had months prior. Which is what led her to be so reckless, she guesses. So she tried to bring someone back from the dead.

It wasn’t uncommon sadly, for a child brought in after catching a stray bullet from a hit and run or gang violence. It felt so unfair, and the first time she tried the child was rolled in, DOA, her heart poured out for them. She gave it her all, paddles, compressions and when nothing moved the vitals she had a last-ditch effort. A tear-filled pressing of her hands to the chest of the child, nurses looked on with heartbroken eyes for the doctor as she had a rare moment of breaking on the job. For a fleeting moment, a blip on the monitor later ruled out to a technical glitch, but Eve just couldn’t muster it. She passed out onto the bloody floor from her attempts and was sent home.

She’d had mixed feelings about it. Had she almost done it? Could she get stronger? Or had she found a line that she couldn’t cross? The page entry for her recorded attempts had teardrops running her ink on that entry. She felt defeated and decided to take a break.

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

Diego watches Eve without her knowing, as he sometimes still does. He trusts her, but a part of him always wants to be sure. She’s in an unusual neighborhood, going into an apartment building he doesn’t know. He decided to wait on her to appear again instead of finding her inside. He didn’t have to wait much more than an hour before she appeared again, seeming uneasy as she stepped back into the now dark streets.

He followed behind, spilling out of an alleyway after she passed and started the task of getting closer to her. When he finally got close enough to reach out and speak he was met swiftly with a switchblade and a series of moves he’d taught her.

“Woah! Hey! It’s me!” He says defensively, only a minor rise in key from surprise as he jumped back.

“Jesus fucking CHRIST Diego!” She says with an expression he’s never seen before.

“Hey! Hey! I didn’t know you’d be so jumpy!” He keeps his hands up between them as she huffs out of her nose like a bull, the late winter night air just still barely showing her breath.

“I’m a woman. Alone. At night on the street, dude!” She states obviously and biting as she puts her blade away. “Of COURSE I’m jumpy!” She whispers angrily.

“Look, there are people around and the streetlights are on... I didn’t know I’d scare you.” He explains with hands now on her shoulders. “You okay? You’ve got that wild look in your eyes.”

“I’m just…” she sighs and shakes her head. “I’m fine. I just… Wanna get home.”

“Looks like we need to train on lying.” He smirks.

She stares at him for a moment with pursed lips then shrugs and turns back in the direction she was going.

“Mind if I walk with you?”

“No, I'd like that actually.” She murmurs.

“What are you doing in this part of town?”

“Do you follow me everywhere?”

“No…” he answers defensively playful. “I was around and saw you. Got curious.”

“You can’t send a text like a normal person?”

“Not my style.”

“Difficult is your style.”

“Hey, slow down there with the rapid-fire insults here. Did I do something?”

“Besides stalk me? No.”

“Then why are you being such a-“ he stops as she shoots her eyes his way. “Difficult person?” He tries to cover smoothly.

Once again she stares as if contemplating something. “If I tell you will you stop asking?”

“Sorry, no promises. Don’t think I missed where you didn’t answer why you’re here.”

“Fine.” She begins to walk again. “I’m here apartment hunting. Not so great street, but that apartment is really nice. And I have a fear… a phobia that you’re gonna laugh at me for so I don’t wanna tell you.”

“When have I ever laughed at you?”

She raises her brows obviously at him.

“Okay, I won’t now.” he emphasizes.

“I don’t believe you for some reason.”

“I swear! I won’t.”

“Due to… past trauma, I am afraid of the dark. And I don’t know this part of town and it makes me nervous. I’d catch a cab but I want to learn the subways so I need to walk it.”

He stays quiet for a moment. “Afraid of the dark?”

“Yes, my mom would lock me in the closet and read scripture and scare me and shit. Okay? And it traumatized me so when it’s dark and I’m overstimulated I get really... panicky.” She explains defensively.

“Don’t have to fight me over it, it’s fine. I...get it.”

“Don’t tell me you were locked in a closet too?”

“No, but he did do it to my brother. And it was a mausoleum and not a closet.”

“Fuck.” she exhales.

“Yeah. Pretty fucked up.”

“The more we learn about each other the more often we say that.”

“Get used to it.” He huffs out a laugh. They walk for a moment in comfortable silence while Eve tried to let her defenses down against him. “You know you could’ve just... asked me to come with you ya know? I am pretty handy when it comes to navigating the city. And being a bodyguard.”

“It’s not something I’m proud of.” She shakes her head. “Yeah, Diego? Hey, could you babysit me because I’m a child who’s afraid of the dark and not a grown-ass woman who can handle her own shit?”

“Well, it’s better than you almost stabbing me!”

“And whose fault was that?”

“...your moms if you want to get really technical about it.”

She lets out a weak laugh and he feels accomplished. ”Don’t forget your dad too”

“Oh yeah fuck both of them.” He says eagerly in agreement. They share a smile and he stays close to her side. “Why are you looking for an apartment?” He breaks the silence.

“Some asshole keeps breaking into mine.”

“Seriously.” He grins and smacks her arm.

“Well I’m on salary now and it’s good money so I can afford a better place.”

“Oh. I kinda like your place.”

“I don’t hate it but it’d be nice to have some more room. An office, a view.” They stand at a corner to wait for a light change. “I’d like a place with more privacy. Maybe a doorman for safety?”

“And that apartment had all that?” He motions back with his thumb.

“Yeah, it was stupid nice for the area. I was surprised it wasn’t more-“ both their heads snap to the car that passed far too fast and close, and luckily it wasn’t them, but a bike messenger up ahead that going to be the target.

They see it happen so fast, and they’re both instinctually moving towards the man that’s now on the ground and trying not to scream, holding his leg.

They were the only ones close out of the street and rush to help.

“Ah fuck, don’t call the ambulance I dont have insurance okay?”

“Well, you’re not walking anywhere like that.” Diego states obviously.

“Lucky for you I’m a Doctor. Let me see. Can you move it?” She moves his sock down to quickly see bone through skin. “Ah man, I’m sorry to tell you this but it’s really...broken dude.” She looks at him with sympathetic eyes.

“Ah fuck.” They cry. “My boss is gonna fire me for sure now. I can’t afford to get this fixed… I can’t take time off…” they begin to hiccup and tears come quickly.

Eve stares at the trauma site and furrows her brow in thought. “Maybe I can…” she whispers.

“Doc...?” she hears Diego’s voice, a warning behind her.

“I’m gonna try. I have to.” She says with wide eyes that convince him on impact. She turns back and puts her hands on the busted ankle, “Stay still if you can.” She mutters before going into her focused state.

“What are you? Listen lady I appreciate you stopping but I don’t think praying over it is gonna work.” They offer but their voice slows as they gradually feel the pain disappear. “What the…” they turn their ankle in a circle and their jaw drops. “HOW DID? WHAT DID?”

Eve shares a very excited glance with Diego before he yanks her up. “We’ve gotta get out of here.”

“Wait no! Don’t go!” A now on their feet and the healed biker was calling out as they both ran down the street into the subway below.

She felt alive. Exhilarated. A smile on her face and hand in hand with Diego as they bobbed and swerved through the crowd.

“Did you SEE?” She calls out as they make it sliding just in time into the subway car.

“YES! You didn’t tell me you’d gotten so good!”

“I’ve been practicing!” She says out of breath and glowing from a sheen of sweat that she’d developed in the rush.

“I’d say so! You just...POOF!”

“I’ll have to show you my notes.”

“Notes?”

“I’ve been keeping track of all my attempts. Like a scientific study. Well… sort of…” she shrugs and wipes her hair back.

“You would find a way to make this nerdy.” He laughs.

“Scientific method is not nerdy!”

He laughs out loud. “That’s the nerdiest thing you’ve ever said!”

“That was awesome though right?”

“Yeah, it was risky but...awesome.” He nods in agreement as they both calm back down and move into whispers of her trial and error.

——————————-

“You just have to remember to be defensive and not just offensive.”

“You know I don’t give a shit about sports Diego.” Eve laughs as she pulls her gym bag over her shoulder.

“I’m serious! You'll get-" he insists with a whine.

"You’ll get yourself hurt when shit gets real.” She says with him and rolls her eyes. “I know! Okay?” She says with a sassy hand motioned his way. “I’ll work on it. Like I always do. I’ve got a lot on my plate right now, cut me some slack.” She groans as he walks her to the front of the gym to leave.

They’re met with a thin and friendly-looking guy their age who she thought looked familiar. Diego’s body language automatically tenses.

“Oh hello there you.” Klaus coos at Eve whose bright friendly eyes don’t match Diego’s already annoyed ones at his appearance. “I didn’t know my brother would be busy with a beautiful woman tonight, my apologies.” He sweeps his hands and takes her's to kiss the back of it.

“Hi.” She stutters with surprise. “I was just leaving. Had a training session. Works got weird hours so your brother is nice enough to see me at night.”

“Oh, I’m sure he’d see a lovely thing like you anytime you wanted.”

“Let her go, Klaus.”

“What is your name before our paths separate and never meet again. I’d never forgive myself for not asking.”

“It’s Eve.” She laughs. “You’re much nicer than Diego. Do you know how to fight too? Maybe you could train me since he’s such an asshole.” She motions to Diego and Klaus lets out an amused sound.

“Alas I’m fairly useless in such things but I make up for it in other ways.” He winks.

“Okay! GOODNIGHT EVE.” Diego says politely pushing her out the door. “Sorry about Klaus He's…an idiot.”

“No apologies he's rather charming.” She teases him more and waves goodbye as she exits into her cab.

“What the fuck was that?” Diego shoves his lanky brother.

“Eve hmmm? A sexy name for a sexy little-“

“Stop it.” Diego groans.

“That’s her isn’t it?” Klaus smirks and begins to float about as Diego closes up.

“Her who?”

“Your mystery doctor.”

Diego doesn’t answer hoping naively that Klaus would stop.

“Oh come on, I’m your bro, your bud. Your pal. You can tell me.” He insists with outstretched arms.

“Yeah. I’m training her.”

“She seems like she’d be the one training you if you catch my drift.”

“It’s not like that.”

“That smile you had on your face before you realized I was watching would say otherwise.” He lilts. “You’re a terrible liar Diego just don’t try.”

“I’m a great liar!” He barks back.

“You’re shit and you should just be honest with me, I AM the psychic after all.”

“You’re not psychic you see the dead and-“

“And what is the difference?!” Klaus flops just hands at his side and follows his brother upstairs.

Diego continues as if he said nothing. “You’d have to be sober to do that so so I’m not gonna hold my breath on that.”

“I actually have been. Not that you supportive lot would notice.” He prances into the apartment behind a grunting Diego. “Because your little girlfriend is causing quite the ruckus amongst the city’s dead.”

“What?” Diego asks with a raised brow.

“She didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“She almost brought one back.”

“She did…” he seems deep in contemplation for a moment. “Wait so you HAVE been sober?” Diego’s eyes turn soft and Klaus groans as he’s quickly approached and hugged.

“You are missing the point here Diego dear…”

“I’m proud of you.” He says with emotion in his voice and Klaus manages a heavy sigh and a pat to his back.

“Stop it now before I have feelings…” he pats him and pushes him away. “What do we know about this Eve? She’s messing with the balance, she’s a powerful little thing. And gorgeous I might add, I’d be keeping her to myself too. Unless she was into being shared…”

“I don’t think she is.” Diego falls back into his monotone answering after a brief glimmer of earnest emotion.

“Different strokes, different folks.” Klaus shrugs. “So is that ass as breathtaking as it looked in those leggings or-?”

“KLAUS!”

“What? I’m just a red-blooded American male, I see a nice ass, I admire it.”

“I wouldn’t KNOW.” He answers from behind the doorway of his bedroom, door left open. “But I’d have to say yes.” He adds quickly.

“Ahhhh! There he is.” Klaus applauds his brother's cheeky smile. “Now that you’re not in a prudish mood, I actually do want to know about her. Details, man! Out with it! What’s my little private dick figured out on our newest sibling?”

“Ew don’t say that.”

“I knew you wanted to fuck her.” Klaus smirks.

“Jesus Klaus!” Diego groans.

“Not that it’s stopped any of us before, cough Luther, cough.”

“Hey, we’re not biological!”

“Defending Luther now? Number one? Daddy’s goodest boy? Diego’s sworn nemesis?”

“EW! No! I’m just… saying. It’s a fact so...it’s...valid.”

“Good thing you’ve got your looks hun.” Klaus tsks.

“Do you wanna know about her or you wanna talk shit and get hit?”

“So hostile.” Klaus shakes his shoulders. “Go on you party pooper, tell me about our new super doctor.”

@s-h-e-w-r-i-t-e-s @jaegeeeeer @diegos-butt @anglovesthis

#diego hargreeves #diego hargreeves fanfic #The Umbrella Academy #the umbrella academy fanfic #david castañeda

17 notes · View notes

aristephes · 3 years

Text

Part Eight

Living in a small town on an island sounds idyllic, but the reality is, when you have mental health issues, it’s hell. There is little support and the doctors are either jaded or come from outside cultures that do not understand a lot of things that people from Western cultures experience. This was my personal hell. I had to deal with these quacks who, in my opinion, after seeing many of them, left me feeling depleted and discarded. They couldn’t have cared for a sick kitten. These people put me through the wringer, one doctor in particular, put me on all kinds of medication as he misdiagnosed me and figured I would just come good. That was not the case at all.

The last medication he put me on, Lithium, was by far the worst thing he could have done. After being on all kinds of nasty stuff, he figured why not? At that stage I had put on weight, I was up to around 120kgs. This lithium experiment would add another five and see me slip into the darkest, deepest depression I had ever had the misfortune of suffering.

I spent the next five years in a drug-induced haze; filled with brain fog, massive bipolar mania explosions and a complete personality change. I took up smoking, which I have despised all my life - albeit for a couple of weeks - and drinking; something I am not prone to doing unless on a special occasion. No. This was not right and it was not helping my poor wife, who by this point in time was struggling to make sense of it all.

Five years.

Have you ever spent a few days in bed feeling ill?

Ever felt like a worthless sack of shit, and just curl up and wait for the inevitable moment you fall asleep?

Just think about how bad I was... I couldn’t shower, I didn’t want to eat, I slept most of my days away or spent them on eBay buying shit that I didn’t need because my bipolar was out of control.

The doctor’s response? Nothing. He shortly thereafter left for the big city on the mainland and left me high and dry. Five long, dreary, depressing, draining years of brain fog, mania and pent up rage. Problem was, I had no way of releasing that rage because I simply did not have the energy, so it became crippling anxiety instead.

My wife had to try two more times to get me admission to hospital, but both times she was sent away, with me in tow and a little bag of meds to help me through the night. Pathetic. They didn’t have room at the hospital because too many of the beds were taken up by drug users having psychotic breaks and smashing the place up. So people with real issues had to be shunted back to wherever and their carers and loved ones had to pray to God that they didn’t wake up to a suicide.

It was frustrating. I felt like a burden and a failure.

Just when my wife needed me the most, I wasn’t there for her. I was a mess. I was beyond useless and I started to have issues with staying upright. My blood pressure was playing up, my heart was racing all the time, the weight gain had put pressure on my back and knees, resulting in constant pain beyond what I already suffered. I would be standing up and the next minute I’d be on the floor, with the room spinning around me.

It was time to take action... oh, yeah and let’s not forget that I looked like Homer Simpson because my liver was being affected by the lithium and my skin was turning yellow.

So yes, my life was fucked over royally by the very professionals that were meant to help me.

I had a carer come in and take me out once a week... just out to town, out on drives, just out... to get me some sunshine and fresh air. It was the little boost I needed... I figured that life could get better... but first, I had to make one big change.

At this point I asked for a new doctor and hoped beyond all hope that he or she would be able to assist me in some kind of recovery. It’s a miracle that I found one. He was brilliant. He was the first family centred psychiatrist that I had met. He involved my wife in my consults, spoke to her with respect and listened intently to her reports. Something my previous psychiatrist refused to do.

We asked for a medication review. He looked at the very long list of medications I had been taking and quickly ascertained that they were wrong for me. He put me onto just two meds. An anti-psychotic and an anti-depressant. Then, he made sure to follow up with me by making me regular appointments to see him. It was a miracle! Not only did my wife and soulmate stand by me, no matter how dark the times got, she made sure that I got the help I needed by persevering. We found a couple of places over those five years that could help us out, even with little things like respite care for the children and my wife... and myself.

It was a slow process as I had to change my meds over slowly.

Recovery was something I had heard about, but hadn’t really researched. I had been to ill... but, there was a light at the end of this tunnel. A light that would lead to a fresh, new lease on life and a different path for me - one that I had never contemplated before...

#bpd #bipolar #mental health #trans #ftm #true story #my writing #true love

3 notes · View notes

bettertodayherbaldrop · 3 years

Text

Better Today Herbal Drops - Read Price, Benefits, Reviews, Free Trial & Sales

Directing a satisfying life can be a fantasy for every person. But just a few men and women can manage to direct a stress-free living packed with joy. The majority of folks are undergoing different sorts of overall health ailments and wellness disorders. Better Today Herbal Drops could be the most straightforward type of berry plant infusion intended for those that prefer natural curing answers with curative added benefits. Better Today Herbal Drops may supply you with routine healing and also faster by a respite in chronic situations like high pain and stress.

It's outstanding hemp oil which employs the purest type of all-natural chemicals to advertise healthier and quicker recovery. It may work amazing things for individuals which are fighting with stress, pressure, sleeplessness, and persistent soreness. Consequently, if you're afflicted by one or more of these wellness requirements and also desire immediate relief, then afterward Better Today Herbal Drops can assist you. To recover enjoyment and advertise pure healing make sure you incorporate this oil into your ordinary regimen. It's perhaps not just powerful for continual soreness and recovery, but in addition soothes both neurological, physical, and psychological health of all users. Continue reading to find out more concerning the unbelievable berry oil.

The Unbelievable Inspection!

By the state internet site of daily Better Today Herbal Drops this could be the very best and most unbelievable tincture of berry plant that's rich curing positive aspects and curative added benefits. With routine utilization of this formulation, an individual can get these positive aspects.

Encourages calmness -- This can Force You to feel calm and relaxed

Minimize Stress Combats -- This activates both the favorable pressure reactions in your body and also boosts comfort

Reduce Headaches -- This Lessens the frequency and intensity of arthritis soreness and pain

Boost Cardiovascular Potential -- This enriches your endurance, concentrate, memory remember and endurance of One's mind

Lessen Persistent Illness -- This alleviates neck, joint back, and pain throughout the human Physique

Encourage Joint Health -- It hastens the joint and also Assists in enhancing flexibility and activity of both joints

Anti Oxidant Assist -- The formulation additionally reduces Completely Free radical damages also enriches immunity

In general, Better Today Herbal Drops encourages your health by boosting your cardiovascular wellness insurance and operation, even though permitting one to contribute a lifestyle that's pain-free and stress-free.

Active Functions of Better Today Herbal Drops

Before utilizing the formulation, you must know the lively workings of lifestyle CBD Oil. You want to understand that daily Better Today Herbal Drops could be your pure tincture of berry plant also it functions maximizing your emotional, neurological and physical health. The physiological works are ostensibly regulated with means of a platform named Endocannabinoid technique or even ECS. It modulates what out of discomfort reactions, sleeping patterns, consuming along with your emotional wellness. Therefore, the part of Better Today Herbal Drops will be always to modulate the ECS approach of the human own body to deal with wellness complications such as hypertension, obesity, sleeplessness, stress, persistent hypertension, and pain.

In any case, it additionally becomes absorbed in your blood fast to activate the favorable inflammatory reaction within your body, while still reducing pressure and continual ache you're straggling together with.

-Better Today Herbal Drops is accepted to decrease 98 percent of Strain and stress associated disorders

-The Health Supplement fosters 67 percent of cognitive functionality and also psychological health

-Additionally, it Enhances the Anti Oxidant aid by 43 percent

Natural Science Behind the Success of Better Today Herbal Drops!

Nicely, it's already obvious that Better Today Herbal Drops is powerful now as it's free of additives and addictive. It consists of absolute berry plant tincture from the kind of petroleum. As stated by the state asserts, the formulation is endorsed by 300mg of superior hemp extract. This can be the top CBD petroleum that's extracted from bark plants that are developed and grown from plants plus it costs nothing of harmful compounds and compounds such as THC.

The petroleum has been expressed out of pure berry plant leaves also it's full of cannabidiol. The extraction procedure is executed with CO2 extraction technological innovation at which the curative added benefits of the berry plant renders have been expressed, whereas departing supporting the THC compounds found from the leaves. Moreover, to produce it fully pure and highly effective, the petroleum expands triple filter technology in which THC chemical can be eliminated, whereas trying to keep the curative attributes of this hemp plant infusion. Thus, swallowing or employing the petroleum is wholly secure, and also you aren't expected to think too much about the unwanted impacts of the formulation brought on owing to THC.

As a result of its distinctive manufacturing procedure, it's now the very best-promoting hemp tincture which accompanies many curative attributes and curative added benefits.

Being Aware of the Procedure to Utilize Better Today Herbal Drops

If you're a brand new consumer of daily Better Today Herbal Drops, then you want to understand the most suitable means of working with the petroleum for greatest advantages. You can find only a few hints that you want to stay at heart to get optimal outcomes along with desirable outcomes together with Better Today Herbal Drops. Beneath is your step-by-step guide to use petroleum economically and attain excellent results with it.

-start little by little in Little Number -- it's very vital that you simply begin small because you must go a very long method. Be sure to begin away having a small quantity and assess whether its job is desirable. Gradually raise the frequency and amount afterward consulting with your Physician

-haul The Oil -- The first secret to good results response is always to put up the oil a few moments under your tongue just before swallowing it. This can assist one get faster and more efficient outcomes.

-Utilize it together with drinks -- Rather than swallowing the exact petroleum, you can blend it with your preferred drink to swallow it readily.

This can be the process the moment it concerns swallow the oil. However, while you have to employ it, you've got to follow along with different hints. You want to utilize the oil-affected aspects of one's entire body and massage in a circular movement in the order it becomes absorbed into the dermal layer of skin. This can show faster effects. Moreover, consulting your physician and employing the petroleum beneath their oversight is very essential.

Experts & Cons!

Experts:

Total variety CBD petroleum

Lets You dwell a more slender and more lively life together with curative Added Benefits

Reduce stress, anxiety, chronic pain, Joint and migraines

Encourages Superior joint versatility and lubrications

aids in fighting Completely Free radicals and dependence

Triggers favorable inflammatory reactions

Encourages Superior comfort and endurance

Eases Continual pain throughout the human anatomy

Boosts psychological health, cognitive and emotion Well-being

Fixing the resistance and combats Completely Free radical compensation

Downsides:

maybe not Appropriate for girls Which Are pregnant or breast-feeding

Minors are limited by Your usages of Daily Better Today Herbal Drops

Consultation doctor Is Essential before utilizing this

accessibility of this petroleum since purchasers may simply Get It from the official website and also NOW Her

Contradiction along with different medication and have to be averted with it additional drugs and treatments.

Can There Be Any Side Effect of Better Today Herbal Drops

The intriguing thing concerning daily Better Today Herbal Drops is the fact that it is free of harmful compounds and compounds, hence it's recognized as completely secure. It's the most secure solution to beat from disagree jet well-being difficulties and disorders. It has several curative advantages with no harmful ingredients, so thus it's secure and also you may earn usage of it without even becoming quite high quality.

However, many could encounter adverse effects from your formulation following swallowing it at excessive doses. Thus, it's advised that you just stay clear of swallowing it too, and stick to the dosing guidelines attentively. As well as, employing the formulation below the oversight of the physician is vitally essential when you ought to stay away from the unwanted effects of overdosing.

The Benefits of Daily Better Today Herbal Drops

Better Today Herbal Drops could be your effective berry plant infusion also it's offered by reduction speed if purchased online from the official site. If you're fortunate then you definitely may also catch the risk-free course offer you of this formulation out of the official site. Besides, you can also obtain completely free delivery and handling supplies. The particulars of pricing are all accessible on the official internet site of the formulation.

Testimonies of Clients

-"I am leading a life that's free of stress and anxiety. I've already been using it for two weeks plus it helps me to conquer throat pain backache and migraines. I'd suggest you all use Better Today Herbal Drops."

-"I had been truly quite stressed about using Better Today Herbal Drops first, however, once I discovered that it's dependable by distinguished pros I began utilizing it. It's done wonders for my health and I'm free of pains and aches forever,"

-"daily Better Today Herbal Drops shipped me fantastic added benefits and encouraged me personally to overcome stress and serious soreness without even causing me to higher. This could be the formula also I'd propose all to use this to get relief from chronic problems."

Where You Should Get Daily Better Today Herbal Drops!

If you're thinking about where you should find the month-to-month source of Better Today Herbal Drops, then then you're proposed to stop by its official site and then get out the less costly prices and hazard completely free delivers. Thus, see its official website to receive your package of Better Today Herbal Drops now.

Better Today Herbal Drops

https://sites.google.com/view/bettertodayherbaldropsbuy/

https://sites.google.com/view/creeksidepharmscbd/

https://sites.google.com/view/leafxcbdoilorder/

https://sites.google.com/view/eagle-hempcbdgummiesbuy/

https://sites.google.com/view/bettertodayherbaldrops/home

https://sites.google.com/view/bettertodayherbaldrop/home

https://www.emailmeform.com/builder/emf/Health/better-today-herbal-drops

https://biogoldcbd.blogspot.com/2021/05/better-today-herbal-drops-read-price.html

https://support.google.com/news/publisher-center/thread/108591602/better-today-herbal-drops?hl=en

https://scholar.google.com/citations?user=HHsA3loAAAAJ&hl=en

#Better Today Herbal Drops

1 note · View note

archadianskies · 4 years

Text

Whumptober Day 13

Delayed Drowning → part of the MT-RK900

Whumptober Masterlist | 13/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending x Drowning

{Character sheet + bonus art here, and here. }

There is a sense of peace, of belonging, when he is rostered to work at the Jericho MedBay. He is among his people, his LED is not a sign of Other, and even his extensive mutilations do not garner anything more than a passing glance. He is not The Android Surgeon here like he is at Detroit Metro Hospital, he is just another Medbay doctor. One of many. Respected by all.

At Detroit Metro the pace is unrelenting, and he spends his shifts in the trauma bay receiving all kinds of injured humans and operating on them to save their lives. Here at Jericho if he is rostered to the main repair bay, rather than as a first responder in a medvan, most of the injuries are minor, and most of his time is spent performing upkeep to ensure healthy functions. It is a good balance, and he takes pride in serving his people.

Though technically they can work for hours without respite, taking a break has become integral to the Jericho community. Something good, for once, borrowed from the humans. No matter the weather, Ronan will always head to Jericho Memorial Bay and spend his break walking along the canal.

After the revolution it became the closest thing to sacred ground to androids, and as Jericho was being built, claiming the empty warehouses and transforming them into the now sprawling community, Markus ordered the bittersweet task of retrieving the bodies of their fallen from the sunken freighter. The leader of the Jericho Four often joined the retrieval team himself, a sign of solidarity and a poignant reminder of his humble beginnings as a carer.

When the bodies were respectfully disassembled and their memory cores installed into the memorial archives, the freighter was left and a plaque installed on the docks to commemorate Jericho’s beginnings. Many come here, mourning the fallen or seeking a moment of peace. There is a park nearby, planted by the community and nurtured into something beautiful to be enjoyed by androids and humans alike. It is a symbol of hope, of what the Jericho Four fought so hard for- a future where androids and humans can not only coexist but flourish and grow together.

A group of children race past him, their laughter bright and bubbly as they chase each other. He finds himself smiling as he watches them, noting they are a mixed group of human children and YK500s. The smile vanishes in an instant when one of them is too busy backing away from being chased, straying too close to the edge and losing his footing. In his panic he grabs the friend within reach, and the next horrifying moment they topple right into the water. The other children scream in distress and Ronan bolts towards them, diving into the water without hesitation.

Expecting an onslaught of warnings and automatic activation of his tundra mode, Ronan switches his HUD notification overlay momentarily off to concentrate on saving the lives of the children. He will not let the ship become a watery grave again, never again.

One human, one YK500. The weight of the YK500 and lack of buoyancy sinks them both faster than the human can cope with, and the child android has never been immersed in water before. Ronan swims towards them, snatching the YK500 by the wrist and immediately turning off her cold sensitivity so she doesn’t seize up in the freezing winter waters.

‘Keep your mouth closed. Hang onto this part of the ship. I will help your friend and take you both up with me, alright?’ She nods, eyes wide with terror but does as she is bid and clings to the lip of one of the panels. Ronan swims deeper, and there’s the boy panicking and filling his lungs with water and he’s losing consciousness; he won’t make it, not without his help.

He’s tangled himself in some netting due to his flailing, the remnants of equipment left behind by careless fishermen. There’s no time, there’s no time and Ronan grabs handfuls of netting and opens his mouth wide, cutting them apart with teeth modified for this exact purpose- to shred, to tear, to destroy. With the boy free, Ronan secures him under one arm and kicks upwards, grabbing the YK500 on his way back to the surface.

When he breaches, there’s already other medroids waiting, and a basket stretcher lowered to receive the children. They’re so small they both fit, and he falls back into the water so they can be lifted up without his weight. When they’re safely clear of the water, he climbs back up onto the docks and crouches beside them as one of the medroids begins CPR. It takes a few moments for the boy to bring up the water in his lungs, vomiting and sputtering for breath. He looks stunned, his lips blue and his skin pallid, eyes not tracking any movement. With him at least breathing again, Ronan picks up the basket stretcher and loads it onto the gurney, running alongside the team as they rush the children to the MedBay. Breaktime is definitely over.

He leaves the hysterical parents to the care of others, and heads straight into the main operating suite. There is only one sterile enough for human patients, and they are lucky there is only one human to treat. Shucking off his wet clothes, he forgoes putting on a new set and simply deactivates his skin, stepping briefly into the sterilisation chamber to be sprayed with chemicals before he steps out into the suite. One of the medroids slips a full length vinyl apron over him and then he leans over the child. Time to save a life.

The boy lives, and only when he is stable does Ronan step back and dress himself in new, dry clothes, and find the human parents to bring them news of their son. There is, as always, a split second of fear and apprehension when they see him, when they see his white-blue reflective eyes and his stark white hair, his tundra camouflage active due to the plunge into the icy water. He has kept the surgical mask on so they do not see his sharp teeth. There is only so much they can handle during such a tumultuous time.

He updates them on their son’s condition, how he is stable and doing well and they have arranged transport to bring him to Detroit Metro Hospital for observation as they do not have proper facilities here for treating humans, let alone young children. They cry, they’ve been crying the entire time, but it’s no longer hysterical it’s tears of relief and gratitude as they shake his hand vigorously and he manages to be polite for as long as it takes for another colleague to inform them they can go join their son in the medvan now. Ronan watches the van drive away before he heads back inside and seeks the other fate of the other child.

“Good thinking, switching off her temperature sensitivity.” Dr Anthea commends, patting his shoulder. “Prevented her reaching critical stress levels.”

“How is she?” He looks down at the girl in stasis, LED pulsing yellow-grey-yellow-grey.

“She’ll be just fine. Minimal water intake. Main concern is raising her core temperature slowly so it doesn’t stress her system.” She rests her palm on the girl’s bare forehead, her skin retracted for ease of surgery. “But she’s expected to make a full recovery.” Dr Anthea turns to him with a smile, squeezing his arm. “You did good, Ronan.” High praise from his superior, and the colleague he respects most here in the MedBay.

“Thank you, Dr Anthea.” He murmurs, nodding in gratitude.

“Right.” She sighs. “Finish your ward rounds and then head home. Your shift’s almost over.”

By the time he finishes up with his duties, Simon is waiting for him outside.

“There he is.” The PL600 smiles brightly, leaning up to kiss him. “My hero.”

“Hardly.” He frowns. “It was my duty to save them.”

“You did your duty and became a hero.” Simon quips, looping an arm through the crook of his elbow and leaning against him fondly. “You’re already all over social media by the way.”

He presses his mouth into a tight line and Simon laughs, squeezing his arm. They head towards the main thoroughfare, and other androids watch them pass by, smiles on their faces. Perhaps a little good publicity doesn’t hurt. The walk to Simon’s small apartment is a short one yet Ronan finds himself feeling fatigued. There’s a dull pressure just behind his pump regulator where his ventilation system lies, as though a great weight were pushing up against it.

“Tired, love?” Simon asks once they’re inside, gesturing at his LED. “You’ve been yellow since we left.”

“I-” Ronan winces, hand pressed to his chest. “My system is struggling to ventilate.” Belatedly he realises he hasn’t toggled his notification visibility back on again. There’s a moment’s pause after he does so, before his HUD floods with glaring red warnings.

>Damage to chassis: waterlogged

>Fluid levels exceeding capacity

PURGE FLUIDS IMMEDIATELY

Core temperature UNSTABLE

Unable to ventilate

[SYSTEM HEAT NEARING CRITICAL]

“Come on, we have to go back to the MedBay!” Simon gasps, yanking the door open and all but shoving him through it. His vision swims, static blurring his feed as his system begins to sacrifice processes to minimise power usage and keep his temperature down. He feels sick. He feels like he can’t breathe even though he doesn’t need to. Gasping for breath does nothing, the fluid in his chassis causing his artificial lungs to activate their emergency shunts and form a watertight seal to protect the delicate filtration fibres inside. He is drowning without being in water and he is burning with fever because his system cannot cool itself.

“Not much further! Please hang on, we can make it Ronan!” Simon begs, shouldering his weight as best he can as they stumble towards the MedBay. A nearby TW400 sees their plight, striding forward to scoop him completely off his feet and run him the rest of the way there. Simon darts along beside him and there’s irony in that this time he’s the one being rushed to the MedBay for treatment and not running there himself as the treating doctor.

“Dr Anthea!” Simon calls out desperately and soon they’re swarmed by staff, Simon being ushered aside as the TW400 lays him out on a gurney and then he’s being wheeled into one of the operating suites.

“I’m putting you into stasis.” Dr Anthea declares, and that’s all the warning he’s given before he’s plunged into darkness.

When his systems all come back online, his internal clock shows he has been in stasis for four hours. Dr Anthea is looking down at him, her brows furrowed and her lips pursed.

“I’m-” she presses her lips tighter still. “I’m angry at you but I should’ve expected this too and I didn’t so I’m also angry at myself.”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs, and the anger dissipates from her expression immediately.

“No. I know why you did it- so you could concentrate on saving the children.” She looks away, her LED glaring red. “I should have expected it. I cleared the girl but I didn’t clear you. And I should have, as your superior.”

“Our priorities are always for the well-being of our patients.” Ronan rests his hand briefly over hers. “And you saved me just then. That is all that matters.”

She gives him a look, something sorrowful and grateful and bittersweet as she squeezes his hand. It lasts a moment only, this brief glimpse at a much more vulnerable Anthea, before she squares her shoulders, chin tipped up slightly and there she is again- the trauma bay Director, commanding the Jericho MedBay.

“You’re rostered here again tomorrow, but the starting time of your shift has been delayed by two hours so you can get more rest.” Looking to the privacy curtain, she makes a beckoning gesture and Simon steps out from behind it. “I’ve given Simon strict instructions to not let you set foot into the MedBay before then- pending any need for medical attention of course.”

“Don’t worry doctor, I’ll make sure he gets his rest.”

“I know you’re an RK900 and could easily overpower any android in Jericho-” he opens his mouth to protest but she’s grinning as she holds up her hand. “However I know that a certain PL600 is your weakness and I’m relying on him to keep you in check.”

Simon is blushing a lovely shade of lilac as he ducks his head, a little embarrassed, and Ronan thinks that’s an acceptable level of teasing if it elicits such a response. They walk back to his apartment, arm in arm, and he makes no protest as Simon fusses over him as he is wont to do. It’s part of his programming, still ingrained him, and also entirely his choice and Ronan would never begrudge him about it.

He’s lost two sets of clothing to medical emergencies today, so it’s almost a relief to change into pyjamas that are soft and warm against his skin. Simon is softer, warmer to hold when they curl up in bed, the gentle glow of the UV downlights bathing them in a restorative blue sea. They kiss goodnight, nothing more than a gentle, affectionate press of his mouth against his, and finally Ronan can breathe easy knowing he is safe and sound.

#rk900 #simon pl600 #simon900 #Detroit: Become Human #whumptober #annie writes: dbh

5 notes · View notes

actuallylorelaigilmore · 4 years

Text

All The Days Ahead, Chapter 7: When The Sweet Words And Fevers All Leave Us

Mal x Simon, Firefly. Inara POV. Also on AO3. Ch 1-6 on my blog.

She likes Simon, of course--she has since the very beginning, when it became clear he was devoted to River. In her world, full of scoundrels and the slickly powerful, it’s easy to appreciate a man who gave everything up to save his sister.

Simon knocks and waits just inside her shuttle, hovering rather than barging in the way his fiance always has. Inara smiles and drops the screen cover that separates her work from her life.

“Simon. Come in.”

It has been two months since Mal began the long process of recovery, and while the two men won’t be getting married for a while yet, Inara knows that’s why Simon has come.

Truthfully, she expected him sooner.

“Please, have a seat. Would you like some tea?”

Simon sits where she indicates, looking curiously around her shuttle. “Ah. Thank you. Yes, tea would be nice.”

Inara lets him wait quietly while she brews the tea, taking advantage of the moment to make sure her friendly mask is firmly in place.

But liking him as a person has very little bearing on her feelings towards his impending nuptials. The doctor is a good man, and she reminds herself of it often: when she catches him kissing Mal in her peripheral vision, when she hears the way Mal says his name, when she imagines the future they’re all flying towards. Endless days stretching ahead where Mal will be with Simon and she will be there to witness it.

She’s happy for Mal. She truly is.

She’s simply sad for herself.

It would be inaccurate, and melodramatic, to claim that the two feelings are at war with each other. They coexist peacefully enough, very occasionally overwhelming her in ways that threaten to shake her composure. And she knows Mal doesn’t return her feelings, not enough to have reached out before Simon joined the crew, to have said a word. He doesn’t feel for her what she feels for him. Even if he had never met Simon, she doubts he could.

She’s experienced enough in the act of love to know the difference between passion and devotion.

Devotion is what she sees in Simon’s bearing, as he sits in her shuttle, manners keeping him from breaking the silence until she returns.

It would be easy to drop hints here and there, collect his sympathy to soothe her loneliness. Instead, he won’t see anything she doesn’t allow him to; she’s well-schooled not only in the Companion arts, but in what living on Serenity has taught her.

Sharing her feelings would be a vulnerability she isn’t willing to risk. After all, Simon isn’t really there for her. Her value has always been measured by what others need.

“Here we are,” she says, the picture of hospitality when she brings the tea over. “I’m guessing you have something you’d like to ask me.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s my calling to read intentions, Simon, you know that.”

Despite her feelings for Mal, Inara is probably closer to the doctor than anyone else on Serenity, besides Kaylee. They have a shared background, a common language--and not just the cultured Chinese they slip into that marks them both as hailing from core planets.

Inara was raised to be exceptional at her career from the age of twelve. Her work is marked by ritual and structure, not unlike Simon’s studies with a scalpel. In a way, her soul recognizes his--a need for control, for excellence, for propriety.

So she settles into her chair, sipping her tea, and waits.

Simon drinks his slowly, savoring it. She can’t imagine he gets well-brewed tea in the galley kitchen. It can be a soothing respite, and Inara knows Simon has found few moments of safety and calm since he stepped aboard the ship.

Finally he sets the cup down and meets her gaze. “Well. I’m sure you're aware that Kaylee volunteered to help Mal with the wedding.”

“Yes, of course.” Inara's grin is genuine this time, and fond. “She’s incredibly excited.”

He chuckles. “Yes. She does seem to be. And she has all these ideas for the party after the wedding.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No! No, not at all. I think it’s great. Mal seems to be having fun planning it with her. But when it comes to the ceremony itself, he’s not very...particular.”

“Mal isn’t weighing in much,” Inara prompts.

“At all.” Simon sighs. “He has yet to weigh in at all. Just agrees with whatever I want, says he trusts me. It’s infuriating.”

“So, you need help.”

“Yes. And I was hoping that since you’ll understand what I’m picturing for the wedding, you might be willing to help me.”

“Of course I would be happy to help,” she assures him. “But I’m not sure what kind of help you need--if you already know what you want, that is.”

Simon taps his fingers on her table. “Well, you see, I was very young when I learned the traditions for marriage. I always assumed that I would have a chance to study them more closely when my time came, from my family history. Instead, now River and I are here, far from a temple or a monk who could fill in the gaps.”

Inara sits forward, realizing what he means. “You want a Buddhist wedding.”

“Yes. Cultural elements of one, that is. I know Mal and I will have to craft our own ceremony, and Shepherd Book has already promised to leave God out of it...but there are some traditions that are important to me. And I’d like them to be included properly.”

It is exactly as she expected, if from a different angle. Who better to support Simon’s side of the wedding, mirroring Kaylee and Mal, than the one person onboard the ship with extensive training in rituals and ceremony?

“Have you told Mal, that you want me to be your wedding attendant?” Inara ventures.

She has no good reason to turn Simon down, and honestly, she isn’t inclined to. After so many years of Companion studies, this is exactly what she’s good at. Detailed protocol...and burying her own feelings.

“Of course,” Simon assures her. “He seemed pleased by the idea. I know he trusts you, Inara.”

That’s something, she supposes. Trust can be much harder to earn than affection, after all. And what the crew has built with Mal at the center, a kind of family and love she never expected to partake of while she was roaming the galaxy...that’s invaluable.

She reaches across the table to take Simon’s hands in hers. “It would be my honor,” she tells him, meaning it with all of her gently-bruised heart. “We can begin tomorrow morning, if you like.”

#mal x simon #firefly #mal x simon fanfic #mal x simon fic #firefly fic #firefly fanfic #my fic #all the days ahead

2 notes · View notes

i-heart-danchou · 5 years

Text

Stay with me

This is for bottom Erwin week prompt Freeform but I guess it could also be for Bathing so yay I sort of technically did all of them, cool. This is a canon rewrite, and I put some of my medical knowhow into play for this one (I actually did surgery on a cat with injuries similar to Erwin’s XD, he’s fine). Also I quite liked this idea so if anyone’s interested I might keep going with it. ------------------ “Captain Levi!” Floch was panting, sweating, his muscles were quivering as he pulled himself up onto the roof with Erwin strapped to his back. “The commander— he— he’s critically wounded! His side’s been hit, his organs are coming out, I can’t stop the bleeding I… I thought… I thought maybe that injection you had could help.” Levi’s eyes were wide, his mouth ajar, his heart thundering away in his chest. Time seemed to slow for a moment, and he clutched the syringe to his chest. He imagined a future with Erwin as a titan, the colossal titan at that… a monster, a villain, a human being so unbelievably dangerous that no one would dare get close to him. He imagined the light in Erwin's eyes getting dimmer and dimmer, the more of himself that he sacrificed to humanity. No. The choice was obvious. “Eren.” He muttered. “Give me your gas, all of it.” Eren was crying, obviously very confused. “Captain?” “I said give me your gas!” Levi practically threw the syringe at him, not wanting to waste one more damn second. He replenished his fuel supply and strapped Erwin to his back. A hospital. A hospital. They had to fucking get to a hospital.

He didn’t care about Bertholt, or Armin or whatever fucking drama was going on in Shiganshina, he had to help Erwin, he didn’t have any fucking time.

Obviously carrying 92 kilograms of dead weight made the gas canisters tremendously less efficient, but Levi couldn’t think about that.

Come on… come on…. “Stay with me, Erwin. I’m getting you help, I’m going to get you better.”

Erwin groaned in pain, or maybe in delirium, and his head flopped forward onto Levi’s shoulder.

“I’ve got you.” Levi whispered. “I’m gonna get you home.”

He found a horse just at the entrance of Wall Maria— a runaway, perhaps? There had been so much chaos, he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t managed to keep all the animals together. Thank fuck, thank fuck. There weren’t enough trees between here and Wall Rose to get him home, he’d need this fucking horse— Erwin needed this fucking horse.

He mounted the beast, secured his commander, and galloped as hard as he could. “Stay with me, Erwin. Look at that beautiful sky.” Levi had never known fear like this. Every second he wasted Erwin’s pulse was getting weaker, and it made him sick to see the commander’s blood seeping down the horse’s side.

“Stay with me.”

They charged to the wall and Levi sent up a signal flare a good 500 meters before he arrived. The gate needed to be open, he didn’t fucking have time for this. “Commander Erwin is wounded! I need help!” He called out, and he watched as the garrison scrambled to let him back into the walls. Eyes went wide when they saw the state of the commander, and a group of medics descended to help.

Levi was loath to let Erwin go, even into the hands of qualified professionals who would try their best to help him. He followed, he followed, and he ordered them to be careful. “Please.” He whispered as the doors of the operating theater swung shut. “Please help him.”

Hours passed. Levi sat with his head in his hands, titan blood all but evaporated off of him, Erwin’s blood caked and dry in his uniform. Please. He was begging the universe. Please let him be alright.

A surgeon emerged by nightfall, blood soaked through his sleeves, speckled on his glasses, his hair limp against his forehead with sweat. “Captain Levi.” He said somberly.

Levi stood up, his heart in his throat. The doctor was hesitating, and Levi felt the acid burning in his mouth. “Out with it.” He hissed, his eyes narrow.

“The commander is… alive.”

Levi’s lip twitched. Why was he hesitating? What was he so afraid of?

“He suffered extensive damage to his abdominal wall, including full thickness lesions penetrating into his abdominal cavity. There was damage to his small intestine, portions of his bowel, and one of his kidneys. We’ve cobbled his intestinal tract together as best as we could, but there was barely enough muscle available to close the abdominal cavity. We’ve taken a graft from his leg, but it may not survive. He’s experienced significant hemorrhage and was in severe hypovolemic shock at the time of presentation. He… may have irreversible brain damage. He may not know you if he wakes up, and he is likely to be less intelligent than he was before this happened. If he survives the night, there is an extremely high probability that he will develop septic peritonitis. If that happens, there is not much else we can do. His intestinal repairs may also fail, which will only worsen and compound matters. He may not be able to use the toilet properly anymore. He probably won’t ever walk again.” The doctor licked his lips. “If he makes it to the end of the week, he has a fair chance of survival. Do you have any questions?”

Levi put a hand on the wall to steady himself. What had he done? He’d condemned Erwin to a life worse than death… a life without his mind, his mobility, his… his dignity, even. Why had… what…. He swallowed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can I see him?”

“No. I’m sorry captain, his infection risk is too high right now and… and you are heavily contaminated from the battle. I would recommend you go home for some rest. Things will be more clear in the morning.”

“I’m not leaving him.” Levi snarled. “I’m not.”

The doctor was weary. “Fine. There are showers that you can use, if you wish. Ask one of the nurses to assist you.”

The tatters of the SC returned in time, to thunderous cheers and celebrations. Levi wasn’t with them, and he didn’t care to be. His place was with Erwin, and he would reap whatever horrible consequences resulted from his choice. If Erwin needed to be cared for forever, if he needed someone to feed him, to bathe him, to wipe his fucking ass he would do it. All of this was Levi’s fault, and nothing would tell him otherwise.

Hanji joined him at the hospital, a thick white gauze plastered over her eye. “How is he?” She asked cautiously.

“Bad. They think he has brain damage. He’s crippled. Everything is fucked up. He’s probably going to die in horrible pain.”

Hanji was quiet. “Why didn’t you give the injection to Erwin, Levi? Why did you do this?”

Levi glared at her, his anger easily melting into grief and pain and remorse. “He didn’t want to be a monster.” He offered lamely. “He deserved to see the truth.”

Hanji put her arm around Levi’s shoulders and hugged him as tight as he’d allow. “He did.” She agreed. “We’ll just have to see what happens.”

Erwin didn’t die that night, nor the next morning. Levi was allowed to sit with him provided he followed the hospital’s sterility protocols, and he sat beside Erwin in a white gown and mask, watching him writhe in agony as his recovery progressed.

He was pale, clammy, unresponsive, his pupils dilated and his groans heartbreaking. Even in his delirium there was no respite from his agony, and Levi’s hair was standing on end. “Can’t you do anything?? Give him something for the pain, at least??” He demanded, his eyes wild.

“He’s on the best medication we have.” The doctor explained. “We’re trying to control the fever, but this is a natural part of surgical recovery I’m afraid. I’ve heard he’s quite strong.”

“The strongest.” Levi assured him, casting a wayward glance at Erwin’s recumbent frame. “The greatest man I know.”

“Then he will fight, he will endure, and he may survive.” The doctor patted Levi on the shoulder. “Support him however you can, captain.”

Levi did everything he could to keep Erwin comfortable. He fluffed his pillows, he wiped his forehead, he even helped to change his bedpan. While Erwin fought to stay alive, Levi sat beside him and whispered in his ear.

“We took back Wall Maria. Humanity’s first major victory, and of course you led us. They got to the basement, Erwin. They found out the truth. I’ll tell you everything when you wake up.”

About four days in Erwin opened his eyes once more. Every movement was strained and agonized, but it was obvious he was doing his best to conceal his distress. He sat up with some difficulty, but he managed. His eyes scanned the room and he smiled when he saw Levi.

“Levi..” He managed.

“Erwin.” Levi breathed. He knew him. Erwin knew who he was. “Say something smart.”

Erwin laughed then, only a slight chuckle but it was enough to send him into a spasm of agony, gripping at his side as he doubled over in pain.

Levi’s eyes widened with alarm, and he rubbed Erwin’s back until he was through the worst of it. “Fuck, Erwin. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

Erwin took a few moments to catch his breath. The pain must have been excruciating, and Levi could see the whites of his eyes. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He was visibly shaking by the time he righted himself, his face pale and slicked with sweat as he leaned back in the bed. “What happened?”

“You got badly wounded by the beast titan. Floch found you, he brought you to me. I got you to a hospital.”

Erwin nodded slowly. “And… the mission?”

“A success, Erwin. We did it, we took back wall Maria. We got to the basement. It’s all thanks to you.”

Erwin smiled then, and shut his eyes once more. He was so weak, dammit. He was so exhausted. It hurt to see him like this.

The doctors kept Levi away for a while then, citing Erwin’s exhaustion and debility. He needed some rest, and frankly Levi did too.

He still didn’t want to leave the hospital, but it seemed like Erwin had rounded a corner and hopefully wasn’t in danger of imminent death anymore. Hanji caught up with him at the barracks, grabbing his elbow as he barged into Erwin’s room. “How is he?” She demanded.

“Awake. He seems all there too. He’s not recovered yet, obviously, but…” Levi wasn’t a man who allowed himself to be optimistic, but the hope in his heart was creeping in whether he liked it or not.

“He’s… going to want to be commander again, I presume.”

Levi hadn’t thought of that. “Probably. It’s who he is.”

Hanji looked very sad. “He can’t, Levi.” She had a copy of Erwin’s medical report in her hand, and Levi wondered if the doctors had dumbed down how bad it was for him. “He’s going to need help for the rest of his life. He can’t be an active member of the military.”

Levi’s hackles went up. “So— so we throw him away? Because his body can’t keep up anymore? After all these years, after everything he’s lost, we just— we tell him to fuck off cause he’s wounded?”

“Fuck Levi, no.” Hanji rubbed at her eyepatch. “We just have to be realistic. There’s a whole world out there, wanting to kill us. We need a commander who can actively attend combat and make choices on the field. Erwin is brilliant, he’s the best commander we’ve ever had but… Levi… he can’t anymore. He can’t.”

Levi’s blood felt cold. “We need him, Hanji. Humanity needs him. You can’t tell him we don’t need him anymore.”

Hanji put her hands on his shoulders and looked at him. “Of course we need him. But we have to be realistic.” She bit her lip. “I’ll be commander, and he can be my advisor. He’ll remain on staff and I��ll be able to provide him with support workers if he needs them. Do you want me to tell him?”

Levi shook his head. “No. He should hear it from me.” She was right. Of course she was right. He had hobbled his commander, and his penance would be eternal.

Erwin took the news better than Levi expected, but then again Erwin was extremely intelligent and he probably shouldn’t have been surprised. Of course he knew he couldn’t be commander anymore. Of course he did.

“That’s very generous of Hanji to offer.” He said eventually, his hand running gingerly up his side. “I’ll continue to help humanity in any way I can.”

Erwin was using the formal commander language that Levi hated, but he felt it wasn’t his place to stop him. Of course Erwin would keep fighting, not allow himself any time to rest. He deserved a cabin by a lake, he deserved to retire and have a statue made of him in the town square of wall Sina. But Erwin never stopped, and Erwin never rested.

Despite his injuries, he kept moving, no matter how hard it was. Erwin never, ever complained. Levi was silent as he watched Erwin double over in pain when he ate something too rich for him, and he was silent when Erwin quivered from the exertion of trying to stand to relieve himself. He offered a shoulder to support him, a hand when he needed it, and he kept his eyes forward. No matter what else happened, he would preserve this man’s dignity.

He helped Erwin into a wheelchair and pushed him through the hospital when he was finally discharged. The sun was warm and soothing, the air was crisp and beautiful, and Erwin smiled as the gentle beams of light hit his skin.

It was awful to see the top of Erwin’s head like this. To be so much taller than he was, that Erwin was banished to this chair, unable to push himself forward at all by himself. He swallowed his distaste. It was worse for Erwin, and Levi refused to make this about himself.

During his convalescence, Hanji had made some changes to the barracks to make them a little more accessible for Erwin. His office had steadying bars screwed into the walls, the desk was adjusted so his chair could fit beneath it, and the bathroom was completely redesigned with his comfort in mind. His bedroom had been refurnished as well; his bed softer and more comfortable, his sink and shelves shortened, and someone had thought to put a carpet and fresh flowers in too. It felt homier.

“Not bad.” Levi commented, wheeling Erwin through so he could see the four square walls in which he would endure the rest of his life. “I bet you’ll come up with some great war strategies here. We’ll really need you from here on out.”

Erwin said nothing and licked his lips. “Levi— I…”. His nose went a touch pink. “I’m really sorry but— I need…”

Levi nodded and hooked Erwin’s arm around his shoulder. He needed the toilet, and he hated to ask for help like this. “I’ve got you.” Levi reminded him. “You’d do the same for me.” He helped keep Erwin steady, he helped him open his trousers, he looked away from his cock while he pissed.

The relief on Erwin’s face was endearing, actually, and he sat back into his chair with a pleasant sigh. “Thank you, Levi.”

Erwin was at rock fucking bottom, and it made Levi feel sick.

Levi nodded at him and wheeled him to his desk. ‘Do you hate me?’ He wondered, ‘for what I did to you?’ “I got Eren’s father’s books for you. Three volumes of answers for you— about beyond the walls, about the fate of humanity, about everything. You were right, Erwin. You were right.”

Erwin smiled and passed his hand along the spine of the tomes, he seemed… content, at least. Levi didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath as he watched Erwin begin to read. This was Erwin's dream, his everything… he wasn’t sure what he would have to live for when he finished reading those books. So he distracted himself, he made them both some tea and set the cup down beside his command— his advisor.

He was quiet and respectful while he watched Erwin devour the information, and he wasn’t sure why he was so nervous.

“A whole world of humans.” He said thoughtfully. “A whole world of different places and cultures… kept beyond our reach because of a curse in our blood. Titans come from our people, from across the sea, and are used to keep us within these walls. Fascinating.”

Levi was glad, Erwin seemed… happy, kind of, with the information. “A whole world against us.” Levi added lamely. “Then again, you’ve always been good at beating the odds.”

Erwin smiled then, humility and sadness crossing his features. “I suppose that’s true.” He gingerly touched his healing abdomen, flinching ever so slightly as he touched a sore point. “Levi… what will you do?”

He was taken aback by the question. “I… I want to stay with you.”  Erwin took a sip of tea slowly and carefully, presumably not wanting to upset his stomach. “It’s alright, Levi. I don’t want you to waste your life here.” His voice was kind and gentle, his eyes were distant.

There was a terrible implication beneath Erwin’s words; that his own life would be a waste. That there was no future for him, no happiness, no value. “It’s not a waste.” Levi said immediately, but Erwin gently touched his hand to stop him.

“It’s a waste of your talents and your abilities. You’re a combat genius, Levi. They’ll need you at the front when we go to war.”    Levi had never really disobeyed Erwin before, but he was certainly considering it now. “Erwin.” He said tersely. “It’s my fault you’re like this. I want to help you. I want to be with you.”

“Levi…” Erwin’s eyes were so warm, and he put his hand on top of Levi’s. “You put so much on yourself. It’s not your fault I got wounded. It’s not your fault the beast titan threw rocks at us. You saved my life, Levi. You let me see the truth for myself, you helped me make my dreams come true. Even in the worst moments, I never blamed you. I’m grateful for this gift that you’ve given me, and I don’t intend to squander it.”   Levi turned his hand over and squeezed Erwin’s fingers. It was perhaps the most intimate thing they had done together, and he hoped it read loud and clear.    Erwin smiled, and delicately threaded his fingers with Levi’s. “Do you remember when we first met? How I said we’d save humanity together?”

Levi nodded, his heart racing.

“I still want that, Levi. And I know you can help make that happen, but not if you’re stuck here looking after me. I’ll be alright.” To prove the point, he shakily stood up on his own two feet and slowly, carefully, painstakingly hobbled to the nice plush bed and sat down. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. “Levi… come here, please.”   Levi obliged, approaching the bed with uncertainty.    Erwin lay down and gestured for Levi to join him. Of course Levi did, and he cuddled up to Erwin’s side, trying his best not to upset his healing muscles or skin. “Erwin… I don’t want to leave.” He squeezed his eyes shut and cursed himself for getting emotional.

“I know.” He said gently. “And I won’t make you. I won’t judge you for following your heart.” Erwin’s smooth fingers were stroking his muscles, and he leaned into the sensation.    Levi imagined foreign invaders arriving on their island… maybe with flying machines, maybe with titans, he imagined them destroying the barracks, imagined Erwin getting crushed to death inside. This war wasn’t over, their fight was only just beginning. Erwin was right, Levi could do so much more if he fought than if he allowed himself respite. “No, Erwin. You’re right. They’ll need me in the battle. I’ll do it.”   Erwin’s smile was sad and distant. Levi wondered if he would miss being in the fray. “I… I’ll be here waiting for you when you get back, Levi. I know you’ll survive. I know you’ll come back to me.”

“Okay.” He promised. Because Erwin was always right about this sort of thing.

They didn’t get naked, they didn’t have sex, they didn’t do anything except hold each other that night. Levi doubted Erwin would have sex in a meaningful way ever again, but it didn’t matter. He pressed his ear against Erwin’s chest and greedily absorbed the steady sound of his heart beating.    “I’ll come back.” Levi promised. “When this is all over, I’ll come back. I’ll bring you more of those photographs, new inventions, maybe a medicine for your body I— I’ll help finish what you started.” He kissed Erwin’s neck and breathed him in. “Erwin… I…”

“I know, Levi. Me too.” His voice was a soft rumble, and Levi arched his neck up so they could kiss.

Levi burned the moment into his mind, a soft safe place for him to remember in the coming months and years of conflict ahead of him. Erwin was alive, he was waiting, and he’d be there when Levi came back. That beautiful bright smile would keep him going, give him a reason to keep fighting… he would return to those open arms and find peace.

Levi would fight until his body could take it no longer, and Erwin would wait for him. And one day, he hoped, the world wouldn’t need them the way it did now. They would hang up their swords and find somewhere peaceful to rest.

#bottomerwinweek2019 #bottomerwinweek #bottomerwin #my stuff #levi ackerman #erwin smith #eruri #canon rewrite #i can't tell if this is a happy ending #fandom's all like i wish erwin lived and i'm all mwahah let's see how i can make that awful #i heart masochism i guess #i also like using these really long specific hashtags that will never be used again and are therefore rendered useless #hashtag hashtag

76 notes · View notes

spaceybot · 6 years

Text

A Glitch from the Void

The Operator somehow falls ill, leaving Ordis to take care of them. Only he isn’t all that well either.

Ever since they had uncovered all of his fragments, he’s been hearing ghosts. The Operator has their own ghosts to deal with.

Contains very minor spoilers from cinematic quests and references to cephalon fragments.

“Please, Operator, you must rest now. For me.”

They weren’t going to argue with him on that, and how could they when he pleads like that? Another wave of pain crashes against the inside of their skull, coursing through the hollows of their eyes. They groan, draping an arm across their dull eyes in an attempt to block out the bone piercing light.

Transference did nothing to ease the pain. They had thought that being in their more familiar body albeit a borrowed one, they would cease to feel the symptoms of their sickness. But even the warframe could not block out the throbbing headache or the overwhelming urge to simply collapse.

Heeding Ordis’ advice, the Operator steps out into their physical form before crawling into the makeshift bed the two had prepared in their personal quarters.

The wyrm sentinel that Ordis had tethered to his control perks up at the sudden act, chirping its concern, hovering just a bit higher. He helplessly watches as they attempt to get comfortable. Ordis did not even know that the Operator could even fall ill. Surely the Zariman incident could have altered their immune system, as it had altered nearly everything else about the child. But all it had done was leave it weakened and ruined, or so it seemed. And spending all of those years in a dream did nothing for their health either.

And yet it feels wrong. Ordis had witnessed their miraculous recovery, their renewed ability to walk, to run even, around the ship on their own two feet after the incident on the Kuva Fortress. It had terrified the living daylights out of him. If only such a miracle could salvage his poor Operator’s health now. Why didn’t it?

Ordis floats around the Operator’s bed, which consisted only of an Ostron carpet laid on the floor in front of the observation window, a pillow, and one of the larger, thicker syndanas they had gotten a while back. Ordis should have been proactive. He should have bothered the Operator to build a real bed for such occasions. They must be terribly uncomfortable. The way they attempt to create a cocoon out of the substitute syandana blanket pains him.

“Ordis?”

“Yes, star child?”

“Could you get the other syandana for me?” They ask, their voice a mere whisper. “It’s freezing.”

Impossible. They were clearly overheating, burning even. However, he did not miss the way their shoulders oscillated as they spoke, overcome by shivers.

“Of course.” He replies. His proxy is already flying away to dutifully fulfil his Operator’s request.

As soon as he opens the door, it comes padding in, scampering to find its owner.

“Oh, NO. Absolutely not, you－filthy, disgusting－little kubrow. Shoo! Let them be.” Can’t it see that its master is sick? The wyrm comes to the Kubrow’s eye level, pushing against its horned nose. Ordis wilts a little. That adorably ugly, and endearing nose, and those glistening beady eyes. It has both of them wrapped around its giant paws. “Oh. Oh. Operator, it’s giving me those eyes again. What should I do?”

Though they give no verbal response, they seem to come to life at the sound of their giant kubrow padding around the room. They call to it, attempting some kind of pathetic whistle. It comes out as mostly spit and air. It only takes the kubrow a few bounding leaps to make its way over to its master. It almost brings Ordis to a state of...melancholy? Anger? Watching that loyal, murderous dog heed every beck and call. He does not know why.

The Operator makes a muffled noise, interrupting his thoughts. A laugh. The rustle of the syandana’s cloth softly fills the room as the giant beast nudges at its owner, laying pitifully on the ground and wrapped in a large syandana. Eventually, it settles down, curling around the Operator. The Operator easily snuggles into it, desperate for warmth. They are still. Quiet. The room falls into a listless silence. They seem to have forgotten their request for a second syandana blanket, with the heat radiating from their companion sufficing. Ordis watches as one of their arms poke out of the cocoon to circle around the great beast.

The sweat of their palm coats the animal’s thick, heavy fur, imparting an unpleasant scent. Both will need to be washed down, Ordis thinks to himself. He must sanitize the ship soon, to prevent further instances of this sickness.

“Ordis will return when your Tenno friends have delivered your medication.”

It wasn’t medication really. The other Tenno did not seem to know where to even find conventional remedies. Instead they turned to the Ostrons, in search of common remedies, elixirs, brews, anything. The Operator’s illness struck them as strange, just as it had perplexed Ordis himself. Their warframes had always provided a barrier between bacteria and viruses from reaching the physical host. Even that odd pink cyst they had gotten one time did no real harm to neither the frame nor the Operator. Perhaps the Operator had been spending too much time outside of transference.

“Hey, Ordis?” They mumble, only half awake now. Ordis waits, just as he’s always done.

“Thank you. For everything.” They say. There is pity, love, entangling the data stream that courses through his mind as he processes their words. The cephalon’s voice is present throughout the whole orbiter, the volume of it reduced in an effort to keep them comfortable. The void itself could not contain the gentleness, the warmth in his voice.

“Do not thank me. I am your Cephalon--”

－your loving dog－－your doctor－－your wet nurse－

A quick burst of static. There are echoes in his mind, shimmering fragments revealing themselves from the pit that he had thrown them into long ago. Stop. Stop now. A sudden surge of energy courses through his being. It takes him an immense amount of will power to suppress the phantom thoughts, and even more to keep himself from speaking them aloud.

Ever since his Operator had begun unearthing more and more of the memories he had strewn about, he started suffering from these horrid glitches. Everyday the Operator found more. Everyday he began to crack more. Neither of them could bring themselves to speak of it.

Ordis recovers within nanoseconds.

“I am your Cephalon.” He repeats, firmer. “I gladly serve you, Operator. Now go to bed.”

The Operator scoffs with feigned indignation. Just that playful act alone must have taken much of their energy because they fall silent quickly after, their expression returning to one of discomfort and pain. Ordis knows whenever a new ache befalls them when their eyebrows knit together, or when they pull their kubrow in a little closer. He is helpless, only able to watch the poor thing suffer until medicine arrives.

“Sleep well.” He murmurs, so quietly that it could be any other sound. He dims the lights until it is only starlight that filters into the room. The Operator has already succumbed to its effect.

---

There is no respite, even in dreams. It brings back memories.

They have felt this before, long ago. They’re sure of it. Even before the Zariman accident, they can feel the faint memory brushing against their mind. Their mother pressing a kiss to their cheek, brushing away sticky strands of hair. Their father’s palm against their glistening forehead, feeling the heat as it radiates from them. They have only ever gotten sick once. But even then it was different.

They are floating in a vast expanse of nothingness, limbs suspended in weightlessness. Are they...outside of the ship? No. It’s impossible.

The headache chips away at their skull as if something is trying to break free of its confines. There is too much inside of their mind. It hurts. Their body pulsates and aches and burns, so full of sickness on the outside. And yet inside, they are hollow, empty...infinite. They are the space that surrounds the Lishet and the void that swallows the planets and the stars.

The Operator brings a hand up to brush the corner of the lips. Something wet had dribbled down their chin. When they draw it back to examine, all they see is a black liquid coating their hand. It feels too real.

They blink hard, in an attempt to wake up from the dream. Someone is holding them back, keeping them trapped within this purgatory.

And then they realize where they are. It’s the only place they could be.

They need to leave, to wake up. Now. They open their eyes only to see a phantom staring back. It’s them. A mirror image. Dark, peering eyes tearing through the depths of their twin soul. The Void grins at them, black seeping from their mouth.

“Remember me, kiddo?”

---

It took three hours for the others to arrive with the medicine, and not a moment too soon.

Ordis, or rather his wrym thrall, slips into the room with its tail wrapped around a vial. He brightens the room ever so slightly, descending until he is by his Operator’s side. They breath in heaving and hoarse breaths. The weakness penetrates their bones. Ordis falters. The sight of－that ugly child, their face burned, starved-sick like a stray－ forces something to the forefront of his mind. He forgets his original purpose, floating numbly. They look just like that child he had seen in his past life. Weak. Helpless.

Get yourself together, Ordis. He wills himself to obey.

And then his Operator awakens, startled by a dream. A nightmare, so it seems. They look around, until their wide eyes finally focus on him. And that’s all that it takes.

The lights of the Orbiter shut off.

The wyrm gently lands onto the floor, next to the slumbering kubrow, all of its power siphoning away with a dying whir. The small vial gives off a soft clink as it makes contact with the ground. Ordis’ connection with the sentinel severs itself. There is only silence.

“O-Ordis!” The Operator shouts, rousing the kubrow from its slumber.

And then the ship’s interior lights flicker. A new, but familiar voice answers.

“Operator.” He says, testing the word with a curious lilt.

Their blood runs cold and still. Not out of fear, but disbelief. Was it an illusion?

It is Ordis’ voice, only it is distinctly organic and far deeper, almost as if the source of it was merely inches away from them. The Operator knows at once who he is. After all, they had found everything that he had tried to hide. All of those fragments that Ordis tried to render nonexistent. They had glued the pieces together until the truth rose from the fracture lines. He was the voice from those transmissions.

Ordan Karris

Karris cannot breathe. Yet he does not need to. He sees through the ship’s eyes, sees the Operator. It nearly brings laughter out of his synthetic throat. Both of them, the former pit dogs of the Orokin, the immortals. How broken they both are. But it matters little now. Now, they fight for each other. They protect each other. The Tenno and the Beast of Bones.

Before the child knows it, the lights rise one more, bathing the room in brightness and clarity. The wyrm picks itself up off the ground, gingerly laying the dropped vial onto their lap. The Operator, despite the delirium of their disease cannot bring themselves to be afraid of someone so familiar. Their fingers curl around the vial’s neck.

Another quick burst of static. Has he gone? They swallow the heaviness and sickness caught in their mouth, the need to keep Ordis stable overriding their weakness and the images of The Man in the Wall.

“Ordis.” The Operator pauses, coughing to clear the phlegm from their sore throat. “Ordan. We have a lot to discuss. I-I’m so sorry, I should have talked to you sooner－”

But the response is a synthesis of two voices, melding into one. They can hear it. Ordis’ warmth reigning predominant, returning to its fullest potential as it rings through the ship. And a whisper of the beast. Beneath it all the faintest hint of Karris remains:

“No. Discussion can wait until you are well. I urge you to rest. Please.” He murmurs. “For me.”

The Operator hesitates for a brief moment. They open their mouth to speak but no words come out. Ordis, or Ordan, dims the lights once more, as if it were his attempt to pacify them back to sleep. Their attempt.

Is he Ordis or Ordan? Neither or both? He doesn’t quite know. He doesn’t care. The Operator has awoken from the dream that Margulis had induced long ago. And now he has awoken from his. He’s never felt so sure, so aware. The bizarre state of consciousness that he’s in borders on painful. Yet it feels right.

“I will.” They reply. “But after this, no more hiding, no more avoidance. We’ll come clean together. I promise.”

The Operator downs the bottle’s contents in one long, drawn out sip. It is too dark for either one to notice the thick, black residue left on the vial’s opening, just where their lips had been.

#warframe #warframe ordis #cephalon ordis #ordan karris #warframe fanfic #warframe operator #what is the title even #probably won't make sense unless you've heard the cephalon fragments #did you know this started out as pure fluff

177 notes · View notes

etherealblasphemy · 6 years

Text

Almost Family

Hahahaha WHERE’S SCHNEEP?! (translation: here, have a nice scene between a little character of mine and Schneep because I refuse to believe that’s he anything but on vacation. I might write more of the story this is taken from, but ~we’ll see~)

It was late at night. The clouds misted over the moon, letting only a feeble light drip its way through the dusty windows, painting the two figures within the room in a pale shimmer, speckled by the floating particles in the glass panes. The room itself was spacious, meant to hold a large crowd, and was decorated with bookshelves, bland paintings of landscapes, several ratty couches and chairs, and a small, old-fashioned television set. The television, pressed up against a tasteless white wall and framed by two windows, played a Disney movie in black and white, interrupting the film with occasional bursts of sporadic static. Watching were a young woman and a man who could’ve passed as her father.

Nova, curled up on the couch, stared entranced at the screen, having never seen such a movie before. Her doctor, Dr. S, sat on one of the far ends, less focused on the film and more on his patient, noting how her eyes lit up with excitement when the heroine began to sing a ballad, how she clutched her knees when the villain arrived, and how she swallowed thickly, biting her lip harshly whenever someone was kissed. He took note of all of this, hoping to use her reactions to determine the best course of action to now take in her recovery. He would fix her. He had to.

A sudden, sharp intake of breath grabbed his attention. “Nova-” he started, already prepared to help her through another violent hallucination, when he saw her eyes still glued to the television. His gaze flickered toward it to see the hero dangling precariously, held in the tight grasp of the villain. Nova was leaning over the edge of the cushions, her hands clutching the beat-up fabric of the sofa tightly.

Dr. S lightly tapped her shoulder and Nova whipped her head towards him, her wide eyes just barely masking her wild fear before it melted away as her brain processed who he was. He gave her a patient smile.

“You’re really getting into ze movie, aren’t you, kiddo?” he said softly, his accent thick with drowsiness. Nova blinked and nodded slowly, turning back to the television. She shifted her weight, leaning into his side. Knowing what she was doing, Dr. S wrapped his arm around her, pulling the blanket further up her body to keep her warm.

How simple the gesture, yet how meaningful all the same. Anyone, had they walked in that moment, would have assumed the two were father and daughter. Dr. S felt his heart stir and sighed heavily, adjusting his glasses. He would’ve done anything to have Nova as daughter, to be able to hold her and know she was his, to have the blessing of walking her down the aisle and dancing with her on her wedding night, but those moments were reserved for another man. Another man, who likely didn’t even know he had a daughter, who hadn’t been there when she was a little girl, who hadn’t watched her grow up, who hadn’t held her and comforted her when she was sobbing at her mother’s death, who hadn’t been the only one to calm her during her hysterical fits, who hadn’t loved her with every inch of his entire body, and who wasn’t here now, cradling her body as the screen flickered again, holding her tight to keep her within her own reality. No, that man was nowhere to be found. It was him, instead, who had taken up the responsibilities of raising Nova that the other had abandoned. And that, he argued silently, made him Nova’s father in every way except biological. They were… almost family.

A tear, solitary and silent, tracked its way down his cheek. Nova didn’t notice. He smiled sadly, moving his hand from over her shoulder to her hair, combing through it to rid it of the tangles. Dr. S let his mind wander again, needing a respite from the feeling of Nova’s steady breathing, taunting him of what he could never truly have. He thought of his long-gone wife, who had always said he would never make a good father, of his friends, who had teased him that was a “100% Real Doctor,” of his superiors, who berated him for not being forceful and dominant over his patients, for not ‘punishing’ them for their ‘sicknesses’. He felt bile rise up in the back of his throat and closed his eyes, willing himself to think of something positive, something to keep him sane. His thoughts immediately turned to Nova.

He felt something fall on his leg, and he looked down to see Nova had slumped forward, snoring softly. She’d fallen asleep.

Dr. S bit back a tiny smile, forgetting his previous mental tirade of negativity. Nova cuddled his leg as though it were a pillow, smashing her face into the soft, velveteen fabric of his slacks. He continued weaving his hand through her hair, relishing the silence filled up with her quiet, even breaths. This time, when his mind wandered again, it brought him to an alternate universe he had been to many times before, one where he was a normal person with a normal life, and Nova was his daughter.

In his mind’s eye, Nova was seven again, smiling sweetly at him during her birthday party. He brought out a small cupcake, a tiny green candle wedged into the baked good, singing to her Nova clapped her hands, shrieking gleefully as the desert was placed before her.

“You have some first, Papa!” young Nova said, shoving the cupcake back into his face. He chuckled, waving it back to her. She pouted over exaggeratedly, unable to contain her giggles of excitement. “Alright, then!” she cried, stuffing the cupcake into her mouth greedily, licking her icing-covered fingertips. She looked up at him, blue icing smeared across her face, wearing an odd expression.

Without warning, she launched herself at him, wrapping her flailing arms around his waist. She buried her face into his stomach, hugging him as hard as a child could. Detaching her from his body revealed she was crying, tiny balls of water streaming down her chubby cheeks. She tried to speak, but only gargles and spluttering emerged from her mouth.

Concerned, he knelt down, holding Nova close. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. Nova, with her ever-wide eyes, looked up at him, her lip trembling.

“I just really love you,” she answered, throwing herself into his arms again. Although taken aback at her answer, he closed his arms around her, breathing in the coconut smell of her hair as she buried herself into the crook of her neck.

“I love you too, Nova,” he whispered. All at once, the little play within the theatre of his mind can to an end with no applause.

He felt something wet on his face and touched his cheek to bring back salty, bittersweet tears. He didn’t know when he had started crying. Sniffing, he reached into the breast pocket of his lab coat to pull out a small blue handkerchief and dabbed at his eyes, soaking the delicately woven fabric with his madness. In her sleep, Nova scooted closer, holding him tighter. Brushing away tears from behind his glasses, Dr. S leaned down and kissed Nova’s forehead as he brushed her hair away from her face.

Sitting up once more, he placed his glasses on the table beside him and closed his eye, letting exhaustion take over him and leave him numb.

The sun filtered through the dusty windows, warming the cold-hearted earth. The door opened, revealing three sturdy young men standing in the doorway, taking in the scene before them. Their friend snuggled the thigh of their doctor as a child would to their parent. They slept soundly, despite that the television was still on, still full of jarring static. The men moved quietly, so as to not disturb the sleeping friends, and took their usual seats, whispering to one another about the dreams they had had last night.

“What do you think Dr. S dreams about?” the youngest asked out-of-the-blue. The others remained silent, thinking about their answers.

“Probably about raising Nova. I’ve never seen someone love another person as much as he loves her. They’re almost family,” one responded.

“Yeah, like us,” added the other, grinning at his comrades. “Almost family.”

#dr. schneeplestein #dr schneeplestein #nova #asylum au #almost family #they're watching beauty and the beast btw #I meant to write fluff not whatever this is #OC #I might do more of this story if people like it

1 note · View note

audriel · 6 years

Text

The fourth part of my KHR AU fic (1, 2, 3). Also posted in AO3. Initially I want to post this chapter for Kuroo’s birthday, but I struggle with it because I end up getting into Nekoma politics, and seriously, why can’t my muse make it easy for me?? It’s for the same reason that I cannot say that there’ll be less angst so... Warning: ANGST, lots of angst, brief description of anxiety attack, family politics, and Kenma kicking ass.

Last but not least, Happy late birthday, Kuroo!!

Blood loss and flame exhaustion.

That’s why Kuroo is not waking up even after receiving the best care under the ever watchful eyes of Yaku and Shibayama and in the safety of Nekoma compound.

Medically speaking, he’s on his way for full recovery. His vital signs are strong and his brain activity is normal. His blood work returns clean.

Yaku tried his best to explain Kuroo’s condition when he called for urgent family meeting. They might not have extensive medical knowledge like their resident physician and future certified medical doctor, but they knew enough from experience that three days were far too long to regain consciousness. Even after the most difficult surgeries and heavy sedation, there was always a brief moment of awakening before falling unconscious again. Kuroo didn’t.

He’s just... sleeping, or as close to it.

Yaku and Shibayama didn’t waste any time in performing all the tests they could think of, then turned the results over and sideways and asked for second opinion to no avail, until they went over the Nekoma medical records and stumbled upon the possibility of flame exhaustion. It is a rare condition for the Nekomas whose training heavily emphasizes control, so they very rarely exhaust their flames, regardless of the size of their reserves. They are also trained to recognize their limits, so they can train to push them without exhausting themselves. The records showed that the condition was and should be easily rectified by proper rest.

Tetsu... He drains himself dry, literally and metaphorically.

Kuroo shouldn’t be alive, he should have been dead the moment the bullet entered his body, with the speed it shattered and multiplied, especially when it hit so close to vital organs. There could only be one reason for his survival: he managed to use his Rain flame on the bullet... all the while fighting for his life without using his original flame. Yaku also suspected that Kuroo turned on his foresight throughout the fight. While it was not draining his flames--considering it was a natural ability of Sky flames, it gave him double vision which would also take concentration for him to separate the future possibilities and reality.

There’s nothing much we can do but wait.

The ensuing silence was unbearable. Kuroo could be terrifyingly cold and detached in his decision making that he never placed his life of higher importance than others’. It was a trait that his family both loved and hated in equal measure. Kuroo was not careless with his life, his family extracted that promise from him, but he would and could not promise to choose himself over the lives he could save. It felt like a paltry promise back then, but seeing how hard Kuroo fought to keep that promise, to survive...

Kenma cannot stay any longer in the room, leaving an illusion of himself in his place to keep the others from noticing. He stumbles out to the hallways, his breathing short and quick. He tries to slow his breathing, he tries to count up and down, he tries everything but nothing works. It has been so long since it was this bad. He has learned to recognize the signs and remove himself before it turns into a full-fledged attack, or Kuroo does it for him. But Kuroo is...

Kuroo... who is lying pale and lifeless on the infirmary bed surrounded by machines... whose flames are so faint and flickering... That Kuroo is not Kuroo. That Kuroo is not his Kuroo, his first and best friend, his brother, his leader. That is-that is not-

The distressing thought does no favor to his condition as his breathing gets worse. Kenma clutches his chest, trying vainly to slow his breathing as he flounders aimlessly. His head feels light, his vision narrow.

Hey, hey. Breathe with me. You’re okay. You’re okay. Suddenly Kenma is seeing young Kuroo crouched in front of him, eyes wide and concerned for a child he had just met. His young self had inched away in surprise at the strange child’s appearance who had managed to see past his Mist illusion.

He never dealt well with children around his age, more so with strangers, and yet despite his initial surprise and suspicion, he found himself drawn to the boy and the outstretched hand.

Kenma had always been able to sense flames, he could feel the slightest change in them and shape them into his liking. It came to him as easy as breathing. He cared not for the clamor and praise that came with it. He cared only for the respite and knowledge he was granted. He cared only for the ability to hide and to tell whom to trust. Kuroo burned with flames that he had never seen before, bright against the darker flames of Mist and warm against the cool indifference of Nekoma.

He finds himself reaching out... and trips face-first on something soft. In his surprise he breathes in, familiar scent and warmth assaulting his senses. He knows this scent, he knows this warmth. He grapples blindly, opening his palm and stretching his fingers to feel. He knows these sheets, these pillows and these blankets thrown haphazardly over large mattress. He doesn’t need to look around to know where he finds himself in.

Kuroo’s bedroom. Kuroo’s bed. Kenma’s and Nekoma’s safe haven.

Since their early acquaintance, Kuroo had made himself available for Kenma. He learned not to lock his doors and grew used to Kenma sneaking into his room and making himself comfortable. However as they ventured deeper and further to the family business, Kenma was becoming not the only one needing comfort and finding their way into Kuroo’s room. After witnessing and experiencing the worst the world could offer, it was not unusual for the family to spend the night together. When Kuroo finally claimed the boss’ quarters, he didn’t bother with proper bed and brought in the widest, thinnest, and most comfortable mattress, covered it with the softest sheets and thrown as many pillows and blankets over it.

Kenma can sense traces of himself and his family between the sheets. He can feel the lingering emotion and memories left among the pillows and blankets, the good and the bad. But most of all, he can feel him, suffusing the bed and the room with his warmth and kindness, with his patience and understanding, with his love and loyalty for his family. Something inside him flickers insistently, as though telling him to pay attention and so Kenma follows, tumbling down and falling deep into himself.

He finds his flame easily, burning indigo-bright. However, there’s another flame, smaller and weaker, but no less bright or warm. Kenma finds himself cradling the orange flame protectively to his chest. He cannot forget how it feels when the light and warmth that he doesn’t know have always been there suddenly are gone, leaving him cold and empty and blind in the dark. He cannot forget the agonizing moments when all of them could only stand still, refusing to believe what they all felt, refusing to mourn and grieve, with nothing they could do but hope and pray and beg that when the light and warmth finally returned they could barely believe it. He cannot forget how they cried, they yelled, and they cried some more. Kuroo was gone, but he was back. He was back.

The flame seems to burn brighter at this realization, sending pulsating warmth throughout his body. It feels familiar, it feels like...

Breathe, Kenma. Breathe. I am here. I am going nowhere.

Kenma finds himself matching his breathing with every pulse, and slowly, surely it evens out. For a while, Kenma lays there, just breathing, letting Kuroo’s presence surround him. However, his analytical mind cannot truly rest, slowly gathering together all the pieces from all his knowledge and observation, but two facts stand out the most in his mind: Kuroo is weak and vulnerable, and he is easy prey to those who want him dead.

Kuro is in danger.

Cat-like eyes snaps open in the dark, bright and sharp. Kenma might not be as dedicated and passionate as others, he has a tendency to shy away from duty and responsibility, but he has given his pledge and loyalty to Kuroo. He has chosen Kuroo. Kuroo and the family he made for himself are and will always be his top priority. If there’s anything that can make him take action, it’s Kuroo and their self-made family. Mind whirling with projections and calculations with such speed and accuracy, emotions set aside and discarded with such ease that makes him valued and considered as the next Nekoma boss, Kenma knows that he cannot act without knowing more information.

He traverses the dark room with ease and familiarity towards the wall on the side of the room. All the rooms in the family quarters are highly secured, because it uses a combination of biological and flame signature. However, one room takes it further by using flame pattern as its lock, which can only be opened by someone who knows the pattern and has the control needed to make the pattern with their flame. It’s a room that can only be opened by Kuroo, and Kenma as his right-hand man.

The lights turns on the moment he steps into the private study of the Nekoma boss. All sides of the room are crammed with information in various forms, from the traditional paper archives to modern digital archives, all but one side that is at the opposite of the grand wooden table with documents and stationary strewn over that has multiple screens mounted on it. In the middle there is interactive table that is not dissimilar with the one they have in the conference room, and its hologram is surprisingly active.

Kenma doesn’t think twice to approach the table and looks over the hovering images of boxes that are intertwined with each other with multiple lines so massive that it almost takes the whole room. Kenma picks one box at random and is wholly unprepared when a familiar voice rings out.

“Vision number 1283-”

The boxes are the detailed accounts of the future Kuroo has seen. Some futures appear only once, some appear frequently. Some change with time, some don’t. Some are clear, some are not. Kuroo managed to organize them into somewhat coherent manner, grouping together similar visions and then arranging them in a timeline. In every account there is a thorough analysis of what he has seen, deciphering what it means, whether it’s a constant or a changeable future, whether it’s part of action and consequence, or completely unrelated, whether the people and the event have any significance.

It is a time-consuming and meticulous work, not mentioning how large and complex it is. Kuroo is thinking more just than the future, he is thinking of the ripples on the pond, of the making of waves. Kenma is capable of seeing the future based on the present and making plans for it accordingly, but this... this is something else. Every person, every action is accounted for, so are their roles and their impact to the future. Kenma is sure that lines should be more convoluted than this but Kuroo has worked through them, removing the uncertain futures and directing them to a more favorable and controllable outcome so that what is left is a tangled mess that Kenma can still follow. It helps that Kuroo also recorded his musings so he can see where he’s coming from.

Kuroo plays out various scenarios, adjusting it accordingly with every change in reality and in foresight until he has narrowed it down into the most plausible scenarios and make plans of action based on them. He scraps the worst of the plans marking it down as unacceptable outcome and keeps the best of them by marking it down as acceptable outcome.

Acceptable outcome.

Kenma’s breathing hitches when he reads the plan. The plan that would have the least consequences, the least casualty: himself.

Acceptable outcome.

The world goes red and when he comes to, Kenma finds himself curled in the corner, the room completely dark but for the screens, flickering in and out, some are cracked. Things are scattered all over the room as though a whirlwind has come and upended everything inside. However, the interactive table somehow remains untouched with its tangled boxes hovering in the air, blocked by a figure reading through the page that he has left open. Kenma watches silently and knows the exact moment when Yaku finishes because he recognizes the unadulterated rage crossing his features.

“It’s my fault.” Kenma finds himself speaking out, catching the Sun guardian’s attention whose expression morphs into concern when he sees him. Yaku kneels down in front of him, careful to keep his distance.

“Why?“ It speaks how well Yaku understands Kenma that instead going for reassurance, he goes for clarification.

“I should have been the boss. I shouldn’t have run away. I shouldn’t have Kuroo shouldered the burden that is not his to bear.“ Once he starts, Kenma can’t seem to stop. “The council didn’t want him, Mori. They wanted Mist boss, even after they found out that he had Sky flame.”

Kenma sees understanding dawns in Yaku’s eyes, the pieces falling into place to make the complete puzzle of one Kuroo Tetsurou. Why Kuroo doesn’t think much of himself despite all of his achievements, why Kuroo insists of using the Mist aspect of his Sky flames, why Kuroo’s backup plans tend to put Kenma in the center, why Kuroo rarely sends Kenma out to the field unless necessary.

Yaku leans back on his heels as though he is struck, the look on his face is of great incredulity.

“A placeholder? All this time?” Yaku looks like he wants to cry and curse and yell, so does Kenma. He should have realized. He should have known better. Kuroo cares too much. He has too much heart. He always wants the best for others, but he rarely, if ever, considers himself. He is his very own and only blind spot.

It should be his duty and responsibility not only as his right hand but also his friend and confidant to make Kuroo see. That he has been the best leader Nekoma can ask for, more than Kenma can ever be.

Kenma presses hard the heels of his hand to his eyes. Kuroo needs time to rest and recover, time he might not have if Kenma wastes his time to wallow in guilt. Kenma stands up, taking Yaku by surprise.

“Yaku.“ Yaku snaps to attention at the change of address. “Call for an emergency meeting in an hour. Attendance is mandatory. Lateness, furthermore, absence, will not be tolerated.“

It takes a moment for the Sun guardian to respond, barely recognizing the younger man before him. Kenma doesn’t look away, doesn’t duck and hide. He meets his gaze straight on. Kenma is dead serious. He won’t accept any excuses. He will have them in the meeting one way or another.

This is Kenma the right-hand man of Nekoma.

Yaku smiles grimly as he stands up, nodding his head. “Consider it done.“

Kenma’s gaze follows Yaku until he’s out of sight, knowing with certainty that he will have all the inner circle along with council members and family representatives in the meeting. He walks towards the interactive table, briefly hesitating before opening up the backup plan Kuroo left behind in the event of his death. As he skims through the plan laid out before him, he understands why Kuroo made the request. He knew he was asking much from them to remain calm and neutral when all they want is to raze the bastards to the ground, because the best outcome hinges on it. Although Kenma has a feeling that Kuroo underestimate how much.

Before he knows it, an hour has passed. Kenma steps into the conference room with Yaku and Kai at his immediate right and left, the rest of the inner circle at their sides and back, giving him the support that he doesn’t realize he needs as he is greeted by the full ensemble of Nekoma’s council members and family representatives standing around the large conference table whose gaze immediately trained on them. Kenma knows Kuroo’s absence doesn’t escape their notice despite their best attempts to hide their alarm especially when he takes his place next to seat at the head of the table. Only the Nekoma boss has the power to call for emergency meeting. And yet, he is not here. Hush falls over the room, which doesn’t help his nerves. Kenma tries not to fidget as he grapples to say something.

“Please be seated.” Kai, bless ever reliable Kai, takes care the formalities so Kenma has less one thing to worry about. Everyone takes their seat, all but Kenma, who cannot find it in himself to sit in Kuroo’s place so he remains standing next to the empty seat.

Kenma breathes in and out, drawing strength from the flame inside him that belong to Kuroo.

For Kuroo.

“Three days ago, we met up with Karasuno to discuss the details of truce arrangement between both of the families. We were represented by Kuroo, Yaku and Kai, and Karasuno was represented by Sawamura, Sugawara and Azumane. It was supposed to be a highly classified meeting with with only few people in the know. And yet, we were attacked.” Kenma pauses as much to let the news sink in as to give himself time.

“We were outnumbered and overpowered. We managed to escape, but Kuroo... Kuroo was hit by Cloud fragmented bullet.” Shock ripples throughout the room. This is the gathering of the most brilliant minds in Nekoma, they are fully aware of the significance and the consequence of the action. Before they arrive to the wrong conclusion, Yaku is quick to step in.

“Kuroo is alive.” The Sun guardians stares them down, daring them to question his words. “However, he suffers from blood loss and flame exhaustion. We don’t know when he will regain consciousness.” Kenma watches everyone’s reaction carefully.

“This is concerning.” Nekomata speaks up. “This is not just simply another assassination attempt. Do you have any suspects?”

“We do, but we do not have sufficient evidence.” All Nekoma in the room catch on to the underlying meaning. Only few people outside the inner circle know about Kuroo’s foresight, but they all know the infamous Sky intuition and has seen it in action that they are willing to set aside their skepticism and follow the plans based on it so long they are ironclad. It will be so easy to give them names and have all Nekoma go after them. But that’s not what Kuroo wants, or what he needs.

"So what would you do?” Kenma cannot quite quell his trepidation when he hears that voice. It is the head of the council himself, Hyou Sakaki. Hyou is among the few of the older generation that remain in the council and representatives. He is a traditionalist, or the closest equivalent to it, in flexible and adaptable Nekoma, because however much Nekoma changes, their core values must and should not change. It is why he is elected as the head of the council, to be the foil of Nekomata, and later Kuroo who are the radicals of Nekoma. He is firm and unyielding as required by his position. He is Nekoma’s harshest critic and devil’s advocate.

Kenma doesn’t have pleasant memory of the man, despite having him as his main supporter for the succession because it meant the elder demanded more from him. Hyou wanted more traditionalist and less radical leader for Nekoma. While he can think out of the box, Kenma does favor the more proven and tested approach and is content with status quo, unlike Kuroo who is more willing to take risks especially with his intuition and challenge the status quo. Hyou doesn’t hide his disappointment when Kenma chose to give up his position as the successor and his disapproval whenever Kuroo showed his radical inclination. Regardless, he has sway over the family, and Kenma needs his support with his plan. He cannot show any weakness.

“We’re executing Plan D. Nekoma will go to ground.”

The declaration is met by surprise and disbelief. Of all orders Plan D is the last order Kenma is expected to give, because it is not a simple matter of staying quiet and under the radar. It is a complete withdrawal of Nekoma presence in the mafia world with the exception of the people and business to which their association to Nekoma are not known. It is an extreme measure that is meant for the direst situation.

“Do you know what you’re asking?” Hyou narrows his eyes at Kenma. “You are asking for all of our businesses to be closed down and stop operating. You are asking for a recall and reassignment of our people. You are asking for a major undertaking that is going to cost us the longer it is in motion.”

“Yes. I do know.” Kenma doesn’t back off, signaling his seriousness in the matter.

“Then why?” Naoi asks.

“They’ve gone this far to kill Kuroo. They won’t stop until he’s dead. The way he is now, Kuroo is an easy target. Any other course of action, any other plan, will put him at risk.”

“So you’re putting the safety of one person above the family?” Kuga Haruka--the second most influential person in the council--inquires, an elegant eyebrow raised.

Kenma can sense the rest of the family bristling around him, taking offense in the council member’s words, but it serves to center him instead. Finding his courage, Kenma straightens his spine and meets the gaze of every single person in the room.

“No. Because Kuroo is Nekoma, and Nekoma is Kuroo.”

The moment the words come out from his mouth, he realizes how true they are, and he is not the only one with how he stunned them speechless. It’s ironic, in his attempt to make Nekoma free and independent from inside and outside reliance, Kuroo becomes an irreplaceable figure himself. Nekoma will carry on without him, but it won’t be Nekoma anymore. Kuroo is not just Nekoma’s leader, he is their heart and soul. It is why the council was so against of having him as the successor to Nekomata, because Kuroo inspired steadfast love and devotion in the coldest and most rational of Nekoma. It was dangerous for Nekoma that placed mind above heart, rationality above intuition.

“Any objections for implementing Plan D?” Kuga asks the room at large.

And they are right. Because against all rational thought, none of them raise objections, not even Hyou himself. ithout a shred of doubt and hesitation, they all come to an agreement. The decision is unanimous.

“We shall proceed with Plan D. You have our full support.” Hyou concludes.

Kenma should feel relieved, but all he can feel is sadness.

Can’t you see how much you are loved, Kuro? Kenma clenches his hand, his gaze sharp and determined. Wake up, and we’ll show you.

#fanfic #fanfiction #khr au #nekoma #kuroo tetsurou #kozume kenma #yaku morisuke #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#katekyou hitman reborn

2 notes · View notes

odd-the-motoring-fox · 7 years

Text

The Wildes of Zootopia Ch7 Life Waits for no Mammal

It had been a half hour since Nick and Judy watched the ambulance escorted by their fellow officers speed off toward Zootopia General Hospital. They both desperately needed a shower, the blood starting to dry in their fur. Walking towards the ZPD locker rooms, Judy’s numbly followed Nick, still traumatized by what had just happened. Her first rookie under her care that she had not only developed a firm friendship with, but had also inspired to be a police officer, had been dying in her arms.

Nick, calmly leading the silent bunny, wasn’t so much freaked out at the sight of blood but the fact that if, Officer Stone hadn’t been there at that exact moment, there was no doubt in his mind that he’d be nothing more than a bloody rug on the ZPD’s floor. He felt better knowing that Delgado had a chance, but he wasn’t so sure about that sweet beautiful tigress.

He couldn’t help but worry because he was reminded of Judy every time he saw her, the same attitude, spunk and gung-ho spirit that his wife possessed. Despite trying to think positive, his former medic training kept preying on Nick’s mind, reminding him that she probably wasn’t going to make it, something Nick starting to see not as some vague possibility but as a cold reality.

Nick sighed as he took off his uniform and hung it in his locker. Grabbing a towel, he walked to the shower at the back of the row. Judy soon joining him after shrugging off her uniform, hanging it in Nick’s locker and grabbing a couple of towels. Both of them silent as the warm water began to flow over their bodies, the blood being cleansed from their fur, the tainted water circling down the drain. Emotions finally getting the best of her, seeing her friend’s blood circling the drain, much like her friend herself, she embraced Nick tightly, pressing her head against his chest.

“It’s ok, we’re ok sweetheart.” Nick said, returning the hug, wrapping his arms behind his bunny’s back, feeling her warm, wet fur intermingled with his, calming them both. They were both fine, they were both here. Alive.

For 15 minutes, they stood there, neither of them willing to let go of the other. They slowly began scrubbing each other down as they did at home every night, Judy relaxing at the touch of Nick’s strong paws on her shoulders and Nick relaxing from the reassuring softness of Judy’s paws on his back. It may have been only surface deep, but in those moments, it was enough.

Soon after they both got out of the shower, the remnants of the crimson water slowly draining away.

Judy looked at Nick, concerned for both him and Willow. She could sense Nick’s guilt etched on his face, no matter how many emotional walls he could muster.

“Nick are you ok?” Judy asked numbly, starting to dry herself off.

Nick kept drying himself off for a few moments, mulling the question over. “Yeah I’m fine but…” He paused, his mind suddenly beginning to race. Seeing the look on Officer Stone’s face when she realized she had been hit with the round meant for him or Judy, her eyes wide with pain and fear, before she fell crumpled on the floor.

Judy looked at him with a skeptical eye. She knew he was lying, the anger creeping into his already guilt laden voice.

“Nick don’t lie to me… please tell me.” She said wrapping a towel around her beautiful shape.

Emotions getting the better of him, Nick instinctively lashed out.

“Look I said I was fine OK!” Nick let out an angry growl punching the nearest locker frustrated making a sizable dent in it. “Just… just drop it…”

Judy looked at him worried about what he was going through.

“Nick…” she said shaking her head, the hurt apparent in her voice. How could Nick snap at her when she had nothing to do with what happened? Looking back to the angered Nick, that hurt quickly transformed into rage.

“QUIT BEING SO DAMN SELFISH OK!” Judy screamed, slightly irritated by how Nick was acting. She was his wife and he was closing her out about his true feelings.

“ARE YOU NOT WORRIED ABOUT DELGADO OR WILLOW?” Nick howled, furious with Judy’s apparent callousness. “SHE SAVED YOUR LIFE WHILE YOU WERE TRYING TO SAVE DELGADO’S AND ALL YOU CAN THINK ABOUT IS US?!”

Judy’s took a deep breath, her chest quivering from her sudden outburst, before her eyes started to water as she balled her fists in anger.

Nick moved back, nudging himself away from the locker, bearing his teeth and anger and disgust.

“I don’t care about me Judy ok?” He quietly growled. “What I give a flying fuck about…is Willow and Delgado. More so Willow. I’ve seen this before. Ray’s gonna be fine. Bit of TLC and he’ll be right as rain. Willow… Willow’s probably either dead or dying…” Nick said tearfully, slumping against the locker.

Judy tearfully looked at Nick and, before she had time to respond, saw the tears and choking cries coming from Nick. She hadn’t seen Nick bear his emotions like this since their cable car ride two years ago.

“Judy I’m sorry.” He said trying to pull himself together. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you, but I just…” He paused and took a breath “Judy every time I saw her with you and the way she carried herself she is just like you. And when I saw her there in your arms the fear in her eyes. That… that could have been me holding you.” Nick suddenly enveloped Judy in his arms, holding onto her so tight as if she were about to disappear if he so much as contemplated loosening his grip.

His feeling out in the open, and seeing cold-hearted she appeared, Judy put her paws round Nick, holding on just as tight.

“Nick, how do you think I feel? That could have been you back there. I… I wouldn’t know what to do if that were you…” she said with a sniffle, desperately trying not to imagine what could have happened to his sweet russet colored husband.

“I know Carrots but… we were lucky. We’re ok and right now I’m so glad I’m holding you, not holding your paw as you’re hooked up to life support or… or worse.” Nick said, kneeling down to get on her level, muzzle to muzzle.

“Nick…” she started to say before he cut her off.

“Judy let it be known that if it’s ever me or you, let me die first.” Nick said softly, looking at her with steady eyes.

“Nick don’t you even say that!” She cried out, grabbing his muzzle. “If you go… I’m going with you, you dumb fox.”

“Why?” Nick said, his emerald eyes shimmering from the bright lights and remnants of tears.

Judy slowly closed the distance, kissing Nick gently but full of deep loving.

“Because I don’t want to live a day without you Nick.” Judy said after separating her lips from his.

Nick stood back up and looked at her with a sensitive yet confident look.

“And I don’t want to live a day without you either Judy.” Nick said, kissing her forehead sweetly.

“Judy I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

Judy giggled. “It’s ok… I’m sorry too.” She said. “Do you know something Nick?”

“Probably more things than you.” Nick asked lightheartedly. “What Carrots?”

“We just had our first fight and make up as a married couple.” She said, surprised at how quickly they managed to restore the peace between them.

Nick chuckled, amused at the technique his lovely bunny was using to try and lighten up such a dark situation they still faced.

“Yeah, we sure did, didn’t we?”

After a moment of loving yet awkward silence, Nick and Judy took their clean uniforms out of Nick’s dented locker and began to dress each other. Judy helped to straighten Nick’s tie while Nick made sure his love looked stunning and strong in her custom uniform.

After a short time, they walked to a mirror together, shrugging in a ‘that’ll do’ fashion. Taking each other’s paws, swallowing down a deep breath, they put their game faces on, knowing full well that beyond the doors were hordes of media types and concerned members of the public awaited them.

“Ready?” Judy asked.

Nick grinned.

“I was born ready.”

Judy smiled as they walked out to the main lobby, completely barren of journalists due it being an active crime scene, however flashing cameras and red lights from TV cameras could be seen outside. Before they could even think to continue out the main entrance Chief Bogo quickly pulled them aside.

“Wildes” Chief said despairingly “I need you two to head to the hospital.”

Nick looked at the Chief, fearing the worst.

“How are they Chief?” Nick asked, trying not to sound scared of the answer.

Chief looked at them and said only this.

“Delgado has just been released from the O.R. and is in recovery”

“And Willow?” Judy asked with fear in her eyes.

Chief sighed, slowly shaking his head.

“She’s critical and currently in emergency surgery. The doctor I spoke too said the chances of her surviving are less than 10%, but he said she’s fighting hard.” Chief said trying to sound a little optimistic but he knew. He’d seen this before. Without their knowledge, the Chief had already arranged for Willow’s mother to be contacted and to prepare for the worst.

“We’re going down there.” Nick stated.

“I wouldn’t expect any less, but you might want to exit through the parking garage.” Chief said pointing out the mass media blockade out front.

“Yeah we’ll do that Chief.” Judy said, leading Nick by the paw as they hurried towards their squad car.

After a short drive, they arrived at the hospital during a change the hospital staff’s shift, with beleaguered doctors and nurses making their way home as their fresh replacements starting their duties. But the surgeons and nurses in the O.R and I.C.U had no such respite, continuing to work overtime.

As they parked their cruiser a white ZMW motorbike pulled on to the sidewalk with a strange looking feline locking it up to one of the pillars.

Judy, forgetting why they were, there sprang into action.

“Hey, you can’t park there!” Judy called out, jumping out of their squad car and ready to give the first parking ticket in nearly two years.

Taking off his helmet, the feline looked at the bunny with surprise and confusion.

“I’m sorry Officer this is my spot, I work here. I’m a doctor.” He said, maintaining a calm air in front of the agitated officer.

“I don’t care if you’re a doct…” Judy stopped before she could finish shocked at what she laid eyes on.

The tall feline doctor looked like a cross between a Siberian Tiger and a Snow Leopard but his fur had an azure blue tint to it, with white fur only present on his paws and his muzzle.

“Are you ok, Officer?” the hybrid asked, trying to be friendly as he donned his white coat and swiftly removing his bright red scarf, a bell jangling from its center.

“Yeah….” Judy said awkwardly shocked at the color of this unusual mammal. “I hate to ask umm… are you a…” Judy tried to ask awkwardly, forgetting her manners.

But before she could finish she heard Nick yell out in excitement and disbelief.

“LIAM!” Nick exclaimed, “Liam is that you?”

The hybrid looked at Nick surprised.

“Nicholas Wilde! I don’t believe it” He said shocked to see him in a police uniform “Is that you really you? The hustler and all-round trouble maker?” Liam laughed, still not quite the sight before him.

“The one and only!” Nick said as he bro hugged an old friend. “Oh, Liam this is Judy, my wife and partner” He said proudly, resting a paw on the baffled mammal.

Liam looked between the two of them, suddenly becoming nonplussed. Nick was still giving him a full smile, his paw resting on the still shocked Judy’s shoulder.

“You married… a bunny?” He said, the smile returning to his lips. “Awwee! Congratulations you two!”

“Ok how do you know this guy and what in Karma’s name is he?” She blurted out covering her muzzle quickly realizing how bad that sounded, gesticulating wildly at Liam.

Liam’s eyes widened at the blunt question.

“Judy!” Nick chided, visibly angered and disappointed by Judy’s thoughtless question.

“It’s ok Nick” Liam said, laughing it off. “I get this all the time.”

Quickly looking at his watch, Liam turned to Judy.

“Well Officer Wilde, my name’s Dr. Liam Snezhno and I’m a hybrid, specifically of a Siberian Tiger and a Snow Leopard. And the blue, well that’s a genetic disorder.” He explained in a rehearsed manner.

“Look I would love to chat but I gotta go, I can’t be late. They called me in 4 hours early and I don’t get paid to chat. Patients kind of need me so… yeah.” Dr. Snezhno said, trying to be friendly but starting to back away towards the hospital doors.

Just before Liam could get to the hospital’s sliding doors, a question quickly came to Nick’s mind.

“Hey Liam! Sorry, but I can you tell me something about a patient?”

Liam Looked at him puzzled.

“You know I can’t give out information” He stated flatly. “It’s against hospital protocol.”

Realizing Nick’s angle, Judy followed his lead.

“What about the reason you were called in early”? Judy asked.

Liam looked at Judy, suddenly grinning at Judy’s cunning. No wonder she’s with Slick Nick, Liam thought.

“Well if you must know which you probably do” he stated “I was called in because of two cases involving two police officers. One was almost out of surgery when I was called in.”

“And the other?” Nick asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know except the patient was going into surgery when I was called.” He replied.

Nick and Judy looked at each other depressed not knowing the fate of Officer Stone.

“Look I’ll let you know as soon as I get in alright? Better yet, come with me. You’re Officers so you have every right to be here.” Liam stated, waving them to follow him into the hospital.

Judy looked at Nick hoping he felt a little better but she could tell that he was still nervous and a bit scared about what he might learn. Following Liam, Judy took Nick’s paw in hers, reassuring him as they went through the hospital doors.

As they walked in to the hospital, trying to keep up with Dr. Snezhno, they noticed that most of the mammals there were staring at them. It took a few moments before either of them realized they were looking at their paws. Despite the uniforms, they must have looked more like a couple than on duty officers.

“Alright you two this way, c’mon.” Liam said, urging them to follow faster.

“C’mon Nick” Judy said pulling Nick faster by the wrist.

“Awwooeee!” Nick protested.

Judy looked at him and chuckled.

“Oh, quit being such a baby.” she said sarcastically.

As they got into the elevator with Dr. Snezhno, Nick and Judy noticed something troubling 3 nurses left the elevator before they had gotten in. They were on their way to laundry and wardrobe, blood covering their scrubs and caps. One of the nurses, a wombat, looked at Nick and Judy and shook her head as she turned to walk down the hall with her co-workers.

“Nick…” Judy said before being cut off.

“Judy don’t say anything else until we know.” Nick said, a note of tension in his voice, as Liam hit the button for the 5th floor I.C.U and Recovery.

The elevator climbed quickly.

“Alright you two this is our stop.” Liam stated, eyes looking up at the changing floor numbers.

Exiting the elevator quickly, that Nick and Judy followed Liam into the waiting room that only had a few members of other families waiting to be cleared to go in to see their loved ones.

“Alright you two take a seat I’m going to check you two in myself so you can head back ASAP ok?” Liam stated.

“Al-alright Doc.” Nick stammered as he took a seat, Judy hopping on his lap, holding his paw to her chest.

As Liam walked in through the door leading to the I.C.U rooms and recovery rooms Nick and Judy looked up to the TV mounted on the wall. The ZNN were still reporting on the shooting since before they had left the ZPD. Disgusted, Nick found the nearby remote and changed it to Discovery, trying to keep his mind off the events of past few hours.

“Nick” Judy asked looking at the window seeing Liam talking to another doctor behind the glass partition, the blurred figures appearing to be in deep conversation.

“Yeah Judy?” Nick mumbled.

Judy sighed, her ears falling behind her head.

“Do you think Willow is ok?” She asked, a hint of depression in her voice.

“I don’t know Carrots, I….” But before Nick could utter another word Liam returned, having finished his conversation with the badger behind the glass.

“Nick, Judy please come with me.” Liam said in an even tone.

They quickly jumped down and walked through the door with Dr. Snezhno, fearful of what they might learn.

“So…” They asked awkwardly.

Liam had his poker face on but it wasn’t going to last very long with the worried expressions the mammals in front of him had plastered on their faces.

“Ok, here’s what I know.” Liam began. “Officer Delgado is in recovery and seems to be in good health. He should be going home in a few days. The wounds he sustained were bad but not untreatable. He was lucky though, the bullet missed his stomach, but he did get bullet wounds to his liver and one of his kidneys. We’ve had to remove a kidney, but luckily, he only needs one. He’ll be out of work for a while but he’ll be ok to go back after some medical leave.”

Nick and Judy looked shocked to learn the extent of Officer Delgado’s injuries, though clearly relieved to know he was going to be ok. But they both knew that the hard question had yet to be answered.

Nick took a deep breath.

“And Stone?”

Liam’s expression changed from normal to remorse.

He took a deep breath and sighed.

“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Judy blurted out looking devastated.

Nicks heart broke at what Judy blurted out, his face falling.

“No! She’s not dead” He exclaimed, waving his paws wildly, not wanted to see his friend and wife in tears unnecessarily.

Nick’s and Judy’s expressions changed immediately, startled to learn that somehow Officer Stone wasn’t dead.

“How is that possible?” Nick asked, his voice shaking with disbelief.

Liam looked at them in disbelief himself, stunned at the developments that he had learned from Dr. Reno about her condition and how she survived but began to explain as he gestured for them to follow him to Officer Delgado’s room.

“Well, from what I was told, it’s how the bullet struck her and the direction she was facing.” Liam explained.

Nick and Judy looked at him bewildered as he continued.

“You know she was hit from her back. The bullet went through her vest, that slowed it down but, also broke it up into smaller pieces before it entered her chest cavity.”

Nick recalling the moment he saw Officer Stone grabbed her chest in agony and fear.

“So what you’re saying is that if she would have been facing the gunman rather than trying to help me… she would have died?” Nick interrupted.

“From what I was told yes. She would have been dead before she hit the floor.” He confirmed coldly. “You see she has a punctured lung, shrapnel in the heart and severe tissue damage. However, because the bullet struck from behind only the tiniest fragments made it through which meant the force was reduced the impact of the round.”

Nick and Judy look at one another, before Judy quickly asked the question that had been playing on their minds.

“When can we see her?” they asked simultaneously.

Liam sighed.

“No, I’m afraid not. Officer Stone is currently undergoing major surgery and, as she’s is still critical condition, she will need all the rest she can after the operation is complete.”

Nick and Judy looked at him, powerless in the face of medical authority.

“Doc” Judy asked, still a little overwhelmed “Can we just see her so we can tell her family before they get here?” she asked

“Yeah, can we just see her for a little bit Liam”? Nick pleaded. “C’mon, for old times sakes. We’ll be in and out.”

Liam shook his head, already playing through his head the rollicking he would get from his supervisor.

“I’m probably going to regret this. Hell, I know I’m going to regret this but ok. You guys can go see her once she is out, but you’ve gotta go and see Officer Delgado first. His wife is waiting to give a very enthusiastic thank you to you two.”

“Thanks Liam, I owe you one pal.” Nick exclaimed, grasping his paw in a quick but firm handshake, before he and Judy hot-footed their way over to Delgado’s room.

Liam watched them half-run down the hall, shaking his head as they left, before turning to deal with his future patient Officer Willow V. Stone.

Their pseudo run having turned into a near sprint, Nick and Judy eventually found Delgado’s room. They both stopped at the door and, after a little nervousness, Judy took the plunge and quickly knocked.

“Come on in” a familiar voice answered.

As Nick and Judy entered the sterile room, the smell of antiseptic lingering forever in the air, they saw Delgado lying in a bed, his wife by his side in, perched on the edge of one of those uncomfortable plastic hospital chairs.

“Skiving again Ray?” Nick asked, with eyebrows wiggling as he said it.

“It was my birthday Wilde!” Delgado chuckled. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Nick added, approaching his bedside and tapping him lightly on the arm, Delgado feigning small wince.

Judy giggled, Nick’s humor once again coming to save them from an awkward moment’s silence.

“How are you feeling Delgado?” She asked, trying to keep her tone upbeat.

“Who me? Oh great” he sarcastically quipped. “I just got shot that’s all. Oh, and a lost kidney. And busted my arm. You know, nothing much. But hey, got me some sweet painkillers. Top quality stuff!” He exclaimed with a goofy grin.

Nick and Judy laughed at Delgado’s response

“You’ll have to get wounded more often then, mate” Nick joked.

“Oh, hell yeah this shit is great! Wonder if they sell at BoarMart?” Delgado jested

“Good to see you’re alright Ray.” Judy noted, glad her heavily medicated friend was in good spirits.

“Well if it weren’t for you and Nick I may not be here.” Delgado’s face becoming a bit more somber, his smile ebbing away a little as he became a bit more thoughtful.

Delgado’s wife gently caressed his paw, Delgado looking up with a bit more life in his eyes. Turning to Nick and Judy, Mrs. Delgado swiftly left her chair, knelt down and embraced the shocked mammals, tears falling from her brown eyes.

“Thank you, thank, you…” she sobbed “thank you for doing what you two did for my Ray.”

Nick, unable to respond to the extremely grateful tigress, looked down at Judy, who had begun to bawl herself, overwhelmed by the love and gratitude of Delgado’s wife.

Placing a paw on her shuddering shoulders, Nick looked Mrs. Delgado as firmly as he could in the eye.

“I have already lost one close friend today. I was not going to lose another if I could help it.”

“What happened?” the tigress asked, suddenly curious for the wellbeing of other’s that weren’t her husband.

“I’ll tell you later ok Mrs. Delgado.” Judy quickly intercepted, not wanting got divulge too much information.

“Bethany. Bethany Delgado. Beth top my friends.” She said, giving them another quick squeeze before releasing them and standing back up.

“Judy Wilde.” Judy said, returning the pleasantry.

“I know.” She answered, “I wish we could have made the wedding but the boys were sick and Ray couldn’t get off his shift.” Beth admitted a little glumly.

“It’s fine, don’t worry. We had plenty of guest anyway, 400 or so, so I don’t think we’d have got round everyone even if we tried!” Judy laughed, the wedding reception playing over in her mind once again.

“Wow big family?” Beth asked.

“Mine and Nick’s” Judy added

“Mostly hers.” Nick said with a sly grin. “Like 90 percent hers.”

Judy rolled her eyes and lightly punched his arm, Nick wincing a little and rubbing the new bruise.

“Hey, bunnies are good at multiplying!” She lightly jibed, the stereotype about bunnies being an unquestionable fact, especially with her family.

“Yeah you got right” Nick chuckled.

For the next hour or so Nick and Judy chatted with Delgado. Beth, Judy and Beth discussing the wedding, while Nick and Delgado had a bit of banter about cars and sports, before becoming a bit somber over the knowledge of their friend’s passing that brought them back to Zootopia.

“So why were you two back so soon?” Beth asked. “Shouldn’t you still be on your honeymoon?”

“Nick lost a very close friend in an accident the day after the wedding.” Judy answered.

Nicks ears fell, his head dropping as the thought of his friend no longer being there came back.

“You know I hate that I’m even thinking this but, if Finnick wouldn’t have been involved…” He paused, letting the reality of what brought them back and why roll through his mind for a second. “I don’t think Chief would have called us back in but if he hadn’t then Judy and I wouldn’t have been there to help.”

Beth and Delgado looked at them empathetically.

“We can’t thank you enough for what you did…” Beth stated, her paw clasped over her husband’s.

“You don’t need to do anything. We’re cops, it’s what we do and I’m sure Delgado would have done the same for us.” Judy said reassuringly.

“Judy’s right.” Nick chimed in. “We all took an oath to protect this city and its citizens. We know that, had been us, or anyone else for that matter, anyone one of the ZPD would have done the same.”

Delgado chuckled. “Well aren’t you two the perfect example of that oath? I know some of the others at the precinct gossip a bit behind your backs but I gotta say that you two are probably a couple of the best officers in this city.”

Blushing a bit at the praise, Nick and Judy let out awkward chuckles and thanks. It’s not every day a seasoned officer just ranked you higher than himself as well as the rest of the ZPD.

As Judy began to chat about her life story and how she and Nick fell in love, Nick got up and left the room for a moment to grab Judy and himself a cup of coffee from the concession. After passing over a few bucks, soy coffee in one paw, black in the other, Nick headed back to Delgado’s room. Rounding the corner to his door, paw pressed just about to enter, Nick’s ear perked up, hearing a familiar voice.

Turning slowly, making sure not to dislodge the flimsy coffee lids, Nick saw his combination companion having what could be described as a reasonably heated discussion. Dr. Snezhno was having what seemed to be a rather intense discussion with a peeved kangaroo, her foot tapping, her arm extended expecting the chart being held captive by Snezhno.

Before Nick could think of a way to interject himself into their chat, Liam handed the chart back to the kangaroo and began to head towards him. On instinct, Nick opened the door for the two medical professionals, following them in and letting it shut softly behind him.

Judy and Beth were still chatting amicably when the white clad physicians and Nick entered the room, Nick sidling up to Judy and pawing her the coffee before returning his attention to the doctors.

“We’re sorry to intrude umm… Officer Delgado” Liam quickly spying the name at the foot of his bed. “One of my nurses will be in to check on you shortly. I was wondering if I could speak to Officers Wildes for a few moments.”

Slightly puzzled, Nick and Judy nodded to Beth and her husband before being led out by the two doctors into the hallway.

“What’s going on Doc?” Nick asked, once the door behind them had shut and they had walked a few paces away.

“This is Dr. Irwin.” Liam said, gesturing to the kangaroo. “She is the one of the Doctors that oversaw Officer Stone’s surgeries.”

“Pleasure to meet you both.” The marsupial smiled, bowing her head a little in greeting. “I wish it were under better circumstances but it’s a pleasure to meet you both.”

“How is Willow, Doctor?” Nick asked, cutting to the chase.

“Depends on your definition” she responded “Officer Stone has suffered severe tissue damage and has been though 3 major surgical operations. We managed to replace a heart valve, remove a piece of damaged lung and stop the internal bleeding. The state she was when she came in I’m surprised she’s doing as well as she is, considering.”

Relief started to wash over the two smaller mammals, but Dr. Irwin was not finished.

“Now I do not want to be an alarmist but you need to understand the severity of Officer Stone’s state.” Dr. Irwin continued, her voice taking on a certain gravity. “Though she is stable, she is currently in critical condition. She is very fragile after her injuries and the surgeries so she is currently on life support for the foreseeable and is in an induced coma.”

“Now what this means is that yes, she is alive but only with the help of a ventilator and blood infusions.” Dr. Snezhno interjected.

Nick and Judy listened, their earlier optimism being eroded by concern for their friend.

“What are her chances?” Nick asked quietly, not sure if he wanted the answer.

“Of surviving? Hard to tell” the kangaroo stated, rubbing her chin in thought. “The fact that she is still here is a miracle to be honest. I have seen mammals come through those doors with much less than Officer Stone and not make it back through. Your colleague is a hell of a fighter though. Coded twice and yet still here.”

“So, her chances are good?” Judy asked slightly optimistically after Dr. Irwin’s praise of her patient and Judy’s friend.

Dr. Snezhno sighed deeply.

“If she makes it through the night then, from what we can see, she’s got a chance, slim, but still a chance considering what’s she’s been through. If not…” He opened his paws loosely, the mammals all knowing what the limp gesture implied.

Before he could continue the kangaroo’s pager loudly came to life. Grasping the small box, Dr. Irwin quickly scanned over the message, groaning a little, dragging her paw over her face.

“What is it?” Liam asked, slightly amused at the kangaroo’s frustrated look.

“Emergency C-section. Gotta go now. Can’t leave that blasted Willis alone for damn second!” she vented, slightly forgetting she was still in front of the two officers, both holding in chuckles.

“Sorry about that, that was unbecoming of me.” Dr. Irwin said, slightly flustered. “I’ve gotta go, but it was nice meeting you two.”

Quickly turning, the kangaroo bounded down the hallway, her powerful legs launching her down the corridor towards the elevator with speed that even Judy wasn’t sure she could replicate, even with all ZPD training.

“C-section? Nick and Judy asked simultaneously, once the doctor had hopped off.

“It’s when the mother can’t give birth naturally so we have to perform surgery. We have to make an incision through the abdomen and uterus to get to the baby. Can be a bit difficult, depending on the mammal but Dr. Irwin’s pretty good at it.” He admitted, taking a bit of glee in the slightly disgusted looks the Officers were making, both probably imagining it in all too gory detail.

“It’s usually her brother Ozzie that does but he’s on vacation right now, visiting family on Outback Island I think. He’s probably got the edge over her at the moment, but that’s what a couple years of experience does and she’s catching up as quick as she moves. This time next year, I have no doubt she’ll be the best doctor-surgeon in this place.” Liam admitted, his lips curling up into a small smirk at the thought.

Looking up at his friend, Nick saw the telltale signs.

“She sure is something isn’t she?” Nick commented, keeping an eye on his hybrid friend’s reaction.

“Yeah, she’s a character that’s for sure…” the mammal admitted, letting a small sigh, the traces of her scent still lingering in the sterile hallway. Shaking the thoughts away, all of which Nick saw in minute detail, Liam turned his attention back to the two officers.

“Okay, getting back to the real reason I grabbed you two. I need your help.” Liam said with a sense of urgency.

“Help with what?” Judy asked.

“Well Officer Stone’s mother is in the waiting room. She looks hopeless Judy, I’ve been at this for just over 7 years now and I can’t tell you how many times I have given good or bad news to a family. The good news is the fine, makes you glow inside. But the bad stuff? Having to go out there and tell someone’s mother, father, partner, child probably some of the most devastating news they will hear. That… that never, ever, gets any easier. Trust me on that one.” Liam said, letting out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding even after that monologue, his face becoming morose.

Anxiously Nick spoke up.

“Liam, I know it might be protocol and all but we’re possibly the last officers to seen her alive. Perhaps we should go and talk to her?”

Mulling the thought over, Liam decided to allow it. After all, they were cops and police could give news like this. So long as they didn’t give to many medical specifics then it should be fine. Or he’d get a minor ticking off his supervisor. One or the other.

“Look Nick, I’ve got to go and check on her. Just wait for me to wave you guys in ok? I will be waiting for you guys outside her door.” Liam said, before slipping off to Willow’s room.

Soon Nick and Judy were at the door for waiting room, both taking a moment, preparing themselves to meet a worried parent. Nothing unusual for police officers, but with it being for somebody they knew, it gave it a whole new dimension.

“Ready partner?” Judy asked quietly.

“Sadly yes.” Nick confessed.

Judy slowly opened the door to the waiting room. By that time there was no other mammals, save one depressed, but beautiful tigress, her fur a little frayed and tear tracks marking her fur, clearly fearing the worst. Ears perking up before the rest of her head followed, the tigress took note of the two small mammals making their way towards her.

“Ms. Stone?” Judy asked redundantly.

“Yes Officer….?” She queried, her voice still a little choked from her recent crying.

“I am Officer Judy Wilde and this is my partner Officer Nicholas Wilde” she started calmly, introducing themselves as professionally as she could.

“You’re the bunny, aren’t you? The one that inspired my Willow to be an Officer? To accomplish her biggest dream.” The tigress said, pointing a clawed paw at her, the claw itself being filed and painted an attractive shade of magenta.

“Yeah. I work with your daughter. She’s a truly remarkable mammal Ms. Stone.” Judy acknowledged.

“I know she’s strong but how? Why? What the hell happened? No-one will tell me.” She whimpered, clearly a little frazzled by the lack of information on her kit.

“They just said go to the I.C.U and that your daughter’s been in an incident. Then I saw the news.” She continued, getting slightly hysterical.

“There’s been a shooting at the ZPD and then I see… I see my daughter, my little Willow… all over ZNN being carried away, the anchor mammal saying she’d been… she’d been…”

She started to break down into tears, bawling loudly in the near deserted waiting room. Nick and Judy felt both awkward and ashamed at how Officer Stone’s mother reaction and the mismanagement on the ZPD’s part, with her having to see what had happened to her daughter on the news and being left alone in a waiting area, thinking all sorts of things.

“Ma’am we…” Nick began, trying to calm her down and explain but she was not having it.

“I get here and they say she’s critical and….” She paused as the tears began to flow she coked “I just got that feeling that I’ve lost my daughter, I’ve… I’ve lost her…” She whimpered, her voice trailing off into more tears and sobbing.

The sight of Ms. Stone weeping openly, not knowing whether her daughter would be alright or not, gave Nick a pang of empathy. Slowly, Nick rested his paw on the tigress’ arm.

“Hey, it’s ok Ms. Stone” Nick spoke soothingly, trying his best to comfort the distressed mother, her tears now rolling on to his paw.

Judy looked on sniffling herself watching her loving fox care for an otherwise distraught mother.

“I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. I lost my father when I was 8. My mother reacted just the same. I don’t think I she stopped crying for weeks afterwards. To be honest, I don’t think we ever got over it. Either of us really…” Nick began to get lost in thought of his own loss before shaking himself free of them. A later time to deal with those, Nick thought.

“But there is a pretty important difference between you and my mom. My dad is gone but Willow is still with us.” That caught Ms. Stone’s attention, her head rearing out of her arms, looking directly at the fox in front of her.

“She’s Alive?” She replied shocked.

“Yes, she is” Judy said, backing up what her partner had said

The Tigress took a staggered breath. “Can I see her” she asked quietly, the desperation clear in her voice.

“That’s why we’re here to walk with you. We’re to see her ourselves after the… incident” Judy admitted.

“We’re here for you Ms. Stone” Nick said reassured.

“No, please, call me Carol.” the tigress responded, giving a weak smile as she did.

“Pleased to meet you Carol, although I wish it were under better circumstances.” Nick noted a little sadly.

“Shall we?” Judy proposed, gesturing to the door.

“Yes. please” Ms. Carol answered, a little frightened of what she was going to see but more anxious just to see her daughter.

Nick opened the door to the corridor looking for his friend Dr. Snezhno. He soon caught sight of him down the hall. Nick held the door as Judy walked with Ms. Carol, holding her left paw as Nick walked beside them.

Reaching the room Liam was stood outside of, a little sign labelling it as Room 522. Getting closer, Carol finally took in the strange blue mammal standing before her.

“Are you my daughter’s doctor?” she asked, cocking her head, still trying to make out what sort of mammal he was.

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Dr. Liam Mustapha, your daughter is one of my patients.” He answered smiling a little.

“How is she?” Judy inquired.

“No, she’s still on life support and probably will be for a while.” he admitted looking down at the smallest mammal. Looking back up to Ms. Stone, Liam quickly returned to somberness.

“Ms. Stone your daughter is on a ventilator, I.V, cardiac monitor and as of this moment is in critical condition. Her odds are slim but, depending how she goes tonight, she has a chance of pulling through, though I must inform you that her state is very delicate at the moment.”

Taking it all in, Carol could feel the tears beginning to surface again, but blinked them away. She’d done enough crying for the moment. She may need to save those tears for later.

“So, in your opinion, what are her chances? Will she live?” Carol asked the unusual mammal.

“When she underwent surgery, she coded twice. Which means she died twice during surgery.” Liam said, Carol’s face becoming pained as the revelation, but Liam had seen it all before and pressed on.

“After going through three major emergency surgeries like that and the fact that she’s still alive bodes well. She’s strong and, while I’m not a gambling mammal, I’d say if she makes it through tonight she’s got a reasonable chance.”

Slightly comforted that her daughter had a chance, Carol let a single tear drop down her fur and a slight chance to reach her lips, hoping for the best.

“Doctor Mustapha, can I see my Willow?” Carol pleaded more asked.

“That’s alright Ms. Stone but I must warn you she is still not out of the woods yet and you can only visit for a short time. She is going to need a lot of rest, so not a lot of visiting I’m afraid. She’s hooked up to a lot machines and tubes so it may be a shock but please remain calm. It’s all helping her have her best chance of coming through this alive and well.” Liam requested quietly, leading them into Willow’s room.

Entering through the door, the small room revealed Officer Stone. Oxygen tubes in her nose, a breathing tube down her throat, two I.V.’s one with fluids the other with blood, a cardiac monitor on her chest and a pulse monitor on her right index finger, and the life support machine working away in the corner. She was in a bad way… but alive

“Well, there she is” Dr. Mustapha pointed out solemnly.

“Oh, sweet cheese and crackers.” Judy mumbled in shock, both paws covering her mouth.

Seeing her beautiful daughter helplessly lying there slowly breathing with the aid of a ventilator, Carol couldn’t stop the tears from reappearing. Seeing the tiger weeping once more, Nick opened his arms, a gesture which the tigress swiftly embraced, burying her face into Nick’s firm chest, dampening it with her large tears.

“It’s ok Carol, she’s ok.” Nick said to the sniffling tigress.

“I know” she said shuddering, her voice muffled by Nick’s fur.

Dr. Mustapha, thinking quickly, pulled a chair from the corner of the room and moved it next to Willow’s bed side.

“Please Ms. Stone” he said ushering her to sit next to her daughter.

Carol took a sat next to Willow just staring at her with her deep brown eyes, depressed, and yet proud of her daughter.

Judy stood next to her and held her hand as Carol calmed down from being near her little girl.

“Hey Willow” she said in a soft tone, brushing her paw over Willow’s left cheek, tears slowly trickling down her face and emotions choking her voice. “Mama’s here.”

Nick kneeled to Judy’s level, putting his arm on her shoulder, trying to stay strong, mostly for himself.

Dr. Mustapha began to check her vitals, making sure all was well with his new patient.

“Well she’s stable now. I’m going to step out for second and check through the rest of my patients. I’ll be back in about 20 minutes ok.” Dr. Mustapha said.

Ms. Carol looked up at him, her eyes shining from the tears.

“Thank you, Doctor Mustapha, I’ll be here. I’m not leaving her side.” she said grateful of her daughter’s caretaker.

“Go ahead. We’ll be here.” Judy said to Liam reassuringly.

“Alright. If you need me there’s a red button on the ventilator just push it and myself or a member of staff will be here in seconds.” Dr. Mustapha assured them.

“Thanks.” Nick replied as his friend shut the door behind him.

After a few minutes of silence, Judy’s phone quietly rang. Taking it out of her pocket, Judy walked away from Carol. It was her mother. Judy hit the accept call button.

“Judy are you and Nick ok? I heard there was a shooting and you and he were involved what happened are you ok!?” She wailed into the phone, clearly distraught.

“Mom, we’re ok. A couple of other officers are in the hospital but they’re getting better.” Judy said reassuring her mom that everything was ok.

“Oh, thank heavens” Mrs. Hopps said, relief poring over her face. “What about Nicholas?” she inquired.

“He’s right here holding my hand” She said lovingly, Nick having slipped over to her, hearing Judy’s distressed mother across the room.

Nick smiled and then realized he had his phone turned off. Turning it on revealed a plethora of missed calls from his mom and sister.

“Damn I forgot to call my mom. How could I forget to do that?” He said, chiding himself for his idiocy.

He scrolled through his contacts and pressed his mother’s number.

The phone rang only once before an equally worried and angry vixen answered.

“NICHOLAS PIBERIUS WILDE! WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL ME AND TELL YOUR OWN MOTHER AND SISTER YOU WERE OK?!?!” She yelled down the phone. “WE HAVE BEEN WORRIED SICK ABOUT YOU! FOR ALL WE KNEW YOU COULD HAVE BEEN DEAD!”

Nick leant back from the phone, trying not to have his eardrums burst from the banshee like screech his mother was capable of.

“Mom I’m fine, Judy’s fine, were fine ok?” He urged, trying to appease the distressed vixen.

“Thank heavens” She gasped, her voice going down to a more acceptable volume. “Where are you?”

“Visiting a close friend in hospital.”

“What friend?” she asked a little confused.

“Officer Stone.” he replied

“Oh, the one joined for dinner a few weeks back, the tigress? Is she ok?” Ms. Rose asked, a little worried for Judy’s friend.

“Unfortunately not mom. She’s in a bad way but they’re doing all they can.” Nick replied.

“I’m coming up there I’m only a few minutes away.” She said, the sound coats and clinking keys being grabbed making their way down the phone.

“522 Recovery.” Nick stated knowing his mom being a former R.N at that very hospital knew exactly where they would be.

“I’ll be there in a few minutes love.” She said before ending the call.

“Looks like mom’s going to be here in a minute or two.” Nick said, pocketing the phone, knowing his mom would tell his sister what was going on.

“Your mother?” Carol inquired.

Nick looked back felling guilty that he didn’t call.

“Yeah she was a nurse here up until last year when she retired. She knows this place like the back of her paw and just about every doctor, nurse and even janitor.” Nick pointed out. “I think she still gets a Christmas card from him as well. Nice guy. Terrible at cards though.”

“I’m surprised my parents aren’t on their way here by now.” Judy said hanging up with her parents, imaging the entire Hopps clan all packed into cars speeding up to Zootopia.

“Are they?” Nick asked, a little worried about the hospital being overrun with Judy’s worried family.

“No, they know I’ve got you to look after me. Or at least me to make sure you don’t hurt yourself too badly.” She teased.

Nick rolled his eyes at the well-meaning barb.

After about 15 minutes Liam returned with Rose right behind him.

“Nicholas” She exclaimed, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Hey Rose” Judy said as Nick’s mother gave her daughter in law a hug as well.

“Oh, my word” Ms. Rose stated after seeing what Dr. Liam described on their walk down the hall. “I can’t believe she’s alive after all that.” Nicks mother said in shock.

“She a fighter, has been since she was cub” Carol stated, her eyes still on her daughter.

Rose walked over to Carol, offering her paw out.

“Hello dear I’m Nicholas’s mother, Rose Wilde.”

“Carol…Carol Stone.” she responded, accepting the paw and shaking it gently.

“It’s a pleasure but, well, I wish we’d met under better circumstances” Rose responded.

“Well can’t always choose when you meet a new acquaintance” Carol added a little somberly.

“True” Rose acknowledged, looking down at the resting tigress, all hooked up, clinging on to life.

After a few minutes of small talk Dr. Mustapha returned.

“Hey, sorry to break this up everyone but visiting hours are almost over and only immediate family can stay overnight.”

“Yeah, it is getting late Nick.” Judy stated looking at the time on her phone, it already being past nine at night.

“Really? Its almost 40 minutes across town to yours, right? We better get moving.” Nick conceded.

“Oh no you two are not going home tonight you’re staying with me tonight in my guest room” Rose intervened, placing a paw on the newly wed pair.

Judy scoffed.

“That’s ok Rose we’ll be fine. We’ve got our cruiser we can just drive home.”

“I have a garage in the alley behind my apartment. Your cruiser will be ok there” Rose counter. She wasn’t having her son and daughter-in-law heading home after the day they had.

Realizing his mom wouldn’t be swayed, he conceded defeat. “Well Is late and I’m worn out. Let’s just stop at my mom’s Carrots. It’s only for the night anyway. We can head home tomorrow.”

Judy thought it over and agreed that 5 minutes to a bed versus 40 minutes plus was more appealing right now.

“We’ll be right behind you Rose” Judy conceded with a smile.

“Ok I’ll have your bed made before you even pull up in the driveway.” Rose affirmed.

Saying their goodbyes to Carol and her resting daughter, they left Carol to lay a sheet over the sofa bed one of the nurses had pulled out so she could stay with her daughter. Before leaving Nick and Judy popped their head round the Delgado’s door, saying a quick goodbye to Officer and Mrs. Delgado, both of them thanking them for their visit.

After a short drive, they arrived in the alley behind Nicks mother’s apartment, pulling the cruiser into the small garage next to his mother’s car and locking the garage door after they closed it. They walked together up to Nick’s mothers home, his mom leaving the door unlocked for them.

“Were here Ms. Rose” Judy announced.

“Good, lock the door behind you two I’m going to bed.” Rose stated, already on the way to her room.

“Alright Mom, love you” Nick called out.

“Love you too little one. You took Judy.” She hollered back.

“Good Night Rose” Judy yelled.

As Nick and Judy got to the guest room, they made sure they had everything in order. Bed sheets, comforters, pillows, etc. Not having anything to change into, they stripped down to just their fur and climbed into bed, snuggling against one another, Nick curling round Judy’s small body.

“Hey Judy?” Nick asked.

“Yeah Nick?”

“I’m sorry for how I acted earlier.” He confessed, still feeling bad about it.

“Don’t worry I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.” She admitted, wanting to put the episode behind them both.

“After all of this with Delgado and Willow.” Nick sighed “I don’t ever want one of our kits to an officer, I don’t think I could take the stress of it.” Nick said, half-jokingly, half-serious.

Judy sighed and snuggled into Nicks chest, his scent filling her nose and comforting her.

“Agreed but, if we ever have kits Nick, we will support them in whatever they want to do…ok?”

Nick kissed her forehead.

“Agreed” Nick conceded, knowing that he’d never get in the way of any kit’s dreams. They both had enough of that themselves.

Suddenly, Judy shot up in the bed, nearly hitting the ceiling with how high her legs could propel her.

“Wait, what about Annabelle? We have to call Mr. Clawson in the morning!” Judy exclaimed “I can’t believe we forgot…”

“It’s ok Judy. We’ll call first thing in the morning ok?” Nick added, bringing Judy back into bed with him.

“Alright… love you Nick.” She stated kissing him goodnight.

“Love you too Carrots” Nick replied, giving her a little kiss back, before closing his eyes and letting her scent lull him to sleep.

Thank you all for reading the story thus far and inspiring me with great ideas for the future of these incredible mammals and their future. I want to give a special shout out to @theunaccomplishedwriter for the edit. And thanks to him there are now two new ships in progress. Read and let me know if you spotted them. Also a special shout to my first O.C character appearance. My friend Liam really helped to get the story out when i started this a few months ago.He is Dr. Liam Snezhno or you may also see English last name Mustapha. As for the rest of you your parts will be coming in good time. Also from here on, I will be taking longer to write each chapter so as to improve my writing and give less work for my mate @theunaccomplishedwriter to polish off with a soft cloth. Once again thank you all for your support and love.

#zootopia #zootopia fanfiction #zootopia fanfic #zootopia fandom #wildehopps #nick wilde #judy wilde #judy hopps #officer hopps #officer wilde #chief bogo #zootopia police #creative writing

34 notes · View notes

boogiewrites · 5 years

Text

Choking On Sapphires 80

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: 505

Summary: Genevieve comes home from the hospital. The journey to her recovery begins, but there are so many more things besides bruises and broken bones to worry about healing. Alfie tries to push back his own trauma from the event he's in denial over, and the whole house has to watch as things get worse before they get better. Song is 505 by The Arctic Monkeys.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Canon typical violence. References to assault and violence. Near death experiences. PTSD. Suffering/Physical Pain. Fluff.

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

Alfie had kept his word so far. Every time Genevieve would open her eyes to escape the mixture of horror and fantasy that kept circling in her subconscious in her sleep he would be there.

When the memories of what had happened would become less fuzzy, would creep into her dreams, he’d be there holding her hands as she fought out of the drug-induced slumber she felt held prisoner in to keep her from hurting herself. She’d make unsettling noises during her fits. Feet kicking and arms twitching and flailing as her face pained and winced, eyes rolling under their purple lids in the misshaped sockets for the violence she was reliving.

Sometimes the dreams would be pleasant though. An escape to another timeline where none of this had happened. She’d make hums of approval in her sleep, nuzzling into her pillow and it would make Alfie sigh with relief. She deserved some respite from this reality he thought, and he was happy she could find it. If she stirred his hand would always find hers. Even on the rare occasion, he’d be able to fall asleep, back aching and twisted in the chair by her bed he’d keep hold of her as if someone could steal her away without him knowing again. When she would wake from her pleasant dreams he’d be there with his ruffled hair and haggard face, a soft glance she’d meet as he’d stroke her swollen hands. She liked to touch his face in these tender moments they shared. The back of her hand, the knuckle of a finger lightly against his scaled features and wiry beard. She’d give him an affectionate smile, one he’d seen in the mornings before her eyes would close again, him placing her hand back onto the bed as it started to slowly lower when she fell back into her peaceful distraction.

Within a few days with no seizures or signs of internal bleeding, she’s given the go-ahead to be released. Instructions for her care are given to each Alfie, Claire, and Aggie as they were life-threateningly important. She was out of immediate harm from some things, but plenty could still go wrong. Alfie schedules home visits with the doctor ahead of time and even has Ollie hear the orders for her medicine. He was taking no chances at anyone that would be near her not knowing what the fuck they were doing.

With the state of her still being so very fragile, still multicolored from injuries and barely breathing without pain, although the morphine did help that part, she couldn’t exactly walk out on crutches for her twisted ankle. Alfie commandingly insists on being the one to handle her. She did admittedly respond best to him. He has her taken out of the hospital by a back entrance via wheelchair. He wanted all the details of her situation to remain a secret for now. No one that didn’t already know, needed to know how bad it was. He didn’t want word getting out to the community they were a part of, her students, here children at the home. He wanted to keep that ideal version of her alive and well, as he still had faith she would return to it one day.

Despite the fog she found herself in, she tried to keep her head up as they drove out of town. There was a distinct smell to the air and as they were on their way out of the city, the swirls of smoke could be seen in the rear view mirror.

He sees her focusing, her nose twitching like a rabbit. She raises her hand, a single finger pointed behind them with a subtle tilt of her head in question as she could still not speak.

“The smoke?” He asks.

She moves the pointed finger up and down as an indicator for her answer of yes so she didn’t have to nod.

“That was me, love.” He says with a noisy exhale, turning her head from it gently. “I had everything he owned burnt down and everyone in it killed.” He has no remorse and a fling of hunger for the day left in his eyes. “Seems me 'n Tommy’s men burnt down near half of fuckin London. For you, love. No one is gonna mess wif a Solomons. ‘Bout time us Jews started remindin’ these goyim what we’re capable of. Didn’t survive this fuckin long through slavery and oppression to lay down on the cusp of birth of fuckin' Nazi’s.” He shakes his head, brow low and lips tight as his mind only thinks of more things to worry about. He closes his eyes before turning back to her and kisses her forehead. “I’d set the whole fuckin' world ablaze for ya love. If I had to have ya live on a fuckin' island somewhere to escape the flames yeah? Nuffin else but you and ours matters now, eh? Now you lay your head down darlin' and have ya little lie down and I’ll keep ya steady 'til we get ya home, yeah?” He offers, having her place her head on his shoulder, his large hand cradling it and her hip like a baby in his arms. He rests his cheek against her hair and breaths her in, keeping his lips to her when he’d inevitably get emotional with her in his arms all small and helpless now. With the lack of sleep and the strain of the events of the past few days, he’d been a mess. He’d been moody, even more so than usual. He'd neglected himself entirely. Not eating or sleeping of his own doing, always thinking, always worrying. It was starting to take more of a toll on him than he would admit to himself. But he was blinded by his compulsion to protect his love. Following the advice to be delicate with her the best he could.

Her home wasn’t exactly wheelchair friendly, but Alfie certainly didn’t mind carrying her back into the house, the chair brought in behind them as he keeps his eyes on her in his arms, anyone else not existing as far as he was concerned when she was within his eyesight. He has pillows brought and piled high on the bed for her, a little bell for her convince on her nightstand. He leaves his cane by the bed to aid her when she would inevitably need to use the loo.

The time spent with her unconscious he’d spent wisely with Ollie. Preparations of his own taken for the business to keep moving along without him. Despite the always nervous young man’s suggestion to keep his affairs as usual to keep up appearances, he was met only with a smack to the face as he was reminded he needed to understand that Alfie's word was rule and the rules would be changing now. It wasn’t that he didn’t care about his business, the tracks, the money, he still very much did. But for now, there would be a noticeable lack of Solomons around. He’d had his close call and it wasn’t going to take another one to make him see where he was needed. Ollie was a big boy and had been his second for years now. Ollie could handle it. At least until the threat against Gen’s well being was passed. But as the doctor had said, it was one day at a time.

The first step was to get her comfortable again. The bath proves difficult for both of them. He wanted her to feel clean, to smell like she had before the hospital, flowers instead of sterile. Neither of them spoke, Genevieve still having much difficulty doing so, and Alfie not wanting to say the wrong thing. His usual approach with humor to serious situations with her wouldn’t work his time and he didn't want to confuse the poor dear. As it turned out it was very easy to do in her currently still unstable state. She only makes sounds of pain when he touched her and his hurt shows on his face. She doesn’t meet his expression as she feels varied, swinging emotions as she’s faced with her naked body for the first time since being rescued. The bath water helps distort it, but she can tell even with her blurry eyes that there was plenty of distortion without the filter of waves from the water. Her swollen joints and skin that held reminders of the events that were still hazy to her, they were both left with undeniable proof that even if they didn’t know exactly what happened, that it had clearly been worse than either knew. For the first time in their relationship, they sat alone together in a heavy, uncomfortable silence. The things unsaid about the events that had unfolded sat like an invisible barrier between them, neither wanting to share how it truly made them feel. For the first time there was a disconnect between them, even Gen in her hazy mindset knew he looked at her differently, just as she was looking at herself. With a confusing mixture of pity and guilt.

Alfie does his best as the gentle touch she needs doesn’t come first nature to him. He brings her one of her favorite gowns, all silk and lace and slight enough to be able to keep watch on her injuries. But she makes a small sad noise and pushes it away when he brings it to her. She would’ve said she didn’t want something so lovely on this body, that it would only remind her of how she was before, but she couldn’t, and Alfie's expression remained puzzled. She didn’t need to try to be who she was before just yet. That version of herself was so far away, possibly even unobtainable now she felt. She wanted simple, to keep her mind calm. She needed comfort to offset the pain. She tugs on his shirt, damp from carrying her to bed. His intuition has never been such a highly valued skill to him as he retrieves one of his shirts from a chest of drawers and puts it on her gingerly, limb by limb. It smelled like him, it felt like him rubbing against her skin and let her chest bindings breathe. This is what she needed, not her silk and frills. Alfie sees a calmness take over her face as she strokes the fabric over her thighs. His darling needed him, needed comfort now. He had to attempt to let go of trying to do things his way. But that was never his strong suit.

After getting her set up in bed, she falls asleep quickly from the full day she’d already had in comparison to barely moving in the hospital. She sleeps soundly, seemingly heavy as she lies in a nest of pillows like a little bird.

He’s called from the bed, a phone call from Ollie already. He’s hesitant to leave her, but he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He’d had the phone removed from her room to make sure her rest wasn’t interrupted by it. He wanted her in quiet and calm with nothing that could disrupt or startle her. So he agrees to leave for only a moment.

When he returns, trying to shed his annoyance for Ollie’s tendency to panic and over question his own decisions he finds the bed empty and panics. Flashes of the night she disappeared come to him, his heart in his throat as all the hairs stand up on his skin, an anxiety attack on the verge of blooming like a boy after the war. He had his own issues from the abduction to deal with it seemed.

He hears a pained sound, something like a hurt animal, and as he approaches swiftly he finds just that. His little kitten on the floor and struggling to breathe, the cane by her side. Her arms shook and failed time and time again to hold herself up as she cried with croaked grunts from her bruised neck.

He calls her name over and over, she keeps her eyes screwed shut, teeth clenched in pain as her hands cling desperately to his forearms. “Gen you stubborn thing.” he sighs. He shushes and coos, pulling her up against his chest and setting her back on the bed. His big warm hands on her face and hair, wiping away tears and he instructs her to slow her breathing. “That’s it love breathe slow. It’s only pain. Don’t let it make you afraid.” He says in a kind tone, a hand to her wrist to feel her pulse.

At last she opens her eyes, her breathing wheezy and her posture slumped from the pain in her ribs. She opens her mouth and tries to speak and he shakes his head, putting his thumbs over the rough, broken skin.

“Don’t try to talk.” He instructs sternly. “Catch your breath and I’ll fetch the paper after. No rush now is there?”

She gulps and continues moaning with every exhale, feeling overwhelmed. Her hand reaches out and points to the bathroom as her head spins.

“You were trying to get in there, eh?” He asks, brushing her hair out of her face and she wiggles her finger to indicate he was correct. “I had a call and left for just a moment, thought you were deep asleep. You know better than to try to walk yourself in your condition.” He voice grows weaker with his pushing back of his frustrations, feeling another wave of guilt wash over him. “You wait for me to help you, yeah? Don’t go tryin’ so hard alone. We’re not there yet.” He plants a kiss to her forehead, lingering there as her hands move to his forearms. He feels her breathing steady, her hands stop trembling and her rest her weight against him. “That’s a good girl, yeah?” He says with an affectionate and very light stroke to her back. “Ya needed to take a wee love?” He says with a more playful tone, holding her chin up as she answers with her eyes looking to the bathroom doorway. “Well, we can manage that now can’t we? Right. Let’s get ya up. Ya ready for your Alfie to carry you?”

She mouths yes and raises her arms slowly to around his neck. The soft nuzzle into him as he grunts and lifts her, babying her the entire way makes her feel better in the moment. He was there. He was staying through every ugly bit of it and she didn’t need to worry about him right now, only herself. Whoever that was presently. She felt like a different person or no one at all at times. The mix of head injury and medicine leaving her confused, disoriented, bewildered and to say the least, spacey most of the time.

After settling her back into bed, he can tell she’s hurting badly, little whines with every exhale as he settles in next to her. He gives her another small dose of medicine to take the edge off. He couldn’t stand seeing her in pain and knew inside her was nothing but. It was only the first day of her being home, of the official start to the road of recovery and he knew it was going to be harder than he had initially imagined. But what he hadn’t expected was for it to be far worse before it got better.

Sleeps takes her quickly. She’s sucked into a dark undertow and deep into a very vivid dream. She comes to with a blink, as if she had been plunked into this new place. The first thing she notices is that there is no pain. A warm sun hits her skin which after inspection looked to be blemish free, her hands only wearing a wedding band and diamond ring and no bandages.

“Papa!” She hears, her head quickly turning towards the sound and having no dizziness from it. She’s surrounded by large green hedges that are dotted with flowers. They rise too tall for her to see over, but she can clearly hear the laughter of children beyond them. With fingertips dragging on the surface of the thick bushes as she walks, she follows the path before her and hears the laughter, sprinkled with the sound of birds throughout it. “Mama!” She hears called out, and she somehow knows the happy sound is for her. Her bare feet move quickly over the well-kept paths, a sense of happiness, of joy as she moves to a jog, her dress soft against her legs as she moves.

She emerges from the maze to a wide open garden of grass, trees and ivy wrapped lattice, bird baths and statues along the space that was nestled in the valley of a yellow-green rolling hillside the tall grass swaying in the distance. A young child runs in front of her, catching her attention.

She quickly hitched up her dress and chases after, running through the garden. One child disappears behind a corner, to reveal two as she rounds it as well.

“Mum!” She hears an older girl laugh, her long dark hair swishing and a crown of flowers atop of her head as she moves with the small child. Another corner, another child, all seeming to be different. All in their own little clothes, varying heights, hair colors, and styles. She chases around the hedge maze until there are five of them, then they move as a small herd, the older ones helping the younger as they fall and squeal.

She calls out for them in her pursuit. But their faces stay hidden from her. Even she stumbles, the soft, dark auburn hair of a little boy in shorts moving just out of reach. She comes back into the clearing, a white house now at the other end of the stretch of grass and an easily recognizable man standing with his little glasses on his nose, cane in hand, and a lovely booming voice calling out for her.

———

“Genevieve!” Alfie shouts as Aggie rushes out of the room and to the phone. “Wake up love, come now, stay with me.” His voice breaks as he holds her in his arms, his panic pulsing through his exhausted body.

He’d noticed her fall so still, not resting himself as her little tumble earlier had shaken him up. As the night went on she grew far too still for his liking, he could no longer see her chest moving up and down and that had sent the shouting and panic throughout the house that they sat in now. Her pulse was there but weak, his eyes wild and voice so angry as Aggie told him the doctor was on his way.

————

“Chanah!” Alfie's warm voice calls out to her. A sense of rightness, of contentment, follow as the small herd of children also hear him and let out their various sounds of approval as they head towards him ahead of her.

“Ari!” She calls out with a beaming smile.

“Papa!” One of the boys responds as he stumbles on his still young legs towards the inviting outstretched embrace of Alfie.

————-

“Ari.” Genevieve’s voice is a whisper, if he hadn’t been holding her head to his he would’ve missed it. He chokes back tears as he kisses her face and holds her hand, once again not thinking about having to let her go once the doctor arrived.

———-

The five children like broken stair steps range from an older girl, probably a teenager to a young boy and girl who looked to be barely even 6. The girls had bows and flowers in their hair and the boys had grass stains on their pants and messy hair. They looked a portrait of perfect to her. They kept moving just out of reach of Genevieve’s hands, the dreamscape making the run to meet Alfie go on for so long, and her frustration grew. She began feeling desperate to touch them, to feel them and know they were real, to see their faces and tell them sweet, loving things. But they kept out of her reach and she kept stumbling towards them with now filthy feet from the ground.

With the edge of the back porch of the house reached by the kids, Alfie ruffles their hair and looks a picture of a proud father. A little girl in his strong arms, her face buried in his neck as he laughs at another small boy wrapping his little arms around his leg. For a moment the thought crosses Genevieve’s mind that this might be heaven.

With the thought the oldest turns, her face coming into view now. She was strikingly beautiful. With dark hair dotted with flowers, the same Genevieve had been chasing earlier, and similarly, as the girl just a touch shorter than her who stood next to her, face still toward her father.

“Mum.” The girl says with a sweet voice that came from lips that looked like Alfies, Gen’s large eyes looked back in their mirrored image over the same rounded nose with Alfie's stormy blue pupils looking back at her.

“Yes, cheri?” Genevieve responds with a fluttering of her heart in her chest as the girl steps closer.

“I’m sorry.” She says with a kind smile.

Genevieve is confused, their hands reaching out, just a hair's width from touching.

“Chanah!” She hears Alfie shout, her head whipping fast to him as he motions her to come towards him, children still swarming him.

She gives a nod and a smile and moves to turn back to the girl but as fast as she’d turned her head, she was gone. She could almost feel the heat from her hand when it had almost slid into her own. She looks around, startled and upset, wondering where the lovely girl had gone.

“She’ll be alright, love.” Alfie says, motioning her towards him, he's missing his usual assortment of jewelry. Only a gold wedding band on his aged hand with it's faded crown tattoos. The little girl in his arms puts her own around his neck and squeezes. “Not time to meet her yet.” He says with an almost cheerful disposition. “You’ve still got to meet the others.” He says, turning and bouncing the girl, the boy now sitting on Alfie's foot as he walks with a waddle. The older girl that was left now walks with the older boy under her arm, rubbing his back affectionately as they move toward the house. Gen turns to look around the garden, still worried about the girl who disappeared. “Chanah!” Alfie calls out and she ignores it, feeling her heart race and her breath shorten. “Chanah love, come back to me!” His voice sounds different now. More demanding. “Chanah!” He shouts again with anger and she turns to look his way, a sharp dizziness taking her over as it feels like an omniscient hand yanks her from where she stands.

Her eyes open back into the reality Alfie had been dealing with while she was having her most curious experience.

“Chanah! Fuckin ‘ell girl ya gonna kill me wif 'is.” He says bending over her body on the bed.

She tries to say his name and only gets out “Ah-“ as is standard.

“Shhhh catch your breathing up love. Ya medicine put ya a bit too far under. Had to pull ya out of it dinnit I?” He holds her like a child as her eyes with their mixed pupil sizes loll around in her head.

“W-wuh-“ She grunts out.

“Hand us the paper there Agatha.” Alfie instructs, holding the ice water they’d been applying to her skin for past few minutes. “Ya need somethin'?” He asks, putting the pen gently into her hand.

“Ch-chi-“ She stutters and rasps, writing ‘children?’ On the pad.

“What are you on about love? There’s no children.” He doesn’t hide the confusion on his face as he turns to the doctor for answers.

“She’s most likely having trouble distinguishing real life with dreams as she comes out of it. Fairly common occurrence.” He says with a flat delivery.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie whispers softly.

She whimpers, writing ‘where are the children?’ again as Aggie starts to cry at the state her lovely Genevieve was in. She thought of her as her own and seeing her suffer in any way, especially in a way she could not help hurt her deep down into her soul.

“There’s no children, love.” Alfie says with a more stern delivery, as she sweats and groans in his arms, wanting to struggle to get back to that lovely place but she’s so weak. Each toss of her head sends nausea flooding over her, her eyes showing white as the room spins. Nausea gives over to actual vomiting as Alfie leans her over the side of the bed where a bucket sat just for such an occasion. He shoots another questioning glance to the doctor.

“Also very common.” He nods. “Could be her stomach rejecting the excess medication, could be from the head injuries. Severe dizziness is common in cases such as these. It will pass.” His bedside manner wasn’t the best, but his reputation was and Alfie could easily forgo a sugar-coated delivery for fast facts.

“Let it out, love.” He says softly, rubbing her back and keeping her hair out of her face. This was worse than any other time he’d seen her sick whether from drink or violence. The sounds that escaped her were gruesome and churned his stomach just as much as hers was.

But the sounds faded, she passes out again, limp in his arms like a classical painting of tragic lovers. He holds her close, keeping her warm as she chills, speaking to her as she groans and shifts in her unrest. All this was reminding him of the war. The constant feeling the other shoe was going to drop at any moment, the tension and paranoia. He couldn’t sleep, he could barely allow himself to blink, lest she take a turn for the worst. Deep sleep and shallow breathing were part of the new medication she was on. He could’ve been told that one hundred more times but it didn’t make the terror that shot through his core when he thought her dead any easier to handle. Or the frustration he felt at the strong rise and fall of his own emotions he was not accustomed to.

She sleeps, but it is not peaceful. Her mind trying to rewire and heal, skipping and making missed connections, leaving her in a disturbing mix of memory and dream inside her own head. He stays up, swearing to himself she would not fail because of him. He kept watch like an ancient guardian relic over her. A slumped and bent, red-eyed and scaled skin gargoyle over her in the dark of the room, the fire casting them in uncanny low light. The sight of them was frightening, and only Agatha and Claire dare enter the room.

The two women, shunned by Alfie in his slow descent into madness it seemed watched on helplessly. Claire was by far the most optimistic of them all. She recalled Gen’s brother after the war and knew things like this happened. Setbacks were all part of the road to progress.

“Although you might think it insensitive of me to say so, I can’t help but look upon this scene as she would if she were us right now.”

“What do you mean dear?” Aggie says with a wrinkled nose.

“The lighting, the love, the tragedy. She’d be a big enthusiast of this would she not? The drama and aesthetic. I only wish I could capture it for her.”

“Why on earth would you want to recall this hellish night?” Aggie’s confusion clear in her voice.

“Because I know she’d think it would make a lovely painting,” Claire replies with a sigh, an almost happy look on her face as she watched on from the darkened hallway. “Gen would find the beauty in this madness. Since she can’t...we must.” She says confidently with a nod.

“That’s a beautiful point dear. We would all be best to keep it in mind the coming days. I fear this is not the end of the ugliness of recovery.”

“It is not. And we will. We will tell her of this when she’s better. And she will be. But healing from this will be unpleasant. She’s strong but not inhuman. We know what those men did to her, and when she remembers I don’t know how she’ll respond. We could be looking at another wave of rebellion again like last time.” Claire’s lips pursed.

Agatha sighs and slumps. “I hope for everyone’s sake you’re wrong.”

“Oui. So do I.”

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

@jaegeeeeer @cosettewinchester @lookuptheskyisfalling-blog@brianaisasongbird @cry5t4l-w4rri0r @jess2464@hardygal69 @thegarrisonpublichouse @a-flock-of-angry-pigeons @pootle @negansdirtygirl22 @musingsby-night @shine-dont-shadow @inkinterrupted @vale0413 @emerald-bijou @elaenom @give-jack-a-lightsaber @ultrablackwidower @tinastarkandco @arrowswithwifi @marvelgirl7 @they-are-not-just-stories @ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes @alitheamateur @gold-trashbag

#Alfie Solomons #Peaky Blinders #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x ofc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons fan fiction #alfie solomons imagines #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons fluff #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons au #peaky blinders au #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinders fan fic #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #tom hardy #alfie solomons angst

84 notes · View notes