Chapters:
1/1
Fandom:
Borderlines
Rating:
Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings:
No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters:
Decker Sinclair, Original Character(s)
Additional Tags:
Mentoring, Crew as Family
Series:
Part 71 of Borderlines: Missing Scenes and Preludes
Summary:
Are we on the right path for us?
Many people enjoy spending their money as soon as they earn it. When you are young and healthy, it is easy to think that life will always be this way. You might spend your salary on the latest fashion, expensive dinners, or travelling to beautiful places to take photos for your friends to see. You might also spend a lot of money on monthly subscriptions for television or music that you rarely…
Don’t be a burden to your family: Plan today so you can pay for help when you are older
i (host, others) have extremely limited accessible memories to this show, but we know of a deep and primordial joy for whoever it was that was within us that enjoyed it at the time of it airing.
also, daggett and norbert is, to me, a form of beardjacket.
This articulates everything I have ever felt. My mother’s emotions have always run our lives and my father let it happen. From a young age it was always, “don’t upset mommy.”
I learned to monitor her emotions and to some extent my Dad’s too but moreso Mom’s. If she wasn’t happy none of us were happy. It was the lay of the land.
We carefully tiptoed around her emotions like landmines that could make or break our day, our weekend, our lives. If either of our parents were angry or unhappy we would find ourselves trapped in this passive aggressive wonderland of hell. That particular tool was one I had to consciously unlearn.
I was the oldest and became the most “empathic” while my middle sister has little to no “empathy” and my youngest, who still deals with my mother’s emotions daily, displays this “empathy” as well.
What really hit home in the article was that having trouble expressing my own needs and emotions is a trait born of this childhood experience. I can honestly say that for me it’s nearly impossible to voice my own emotions or needs, to my husband’s dismay.
Sharing the link for anyone else who had this kind of childhood and wanted to read it.
looove characters throwing another’s arm around their shoulders to help them walk. especially when it’s someone who hates asking for help, and someone who knows them well enough to just scoop them up anyway, ignoring their grumbling
“Are you sure there isn’t anything I get you?” The omega asks her alpha gently, frowning with concern. It happens when the seasons change. Her alpha just gets…the winter blues. Some days are rougher than other like today. Her alpha took the day off and has been cuddled up in the nest since she made the call this morning.
“I’m okay,” the other woman answers. The omega nods, pressing a kiss to her head and tucking the blanket tighter around them. Then adjusts the happy light to be a bit brighter, angling it better towards the alpha.
“Be right back,” the omega promises, carefully getting out of the nest with one last look at her alpha and going to the kitchen. A snack tray will work for lunch today. Quick and easy and they can both pick at it. Sometimes a full meal on the plate overwhelms the alpha. The omega fills up a couple of water bottles. Its a cuddle and be cozy day. Unless the alpha wants differently of course.
Her alpha hums in acknowledgement when she comes back. Cuddling right back up to her and letting the two of them become a tangled mess of limbs.
“Thank you Omega,” the other woman says softly. “Just..for being here with me.”
I am so sorry, I saw this and meant to respond the next day, but then the notification was gone because I’d looked at it and coming back to it slipped my mind. 😓
But yes, that is cute! Ouppy… And it’s sweet to see Caretaker help them learn to see themself in a better light. I’ve got nothing to add.
I’m honestly at a loss here and have no idea how I can ever thank him enough, especially because it’s physically impossible for me to actually *do* anything to show it.
I have a medical condition that causes nearly constant pain and nausea. There are days when it’s bad enough that moving makes me retch and it’s difficult to keep food down. I’m receiving treatment but while I wait for further tests (next month) my doctors have essentially said there’s nothing else they can do.
As a result my husband has taken on, well, basically everything. He cares for our son, gets him ready for school, does the laundry, cooks for them both and cleans up, shovels snow, the list goes on and on. The only thing I can really do is meal plan and order groceries and stuff for the house so he doesn’t have to manage that. It’s not enough.
I tell him every day how grateful I am for everything he does, what an amazing husband he is, how much I love him and I don’t know how we’d possibly get along without him (we wouldn’t), but just saying those things is so miniscule compared to everything he does. I know exactly how lucky I am (he’s one in a billion) but I have no idea how to show him.
I can’t go shopping for gifts (and we’re broke anyway because I’m not working). Date night is a no go because I can barely leave the house. What can I do to show my incredible husband how grateful I am to have him in my life and how thankful I am for everything he does when I can’t actually DO anything?
In sickness and in health, dear. You would do the same for him. Just keep thanking him and save your energy for your recovery and management.
Castiel can’t remember why he flew to the motel, but he knows he had something important to tell Dean. He can’t remember why Raphael put him in such a miserable state, but he knows Heaven was complicit. He can’t remember why he can’t remember, but every time he tries to figure it out—
“You have to stop doing that! Stop trying to remember.“
“It’s important. It has to be. It wouldn’t be concealed otherwise.”
“Castiel. Dean and I will figure something out.”
But the angels are coming, and in between spells of unconsciousness and worsening symptoms, Castiel is realizing he won’t be able to access whatever Heaven wanted him to forget.
“Freaking out isn’t going to help, Dean!”
“We’ve got Heaven on our tail and a blue rare angel steak on the bed. What am I supposed to do other than freak out?”
But neither brother will listen when he tells them the memory is unrecoverable and they can’t hide from Heaven as long as he’s with them, and Castiel doesn’t understand. There is no reason outside of hoping to recover his intended warning that the Winchesters would refuse time and again to leave a wounded, useless soldier behind.
No reason at all.
Read Chapter 2 (which is the conclusion) of Faulty Manufacturing on AO3 or fanfiction.net!
someone who is stubborn and reserved on a good day is known amongst their loved ones to be an absolute nightmare when they’re sick. they hole up in their apartment like a dying animal and refuse any visitors. they insist they don’t need to see a doctor and continue to snap and push people away when they suggest it.
so, when they call their friend at an odd hour, their voice paper-thin and apologetic when they explain they know it’s late but they need to get to the hospital and they can’t drive like this and they just really need help, it’s enough to induce a panic.
their friend makes it to their place in record time, and sure enough, the sick one is radiating heat and doubled over in pain. they heave half-coherent apologies between sobs as their caretaker carries them to the car.
“i’m not mad,” they reply as they position their ailing companion in the passenger seat and tuck a bottle of water by their feet. “i just wish you had let me take care of you sooner.”
Nonhuman Whumpee who only feels comfortable enough to show their inhuman mannerisms around Caretaker
• “let me help. please.”
• “you keep saying that, but you don’t look well at all.”
• “your fever should have gone down by now, but i think it might actually be higher.”
• “i know you don’t feel good, but i need you to eat.”
• “where does it hurt?”
• “i’m going to be here the whole time, okay?”
• “hey. just take this and then you can go back to sleep.”
• “how can i help?”
• “i’m not leaving you alone like this.”
• “can you walk? no? okay. no, that’s okay. come here.”
Hey all!! I promised I would share my surgery story when the procedure was over and I am here to deliver😌 this is day 7 post-op and I feel pretty sore, but that was expected. C handled it incredibly well and did a wonderful job of staying calm and supporting me. Full story below the cut!
As always, feel free to ask questions if you want to know more of the story!
[[MORE]]While in the pre-op bay area he gave me a little pep talk and then kissed me goodbye before they wheeled me to the operating room. The procedure went smoothly, and they were able to get me asleep surprisingly easily (fellow redheads know the anesthesia struggle). I woke up in a hospital room with C sitting in a chair near my bed. He said, “cool, you’re awake” and got up out of the chair to come over to the head of the bed where he put a hand over my forehead and very gently stroked my hair. I was confused because I wasn’t expecting to wake up in a hospital room, and I asked, “did something happen? Are we still at the surgery center?” and he reassured me that everything was okay and it went really well. In all my past surgeries I have woken up from anesthesia before reaching a recovery room because I have to be tranqued like a moose and burn through anesthesia like a motherfucker. During my last surgery, I actually woke up while being wheeled out of the operating room, and my nurse yelped in surprise because I bolted upright like Dracula out of the coffin and asked how it went. This time I got to wake up comfortably in a room with only C present, and we got to have a moment just the two of us while I got my bearings. I was in a lot of pain, and I kept saying “fuck, fuck, I didn’t think it would hurt this bad, god dammit” over and over while C continued to hold me and tell me everything was going to be okay. He pressed my call button, and my nurse (god bless that adorable little woman) came and gave me some pain meds. I had been feeling nauseous since I woke up and told C I felt like I was going to throw up, and he was like “that’s okay, we’re prepared for that” and grabbed a bag to have at the ready in case I puked. Which I did not end up needing! And I’m grateful for that, because it would have hurt so so so bad. Later that evening I said “you know, I’m pretty proud of myself for not puking” and he was like “you could have thrown up on me and it would not have mattered. Honestly I’m surprised you didn’t. I was fully prepared for that to happen.” Which is funny, and also I’m relieved that he would have been okay taking care of me even if I was barfing. I didn’t think he was emetophobic but so many people have aversion to puke and being a chronic puker it is important for me to know how a partner is going to handle that because sometimes it is unavoidable.
He said that when they came to get him from the waiting room and he saw me for the first time, I was so pale I looked dead, and he went “holy shit!” but my nurse reassured him that it was normal and my blood pressure was just low and would stabilize soon. While I was still unconscious it was swimming around at 70/40, but by the time I woke up I was back to 110/70. His words were, “Ro… you looked TERRIBLE.” I asked him if he took a picture, and he said, “no, why would I do that?!” So we obviously have different priorities😂😂 After a few minutes of freaking out because I hurt so bad, the pain meds kicked in and C was able to help me sit up and start trying to reboot. He fed me some pudding (mmm) and crushed ice. I was reminded not to fly too close to the sun and Icarus myself on ice water. With the help of a few pairs of hands I was able to stand and start trying to walk, which got easier as more of the anesthesia wore off. By the time we were ready to go home I was able to walk without help. My apartment has a small flight of stairs that C had to carry me up because I took the first step up and then instantly felt like I was about to pass out. C got us into my apartment and set me on the couch, and unfortunately I stayed in that woozy in-and-out of consciousness state for the next hour while C squeezed my legs to get blood flow back to my brain and gave me sips of Gatorade. Anyways, that’s about all I feel like writing tonight! If yall want to read it, I can write a part 2 for the rest of the story.
By Cliff Potts, CSO & Editor-in-Chief, WPS News
What Erasure Is (and Is Not)
Erasure is not disappearance.Erasure is continued use without continued recognition.
Life does not stop making demands. Bills still arrive. Responsibilities remain. Decisions still have to be made. What disappears is acknowledgment, care, and shared responsibility.
Erasure happens when a system continues to extract…
Inspired by OP and tags
They’re still in the briefing room when she says it.
No raised voice. No theatrics.
“If I don’t see him breathing,” Penelope says, “this is where I break.”
She meets Emily’s eyes and doesn’t look away.
“I need to see him alive.”
The room goes quiet.
Prentiss studies her for a long beat. Too many risks. Too many variables.
Then she nods once.
—
She rides in the back, knees bouncing. Her fingers worry at her rings until she has to flatten her palms against her thighs to make them stop.
It doesn’t help.
She’s already done her part. Traced the signal. Locked the location down to the meter. She keeps reminding herself of that, like it should matter.
There’s nothing left to do but wait.
Which feels wrong. Almost cruel.
When the team stacks at the door, she stays where she’s told. The vest feels too heavy. Too tight.
Concrete.
Damp.
Low light.
Alive. Please. Please.
She doesn’t even know who she’s praying to.
The door goes down hard. Shouting. Boots. Light spilling into dark.
She can’t move at first. Like if she does, whatever’s holding her together won’t survive it.
Then she sees him.
Luke is bound upright against a concrete pillar. Wrists overhead. Head bowed. One eye swollen shut. Blood dried dark along his cheek, his collarbone. His shirt torn open.
Her breath stops.
She doesn’t look anywhere else. She can’t.
She watches his chest.
Once.
Twice.
It rises.
Shallow. Uneven.
But it rises.
Breathing.
“Oh—Luke.” Her voice barely makes it out.
His head lifts slowly. His eyes don’t find her at first. They slide past, unfocused.
Then—
Pink. Blonde. Her.
No. Not real.
“Pen,” he croaks, panic breaking through. “No—why are you—”
“I’m here.” She’s already moving. She stops just in front of him, hands hovering, not sure where to put them. “You’re safe. You’re breathing. You’re alive.”
That’s all that matters.
Rossi is beside her, bolt cutters in hand.
“I’ve got him,” he says. “Be ready.”
She nods, stepping in close. One arm across Luke’s chest. One at his back.
The first restraint is cut.
Luke sags with a sound that tears out of him. His weight comes down all at once. Penelope barely catches it, Rossi steadying him from the other side.
“I’ve got you,” she says, breathless. “I’ve got you.”
The second restraint falls away. They ease him down until he’s sitting, back against the pillar, his weight tipped into her. His head drops against her shoulder.
Alive.
Still alive.
She has to keep saying it.
Rossi squeezes her shoulder. “I’ll get the medics.”
When he steps away, the room feels too big.
She doesn’t notice she’s crying until her breathing goes wrong. Until her vision blurs. She leans into Luke, forehead against his shoulder, fingers gripping his torn shirt.
Her other hand stays on his chest.
Feeling the rise.
The fall.
“I thought—” Her voice breaks. “I thought I was too late.”
Luke feels the tears before he understands them. Feels her shaking now that it’s safe to.
“No,” he murmurs. “Hey—don’t—”
Seeing her cry hurts worse than anything else.
He lifts his hand slowly, like it weighs too much. His thumb brushes her cheek, awkward but careful.
“Don’t cry,” he whispers. “I’m here. Still breathing.”
It’s a bad joke. He knows it.
She lets out a broken laugh anyway.
“I know,” she says.
His thumb lingers. Then his hand slips.
Penelope catches it without thinking.
Her fingers close around his, holding fast. Keeping him here.
She doesn’t let go.
Her other hand lifts slowly, mirroring what he did for her. She cups his face gently, careful of bruises, careful of pain, thumbs resting warm and sure against his skin.
She waits until his eyes focus again.
Waits until she knows he’s really looking at her.
Only then does she draw a breath.
“Luke,” she says quietly. “There’s something I need to say before they take you.”
He squints. “Penelope… maybe later.”
“No.” Her voice shakes. “If I don’t say it now, I never will. And I was wrong. On our date.”
That gets his attention.
“I said your person was out there. That mine was too.” She swallows. “I was so wrong. It’s you. It’s always been you.”
He frowns, trying to catch up.
“Pen,” he murmurs. “I—what did you—”
“I love you.” No hesitation. “I love you.”
He just stares.
Somewhere in the fog, a thought drifts up: I’m either very concussed… or dying.
People don’t say things like that otherwise.
“Say that again,” he murmurs, careful, like the moment might shatter.
“I love—”
His hand comes up fast and clumsy, fingers fisting in her vest. He doesn’t have much strength.
But he has enough.
Enough to pull her in.
He kisses her like he can’t afford to wait. Messy. Breathless. Real. His grip tightens like this is the only thing keeping him here.
For one moment, nothing else exists.
Then hands are on her shoulders.
“Penelope—”
They pull her back as the medics move in. She walks with the gurney until she’s made to stop.
Luke reaches for her again, fingers brushing hers.
“Hey,” he rasps. “Don’t—don’t take that back.”
It’s half a joke. Half a plea.
“Never,” she says.
His eyes close as they wheel him away.
He’s still smiling.
I have been sick all day today and C spent a majority of it with me. Not necessarily for that reason, because we had different activities planned, but when he came over in the morning and saw that I was not well he quickly forfeited our plans in favor of taking care of me. I woke up feeling super off and hoped that it would get better on its own, but as we were sitting at my kitchen table having one of our classic (and bonkers) conversations about some very niche topic, I suddenly got the feeling that a faint was coming on and FAST. Now, sometimes when I get this feeling, I do what my friends call “playing it cool.” Playing it cool means that Ro is going to pass out but doesn’t want to say anything about it or draw attention to herself in hopes that it will go away without any kind of syncopal incident. At this point in my life having lived with this for nearly 13 years, I wish I would have learned to stop playing it cool around my friends, who would really rather that I choose to lay down or sit on the floor or do anything except faint with no warning. Wanna guess what Ro chose to do? You got it: faint without warning :) my heart had suddenly started pounding, my ears were ringing, I got a spinning sensation, my vision dimmed, and for those few seconds I chose to not tell C that I might pass out because something is wrong with me that makes it impossible for me to admit that I’m feeling sick.
I woke up on my right side with my head in C’s lap. I was feeling SUPER sick at this point, and I rolled back on to my back and was struggling to try and open my eyes. I heard C say, “hey, we need to get you back on your side, sorry” and then gently roll me back, which was very responsible of him since I will feel extremely nauseous after a faint and could puke. I layed on his thigh as he knelt next to me and cradled my head with one hand while he rubbed my back with the other one. I hate hate hate the “coming to” part of a faint, because I usually feel worse than before I go down. He did a great job of keeping me comfortable during that, and when I was awake and talking again, he helped me move to the couch. At first he insisted he try and get me settled back in bed, but momma didn’t raise a quitter, so our compromise was laying on the couch with him squeezing my legs to try and get some of the blood flow back to my oxygen starved noggin. My inability to admit defeat even while actively having my ass handed to me rivals that of even the most stubborn male protagonists. Except I’m not an annoyingly stoic book character, I’m a 5 foot tall disaster bi😌
Unfortunately, I did not bounce back from this one easily, and I ended up having to call out of work later that day which is a huge deal for me. Trying to sit up or lift my head up made me immediately start to pass out again, and so for an hour or two straight I just floated in an out of consciousness and tried not to throw up. Which was a success, and I’m glad I didn’t puke because that is an extra level of vulnerability that C has not seen yet (although I’m sure he would be really calm and caring). C stayed with me, and eventually covered me with a blanket and tucked a pillow under my head and pulled a chair up next to me so that he could very softly brush the back of his fingers over my cheek and forehead. It can be very hard for me to stay grounded while I feel so sick and disoriented, and gentle touch really helps me feel more stable and have something to focus on. This is also kinda comedic to look back on because it reminds me of those scenes in old cowboy westerns where the main character is sick/injured and laying in bed in a haze, and his love interest is fretting over him and hoping he pulls through😂😂
Eventually I was able to sit up and he gave me a few sips of Gatorade, which miraculously did not immediately make a reappearance, and then I laid back down and went to sleep for a solid half of the day. When I woke back up, we snuggled and watched some Netflix, and then he left in the evening.
I was talking to my friend about C and she said “I’m glad he is looking to be a promising hurt/comfort costar.” So many people in my irl life really do appreciate some good hurt/comfort, so I like to hope that C feels the same way and enjoys being there for me in the way that I would if it was him who was sick. I have my surgery here in a few days, and C is bringing me and then will be taking care of me afterwards. It should be a pretty easy recovery, but after I’m better, he’s leaving again. He said that he’s staying because he wants to get me through my surgery and make sure that I’m taken care of, but after that, he doesn’t have anything keeping him in our little home town and he needs to head back to his life. I almost wish he wouldn’t have told me, because now I’m going to be sick and in pain AND ALSO devastated that my hallmark fling turned love-of-my-motherfucking-life is leaving, even when we both knew it was going to end this way at some point. It’s also sweet that he chose to stay a little longer to be with me when I have plenty of friends who would have volunteered to take me to the procedure and stay with me afterwards. He said he wanted to do it because “I gotta take care of you and make sure you’re better.”
So yeah, this next week is gonna
hurt like a bitch
but also I am grateful for the time we got together, I just wish I was a little healthier for it
Röem offers his hand to Razul after stepping through. “Come on, little brother.”
His eyes soften in relief when Razul takes his hand.
Röem isn’t surprised when Razul passes out almost right after.
The portal collapses quickly, but Röem pulls Razul through as the portal collapses and presses a kiss to his brother’s forehead, even though he’s out like a light. “Thank you, Raz.” He lifts Razul into a fireman’s carry, letting Azimaru have the couch and taking Razul to the bedroom instead.
Röem lays him down gently, checking his brother over for the injuries they both know he lied about. He tilts his head slightly, nodding when he finds nothing more than minor cuts and bruises. “Only bruised ribs? Nice work, brother..“
Röem scans the safe house on his way to the kitchen. He’ll look again more thoroughly once his brothers are tended to, but he can’t help doing a quick look around. He opens the freezer with one hand while flicking his other wrist. As Röem scans the freezer for a bag of ice, a cabinet flips open. He grabs a few napkins to wrap the ice in as he looks for food. Meager stuff, some cans of soup. Still, it’s better than nothing.
He lays the ice pack over Razul’s shirt, not batting an eye when Razul winces in his sleep. That only means Röem got the placement right. “Be safe,” He murmurs as he walks out, back to the living room.
Röem kneels by Azimaru’s head, deciding if Azimaru is likely to have gotten hurt. He doesn’t let enemies get close, and these were amateurs after all. He decides he’ll simply have his brothers ask if there are wounds they want Röem to treat; they need to improve their communication anyway.
Röem does a proper sweep of the safe house, leaving absolutely nothing unchecked. He slips outside, closing the door quietly so Razul and Azimaru aren’t disturbed. He lets his thoughts wander as he checks the surrounding areas.
Those attackers were weak. New to the game. Nothing on the east side.
Their attacks were uncoordinated. It was a free for all. They didn’t seem to have a motive. Trees are clear.
Someone could’ve sent them, but it makes no sense. Our skillset and powers are well known, if you know what you’re doing. If you know who to talk to. North side, west side, east side—all safe.
Maybe they just wanted… pets. Kyrennei are still coveted, right? Röem stands in front of the safe house and closes his eyes.
He controls his breathing, his thoughts, his body. Röem becomes hyperaware of every movement, crafting a careful forcefield. He walks around its perimeter, adding charms and spells .Let us remain unseen, unheard, undiscovered. Let nobody harboring ill will make their way in. Conceal our magical signatures. Röem finishes ensuring his and his brothers’ safety, and leans against the safe house. He stares at the forest for a few minutes, letting fatigue catch up to him.
Röem runs a hand through his hair, deciding he’s wasted enough time as he heads back inside to prepare dinner. Today was just a fluke, he tells himself. It really is too bad I didn’t have time to interrogate just one of them. Or maybe Azimaru could just skim their minds. I’ll have to ask if he saw anything while exploiting their fears when he wakes up. Roem’s eyes widen a little as he turns off the stove. They were only knocked out a little while ago… maybe some are still there. He sighs, looking at Azimaru sleeping on the couch.
Before he can think better of it, Röem crouches in front of Azimaru again. “Baby brother,” he whispers with a nudge. “Come on, get up. I have a favor to ask.”
Azimaru groans and turns over. “I’m sure it can wait.”
“Potentially,” Röem concedes. “I just wanted to know if you’d be down to teleport us back to the scene of the fight. I set up all the charms already, so Razul’s still safe. There are no windows in the bedroom either. He’ll be fine, we won’t be gone long. Please?”
“Do you think they’re dangerous? The people who came after us?” Azimaru sits up, and Röem grins a little.
“They fought to kill. Aren’t you even slightly concerned?”
“You’re joking, right? They all run together by now. Big threats like Blacklight? Sure. A few random men with knives? Röem, you’re joking.”
Röem smiles a little. “A few men? I would admit that you have a point. A few dozen? You’ve been desensitized, baby brother. We’re burning daylight, are you in?”
“Fine, but if I take you, I’m not reading their minds.” Azimaru stretches, “Go write Raz note explaining why we’re gone. If he wakes up thinking we were kidnapped again, I swear to the gods, I won’t be the one explaining.”
“On it.” Röem is already writing. “Just let me know when you’re ready.”
“You know teleporting hurts like hell, right? That power’s been… mangled… for a long time.” Azimaru glances at Röem’s messy handwriting.
“Yeah, I know. My healing’s jacked up too, remember? I don’t mind, we’ve felt worse. Adhesive, please.” Röem gives his innate magic a basic command, putting the note on the bedroom door. It obediently sits right where he put it. “Let’s go, baby brother.”
