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lina-lovebug · 1 year

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I Will Protect You

Adam Warlock x fem! Reader

Reader is Gamora and Nebula younger sister. Seems to be a trend with Thanos' daughters to fall for goofy men.

Warnings: ptsd, torture, cursing

Adam did not know love.

He knows his mother loved him. That even though his sole purpose was to kill and work for the Sovereign, he could feel his mother's love for him.

But being in love?

He never thought about it. It was never a priority, especially as a killer who would have no business being intrigued by anything else other than what he was ordered.

"You are an idiot."

"What?"

"But I must say I admire your technique. Staring is also how I got my wife to notice me. Although I did it for hours on end until she noticed."

Drax told Adam, who was staring longingly at (Y/N), the sister to Gamora and Nebula and their resident healer. Adam watched as a pink light emitted from her palms, healing a small injury on one of the children's knees.

"She's very pretty," Adam breathed out. Yes, he had seen specimens that were 'perfect', but you were something entirely different. Your laughter was genuine and kind, and your smile held no ill intentions behind it.

"Drax, I feel sick when I am around her. Like my stomach gets all fuzzy and weird, and-and I can't think straight. Did she poison me?" Adam asked, wondering truly if you despised him secretly.

After all, your first encounter was not a good one.

Adam recalled being beneath you as you held a blade to his throat, pressing it hard enough to draw blood and the rage in your eyes was something to remember.

He now held a small scar on his neck.

"Silly golden man," Drax patted his shoulder, "you love her."

"Love? Are you sure?" He glanced back to where you were but you disappeared.

"What should I do?"

Oh if only he should have known that Drax was the worst person to ask for advice.

"I'm sorry."

I turned around to see Gamora. Her arms were crossed, she was guarding herself, as she looked at me with sad eyes.

"You have nothing to-"

"You had someone who was openly loving and caring, and that's not me," I swallowed a lump in my throat. Gamora changed once she realized that Nebula and I just needed a sister, not a combat partner. I saw her make that effort, and she learned my love languages and learned who I was as a person.

When she died, I felt a part of myself die with her.

And when this new Gamora, or old Gamora, had shown up, I wanted that back. But she was just as cruel and as mean as when we first fought and she beat me.

"Wow, you don't think I know that?" I retorted, avoiding eye contact as I continued to polish my knives.

"From our first fight when Thanos pit us against each other, I knew you were only looking out for the best. That you needed to be the golden girl in order to survive, but did you know what he did?" I asked, finally looking at her.

"Yeah, Nebula-"

"No, not to Nebula," I interrupted, standing up.

"When I was eight and kept losing, he didn't just lock me in my room. He had Ebony Maw do things to me. . .he started slow by making incisions in my back to see how much I could scream, and then did this," I lifted up my shirt and her eyes widened.

"He started putting viles inside of me that he found on other planet's to see how my body would react to them. That's how I got my power to heal," I explained, "but every experiment, every needle - it left behind this."

My stomach and back held my memories. It was littered in scars that would never go away and ruined me.

"I-I didn't-"

"No one knew. Not even Nebula until a few years ago," I admitted.

"I get why you fought so hard but. . .I don't think I can forgive you."

Gamora looked like she had just seen what hell was like. A light mist formed over her eyes, realizing that whenever she won, someone else had paid the price.

"I know you'll never be her," I admitted, "but you could at least try to act like we were sisters."

"You are," She grasped my hands tightly in her own, "you've always been. I'm sorry I never saw it until now."

I removed myself from her, "I know you mean it, but I'm going to need you to go."

She hesitated but nodded, "ok."

Gamora shut the door behind her and wanted to scream. All of the "What ifs" plagued her mind, wondering what would have happened if only she had noticed sooner. But before any tears could escape, she heard a shuffle and spotted the golden boy lurking.

He looked just like she did.

Shocked and furious.

"If you do anything to hurt her, I will slit your throat in your sleep," Gamora told him before walking off, leaving him stunned.

The mere thought of someone making you cry made Adam furious beyond belief, but torturing you? Seeing how loud you could scream - how much pain you could take?

He didn't know understand love but that was not it.

Adam was initially going to go to your room and try to 'woo' you, as Drax said to do. But now, all he felt was rage. He knew Thanos was dead, along with everyone who worked for him, so he didn't know where to put this anger.

"(Y/N)?"

"Adam, now is not a good ti-" as I turned around to face him, all I saw was anger. Red flashed across his face, just like the first time we fought.

"Adam? Are you okay?" I questioned.

"I-I feel angry, and I don't know what to do. I want to kill him," Adam ranted.

"Kill him? Who?"

"Thanos."

The name still left a mark on my mind and it made me want to vomit.

"He-he's dead, Adam," I said.

"I know. But he needs to pay for what he's done to you. It isn't fair. No one so kind, so generous and loving should ever experience that," He ranted, unknowingly confirming that Adam knew exactly what Thanos did to you.

"You heard. . ." This was my fear. I finally found someone who makes me smile and makes my heart race whenever we're together, and he knows.

He knows I'm fucked up. He knows I have ugly scars that'll never disappear. He knows I have a dark childhood. He knows I'm-

He shook me from my mind by placing his hands on my shoulders, "I want to protect you. From now on, no one will ever lay a hand on you again. I'll do whatever it takes, (Y/N), I promise."

"Why?"

"Drax says it's because I love you. I only knew my mother's love but I know that when I see you, I want to make you smile. I want you to be happy and always laughing and never upset."

Love? Shit, I didn't know the first thing about it. I always thought that the torture and the lectures were love because a father always wants you to do your best. But after the guardians, I felt lost. This friendship and trust, it was love, but how could I ever replicate that?

"Adam, are you. . .sure?"

He was caught off guard, "yes, I am. Do you not love me?"

"I do, but I don't know how to express that. You deserve someone who does," I told him.

"What do you do with someone you love?" He questioned.

"You hug them, you show that you're there for them no matter what, you learn what they like, you show it in physical ways. You kiss-"

"Then kiss me," His boldness made my whole body still and I felt like face become hot.

"What?"

"If you love me, then kiss me," He stated, still as blunt as ever. My heart was running a mile, and my mind was screaming at me to stop.

But I couldn't.

I lifted my face to his and kissed him. I expected it to be a small peck, but my body wanted more. I yearned for his gentle touch and placed his hands on my waist as he gently kissed back, still unsure about his movements. His lips were soft against mine, following what I did. As I pulled away for air, he pulled me back in. It made me gasp as his hands held me firmly, his lips desperate for mine. I felt breathless as he held me closer, and my hands began to venture into his hair.

"Seriously?!"

Peter's voice made me pull back, frightened that he had seen.

"Everyone but me!" He shouted as he walked away, and I was still firm against Adam's chest.

"I thought kissing was a private affair," Adam said, confused.

"Y-yeah, it is, but my door is open. Adam, you're sure you want this? With me?" I asked, still frazzled at the kiss.

"I only want you, and we can learn how to love each together, right?" He said, so innocent but so willing.

"Yes, we can," I smiled.

"I heard of this thing called cuddling and it sounds nice. Can we do that too?"

I gave him a soft kiss, "for however long you want."

#adam warlock imagine #adam warlock x reader #adam warlock x y/n #guardians of the galaxy #guardians of the galaxy 3

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stargazer-sims · 8 months

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Journal Entry 55 (part two)

Journal Entry #55 (part one) // STORY INDEX

Victor

To say I'm devastated by this latest development in Yuri's health situation would be a major understatement.

Logically, I know Dr. Kasongo is right. Given Yuri's history, it's not likely his challenges with food and eating will resolve without some sort of intervention. And I know the treatment plan she proposed is in his best interests, but the idea of him requiring a feeding tube is a reality I'm struggling to accept. It feels so much like defeat to me that just thinking about it makes me want to cry.

As awful as this may sound, it's kind of a blow to my own self-perception too. I like to think of myself as a protector, someone who finds solutions and keeps people away from harm, but this is a reminder that regardless of my desire to shield Yuri from everything painful or scary or sad, there are some things I'll never be able to protect him from.

As for Yuri, he seems oddly calm about the whole thing, which leaves me a little taken aback. I'd overheard him tell his mother he'd be okay with a tube, but I really hadn't imagined he was serious. I thought, when it came right down to it, this would be something he absolutely would not want.

I'll confess, being wrong in my prediction about Yuri's reaction is bothering me. On one hand, I'm glad he didn't seem overly upset or frightened by the prospect of having a feeding tube, but on the other hand, I feel ashamed for presupposing he would be. Like, I thought I understood him pretty well, and it's eye-opening to find out that might not be the case. There's a lot about his disability and how he copes with it psychologically and emotionally that I really have no clue about, and it's becoming obvious I don't comprehend the daily challenges he faces with his illness as well as I thought I did. Let me tell you, that realization is hitting me hard.

Maybe the most sobering thought of all is how much I've taken my own health for granted. I've always admired Yuri's courage and resilience, but seeing it now makes me question how I'd handle everything if I were in his place. I could barely cope with the pain of my broken arms or the inconvenience of my temporary vision loss. There's no way in hell I could keep going if I had a chronic illness like his, and I know I'd be a total wreck if some doctor said she wanted to cut into my belly and put a tube in there, and that all my meals would be liquid formula going directly into my stomach for the next three to six months.

Yeah, that's what Dr. Kasongo ultimately concluded would be the best option; a gastrostomy tube, or G-tube. I thought she might suggest going the least invasive route, which would've been a NG tube, which is the kind they insert through a patient's nose, but she explained that sort of tube is for short-term use only, like four weeks or less. She said there'd be a lower risk of infection with the G-tube, and because she thinks Yuri could be using it for up to six months, she wanted something that'd be safer for him and wouldn't interfere too much with his quality of life.

The drawback of that kind of tube is that it has to be placed surgically. I didn't like the idea of Yuri needing an operation, but Dr. Kasongo explained to me that it's not major surgery and that there shouldn't be anything to worry about. It's a routine procedure with a very small incision, she said, and it only takes half an hour to forty-five minutes, not counting time spent in the recovery area.

I wasn't all that reassured, and I think she could tell I was anxious, but I did my best to put on a brave face and thanked her for trying to lay my fears to rest.

She went on to tell me about what would happen after the procedure, too. Later in the day, once Yuri was fully awake and alert, a nurse would teach us how to prepare and administer the formula, and how to clean the tube, and pretty much everything to do with taking care of it. And then the doctor told me that if all went according to the plan, Yuri could go home the following day. That seemed hasty to me, but I didn't comment. After all, she's the doctor and she's done this loads of times. It's not up to me to question her professional judgment.

In the estimation of the doctor, it should only take a couple of weeks for Yuri to heal from his surgery. She said once the incision is healed, he'll be able to do most of the activities he was doing before, including — to my amazement — swimming. He won't be able to do any exercises that use the abdominal muscles extensively, but that's okay. We can modify his fitness routine.

It might not be obvious to everyone who first meets him, but Yuri is an active person. He's not hardcore like me, but when he's feeling well, he likes to go hiking, do yoga, skate, swim, dance and go snowboarding. I'm not sure if dancing and yoga are going to be particularly G-tube friendly, but as long as he can stay active, that's the main thing.

Also, I learned that he'll still be able to eat and drink normally with this type of tube, which I guess makes sense considering the goal is to slowly reintroduce him to eating. For the first couple of weeks, it's supposed to be formula only, and then we're supposed to add real food and decrease the amount of formula over time until he's eating like a typical person. I think it's probably going to be a battle, at least in the beginning, but Yuri seems uncharacteristically committed to the plan, so we'll see.

One thing that concerns me, which I haven't talked about with the doctor yet, is how all of this is going to impact our move. We'd been focused on other things that might've interfered with our plans, such as my recovery, and the ongoing legal drama with Ren, and possibly now more legal issues with Hana. I'm sure we both realized Yuri's health could be a factor as well, but for some reason, we've never brought it up.

But, here's the thing. The closing date for our new house is the eighteenth of May, and our flight is scheduled a few days before that. If Yuri's going to be doing his nutrition rehabilitation therapy for the next several months, the date of our flight is going to fall right in the middle of it. He can't interrupt his therapy, and even with Dr. Kasongo calling in a favour to get him on Dr. Kim's patient list, I don’t know how long he might have to wait for an actual first appointment. Plus, even if Dr. Kim could see him in May, I doubt we'd get referrals to a nutritionist and a psychologist back home quickly enough for him to just resume it seamlessly when we get there. Depending on what's involved, he might be able to do it remotely over video chat or something, but with a literal twelve-hour time difference between Japan and eastern Canada, I'm not sure if any healthcare professional here would be willing to go for it.

All of that is assuming he can even travel at all. If he can't, I'm really scared that we're going to have to be apart for a while because one of us has to be there to sign the papers for the closing on our house, and there's no way I'm missing my mom's wedding. What might end up happening is that I'll go home alone in May, stay there until after the wedding, and then come back to be with him until we can finally move to our new home together. Obviously that wouldn't be ideal, but it might be the only viable solution.

I decided I'd talk it over with Mom and Julian to get their thoughts. I'd need to tell them in any case, and break the news that they might not have a violinist for their wedding after all. They wouldn't be as concerned about their wedding music as they would be about Yuri himself, but they'd still need time to adjust their plans.

I made a mental list of who else I'd need to inform of this change in circumstances. Fortunately it was a short one, consisting of Yuri's boss, or maybe the HR person at his firm, and his parents.

Yuri's parents...

As if I didn't have enough on my plate, it fell to me to explain everything Mr. and Mrs. Okamoto. I didn't picture them taking it well, and unfortunately, I wasn't too far off with my guess.

Mrs. Okamoto seemed outwardly calm, but that was nothing less than I expected from her. She's not the sort of person who shows her emotions publicly. Somebody who knows her really well might know what to look for, but I'm not acquainted intimately enough with her for that. Judging by the way she was squeezing her husband's hand while I was describing everything to them, though, I'd say she was a lot less tranquil on the inside than she appeared on the outside.

As for Mr. Okamoto, he was clearly very upset, but he was trying his best to hide his feelings from me. I think he could've learned a thing or two from his wife about how to put on a stoic expression, because he wasn't doing a particularly good job of it. The way he hunched in on himself, and how his face got slightly red and the muscles at the edges of his mouth visibly tightened were almost an exact mirror of how Yuri looks when he's trying not to cry.

It came as a bit of a shock when it occurred to me that I could read my father-in-law's face and body language just as well as I can read Yuri's. I was even more stunned when my first reaction to his distress was compassion.

I mean, not that I'm an unsympathetic person, but up till recently I hadn't had that many positive feelings about my father-in-law. He'd never been particularly kind to me and showed every sign of not liking me, and I'll admit the dislike was mutual.

Up until my accident, I figured that's how it was always going to be. Or maybe it's got more to do with this recent serious flare-up of Yuri's illness than with my injuries, but whatever prompted the change, I'm not complaining or questioning it. It's been a relief, not being in a constant state of walking on eggshells around him. He's been much nicer to me lately, and we've been getting to know each other better, which is a comfort given our current circumstances.

Dr. Kasongo did Yuri's surgery this morning, and Mr. Okamoto came to the hospital to wait with me.

They put us in a nice waiting room with vibrant art on the walls and comfortable blue sofas to sit on. There were non-perishable snacks and a variety of teas, but neither of us had anything. I can't speak for Mr. Okamoto, but I was too stressed to think about matcha or spicy rice crackers. We sat next to each other on a sofa, engulfed in the most weighty silence of all time.

I thought we were going to pass the entire morning like that, but then Mr. Okamoto cleared his throat two or three times like he was trying to work up the nerve to say something. I turned slightly to look at him.

"Uh... are you okay?" I asked. It came out sounding shaky and weird, and I briefly wondered if somebody should be asking me that exact same question.

He raised his gaze to meet mine. Several heartbeats later, he said, "i owe you an apology."

I'm not even gonna pretend I wasn't shocked by that. Caught completely off-guard by the abrupt declaration, I stammered, "What? I mean... like, what for?"

He sighed and looked away from me again. "For a lot of things, if we're being perfectly honest. You're a good man, Victor. I'm sorry that I was too proud and too set in my ways to see that before now," he said. "I misjudged you without even truly knowing you, and I'm sorry for that."

"It's okay," I said, even though it kinda wasn't.

The truth is, his blatant prejudice, dislike and disapproval had hurt both Yuri and me, but Yuri especially, and I was not okay with that. Yuri and I have both been making an effort to rehabilitate our relationship with him, but trust and forgiveness are processes, and neither is achieved instantaneously just because somebody says sorry. He has a lifetime of broken trust to mend with Yuri, and although I've only known him for a few years, it feels like a lifetime for me as well. Maybe it's my proximity to Yuri and my love and empathy for him that makes it feel so personal, or maybe I'm just too sensitive. Either way, Mr. Okamoto's apology wasn't like some magic spell that'd repair everything in the blink of an eye.

Still, he seemed sincere, and I wanted to trust him. The trouble was, I had no idea how I was supposed to respond to this sudden outpouring of contrition from him. I said, "Live and learn, right?"

"Indeed," he said. "I think that was something I'd forgotten for a while. To live and learn. It was you and Yuri who helped me remember. The two of you, and your parents."

"How'd we do that?"

"No way in particular," he said. "Perhaps that's the most ironic part."

I was thoroughly confused at that point and had to admit, "I... kinda feel like I'm missing something here, Okamoto-san."

"Kenji," he said.

Again I blurted, "What?"

"My name is Kenji," he said, as if I didn't already know. "I think you've earned the right to call me that, and besides, we're family."

Dumbfounded, all I could do was stare at him.

"You're supposed to thank me," he prompted gently.

"Right. Uh... thank you." I dipped a little bow as best I could while sitting. "I'm honoured."

"It's fine if you're not comfortable with it," he said.

"It might take some getting used to," I told him. "But, I really am honoured. Back home, when we're adults, we pretty much just call most other adults by their given name, you know? I had to learn a whole new set of rules when I got here, so I get how big of a deal this is."

"I understand," he said. "I do a lot of business with people in North America, so I've had to get used to new social customs too. But, you've done very well, integrating into our way of life. I used to think foreigners could never do that."

"Because you thought we weren't willing to adapt?"

"That, and because some of you seem to think your way is superior," he said.

"Some people probably do think that," I agreed. "I don't. Just because somebody else's culture isn't the same as mine, that doesn't make it bad or inferior. Plus, it's interesting to learn new stuff. You know, to see things from other people's point of view."

He nodded. "That's something I learned from you and Yuri. To see things from somebody else's perspective. How else could the two of you come together the way you have if you didn't know how to be open to other ways of life and points of view?"

"I'm not sure I ever thought of it that way," I said. "I didn't fall in love with him because he's Japanese, and I didn't fall in love with him despite that either. I love him because... well, because he's Yuri. All I saw was him. And yeah, I do know we're different, but literally everybody's different from everybody else, so..."

"You see, that's something else I've learned from you."

I raised an eyebrow. "Something else?"

"Open-mindedness. Selflessness. How to love without prerequisites or conditions," he said. "I'll confess, I was surprised how much of that I saw in my son when I finally opened my eyes and started paying attention." He offered me a tiny smile. "Maybe he learned it from you as well."

"He already knew all that," I said.

"Perhaps," Mr. Okamoto said. "In my experience, Yuri has never been very good at putting other people ahead of himself. Neither am I, honestly. But he does it for you, even to his own detriment sometimes."

"Yeah," I said. "Sometimes I wonder if he understands his limits."

"I think he does," he said. "It's simply that there are people who become so important to you, people you love so deeply, that you're willing to ignore your limits for them. The downside, of course, is that you become more vulnerable to being hurt."

"I'd never hurt Yuri. Not on purpose."

"I know," he said. "That's not what I meant. My point was, Yuri trusts you so completely, he's willing to give himself just as completely to you without being afraid of getting hurt."

"Because he knows if I do hurt him it's not intentional, and I'll always try to make it right. I'll always protect him and take care of him," I said. "As much as anyone can protect another person, anyway. There's some stuff..." I let the sentence fade, because if I started talking about the reason why the two of us were sitting there in a hospital waiting room, I knew I'd end up bawling my eyes out. No way did I want to do that in front of my father-in-law.

"There are things no one can keep anyone safe from." Mr. Okamoto finished the thought for me. "No matter how much we want to."

"It's hard," I said. "Not being able to. And realizing I can't is just... I don't know. It doesn't matter that my brain understands I can't, 'cause it still feels like a stab to the heart. It still feels like I'm failing somehow."

He didn't respond to that right away, and a lull of several seconds stretched between us. The silence was less tense than when we were first shown into the waiting room, but it was little uncomfortable for me nevertheless.

Just when I was about to say some random banal thing to break the quietness, Mr. Okamoto did something unbelievable. Well, okay... by objective standards, it wasn't all that incredible, but it was nothing short of remarkable for him.

He put his hand on my shoulder.

"You're not a failure, Victor." He said it so softly that I might not have caught it if we hadn't been sitting next to each other. "You're extraordinary, in fact."

I looked up at him. "I—" I began, but language totally failed me.

"A man is only a failure if he stops trying," my father-in-law said. "Maybe he can't protect the people he loves from everything, but he hasn't failed unless he stops letting them know he'd move the Earth itself to keep them safe if he could." His voice dropped to a near-whisper again, "He fails if he forgets to tell them he loves them. But you... I think you'll never forget that."

"I hope I never will," I said.

"So do I," he said. "My son needs you."

"He needs you too." The reply slipped out before I even fully recognized the thought was in my head. I panicked for a second, fearful Mr. Okamoto would take it as a rebuke.

To my absolute astonishment, I saw tears in his eyes. "I know," he said. "I lost sight of that, but I'll do better."

I studied him for a moment, and he didn't shift his gaze from mine. Everything about his demeanour was earnest. I said simply, "I believe you."

He nodded, maybe more to reassure himself than to acknowledge my expression of faith in him. Then, he uttered three words that never in a million years would I have imagined him directing towards me.

"Thank you, Victor."

#writing #victorsworldadventures #victor nelson #kenji okamoto #yuri okamoto #tw chronic illness #tw medical procedures #tw hospital #stargazersims

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charlesharrymackenzie · 1 year

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Email Subject: PAYDAY

Dear Mr Harmse,

I am writing to you today with great rage.

Granted, it has been a secret rage, accumulating in my stomach like an unfartable fart. (I feel it coming, an atom bomb about to drop, but from the outside, I look like the non-plussed espresso-drinking artiste that I have worked so hard to project).

How do these farts and rages come? They start as a small and unremarkable burden. As more time passes, a frightful reckoning commences: this is unlikely to be innocuous. Finally, you begin to fear for the very ozone itself. It has become a true Nietzschean horror. Even the most Über of mensch would begin to feel like a fucking piss ant when this thing lays waste. Even if no one around you is shaken to the core by the disaster that lives inside you, you are tragically embarrassed by your respiratory system. Sorry, anger.

In other words, I am writing about an offense committed against me that now lives inside of me, like a [insert country of conflict here] refugee, with an eye to rectifying the ethical loneliness I currently live with. I reside in this home, buried under a bottomless pit of angst and frustration. I'm afraid all the soil that was dug away to place me there is on your hands.

You are the wicked man responsible. I hope you have your testicles well-protected. Blunt as they may be, my words are not dull. There is a significant possibility that they will incisively dance out from behind your monitor and into the more compromised sections of your ejaculatory organ.

I am not sure if you remember, but we were friends. Once upon a time, as the Brothers Grimm would say. And just as it is with many of their tales, the romance foreshadows excellent tragedy. Mary Poppins gets Alzheimer's, Cinderella loses her uterus, and Black Panther doesn't get an Oscar for best picture.

Once upon a time, we were friends and had esoteric conversations about 'apex apes' in the broader pool of plebeian H. Sapiens. We discussed strange and mostly unknown things, like good writing and admirable journalism. But this is also where the spanner in our beautiful affair first appeared.

You see, I have no doubt that you remember our friendship. Fondly, one would hope. I certainly do. Or, instead, did. What you don't recall; and what I am pointing a long, erect, and forceful finger at; is the tremendous contempt you have encased me in. I feel like a helpless animal in your sick rodent theme park, running endlessly along on a hamster wheel while you watch in the distance brushing your long luscious locks in glee. For christ's sake, we all know that your hair is majestic. But the means do not justify the ends. I have half a mind to call PETA and tell them what you are doing to maintain your metrosexuality. I hope they bag you right there on the street, take you to some kind of warehouse, shave off all your headhair, and make you talk about GIRLS and CARS and other dalliances that sophisticated intellectuals such as yourself couldn't give a fuck about.

"But what," you scratch your deep intellect and think, "is he fucking on about?" Guess. It rhymes with Ferry Hiller. No? What if I told you he was a man who described his erection as "lead with wings"? No?

My fucking Henry Miller book. Where is it you cunt? I haven't slept with a woman since pre-school, and yet you suppose I am to just write; about passion, sex, the many iterations of the female body, and inducing clitoral orgasm by telepathically stroking the pineal gland; from what - memory??? Are you mad!?

I kid. The rant above was all a ruse. It's a less civil, albeit more entertaining, way of saying, "hello, how are you? What have you been up to?"

So: Hello. How are you? What have you been up to?

I await your reply. If you are currently in JHB, I will be coming up sometime in April.

Best,

Charles

(Yes, this is an actual email I sent. No, I was not actually angry)

#black panther #hunter s thompson #Letters #henry miller

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dark-magical-ships · 1 year

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I’M SORRY I’M LATE AGAIN I GOT VERY DISTRACTED BY CARD GAMES >_< hmmm how about answering 2, 3, 6 and 12 :0??

F/O Love Tropes Asks

Hihi no worries lmfao look how late I am to actually answering!! XD Also distracted by card games is RELATABLE AS HELL lmfao <3 ALRIGHTY let's dig into these!

Accidental Hand Hold: When did you first hold hands with your F/O?

To be entirely honest, I'm not sure what the very first time was. When I was a kid, I used to rely on him a little too much to get through crowds and such because I would get so easily disoriented and overwhelmed trying to watch my own back from every possible direction. More than once, I'm sure, he probably had to grab me by the hand and pull me in the right direction. I'm glad he was there, honestly, or I'd have gotten lost a lot more often. :P More interesting stories are here and here lol.

After-Action Patch-Up: How does your F/O react when they see you got hurt? How do they tend to your injury?

Seto really does not like to see me hurt. XD However, between the two of us, I have much more medical training (I have most of a veterinary nursing degree, and while I am certainly not a dog, cleaning/bandaging/stitching wounds and infection prevention is pretty universal across mammals), so he's usually content to just... watch me take care of my own minor injuries lmfao. If it's something I can't handle on my own due to the location or scope of the injury, though, or if it's something that takes a longer time to recover from, he's actually surprisingly good at taking direction and executing it flawlessly; I guess that really shouldn't be surprising but you don't usually think of Seto Kaiba as someone who takes instructions, right? lol When I had my hysterectomy a few years back, that really sort of defined how he handles this stuff, though. It was the first time I've ever had any kind of anesthesia or surgery, and it was a major operation with a 6-8 week recovery time, so he was very grumpy on account of nerves he wouldn't admit to but couldn't hide from me or from Mokuba because we know him way too well. My operation was laparoscopic so the incisions were very small and the sutures were dissolvable, but he was positively religious about staying on top of changing the bandages and everything; it was honestly both adorable and just a bit irritating. XD He also would brook no argument about my not returning to work or doing any kind of major activity for the full 8 weeks, even though I probably would have been fine after 6—which was rich, coming from the guy who insists on working in some capacity no matter what as long as he is physically capable of sitting upright. Mostly when he finds out I've managed to get injured somehow he tends to be worried until he gets a chance to inspect it himself, then won't rest until he knows it's not going to turn into a gangrenous mess, and the whole time he's varying degrees of "lovingly abrasive" which is a sort of general term for this thing we both tend to do when we're worried about the other one where get very blunt and mildly insulting but it's... somehow affectionate and just works for us. It's why "asshole" is one of my favorite petnames for him lmfao.

Bodyguard Crush: How does your F/O make you feel safe?

Omfg how does he not. If we are somewhere together, there is usually some form of physical contact—holding hands, or I'm on his arm, or he's got his arm around me, or sitting close, or whatever but there is basically always something—which immediately helps a lot with just feeling protected. Especially since I know he'd stop if I asked him to; he is very clearly protective but it's not the extent that he won't respect my wishes, and just being able to trust him like that is another huge thing for me, tbh. He knows when I'm nervous and doesn't hesitate to take over a situation if I'm not in a good headspace to handle it, and he's remarkably deft at doing it without it feeling conspicuous, too. He's also got this (somewhat misguided) desire to try to solve all my problems for me, including ones that aren't actually problems yet; that used to be kind of a problem and got me into some trouble in my school years, but over the years he's learned a lot about how important is to wait to be asked before he tries to do things for me. The benefit to this is that I basically know I'm never annoying him when I ask him for something—whether it's just a hug because of the brain weasels or to help me move a thousand miles in a weekend, he's basically always there and willing to help and will tell me to stop being dumb if I imply that I'm imposing on him. That can be hugely freeing, because it means he's always safe to go to when I need help with basically anything.

Post-Kiss Catatonia: How did you and your F/O react to your first kiss together?

GEEZE are you trying to fluster me?? XDDD We were... honestly sort of deliriously happy for a good chunk of time lmao. I'm sure you remember this from other asks but our first kiss was also the first time either of us became aware of the fact that the feelings we had for each other were actually mutual, so it wasn't just a kiss—it was proof that we weren't dreaming, that our feelings were reciprocated, and that there was actually some kind of chance for us, after all. I remember I was so completely overwhelmed; I did not fully believe that it was really happening/I hadn't horribly misread the situation until he actually did kiss me, and when it was over it was just.... so many emotions. Seto had the biggest, brightest smile I have literally ever seen on him; even on our wedding day he had more composure, and I think that's because he was as surprised as I was. He told me once that he was absolutely convinced he was going to wake up and find that he'd been dreaming until he realized I was kissing him back, so like. Yeah I don't think either of us expected it to be real until it ended and were both still standing there, arms around each other and staring each other in the face with the same look on our faces. XD Immediately after, we knew we needed to get out of the friggin parking lot and go home because it was way too damn late at night and we needed to sleep since were (supposed to be) working in the morning, so we had a really hurried discussion in which we decided to go crash at his house. We spent the drive to his place just having the most ridiculous "WAIT HOW LONG HAVE WE BOTH BEEN IDIOTS" conversation, and when we got there, we were barely out of the car before we just could not resist doing this new "kissing" thing again. Really it was just overall a night with some of the strongest and most joyful emotions I've ever felt, to be honest. "Catatonia" doesn't really fit since we were both launched into talking within seconds of it ending but there is definitely a kind of euphoria that comes with sharing your first kiss with someone you've been in love with forever and thought could never love you back that just. Absolutely overloads the happy parts of the brain lmao. I still think about that night several times a week.

#thanks for playing as always friend!! :D #friends #rainy #q&a #🐉💙 cocoashipping 💙🐉

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joansiefics · 3 years

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Deja Vu

DOCTOR!BUCKY X READER (PULMONARY SPECIALIST)

SUMMARY: Y/N Rogers struggles to the hospital with a punctured lung after being physically bullied and Bucky is her doctor, also her brother's best friend.

WARNINGS: Bullying, Hospital, Stitches, Physical harm, Blood, Thoracostomy (chest tube insertion), Medications, Anesthetic, Scalpel (for incision), Panic attack, Syringes, Needles - please let me know via message or comment if I missed any warnings. I know I sometimes give useless warnings, but I mean...rather save than sorry, you know:)

A/N: I wrote this solemnly from the research I did on Google, I do not have a medical degree, so if I have some information wrong, please do not hesitate to correct me (I will gladly make the changes) I hope you enjoy and don't be shy to leave your thoughts or comments.

REQUESTS are OPEN

MASTERLIST

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You let out a satisfied sigh as you walk home from school, already living the weekend in your thoughts - huddled up under a mountain of blankets, steaming hot coffee blistering your throat, the cup warming your hands and movies playing in the background to keep your mind from spiraling to the negative thoughts as you stare at one particular, unimportant spot on the ceiling.

"Well, well, well, look what we have here" the sneering comment pulls you out from under the heap of comforting blankets, makes the coffee turn to caffeine icicles and the cup freezes your hands. You look up from the pavement, where your glance has been fixed while your thoughts ensued, only to see the taunting smirk of Enzo Davis, the biggest bully in your book of records. "I've had a long day, please just let me go home" you beg, very unlike you, but you don't have the energy to put up a fight nor do you have the energy to put up your walls, protecting you from all the horrible sentences thrown at you. "Now where's the fun in that?" he replies. "You see, that's the thing..." you point a finger at him, as if you've finally come to a conclusion "normal people find fun things to do outside of school and socials with their classmates. But oh, I forgot you're not like. normal. people" you snarkily reply, getting closer to his face.

"You'll regret that" he snarls, jaw clenching hard, knuckles turning white as he balls his hands into fists, his nostrils flaring and his eyes glaring daggers into your skull. "You always give me empty threats" you argue back. And that was the last straw. In an instant you are pushed against a wall, receiving and excepting punches thrown left and right, sure to leave black, bloodied bruises. Your sarcasm has always been your most powerful weapon, defeating you from figuratively cracking, but physically... you have nothing to protect you, except the mantra of 'there's a light at the end of the tunnel.'

You don't know when you ended up lying on the concrete, but the kicks to your ribs is a definite sign that you haven't gone entirely numb yet. The distant sound of sirens from police cars rushing off to a probable thievery, or maybe something far worse, drove the bully away from you, leaving you inconspicuous in a world full of oblivious, overlooking people. You lie there for a few more minutes, gathering yourself. As all senses return back to you, you can hear your heavy wheezing, feel your ribs penetrating your lung, your lungs hopelessly trying to expand only to deflate quicker than supposed to and bruises already evident on your face.

With a groan you push yourself up against the wall, leisurely making your way to your feet. Once you are braced against the wall, you brush the dirt of your clothes. Noticing how out of breath you were from just a bit of movement you know something is terribly wrong. You try to steady your breathing, but your lungs feel constricted and the pain elevating from your chest to your shoulder, makes the need and desire to fill your lungs with oxygen even more considerable. "The hospital it is" you frustratedly think aloud, as you weighed down your options. You push yourself away from the wall and stagger your way to the hospital, holding a hand on the skin, covering your ribs, trying to eliminate the pain.

When you arrive at the reception of the hospital, you can barely think straight with the pain coursing through your body and you can feel your heart hammering against your broken ribcage. "Oh my goodness, sweetie, are you okay?!" the receptionist asks when she sees you, immediately searching for her pager. "Hi, is Bucky here?" you pantingly ask her "Yes, he just finished a surgery. Is he expecting you?" she hesitantly asks. "Just tell him Y/N's here and it's urgent" you shorten your sentence, trying to spare the tiny bit of oxygen that's keeping you on your two feet. "Paging Doctor Barnes to the reception" she pages Bucky, pulling out a chair for you to sit on. "I'm Catherine by the way" the receptionist says with a comforting smile, masking her anxiety of the whole situation - she feels clueless and useless. "Doctor Bucky is on his way" she assures you, gently stroking your back.

"What is it Cather-" Bucky starts, but when he sees you, he stiffens, in contrast to you visibly relaxing with the knowledge that you were in save hands now. "Y/N! what happened to you?!" he asks concern lacing his voice as he rushes over to you. Your mouth opens, but not a sound escapes and Bucky turns into full doctor mode. "We need a gurney" Bucky yells to one of the nurses. "It's gonna be okay Y/N, you're in good hands" he comforts you as he picks you up and places you on the gurney.

You shut your eyelids to shield you from the bright fluorescent lights', verisimilitudinous flickering as the nurses' heads take turns to dutily check on your condition as they wheel you to a unit. Once Bucky was sure that the nurses were with you, he took out his phone to call Steve. "Hey Buck, what's up?" Steve cheerfully asks from the other end of the line. "It's Y/N, she's at the hospital. I gotta go, but I thought I'd just let you know" Bucky hastily replies. "I'm on my way" and with that Bucky hangs up.

Okay Y/N" Bucky says as he enters the room, just as the nurse finished cleaning your cuts on your face. He pulls the stethoscope from around his neck "This is gonna be a bit cold" he says placing it under your shirt against your chest, listening to your lungs. "From all the symptoms, it's clear that you have a punctured lung" Bucky says. "I'm going to have to insert a chest tube to help drain the air from around your collapsed lung" You just utter a breathless "okay." "I'm gonna talk you through it step for step as I work, okay?" You give Bucky a small smile, thankful for his gentleness towards you.

"Is it okay if I lift your shirt so I can reach your ribs and chest?" Bucky asks. You just nod to let him know it's okay. "Are you on any medication I need to be aware of?" You make a thinking face, before you nod 'no' "Okay, then I'm going to inject you with this local anesthetic, so you won't feel any pain when I insert the tube" he speaks as he pulls the plunger, to fill the syringe with the correct dosage medicine, from the vial. You only widen your eyes at the mention of an injection. "Do you want to hold my hand?" one of the nurses, who is assisting Bucky in the whole procedure asks, when she sees your fearful eyes. Bucky gives her an appreciative smile, as you grasp her hand in your clammy one. "One, two, three" Bucky counts, before he inserts the needle into your skin, plunging all the anesthetic into your chest and rib area. You let go of the nurse's hand when Bucky pulls the needle out of your skin.

"We are going to wait a few minutes, just so that the anesthetic can numb the area, then I'm going to make a very small incision between your ribs, where I can insert the chest tube" Bucky explains as he snaps on his latex gloves. The thought of Bucky cutting into your skin, makes your anxiety spike - your heart punches against your chest, you gasp for air and it feels like the room is closing in on you. "Hey, hey, hey, I'm not going to hurt you, okay?" Bucky comforts you as he puts a latex covered hand on your tremulous hand. "Can you try and breathe for me? Just focus on me, okay?" Bucky says, trying to calm you down, and not worsen the current situation - you need all the oxygen you can get. "Breathe with me... in...1..2..3..4" Bucky counts and you inhale. "Anddddd out... 4..3..2..1" and you exhale. "That's it, your doing so great for me, doll" Bucky gives you a smile and a squeeze of your hand as you start to breathe normal again - as normal as you can in the given situation.

"Can you try and talk to me?" Bucky asks. You nod your head 'no' with a sad expression on your face. "I know you might find it difficult to talk, or maybe you feel like you can't, but you gotta try, okay?" he tries again. You just stare at Bucky before he speaks again "You have a traumatic pneumothorax" Your eyes widen at the doctor terminology, scared at what that might mean. "Am I dying?" you manage to force out, causing a laugh to tumble from Bucky's lips. "No, no, no, it just means that you are capable of talking... which you just proved to me" he explains. "Now do you wanna talk about what happened to you?" Bucky asks, raised brows, concern evident on his face. "There is this guy at school" you inhale a bit of oxygen "he's been bullying me for" *inhale* "a while now, but it never got physical" *inhale* "he always just says mean things to me" *inhale* "but today, he punched and kicked me, after I sarcastically" *inhale* "replied to his comments"

Bucky's face contorted from one of concern to one of pure anger. "I'm so sorry to hear that Y/N" he says sympathetically. "Have you told Steve about this?" "Are you out of your" *inhale* "mind?!" you whisper yell. "You know how protective he is over me since our parents died, he'll kill the guy" "Who's killing who?" you hear Steve ask as he walks into the room. "Hey Steve" Bucky greets as he stands up from his chair next to you to give Steve a hug. "Hey, thanks for calling" Steve thanks Bucky. "No problem" "What happened to her?" Steve asks as if you aren't in the room. "Some stupid bully punched" *inhale* "and kicked me" you hastily answer, as quick as your lungs permit you. "How'd you get here?" Steve asks "I walked" you say like it's obvious. The two men surreptitiously look at each other, like you just told them the most unbelievable story in history.

"I think the anesthetic should have kicked in by now" Bucky breaks the silence. "Can you feel this?" Bucky asks when he prods on your ribcage. "No" you say. "Okay, then we can start with the procedure." Bucky says. Steve steps out of the room as a nurse enters with sterile equipment for the small surgery. "Maybe you wanna close your eyes for this part Y/N, I don't want you fainting on my watch" Bucky says, concerned for your well being. "I'm okay, I'm not going" *inhale* "to pass out" "Just let me know if anything bothers you, okay?" Bucky says as he picks up the scalpel from the utility cart, as concealed as he can. "Are we ready with the stitches and the tube?" Bucky questions the nurse. "Yes doctor" she replies, double checking the equipment on the cart. "You are going to feel slight pressure, but it won't hurt" Bucky tells you. When he sees the hesitance in your eyes he adds "if it hurts, you tell me and I'll stop immediately, deal?" "Deal" you reply more relaxed.

Bucky maneuvers you into a partly upright sitting position and positions your one arm over your head. Next thing you know is scalpel meets flesh and they become entwined. "Chest tube" Bucky orders the nurse, and she complies. "Don't reply or nod when I'm talking to you, but I'm going to tell you what we're doing step for step... I'm going to place the chest tube in now... it is going to feel invasive and uncomfortable, but it is not going to hurt" Bucky relays to you, dividing your muscles to reach your lungs and insert the chest tube. "Stitches" and the nurse complies. "I'm stitching the tube in place to prevent it from moving to much or fall out." Bucky says, stitching the tube to your skin.

"Andddd...done" he says as he finishes the last stitch. You relax at his words, and you loosen your grip on the hospital blanket, you didn't even know you were holding. "I just need to apply a sterile bandage over the stitches, then you can see Steve" Bucky says. You raise your eyebrows in a questioning way and luckily Bucky understands "Oh, yes, sorry, you can talk now" "How long does...this, have to stay in me?" you ask. "Well it depends on how much air needs to be drained, but my guess?...oh, let's say about two days" "Thank you Bucky, for all of this. I know it's your job, but it means a lot to me that you did this and not somebody else." you thank him as you reach for his hand, giving it a thankful squeeze.

It has been a day since the surgery and so far, so good. Breathing was uncomfortable for you as you could feel the edges of the tube rubbing against your ribs with each breath, but you didn't experience any pain. "Good morning, how's my favorite patient?" Bucky greets you as he walks into the room. "Morning, I'm okay thanks and you?" you greet back. "I'm good, I'm good...any pain or discomfort?" he asks, sitting on the chair next to your bed. "The tube keeps on moving against my ribs every time I breathe, but that's all" you relay to him. "Yeah, that's normal" he says, examining the drainage system for any air leaks, empyema and the volume of air drained form your lungs. "I think another day and you'll be able to go home" Bucky tells you as he gets up from the chair. "I'll come check up on you again later... try and get some rest" and with that Bucky leaves the room.

The day passed quite slowly and you were counting the seconds till the tube could be removed. Steve came to visit you during visiting hours, Bucky came to examine the process again, you watched TV and then you slept - there wasn't much you could do.

You were awoken by someone gently shaking your shoulder, whispering for you to wake up. You squinted your eyes open to see Bucky standing over you. "What time is it?" you wheezily ask, really confused over your location, the date and time. "It's 11 o'clock on the 19th of July and you're in the hospital" Bucky informs you as he catches onto your confusedness. "I just examined the volumes, and the drainage system again and it looks like I can free you from this horrible tube" he dramatically explains. "Then what are we waiting for?" you rhetorically ask, happiness evident on your features. "For you to wake up sleeping beauty" he laughs. "Well I'm awake now" you giggle, only to cringe when the tube rubs against your ribs.

Bucky once again puts his latex gloves on, and the nurse enters with a utility cart. 'Serious deja vu' you think. "This part is a bit tricky and I'm going to need your help and cooperation." You nod for him to continue. He explains all the steps of removing the tube while he cuts your stitches "I'm going to tell you when to hold your breath and in that time I am going to remove the tube and apply a bandage over the incision, if you can't hold your breath anymore you can start humming, got it?" "Got it" you reply.

It takes a few more minutes for Bucky to remove all the stitches and you lie there going through the steps of the removal in your head. "You don't have to worry about it doll, you're going to do it perfectly." Bucky assures you. "I need you to take a few deep breaths for me..." You inhale and exhale a few times "One more exhale and then you inhale and hold your breath" you exhale as much oxygen as you can, before you deeply inhale and hold your breath. Bucky quickly gets to work - he gently, but swiftly pulls the tube out, with his trained hands. You have started humming to the song 'deja vu by Olivia Rodrigo' when your ability to hold your breath started to falter.

"Bandage" Bucky instructs and the nurse hands him the bandage. "Okay, we're done, you can stop humming now" The moment you stop humming you plop your head onto the pillow behind you, desperately searching for oxygen. "You did a really good job doll" Bucky compliments you while he removes the gloves from his hands. "I'm going to get your release forms and then you can go home" and with that Bucky is out the door.

You have been home for two days - taking your medication, resting, walking small distances, drinking a lot of water and doing your breathing exercises that Bucky gave you. Today was your follow up appointment and Steve would be there any time to pick you up.

"Hey Y/N" Bucky greets you when you walk into his office. "Hi, how are you?" you ask him. "I'm doing just great, now that my favorite patient is here" he smirks. "Shall we take a look?" he gestures towards the examination table. You push yourself onto the table and make yourself comfortable. "Can I lift your shirt up?" he asks politely. "No, you have to look through it" you reply sarcastically. "I'm glad to see the tube didn't drain your humor as well" he jokes back as his fingers grip the hem of your shirt and gently pulls it upwards. He pulls the stethoscope from around his neck and places it over your lungs' position. "Take a deep breath in for me doll" you inhale "and out" you exhale. "You are still wheezing, but it's normal" he places the stethoscope on his table. "Now... I want you to deeply inhale, hold for a few seconds and then slowly exhale" you do this five times, before Bucky stops you. "That was perfect, now you are going to brace your incision and the try and cough for me as deep as possible." and once again you do as your told.

You can feel a bit of pain from the incision, but you fight back the tears and bite back the whimpers. "We are almost done, I just need to take a quick look at your incision, then we're done for today" he assures you, almost like he read your mind. He sits down on his office chair, wheels himself closer to you and gently removes the bandage. "It's healing, very slow, but it's healing... and at least it doesn't look infected, so that's good" he grabs a new bandage and places it back over your incision. "First check up...done" he says, standing up from his chair and walking towards the door. "Thank you Buck" you say following him to the door "My pleasure...your next appointment is in two days, same time as today." "Got it"

The healing process took a lot of self discipline and regular appointments with Bucky, but you healed. You finally had your weekend filled with fluffy blankets, warm caffeine and movies - many more to come. Enzo was suspended for a few days and you lived the best life possible.

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TAGLIST:

@buckyzzrogers (didn’t find an account)

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flamingo-writes · 3 years

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Hello💕🌷 Could you please write headcanons for Johnny x s/o who is recuperating from a surgery? i went trough one surgery last week and i can't even get up from bed and i feel so awful. Your writing always bring me so much comfort🥺ily

Oooh sure!! I hope you're doing well 🥺💙 sending lots of love, good wishes and it'll be over sooner than it may feel like rn!! 🙆🏻

Sunrise — Johnny Joestar x Reader

Title inspired in the song Glorious by Macklemore.

Warnings: mentions of wounds and surgery

Despite always reassuring you, telling you it was going to be fine, he was as nervous as you were before the surgery. However, he never showed it in front of you.

He always gave you a reassuring smile and comforting words, kiss your forehead or make some joke to distract you from your anxiety.

However, he'd go to Gyro and panic about it, and Gyro, being a doctor, would reassure him that everything was going to be alright.

And it did.

After the surgery, Johnny was the most relieved, as you were still waking up from anesthesia.

Gyro wanted to take videos of you saying nonsense, but Johnny would give him one of those death glares of his.

Gyro still manged to film a few things without Johnny finding out 💀

Johnny boy was already protective of you...you haven't seen ANYTHING

He takes so much care of you, barely let's you off his sight. But if he has to leave the house, he's constantly calling you to make sure how you're doing, if you already took your meds, if you've been drinking water and so on.

He's so gentle 🥺💙

He's constantly spoiling you with snacks, kisses, he wants to make you feel good and loved.

He helps you clean the incision(s) of the surgery. He is very gentle and careful while cleaning it up and has alarms for both meds and wound cleaning si neither of you forget.

Gyro is lowkey impressed with the good job Johnny has made at taking care of you.

"Hey, Johnny...by any chance...do you not want to work as a nurse at the hospital?" And Johnny just 🖕

If Johnny were a nurse, let's be real. He'd be the kind of rough treatment kind of nurse asdfghjl he's not a fan of people in general, but since you're his significant other, he'd do anything for you.

#sbr #sbr imagine #sbr x reader #johnny joestar imagines #jjba johnny #johnny joestar x reader #johnny joestar #johnny x reader

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fanmoose12 · 3 years

Text

troubled youth

Sometimes kids fight. And it’s up to their parents to resolve the conflict.

"I'm sorry, dear," Hange whispered soothingly, looking down at the mouse. She patted it once and then took scalpel in her hands. "But it's for the sake of science..."

Before she could make the first incision, her phone started ringing. Hange cursed, taking it out. Who the hell could call her right now? Anyone who knew her, also knew that she was not to be disturbed during work hours. Hange glanced at the screen and cursed again. Just one name, but already she felt the beginnings of a migraine.

"Good day, Mr. Shadis," she greeted. "I'm very busy, so let's skip the pleasantries. What horrible deed did my son do this time?"

"It's a serious matter, Doctor Zoe," he answered in a grave tone. "Your son got into a fight."

"A fight?" Hange gasped. "Is he hurt?"

"Just a few scratches. But you must come to my office. I want to talk with you about boy's behavior. And no," he added. "We can't do it over the phone. The other boy's father will come too."

"Fine," and just like that, Hange was brought back to her high school years. Shadis was her teacher too and used to scold her all the time. She was young and dumb then, and used to admire him. A lot. Thankfully, those days were long gone, and now she could see that Keith Shadis she respected so much was pretty incompetent at his job. He couldn't even handle her son, for crying out loud. "I'll come as soon as I can," she promised and hung up.

"Moblit!" she called, taking off the protective goggles.

"Yes?" his sandy blond head appeared in the doorway almost immediately. "Do you need something?"

"I need to go," Hange sighed, staring longingly at the mouse. "Can you finish the dissection for me?"

"Sure," Moblit nodded. "Is everything alright? You never leave early."

Hange rubbed her temples, showing Moblit a tired smile. "Jean got into a fight. Now his teacher wants to talk with me."

"A fight?" Moblit's eyes widened. "Did he get hurt?"

"Shadis says it's nothing serious, but I still need to go. Can you cover for me?"

"Of course! I'll take care of everything, don't worry. Just make sure that Jean is alright."

"Thank you, Moblit," passing him by, Hange briefly squeezed his shoulder. "Text me, if you need anything."

*** "Erwin?" Levi knocked at the door to his boss' office. "Do you have a moment?"

Erwin looked up from his computer screen to stare at Levi. "Sure," he shrugged. "Something happened?"

"Eren got into another fight," Levi scowled, plucking his lips in disgust. "And now his idiotic teacher wants to have a talk with me."

"A fight?" Erwin frowned. "Is Eren doing fine?"

"Nothing too serious, but I need to go now. Can I leave earlier?"

"No problem," Erwin assured. "But Levi?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't scare the teacher too much," he said with a grin. “And don’t terrorise the other kid!”

Levi rolled his eyes. "Fuck off," he flipped Erwin off and then left the office.

***

Hange threw the school's door open, storming inside. She hurried up the stairs, furious and enraged. She would show Shadis and the parent of that kid why no one could ever mess with her and especially her—

Son.

Stepping onto the needed floor, Hange's eyes instant locked onto a small boy. Jean was sitting on a bench beside the classroom, holding an ice pack to his face.

Looking at his miserable face, Hange's heart fell. She rushed to his side, falling to her knees in front of him.

"Jean?" she pressed him to her chest, rocking him slightly. "Jean, baby, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Jean pushed her away. "It doesn't hurt, really."

Good thing, Hange noted mentally. If Jean was acting embarrassed of her affection, then he wasn't that badly hurt.

"Still," she insisted. "Let me see."

Carefully and gently, she took away the ice pack. Jean's cheek was swollen and slightly blue, but nothing serious.

"Does it look too ugly?" Jean whispered.

"Not at all," Hange smiled encouragingly. "You look like a real badass right now."

Jean grinned widely and Hange chuckled, ruffling his hair.

"Why the hell are you wearing a lab coat?" spoke a low, monotone voice.

Instinctively, Hange looked down at herself. And then shrieked, jumping back from Jean.

"Oh, god, I probably forgot to take it off when I was leaving the lab! Jean, honey, wait a second, you know I work with dangerous chemicals!"

Hange hastily shrugged off her jacket and then the lab coat, throwing it out in the nearest trash can.

"There!" she breathed out a sigh of relief, plopping down to sit next to Jean. "The crisis has been averted!"

"Will the kid be alright?" the man asked. Hange finally turned to look at him, the man was sitting on the other side of the hallway, next to another boy Jean's age. Hange squinted, getting a better look at the pair. The man was short, but well-build, his face could even be called handsome, if he wasn't scowling so much. Hange then shifted her gaze to a boy—and squealed in delight.

"Eren!" she approached the kid, clasping him on a shoulder. "So you're another troublemaker, huh?"

“I guess,” he shrugged. “I’m sorry for—” he awkwardly pointed at Jean. “You know.”

“It’s fine,” Hange waved him off. “I can see that Jean has left his mark, too,” she gestured at Eren’s red cheek.

“It isn’t a laughing matter, four-eyes,” Eren’s father glowered, glaring at her. “Your son punched mine.”

“Dad—” Eren whispered urgently, tugging at his sleeve. “Don’t.”

“They’re children,” Hange waved him off with a careless smile. “They don’t know better yet. A little fight is nothing.”

“Maybe, it is nothing,” he agreed, although his gaze remained cold. “For the reckless parents like you.”

“Reckless?!” Hange’s eye widened. “Just what are you implying—”

She was interrupted by the sound of the opened door.

“Doctor Zoe! Mr. Ackerman!” Shadis called. “Please, come to my office. Your children can wait outside.”

Hange sent a seething glare at Mr. Ackerman, and then returned to Jean, crouching down to pull him into another hug.

“It won’t take too long, okay?” she smiled softly at him. “And then I’ll treat you to an ice-cream, deal?”

“Deal!” Jean nodded, leaning in to peck her on the cheek. “Good luck.”

“Your teacher doesn’t scare me,” Hange chuckled. Her eyes went dark, as she saw that Eren’s father was already inside. “And neither does this shorty.”

***

When Hange sat down on the chair next to the annoying midget, she suddenly felt like she wasn't a grown-up and a parent. Instead she felt like a child, who was going to be scolded by a strict teacher.

"I'm sure you two know why I asked you to come here," Shadis put his hands on a table and looked at them with a serious face.

"Of course," the shorty answered. "We're here because her child," he pointed at Hange. "Doesn't know how to talk with his peers."

"My child doesn't know how to talk? It's your son, who punched mine!"

Eren was a nice kid, really, and Hange felt bad for putting the blame on him. After all, it wasn't his fault that his father was such a jerk, who got on her nerves so easily.

"We don't know if it was Eren who threw the first punch," the shorty said, his voice was still stoically calm. It pissed Hange even more.

"Actually, we do know who started the fight," Shadis interfered. "It was Eren."

Hange grinned victoriously. She barely resisted from pumping her fist in the air. Take that, shorty.

"However," Shadis raised a finger. "It was Jean who started taunting Eren."

The smile instantly slipped from her face.

"The boy is clearly a bully," the shorty scoffed. "Eren just fought back, so I don't quite understand the point of me being here. Eren did nothing wrong, her son is at fault here."

"Oi!" Hange raised her voice, glaring daggers at him. "My son is not a bully!" Sure, maybe, Jean was a bit too straightforward and outspoken sometimes. But he wasn't a bully! "It's your son who's got problems. He was the one who hit Jean! Even if Jean was making fun of him, why couldn't he resolve this with words?"

"Maybe," the shorty hissed, all of his careful composure gone. "Maybe, your son doesn't understand words. Just like you."

"And maybe your son is prone to violence!" Hange argued back. "Just like you!

"My son—"

"Enough!" Shadis slapped his hand onto the table. Hange was suddenly brought back to the time, when he used to chide her for smoking under the bleachers.

"I won't tolerate your petty squabbles in this room. For crying out loud," he rubbed tiredly at his face. "You're just as bad as your children. I don't care who was in the right, and who was in the wrong. I brought you here for another reason. It's not the first time your sons got into an argument. They're fighting constantly, sometimes during classes, and I cannot let it continue."

"Mr. Shadis?" Hange spoke quietly, feeling that she knew where this was going. "Just what are you trying to say?"

Shadis sighed. "I don't care what you do. Have a talk with them, explain why fighting is wrong, doesn't matter to me. But if I catch them arguing again, I'd have to expel them both."

"Mr. Shadis!" Hange rose from her seat. "You can't do that!"

"And I don't want to," he said sincerely. "But I have no choice. The rest is up to you. You may go now."

Walking out of the classroom, Hange ruffled her hair in frustration. Fuck, she couldn't do it right now. She was so busy with her work, she had no time to look for a new school. And Jean liked it so much here, he would be heartbroken to leave his friends behind. She should find a way to prevent this.

"Hey, four-eyes," the shorty called once they were back in the hallway.

"It's Hange," she corrected absentmindedly, trying to think of a way to tell Jean that they might need to start looking for a new school.

"I'm Levi," that got Hange's attention. She turned to look at him, curious as to what he wanted from her now. Was he going to criticize her parenting skills once again? Hange knew she wasn't the perfect parent, she worked too much and she was too soft on Jean, but she did what she could to make a good man out of him. And she wouldn’t let some stupid midget batter her for it.

"Listen, Hange," Levi started, somewhat reluctantly. "I think we've started off on the wrong foot."

Hange stared at him with wide eyes. Was he trying to apologize? She almost opened her mouth to tease him, but then changed her mind. Maybe, shorty was right. It was enough that their kids were fighting. They should act like adults.

"I shouldn't have—" he paused, clearing his throat. "I shouldn't have said all these things about you and your son. I shouldn't have called him a bully."

"I agree," Hange nodded, watching him warily. "And I shouldn't have talked about Eren so badly. He's a nice kid."

"He is," Levi agreed. "But you're right, he is a bit violent. I— I'm working on it."

"And Jean likes to make fun out of people," Hange hanged her head. "I'm also working on it."

"Maybe, we should work on it together?" Levi offered.

"Huh?" Hange frowned. "I don't quite understand."

"Well, we could," Levi turned his gaze away, deliberately avoiding her eyes. "We could get a coffee or something. Buy kids some ice-cream, take them to the park."

"Oh."

"I don't think it'd be that easy to make Eren understand that punching people is bad, he's not that good at controlling his emotions, and I can't afford to find another school right now, so," Levi adjusted his tie and then looked up at Hange, his expression open and earnest. For some reason, Hange found his nervousness endearing. Maybe, he wasn't that much of an asshole after all. "Maybe, we can make them become friends?"

"Let's try," Hange agreed, smiling at him.

*** "It looks like they're starting to get along," Hange noted. She and Levi were sitting on a bench in the park, watching the kids chase each other around the playground.

"It's the ice-cream," Levi said. "The sugar makes them friendlier."

“Huh,” Hange sat back on a bench, straightening her long legs. "I should invest in more candies then."

"Thank you," Levi blurted out. "F-for taking me up on my offer. I know I was an asshole to you—"

"Levi," Hange softly patted his arm. "You've apologized already. I wasn't on my best behavior either."

"Still," Levi pressed. "I— we've changed three schools already and I don't know if I can find another one right now. Eren is a good kid. He really is," he repeated, clenching his jaw. "But— like you've said. He's got some anger management issues."

"He's just a kid," Hange comforted him. "He'll grow out of it, don't worry."

"You think he will?"

"Well, I did."

Levi raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Are you saying that—"

"I've been just like Eren before," she confirmed. "Too quick to anger and not knowing how to let it out. All teachers hated me," Hange chuckled. "The only one who could calm me down was Shadis."

"Shadis?" Levi's eyebrows went higher, well above his hairline. "That bald, constipated looking idiot, who teaches my son?"

"He was my teacher in high school. I guess he switched to elementary school since then. But he was quite fierce back in his days," Hange grinned. "had hair too!"

"Four-eyes, don't tell me..."

"I was young," she shrugged. "Easily impressed too."

Levi shook his head. "I can't believe you had a crush on Shadis."

Hange's eyes widened, as she saw a small smile on Levi's lips. Like that, he looked even more handsome. She quickly turned away, flustered.

"Getting back to Eren's problem," Hange kept her gaze fixated on Eren and Jean, who were climbing up the slide. "If you want, I can talk to him, give him some advice how to deal with his frustration or something."

"Thank you," Levi said softly, and, for some reason, Hange's pulse quickened. Just what was going on with her? "And, since you're such a busy person that you don't have the time to even take off your lab coat—"

"I was in a hurry!" Hange exclaimed with offended expression. Seeing a smirk on Levi's face, however, she couldn’t help but grin back at him.

"Well, if you ever need help, someone to look after Jean or something, you can always give me a call."

“Oh.” Hange’s treacherous heart skipped another beat. “It means a lot, thank you. But wouldn’t your—” she glanced down, looking at Levi’s left hand. There was nothing - not a spouse then. “Wouldn’t your partner mind?”

“My partner?” Levi frowned. “What are you talking about? Eren and I live alone.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It’s fine,” Levi sighed. “Eren’s adopted, I’ve been raising him on my own all this time, so stop fretting, you didn’t bring up bad memories or some shit.”

“Oh,” Hange wiped her forehead, relieved.

“And what about Jean’s—“ Levi made a vague gesture and paused, not knowing how to continue. “Does he have—”

“He only has me,” she smiled. “His father, um, let’s just say that he’s out of picture.”

“Oh good,” Levi breathed. A second later, he caught himself and stared at Hange with wide eyes. “I-I didn’t mean it like that! I was just—” he spurted, tripping over his words. Hange watched him with amused expression.

“I get it,” she chuckled. “Believe me, I’m glad about it too.”

“Raising the kid on your own, though…” Levi mused. “It gets hard sometimes, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Hange agreed. “But I wouldn’t have traded it for the world.”

“I know the feeling,” he murmured. “Sometimes I get so frustrated, so exhausted, but one smile from Eren, and I know that it’s all worth it.”

“Aww,” Hange punched his arm, grinning widely. “You’re secretly a softie!”

“Shut up,” Levi scowled. “Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Sorry, sorry,” she raised her hands, placating him. “But today’s been nice. I don’t have any friends with kids, so it’s cool to talk to someone, who understands.”

“Are you saying we’re friends, four-eyes?”

“Well,” Hange tilted her head, smiling softly at Levi. “Our children are getting along already,” she pointed at Eren, who was pushing Jean on a swing. “Why shouldn’t we be friends too?”

“Huh,” Levi shifted his gaze, staring at the two boys fondly. “Your idea… doesn’t sound so bad.”

“Yay!” Hange pulled him for a quick hug. Surprisingly, Levi didn’t even protest.

***

"So," Hange asked after she and Jean had settled on a coach in front of TV for the evening episode of Doctor Who. "Did you like hanging out with Eren?"

"It was fine. When Eren's not screaming like an idiot, he's not so bad," Jean said with a rueful grin. A second later, though, his expression changed. He looked at Hange with unusual seriousness, nervously picking at his sleeve. "Mr. Shadis wants to expel me, right? For always getting into trouble?"

"Honey," Hange wrapped her hands around him. "No one will expel you."

"Then why did you come to school today? Why did you bring me out to play with Eren?"

Damn his perception, Hange thought bitterly. She desperately tried to come up with a sound explanation.

"I came to school because I was worried that you were hurt," well, that part was true. "And we visited park with Eren and his dad, because I wanted to get to know him better."

"Eugh," Jean made a face. "You like him?"

"You don't?"

"He's weird. And his face is scary."

"It's just a facade," Hange grinned, patting Jean's hair. "He's actually very kind."

"Eren said the same thing," Jean reluctantly agreed. "I guess I'll see it for myself soon. Since you want to spend more time with him."

"I don't—" Hange tried to defend herself, but then she noticed a smirk on Jean's face. He saw right through her. She shook her head. "Let's just watch TV."

***

"Hey," Jean called when the final credits started to play. "If you start dating Eren's father, does it mean that I'll become Eren’s brother?"

"Jean!" Hange chided sternly, mustering all of her seriousness. She couldn't let her son see just how embarrassed his words made her feel. "I don't know what you're talking about. I'm not going to date Eren's father."

"Ah," Jean yawned. "So you're saying I still have some time to become friends with Eren. That's good."

Hange stared at him helplessly, feeling a smile tug at her lips. It was hard to deal with Jean sometimes. She still loved him more than anything.

***

"Did you like playing with Jean today?" Levi inquired, while he was tucking Eren in. "Was he—"

"He was okay. Not as much of a jerk as he usually is. By the way," Eren's lips curved into a smile and a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. Levi sighed ever so slightly, this expression couldn't mean anything good. "Did you like talking with Hange?"

"It was okay," he repeated his son's words, trying to keep a straight face. Truth be told, Hange was more than just okay. Levi couldn't remember the last time he had so much fun.

"Hange is awesome!" Eren exclaimed. "Remember the science fair? She was the one who taught us how to make slime!"

Levi closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run down his spine, as he remembered that horrific thing. So that's who was to blame. He needed to come up with a way to make four-eyes pay for this.

"Hange is alright, now go to sleep, Eren."

"A-ah," Eren stubbornly shook his head. "Hange isn't just alright! I saw you smile today!" he exclaimed, pointing at Levi's lips.

"You're wrong," Levi protested instantly.

"Nope. I saw it clear as day. I turned to look at you, but you weren't looking back. You were looking at Hange," Eren teased. "And there was a smile on your face."

"It was a face spasm."

"Don't deny it, dad," Eren's bright eyes bored into him. "You like Hange. I like Hange too," he mumbled sleepily, his eyes slowly closing. "If you like her so much, I'm even ready to tolerate Jean."

"Go to sleep," Levi whispered softly. He waited for Eren to close his eyes and then leaned in, kissing him on a forehead.

Maybe, his son was right. Raising a kid was hard as hell. Maybe, he should find someone to share that burden with.

#that is the most self-indulgent fic i've ever written!#in my defense hange and levi as parents are cute af #levihan #levi x hanji #levi ackerman #hange zoe #eren yeager #jean kirstein #snk #snk levihan #rivahan

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d4rkwr1t3s · 3 years

Text

Ticking Time

Ships: Prinxiety, maybe platonic/mentioned romantic Dukexiety, mentioned other ships

Trigger Warnings: Apathy!Roman, a few innuendos, talk of gore, suicidal thoughts, depressive states, talk of bodily fluids (by Remus)

Roman had enough with everything. His ideas weren’t cutting it. Everything he knew had been tilted on its axis over and over. He was silenced quite often and made fun of. He had to apologize to everyone but no one had to apologize to him. He sighed and placed his head in his arms.

Everyone had just assumed he had hit a creative block and he had to some extent. Nothing felt interesting or good enough anymore. The once vibrant red of his sash was now a muted grey. Usually, he would be upset by that but now he just felt nothing, numb. He looked over at the door to the imagination. It wasn’t just his but it was better than his slowly greying room. There it would be bright. Didn’t Logan say something about sunlight helping with depression? He couldn’t remember and he could feel himself caring less and less about it. He stood from his desk and stepped into the imagination.

Usually even just stepping inside made him feel better. Usually his horse Merida was there to greet him. There was nothing vibrant or lifelike in his realm. The forest was alive as usual with Remus’ creatures. Each creature curses and spits at seeing him. Right, they’d get out eventually. Why didn’t he care though? The people weren’t real. There wasn’t even anyone there to protect anyway. The streets were barren and there were no bright colors in what he created. There were no decorations for some sort of festival. The town’s buildings were crumbling and slowly wasting away to become nothing but rubble. Even the castle seemed in ruins but not from a war, from time.

Roman stepped inside and the doors shut behind him firmly. He sighed at it and looked up at the tapestry behind the throne. It seemed faded and the picture was no longer decipherable. He sits at the throne and lounges a moment. He listens to the creaking, breaking, dripping. His head hits the back of the throne but no sound escapes him. He looks to the side with a heavy breath. He feels like he’s drowning but there was nothing there. He didn’t feel panicked though. He felt strangely calm. Did it just feel like a suffocating hug? Roman couldn’t tell. He moved his hand in a circle to conjure something but nothing appeared. He looked up once more before he felt the gentle dripping of water. He put a hand to his face and wiped some tears away. Why was he crying? He wasn’t sad. He wasn’t feeling anything really. The tears didn’t even make it to the ground, blowing away as ash after it left his face.

He just sat on his throne and looked out across the empty throne room. It wasn’t comforting but it wasn’t haunting him either. It was a weird place to be. He looked up at the timer on the castle wall. It started and was just going up, ah, that’s what it was for. He hoped he could get out of this alone but he highly doubted it. He glances again at the clock. How long would it take for the others to notice? A day? A few days? A week? He highly doubted it but he didn’t hope for any less.

~~~~~~~~~~

A week had passed and no one had heard from Roman at all. While this wasn’t too much of a surprise considering his romps in the imagination, it was odd that no one was told, and that there was no influence by Roman. Every idea Thomas seemed to have came from Remus. Patton and Virgil had been working overtime to keep Thomas from actually streaking through his neighborhood, or hitting his friends with the fake morning star, or even doing dangerous stunts. Some were a bit more concerned than others but it was taking a toll on everyone. There were no new videos since all ideas came from a less than spectacular source.

Virgil sighed heavily with his headphones blasting his playlist. Where the hell was Roman? He grunted at a sudden pressure on his stomach and peeled his eyes open to see who it was. He groaned when meeting a certain side’s eyes. “Remus,” he groaned out, “get off.” “No thanks! I know you feel it too!” “Feel what you insufferable prick?” “Oooh, nice one but sadly I’m not talking about a boner this time.” “Gross. Get off.” “No. You know something’s wrong too.” “I always feel like something’s wrong. Now get off!” Virgil moved to throw him off which barely even budged Remus an inch.

“Just look!” Remus pulled out a clock in a circling green and grey pattern.

Virgil looked at it with confusion, “uh-huh? What about it? It’s a clock? It’s the wrong time but nothing seems off about it.” “That’s the thing! Ever since the split it’s been red and green and broken. Now it’s green and grey and working. Something’s off with Robro and you’re the only one in this stuffy pile of horse shit that gives a shit. Some-” “Stopping you right there,” Virgil cut him off with a look of disgust before he shook his head, “even if there was something wrong Roman’s door is locked.” “Oh? Little bat tried to sneak in?” Remus teased, “gonna grab something to-” “Oh shut up. No,” Virgil's face still heat up at the implications, “what about your side?” “Haven’t been,” Remus shrugged, “besides it’s crawling with nightmares.” “I know that much but can we get over?” “Probably. Especially if something happened to the prince himself.”

“Okay. So can we go?” He questioned while he motioned for Remus to get off. “Yeah. We can go. If you’re ready to face some of your worst nightmares,” Remus teased him again with a grin. “Oh fuck off,” Virgil shoved him off this time and got up, “let’s go before this gets any worse.” “Ugh fine. You’re no fun anymore,” Remus pouted again but got back up and shook himself down before he grabbed Virgil and threw him over his shoulder. “Remus!” Virgil yelped and struggled in his grip. “Off we go to the piss-yellow road!” Remus cackled as Virgil groaned.

~~~~~~~~~

“Will you put me down now?” Virgil asked from his place on Remus’ shoulder. They had been walking for a little while and his stomach had started to get sore.

“Mhhhh nope!” Remus replied cheerfully while he shifted Virgil’s position.

“Why not? Your shoulder is not comfortable and I can’t fight like this.” “That’s the point! We don’t need to fight right now. As long as you’re attached to me you’re fine. I’ll put ya down when we get to Roman’s side.” “Which is how much longer?” “Not too long.”

“Very reassuring,” Virgil spat out sarcastically before sighing and just got comfortable. Remus hummed a sea shanty under his breath as he walked.

A little while later Remus stepped into the meadow right near the border with a whisper of, “wow.” “What? I can’t see.” “Look down.” “What?” “Look down.” Virgil sighs but looks down at the grey dying grass, “holy shit.” “I know,” Remus shifted to let Virgil down, “that’s not a good sign. We gotta hurry and look out for falling crumbling rubble and of course my little nightmares,” Remus grinned.

“Of course. It can never be that easy,” Virgil huffed and stepped to bolt into the kingdom. Remus not too far behind him with his morning star at attention.

~~~~~~~~~

“Next time,” Virgil panted, “just tell your nightmares to fuck off.” “But this was so much more fun!” Remus chirped with his morning star on his shoulder.

“Ugh,” He doubled over for a moment before standing straight up again and walks into the castle with another groan, “you’ve got to be kidding me!”

Remus cackled at the thorns, “sleeping beauty? Where’s the dragon?” Just as Remus uttered those words the ground started to rumble. Virgil glared at him, “you just had to open your fat mouth!” “Well I open it for-” “Don’t you dare finish that statement,” he snarled and dashed towards the left where there were fewer thorns for him to cut through, “you can deal with whatever that is!”

“Fair enough!” Remus cackled and turned to go outside where there was a thundering roar.

Virgil huffed and cut his way to Roman’s room in the castle where he was not. He sighed, “okay einstein, where would he be?”

He started checking all of the rooms he passed with no luck in finding Roman. He walked back to the throne room, or thorn room now. Virgil looked over where the thorns were the thickest, around the throne. It was quiet inside aside from the ticking of a clock. A clock? He looked around for it and found it at the top of the tower of thorns before it flattened to create a ceiling. Could he be up there? Virgil looked for any sign he was up there but finds nothing. He sighed heavily before a glint to the side caught his eye. On the throne was a figure of stone but the glint of a sword at the statue’s side lured him closer. He hissed in pain when a throne vine grabbed his wrist. Virgil cut the vine and continued trudging forward to the statue. The thorn vines continued to slice at him even as he cut them down. He was panting once more when he got to the thorn column. Virgil raised his weapon to carefully slice through the column. He reached his hand through the incision he made and barely brushed his fingers against the statue’s. He couldn’t see the statue’s face but he could see the sleeve, “Roman…” The statue didn’t move, of course. Virgil cursed under his breath and forced his body through the column even if it caused the thorns to drag across his body. He made a small noise of surprise when he fell into Roman’s lap. He took a breath before pressing a soft kiss to the edge of Roman’s mouth. Virgil laughed softly when it didn’t work, “of course. This isn’t a fairytale. I can’t just magically make it better for you. I wish you had talked to me or even someone else. I want to help. You helped me so much and I should’ve checked on you. I went through hell to get here Roman. Please come back to us…” He sighed and moved to get up from where he was, “I’m sorry we didn’t protect you, Roman.” Virgil shook his head as he swallowed the lump in his throat and turned to leave and tell Remus he failed. He jumped as a weight was pressed to his back and arms wrapped around his waist. “V?” Came the weak and rough question. “Roman!” Virgil turned to hug him tightly even if it caused him to wince, “you’re okay. I got you.” “I’m tired,” he mumbled into Virgil’s chest. “Alright princey. Let’s get you home, okay?” “Mhm,” Roman’s breathing was slow and even which made Virgil chuckle before picking him up. “Rest now princey. I’m not going anywhere,” he reassures but Roman was already asleep. The ticking had stopped as Virgil walked out of the castle and back to Roman’s room.

#prinxiety #platonic dukexiety #remus sanders #dark creati #roman sanders #creativity sanders #virgil sanders #anxiety sanders

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supernaturalfreewill · 4 years

Photo

Words: 5,103 Gabriel x Reader Warnings: none! A/N: This is part of a series! Read Part 1 first!

Your name: submit What is this?

The first door standing open down the long hallway was obviously your bedroom, and Gabriel wasn’t shy about stepping inside. At first, he simply stood in the center and glanced around eagerly, bouncing a little on his feet as he surveyed the space.

Cas followed him in much more tentatively, but curious as to what his purpose was.

“This is it, huh?” He strolled over to the small desk in one corner and picked up an open notebook and some loose papers, studying them closely. Apparently, nothing there really held his interest because he abandoned them quickly and started sliding open desk drawers.

“This is—I think this is what humans would call an ‘invasion of privacy,’” Cas said.

“Gabriel, I really don’t think you should—” Cas tried to argue, but the archangel simply shushed him and opened the cover. He ran his fingers over your handwriting—the impressions were deep on the page and he liked the slanting, hurried cursive. “Ghouls in Minnesota, Vampire in New York, Werewolf in Arkansas… This is nothing but hunting notes,” he said with disappointment, flipping through the pages.

“What did you expect?” Cas asked him.

“Something with a little more insight into who Y/N is, perhaps,” Gabriel said, shutting and typing the journal closed again and replacing it in the false bottom of your drawer, kicking it closed with his boot. “Hopes, dreams, roots, deepest secrets… that sort of thing,” he said.

Cas’s brow drew down low over his eyes again. “Knowing Y/N, I seriously doubt you will find any of that in writing in here…”

“Well, that’s just wishful thinking. Best case scenario. I will just have to get creative,” he said. Gabriel spun and looked at the small bedside table. There was a novel sitting on it and he grabbed it, opening it to the bookmark. “Y/N is an avid reader, hmm?” he said, more to himself than to Cas. “This is an ambitious read.” He studied the bookmark which was a folded piece of paper. When he opened it, it was a printed photo of you, Sam and Dean, and Cas. Sam had his arm draped over your shoulders and all of you were smiling for once. Gabriel stared at it for a long moment and Cas watched his expression soften into a thoughtful, faraway look. Finally, he folded it up again gently and replaced it in the novel, leaving it on your side table just the way he had found it.

Next, Gabriel went over to the dresser and glanced at Cas with a smirk on his face. “You know, it’s strange but most humans keep their delicate underthings in the exact same place—top drawer—” he said, grasping the handle.

Cas slammed his hand into the drawer keeping it closed and Gabriel looked at him in surprise. “I really think you’ve done enough spying.” Cas’s voice and expression were stern now, but it only elicited a mischievous glint in Gabriel’s golden eyes.

“Spying? I’m just trying to get to know this Y/N better,” Gabriel argued, doing his best to sound innocent. “I mean, so far all I know is she’s related to the two meatheads and hangs around with you. And, though it may be a surprise to you, that doesn’t actually tell me anything I’d like to know.”

“If you want to get to know her, why don’t you just go visit her now? Or wait and meet her when she’s back.”

Gabriel gave Cas a skeptical look. “Oh, yes. I’m sure Sam and Dean will have no problem with me sniffing around their Baby Sister. They’re not known to be particularly suspicious or protective.” His tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Especially after all those Dead Dean Days…”

Cas grimaced a little at the thought. “Well… you also saved them by facing Lucifer. They will not have forgotten that. You redeemed yourself, at least in part,” Cas said, tilting his head in his familiar habit.

The archangel looked surprisingly uncomfortable with Cas’s sincerity. “Fine. Enough snooping. Come on, brother,” he said, laying a heavy hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a drink and you can tell me all about losing your grace and what mortality feels like.”

Cas frowned, but he didn’t object. He was glad just to get Gabriel out of your room…

_ _ _ _ _ _

Several weeks later

You leaned your head back on the pillows and let out a frustrated groan. “UGH! Where is this doctor?!” you demanded.

Sam gave you a look. “I’m sure he’s on his way,” he said gently, trying to placate you.

You threw off your blankets and climbed out of the hospital bed onto your feet, moving a little hunched over as you rolled your IV stand with you.

“Whoa, whoa! Hey!” Dean jumped up and stopped you. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I can’t stay in that bed another minute or I’m gonna lose it!”

“We’re not even sure if you’re going to get released today, so you might as well get used to the idea that you may have to stay in that bed for a couple more days,” he retorted. “So, get back in bed!”

You vehemently pointed a finger in his face. “HEY. You’re not my doctor! You don’t get to boss me around!”

Dean drew himself up to his full height and gave you a severe look.

You didn’t waver. “I’m not scared of you!”

This drew a laugh from Sam and when you glanced over he was shaking his head. “Y/N, please just at least sit down. I’m sure the doctor—”

“—is in!” As if on cue your doctor strolled through the door, you chart in his hand. He gave you a big smile. “Alright, Y/N. Hop back up on the bed again, would you? Let’s see how you’re doing.”

He hadn’t even examined your incision yet and the words were spilling out of you. “Can I go home today?” you asked urgently.

This elicited a laugh from him and he gave you an appraising look. “As soon as I know, you’ll know,” he said diplomatically.

You tried to be a good patient and sit perfectly still as he checked your incision but you couldn’t help fidgeting and chewing your bottom lip. The doctor straightened back up and crossed his arms. “Well, no sign of infection. Incision seems to be healing nicely, so—” “YES!” you exclaimed.

“SO,” he continued through a smile, “I’m going to release you but with very strict instructions. I need you to really hear me right now, Y/N. Okay?”

You nodded eagerly. “Yes. I’m listening.”

“NO lifting anything heavier than a few pounds—you know what, no lifting anything, okay? Absolutes seem safer with you. And you are NOT to be doing anything physical for 3 more weeks, at which time you can start with some easy physical activity. Long walks, some stretching, that kind of stuff. And you will need to get another post-op check-up around then too.”

You nodded. “Okay. I got it.”

“Now, your brothers here ARE now in charge since I can’t be there to keep you in line,” he said, a knowing smile on his face. He must have overheard you and Dean from the hallway.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you argued.

“I’m not kidding. You need to let them take care of you. And you two,” he said, pointing at Sam and Dean in turn, “need to make sure she rests.”

A gruff laugh escaped Dean. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” the doctor said. “I’ve been dealing with her for only about a month. You two have been dealing with her for a lifetime,” he joked, shooting you a glance.

“I’m right here, you know!” you burst out. “I can hear everything you’re saying!”

The doctor laughed and held out a hand to you. “Y/N, it’s been a pleasure to watch you recover. Now be well, and rest.”

This time you didn’t have anything snarky to say and just grasped his hand in yours and shook it. “Thank you. For… not letting me die and stuff.”

He laughed and shook his head. “You’re welcome. Gentleman,” he turned to Sam and Dean who both shook his hand and thanked him repeatedly. “The nurse will be in shortly to take care of that IV and check you out. Take care.”

You watched him go with a triumphant smile on your face. Sam and Dean both looked a little anxious, however. “Oh, come on, guys! He said I’m fine. We can go home!”

“You heard the doctor though. Seriously, Y/N. You’re on house arrest,” Dean said forcefully.

“Whatever. I don’t even care. Just get me out of here,” you said climbing down to your feet again. Soon a nurse came in and removed your IV. You kicked Sam and Dean out of the room so you could change out of your hospital gown for the first time in what felt like years. Another few minutes and you were stepping into the hallway, a huge grin on your face.

Sam shouldered your bag and gave you an appraising look. “You alright?” You were still a little hunched over. Straightening up completely still made you sore.

“I’m great,” you said. “Look! I’m wearing actual clothes!” You glanced down at the sweatpants and t-shirt you had pulled on. “Sort of.”

Dean couldn’t help smiling at you fondly while shaking his head. “You sure you don’t want me to go grab a wheelchair? It’s a bit of a walk.”

You scowled at him.

“I’m being serious, Y/N,” Dean said, the gravel in his voice deepening. “You’ve only done short walks around the floor.”

“There is no way in hell you’re getting me in a wheelchair.”

You managed to make it out to the Impala, though Dean had insisted on driving right up to the exit to pick you up. You slid into the back seat and sighed. “Oh, I missed you, Baby,” you said out loud, sinking in to the familiar seat and breathing in that particular smell that always made you remember road trips and hunts and late-night cheeseburgers.

Dean smiled at you in the rearview mirror. He lowered his voice and turned to Sam. “You talk to Cas?” he asked in an undertone.

“No. It still just keeps going straight to voicemail,” Sam said. “But he texted me again… to explain the origins of pineapple,” Sam said, a tight smile on his face. “It took like 30 texts.”

“What the hell is going on with him? He’s been weirder than usual.”

“Well, he has been trapped at the bunker alone for kind of a long time…” Sam said.

“He could have talked with us if he would ever answer his goddamn phone,” Dean countered, turning onto the highway. “Maybe he’s finally cracked.”

“Who?” you asked, leaning forward and resting your hands on the back of the front seat.

“Nobody,” Dean said. You scoffed.

“That’s convincing…” you said under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Why don’t you just focus on getting all healed up and let Sammy and me worry about everything else, alright?”

“You know, it’s weird, but my cells do that part pretty much on their own. It doesn’t require much conscious thought on my part. So, if someone has cracked—”

“Nobody’s cracked,” Dean said gruffly, hands steady on the wheel.

“You just said—"

“I just said nothing for you to worry about,” Dean said finally.

You let out a frustrated growl and changed tactics. “Fine. I’ll change the subject,” you said smugly.

“Thank you…”

“Any news on Gabriel?” you asked loudly, sinking back into your seat comfortably.

There was a long, silent pause from the front seat and you could see that Dean’s grip on the steering wheel had tightened.

Sam turned partially around, one arm on the seat back and looked at you. “You know there isn’t.” “No, I don’t know that. You two are obviously keeping something from me, so I think it is fair to assume you’re keeping other stuff from me too.”

“We really don’t know anything about Gabriel,” Sam said, sincerity written all over his face.

You chewed your bottom lip anxiously. Sam took in your expression. “Have you—seen him again?” he asked.

“No. No, nothing like that but since that happened, I just have this feeling—he said we would be seeing each other again and it’s like, in my core, I know that’s true.” You looked up and caught Sam’s eyes, they were steady on your face and narrowed slightly in concern. “I know that doesn’t make any sense and I know you and Dean said he’s gone but it’s such a strong feeling. I don’t really know how to explain it.”

“I believe you,” Sam said. “For now, I guess we just have to wait…”

Many hours later, Dean finally pulled the Impala into the underground garage at the bunker and opened the door for you. Inside, an archangel and a graceless angel perked up as they heard noise in the garage. Cas shot upright and glanced over at Gabriel, who only smiled serenely back at him.

“Showtime!”

Cas gave him an apprehensive look and started off in the direction of the garage immediately. Gabriel followed, but at a leisurely pace, seemingly completely unconcerned.

But Cas didn’t know that this was mostly an act. There was a strange sensation in Gabriel’s chest and it was growing the closer he came to the moment when he would see you—meet you—for real this time, not in some mind dreamscape. He couldn’t even explain to himself why but he felt that this moment was going to change everything for him in some way—he knew no reason why that would be true. He had been fascinated with you since he first became aware again and had been thrust into some role connected with you… but he had this feeling, like a heavy block of cement in the middle of his chest sitting on top of his heart which was maddening in its oddity. It was like expectation and something more had solidified and despite all his trying he couldn’t shift it.

Dean pushed through the door into the bunker trailed closely by you, and then Sam hauling your bag and his own. “Cas?!” Dean roared. “Are you alive in here?”

Cas came hurrying around a corner in the hallway and his expression stopped all of you dead in your tracks. His blue eyes were wide and his face was quite pale, further making the shocking blue stand out.

“…what’s going on?” Dean asked. He was immediately reaching for his pistol.

“Don’t panic, but there’s someone here—”

“How is that supposed to make me not panic?!”

“Cas, do I need to get Y/N out of here?” Sam demanded over your shoulder, already trying to move around you to shield you protectively.

You were surprisingly quiet and Dean looked over his shoulder at you. Your heart was pounding in your chest. “Cas, who is it?” you asked quietly.

He only swallowed at the tightness in his throat and opened his mouth to offer some kind of explanation, but no sound came out. You felt like you didn’t really need him to answer anyway. You already knew.

“It’s him, isn’t it?”

A second figure now came around the corner and Dean dropped his duffel bag where he stood, his fists clenched.

“Welcome home, Winchester Clan!” Gabriel said cheerfully, his arms spread wide.

There was just a stretch of tense silence between all of you which the archangel finally broke again. “Dean, if you wouldn’t mind just stepping a liiiittle bit to your right so I can—”

“What the hell are you doing here? How are you here?!” Dean demanded, his jaw tensing.

“That’s how you want to start this?” Gabriel asked, a grimace on his face. “Come on, Dean. I’m here to help. I’m not here to kill you over and over again. Not this time. I promise. Scout’s honor.” He made a small cross over his heart with one finger. Gabriel tilted his head, trying to look around Dean to get a better view of you, but it wasn’t necessary because the next moment you stepped around him slowly.

He couldn’t help the small smile that grew on his face. You found the golden light in his eyes staggering, just as you remembered it from your vision.

“…you,” was all you could get out. Sam and Dean exchanged a tense glance.

He bounced a little on the balls of his feet and slipped his hands into his pockets, actually the result of nerves, but he was hoping it just made him look nonchalant and nonplussed. “Me.”

“You’re—but you’re… What are you doing here?” you asked quietly.

“I told you we’d be seeing each other again, didn’t I? You didn’t believe me?” he asked, cocking one eyebrow at you. You didn’t answer, just peered at him intensely.

He inclined his chin a little as he studied you. “Here—” he said. He moved around Cas and started toward you but was immediately met with loud yells and threats from the Sam and Dean causing him to stop abruptly and raise his hands, palms out. “Guys, guys, guys! Would you two just chill? Really! After all we’ve been through… I’d like to heal what’s left of that nasty gunshot wound if Y/N will let me. Or are you opposed to that? Because she’s in a lot more pain than she’s letting on. I’m guessing she’s hiding it so you two won’t go all crazy protective over her for the rest of her life.”

“No, I’m not!” you argued. Gabriel gave you a skeptical look.

“I can feel it,” he said. When he spoke those words there was something almost desperate in them. “Let me heal you. Please.”

You swallowed hard at the nervous lump in your throat and stepped around Dean again, giving him a small glance. “It’s okay,” you said.

Gabriel stopped right in front of you and gently touched two fingers to your forehead.

You straightened up immediately and breathed in a deep breath, completely filling your lungs, something you hadn’t been able to do without pangs of pain since you’d been shot. Your shoulders relaxed and you gave him a grateful but perplexed look. “Thanks.”

“Welcome home,” he said again, but this time it was quiet, like it was only for your ears. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over the fingertips that had just touched your skin. They felt strange, almost like the sensation when your foot falls asleep.

Dean suddenly interrupted the moment by pushing past Gabriel and heading toward the front of the bunker at high speed. Cas turned and jogged to catch up with him, wilting a little under the scowl Dean sent his way.

“Cas, you couldn’t have given us a heads up?” Dean asked angrily.

“You don’t think I tried? He broke every single phone I had and all the new ones I managed to get a hold of. And it’s not exactly like I could just fly over, is it?” he finished bitterly.

Sam stopped next to the two of them and dropped his duffel bag. “So… all those weird texts weren’t from you,” he said with sudden understanding.

Cas looked confused. “What? Weird texts? No. What weird texts?”

The Winchesters and Cas suddenly heard laughter behind them and turned to see Gabriel standing in the doorway with a satisfied smirk. Their expressions were stern.

“Oh, come on! That series of texts about the fuzzy toilet seat lid covers? The ‘bedtime thoughts’ texts? Pure genius on my part. You have to see the humor in this!” Gabriel simply watched as the muscles in their jaws twitched.

Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his chin. “Goddammit. What the hell is going on?” He turned and looked to Sam who was still just staring in Gabriel’s direction with somewhat wide eyes.

“It’s really not that complicated, Dean. I was sent back to watch out for Y/N. And that’s really all I know.”

This caused deep wrinkles in both Sam and Dean’s foreheads. “Okay, first of all, your definition of ‘not complicated’ could use some adjustment. I would say a DEAD archangel coming back to life is pretty complicated. Second, why does she need anyone more than us watching out for her?” Dean growled.

“Well, seeing as she was just shot and almost died I don’t think I need to really answer that question,” Gabriel snarked back.

Dean’s jaw and fists tensed and Cas stepped forward to put a hand on his shoulder to stop him from attempting to throttle the archangel. Gabriel only smiled serenely.

“That wasn’t their fault,” you argued, having just appeared behind Gabriel in the doorway, feeling sick again because you knew your brothers were already blaming themselves. “It could have been any one of us.”

“But it wasn’t,” Gabriel pointed out.

You looked suddenly weary. “I don’t know why we’re still talking about this at all. I’m completely fine. Better than fine now that I’m magically healed me up. I feel like there are more important things we should be discussing.”

Gabriel raised a finger, like he had a sudden idea. “You’re right. Chiefly, I need to know everything about you. Your likes, your dislikes, formative childhood experiences, deepest darkest secrets—”

You crossed your arms over your chest and were about to snark something back at the archangel but Dean beat you to it. “Alright. That’s enough!” he growled. “You were supposedly sent here to protect her, not be a total creep. You’ve just met her and you’re already trying to invade her privacy,” he said gruffly, his green eyes piercing on the angel’s face.

“Well, technically I think he already—” Cas tried to stop himself but it was too late and your eyes snapped over to Gabriel as he winced and anxiously ran a hand through his hair. Your mouth was hanging partially open and your expression was incredulous.

“What the hell did you do?” you demanded. When he didn’t answer and only shrugged vaguely, the corners of his mouth pulling down in a frown, you turned to Cas again who was doing his best to look anywhere but in your direction. “Cas… Cas! Look at me!”

Gabriel spun and locked his eyes on Cas as well. “Brother, if you know what’s good for you, you’ll be quiet…” he said through his teeth, keeping a forced smile fixed on his face.

“We all know you aren’t good at lying, Cas. Even a lie of omission. Are you really going to lie to me? After everything I’ve just been through?” You purposely tugged on his heartstrings and walked toward him so he had no choice but to glance at you as you moved closer. “Cas, I almost died. And you’re not going to tell me what this archangel who is supposedly here to watch out for me was up to?”

Gabriel shot you a look that was both a little stunned and impressed. “That’s low,” he said. You raised your eyebrows at him and then turned back to Cas again.

You could see the internal turmoil crescendoing until it finally burst out of him. “He went through some of your things in your room. I tried to stop him but—”

“Dude!” Sam exclaimed, his jaw clenching with anger. Dean shut his eyes against the rising tide of rage and his fists tightened. `

Your jaw dropped open again and you turned back to Gabriel and away from a very conflicted-looking Castiel. “What the hell!?” you demanded angrily. “Haven’t you heard of privacy? What exactly gave you the right to go through my room?”

He looked a tinge guilty for a moment before rearranging his features into a questioning expression. “Well, I think I should know a little about my charge—”

You shot a glare at him that was piercing and Gabriel felt his throat tighten. “Your charge? Let’s get one thing straight right now… I’m not your ‘charge’. You do not get to boss me around or make decisions for me.”

Gabriel tilted his head and gave you a peculiar look. “Well… strictly speaking I don’t think that’s true… You see, I’m supposed to protect you which means that I get to decide—”

You interrupted him angrily. “No. No, you don’t get to decide.” You looked at Cas and your brothers who all looked pretty unhappy about what had just played out. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.” As you started down the hall, you heard his footsteps following behind you and as you reached the door to your room you spun to face him. “What do you think you’re doing?” you demanded.

Gabriel looked around as if he was expecting you to be talking to someone other than him, but he saw no one else. “Me?”

“Yes, you.”

“I’m just doing my job. You said you’re going to bed so I’m going to watch over you and—”

You angrily bit the inside of your cheek. “No. You’re not. You can stay the hell away from me while I sleep. You’re not setting foot in my room again.”

“Oh, come on! Y/N, please. You’re not really mad about—”

You turned abruptly and slammed the door in his face. Okay, so maybe you were really mad… “You know I can just appear in your room! I’m an archangel. An oak door isn’t—” The door whipped open again and you stood there fuming.

“Go away.” Your voice was quiet but Gabriel could easily hear the anger in it and for now he decided just to back off. You slammed the door in his face again and he sighed heavily, running a hand back through his hair.

Sometime later, Cas wandered down the hall and found Gabriel sitting on the floor, his back up against the wall just beside your shut door, his legs stretched out in front of him. Gabriel looked at him as he approached.

Cas didn’t say anything, just took a seat beside the archangel on the floor, stretching his legs out in front of him and staring at his shoes. Gabriel broke the silence first. “Look how far I’ve come,” he said, his tone clearly sarcastic. “I used to lead legions and now I’ve been assigned as some kind of glorified babysitter and here I am, a fallen archangel, sitting on the floor outside her door.”

“You probably wouldn’t be sitting here on the floor if you hadn’t botched that meeting with Y/N so spectacularly,” Cas mused. To his surprise the archangel actually laughed and glanced over at him.

“Yeah, I think you’re right about that, Castiel.” Gabriel sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. “I have a tendency toward self-destructive behavior.”

“When I was an angel, I mean—with my grace, so did I,” Cas said. “Perhaps there is something about being so-called ‘immortal’ that makes us reckless with our own lives.”

Gabriel sighed again heavily. “Perhaps.”

Cas looked over at him and he could see genuine worry on his brother’s face. “Don’t worry. She’ll be fine in the morning. She’s tough. Strong. But kind-hearted. She’ll let you make up for it.” Cas fiddled with the hem of his sleeve. “I see such a mixture of Sam and Dean in her.”

This only drew Gabriel’s brow down more deeply. “That’s what I’m worried about,” he said thoughtfully. “I don’t know why I was sent to protect her, but I do know how reckless the Winchesters are with their lives. And all without a single drop of grace.”

Cas’s lips curved ever so slightly in a thoughtful smile. “Yes. But selfless.”

Gabriel glanced over at his brother and felt a pang in his heart for his graceless friend. “Do you miss your trench coat and suit?” he asked him.

Cas’s eyes lifted in surprise at the question and he glanced down at his sweatshirt, picking a piece of lint off the sleeve. “I do. But… it felt wrong wearing it somehow. Like being in a suit of armor while not on the battlefield.”

Gabriel nodded and leaned his head back against the wall. A few moments of comfortable silence passed before he broke it. “I’m sorry for being such a dick since I arrived. All the phones… all the lying… all the snooping. It’s strange to say but I had a level of-—anxiety,” he tilted his head in a question, not even entirely sure that was the right word for what he had been feeling, “about meeting Y/N. And I still messed it up.”

Cas sighed again and patted a gentle hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Tomorrow is a new day.” He climbed to his feet and looked down at the archangel, a strange sight sitting like a child on the floor during time-out. “Tomorrow. Goodnight, brother.”

#gabriel fanfics #gabe x reader #gabriel one shots #archangel #gabriel series #supernatural #spn fics #spn fanfiction

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just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi · 3 years

Text

Ingenious - Nik

CW: noncon touch (nonsexual), noncon stripping (also nonsexual) gore (description of surgery) noncon surgery, restraints, “it” as a pronoun, blood mention, muzzle,

Nik’s story starts with emotional whump, and now it’s just full on torture.

(Inspired by this ask)

Previous ~ Masterlist ~ Next

The boy’s cries might have moved a lesser man, but the Sorcerer had abandoned that path long ago. He wasn’t a sadist, found no joy in its cries of pain, but also found no sympathy. It was wasn’t human, its opinion wasn’t to be considered in the equation. A means to an end from a willing volunteer.

The sound was annoying, though.

So when the man led Nik back into the workshop, he moved to fasten the leather muzzle around the boy’s mouth. No, it wouldn’t keep it totally silent, but it would be far muted. He moved to add a blindfold as well, predicting that the boy wouldn’t be able to control its magic the entire time.

Nik was trembling, even the sight of the workshop making him sick. Too much madness etched into these walls, too much of his own blood had soaked into the pavers. It was a place of pain and torture, but he was powerless against it. He would be led back here, again and again until there was nothing left.

So he didn’t fight the muzzle, didn’t fight the blindfold that was tied tightly around his eyes. The pressure in his head climbed, pounding inside his mind. Nik hated the blindfold. Not only did it cut off any form of desperate defense he had left, it also kept him from preparing. To see what was coming. When a hand grabbed the collar of his shirt and attempted to pull it over his head, he jerked back with a muffled cry. He rammed into the solid stone table, grabbing onto it to try and understand his surroundings.

“Ah,” the Sorcerer reprimanded, grabbing Nik’s shirt again and successfully taking it. “Stop that. You know better by now.”

Nik hugged himself and shuttered as he was guided back to the table, pushed until he sat on it. You know better by now. Another part of Nik crumbled with the words. With a large hand on his shoulder, the Sorcerer made him lay down. There was a cloth of some kind laid on the table, but Nik doubted it had anything to do with his comfort.

He flinched again when the restraints clicked around his ankles, but he was right when he guessed his wrists would be next. His arms were pulled above his head and trapped by something. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself until there was the crank of gears and that something moved, stretching him. It stole his breath, strained the joints in his arms and shoulders until he was completely immobile. Squirming to try and relieve some of the force on his shoulders, Nik whined quietly. Did the Sorcerer just not realize how far he had stretched him? He couldn’t move at all.

“Shush.”

Nik swallowed. It was intentional. The Sorcerer had a plan – a plan that involved Nik being badly hurt he knew it. His breath was coming faster, heart beating against his chest. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want to be here. He had long given up the hope of ever going home, but he longed for the vivarium. For Kel. For the safety of being ignored.

The Sorcerer pressed on his chest, fingers feeling around his ribcage. Nik whimpered, confused. The vampire rarely touched him – which he was grateful for – so this was very out of the ordinary. The man was muttering things to himself, now focused on the right side of Nik’s chest.

Focused on a specific rib.

The hands disappeared, but they didn’t take Nik’s fear with them. He was panting, but he could barley get enough air. Terror was burning him from the inside out, scorching his veins and attacking his lungs.

Then there was the prick of the knife.

Nik yelped, or at least he tired to. A shallow cut slotted between his ribs, quickly mirrored by another outlining the rib that the man had been focused on earlier. Blood dripped down from the cuts, dripping onto the cloth the man had laid out to catch it.

Like he always said, waste not, want not.

A moment later, the Sorcerer laid the knife flat to slide under the skin for removal. Nik screamed and jerked, but there was no where for him to go, nothing for him to do. He was weakened in nearly every sense. He had grown dull and thin, starved of the things that were important to him. Now, he had been restrained, his only defense kept from him. The tried to beg, to plead for the man to just stop but the leather kept it incomprehensible.

The Sorcerer removed the patch of skin, setting it aside for now. Maybe forever; he wasn’t sure yet. He was no healer, no doctor or medic. He had no interest in how bodies worked or what made them tick. However, even the Sorcerer had to admit that peering inside a living thing as it breathed and writhed was fascinating. Watching the muscles in the boy’s chest contract, seeing its lungs convulse in panic.

He picked up the chisel and hammer.

Nik’s side was cold. It wasn’t supposed to be cold. His head felt light and dizzy as his mind slowly worked through the feelings, the realization that muscles that were never supposed to be exposed to air were. He could feel it; he could feel every little bit.

When the man severed the rib Nik screamed. He his throat was burning, back trying to arch away from the table. He knew, he knew it wouldn’t work, but he wasn’t in control of his magic anymore. It surged up to protect him, but was trapped by the blindfold. Pain seared his eyes, energy and magic desperately trying to escape and save him. He cried out again, rolling his head back and forth to try and dislodge the blindfold.

The Sorcerer sighed with annoyance and slipped a finger underneath the fabric to release it. No point in letting the thing hurt its eyes. Nik tried to blink the tears away, desperately trying to ignore the warm smudge the man’s finger had left on his face.

The man severed the other end of the rib from the rest of the bone structure and remove it. The creature whimpered again and finally went still. The Sorcerer tut softly as he wiped off the bone and set it aside. Again, he didn’t intend to torture the thing, but he will get what he wants.

After a moment of consideration, he choses to heal the incision and keep the section of skin. Every piece of this creature was imbued with something; had some use he could exploit. He had had wonderful success with the boy’s fear tainted blood. Men had willingly handed over their land after watching the example victim writhe in terrible pain. Incredible what a dried compound applied to the victim’s forehead could accomplish.

Right as the healing was almost complete, the boy woke with a start. Somehow, he was already sobbing again. The Sorcerer chuckled as he cleaned his hands. Such a sensitive little thing.

Nik jolted violently when the man touched his wrist. He keened, every nerve in his body alight with adrenaline and fear. But it was only to release the contraption that kept him still and exposed. As he tried to shrink back, his breath hitched. The pain was dulled from the healing, but he could feel it.

With ever breath, he could feel the missing space.

His lungs pressed against it - a horrific, nauseating feeling. There was supposed to be something there, supposed to be resistance against the organ. It had been there his entire life, every breath he had taken up until them – and it was gone. He sobbed, trying to curl up and hide away from his own body forever. But this was a pain, a reminder that he could never forget. The sobs brought no comfort, as even that action reminded him of what had been taken from him.

Truthfully, Nik didn’t remember being taken back to the vivarium. He recalled curling up under the tree, unable to climb up to his place of safety. He knew Kel had found him, nuzzling against his neck to try and console him, but he remembered very little. He slept, trying to block out the world until he could stand the feeling of his own breath.

He did remember the next time the Sorcerer walked it. He cowered away, but the soft clink of jewelry caught his attention.

The Sorcerer had cleaned and preserved the bone, carved runes of protection and power into it. Attached it to a chain and added it to the collection of charms and signals he wore around his neck. Nik felt sick, but he couldn’t tear his eyes away from it. The man noticed and smiled, gently picking it up as he crouched down to Nik’s level.

“Ingenious, isn’t it? And all thanks to you.” He reached out to rustle Nik’s hair, but the boy jerked away from the man’s hand violently. He rammed the back of his head against the trunk of a tree, and the Sorcerer laughed as he left Nik alone.

@welcome-to-the-whumpfest @as-a-matter-of-whump @thehopelessopus @luminouswhump @lonesome--hunter @pepperonyscience @insanitywishes @redstainedsocks @rippedjeansandfadeddreams @whump-me-all-night-long @susiequaz12 @mnmlover2002 @whumpeesblog @cupcakes-and-pain @geekygirl12225 @starnight-whump @jo-doe-seeking-inspo

(plz let me know if you want to be added or removed from the list!)

#whump #nik #magic whump #noncon touch tw #gore #noncon surgery tw #noncon stripping #restraints tw #it as a pronoun tw #blood mention tw #muzzle tw #he's back!#he's not having a good time lol #poor thing

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janekfan · 3 years

Note

Saw you were looking for some Jon Tim prompts so here's a few! :D 1) Tim decides to stalk Jon to show him what it feels like. Jon is satisfyingly frazzled; then a fear shows up. 2) Jon protects Tim from the Distortion Michael. Tim's confused. 3) Jon get lost in the tunnels. Perhaps Tim can hear him from the trap door and ends up pulling him out. They're both in bad shape and Martin is ticked. 4) Tim finds Jon after he gets stabbed by Michael. Happy Prompt Hunting!

I went with number 4! :D All are very good though

https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436451

Jon was being shifty again.

Not like that was anything new, and Tim had caught wind of a bread knife rumor?

But whatever. It was no concern of his and he’d rather go the day withouth seeing him if he could. Avoid the hot spike of poisonous anger that followed after every infuriating interaction and seeped, staining, into all other aspects of his life. Better to leave him be. Let Basira and Daisy and Melanie and Martin deal with him and leave Tim to work on his high scores.

So of course it would just be the two of them in the office today. Martin dropped off Jon’s tea like clockwork and strode bitterly out of the Archives without so much as glancing at Tim. He’d delivered his warnings earlier when he’d been assigned this field research and Tim would follow the instructions to leave him be to the letter.

“He’s exhausted, Tim.”

“Don’t care.”

“I. I know. What I’m trying to say is don’t make things worse.” Tim scoffed at that. Yes, he would be the ones making it all worse. Because it wasn’t worse already. Sasha wasn’t gone, they weren’t trapped here because of Jon who definitely hadn’t turned into some paranoid stalker armed with evil powers.

But yeah. He wouldn’t make things worse.

The makeshift pad of gauze and bandaging was soaked through with his own bright blood and staring at it brought a wash of dizziness over him and flooded his mouth with salt. Before he could faint dead away he reached for his dwindling supplies and prepared to change the dressing. If it didn’t stop this time, he’d have no choice but to ask for help.

If they’d spare any.

Jon hissed through his teeth when removing the compress served only to break the clot, pouring a hot runnel over his skin that caught and welled and spilled over the ladder of his ribs. Blacked at the edges, his vision tunneled, and nausea coiled sour in his stomach. It hurt. It hurt to breathe, to think, to move, deep, deep, deep and aching in the very core of him. Graceless and bumbling, Jon struggled to cover the surprisingly small incision and wrap himself tight enough to please, please stop bleeding. Holding himself close and careful, Jon staggered to his feet only to knock his hip hard against the desk as he went woozy.

He’d stood for something. Risked toppling over for something but the pounding of his pulse in his temples made everything that much harder and the room was spinning around and around and he nearly joined it, teetering a half turn before lurching to a stop, pressing his arm against his throbbing side.

It hurt.

One of them must have painkillers of some sort. Sash--

She. He.

How could he’d have forgotten? A bolt of fresh sorrow struck him so hard in the chest it stole his breath away with it and he sagged beneath its gravity, gripping the cool metal of the door handle painfully for support, looking down and seeing it as though it were the first time.

Where…? He needed something. Needed...because it hurt. He hurt and he needed help.

“Jesus, Jon!” Tim’s whole body flinched violently when he realized Jon was hovering near his desk like a wraith, sallow and with shadows like bruises lining the sharp planes of his face. “What?” His silence was petrol on the fire of Tim’s always simmering anger and it flared brightly, blinding, such that Jon staggered a step back, lifting a trembling hand only to drop it back to his side.

“T’Tim.” He swallowed with a click, and Tim watched his throat work, lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, brows knit together in effort and confusion.

“Out with it!”

“D’you‘ave pa, para…?” Even with his tripped up tongue, the compulsion found a way to thread through the question and Tim saw the fear fill up Jon’s glassy eyes when he realized a beat later what he’d done. Resisting was painful, the static filled up his ears, his head, his blood with its continuous hiss, rising higher and higher as he tried his damndest not to answer what really was a simple question. It wasn’t about that though. It wasn’t alright for Jon to take like that, to use whatever the hell this was to pull what he wanted to know from the inside of them without a thought. To hurt them just to Know.

In the end, he had no choice and coughed up his elucidation like a mouthful of razors, slamming his fist against his desk and using the leverage to stand and confront him.

“S’sorry. Din’t...” slurred and barely intelligible, the empty apologies only made Tim angrier and for one awful moment, he wanted to hit him. Give back just a fraction of the pain he’d caused all of them with his selfish ignorance. He wrestled it down with difficulty, clenched his teeth against the residual ache of Jon’s power.

“What’d you do to yourself?” Because the man looked hungover, sweaty and sick, paler by the minute and he wouldn’t blame him for crawling into a bottle. Might even be inclined to join him if he ever extended an offer.

“H’hur’s.” Jon’s overture broke open in a sob, his clawing, grasping fingers twisted in his dark jumper over his stomach and it looked as though he was considering lurching for the bin.

“Are you pisse--whoa!” Instead, Jon stumbled into him and reflexively, Tim shoved him away, like he was something disgusting, watching him trip over clumsy feet and land hard on his side in a sprawl of uncoordinated limbs. Tim yanked him up roughly, ignoring the sharp intake of breath, and tugged him back to his office by a bony elbow, muttering unkindly, “just sober up or whatever.”

The door slammed behind Jon and reverberated into his aching bones. He’d forgotten what he needed and the pain was so bad now it had removed any remaining will he had to stay awake. After Tim pushed him and he hit the ground, (clumsy, stupid, can’t even walk on your own) it was like being stabbed by Michael all over again; a burst of bright white twisting, turning, contorting agony that wasn’t easing so much as it was spreading all the way to the tips of his fingers.

Maybe if he sat down, got off his feet, he’d not feel so ill. Yes...yes that would be good. It would be nice to rest for a moment, just close his burning eyes, just for a little while. Then he could get back to work, finish up those statements he was working on. He was working on statements? When he went to step forward a sharp pain rocked through him hard enough that he had to brace himself on the unforgiving hard wood of the desk.

What--

Suddenly weak in the knees, Jon all but collapsed into his chair, curling into himself, every harsh and hollow gasp of breath like the bite of a knife.

Half five and Jon still hadn't emerged a second time from his office. Tim was the only one left besides him and despite how adamantly he refused to care he does not want to draw Martin’s temper. This had nothing to do with his own concern and armed with the distance that afforded him, Tim knocked loudly, obnoxiously, rudely.

There was no response.

“Oi, Jon!” Shouldering open the door, he’s got a rant on the tip of his tongue and is looking forward to using it. “Drunk at work, whatever will Marto say? The scandal…” With no reaction forthcoming, no moaning or groaning or yelling Tim took a second to actually look at him, lying collapsed over his desk, cheek pillowed on one folded arm. He’s passed clean out, and Tim touched his forehead only to find it cold and clammy. Something was far from alright if Jon’s rapid, shallow breathing and nearly grey lips were anything to go by. “Boss?” He was slack and loose when Tim shook him none too gently, mouth falling open with an almost inaudible whine. Alarm bells were ringing, red flags cropping up the longer stayed in here with him and the weighty feeling of being watched made him shiver. Very suddenly he wanted out of there but when he pulled Jon upright his eyelids barely shifted and what little color remained drained from his face so quickly Tim barely got the bin in place for him to lose what little he had in his stomach, no more than a little tea really. If the moisture hadn’t glinted in the low light coming in from the other room, Tim wouldn’t have noticed the dark wet blotch blending with the fibers of Jon’s jumper or the red and rust staining his trousers halfway down his thigh.

“Jon!” He wasn’t awake, not really, body reacting with wretched whimpers and the sluggish shifting of his arms when Tim eased him out of the chair and onto the ground. “Shit. Shit!” 999. 999 and following their explicit instructions; elevate his legs, keep him warm, don’t let him aspirate on his own sick. He lifted the sopping and soaked fabric of his borrowed clothing and his hand flew to cover his mouth when he saw the damage and he thought back to Jon’s plea for paracetamol, the apparently accidental compulsion.

“H’hur’s.”

His whole flank was black with the blood pooled beneath his skin and smeared with crimson above and when Tim applied his own crumpled up button down over top of the drenched bundle of gauze Jon cried out, writhing weakly under his punishing hands, eyes rolling wildly under bruised lids.

God. What was the point of being angry with Jon for not being honest, for not reaching out, if this is what happened when he did? If Tim was going to be rough with him, accuse him of being soused when really--

When really he was bleeding to death behind the closed door Tim put him behind so he didn’t have to look at him.

“T…”

“Hey, hey buddy.

“Hur’hurting me…” Slicked with weals of blood, Jon’s thin fingers slipped against Tim’s wrists, no strength to shift him, to stop what was happening, to stop him from hurting him like everybody else had hurt him, even though he was trying to save him. Jon didn’t understand, couldn’t, and he sobbed helplessly, keening cry lancing through Tim like the sharpest spear as yet again he was at the mercy of someone with more power. Catching up his hands, holding both in just one of his own, the hot blood was a painful contrast with Jon’s icy skin.

“Hush, I’m sorry, you’re okay, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’ve got you, Jon.”

“Nngh…ah!” Tim lifted his hands to his chest, cradled them there in all their scarred roughness and fragility, deadweight and limp.

“Soon now, just stay awake, bud. Stay with me.”

“T’T…” rapid breaths choked him off, left him gasping, fingers spasming in his hold.

Pulled gently away by unfamiliar hands.

Strangers’ voices muffled in his ears.

Jon’s half-lidded dull brown eyes filled with sharp fear.

All so slow Tim wasn’t sure any of it was happening at all until suddenly, a dawning of crystal clarity. Numbers and instructions and bodies, shouting, changing, moving.

Jon begging them to stop, stop--

“Stop hurting him!”

A firm grip pulled him to the side, forced him to look away from the red, red, red rising like a tide in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything else.

“We’re going to help him, but you need to let us.”

“...Y’yeah…”

“Are you coming?”

“Hm?”

“Sir?” Tim took in the sight of Jon’s blood still wet on the tile, the papers and folders in disarray and stained with drops like poppy petals plotting a course of ache and agony he didn’t want to travel.

And then Jon. Strapped down, held in place, fluids being forced into his collapsing veins. Face grey and lined with pain and streaked with red and--

“N’no. No.” The paramedics were already hurrying away. “I’ll. Someone will be there.”

It didn’t deserve to be him.

“Martin.”

“Tim, I swear to god--”

“Martin.”

“--get a hold of yourself for pity’s sake--”

“Martin!”

“What?!” An irritated huff passed over the line. “If this is just--”

“Jon’s in hospital, i’in surgery.” Stony silence run through with the vaguest hum of static fell between them.

“Tim--”

“I. I. I don’t think it was a bread knife.” Tim’s fingers were clenched around his phone so hard he thought it might crack as he kneeled beside the stain Jon left behind. Say nothing of Martin’s implication that this was his fault. That he’d done this to Jon.

But hadn’t he driven him to it?

Hadn’t he driven Jon to keep his pain and terror and sadness and secrets to himself when he turned on him? When he blamed him? When he came to him today, tried to reach for him, to reach for help, and was again denied?

“Tim!”

“M--”

“Where?”

“Wh’happen’...?”

“Jon?” This wasn’t the first time he’d been awake but it was the first time he’d done more than weep with confusion. Perfectly normal, Martin had been assured, between the anesthesia, the medication for pain, the massive internal hemorrhage they’d had to go in and repair, somehow saving his spleen of all things.

“Mmartin?” The effort to speak was dragging him back out to sea with exhaustion, heavy lashes struggling to part under the weight of it and only offering glimpses of glassy brown.

“Shh, go back to sleep.” Gently, Martin brushed back through his curls taking note of the too-cool temperature of his skin and the ink-dark bruises like kohl under his eyes. “It’s alright, I’m right here.”

“I, I…” Somewhere between his protest and a damp sob, Jon dropped off the edge of the precipice and Martin thumbed away the tears lining his cheeks before taking up his hand to resume his attempts at rubbing the warmth back into it.

“You should go home.” Tim was quieter than he’d ever heard him before, still likely cowed from their earlier conversation where the only thing Martin could look at was the copper embedded under his fingernails, smeared across his wrists and gone dark with oxidation. “He’s in good hands.”

“And how would you know that, Tim?” Bitter. Frustrated. Angry. Jon should have been in good hands before. Trusted hands. Hands that may well be spiteful, resentful, but hands that wouldn’t let Jon slip through the cracks regardless.

“I just meant.” Martin wasn’t able to look at him, afraid of what he might say next, afraid that he might physically throw the other man from the room for daring to deny Jon the slightest support.

“Last time I left you with him, he ended up here.”

“That’s--” Voice raised, shouting, and even down deep Jon flinched, arms shifting in an attempt to protect his face. Martin was livid, settling Jon with a few whispered words before turning to confront Tim.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be here.”

“I didn’t…” Tim was small, folding into himself and sharp at his corners, bristling and contrite.

“I’ll text you with an update if there is one.”

“I. I’m sorry, Martin.” But he neither needed nor wanted an apology. He wasn’t the one Tim wronged today.

A week later saw Martin helping Jon up the narrow steps to his flat, concerned by his pallor and the trembling in his limbs and when he finally dropped him onto the lumpy sofa, saw that he was sweating.

“I’ll make some tea.” He’d purchased a few essentials to go along with his prescriptions. It wouldn’t do if he made himself ill on an empty stomach. If he listened closely he could just hear Jon’s panting, making certain to bring water along with the mug and a few chocolate digestives to offset the loss of blood still exacerbating his fatigue.

“M’quite alright, Martin.” He had yet to sit up, still laying back among the cushions, one scarred forearm laid above his nose. “Don’have to coddle me.” Martin didn’t rise to his bait, instead ignoring him in favor of sitting beside where his greater weight tipped Jon gently into his side. He didn’t resist, instead embracing his vulnerability and sinking deeper into the warm wool of his jumper with a sullen hum.

“I’m not “coddling” you, Jon.” Steeped to his preferences, Martin pressed the tea into his hands, lingering to be certain he could hold it on his own before tucking a biscuit between his forefinger and the porcelain and then another when he polished it off, probably not thinking about it.

“Have you heard from Tim?” Barely audible over the rim of his mug, Jon kept his eyes downcast and Martin couldn’t see under his long lashes from the angle he was at. He’d asked a few times, understanding his disappointment was aimed at Tim and not at Jon, at least not this time. They’d discussed the incident and Martin got the sense that he wanted no part in a repeat performance though he’d explained his attempt at asking for help was the last time he was cognizant enough to think in a somewhat straight line. After that it was pain and cold and shadow and Tim crushing him into the floor and he didn’t understand.

“Yeah.” Martin sipped on his own tea, encouraged Jon to do the same, but he was a dog with a bone.

“Is he. Uh. Cross? With. With me?” He looked up, tired eyes wide and round. “I mean, more than, than the usual?”

“Jon.”

“I know! I.” Falling silent, Jon nibbled absentmindedly on the last biscuit and accepted the tablets to swallow with the dregs of his tea. He’d be out like a light soon with that painkiller and Martin tugged him up when he hissed through his teeth at the agony of trying to move and caught him when he listed on his feet. Rather than hovering, Martin decided instead to keep an ear out as he put away the groceries and filled a glass of water for his nightstand, meeting Jon back at the sofa where he held a stack of bedding topped with pillows.

“I know.” He swallowed, “you’re here out of, of obligation? Kindness? But. But I’ll be fine on my own--you don’t have to stay.” Martin shook his head, a sad smile spreading over his lips as he relieved Jon of his bundle, longing to pull him into an embrace and relieve him of the invisible burden he carried alone. Compromising, he settled for cupping a slim shoulder, not missing how he melted under the soft touch.

“I’m here because we’re friends, Jon.” Unexpected tears welled in his eyes, spilling over as his staid expression crumpled. “Oh, oh, Jon, come here. It’s alright.” Spent, Jon let his forehead collide with his chest, crying silently, and Martin abandoned the duvet in favor of folding him up. “It’s alright.”

“S’sorry...just.” But he couldn’t get any more words out and Martin ran a hand up and down his taut back, rubbing circles over the sharp blades of his shoulders.

“You don’t have to be.” In a few moments the energy began to ooze out of Jon’s bones, the meds kicking in full force and taking his strength with it. “Okay, time for bed.” With a bit of cautious manhandling, Martin was able to get him tucked in between the sheets, meeting eyes blinking slow like those of a cat. “Comfy?”

“Mmyeah…” slipping out on an exhale and it brought a grin back to Martin’s face to see him so relaxed and more than a little loopy. “Hey Martin?” Graceless, Jon’s clumsy fingers tangled with his. “Thank you.” Cross eyed with the effort of sincerely conveying his gratitude, he spoke earnestly, if marble-mouthed and Martin felt his own cheeks flush hot in the velvet dark. He allowed himself to tuck stray and greying flyaways behind Jon ear before sweeping a thumb over the bone of his cheek and watching him drift under. Martin slipped away, keeping the door open in case something happened, and made up his own bed, listening to Jon’s soft and sleepy sounds.

“Good night, Jon.”

#TMA #the magnus archives #jon sims #tim stoker #martin blackwood #stabbed #hurt comfort #fluff #pining #blood #internal bleeding #crying #tears

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aaluminiumas · 3 years

Text

Die for Me

あなたこそが “ 海賊王 ” になる男

Lukewarm blood gushed out from the deep wounds. Ripping apart huge chunks of flesh and feeling the solidity of a bone inside, Monet genuinely relished her superiority savoring every note of the harrowing, blood-curdling shriek the woman in her deadly embrace emitted.

That Marine girl was no good at all; her tactics may not be exactly lame or useless, nor did she lack fervor or courage, but she turned out to be too modest and polite to attack – and also feeble. While the Marines claimed to have implemented a variety of brand-new top-notch techniques that would improve fighting skills of nearly any novice, they tended to send weaklings barely able to resist a simple scuffle, let alone serious combat with high ranks such as her or Caesar. This one wasn’t an exception to the rule: though promoted, Tashigi proved her disability to be on the offensive, thus confirming Monet’s expectations and dispelling the illusion of power Smoker had successfully created earlier.

“I adore it when you yell so desperately,” the Harpy muttered nonchalantly in the unctuous voice, her lips smeared with blood. “So I might break your scapula just for fun. My fangs can go through bone like butter. What a lovely day we are having, aren’t we?.. Care to brighten it further?”

Monet’s viselike grip tightened, and a bone cracked; Tashigi’s scream of utter anguish pierced the chaos and turmoil. In a moment, the woman limped in the Harpy’s wings. This last shrill seemed to have deserted her internally, leaving little to no stamina to stand up for herself and resist the throes shooting through her fragile body. The Harpy, though, felt no remorse or contrition. Quite on the contrary, she yielded into the perverse pleasure of being in charge – her well-nurtured sadistic inclinations and proclivities could finally splurge and flourish. Normally, it was Doflamingo whose hatred of the Marines came unwrapped. He was always in command; he was always aware of the potential threat and danger that could strike at any given moment, and now she could defend him from this invasion without an innuendo on his part. He had protected her in the past, bestowed a shelter, and took care of her younger sister—

“Enough.”

A low voice, hardly louder than Tashigi’s shallow breath muffled all the sounds, including explosions and the clash in the distant rooms. A swordsman with cold resolution in the single eye stood there, unmoving, his face serious, yet completely unreadable.

Monet’s fine features contorted in a lopsided smirk, her head withdrawing from Tashigi’s injured shoulder. Spoiled by pride, the swordsman didn’t seem to see a worthy opponent in her. Good for him, she thought. The Marine’s death would be on his hands – after all, he couldn’t compare to one of the best soldiers among the Donquixotes.

“I said enough,” he growled quietly, advancing and raising his katana, the silver eye narrowing. “Didn’t you hear?”

“She shouted too loudly. Should I shut her up?” Monet’s voice remained vaguely flirtatious, her antics jaunty, but the swordsman betrayed no emotion whatsoever. Instead, without a single warning, he pivoted forward, sword at the ready. Prancing at superhuman speed, the man neatly cut her in half – her logia powers weren’t a mere obstacle to him or his blade.

“I’m a Logia, you fool,” Monet spat with a haughty grin, “You think I’m scared?”

That fact alone contributed to her arrogance and hoity-toity attitude. While the majority of the Donquixote Family had to satisfy themselves with commonplace and hackneyed Paramecias, she got lucky – Doflamingo brought in a Logia fruit, the rarest type, and presented it to her. He might have intended to give it to Vergo, who hadn’t joined the number of the fruit-eaters and preferred to use his innate physical force. At any rate, such thoughts barely intruded on her mind: Doflamingo, the Young Master she worshipped, literally made her a gift desired by many. And what a scenery it was: he called in a meeting, ordered his favorite delicacies, thus forcing the whole city to cook for him, and sprawled across his improvised throne. Trebol, giggling under his breath, Diamante with his ever-lasting smirk, the imperturbable Pica, Vergo with the rigorous mien… Well, she was never part of the elite – nor did she plan to climb higher. The seat beside Doflamingo’s feet seemed comfortable enough to occupy – this position turned her into a valuable asset, who caught all the messages and orders intoned in a low, seductive voice. Despite that, the Young Master did not banish her – he remained seated, asking her to tell them all about her first murder – committed with a taste.

Logia powers made the bearer almost invincible, and Monet, a proficient user, trained by the best, especially by Vergo, knew what she was worth.

“I’m a Logia,” the Harpy repeated, the blizzard howling louder. “It doesn’t hurt me.”

“We’ll see,” came the answer.

Not even looking at her, the man grabbed the wounded woman and hurried to the exit, while Monet, absolutely dumbfounded, discovered that she could not get together. What appeared to be a single cut turned out to be a series of swift swishes in the air that slashed her snow-made body in a split second with the power that significantly surpassed her own. The result unfolded in slow motion: the more time went, the more it hurt; paralyzed, she listlessly perused the gashes opening in her skin – the man had inflicted much more damage than she had initially anticipated.

Furious, lacerated by what seemed to be a hundred blades, Monet yelled – and realized that it caused another wound to splay. The flesh got torn apart somewhere in her stomach and sent an impetus to the lungs prompting another incision to dehisce. The blood spurted up and flushed out from her mouth, staining the green shirt. Coughing, gagging, and covering her lips with a defective wing that had also been slit and now painted vermillion, the Harpy leaned over a gigantic machine with a red button on its panel. Half-conscious, she stared at it – it certainly was a way out. If she pushes it, the whole island will go up in flames. Nobody survived, case closed. Nobody discovers the dirty scheme Vergo had initiated in the Marine to abduct kids; nobody learns about the dubious experiments of the ambiguous nature performed by Caesar. Nobody connects Young Master – her Young Master – to the helter-skelter in the lab, nobody–

Her consciousness drifted away; small lacerations proved to be even worse than the deeper ones – blood didn’t stop from dripping, and she couldn’t control the amount she had lost. Falling to the ground, quivering, Monet twitched her wings in a fruitless attempt to maintain balance. It was overkill, anyway, at least she deemed so. Her wounds were fatal; she very well understood that she was a goner – but it was still in her power to prevent future events from happening.

Suddenly, Monet heard the quiet mumbling of a snail. Caesar, concerned about Joker’s supervision and unremitting control (the notion he strongly believed but which wasn’t true to the fact: Doflamingo, after Monet’s infiltration, called every once in a while, just to give the man heebie-jeebies, in case he felt lazy), installed snails everywhere, each equipped with a unique number. Only Joker could have access to them – no one else would be able to call here, the sanctum sanctorum of the lab.

The injured wing reached for the receiver, then twitched and fell. Trembling, the Harpy moaned in agony, choked on the blood, and made a feeble attempt to get up. Didn’t work; her face contorted in pure anguish. Invincible, trained, fortified by a number of experiments conducted under Doflamingo’s supervision, she never expected a failure. Especially a failure like this.

The snail kept grumbling, Monet whimpered; struggling to stand up, the Harpy felt a million needles skewering into her body, avulsing the thinnest and the tiniest blood vessels. She had to be slow not to disturb the veins that still remained intact. Making a superhuman effort, Monet propped herself up, her chest heaving, her wings jittered ever so slightly. Panting, leaning over the tremendous apparatus towering over her, the Harpy managed to answer the call.

“Monet?” called a low, mellifluous voice coming from a snail. “Monet, do you read?”

“Yes, Young Master,” she mustered her shattered self to respond.

“I do not have the slightest idea what is happening right now,” he drawled pensively, “But it is certainly far from the plan I have drawn up.”

“They– they snatched Caesar.”

Doflamingo paused, pondering over her words. That loudmouth fool, calling himself a genius, failed to kick the teenager’s ass and let himself get captured by a bunch of mere kids playing real pirates. It had been funny to hear that that Strawhat Luffy defeated Sir Crocodile, one of the most feared and infamous warlords; after all, Doflamingo shook hands with the man and knew exactly what his weaknesses were, but Caesar Clown was another thing. First off, he claimed himself to be a brilliant scientist, and, in fact, he had managed to synthesize a drug that made children comparable to giants in force and probably in size. Furthermore, he used his earlier formulae and calculations, retrieved the readouts of the past experiments to create artificial Devil Fruits. So, he clearly was not a complete idiot. However, he employed none of his ingenious tricks to kill the annoying brat on sight when he had the opportunity. Too bad the factory couldn’t work without his involvement – otherwise, Doflamingo himself would’ve got disposed of Caesar as well.

“Monet,” he finally spoke, his voice dropping down a notch. “You were loyal to me.”

“Till the end, Young Master,” she muttered, her voice not louder than a susurrus of wind.

“Die for me.” He commanded coolly, his eyes staring into space unwinkingly. “Monet, die for me and send this place to hell. Take them all along with you.”

“Yes, Young Master. I will do as you please.”

Her lips, covered with blood and gore, stretched in a gentle smile addressed to no one in particular. He cared about her. He wanted her to perform this last task for him, in the name of his future achievements and accomplishments, and she would not let him down.

She raised her wing, slightly quavering, preparing to hit the red button. Exuding a quiet hum, the Harpy lowered it – and gasped, immediately falling onto the ground with a loud, heavy thump.

“Monet?.. Monet, what’s happened? Monet, can you hear me?..”

She uttered a wheezing sound, and her visage froze in a rictus of death.

#one piece #doflamingo x monet #monet #doflamingo #donquixote doflamingo

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blackqueenstarseed1 · 3 years

Text

Ultrasound

Short Rafa imagine

Paring- Rafael Casal x reader

Warnings - vomiting, pregnancy

Note: very short, but whatever

“Baby, I don’t think we need all of that.”

You mumbled, an amused smile growing on your face as your husband emerged from the kitchen with a bag full of unnecessary medical supplies. A line appeared between his brows, a faintly quizzical look came into his incisive stare. “You could never be too sure y/n. Plus, I don’t want to clean any more throw up, especially in the car. I love you but….”

“Oh, hush. It’s not like I did it on purpose. I guess Peanut didn’t like seafood.” You signed, rubbing your bump, silently cringing as you recall the night you threw your guts out behind someone else's bush. Oops

“Yeah, well it’s better to be safe than sorry. I just want to make sure both of my babies are fine.” Rafael fussed, grabbing your hand pulling you into a side hug, kissing the top of your head. Relaxing further into his chest, smiling to yourself a warm feeling spreading throughout your chest, loving your husband's sweet, protective side.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright Y/N, I want you to relax for me," the doctor spoke softly as she lifted your shirt up, exposing your swelling belly.

"Alright, this gel might be a little bit cold, is that okay?" She asks sweetly, getting ready to run the gel on your tummy.

"Yeah, it's okay," you smile back as she turns the transducer on.

"Okay, here we go," she laughs, looking at Rafael’s eager face.

He had his hand locked with yours tightly as if you were going to fly away.

"I love you," he whispers in your ear, taking a little nibble at it, making you scrunch up.

"Please stay still sweetheart," the doctor says nicely, still scanning your inflated stomach.

"Ah, there we go," she says excitedly, pointing to the screen.

Tears drew from yours and Rafa’s eyes, watching the screen that held our baby.

"It's s-so small," Rafael stuttered, wiping his eyes.

"Awe Raf," you laughed, watching his eyes flood from tears.

"I'm not crying," he laughs, rubbing his eyes and looking at the screen again.

"Actually, yes I am" he admits, kissing your cheek.

"That's our baby," he smiles, his eyes brighter than the sun. You have no words at the moment so you smile with tears running down your face and kiss him right there. This was the beginning of the best thing that will ever happen to both of you.

#rafael casal #rafael casal fanfiction #can i marry him #i love him #rafael casal x reader #daveed diggs

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the-lady-of-stars · 4 years

Text

Wishing you were somehow here again - Pt. 2

Commander Wolffe x Jedi ! Reader

Summary: The time has come... execute order 66

Warnings: Character death!! Injury/fighting/violence. Angst... and lots of it. I would say I’m sorry but I’m really just out here living my best life writing some lovely heartbreak 💞💖💘

A/N: I listened to across the stars the entire time I wrote this for that extra angsty vibe 😇 hope u enjoy bb. If you haven’t read part 1 I recommend giving it a read before this! : ) Also dw I am not leaving it at this, there will be a Part 3. I’m not that mean ☺️

Tags: @wille-zarr @chaotic-noceur

Cato Neimoidia. What a beautiful city to fly over.

You, Master Plo and the rest of the 104th Batallion had been assigned to the planet in hopes of besieging a Trade Federation stronghold.

You peered out the windows of your starfighter at the rocky arches of the surrounding environment, enjoying the brief moment of peace and beauty this war had offered you. In front of you flew your master, Plo Koon, behind you Commander Wolffe, your beloved, then the rest of the pack trailed behind.

You ran a finger over the makeshift grass ring that adorned your left hand, your heart skipping a beat at the mere thought of the previous week’s events. Your husband, in spirit at least. You planned to have a real wedding in the future, perhaps on Naboo if you could manage to pull a few strings with Skywalker. His marriage to the Senator had been no secret to you, so surely Anakin would not mind helping you with yours.

You could picture it now, a marble balcony overlooking the waterfalls of Naboo, the burning orange sun gleaming from them as you kissed each other like no one was watching. Your master would be there to officiate it- he knew about you and his Commander, of course. You never had been able to hide anything from him. Master Plo had always been somewhat of a father figure to you ever since he took you as his Padawan when you were little, so of course he quickly noticed the bond forming between you and Wolffe. Much as Qui-Gon had turned a blind eye to Obi-Wan and Satine, your master had said nothing about the subject except that he wanted you to be happy, and if Wolffe provided you with such happiness then he was more than willing to protect your little secret, although you briefly remember Wolffe mentioning something about receiving an ‘if-you-ever-break-her-heart-you’re-dead’ speech from him, but you decided not to inquire further. The rest of the pack would be there of course. They were family, and without them to watch it would be no wedding at all.

Being in a starfighter, you had no means of communicating with Wolffe except over the comm channel which also included the rest of the battalion, and you weren't in the mood to put up with Boost’s usual quips. You could, however, radiate love in his direction through the force, so that’s what you did.

Wolffe’s chest pounded as he felt your force signature surround him like a ghostly embrace. It brought a heat to his cheeks, hands gripping the controls tighter. Any nerves from the mission dissipated and he was left feeling warm and whole. He thought to himself then that he did not ever want to feel any other way. Blissful. He was no Jedi, didn’t have a lick of force-sensitivity, but he could damn well try to return the sentiment. He found himself furrowing his brows and squinting slightly, while with all his might he mustered up his favourite memories of you, trying his best to radiate the way you made him feel. He hoped you could feel it.

You could. A soft, breathy chuckle burst from your lips at his efforts, at how truly sweet your tough Commander was on the inside. There were few things you could be sure of in life, but the dream of really marrying him was one of them. One day, hopefully soon, you would see him stood o- what was wrong? The adoration Wolffe was radiating suddenly cut off as though someone had flicked a switch, nothing but neutrality emanating from him now. Opening yourself up to more force signatures you felt the same emotion from the rest of the boys behind you. Something was wrong, and your master clearly sensed it too as the only real emotion you could sense was his confusion.

“Men, is something the matter?” Plo spoke over the comm channel.

There was a momentary pause, then Wolffe was the next to speak.

“General Plo Koon, General Y/N Y/L/N, you are both subject to execution under Order 66 due to crimes against the Republic.”

Before either you or your master could say a word your ships burst into flames, your own men firing right at you. The engine was destroyed- there was nothing you could do but wail Wolffe’s name in one last desperate plea as your ship began to plummet down towards the rocky terrain of Cato Neimoidia. Smoke. Heat. Burning. Sharp. Pain. Then nothing. The world went black as your starfighter made contact with the ground. The last thing you saw before your eyes closed was the sight of your master laying dead on the ground nearby.

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

Your ears rang, a sharp tone muffling the sound of shouting voices. Clones. A pang of fear shot straight to your heart as you remembered how they had attempted to kill you, and how they had succeeded with your dear master. You flinched up instinctively, wanting to run but collapsing the second you so much as moved due to the piercing pain that struck your entire body. You whimpered, tears pricking at your eyes, hearing the clones get closer.

It seemed that the crash had thrown you from your starfighter and into an alcove in the rocks, which gave you the slightest bit of shelter. As the ringing in your ears subsided a little you heard a pair of footsteps drawing closer to your position. You dug your fingers into the ground, desperately trying to get to your feet so you could defend yourself but with no luck. There was a small cave entrance a few metres away which could offer you a hiding place, but you weren’t fast enough. A boot planted onto your back, pinning you down and earning a yelp.

You craned your head back, trying to see who had a hold of you through the tears which had welled up.

Wolffe. But he looked nothing like the Wolffe you knew. Your Wolffe never so much as glanced at you without tenderness, but now? A snarl had replaced his smile, eyes glaring down at you like a predator.

“Wolffe-” you choked out, which resulted in him pressing his foot down further.

“Jedi,” he practically growled. “You are to be executed for your crimes against the Republic.”

Before he could make another move, you mustered all the strength you could find and pushed him away from you and into the cave entrance nearby with the force, enough to keep him subdued for a minute or so. Still riding the spike of energy, you pulled yourself to your feet, making your way over to the miniature medical droid which was kept in each starfighter, which had clearly fallen from the crash with you. You brought it to you with the force, pressing the on button once it was in your hands. The droid buzzed to life, whirring around you in circles, clearly in distress at your state.

“Not me,” your voice was coarse. “Give the Commander a full head scan. I’m looking for something. A chip, possibly?” You nodded your head in the direction of Wolffe slumped over in the cave entrance, the droid zooming over to him immediately.

When you finally made it over to the cave the droid repeatedly made a beeping sound over one particular part of Wolffe’s head.

“What’d you find?”

The droid pulled up a hologram, a red circle highlighting a small piece of organic matter.

“This appears to be some kind of tumour, which is not normally found in human brains,” it announced.

Your eyes widened, all the breath leaving your body. Fives had been right all along. There really was a chip hidden in the clones.

“Remove it.”

“But- General- I don’t think this is the place to-”

“Now!” you spoke sternly, trying to keep your voice down so the other clones wouldn’t find you. They’d notice sooner or later that their Commander was missing, but you had until them to remove that chip.

“Very well, General. You may want to look away for this.”

A anaesthesia shot was pricked into Wolffe’s neck before the droid protruded an arm with a red laser attached to the end, beginning to cut a hole into his head. You winced, closing your eyes and holding on to Wolffe’s hand, intertwining your fingers with his.

“You’ll be okay, my love,” you spoke under your breath to him, rubbing soothing circles on Wolffe’s palm. “I’ve got you.”

The whirring stopped. You opened your eyes again to see what was going on when the droid announced, “The procedure has been completed and the chip has been successfully removed. The Commander will awaken momentarily.”

“Thank you, you can shut down now,” you told the droid, shuffling closer to Wolffe so he knew you were there when he woke up.

About thirty seconds later, Wolffe began to stir. With a groan he reached a hand up to his head, thumbing over the gauze the incision had been covered by.

“Ahh, where am I?”

“Wolffe? Wolffe, my love, look at me. Look at me, please.”

With a grimace he turned his head to look at you, blinking a few times before his eyes widened like saucers.

“Cyare! What happened to you? Are you okay? Who did this to you?” he panicked, getting to his knees so he could rake his eyes over you better.

“Oh, Wolffe...” he was back. Your Wolffe was back. You couldn’t hold back the tears any longer, throwing yourself into his arms and sobbing wildly.

“Oh shhh, shhh easy Cyare. I’ve got you now, you’re safe my sweet girl,” he cooed, rubbing his hands soothingly over your upper arms. “What happened?”

Wolffe paused, looking over at your burning starfighter, at his brothers slightly behind it stood around the body of General Plo. General Plo. Order 66. Oh. He launched himself away from you, breathing frantically.

“It was me. I’m what happened. I- I did this. Order 66. I killed General Plo and I nearly killed you- oh stars...” Wolffe looked down at his shaking hands, thinking about what he had done with them.

“Wolffe, look at me. Hey. Look,” you got closer to him, taking his hands in yours to ground him. Still trembling he brought his eyes to yours, tears streaming down his cheeks. “That was not you, my love. That was Sidious. He was controlling you and all the other clones through the chips in your brain. They were planted there for that very reason. I do not blame you, nobody blames you. This was not your fault at all.”

Wolffe broke down into a flurry of “I’m sorry” and “forgive me” but you just pulled him into your chest, holding him tight, pressing kisses to his temple and his cheeks to reassure him.

“Wolffe, my love, we don’t have much time. Your brothers are still looking for me to check if I’m dead and I’m sure they’ve noticed you’re missing by now. They’ll find us. I removed your chip but they’re still under control of Sidious. We have to leave.”

“No,” Wolffe choked sternly.

“No? What do you mean no?”

“You don’t have a ship any more, and if you ran now they’d see you and kill you on sight. I need to go back, to tell them I found your body and disposed of it. Then you run when we leave. Run and never come back, you hear me?”

Wolffe spoke through tears, clasping your shoulders tightly to make sure you heard every word.

“No, no, Wolffe you can’t do that. I’m not going anywhere without you. I’m not leaving you to Sidious. I love you.”

“Y/N, please. My sweet girl. Oh, look at you. I wanted to marry you so bad. More than anything. But now I realise what I want more than anything is to keep you alive, even if that means I can’t be yours any more. I love you, Y/N. I love you so much,” he moved his hands up to cup your cheeks, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. “Don’t you go coming back to find me now, you hear me? Run and never come back. Make a life for yourself. You do that for me, hmm? Promise me,” he wept, wet eyes looking straight into yours.

“Okay. Okay I promise,” you felt your heart tearing in two.

“That’s a good girl. My good girl,” he spoke softly.

“Wolffe-” you whimpered.

“I know, I know, love. Everything will be alright.”

Wolffe sighed, heart visibly breaking. His glassy eyes observed your face as though it would be the last time he would ever see it. And it would.

Unable to find any other words to say, Wolffe leaned down and kissed you one last time, tears mingling on your cheeks. His lips pressed hard against yours, clinging on to the moment as long as you both could. When he finally pulled away you chased after him, not ready to let go.

“I have to go, cyare. Back to my brothers. I’ll be alright, don’t you worry about me, hmm? You stay safe now, I mean it. I love you Y/N.”

“I love you too.”

Wolffe stood, absorbing the sight of you. How this was the last time he’d ever see his girl. With one final sigh he tore his eyes from you and tipped his helmet back on, exiting the cave and leaving everything he ever loved behind.

The war left its scars on everyone, but Wolffe knew these ones would never heal.

#commander wolffe x reader #wolffe x reader #clone wars x reader #clone wars imagine #star wars imagine #star wars x reader

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fletchphoenix · 3 years

Text

When He Sees Me

I am a Nuru simp but here’s a Varigo one shot because uhhhhhhhh i want to :))))) half of my pieces i started on my break and only just edited and finished oof so have fun and thanks for the support

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Nuru could tell something had changed between the two oldest boys just by examining their actions. Varian would try to sit beside Hugo as they were eating by the campfire, Hugo nonchalantly wrapping an arm around the other and, consequently, the raven haired boy’s face would gain a red flush that he’d excuse as something like it being ‘too warm’ before shuffling away from the blond and casting an intense gaze to the floor (though Nuru saw his eyes occasionally flick up to look at the other man for a few quick, stolen glances).

That change intensified after the ball in Galcrest, the two boys having picked each other to dance with to ‘scout out the area’, though Nuru assumed they were just trying to get away, judging by the way they never once looked away from each other and she had to do all the work with Yong helping her along the way.

She’d had enough when Varian had been staring at Hugo while something was lit on the burner, causing a rather large explosion (and a very excited Yong, mind you) and a nasty gash on the side of Varian’s arm. Swiftly, she took him by the arm and marched him toward her tent, forcing him to sit down and bringing out the medical kit her mother had told her to bring. “You never know, Nuru, when you’re travelling with three young men, injuries are almost guaranteed!” she’d said, and for once Nuru was happy she’d heeded her mother’s advice.

“Okay, what’s the deal.” Nuru stated bluntly, the moonstone blue eyes of the boy in front of her widening as he sucked in a breath and gulped. He clearly looked nervous - sweat already building on his brow and his pulse increased under her fingers.

“What do you mean?-”

“Don’t play dumb. I’ve seen you and Hugo being weird with each other for the past few weeks and now it's caused an injury, so please for the love of God tell me what the hell’s going on!” The princess declared, frustration evident on her face as she glared down at the older boy. “Trust me, I would just let you do whatever the hell you two were doing to your heart’s content if one of you didn’t get hurt. But now you have.”

There was silence between them for a moment, the muffled sounds of Yong and Hugo outside clearing up the mess evident from the crunching of grass, shuffling glass shards and Hugo’s repeated “Yong, don’t pick up the glass, it’s dangerous.” which was..oddly kind for the thief - though Nuru was sure he was up to something, due to his regular biweekly disappearances into the forest at night.

FInally, Varian spoke. “I...I’ve never been one for romance. My first crush turned out to uh-kinda sorta steal the moonstone and go completely apeshit. Not uh..not my proudest moment, I’m not going to lie.” A chuckle left his lips before he continued, a sigh accompanying the nervous giggle. “I think I like Hugo, but..what if he doesn’t like the real me and my past? What if he’s just disappointed and I give myself away to only get it given back?”

“You...what do you mean the ‘real you’?” Nuru muttered, looking at the man’s gloved hands quietly. “And...when you say past, what do you mean by that? I..Don’t feel pressured to reply, you really don’t have to.”

“Well, I guess you deserve to know what I did.” Varian’s face shifted from nervous to cold in a second, hurt and guilt all that was present in his features. “When I was fourteen, I uh...tried to experiment on the moonstone’s rocks. My dad had warned me not to, but I thought..if i could get rid of the problem, I could make him proud of me, yknow? But uh...my experiment went wrong and he got trapped in the compound.”

“I begged for help, Nuru. I went through one of the worst snowstorms Corona had ever seen from Old Corona straight to the castle to beg Rapunzel for help. She promised me we’d figure it out together and that we would get rid of the rocks, but when I needed her help to save my father...she threw me back out into the storm. I got home and, well...my dad was dead.”

“I wasn’t going to be ignored, so I..did what I had to do. I thought that a few petals from the Sundrop’s flower would save him, but it didn’t work. The magic had been transferred to Rapunzel and...I needed to use her to get him back. I kidnapped the queen, I attacked the guards with automatons, hell, I almost won, but she..won instead. They sentenced me to five years in prison and put me in a cell with a uh..bad guy. Andrew.”

“I helped him take over the kingdom. I committed treason twice, but still she forgave me when she came back and helped me save my dad. I know all this stuff happened when I was younger and that I’ve grown but..how can he forgive me if I can’t even forgive myself for what I did? And-and what if he hates me and thinks I’m a monster! I don’t...I just don’t want him to hate me when he finds out what I did and...who I can be.” The man finished, his eyes fixed onto the floor with a distant look in them.

Nuru took a moment to process all of what she was told. So Varian was the boy that almost killed the queen in Corona? That...made a lot of sense now that she thought about it. The guy was a genius, so the fact he could replicate an automaton from just looking at it? It really made sense. She hesitated, wanting to say something without being insensitive.

“Varian...in all honesty, Hugo would probably say something like “That’s hot” if he found out about that.” She finally declared, the man chuckling with a slight smile. “Look..what I’m trying to say is...although I don’t trust him at all, I think he’s genuine about how much he likes you. And its obvious you love him, like...Hugo’s dense but not THAT dense. So I say do what you want and hey, if it works out, it works out.”

“Thanks Nuru.” Varian stated as he rose to his feet and rubbed his arm, “For the bandage and the advice.” A smile made its way onto his face as he left the tent, Hugo almost immediately rushing over to take care of the man and check if he was okay. Nuru simply smiled, a hand running through her hair.

Varian hadn’t just changed - Hugo had changed. He cared more about the things around him, and more about being a team player. The blond offered more to go to town for supplies with the others, or to help out with chores around the camp. He still kept up the snarky remarks and quips, though she could tell the intent behind them had dissipated from malice to playfulness and out of admiration for the others.

Maybe that was why it shattered them all so much to find out he was going to betray them.

His mother’s voice still echoed through the hallway, the high ceilings of Coronan architecture carrying the sound and letting it linger in the air like a disease. She glanced over at Yong, tears welling in his eyes until she wrapped a protective arm around him and pulled him closer to her chest in spite of her own tears that rolled down her cheeks at the sudden betrayal. He accepted the gesture, gripping onto the silk fabric of her dress and holding on for dear life.

The blond stood frozen in place as his mother walked away, grey hair swishing behind her before he turned on his heel to address the group. His mouth opened, though no words came out. At least, not any that the trio were interested in hearing. They didn’t want any petty excuses as to why he’d been using them all this time. Finally Nuru glanced at Varian.

Holy fucking shit, did he look broken.

Tears welled in his eyes, though his face was cold as he glared at the blond - if looks could kill, Hugo would definitely be a dead man. The man had clenched his fists so hard that the knuckles were white and little trickles of blood flowed down to the marble that covered the floor, his fingernails making little incisions into his palm.

“Lets go.” she bluntly stated, turning on her heel as the boys followed her, leaving the blond dumbfounded in the hall to think about what he’d done.

#varian #varigo #tangled varian #varian tangled #varian and the seven kingdoms #tangled hugo #varian x hugo #hugo tangled #hugo x varian #alchemy boyfriends #nuru tangled #tangled nuru #rapunzels tangled adventure #tangled the series

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