#if the former it looked like it would gone right through the left kidney too

[amarriageoftrueminds]

Current mad meta exercise I am indulging for no reason: trying to work out exactly where the Winter Soldier shot Steve in CATWS. 😭

#see reblogs for update on this! #catws #catws meta #medical stuff #dat's me #steve rogers #mcu meta #meta #stucky #steve meta #bucky meta #stucky meta #bucky barnes #is anyone interested?? #cannot decide if nicked liver (which would explain all the blood) or upper intestine (OUCH) #if the former it looked like it would gone right through the left kidney too #if the latter probably missed the kidney

[silence-burns]

Back

Fandom: Sandman

Dream of the Endless beheld the ruins of his kingdom and for the first time in over a century, he felt truly powerless.

The feeling wasn't as unfamiliar as it would've been before his imprisonment, but the sheer scale of it felt overwhelming. The glass that had held him captive was created to keep him away from his realm and away from using his powers. It was as simple and as brutal as most human inventions tended to be, but in its simplicity it failed to change who he was. Cut off from the rest of the worlds, he remained the same.

But here, back at the remnants of the Dreaming, Morpheus was no longer certain who he was. What remains when you take away the power, realm and subjects from the lord of it all?

Morpheus no longer knew the answer.

He sat at the stairs covered in dust and rubble, and patiently waited. Lucienne offered to check the palace grounds in hopes that anything awoken would come back along with him. It was a futile hope, he knew. The connection he felt with everything that was left was weak, but enough to let him know how much was truly gone.

Dream stretched his hand over the shattered marble again. His will pulled on the stone, but it only shook slightly before falling again. Whatever power he once had that shaped every part of his realm, was gone.

Footsteps echoed in the empty hall. It wasn't Lucienne.

You stopped a few feet away from Morpheus. You hadn’t changed much since the last time he saw you.

"I heard the news," you said with a shrug. "Sorry if I'm interrupting anything. I just wanted to see if maybe Lucienne grew a sense of humor after all this time."

Morpheus scoffed, but felt no real joy. "I suppose I'm as close to a joke now as I've ever been."

"That's not what I meant. I'm glad to see that you're actually back after all this time. It's just that the thought of it before I saw you felt so… unreal. More than the dreams usually do, I mean, my lord."

"Don't call me that."

What lord was he, without a realm to rule over? Through what power was his position secured, with his belongings stolen?

"Sorry. It feels awkward otherwise."

You hadn’t been a part of his realm for long before he disappeared. Morpheus still remembered the day Death had brought you to him with a smile as mysterious as it was confusing, and refused to elaborate further. Morpheus allowed you to stay if that was your wish too, but had always wanted to ask his sister about her true motives.

The Endless rarely intervened with each other's realms. It wasn't unheard of, but called for careful understanding.

"Why didn't you leave?"

That seemed to puzzle you. "Why would I? I was offered a place in your realm. Where else would I go, dead and alone?"

"There are other realms. Most of my subjects didn't have an issue leaving."

You knocked a pebble to the side. "I like it here, even now. Besides, I wanted to see you come back. Things changed when you were gone. We played cards with Lucienne for a while, both terribly, before those disappeared too."

Morpheus didn't reply. It felt strange to talk again, to have a small, simple conversation with nothing being demanded from him. No responsibilities to take care of. Just a few moments being offered, and taking away his worries with bad, lowly attempts at humor.

He felt a finger poking his cheek.

"Sorry," you said with not an ounce of apology. "You looked like a statue there for a moment. You should be careful, or you'll be mistaken for one. Rub some dust over that jacket, and you'll have the right color. Maybe pose a bit."

Morpheus just looked.

"Or we could rub a bit more and give you a ghosty, ghoulish appearance and scare people. I'd sell my left kidney to see Cain react to you emerging mysteriously from the mist. Abel would probably just cry, and Gregory follow him, but I bet it'd still be worth it. There are a few of us remaining in the Dreaming and I'm sure they'd like to see you, you know, your not-lordship?"

Humans, even a former kind, were absurd, fascinating creatures.

Morpheus stood up from the stairs. The destruction and chaos around him remained the same, but somehow, he felt as if some weight had been lifted off his chest. The loss was tremendous, but not all was gone. The rest could be rebuilt.

"Thank you," Dream said, and the stars in his eyes shone just as brightly as the first time you met him.

Your smile warmed something where his heart should've been. "You're welcome."

"Dream."

"Dream?"

"That's what you can call me."

"So dreams really do come true… That's quite fitting, actually. But let's go now, shall we? We should let the rest know they can come back."

#morpheus x reader #sandman x reader #morpheus x you #dream x reader #dream x you #sandman x you #the sandman #the sandman morpheus x reader #morpheus imagine #the sandman imagine

[wri0thesley]

Hello Nat! It's me! The same anon who sent the Househusband Risotto asks a few weeks ago. Could I request a fic of Risotto with no.21(a Househusband au) and some pregnancy fluff? Congrats on 5k (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

brand new - risotto x reader

you have something to tell your husband. 

warnings: soft fluff, sfw. afab reader, no pronouns. pregnancy, talk of children, brief allusions to risotto’s past life. 

You’re surprised by just how easily Risotto falls into a domestic life.

You’d thought that his past would haunt him more; the fallen comrades, the Mafia business, the blood on his hands – but he’s surprisingly pragmatic about it, when you hesitantly bring it up.

“It happened,” he says. “I miss them. But I’ve been given a chance that they didn’t get, and I intend to take it.”

It’s more than your stoic, quiet husband usually says at once, and you feel it pierce your heart like an arrow. Your hand brushes over his broad shoulder in as much comfort as you can give him, and Risotto looks at you with the lightest smile on his lips that makes you feel like the luckiest person in the whole universe.

Risotto becomes the house-husband as if he’s been waiting to be able to do it for his whole life.

Oh, he makes some mistakes – some little things, like washing a pair of your red underwear in with some shirts that you wear for work. Planting the wrong kind of seedlings at the wrong time of year – trying to fix the plumbing himself instead of calling a plumber.

You two muddle along, but as a whole Risotto seems to be thriving, and that makes your heart leap in your chest like a prima ballerina.

Your heart thumps double when you come home after a long day of work and he already has dinner simmering on the stove, an apron wrapped around his broad frame – it’s emblazoned with the legend; “Hot Stuff Coming Through (and I don’t mean the food)”. You breathe in the scent of his cooking; something deep and rich.

You come up behind him and wrap your arms about him, resting your cheek on the centre of his back.

His muscle has gone a little soft now that he’s not working out so often or in as many life-or-death situations, but he’s still broad and amazing and perfect for holding onto.

“Smells great,” you say, sighing, kicking off your heels in kitchen to be put away later. Risotto’s eyes stray to them all higgledy-piggledy on the floor, and he frowns;

“Nonna’s recipe,” he says. “Aren’t you going to put those in the shoe rack?”

“I’ve only just gotten home,” you pout at him, but your pout quickly breaks into a smile as you see the exhaustedly fond expression on his face.

Now that he’s not an assassin – now that he doesn’t need to hide everything he’s feeling under the guise of being cool and cold and collected – Risotto’s face seems to move more. He finds it easier to express his emotions. It’s still little things; twitches and furrows, instead of his entire face transforming – but it’s more than before.

He’s comfortable. He’s happy.

You, and him, and the little world that you’ve build all around you two.

You bend over to pick up your heels, opening your mouth to say something over-dramatic about his newfound house pride – but you’re stopped by an ache that shoots down to the centre of your back, a noise of pain escaping you before Risotto can turn lightning quick and wrap a strong arm around you.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking, brow creasing slightly in concern. Panic flares in your stomach – you don’t want to tell him like this.

“Y-yeah,” you laugh it off, straightening up with your shoes in your hand, the other going to massage your back where you can reach. “Guess I was just sat in the wrong position at work for too long, huh?”

Risotto looks sceptical, but he can’t leave his boiling pots for too long. With a searching look at you, he returns to the stove, murmuring low;

“I’ll give you a massage later.”

You smile at his back as you walk towards the shoe rack in the hallway. You know that saying that will have made him blush; despite how long the two of you have been married now, he’s still nervous about things like that. His hands still shake a little when he goes to hold you. He still licks his lips before he kisses you, murmuring in a deep voice;

“Is it really alright?”

You always wind your arms around his neck and pull him in as your way of reassuring him that it’s perfectly fine. It’s hard, you think, for him to accept that he deserves all of this – but you’re eternally glad that the two of you get to share it together.

Little reminders of your shared home and life are scattered all about your home. A picture of you and Risotto at your wedding, framed and hung in the hallway; his suit is a little too tight, because he left it too long and it couldn’t be tailored properly to address the fact that he’s built like a superhero.

A bookshelf that has your romantic novels next to his own gothic horrors; a skull candle that burns red from its eyes as it melts perched on top. Also perched on top is a trinket dish that he made and painted for you at a pottery class he attended to try and get him out of the house whilst you were at work – you use it to dump your keys in.

It’s supposed to be a heart shape, but it’s more of a very uneven kidney.

The carpet you two had chosen together; you’d wanted something cheaper, but Risotto had insisted you could afford this one – he’d been right, and it’s soft beneath your stockinged feet.

You love him so much.

Your hand cups your stomach protectively now that you’re out of Risotto’s sight. You think of the tiny life inside of you; half Risotto, half you, already loved more than they’ll ever know even without Risotto knowing that it’s there. You can’t wait to tell him.

His hands are gentle on your shoulders, big and warm and softer than they once were. They’re still a little calloused from the garden work he enjoys doing, but he no longer handles weapons and you buy him sandalwood-scented hand cream instead.

They feel so good as they slide down your shoulder blades, brushing the notches of your spine, soothing circles pressed into your skin with his thumb. You sigh, relaxing into him. The feel of the palm flat against the small of your back – where the ache is the most pronounced – makes you relax even further into him, toes curling, a sigh escaping your mouth of relief.

“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” He asks you, his voice measured. Your eyes flicker open from where they’ve closed in comfort.

“W-what’s wrong?” You ask him, nervously, and Risotto makes an ‘mm’ noise in the back of his throat. His hands do not stop the massage as he goes.

“You’ve been out of it for days,” he tells you.

(He’s right. You’ve been out of it since Monday, and it’s now Thursday; Monday is the day you’d woken up with your stomach heaving, remembered how long it had been since your last period, and bought a pregnancy test on your way to work. You’ve done three more since then, and all of them have showed the exact same result.)

“Have I?”

His hands move to your shoulders, gently twisting you around.

“You have,” he says, his red-and-dark eyes fixed firmly on you. “If there’s something wrong, I’d like to fix it.”

“It’s nothing you’ve done!” You say, all in a rush, but Risotto has successfully caught you nonetheless; his eyes narrow.

“So it is something?”

Heat rushes to your face. You forget, sometimes, because he cooks dinner and does the gardening and goes to his pottery class, that he was a battle-hardened mafia assassin who has done more interrogations than you will probably ever know (you never bring up his former employ unless he brings it up first). He’s an expert at gently needling the truth out of people.

“It’s not something that’s wrong,” you say, weakly, but his eyes are still pinning you in place.

“Tell me,” is all he says.

You think, in the back of your head, you’d had some kind of grand plans to reveal your secret – maybe involving balloons, and a cake, and a little party hat perched on top of Risotto’s silvery pale hair. You think you wanted to make a big deal out of it; one more reminder that the world he left behind is well and truly in his past now. But now you’re on the bed with him and he’s looking at you so tenderly in a soft grey shirt for sleeping and a pair of loose boxer shorts, all ruffled and sleepy and domestic . . . Now feels like a good time too.

“I’m pregnant,” you tell him.

You swear that you could hear a pin drop.

He blinks at you, as if he can’t properly process the statement.

“You’re—”

“We’re having a baby.”

“Oh my God.” His voice is very small. He reaches out, hesitantly, eyes wide – big hand hovering over your stomach. “Can I . . .?”

“Yes,” you say, breathless as his hand rests on it. It’s not curving, yet; the fancy test you’d bought today and done in the bathroom at work had said it thought you were well past three weeks, but that’s still early days. Your eyes stare down at Risotto’s scarred, huge fingers – so careful with you, despite what he’s had to do to survive.

“I can’t believe it,” he tells you, and your throat feels tight.

“Me neither,” you admit. “But . . . I’m happy.”

He meets your eyes. There are tears brimming in his – you have never seen Risotto Nero cry. You’ve seen him sad, of course (a sad downturn to his mouth when a dog dies in a movie, or when the rosebush he’d been carefully cultivating had failed to achieve a single bloom) – but there’s an actual tear rolling down his cheek, sparkling in the bedroom light.

“Me too,” he says, and it seems entirely natural. Entirely true. Your heart aches with how much you love him.

You two don’t say anything for a few minutes, content to just look at each other, the warm knowledge of what you’re sharing making the air seem hazy and unreal.

You think about the pitter patter of little feet. The spare room you can turn into a nursery. Going to pre-natal classes with Risotto, choosing baby clothes, seeing him out and about pushing a fancy perambulator (you’ve always wanted one of those tacky, over the top ones that look like a Victorian nanny’s contraption, and you know that Risotto will agree to it--).

You think about him in the delivery room, your nails making crescent moon cuts in his palm. You think about his encouraging tone; you think about the hand-grown flowers he’ll no doubt bring you.

You imagine him cradling a little bundle of joy; tiny in his huge arms. His lips leaving gentle kisses on tiny foreheads. Him reading to your baby, him tending to scrapes, him and you and your child and the life that neither of you ever thought you’d get to live together.

His face is shining, fully transformed. He sees you looking at him with droplets shimmering in your tear ducts and he wipes them away with one big, warm thumb.

“I know,” he says. “It’s not just for me. It’s for all of them, too.”

“Yes,” you say to him. Your voice breaks, pitches, as you manage to get out: “I’m so happy we get to spend the rest of our lives together.”

He looks at you, so tender you feel like you’ll come apart under his gaze.

This moment is going to shimmer in your memory forever, you think. You’re glad that this was how the reveal went. This is much more like the two of you than any fancy reveal or ribbon or cake (you might still get a cake, anyway – Risotto has a sweet tooth).

“I love you,” he says, like warmth that wraps about your heart. And then; “What about naming it Formaggio?”

There’s a beat. You stare at him.

Both of your mouths stretch into a smile, a soft huff of laughter escaping his lips that makes you feel like you’re listening to a symphony.

“Maybe we should workshop names a bit more,” you tell him.

He agrees.

#risotto x reader #risotto nero x reader #risotto fluff #jjba fluff #sfw #writing #jjba x reader #risotto nero #jojo postin #afab reader #neutral pronouns #5555 event fic

[liddolwhynot2000]

For You

____________________________________

Summary: Humanity's Strongest Soldier had quit the military. For you.

Pairing: Levi/Reader

Genre: Levi in looooveee, liddol angsty, happy ending, drama, dad!Levi

Words: 3.3K

____________________________________

[Note: This isn't a direct sequel to 'Falling'. But it falls in the same universe. If you want to read about how Levi met and fell for reader in this universe, check out my story Falling.]

____________________________________

'Levi what are you doing here-'

'I'm about to hold our daughter.'

'I can see that darling, but you're supposed to be at work. '

The short man didn't bother answering you, instead opting to pick up your two year old daughter. Little Kutchel squealed in delight, happily chanting 'papa'.

'Mamaaa.'

You felt a tug at your skirt, your one year old son was clinging to you. Farlan whimpered, his hands raised high, clearly wanting you to pick him up. With a sigh, you did so and realized he needed a diaper change.

'I'll be back in a few, and then we'll talk.'

Your only response was Levi complaining about how 'brat-the-first needed to stop drooling so much' as he raised a giggling Kutchel high in the air.

....................

Usually, once you managed to put your beloved children to sleep with a lullaby, you gazed at them in awe, affectionaly tucking them in. Both of them took after their father completely, his black hair and steel eyes. Farlan's hair was almost the same as Levi's, much to your amusement. Kutchel was a rather active and loud baby while Farlan was a little on the quiet side. You usually missed Levi on nights like these, wishing he could visit more. Tonight, however, you felt more uneasy rather then happy at his sudden presence.

'I quit.'

'You what?'

You couldn't believe your ears, surely you had heard him wrong.

'You heard me. I. Quit.'

'But why?'

No matter how hard you tried, he wouldn't give you a straight answer. No amount of questioning or pouting would work on him. In the end, he strolled up to you, rough hands gently holding your upper arms.

'Look, I had my reasons. Things got unbearable for me and-'

'But don't they need you-'

'They should have thought of that before. Now listen, I've already got another job lined up, so we don't need to worry about moneu-'

'But Levi, I still don't understand why you-'

'Just trust me. It's messed up shit.'

Looking into his eyes, the same eyes you had hopelessley fallen for all those years ago, you gave in. Of course you trusted him, how could you not? You wouldn't have married the man otherwise. ____________________________________

Things began to change as you got used to seeing Levi everyday. When the two of you had met, you had worked as a cook for the garrison engineers living near the Survey Corps Headquarters. Back then, seeing each other daily hadn't been an issue. But after getting married and having kids, you had moved into his house in the nearby village. It meant less time together as a family, but you had wanted your children to have stability.

You sat on the couch, well more or less laid on the couch, watching Levi entertain your children. All three of them of them sat on the floor, with toys scattered everywhere on the carpet.

Farlan played with some blocks, happily gurgling as he tried to figure them out. Kutchel, on the other hand, busied herself with Levi.

You could only laugh at the sight of Levi's deadpan expression as Kutchel climbed all over him. Neither of had seen it coming, but your babies had inherited the Ackerman strength ten fold. Holding up their necks extremely early, climbing out of their cribs, easily lifting things that were too heavy for normal babies.

When Kutchel had been seven months old, the two of you had woken up to find that not only had she escaped her crib, she had managed to climb into your bed and cuddle with Levi. Although befuddled, the sight of the two of them had been heartwarming beyond words, and you hadn't been overly cocnerned.

Her displays of unnatural strength had been, well, less then pleasant for the two of you. It had put you on guard. The near heart attack you had suffered through, when your one year old baby girl had hauled up one end of the sofa with her teeny tiny hand, while trying to get a toy that had gotten stuck there, had almost been too much. Levi had been torn between horror and amusement at the time, before intervening. And well, both of you preferred not remember how Farlan had smacked his tiny fist against the brand new wooden table during a tantrum and caused it to collapse.

'You brats will eat sitting on the goddamn floor for the rest of your lives now. I don't have the money to buy a table if your just going to-'

'Levi, they're just babies, let them be-'

'Oh I see, so we're selling your kidney to buy a new table-'

'Darling don't be so dramatic-'

Kutchel and Farlan merely ignored their irate father, babbling as they played with their toys.

The Ackerman strength was hereditary, the two of you had concluded. Hange had theorised that with every new generation, that unbelievable strength only grew, to the point that they could access it at an extremely young age. It was manageable for now, you mused to yourself, but it wouldn't be long till Levi would have to train them lest they hurt someone by accident. You got off the couch and slid to the floor, cooing to your son. Levi was scowling as he held Kutchel at arms length.

'Stop trying to rip my hair out, you brat.'

Kutchel leaned towards him while babbling. Levi allowed her little hands to rest on his cheeks, his expression softening at her grin.

'Wuv Papaa.'

You beamed at the sight, before turning your attention back to Farlan. He had been avidly bashing two blocks together and would burst out laughing at the sound. You gently caught him before he fell from the force of his laughter.

It had been a while since the two of you had been this peaceful.

...........

When the two of you had managed to put your babies down for a nap, you remembered some things that you needed to buy. Rushing out, you went to the market, hoping the shops you needed to go to weren't too packed today. Much to your suprise, during your excursion, you saw some of the Survey Corps members. You recognised them as the Special operations Squad. While you weren't necessarily friends with them, you did know their names.

As if reading your mind, one by one, they all caught sight of you. Another day, they would waved at you and maybe approached to help woth the bags. However, there were no signs of those friendly expressions today. In fact, you couldn't help but notice how they were looking at you. It made you feel as as if you had been the Colossal Titan that knocked down Wall Maria and ruined their lives. The ginger haired girl, Petra, was the one who really caught your attention. She had looked oddly guilty, and as though she was apologising with her eyes for a moment, before copying her comrades sullen expressions.

Startled and beyond confused, you opted to walk away from their line of vision. Your fears, that you had hoped were baseless, were slowly being confirmed. Levi quitting the military hadn't been well recieved. And if the way his former squad had looked at you had been any indication, they thought you had something to do with his decision.

____________________________________

Kutchel had been particularly fussy that night, unwilling to go sleep.

'Pway!' she had cried out, struggling in Levi's arms. It had taken a while but soon enough you were lying in bed, both your children deep asleep as you tucked them in blankets. The two of you had been exhausted, so when you heard the knock on the door, a very irritated Levi had quietly gone to check it out.

When he didn't return for a while and you heard muffled noises, you silently went to check on him, stopping short at the door at the sound of Petra's voice.

'-captain please reconsider-'

'Petra's right captain, we need you-'

'That's enough.'

They all straightened up.

'I'm no longer your captain-'

They all deflated, looking ready to argue. Levi held a hand up to silence them.

'I wish you all well in life. Don't involve yourself in this. This is between the higher ups and I.'

'Captain, we know this is because of your-'

'None of you know shit. Focus on going your damn jobs and minding your own business. Now leave.'

Olou, Petra, Gunther and Eld looked despondent as they made to leave.

'Petra-stay back for a minute'

All of them look surprised and curious, but didn't bother asking questions and left. They figured Petra would tell them what had happened later. The conversation took a weird turn you hadn't quite expected.

'You have some nerve coming all the way to my house after all the bullshit you pulled.'

'Captain- I didn't mean to, you know that. I was only following orders-'

'So your orders mentioned you bullshitting to everyone that I left the military because my wife asked me to?'

'...Captain I didn't say that. Everyone assumed-'

'And you allowed it. Don't fucking lie, you just didn't want any heat to fall on you. Stay away from her. Or else. I don't care what you're ordered to do. You've already made the situation worse then it should be.'

'Captain please-'

'Out. Now. Nothing you say can excuse the shit you pulled.'

As you heard Petra leave, you felt that sinking feeling in your stomach grow. So Levi had left the military for you. And the military hated you for it. The real questions was, why? ____________________________________

You watched your husband as he spoon fed mashed potatoes to Kutchel. His face was scrunched up in disgust, as Kutchel made sure that at least half the food ended up on her face and clothes. Farlan was taking a nap, happily tucked away in your arms.

'Kutchel--for the love of- eat your shitty food!'

'Darling, language-'

'I'm trying, just look at the shitty mess she's making, I might have a heart attack-'

'Shit!'

The two of you paused, staring in stunned silence as your two year old began chanting the one word you had hoped she wouldn't pick up from your husband. Levi avoided your gaze, no doubt knowing it was his fault, and instead started making feeble attempts at stopping Kutchel.

'Oi don't say that-'

'Shit papwaa!'

'What? No. Brat-the-first, you better forget you ever heard that-'

You chuckled a little, the sight of your usually calm and composed husband panicking was too funny. You struggled to maintain your smile, however, as last night flashed in your mind again.

Everything seemed fine. Levi was content. Your children were happy. His new job was paying well. He was home more then ever. Even if he had quit the military for you, the two of you were living your life even better then before. There hadn't been any changes in your loving relationship.

But, as you watched Levi scowl and carry a displeased Kutchel off for a bath she very much didn't want, you knew you wouldn't be able to continue on without any doubts. Not until you and Levi properly talked about this.

You didn't care if the military blamed you for Levi leaving and hated your guts. You only cared if the man himself was actually okay with his decision.

You don't want to be the reason for him to break his tradition of living no regrets.

____________________________________

You ended up putting off talking to him. At first by a few hours, then by a few days. Eventually days turned to weeks and somehow, it had been four months since he had quit the military.

While this could be largely attributed to you being a coward, it was also how busy the two of you had gotten. Farlan had a rough teething phase, Kutchel had decided to make a sport out of kicking the fridge and trying to climb out the window, and Levi's job had a new project he had gotten busy in.

On a sunny afternoon, you held your daughters hand, and kept your son hiked on your hip as you walked out of the market. What you didn't know was that, as you struggled to carry your shopping bags and manage your mischievous children, someone would help you. And, after walking you home, that someone would give you the answers to all the questions you had wanted to ask Levi.

Years later, you would silently wonder if Erwin Smith had come there that day on purpose. It was likely, after too many years of working with Levi, he had known Levi would rather die before telling you something like this.

____________________________________

In all the time you had known Levi Ackerman, which amounted to a good five years now, you had learned a great deal about him. His strength, strong will, desire to protect, his devotion to being a soldier, his dreams for the future. All his highs and lows, ones that no one else had ever been pivy to, you knew them by heart.

You knew the most regret he had ever felt in his life was when Isabel and Farlan died. You knew his heart ached when even one soldier lost their life in battle. You knew the most flustered he had ever been in his life was when he had wanted to confess to wanting to be in a relationship with you, only for Hange to scream declare his feelings to you instead.

Thankfully, no one else had been there, or else Hange wouldn't be alive right now. And he had made sure to ask you out in his own sweet and romantic way later.

You had seen him get emotional more times then anyone else. At the birth of your children. Their first words. Kutchel learning how to crawl and following him around everywhere, her first decleration of love for her 'pwapa'. Farlan crying everytime he left for work, clinging to his leg as he whined. The two of you had built a family together, leading a largely satisfying life together. However, the danger and importance of his job had never escaped you.

You had always known you were second to his duty as a soldier. He would have to go on long missions, ditch dates, miss birthdays and not be able to tell you anything about his work, but you accepted it.

You never expected more then he could offer, preferring to enjoy whatever time you could have with him. You were fully okay with being the second choice, and so, you certainly hadn't expected him to take such a big decision.

To pick you over duty.

'Zackley.....ordered you to take a second wife?'

Levi winced, his eyes determinedly staring at the floor. There was some shame in his eyes, as though he had committed some crime. With a deep sigh, he sat next to you on the couch and braced himself to give you answers. Your children were sound asleep in your bed, while the two of you sat in the living room.

'Word got around about Kutchel and Farlan having abnormal strength. Zackley initially wanted me to sign a shitty contract and agree to both of them joining the military. I told him to fuck off.'

'The military wanted to use our children as soldiers? Levi you should have told me-'

'I didn't want to worry you. Frankly, I was half scared Zackley would approach you and try to bullshit you into agreeing with him.'

'... What happened after you refused?'

'He started pushing for me to have more kids. One's I wouldn't be..attached to-'

'--with another woman.'

The severe expression on Levi's face gave away exactly how much he hadn't appreciated that particular line of thought.

'I turned him down. But Zackley started placing pressure. The shitty old man just got greedy because he wanted more super soldiers. Kept pushing random women on me, and then someone theorized that if my children with you, a civillian, were that strong, then with another soldier they would be even stronger....'

You frowned, you hadn't wanted to believe Erwin but..

'.. He picked Petra. That idiot didn't turn him down. Mostly because of orders and partially because of that stupid, childish crush she has on me.'

You were at loss of how to respond, feeling too much for you to even think about putting into words. So that's why why Petra had let everyone think it had been your fault Levi had quit the military.

If she had told the truth, she would have to admit that she had agreed to marry and bear the children of an already married man. And while it would have been under orders, it would have ruined her reputation.

Levi mistook your sudden silence as something else, genuine panic flashing in his eyes. He kneeled down in front of you, hands immediately grabbing yours. His voice was shook a little as he hurried to reassure you.

'I swear, nothing fucking happened. I ignored it all as long as I could. Then Zackley had the nerve to give an official written order and threatened to court martial me. I broke the goddamn table and walked away from the military that day and--hey, look at me'

His hand gently nudged your chin up, steel eyes looked sorrowful at the sight of your watery ones.

'.. W-what if you regret it?'

Levi shook his head a little, opening his mouth to argue. You didn't let him.

'The military has been with you for so long. How do I know you won't regret this five years from now? I know you loved that job Levi, I don't want you to give up-'

'I'm not giving up shit. I loved that job because I agreed with where they were heading. Their goals. The moment they started pulling dumb crap like this, I m wasn't going to stick around.'

He sat next to you again, right arm wrapping around your shoulders, his left hand hand tucked between your hands.

'Erwin said it would be better if I just left for a while. Zackley is senile and he's in a stubborn mood. Once the Queen gives birth to her child, which is any day now, she'll end this nonsense.'

'Are you sure?'

'Definitely. That brat hasn't been well, so Zackley has been in complete control this entire time. Its why he got so ballsy, the queen wouldn't approve of this shit. We wanted to avoid risking more friction in the military, and me quitting was the answer. Erwin figured it would be a lesson for them to see how much they needed me or some shit. '

You leaned into his chest, feeling much more calm now. So everything would end up okay, he wouldn't have to leave behind the job he had poured his blood, sweat and tears into.

'This is why I didn't tell you this shit. Fucking politics and crappy old men.'

'No, I needed to know....'

You pulled away from him, only to settle yourself in his lap. Your lips brushed against his gently.

'.. You really do love us, don't you?'

'Tch whatever.'

The slight redness visible on his cheeks gave away how he truly felt.

____________________________________

A/N: I know, I said I'd consider making a confession chapter. But I got this idea stuck my head and I figured, hey why not just set it in the same universe. Now that this idea is out of my system, I'll get started on it. I hope y'all enjoyed this! My asks are open, so you can make requests or ask whatever you want really. Till next time ⭐⭐

#aot #snk #AOT #SNK #levi ackerman #attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #Dad! Levi #Happy Levi #Politics suck #Levi x reader #Reader insert #Strong acker children

[moonah-rose]

King Takes Knight

A quick Michael whump drabble mini-fic, written for catharsis sake. I’ve had a rough week.

TW: Captivity, torture, impaling.

His wrists are bound together behind his back, chains clamping tight around his skin, looped to a stake on the stage. He’s constantly hanging forward, feet impaled into the wood by rusty nails. The laughter had rippled around him when those had been hammered in, slow as fork, half a minute between each pound to give Michael a chance to appreciate the pain. Enough time for everyone to enjoy his groans.

At first he’d done his best not to give them the satisfaction. Demons fed off the sounds of misery. No, seriously, it’s like a vampire feeding off blood. It’s like their own crack cocaine. Michael had grown tired of the ‘kick’ many centuries ago. Why him? Why none of the others? Oh, right, of course. That’s the whole reason he’s here. It’s why he’s now the main, impromptu, attraction at this DemonCon.

He’s a freak.

That was always a fact, as much as he had tried to hide from it. Demons don’t collect human objects for a hobby unless its teeth or kidneys. Demons don’t binge watch human TV shows to help them fantasise about what it would be like to live the way they do, up above on Earth in the fresh air, with dating and parties and their own laugh track. Demons don’t get tired of what they were designed for; torture, maiming, eviscerating. For so long he told himself, It’s just a phase, a hyperfix, it will be pass, I just need something new....

The psychological experiment had worked. Until it hadn’t.

Now here he was. Still a freak, to them, more so than ever. He has no intention of running from it anymore. Not that he’ll be able to run or walk for a while now.

Sometimes they loosen the chain and one of them will yank it, making him crawl. Typically after they’ve smashed a broken bottle on the floor, open palms falling onto the scattered shards, trousers tearing at the knee as they cut in deep.

He’d barely felt anything the first time he’d noticed the crimson pooling beneath him. He had already worked out that they’d done something to heighten the pain receptors in his skin suit. But how could he have blood?

“Just an illusion, you tuft of pubic hair.” Shawn had snarled at him, disgusted at the curios look on his prisoner’s face; “You don’t get to have blue goo like a true demon. You’re an abomination. A holy spawn of Nothing.”

He’d have tried to give a snappy comeback, had they not threaded a steel wire through his lips. Michael almost took it with pride; as if Shawn was afraid to hear him talk after he’d given his speech before. Clearly it had him worried that he was losing control, that there may have been demons listening who agreed with him, who were believed it was time to change. Maybe Michael wasn’t the only freak. A small, foolish part of him held out hope it would be one of them who would try to free him.

Nothing yet. Maybe all his words fell on deaf, wicked ears. Maybe they had considered it, for a moment, before distracted by the new attraction of a Michael piñata to play with.

The remainders of his suit stick to burned, bruised and bloodied skin. His jacket is gone, one of the Trolls borrowed his bow-tie to use as a handkerchief so he doesn’t expect to see that again given their snot is acidic. He knows they’re working their way up to the penis flattener. Just his luck, he was just starting to get used to the weird hanging bits, even having the odd fantasy of how he might be able to use them...and now it seems the first bit of action they’re going to get is being slammed with a mallet. If given a choice, he might prefer to try the butthole spiders.

His vision fades in and out after taking several punches to the head from one of the Rock Giants. He’s sure his eye nearly popped out of its socket and his jaw is broken, barely held together by the metal in his lips. They all chant their names at him. Not just freak. Traitor. Weakling. Disgrace. Failure. Hopeless. Loser.

They want tears. They want him to break.

But he’s never felt more strong in his life...at least, for now.

He closes his eyes, swaying in his bonds, head rolling as the pain thumps through his skull. He can still hear Janet screaming his name. Her magnet-bound hands reaching out for him. Jason’s hands on her arms, his distraught face looking past his not-a-girlfriend as Michael shoved the handcart away as soon as the guards caught up with them.

“GO! NOW! DON’T COME BACK! DON’T RESET! JUST GET OUT!”

It was one of them or all of them. It had to be him.

This was all his fault, after all. Janet had been taken because he’d been foolish enough to underestimate his former colleagues. They’d failed to notice the imposter among them because Michael was too busy keeping all his anxieties over his own potential double to himself. Had he just told Eleanor and the others the truth about Shawn’s call from before the experiment, the reason for his ‘breakdown’ from the start, they might have known something was up. They might have known better than to let Janet get on that train alone. 

He might not have let everyone down.

Her hand grabs his wrist as they leave Mindy’s. He says nothing as Tahani and Jason continue to walk on ahead.

He turns around.

“Listen...about last night.” Eleanor looks up at him, taking a deep breath. He can see that she’s slept very little between the few hours they took to rest up and prepare for this journey, “The whole....trust issue dealy. I just wanted to say-.”

“It’s okay.” He raises his hand; “You don’t have to apologise.”

She blinks at him.

“Uhmm...Good, because I wasn’t gonna.”

Michael’s mouth forms a silent ‘Oh’. Why had he been expecting that? 

“I meant what I said, dude. I don’t know if I can ever trust you.” She tells him, straight; “I believe that you’re Michael and not Vicky, you proved that much. But, like I told Tahani, even if it is you, I don’t fully trust you. You know why right?”

He swallows, looking down at his shoes; “The lying...I know.”

He doesn’t try to excuse himself anymore. It was bad. That’s all there is.

“Not just the lying but the lying about the lying!” She berates him; “It has to stop! And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up. I need to be sure that you understand how important this whole show we got going on is. Whole of humanity is riding on us beating Shawn and those goons. It’s more important for us to win this than worrying about just any one of us. Got it?”

He nods. Of course he’s got it. Does she still consider him a liability? Would she have preferred it if Jason hadn’t interrupted his attempt earlier?

No, he tries to reassure himself. She’s not being mean. She’s being a leader.

And she’s right.

“Got it, Boss.” He tells her, quietly, the shame still burrowing deep in his chest.

She gives him a small smile and bumps his arm with her first; “There! Glad we got that settled. Look, I just want my partner in running-fake-Heaven back at my side is all. Not hiding things from me or putting me through crab like you did last night.”

“I understand. I’m sorry.” Was he unreasonable to hope for an apology back?

He’ll never understand what it means to be human, he realises sadly.

“Apology accepted. Now go bring back our favorite not-a-robot or I’ll be demoting you to my personal shrimp-serving butler.” She teases with a twinkle in her eye as they continue their walk to the train station.

Michael laughs to himself, spluttering droplets of blood from his encased tongue, as her words ring in his ears. He hopes they win. He hopes he gets to see his friends one last time before they go to the Good Place, the real one, and he’s sent to...wherever. Hopefully somewhere nicer than here.

The more time passes, the more he’s beaten and scalded and whipped, the more he knows Janet has obeyed his request. They haven’t gone to the Judge. They’re carrying on the experiment, best as they can, with Chidi as their best chance to succeed as one of the subjects. He hears Shawn muttering one time about the train tunnel having mysteriously caved in.

Well done, Janet, old friend. Or was it Jason with his last molotov?

He knows they can do it without him. He believes in nothing else in this world except his incredible friends and their ability to save the forking world. 

They don’t need him...They have each other. And Eleanor.

His girl from Arizona. The only one who can take charge of this. The one who knows what is at stake and what needs to be done. There’s an odd tightness in his chest, which may be from where his fake ribs were crushed earlier, but may be something else. He can’t deny it...He misses being at her side, he misses watching her take charge, of being on her ‘team’, her...partner. Fork it, he doesn’t want to be sad about it. He doesn’t want to...

It’s his own fault that’s over. You ruined everything, y’know that?

“You’re thinking of her, aren’t you? Your favorite yellow cockroach.” Shawn whispers, appearing as a blur in the corner of his distorted eyesight; “Funny how they haven’t come for you. You and that idiot came for your Good Janet. But their own pet demon? So much for human friendship, huh.”

He closes his eyes tight. He doesn’t...want them to come.

His hair is grabbed, head pulled back, a small block of freezing ice pressed against his stomach. He moans into the wires. His natural fire-element essence is violently reacting to the cold. It’s worse than a thousand volts of electricity. 

“They left you, Mikey. They abandoned you to us.”

N-no...He chose to stay....He made them g-g-go...

“And don’t get me wrong, the whole offering to sacrifice yourself thing, that’s done you credit. I need you to keep that shirt up...”

And he did.

“It’s more important for us to win this than having to worry about just any one of us. Got it?”

Got it.

That’s why they haven’t come. They can’t throw away the progress they’ve made just to save him. They need to see it through till the end now. That’s all it is. Eleanor understands, he’s sure of it...It’s not because they don’t care...

The chill seeps into him. He feels parts of his goo crystalize sharply.

“I don’t think I can ever trust you.”

“Why don’t we just lock you up in Janet’s void?”

“Get out of here. You don’t get to be part of this.”

As the agony shoots through him, he blinks and he sees her. Staring at him. Uncertain, afraid, but silent. Complicit in his fate, if it’s for the greater good. No longer hers to worry about. No longer a distraction from what’s truly important - would she react the same if it was Chi-? No, stop it! Don’t! 

Shawn moves away with the ice block and Michael sags against the stake.

“Ahh...Would you look at that.”

A finger reaches out to graze Michael’s cheek, picking off a tiny frozen droplet on his cheek. Fork. How long had he been crying? He didn’t want to give them that satisfaction!

Shawn puts it between his lips and smiles; “Mmmm, not bad. Not as salty as human tears. Let’s see if I can get you to fill my glass.”

Michael glares at him now, shaking roughly. Shame quickly simmers into a flash of rage before his old boss slams the ice block against him again. He screams.

Fork, fork, fork. This has to be worth it.

If it’s the only way he can prove, without a doubt, he’s on their side...That he wants nothing but to be worthy to be her ‘partner’ again...To be wanted...Forgiven?

Win, you guys. If he can ask for nothing else, do this for him. Please, damn it...Win.

#tgp fanfic #angst #whump fic #no comfort #if someone wants to write comfort go for it #im not there right now #i just needed hurt

[khoicesbyk]

The Nanny Affair

The Fight.

Author’s Note: This fanfic right here is another challenge thrown down by a skilled writer/sister friend. I once again accept! Talley Ho! *in my Sherlock Holmes voice*

Song and Story inspiration: Ro James-Burn Slow and Sign Your Name-Terence Trent D’Arby.

***Rated: Mature 18+. Contains strong language.

***Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters.

***Characters: Sam Dalton (LI) and Krystal Parker (MC).

***All Characters and names (except MC) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 2,600 words.

3:34am.

That’s what the clock on her phone read, when she checked it.

3:34am.

For the third time in 2 weeks; she woke up in the middle of the night, gasping for air, shaking and in a cold sweat because of him. Because she’s being haunted; not just by how much she wants, misses and needs him. But; by how much she wants that night at the gala to happen again.

It has been 2 weeks since everything had happened; between Sam and Krystal. She hadn’t heard from nor seen him in that long. Because; he was either gone before she woke up; or she was already asleep when he got home. She knew he was avoiding her. And the poor girl was starting to crack under the misery.

After finally forcing herself back to sleep; Krystal was up and getting the boys ready for their week long trip, with their grandparents to their beach house in The Florida Keys. They both were excited to go but; bummed that Krystal wasn’t going with them.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna go Krystal?”, Mason asked.

“Yeah, you could even sleep in the Grandpa’s boathouse!”, Mickey quipped.

“After being Krystal smashed, squished, sandwiched, piled on AND pillowed for the last 2 weeks: I need a break!…preferably BEFORE I wind up in the funny farm.”, she said as she helped the boys tote their suitcases to the front door.

“Awwww!”, the boys collectively pouted.

“None of that! You’ll be back before you know it! And don’t forget to bring me some seashells, you two!”, she told them. “I’m gonna miss you two while you’re gone!”

“We’re gonna miss you too! We promise to be very good for Nana and Grandpa!”, Mason said to her.

“Yeah! What he said!”, Mickey told her.

“That’s all I ask. Alright you two! Carter just texted me. He’s outside. Let’s go load up!”, she tells them as she leads them to the car. Before they left; they wrapped her up in the tightest, fiercest and most loving hug, their two little bodies could give. And she gave that hug right back to them. She watched as they pulled off and got misty eyed.

She missed her two sweet babies already.

They are what kept her around. They are what made that house bearable, since their father was seemingly AWOL as of late. And now that they’re going off to Florida for a week; the house seemed colder. Because; instead of 4 people in that house, it was just 2. Her and Sam.

What was she gonna do?

Well, for starters; she was gonna attempt to NOT traumatize herself, by straightening up their room. As she got to their room, she put her headphones in, turned on Amazon Music and let Ro James take her away as she cleaned up.

About an hour after her straightening up; Sam came home. He was coming from the Airpark. He had to say goodbye to his boys; before they left for a week of fun in the sun. After having to put out yet another fire due to the data breach in Milan; he was a mix of flustered, anxious and feeling like he could break something with his bare hands.

Without even thinking, whether or not Krystal was home; Sam went and changed into his gym clothes. He hadn’t noticed she was home until he saw her in the kitchen. She was getting a bottle of water and still had her headphones in. He had no idea what she was jamming to; but it was clear that she was jamming.

At least she was until he scared her by tapping her on the shoulder.

“Jesus Fucking Christ! What are you doing here?!”, she asked as she tries to calm her breathing and heart rate.

“…I live here? I mean the last time I checked; I owned the house.”, he told her as he leaned against the kitchen island.

She rolled her eyes in clear annoyance. She was also trying to hide the fact; that she was loving seeing him in his workout gear. He chuckled as he asked her, “what have you been doing?”

“A little something I like to call: just finished cleaning your kids room. I never thought that; two 7 year olds could traumatize me. Apparently I was wrong.”, she told him.

He grimaced at the thought. “Yeah…I guess I should’ve warned you about that. Remind me to put a little extra in your check.”, he told her. She nodded.

“What are you doing home so early? I thought you’d be spending the day in the office.”, she told him.

“I was. But; I remembered that the boys and my parents were leaving today. So, I met them at the airpark in Gaithersburg then came home and saw you. And here we are!”, he said with a shrug. She rolled her eyes again.

“Headed out for a run?”, she asked.

“Nope. About to hit the punching bag and maybe the weights.”, he told before he asked her. “You wanna join? I could use the company.”

“Sure. I got some steam to blow off, anyway.”, she replied.

After changing into her workout clothes she joined him in the gym. It was pretty decent sized gym. It had a little bit of everything in it, even has a boxing ring and a sauna.

Every so often; she would catch herself looking at him; out the corner of her eye. Sam is gorgeous! Especially whenever his muscles flexed or he rolled his neck and shoulders. She was still royally pissed at him but; when it came to seeing him sweat she couldn’t help but want him.

He was her entire weakness.

After about 2 1/2 hours; they both had worked up a pretty good sweat. She was feeling invigorated. She needed the distraction and she got it. Even if what caused her to need the distraction from in the first place; was in the same room.

While taking a small break; Krystal watched him on the punching bag. He reminded her of her older brother Kelly; who’s a former Marine. He was pretty good. Except for his right hook. It wasn’t bad but it wasn’t all that good.

“You need to work on your right hook.”, she told him.

“Huh? I need to work on what?”, he asks her.

“You need to work on your right hook. It’s lacking. Quite a bit actually.”, she replied.

“Well alright hotshot! Since I’m lacking quite a bit; as you put it why don’t you show me how it’s done?”, he asked in a sarcastic tone.

She rolled her eyes, taped up her hands and went to work. When she was finished; she told him, “you have to have better control on your speed. You’ve got the right amount of strength; but your speed is horrible.”

He flashed a small smile. He was both impressed and insulted by her.

“Well…now that you’ve all but insulted my skills; hit the ring with me. Let’s see you in action.”, he told her.

“It’s your funeral.”, she shrugged; before stepping into the ring with him.

When they were across from each other; she asked him. “So pick your poison boss. A boxing match or a little game I like to call: tap or pass?”

“Definitely tap or pass!”, he replied.

“Alright then! Rules are simple. You make other person tap out or pass out.”, she answered.

“So it’s about submission, eh? Works for me! Besides it wouldn’t be the first time that you submitted to me.”, he replied. She wanted to punch that smug grin off his face.

At this point; she was beyond annoyed by and pissed at him. And was full on ready to kick his smug faced ass.

“Like I said earlier: it’s your funeral.”, she tells him before going to one corner; he went to the corner across from her.

“You ready?”, she asks him.

“Let’s go!”, he replies before taking his shirt off. He hoped it would distract her. But; he was about to find out that; when it comes to tap or pass, Krystal isn’t easily distracted.

With Redman’s “Let’s Get Dirty” blasting through the surround sound in the background; the “game” was on. They circled each other; waiting on the other one to strike. Sam was first to strike. A fury of punches and blocks soon followed.

They danced around each other; both looking for an opening on other one. Krystal found her opening and she took it, with a stiff right hook to his jaw. It caused him to drop to one knee.

“So that’s what we’re doing?”, he asked while briefly holding his jaw as he stood up. She merely shrugged and said, “it’s called tap or pass for a reason.”

He simply nodded as he returned fire. She was able to dodge most of his shots; until he got a good one in on her kidneys. He stopped and asked, “are you alright?”

“I’ll be fine! Let’s go!”, she said through ragged breaths.

Soon; punches and kicks turned into takedowns. With each trying to trap and out do the other. He wanted a fight and she was giving him one. But; what they both failed to remember is that neither likes to lose. At all; for any reason. He intensified his attempts to take her down. She was going to lose. He just needed the right time and she thought the same for him.

Like a spider does a fly in its web; Sam finally caught her. He had her pinned face down to the mat, in a sleeper hold with his knee on her back.

“You’re not getting out of this, kitten. I’ve got you right where I want you!”, he whispered harshly in her ear.

“Don’t call me kitten!”, she sneered. She managed to get free but; because that sleeper hold zapped a significant amount of her energy; it didn’t take him long to capture her again.

This time; he had her in another sleeper hold, but with his legs around her midsection. By slightly arching his back; he had the sleeper hold as well as the body scissors locked in. She was going to fight her way out of this. But; the more she tried to move, the tighter that body scissors felt.

“Give up Krystal! You’re NOT getting out of this!”, he growled in her ear.

“The…fuck…I’m…not!”, she replied. She was determined not to lose. Especially; not to the one person, who had her heart and emotions all over the damn place. But! Try as she might Krystal was trapped. Especially after; he shifted his weight slightly; by rolling onto his left side and trapping her left arm. Doing so, put her in a position that all but killed her left shoulder.

“Give up Krystal! It’s over! You have nowhere else to go!”, he told her.

“No!”, she shouted as she struggled to get free.

“Let go Krystal! It’s NOT worth you passing out!”, he told her.

She tried her hardest to try to hold on. But he was just too strong and she was too tired. With; tears full of frustration and fury in her eyes…she finally tapped out.

When he let her go; he felt everything but victorious. Especially when he saw the tears in her eyes; as she tried to put some feeling back into her left arm.

“Are you okay?”, he asked her clearly concerned about her.

“I’m fine!”, she snapped at him as she finally got up off the mat.

“You’ve been off ever since I came home. What’s gotten into you?”, he asked her.

“What would you expect from someone; that you’ve been ignoring for ohhh what is it, two weeks now?”, she replied with a question of her own before walking away.

That’s when the realization hit him like a gut punch. The gala…or at least everything that happened afterwards.

“Krystal wait a minute! Please!”, he called out to her before catching up to her.

“About that night—“, was all he said before she turned around; eyes blazing with heart ache and fury, “don’t okay? Just don’t! You’ve said all you needed to say to me! Or lack thereof that is.”

As she turned back around; she heard three words that she never thought she’d ever hear from him.

“Krystal…I love you!”, he said to her. She instantly froze in place.

“What did you say?”, she asked him. Not because she wanted to get her hopes up but; because she wanted to make sure she heard him correctly.

“I love you! And I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry that it took me this long to say it to you. I haven’t been intentionally trying to ignore you. I promise you that. But; I realize now that I have been distant. And that’s not fair to you. Look, it’s not that I don’t want to be around you. Because I do. I always want to be around you! Hell I want you! I need you! I HAVE TO have you! I want to taste you! I want to touch you! I want to please you! I want to see you smile! And right now if I’m to be honest: all I want to do is kiss you.”, he told her. She was stunned.

“Are you…are you serious?”, she asks him.

“Every word baby. Every single word.”, he responded as he got closer to her. He pulled her into an embrace; careful not to hurt her already sore left arm and shoulder. As soon as she was in her arms; the dam of emotions she was holding back broke. And she burst into tears.

“If you love me like you say you do; then why shut me out? Why treat me like I’m some dirty little secret of yours? Why keep me at arms length but expect me to welcome you with open arms and heart?”, she asks with tears streaming down her face. He did the one thing; he swore; he’d never do: he broke her heart.

“I should have a response to that. But the truth is; I don’t. I don’t have an answer for my actions towards and about you. Other than; I’m a selfish and self centered bastard who is absolutely crazy about you. I just…God this is hard! Baby; you have to understand that I haven’t felt this way about a woman since, my wife Samina died. When I lost her; I felt like I lost my heart and soul. I did actually. I lost my heart and soul. And I swore that I would never again; love any woman like I loved her. That was until I met you. The day that you walked into my office for the first time; as cliche as it sounds; it was love at first sight for me. And it’s been that way ever since.”, he explained.

She was stunned once again. She just stood there; trembling in his arms as she cried. She finally heard it. He finally said it.

“Sam…”, she managed to say through her tears.

“Yes?”, he replied as he rubbed her back and placed a small kiss on her forehead.

“I love you too.”, she told him.

At that moment; he gave into every ounce of unrestrained and unbridled passion; that he had in him. And he kissed her like his life depended on it.

Because in that moment…it most certainly did.

“Come with me?”, he asked her.

“To where?”, she replied.

He never said a word. He just took her hand and led her to his bedroom.

@lucy-268 @txemrn @choicesficwriterscreations @lovelyladyk88

😘

K.

#choices #choices fanfiction #fanfic #khoicesbyk #pixelberry #choices stories you play #choices tna #sam dalton #the nanny affair

[achilleasfury]

Colorful!Laughing Jack [xEyeless Jack in the beginning] Oneshot

TW: cussing, Isaac

Darkness. He saw only darkness. Then a small light. It moved quickly toward him, growing bigger and bigger until it formed the shape of a man. A child. Jack had a bad premonition. He backed away from the light, went backward, couldn't take his eyes off the creature. "Laughing Jack," Isaac ran joyfully toward his old friend. How long has it been? It must be centuries! I've missed you so much," childlike joy lay in his eyes, embracing Laughing Jack's legs. "But what about you? Where are your colors? That must change! I wish you were colorful again, to play with me again!" He didn't have to follow. He was free. His box had Eyeless, who would never abuse it.  He wouldn't be colored again. He wouldn't go through that again. No matter if Isaac had been given a second chance. Laughing would not give it to him. "Finally! How beautiful and colorful you are again," Isaac smiled softly. "I'll wait, Laughing Jack. You just have to find me. We'll meet again, don't worry. Someone shook his shoulder. "Laughing! Wake up!" Eyeless's voice was hard to get through to him. "Normally you never sleep this long," it was no reproach, only surprise, confusion. "I-I," what was that taste? What had he eaten last? Nausea came over him, he jumped up, ran into the bathroom. He threw up. He had tasted it yesterday. How had he been able to eat hearts, organs in general? He choked again, his hands clawed into his pants. Again and again, his body shook, he couldn't calm down. His reality, his entire being had been torn out of control. He had hoped to never see Isaac again. But it explained why he was still alive, still allowed to exist. Because he still had to fulfill his purpose. "Laughing"? What's the matter? Are you all right?" Eyeless sat down next to him. How could he eat kidneys? How could he like that disgusting taste? Once again the jumping devil threw up. Then he moved away from the toilet. He sat down on something that made his back squeeze through, preventing him from sliding further away. "No-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no-no," he shouted, jumped up, his hands ran through his hair. He pressed his eyes tightly together, not wanting to look away. He did not want to see his colors again, not his human hands, not his human face. He didn't want to see anything that reminded him of Isaac, of their time together. Eyeless rose quickly, wanted to walk towards the other Jack, calm him down. But the other Jack got in the way. "Go! Please. Just go. I-I need to be alone. I have to think." The blind man faltered. Was that really Jack? His voice sounded so different. Warmer, a little brighter and friendlier. Childlike. He sounded like a child who was afraid and covered it with grief. What was wrong with Laughing Jack? Eyeless did him the favor. He wanted to help, but walking seemed to be better. Laughing heard the door fall into the lock. Hesitantly, he lifted his head, took his hands out of his hair, from his head. "Why," he asked himself as he opened his eyes, moved to the sink, to the mirror. He stood opposite himself. His former self. His colorful, friendly self. He looked into the sky-blue eyes with the cheerful glow, noticing the red hair that reached almost to his shoulder. He saw his nose striped in rainbow colors. He looked down at himself, saw the colorful clothes, the green ribbon that was wrapped around his waist. Carefully he turned sideways, looked at the ribbon projecting slightly from his body, at the end of which a kind of ring was attached. He could have been hung up. At the very beginning, when he first thought the first time existed, he was still tied up inside his box, on a wall, waiting for the lid to open. Memories that had long been repressed poured into him. His first words, seeing Isaac's face for the first time, hearing his laughter. Their first game together. The dead cat. Isaac was gone. He had been waiting for him. Isaac had returned. He had just not remembered. He had forgotten him. Laughing Jack, who was he? Jeff? Slenderman? Jack didn't know. He didn't want to know. Someone entered the room, the same person took a sharp breath of air. "What the fuck?" Jeff. Could he stop cursing for once? Reluctantly, Laughing turned his head to the door. As his gaze fell on Jeff, he retreated to the wall, staring at the young man in front of him with eyes wide open in fear. He pressed himself against the wall, slid slowly down it, and rolled over a little. "What- SLENDERMAN? WHY FOR FUCK DOES LAUGHING LOOK LIKE A LIVING PRIDE FLAG," Jeff yelled over his shoulder. "Pride flag," that was Eyeless. "What does that mean now? I mean from the colors," he added. He knew what the Pride flag was, he himself was part of the community. "He looks like he fell into a barrel of chemicals like Joker, and now he's brightly colored," Jeff replied. Laughing trembled. How many more were there at the door? "Can you-can you go?" he asked, curled up more and more. "You are creepy," he let himself be heard. "We're supposed to be scary too, you idiot. Yesterday you looked like that too!" He knew it. He knew what he looked like. That scared him. He wanted to get out of here. He wanted to go somewhere friendly, bright, where people didn't look SO. Slenderman had appeared behind Jeff. "Laughing Jack. What happened?" he could guess, he already knew. Still, the clown should admit it to himself. Slowly, he raised his head, looked at Slenderman. Panic still lay in his eyes, the need to flee, to hide. But he replied. "Isaac. He is alive. Reincarnation. rebirth. And he wants to wait for me. I should wait for him." The Faceless One sighed. This would be complicated "Do you want to look for him? Do you want to go to him?" Laughing's first reflex was to nod. But then he shook his head and had to think about it. "Yes, I do. But-it's still too early," he had been made for a six-year-old boy, not for a newborn. "Will you still stay here first?" Eyeless asked. The quiet tone, the seemingly little interest was a waste. Their relationship was official, as was their fear of loss. Everyone knew how much Laughing hated being alone, how much he detested silence. How he had hated it, despised it. Everyone knew how insecure Eyeless was, always expecting to be abandoned, even when he knew Laughing loved him. "Of course," Laughing replied. He sensed Eyeless's fear, so he tore himself out of his panic. He stood up carefully, his 'hanger' swinging back and forth a little, making noises. Slowly, he walked towards Eyeless, took him in his arms. This gesture calmed them both. Laughing could finally hold on to someone, hold on to someone, calm down. Eyeless could be sure not to be left, not to lose Laughing, whether he was colorful or not. Slenderman and Jeff left the room, both in thought. Slenderman thought about the problems that would arise. He would not be able to prevent anything. He would have to let it happen. Jeff did not like this strange, frightened Laughing. This was not the sarcastic, sadistic asshole that kept provoking him. That was a wuss that didn't seem to belong here. Everything became so complicated. Laughing behaved more and more like a child, doing nothing all day but Sally, who was the best match for his mind, and with his skills, he was able to cheer her up. All those games he had known before, that he had forgotten, came back, he had so many ideas. Somehow Eyeless had receded into the background for him. Of course, he still did a lot with him, but it wasn't like before. He was often only in Sally's room, he didn't want to see the others. Somewhere deep inside him, he was still the black and white clown who didn't want to show his fear. In the beginning, Laughing had tried to accompany Eyeless to his murders, to help him. But already the first time, he had felt so sick, there was nothing he could do, just watch. Tears had flowed down his cheeks, he had trembled so much, not being able to speak properly. Still, Slenderman let him stay in the Mansion. He was allowed to stay, even though he couldn't do anything anymore except be there to amuse Sally.   Sometimes Laughing wondered why he didn't leave on his own. Why he stayed. Eyeless. It was only because of him that he stayed. He loved the blind man so much, he could not leave him behind. Not yet. Four years it stayed like that. Laughing developed a close bond with Sally, slowly but surely slipping away from Eyeless. He wanted so much to stop it, but he couldn't. Then it happened. They talked it out. Both agreed to a separation. It was better that way. Laughing had never again been able to make friends with Eyeless's face, which he had loved so much then. Eyeless had never been able to reconcile himself with Laughing's sensitivity, with his excessively childlike behavior. Moreover, he had finally admitted to himself that his feelings for Laughing had disappeared. Three days later, Laughing had disappeared. He had left nothing behind. Laughing Jack," four-year-old Isaac Lester smiled broadly as he looked at his friend. "I knew you would come. You took your time. But that doesn't matter anymore. Come on, let's play," how grown-up Isaac sometimes sounded before his mind became childlike again. Laughing nodded automatically. They played for hours but he wasn't really into it. Again and again, his thoughts wandered to Eyeless, to the past. "Jack! You always scored! Why don't you hit it now," the blond boy looked up at his friend and had to put his head back into his neck. "I-it's nothing," Jack grinned. "Just something on my mind, nothing special. Besides, I have to give you a chance too, kiddo," how much he wished his grin was real, not just the result of Isaac's wishes. "But I've already won twice now. This is going to be boring," he replied impatiently. "Let's play something else instead. Or collect bugs," he suggested. As always, joy Laughing shot through with this idea. He had to love everything Isaac loved. He was used to having that. The first time he had been colorful. Back then, he and his feelings, his emotions, had been real. Although. Had they ever been? Had he ever been more than just a toy, a puppet of Isaac? Had he ever been a being in his own right? Had he ever managed on his own? No. He had never been. Now he was running around the garden collecting stupid bugs. There was still a grin on his lips, still giggling whenever Isaac said something he thought was funny himself. He was not himself. He was just a damn puppet. This went on for weeks, almost half a year. Nobody searched for him. At least he saw no one. Then it began. Isaac started it again. He couldn't get away from it. Every time Laughing had been in his mind for a short time, he got bored; he collected bugs, threw them against walls, against Laughing, or crushed them. Each time Laughing would startle, try to stop him. Deep inside he felt the urge again. The urge he had not felt for years. The urge to kill. As Isaac slept, everything broke out of Laughing. Tears ran down his face, he kept sobbing. No one seemed to hear him. He straightened up. It was the middle of the night, Isaac had gone to bed pretty tired. So he could walk up. Laughing left the house through the window. He ran through the garden, climbed over the fence. A walk in the forest couldn't hurt. How pleasantly cool the night was. A smile, a real smile, the first in months spread on his lips. He walked through the forest for a few minutes. Then a small figure rushed towards him, clutching his leg. "Laughing. You're back," Sally's excited voice cut through the night. "We haven't found you. Where have you been?" she let go of his leg, took his hand, and tried to pull him along. "Sal, I can't go back," Laughing smiled gently. "I am colorful, made for a child, not for a household full of murderers," he knelt and pulled her onto his lap. "I belong to Isaac." "Oh, your free will is fucked too?" Jeff stepped out of the shadows. "Sounds almost like you didn't run away from your own free will. Running off like a fucking coward. Why was he angry? Laughing was no longer suited to them. He hadn't been feeling well. There was no reason to be angry. A sigh escaped him. "I never had free will, Jeff," he put Sally down, stood up. "That is not my nature. I was created to serve, to enjoy. not to make anything of my own, to be alone." "That's no reason to fuck off. You left us alone. You left Eyeless alone." "No, I didn't." Laughing looked Jeff right in the eye. "I had to go, Jeff. Following an order is not running away. It's obeying." A surprise was in Jeff's eyes. In the past, Laughing had defended himself against every order, only doing something if you asked him to do it or he came up with the idea himself. He had also hated the word order. And now? Now he used it himself. "What the fuck is wrong with you, Jack? Who crammed this shit into your brain?" Jeff was visibly upset. "Let it go, Jeff. There's no other way. I'm attached to Isaac. He lives, I live. I reflect his interests, his emotions," Laughing looked away from Jeff. "He has learned. He knows that he can control me to a certain degree. There is no way I can go back," he smiled weakly. "Maybe it will be a good time after all. Goodbye, Jeff, Sally," he bowed slightly, then he turned around and left the forest with quick steps. As quickly as he could, he returned to Isaac, sat down at the end of his bed. Then he tried to sleep. Once again weeks passed. Once again, Laughing could never concentrate well on his playmate, always sinking back into his thoughts. Once again Isaac began torturing insects. He loved the sound of snails breaking their shells when the bugs flew against the wall of the house and bounced off. Once they played on the street. The ball that Isaac had just taken from Laughing rolled into the street. I'll get it," Isaac grinned, not looking at cars but just running after the ball. Laughing couldn't and wouldn't do anything. He just watched motionlessly as Isaac was hit. He sat motionless next to Isaac in the ambulance, sat motionless on Isaac's bed in the hospital. He could have prevented it. If he had gotten the ball, Isaac wouldn't be hanging on these machines and tubes right now, wouldn't be fighting for his life. But maybe it was better that way. Maybe it was better if Isaac died. Laughing had felt Isaac's urges. His desire to reopen his past, to repeat it. Surely he would have murdered again. Maybe Laughing would have gone colorless again, black and white, could have seen his former partners, friends again. But that chance no longer existed. He would not have taken it either. The price was too high. He could not pay the price a second time. He did not want to pay the price a second time. Laughing held Isaac's hand. He talked to him, though he wasn't sure if he could hear him at all. But it was tiring. He wanted-no-he had to do something else. The clown started walking around the pediatric ward. Everywhere he saw these tubes, these devices. What was this? The intensive care unit. He would not find employment here. He was luckier one floor down. It was still the children's ward, and here the children were awake. For days he played with the children there. Then came the news that Isaac's condition was getting better. Laughing was back at Isaac's bed. He held his hand, tears streaming down his cheeks. "I'm so sorry, Isaac." He stood up, ran over to the machines, and turned them off. "Forgive me, Isaac."

#creepypasta #oneshot #creepypasta oneshot #laughing jack #rainbow laughing jack #isaac #isaac grossman #creepypasta laughing jack #laughless jack #eyeless jack #creepypasta eyeless jack #jeff the killer #sally play with me #cute baby #clowni boi #demon baby daddy boi #stinky rat man #slenderman

[yzareenxiv]

When the Past Breathes- Part 2.5

Zareen was settling in for the night, the twins asleep peacefully, the house that was quickly becoming a home (though she tried to deny it) quiet as Mede and Terbish slept as well, and Tolemy seemed to be napping. The miqo’te was trying to decide on a book to read when Ayanga knocked on her door and stepped into the room, armed and armored. Her cheerful greeting died unvoiced on her lips when she saw his expression, his attire, and the sleepy, lounging woman was on her feet in an instant with ears pricked sharply forward and gold eyes glittering, the Huntress wide awake and ready.

“I am going on a Hunt. I need you here, there are Garleans watching. I can’t explain, there’s no time.”

There were unspoken words between them, shared in a glance.

Stay safe. Watch your back.

Keep them safe.

Please, come back.

I will come back.

Aloud, she said only, “Lady light youah path and guide youah blade, brotheh.”

He nodded, turned on his heel, and was gone. Zareen stared at the open doorway for a long, long time, wrapping her arms around herself in a tight hug that tried to contain the trembling that had begun in her core and radiated outwards.

“There are Garleans watching.” The look in his blue eye as he had said it was pleading. “You have to stay strong. I have to go.” Then, he had been gone, and he had never really returned to her. The man they had rescued from the Garlean facility had not been him- not anymore. And those words...those words had been the reason she had lied to them all. “There are Garleans watching.”

You were my hope and dream.

Something, a murmur from one of the slumbering twins, pulled her from the memory and the threatening crush of emotions and she closed her eyes, taking a slow, deep breath. Then another. Then a third. Grounding herself in this place, in this moment. The memories of that time had faded, generally robbed of the worst of their bite due to Ayanga’s aid, but it was the anniversary of that ill-fated hunt. It was the same words. It was the same fears. And she was just as powerless now as she was then, forced to sit. To wait. To hope. To pray.

Would she be forced to mourn again, too?

She shook her head in denial, face twisting into a silent snarl and tail lashing. He would come back. He would. And it was her job, her duty, her calling, to make certain he had a safe place to fall when he returned. He had entrusted her with something sacred- his pregnant mate, his children, his sanctuary- and she would ensure it remained untouched. With this in mind, she shook herself and headed to the kitchen, starting to twist her long hair up into a battle-crown.

------

The short, frightened child’s scream had the already-tense Zareen abandoning her cup of tea and leaping down the stairs, rebounding off the walls so that she barely touched the floor. Opening the hidden door in the wall, she nearly skidded across the floor of Terbish’s bedroom. Her ears snapped forward and her head whipped around as she heard someone approaching through the bathroom, though the moment she registered the footsteps as Tolemy’s she relaxed and gave the man a small, slightly embarrassed smile as he came up the stairs. The thudding of her heart eased as she recognized Terbish’s night terror for what it was and she carefully curled up in the bed beside her niece, starting up a thrumming purr in a steady high-low cadence to try and soothe her and ease her back into peaceful sleep. “I’ve got this one, brotheh.” She says to Tolemy. “Just a nightmaeh.”

Tolemy nods and turns to head back to his bedroom, moving slowly and carefully down the stairs. Before he was out of sight, Terbish’s eyes flew open and she stared unseeing.

<”Monsters, monsters with metal eyes, it sees us!”> The words were spoken in Xaelic, repeated, with a strange intonation that got more frantic until Terbish closed her eyes and started to sob. Zareen wrapped her arms around the girl, murmuring soothing words and humming a soft lullabye. Tolemy looked back and met Zareen’s eyes and she gave a small nod, her expression solemn, then stroked Terbish’s hair as Tolemy headed back to his bedroom.

As Terbish’s night terror passed and her frantic, terrified sobbing slowed, stilled, and slipped back into the steady, soft breathing of sleep, Zareen held her and rocked her. Once she was safely asleep, the Jaguar settled her back into her bed and slipped out of the room the same way she had come in- not wanting to pass through Ayanga and Tolemy’s bedroom and disturb her brother again. He trusted her to calm his daughter, trusted her enough to rest. That knowledge sat heavy on Zareen’s shoulders as she climbed the stairs once more.

It sees us.

The words struck a chord, a primal chord, and she knew them to be truth and not a frightened child’s ramblings. The Jaguar padded on bare feet through the house, moving towards a window that she could open and climb through unseen from the front of the house. She wore no armor, the dark green of silky pajama top and pants having to serve as enough camouflage. Dropping from the window to the grass, Zareen made her way to crouch at the corner of the house in the moon-cast shadow, the huntress’s ears swiveling slowly as her eyes scanned the empty beach.

Everything was still, this part of Shirogane slumbering peacefully, the silence broken only by the pounding of the surf against the shore. Zareen crept through the shadows to the other side of the house, crouching with her back to the stone wall before carefully glancing around the corner. Silence, here, too. Stillness. But she could feel it, that prickling feeling, and as her eyes moved over the railing of the walkway above she caught the glint of moonlight on glass in the very corner of her vision.

The rooftop across the way. It was an ideal vantage point- high, with a full view of the front of the house and most of the yard. The spy was well-camouflaged, using some kind of magitek that made their outline difficult to perceive. They were still using the visors that Zareen was familiar with, though, and the longer she watched the more easily she was able to pick out details. They sat like that for a long, long time- the Jaguar watching the spy watching the house. Movement, on the roof, as another Garlean inched forward on their elbows to meet the first. Shift change. Time to move while their attention was directed towards each other. Out of the crouch and sprinting, using the shadow of the low wall around the house to hide herself until she could come to the staircase that led to the higher tiers of Shirogane. A moment’s pause, then darting across the small bit of open ground between Ayanga’s house and his neighbor’s. From there, she would be out of their view and she took advantage of that to scale the wall quickly and near-silently.

Her luck ran out when she pulled herself up onto the roof- the Garlean being relieved from his post was looking directly at her. She had a heartbeat to take advantage of his surprise and she thrust one hand out, tendrils of Dark aether whipping from her hand and wrapping around his throat, silencing him. He clawed at his throat and thrashed and the clatter against the roof tiles drew the attention of the other spy. The aetheric tendrils faded as Zareen’s concentration was shattered when she was charged at, forced to duck out of the way of a flashing dagger-strike. The two spies glanced at each other and moved with the synchronicity that spoke of long years working in tandem- one coming at Zareen head-on while the other moved to her left flank and drew his own dagger.

The Jaguar had not been in a true fight in nearly a year- and she had always struggled with knife-fighters, their speed matching her own. She was empty-handed, unarmored, and out-numbered. A small smile curled across her lips as her heart began to thunder and a small part of her soul whispered, “Finally”. The fight began in a flurry, the first man darting in with a slash and a punch aimed for her throat, the second coming in low and trying to stab her in the kidney. She spun away from the first man, the second catching her in the back. Grunting low, first blood drawn, she felt the pain wash over her in a wave that was almost ecstatic before the purpose of this fight hit her like a dash of freezing water.

I have to keep them safe.

Something in the atmosphere...changed. Became charged with the promise of blood and death. The men’s visors registered the ambient aether becoming more active before the woman before them bloomed with darkness that filled their visors and forced them to rip them off and cast them aside lest they be blinded. That moment was all she needed. She leapt forward, grabbing the hand that held the knife and twisting it before driving it upwards into the man’s gut, right along the seam of his armor. He staggered and the scream he tried to give was silenced by fanged teeth tearing into his windpipe and ripping out his throat. The other charged Zareen, his composure broken, knife slashing in wild sweeping strikes that she avoided by spinning around, turning the body of his former comrade into a shield. He came close enough to grab the back of the other man’s armor and pull and as the body was ripped away from her, Zareen threw her weight into it so that it unbalanced the still-living spy and he was knocked off his feet.

She pounced on him like a beast, wrapping clawed hands around his throat and looking down into terrified blue eyes. Whatever it was he saw in her face struck him silent save for a soft whimpering and the sharp scent of urine cut through the air. The Jaguar gazed at him, blood still dripping down her chin and pattering on his armored chest. There was a moment of stillness between the two, the Garlean and the Jaguar, then his hand tightened around the hilt of his knife and he tried to plunge it into her ribs in a desperate act. She rolled away and onto her feet with preternatural feline grace and he had just a moment, a fraction of a heartbeat, to see his death in her eyes.

The flash of the lightning strike illuminated the Jaguar for just an instant as it struck her enemy down. He collapsed, the roasted scent of his flesh rising in the air, and Zareen looked at him for a moment before moving to pick up one of the visors. The feel of it in her hands sparked memories- laughing with Arden, playing with the different settings as he teased her for her awed gasps and wonder at seeing the world in different overlays, playful games of keep-away, hunts together. With a silent curl of her lips into a snarl, she channeled her aether through her hands and the visor cracked, spitting out sparks before going dark and useless- the memory cores destroyed. Zareen crossed the roof and picked up the second visor, repeating the process, then tossed them both onto the throatless body before dragging the still-smoking corpse to it’s companion.

Dark aether swirled around her, rising off her in a nimbus like mist, and she carefully knelt by the two corpses and wrapped her aether like a shield around them. It took her a few moments to think, but she soon fixed a location deep in the Nagxian jungles in her mind, and in the next instant Jaguar, bodies, and all disappeared in the night.

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

Dawn had not yet touched the sky when Zareen returned to the house and crawled silently back through the window. The silken pajamas were stiff with dried blood, but her skin was clean and the stab wound in her back was bandaged with clean linen. A swift circuit around the house ensured that all was well- no alarms raised, everyone exactly as they should be. She headed to her room and her store of healing potions and, once the potion worked it’s magic and wound closed, she took the bandages and her pajamas downstairs and threw them into the fireplace.

All traces of her night scrubbed away, the Jaguar longingly considered her bed before dismissing it and heading to the kitchen. A new cup of tea, a bit of meat to snack on, and a vigil to resume. She would sleep when her brother returned.

(( Ayanga is @talesfromthegameff14, Tolemy is @ala-mhinyan and this is a side story to the story posted here ))

#y'zareen serhan #the jaguar #ayanga uyagir #c'tolemy noyoh #stories #ffxiv rp

[goodnightoreo]

Dealing with Death

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It all happened too fast. 7 days ago, you got on my table meowing at me while I was giving a lecture so I had a good reason to introduce you to my class. 6 days ago, you apparently stayed the whole night in my room making me worried that you might have peed on my chair. 5 days ago, you were play-fighting with Dio running around the sala knocking things over. 4 days ago, you suddenly felt ill. We brought you to the vet. Your kidneys were acting up. No, it was too soon I thought. Doc prescribed you meds and told me to force feed you if needed. 3 days ago, I was frustrated. You didn’t wanna eat or take any of the meds. I still tried. I didn’t want to imagine where I had to start moving on without my pandemic buddy. 2 days ago, we had to get you confined. We were all hopeful. Our house help would share stories about her friend’s cat who went through the same situation. Her cat survived. 1 day ago, yesterday, you were fighting your way through. Doc texted saying you were “responsive” but still wouldn’t eat. Stubborn Oreo. Dio’s waiting for you at home. How are we gonna bring you back? But today, you left. 

I was never good at dealing with death; never really had the chance to experience it first-hand. Sure, I had friends who left early (may they rest in peace), but it was never this close to home.  This definitely applies even metaphorically when it comes to things in general. When a gadget I own, mostly laptops and cellphones, is about to get broken, I almost automatically try to look for a replacement just in case. When it does die, I’d try my best to fix it spending hours on YouTube tutorials messing with the screws and wiring. More often than not they don’t get fixed. I’d then spend my next few hours planning on how to get a new one in the quickest time possible so I wouldn’t have to deal with the pain of losing a valuable thing. When I lose a relationship, whether a romantic or friendly one, I subconsciously look for other people to hang out with. If the relationship fails, at least I know who to fall back to. When I was about to lose my scholarship, I sought out online jobs. I eventually did lose my scholarship but I was able to numb down the pain by getting a writing job. At least then, I knew how to deal with it. 

I always had a plan for when things fall apart. Resiliency wasn’t an option I could opt out of. It was the only choice I had growing up. There was no safety net.

There was no time to slow down, no time to break down, no time to understand the pain. I just needed to get through to the next day. But what happens when there is no next day? What happens when the pain catches up? What happens when death flattens the line?

Dealing with death is one thing but knowing that I was potentially about to deal with death is twice the pain. At least with the former, I could do nothing more but to move on and let it all go. With the latter, everything is up in the air and anything can happen as long as there was still hope. This past week, I needed to deal with both. 

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The whole time I looked after you keeping you in my room, I was grasping at straws calling out to God asking Him to let you stay longer. I had spent hours researching about Chronic Kidney Disease studying the different stages trying to diagnose you myself. I would’ve concluded that you were in stage 3. Medical licenses be damned. I just needed something to cling on to. Studies show that cats would have at least 2 years left at stage 3; 5 years if we’re lucky. “Great,” I thought, “I’d have time to prepare.” I pushed my luck and forced myself to look for signs that maybe you’re still in stage 2 because by then you’d still have 7 years more. At some points, I’d even have random Google searches about how to become a veterinarian myself. I just needed to buy you more time.

While I buried myself vainly in research, you would let out these soft meows. It kept me hoping that you were showing signs of life! But this creeping thought at the back of my head knows those were meows of pain. You were suffering. I know you don’t meow that way. I didn’t want to accept it, but subconsciously I listened intently to every meow you made because I knew those could’ve been your last meows. And it was. Painfully, it was. It burns all the more on the inside knowing that these were my last memories of you. 

We were supposed to visit you today, but you left too soon. We were just a little too late. I would’ve wanted to at least be with you until your final breaths and maybe see your ears flicker one last time as I try to bite it. I wanted to bring you home and wait for you to scratch on my door wanting to get in. I’d get annoyed at you but ultimately succumb anyway. You’d meow just seconds later wanting to get out. I’d get annoyed again but I open the door for you anyway. How poetic it is to even remember that at times you’d leave my room right after Doors by Ben&Ben plays on Discord with DTT; a song we’d play when we’re about to leave. It was an everyday routine between you and me. And honestly, I wouldn’t have had it any other way. Just one thing though, you haven’t queued Doors yet, Oreo.

You were buried in a cemetery for pets somewhere along EDSA today. I couldn’t come with. Somehow, I’d still like to cling on just a little bit longer to the delusion that you’re still here. You got me through literally all of my downs and breaking points this pandemic, and sadly the pandemic isn’t over yet. I’ll visit soon. Maybe when the pandemic’s over.

It’s just that right now, I’m not ready for you to leave. Nobody is. It just all happened too fast. Was there something we could’ve done 7 days ago? What could’ve gone wrong 6 days ago? Who would’ve known 5 days ago? Maybe 4 days ago? 3? 2..? 1... Today.  —————————————————————————— You made the people in this condo realize many things. Tito and Tita especially who at first didn’t want to have cats in the condo but ended up supporting you all the way through. I’ll most likely write more about that soon. Until then, I’ll just have to undo the habits I got used to: to look back behind my seat while I work expecting to see you lying down there, to look up on my cabinet to find your ears peeking out as you sleep, to bring you home from the other condo because you’d disturb the people sleeping, to be surprised that you snuck in my room while I went out, to see you on top of the boxes in the sala curled up sleeping, to find you in the narrow space under the couch hiding from bath time, to see you running straight to the door as you see me going out of my room thinking I’d bring you out, to — well, the list goes on. 

Goodnight, Oreo. May your chubby cheeks be pinched up there. Thank you for the 2 years 6 months and 12 days (and counting). You were a great (chubby) catto.

[justjessame]

Babysitting Butcher Chapter 33

I talked my options over with the medical professionals that seemed to come and go like waves. The bulking machine that was being used to clean my blood of the impurity of whatever variation was added to me without my permission wasn’t something I planned on installing in my house, or any home I ended up in. Since my specialty wasn’t in physical medicine, I asked, hoping against hope that there was a portable option. One that would allow me to have a life, maybe not the one I’d gotten used to, but one that I could settle into and live a life that was my own, at least until the inevitable.

Billy had gone, once he realized that I was certain of the outcome and of my answer to it. It hurt worse to see the pain on his face, than it did to know that I was right about what I told him. To see how hard he took the idea that I knew how he felt about supes, regardless of their origin, wasn’t something I took pleasure in. I wished- No, I couldn’t do that, dwell on what could have been.

Instead, I spoke to the doctors and lab rats. How could I get back to the real world, but keep the possible fallout of my new additions at bay? They tossed out ideas, having tried a few times to see how long I could go without my blood being cleansed on a constant loop. The longest, and it was touch and go, was twenty-four hours. Then the fever hit hard and fast, the vertigo came rushing over me, and the spots in my vision made me almost wish for blindness. I even began bleeding again, but not from the same place that erupted in my former office. Knowing this particular weakness, and the possibility that it wouldn’t end well for me or anyone near me, they discussed it for days and then came back with an option, but one I would have to test in the clinic first.

There were two forms of more portable, so to speak, dialysis. Both meant that I would have to learn to be hands on, literally, in my own treatment and both used my own body as part of it. They warned that given how my body reacted to attempts to neutralize the foreign agent that had been introduced either could be a long shot. After all, one of them reminded me, my own body seemed focused on destroying itself.

Both utilized a catheter, much like one that I already had, but while one necessitated me using gravity to push a fluid that would do basically the same work as the huge machine that I was rarely allowed a break from, the other was a machine version, smaller but same principal. Both were contingent on my participation and both required me being on a strict schedule, stricter than a usual patient of either form.

I agreed to try both, but there was another issue. Even with the pull of being home, they wanted me to understand that I’d still need to come into one of the Vought labs for treatment. The goal remained to neutralize if not remove the dangerous mixture from me, and that wouldn’t change when I left. Telling them I understood had two doctors exchanging a look which I asked about.

“Do you know how far this clinic is from your home?” I shook my head, feeling a wave of nerves. When they told me I nearly fell over to cry, too far of a commute, especially if I had to keep the blood cleanse going on such a strict schedule. “It’s the closest, but there is another option.” They told me about a community, NOT the same as where Becca had raised Ryan, but an actual regular community that happened to be close. I nodded, it was another thing to consider. “Let’s do this a step at a time. We’ll schedule a test for each of the portable dialysis options, then we’ll discuss the next step if it’s something viable.” Another nod from me and they offered one more thing to think about, “there are medical detection dogs, with the signs that occur before you become less stable, that might me something we’ll have to discuss further as well.”

 With food for thought, I sat down with a book instead of my laptop. While I tried to get comfortable and push the idea that I was planning on leaving the care of round the clock health professionals and worse turn my back on everything I’d worked so hard for, it wasn’t nearly as simple as when Sherlock Holmes worked through a mystery.

What would anyone else do if they were sure that they were looking at limited time, not only because of a condition that didn’t seem to be fixable, but because they weren’t completely sure that they could trust the person they loved to NOT help the end along?

 Billy came back the next day, and I felt my heart skip a beat when he ignored the doctors and rushed to me to kiss me completely senseless. “You listen to me, Veronica Taylor,” his breath was hot against my damp lips. “I fucking love you and I could give a shit what’s swimming around in your fucking bloodstream. I could give a fuck if you develop laser eyes and can lift my fucking car with your pinkie.” I swallowed at how fierce he sounded. “I told you before, Ronnie, I CAN’T lose you and I fucking won’t.” And then his lips met mine again, and instead of the hot hunger he started with, this time it was such a slow sweet kiss that I felt like my heart stopped, and when the beeping of the machine took a pause I realized it had, but then the beep returned, strong and steady, just like Billy fucking Butcher.

 He held me, fully clothed of course, in my hospital bed and we talked about the options I’d discussed with the doctors. He listened, his fingers idly stroking my arms while his arms were cradling me to his chest.

“I want to be here when you try it,” I started to remind him of work, but he shushed me. “If one works, Ronnie, I want to know how to do it too, that way I can pick up the slack and it won’t all be on you.” I smiled, feeling a peace that hadn’t come for too long. “And a dog?” I nodded and could tell he was excited, since he had his own dog out there somewhere. “What kind?”

We got my laptop out, and unlike the hopelessness I’d given in to the day before, we searched the internet for more information on dogs who were medically trained to detect chronic illness symptoms, nipping the likelihood of further trauma or worse case scenario in the bud with their ability to alert patient or caretaker to a problem before it got out of hand.

“They’re a bit bigger than Terror,” his dog, I remembered him telling me about him. His lips pressed against my temple as he reached down and used the touchpad to scroll down. “If they can help me keep you healthy, Ronnie, I think we should put in a request.” I smiled, his fingers hitting the contact button on the site we’d found for a group closeby. “Give ‘em a bit of time to make sure they can train it up for your particular needs.”

I put in the information requested and hit send, while reminding Billy that it was all contingent on the treatment from home option working. And he smiled and turned me carefully so our faces were close enough for our noses to touch.

“You are one of the strongest women I’ve EVER met, Veronica,” his hands cupped my face so carefully that I felt more fragile than the thinnest glass. “If anyone can make this work, it’s you.”

 The doctors scheduled my next experiment with Billy’s request to be present in mind. Over the weekend, with a cot in my room just for the man who kept surprising me to use while he both learned along with me and watched me like a hawk to be sure I was alright, we began. I held his hand while they walked us through the first option. The non-machine one, since it was the lowest tech version, and smiled when I saw how intensely he was watching them walk us through the steps.

“The three step process,” our instructor explained, “ takes around thirty to thirty-five minutes total and you’ll have to do it throughout the day. If this option is viable for you, then you’ll also have to wake up to perform it, or it can be paired with the second treatment. How long between treatments will be something we have to work on as well, but first let’s see if it works?”

Billy stopped the doctor before we could get started by asking questions I forgot or missed in my yearning to go home. How would the supplies need to be kept? What were the worst case scenarios if something went wrong while we were home? How long did he have to get me help if the treatment stopped working? Would it be more dangerous for me, to my health, to do this rather than keep coming in for the treatment that I was doing now?

Once his concerns were addressed, in complete detail, the doctor then took me off the whirling machine that I only had minimal breaks from, telling me that unlike someone on dialysis for kidney issues or failure, since mine was simply to circulate and cleanse the blood to keep the foreign bodies at bay and ineffective, that made my complete focus necessary. He didn’t just mean that he wanted to me to learn the steps, he meant that I had to focus on precisely how my body felt. All those questions I hated to answer daily? Those were my gauge for how I was supposed to determine if the treatment was working or not. Whether I felt my temperature going up, the spots returned to my vision, or the vertigo hit me at the wrong moment, it would be up to me to know whether this was still working or not. And it was paramount, given how my body could go supernova and kill not just myself, but who knew how many others, since the range of my area of destruction couldn’t be measured without it happening.

Taking a deep breath and nodding, we got to take a break before the first round of my possible path to escaping the room I’d spent far more time in than I cared to think about. While we waited, Billy asked me if I thought my mom should learn how to perform the treatment too, and like she’d been conjured, she was in the doorway smiling at the two of us.

“You’re not hooked up to that dreadful machine,” her eyes widened with hope, but I shook my head causing her smile to drop and fear to replace her joy. “It’s not-”

Billy told her to take a seat and explained that I hadn’t been cured, but that we were trying something new to see if I could go home. He didn’t mention, and neither did I, that home might be further from the city, and closer to the clinic. One thing at a time.

“Of course I want to learn,” she set her purse down and folded her hands in her lap before she seemed to remember something. “Your father is parking the car,” she sighed, knowing that it was already hard for him to see me sick, but she took a deep breath and straightened her spine and I knew she was about to assert her will. “He should learn too, just in case.”

“And what am I learning, precisely?” My father walked into the room and this time, instead of Billy, Mom explained what was coming.

 My parents and Billy watched as the doctor, hours later when I felt the first twinge that my body was rebelling against me, walked me through the first trial. The bag of fluid, the connection to the accessory that Billy’s agreement during my unconsciousness had given me, and the power of gravity while my family watched and took notes, both mental and physical.

The first trial, actually walking me through it and showing me how to hold the bag up and wait while it utilized gravity to work its medical magic, took longer than it would if it became the option that I’d use at home the doctor promised.

“First time is always longer,” she smiled, reassuring me as the fluid dripped into me. “We chose the lighter, more flexible catheter hoping it wouldn’t be permanent, which makes this transition easier.” My mom and dad asked their own questions, knowing that Billy wouldn’t be available constantly, even if he wanted to since I would push him back to work. As the doctor answered, showing them step by step again, while Billy took the bag from my hand to give my arm a rest.

“You’re doing great, Ronnie,” he whispered, giving me a soft kiss. “Just think, this could be our new foreplay.” He was teasing and I knew it.

“Gotta say, Butcher, this is a very fucked up way to get me wet.” I winked at him as he chuckled quietly. “I love you, and I’m sorry about-”

“Nothing to be sorry for, love.” Our eyes met and everyone heard the change in my heart rhythm. We ignored the soft laughter of our audience, so focused on our little bubble. “You wrote the book on me, Ronnie, but you missed a chapter.” I raised my eyebrow, knowing I was wrong, so wrong about his love for me, but I was curious as to what I’d missed. “You missed the part where I am single fucking minded in my love for you. Not a moment goes by that I want whatever that caped cunt forced into your body purged, but never a thought of destroying YOU or your body.” He sounded as fierce as I knew he was and I felt far more confident in him and us. “Until you get sick of me.”

“Never,” I promised, and we kissed again, less soft and sweet and more hungry that we’d allowed ourselves since I woke up from the first hit of the second phase of Homelander’s interference.

 It turned out, after two weekends of further trial and error, that I would be doing a combined effort with peritoneal dialysis. Both the manual and the machine, and as an added bonus I’d get to make at least two trips to the clinic a week for further testing and at least one date with my favorite machine. My parents had come to every single training exercise, shocking me with their commitment to keeping me healthy and when Billy and I, more certain that going home was possible told them that we’d have to move, they took that in stride as well.

“I can hire movers and have them pack up the house,” Mom offered, knowing that Billy would rather be at my side than dealing with those details. “And, if you’d like, I could take a look at that community they told you about-”

The uncertainty in her voice made me realize how much our relationship had changed. Before, she would have gone and chosen the house, put the down payment down and had the paperwork ready before I’d fully made the choice to move. Now she was asking permission. Wow.

“What if we went together?” I think I surprised her as much as she did me. “The doctors have been talking to me about more trials, shorter but to make sure that I can handle it on my own, why not a trip out to have a look? It would make me feel more productive-” I sighed, and Billy’s fingers linked with mine.

 “You are productive,” his lips were against my temple in the soothing gesture that he knew helped me the most. “Told you that the others have nearly cleared the list of unknowns. Done more sit downs with supes than I ever wanted to contend with, and you were there virtually for most of them.”

I’d started, once I was feeling more hopeful about getting released back to some normalcy, joining Billy during his meetings with supes via video chat. While the supes didn’t see me, I didn’t feel up to fixing myself up to that point while wearing my attractive nightgowns, Billy could and I kept him even keeled and soothed the more frazzled nerves of some of those supes that hadn’t wanted to be found. And I’d gone back to researching both Homelander’s misdeeds, and the mysterious head popper’s true identity.

“Of course you are,” my dad kicked in. “You’re still the head of that office, Veronica, this is all just a little hiccup.” His reassurance was welcome and just as shocking as my mom’s uncertainty in helping us relocate. Who knew it would take the possibility of dying to bring us all together?

#Billy Butcher x ofc #angst #fluff #the boys #alternate universe

[jynz-andtonic]

Send me a character: Kylo Ren

KYLO REN / BEN SOLO

To preface this, Kylo and Ben are inseparable in my mind; they’re the same person, so that’s what you get here.

Favorite thing about them: His intensity, his depth of feeling, his raw physicality. Young Ben/Kylo—either feared, coveted, or both by family and enemies alike—is only seen a vessel for the legacy of others, so he uses his body as a weapon... and it’s fucking beautiful. He’s a maelstrom of emotion: anger, hatred, guilt, pain, rage, shame, intense loneliness... then ultimately hope, love, selflessness, togetherness. Whatever he’s feeling, it’s manifested in his eyes, the way he fights, the way he reaches out or withdraws, the way he touches. His character shows that no matter how unloveable you feel, however past the point of no return you believe you are, you’re still worthy of love. You still have choices. You can still heal. You can still go home.

Oh, gawd. And I guess it would be off-brand if I didn’t say this...

His tiddies.

Least favorite thing about them: Obviously, Ben/Kylo was party to plenty of horrible shit during his time with the Knights of Ren and the First Order. This is something that is “not chill,” but when you take into account Ben/Kylo’s backstory and trauma (TROKR illustrates this especially) AND the fact that he’s set up as the villain in an entirely fictional space opera featuring wizards with laser swords... it makes some sense. In short, trauma doesn’t absolve a person of the bad things they’ve done, and that’s never been the fucking point. A person’s trauma just provides context for how they behave/react and why, perhaps, they might not *really* have as much agency over their choices as one might imagine. My academic background is in cognitive/attentional neuroscience and functional neuroanatomy, and I could go the fuck OFF about trauma neuropsych, but I’ll spare both of us the rage typing today, anon. I also won’t take this opportunity to talk about machine of war and violent oppression being a real enemy in this story, or that Stormtroopers (*cough* *conscriptedchildsoldierscough*) conveniently wear de-humanizing masks so we don’t feel bad about the Good Guys blasting ‘em left and right. SO, my actual least favorite thing is that WE DON’T GET TO SEE THIS INCREDIBLY EMOTIONALLY RESONANT CHARACTER LIVE AS HIS FULLY-INTEGRATED SELF AND NAVIGATE A POST-WAR GALAXY WITH PEOPLE WHO LOVE HIM. *sobs angrily*

Favorite line: “You’re not alone.” and “Let the past die. Kill it if you have to.” OH! And “WHaT GiRL???!!!” heheheh.

brOTP: Kylo & Hux. The SNARK! These two are such great bitchy frenemies.

Additionally, I would sell a kidney to see how redeemed Ben interacts with the pals back at the Resistance. My HC is that Rose & Ben would be fast friends... especially because she bit Hux.

OTP: Reylo, yo. DIS IS A BOI WHO CANONICALLY HAS A SOULMATE. From their very first interaction in TFA, the connection between Rey and Kylo/Ben is so magnetic, and the way their volatility and fearful curiosity evolves into intimacy and inseparability is just DELECTABLE, unfff.

nOTP: With Finn’s aversion to all things FO and because there aren’t scenes where Finn x Kylo have direct dialogue, I have a hard time imagining their dynamic in an intimate way—but as always, I 100% support fellow SW shippers. There’s some really beautiful fan art for this pairing!

Random headcanon: Through it all, Chewbacca has never stopped seeing Ben as family—but there’s no way Ben could expect that with his mother and father both gone. When he and Rey land at the Resistance base and he unfolds himself from the cockpit of Red 5, he’s sure the loud growl and flash of brown fur mean Chewie’s about to rip his arms outta their sockets, and he thinks he deserves it. He only has time to flinch before he realizes Chewie has scooped him up into a hug, stroking his black hair and purring happily. At 6’3”, the former Supreme Leader is not used to having his feet dangling off the ground, but at this moment—he couldn’t be happier.

Unpopular opinion: I remain a gleeful VillainFucker™️ and heartily appreciate a good DFP characterization of Villain!Kylo in canon-divergent fanfiction, but let’s get real—THAT AIN’T THE REAL BEN SOLO/KYLO REN, Y’ALL. Additionally, you can pry canon Reylo from my cold, dead hands... but I’m also way into DarkPilot AUs (especially Padawan!Ben x Young!Poe growing up in the Resistance) and a lil’ bit of Kylux here and there. These are all totally separate things for me and I can enjoy them individually; it’s cool if that’s not the case for you!

Song I associate with them: Ooh, I’ve got two.

1) Coronus the Terminator by Flying Lotus, from an album titled You’re Dead! The lyrics and album theme make me think of the way Ben wears the persona of Kylo Ren like death mask (+ Adam Driver’s comments about “mask work” in his acting; interesting meta here)

Don't come back / Cause I might just save you / The days of men are coming to an end / So come with me, if you wanna live / You come from a time where they look the same / And think the same too /

There’s nowhere left to go, so I might just save you / My hands been bloody since the day I came / It’s such a shame, you’ve seen my violent side /So baby don’t come back / Cause I might just kill you

2) Girlfriend by Ty Segall. This one goes out to redeemed Ben Solo and his space girlfriend.

I got a girlfriend / She said she loves me / She likes to hold me / She once told me / Cause she don't mind / Nothing, nothing / Yeah, she don't mind / Nothing, nothing

Favorite picture of them: You... You can’t just expect me to pick one. Or even one from each movie. But that’s what I’ll do.

I lied. You got for gifs instead. Sue me.

Also—oops, I saved all my character ask responses and forgot to publish ‘em 🙈 they’re now queued!

#ben solo #kylo ren #kylo ben #ONE AND THE SAME #jyn z answers #anon #ask prompt #character asks #sw character meta #WOULDN’T IT BE NICE IF WE STILL HAD BEN SOLO #DLF can step on a lego #I AM HUNGRY... HUNGRY FOR ROAST MOUSE #darkpilot is maybe the best looking crackship don’t @ me #bendemption #adam driver is a ben stan don’t @ me #ben solo tiddies #sw characters #sw meta #reylo #sw sequels #sw st #adam driver #hux #rose tico #chewbacca #chewie #ben solo deserved better #solo boys #trokr

[flowers-creativity]

Sleepless

Fandom: The Musketeers Characters: Porthos du Vallon, Athos (Comte de la Fere), Aramis (René d’Herblay), d’Artagnan Warnings: Some violence, sleep deprivation as (mostly) non-physical torture Summary: Porthos doesn’t know anything about the Ambassador, and he just wants to sleep.

Notes: Written as part of @yuckwhump‘s Feb-whump-ary, Day 16 - sleep deprivation. This is pretty long and rambly and very unpolished ...

AO3 link

The hit in his back made him stumble forward and almost pitch down onto his knees, but a rough hand grabbed the rope binding his arms behind his back and wrenched him back. “What did we say?” the man said next to Porthos’ ear.

“No sleepin’,” he mumbled. “No … sleepin’.” His tongue felt too large for his mouth, and he swallowed dryly, though it didn’t offer any relief. He blinked gritty eyes at the other figure that stepped in front of him, outlined by the torches flooding his small cell with light.

“Not until you’ve answered our questions, at least,” the man said, his voice and whole demeanour so much gentler than the one behind him, holding him in place. “Once you do, you can sleep to your heart’s content. Don’t you want that?”

Porthos blinked again and then shook his head. “Not … gonna say anythin’,” he slurred. A part of him screamed at him that this was the wrong answer. Didn’t he want to sleep? Yes. Yes. Sleep was a distant memory by now. How long had it been? He had no idea. The cell was alight with torches the whole time, the men coming and going too irregularly to establish any pattern. But it was important that he did not say anything. He remembered as much. Even if he wasn’t quite so sure anymore what he shouldn’t say anything about.

“Where is the meeting taking place?” the man before him asked as if he hadn’t said anything at all.

Porthos shook his head.

“How many people are accompanying the ambassador?” the man continued.

What ambassador? Porthos shook his head.

“Who will meet with him?”

Porthos shook his head. If only he would stop asking him stupid questions, maybe he could sleep then … His eyelids drooped.

Another hit in his kidneys had his eyes snap open and him gasping in pain. “I’m … I’m not sleepin’!” he protested. Was that why he was being hit?

“You can sleep in a minute,” the man before him soothed. “Just one question, and you can get an hour of sleep, doesn’t that sound good? Two, and you can get two hours, think of that.” He sounded excited, as if two hours of sleep was Paradise. It actually was. He was so confused, in pain, his head aching abominably, and they kept hitting him … That wasn’t the most confusing part, he was quite sure he’d gone through something similar before. But at least then he’d been left alone from time to time. He had been allowed to sleep.

Not with this bunch of bastards, though. They kept prodding him awake, and once he no longer minded the pinpricks and kicks against the back of his legs, they’d started in on the beating in earnest. How ironic, that he was almost relieved at how normal that felt? Not that anything else felt normal because his skin was itching, he was hot and cold at the same time, and his sight was wavering.

“Don’t you want to sleep?” the man before him asked, drawing his attention again.

“Yes,” Porthos breathed, latching onto the words. Sleep sounded heavily, so much so that he could feel tears prick at the corner of his eyes. He was so tired …

“Then come on, what use is it to you to annoy us? Just one question,” the man cajoled. He was so nice, and it sounded so easy. Just one question … Where could be the harm in that? If only he remembered why it seemed so important not to say anything …

“Where will the meeting take place?”

“What meeting?” Porthos slurred.

“The ambassador. He’s meeting Louis’ representative,'' someone hissed behind him, and Porthos jerked violently. Where had that man come from? Rough hands yanked him back again, and he bit back a moan at the ropes chafing his oversensitive skin, at how his arms seemed to stretch longer than they should be able to.

“Don’ know about any o’ that,” he said, blinking desperately at the man before him, willing him to believe it. He didn’t know anything right now, it seemed, it was almost a wonder he remembered his own name. He was Porthos, right? He was Porthos. Porthos du Vallon, of the King’s Musketeers. Porthos, son of Marie-Cesette, friend of Flea and Charon, brother of Athos, Aramis and d’Artagnan. Wait, was he still friends with Charon? There was something there …

“Your friend killed me,” Charon’s voice said. He swivelled his head around, and there he was, his old friend, a large blood stain covering his side. “I saved your worthless hide, and that’s how they repaid me.”

Porthos blinked at him stupidly. Right, Aramis had killed him, because Charon had … He had …

A fist in his ribs interrupted his recollections and made him curl forward, only to be yanked upright again. “Speak, you dog!” the man behind him snarled.

The man in front of him was still smiling pleasantly but his voice had more of an edge to it. “I’m sure you know something,” he said. “But I can see we’re not getting anywhere right now. So, you know, if you don’t have anything to say, I’ll let you think about it a bit … Maurice will keep you company, so you won’t waste time sleeping, eh?”

With an almost polite nod, he left the cell, closing the door behind him. Charon laughed. “At least, I get to see this. Maybe dying was worth it for this.”

Porthos growled at him. “Let me be, I’m tryin’ to sleep here.” But a painful yank at his bindings made him almost fall backwards as the man behind him said: “No, you won’t.”

“Athos!”

At the hissed sound of his name, barely more than an exhale on d’Artagnan’s breath, Athos sped up to catch up with him. Their youngest was pressed up against the wall next to a cell door, his head turned to the side as he listened for something. Through a small window in the door, bright light spilt into the dim corridor. Athos frowned at the strange sight - most of the time, prison cells were not exactly kept well-lit.

He sidled up to d’Artagnan’s aide and was able to hear what he was listening to - someone was talking inside the cell. “You know, once I get off duty, there’s a wonderful bed waiting for me. With a freshly stuffed mattress and a warm blanket. D’you remember how that feels?”

There was a smack like flesh on flesh and a pained grunt, and d’Artagnan flinched almost violently next to him. Athos extended an arm to touch d’Artagnan’s, willing him to stay still just a moment longer.

“I don’t know what it’s supposed to help, anyway,” the voice continued. “You probably really don’t know anything, eh, do you, mutt?”

Another smack, and Athos grit his teeth. “Athos,” d’Artagnan breathed, all but pleading.

“Can you see inside?” he asked softly. The Gascon shifted, turning his face until his eyes were at the small opening, and he blinked at the light. After a moment, he turned away again, blinking to adjust his sight again. “One guard, can’t see any weapons,” he reported. “Porthos … he looks really bad, Athos,” he added.

Athos cocked his head, considering, then nodded. With a short gesture, he sent d’Artagnan to the other side of the door, then moved to the other side of the corridor, crouching down with sword and pistol at the ready so he would be able to move the moment d’Artagnan got the door open.

The young swordsman reached for the bolt and hesitated shortly. “Not locked,” he murmured, exchanging a confused look with his mentor. Maybe they didn’t think it necessary due to the presence of the guard within the cell … Athos shrugged and mentioned for d’Artagnan to go on. With a violent pull, the door sprang open, and Athos rose and was in the cell with two steps, rushing at the guard who stood in the middle of the room and looked at him with an almost comical expression of surprise on his face. Seeing no weapon on him, Athos dropped his own and instead plowed into him and drove him against the opposite wall, violently bouncing the man’s head against the wall. He withdrew, and the man crumpled down to the floor. With an almost satisfied smirk, Athos turned away from him and towards the upright figure of his friend in the middle of the room.

d’Artagnan was already there, stepping towards Porthos with his hands carefully lifted. “Porthos?” he addressed the man cautiously.

Porthos didn’t answer, and Athos frowned. He was awake, that much was clear, standing under his own power, though his hands and legs were bound, his arms drawn cruelly backwards.

d’Artagnan touched a shoulder, and Porthos flinched violently backwards. “I’m awake!” he swore. “Don’t--” But he did not continue, just stared around the room with wide eyes, confused and seemingly scared.

The two Musketeers exchanged a look, and Athos stepped up to his protégé’s side. “It’s alright, Porthos,” he assured him. “We’ll get you out of here. You’re safe now.”

Porthos blinked uncomprehendingly, swaying where he stood. “Yer just sayin’ that. Won’t answer any of yer stupid questions,” he mumbled.

“Porthos, it’s us!” d’Artagnan pleaded, slightly desperately. The captured Musketeer closed his eyes and shook his head. “Isn’t you. Charon isn’t him either.”

More looks were exchanged between the other two men, well past worried now. “Has he lost his mind?” the Gascon whispered. Why was he talking about his former friend whose death was almost a year past now?

Athos could do no more than shake his head, just as lost as the young swordsman. “Let’s get him out of here,” he decided. “Hopefully, Aramis can figure out what’s wrong.” He wished that the medic was with them right now but under the circumstances it had seemed prudent to leave the one with the sharpest vision outside to guard their back.

d’Artagnan nodded and moved behind Porthos to cut his bonds, murmuring words of comfort to calm him, even if it seemed as if Porthos was lost in a world of his own and barely registered that he was spoken to. Athos stepped close and held onto Porthos’ upper arms to stabilise him until d’Artagnan was finished. The contact drew another round of assurances from him: “‘m awake, ‘m awake, no need to hit me.” Athos bit back a curse. Whatever torture these men had devised, it had been quite effective at making him suffer, it seemed, though he did not for one moment believe Porthos had divulged anything under it.

He flinched and tried to pull away when they pulled his arms over their shoulders to lead him out of there, but weak as he was, it was not hard to hold onto him. Caught in his stupor, they were almost carrying, though he was aware enough to try and walk, and he kept talking, mumbling incoherently. Charon’s name was in there again a few times, and most distressingly, so were several attempts at protesting that he was awake, and pleading to let him sleep. Athos wished he would just pass out but he did not, lids at half mast but snapping open every few seconds to look around, wide-eyed and confused. Their attempts to calm him down, insisting that he was safe and could sleep if he wanted to, did not seem to reach him.

Finally, they made it outside, and Athos gave a low whistle. Only a moment later, Aramis’ figure coalesced from the shadows near the wall of the house, and he came over swiftly. “Everything’s quiet,” he reported. “How is he?” His fingers were twitching with the obvious need to check on Porthos but he knew that they needed to put some distance between themselves and the captors, at least get back to the place where they had left the horses.

“Nothing’s broken, just bruises, I think,” Athos replied. “But … I think they kept him awake the whole time.”

“He’s delirious,” d’Artagnan added, his voice hoarse. “Doesn’t know us and keeps talking nonsense.”

Aramis’ head snapped up, eyes widening in alarm. He took another look at Porthos while keeping pace next to Athos. With a deep breath, he took off his hat and rubbed a hand through his hair. “Sleep deprivation - that’s insidious,” he murmured.

“What does it mean for him?” Athos asked, trying to keep his voice level though Aramis’ reaction ratcheted his concern further up.

Aramis bit his lip, then shrugged. “I don’t have much experience with it - from what I know, sleep is pretty much the only thing that helps,” he explained. “There are a lot of things that can go wrong, though. Is he feverish?”

“He’s somewhat warm,” d’Artagnan said dubiously.

Aramis nodded distractedly. Making up his mind, he said: “I’ll go ahead to the horses, make up a bedroll and prepare what I can. We need to get him lying down and keep his temperature down. You get him there, right?”

Athos nodded. “Of course,” he told him. “Go do what you think necessary.” Even if it was only helpful to easing Aramis’ anxious mind, he would never get between the medic and what he believed to be necessary to care for a patient. Well, within reason - he had to do so to keep Aramis from running himself into the ground in the name of caring for others quite a few times.

The medic went ahead, and by the time they had made their way to the small clearing, he had set up camp, one bedroll waiting for Porthos who was still stubbornly, impossibly awake - or at least in a state that you could not call sleep, startling awake a few moments after he had seemingly drifted off and trying to walk on unsteady legs repeatedly, even though they were mostly carrying him.

They lay him down, and he went pliantly enough but then shot upwards again. “‘m not sleeping!” he assured them again.

Athos and d’Artagnan stepped back, giving Aramis room to work but standing ready to render any assistance he might need. If there was anyone who could get through to Porthos in his current state, it was his closest friend. Or at least Athos hoped so, since the delirious confusion holding Porthos in its grip was scaring him more than he cared to admit. Next to him, d’Artagnan fidgeted nervously, his gaze fixed on Porthos and Aramis.

The medic ran his hands down his friend’s body, checking methodically for injuries. When he had finished his exam, he told the others over his shoulder: “Nothing major, luckily - two of his ribs seem to be bruised, I’d strap those later. He’s running a fever but it’s not dangerously high yet. We just need to get him to rest.” Turning back to his patient, he cupped the dark face in a gentle hand and said: “Porthos, you are safe. No one will hurt you now. You can sleep. Please, sleep.”

Dark eyes blinked sluggishly up at him.”Charon?” Porthos asked, and the other man barely managed to avoid flinching.

“No, Charon is not here,” Aramis replied patiently. “You know me, mon ami. You know us, and we are here. No harm will come to you, I swear.”

The large Musketeer looked around, searching for something. “Charon was just here,” he murmured. “He … Wasn’t him, wanted me to stay awake. Sleeping hurt.” He sounded so lost, so helpless in a way none of the others had ever heard him.

“No one will hurt you,” Aramis repeated. “Porthos, please. Rest. Let go.” He stroked through the dark curls, looking around for the others with his own helplessness in his eyes.

“Maybe we should just knock him out?” Athos suggested in a low voice as he came closer and knelt down on Porthos’ other side, taking his hand and squeezing it. d’Artagnan hovered close by worriedly for a moment before he gathered himself and got down on his knees next to Aramis, laying a gentle hand on Porthos’ chest, careful not to restrain or exert any pressure.

Aramis frowned, then shook his head. “As a last resort, maybe. I’d still rather not hurt him further … Especially when he’s already frightened and confused.”

The sudden stillness under his hand in Porthos’ hair made him look down, and he met Porthos’ eyes. For the first time since Athos and d’Artagnan had pulled him from the cell, he seemed to have found a moment of calm - his gaze was still far away, not recognising them, but less frantic, less fractured. Aramis held his breath as he carefully let his fingers run over Porthos’ head, only taking another to voice a whispered: “Porthos?”

Porthos blinked, moved his head, then with a sudden sigh, he leaned into the touch, his fingers giving a weak squeeze to Athos’ hand.

“That’s good, Porthos,” Aramis soothed without stopping his gentle caresses. “Just relax. We got you.” He looked up to meet Athos’ eyes, a slight hopeful smile tugging at his lips. In the end, Porthos knew them.

They stayed that way for who knew how long, talking to him in gentle tones, touching and reassuring him, but it did not matter.

Because in the end, Porthos slept.

#fanfic #the musketeers #hurt/comfort #feb-whump-ary #porthos #athos #d'artagnan #aramis #flower writes

[crvmsdecorum]

"sʜᴇ ᴡᴀs ᴀ ɢɪғᴛ ғʀᴏᴍ ᴋᴀʀᴍᴀ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɴᴏᴛᴇ sɪɢɴᴇᴅ, 'ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ɪᴛ ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ'."

( adrianne palicki, 32, female, she/her ) Was that AURORA O'SHEA? I heard a rumor they work for the O'SHEA family, but who knows for sure ? They can be a bit ABRASIVE  & GRIM, but I also heard they can be WITTY & FORTHRIGHT. You’ll usually find them at JOHN HANCOCK CENTER in their spare time, when they’re not being an CLAN BOSS. You may want to keep an eye on that one ! 

tw: miscarriage, spousal abuse, murder, rape. 

Meet Aurora Jade O’Shea ; often goes by Rory, but don’t call her AJ if you know what’s good for you. She only allows her family and friends to get away with calling her Aurora, but if you are neither you are only allowed to call her Ms. O’Shea. 

Currently Aurora is 31 and will be turning 32 on Valentine’s Day -- a day she really doesn’t celebrate despite it being both her birthday and a holiday.

Some people would call her Amelia 2.0 or due to her out spoken candor many have nicknamed her the Brutal Beauty.

She is the second born daughter Mason and Catelyn O’Shea, but the fourth born child of the married couple overall. 

And just like her older siblings she caused trouble --  A LOT. 

Unlike her siblings though Aurora showed a calmness and was often told as a child she was the calmest one out of all of the sometimes. She had always showed kindness to everyone, even complete strangers too. 

Around her senior year of high school Aurora made it known to her family she wanted nothing to do with the mafia and lead a normal life. Clean slate and everything. It was easy for her too since she her hands weren’t stained in blood. She didn’t sat it out loud, but Aurora wanted to be away from the crime that constantly surrounded her family. 

Graduating high school and a small some of money she saved up (she didn’t want to take the O’Shea money), Aurora left Chicago all together and took a gap year. 

During her gap year the girl traveled the States and made countless friends along the way until she landed in New Orleans. She fell in love with that place and it’s culture. In that soulful town is where she started her law degree at Tulane University School of Law.

Four years later and shortly before her birthday is when Aurora had fallen in love. She fell in love with a man a few years older than her who recently became a lawyer. His name was Beau Hawthrone. 

Oh Aurora was so in love with the man. Beau was so charming with a kind heart. Their love for one another went by so fast that shortly after six months of meeting each other he popped the question and were married by that weekend. During all of this Aurora had learned Beau came from old Southern money with his family being the owners of Hawthrone Industries, a company that mainly dealt in medicine and architect.

Aurora soon came to learn that she had married right back into crime. The Hawthrone family had their fair share buried deep in arms dealing and drug trade. Scared and horrified by all of this with anger coursing through her of her husband not telling her this, Aurora confronted him about it and that is when the charming southern gentleman was gone. 

Beau had put his hands on Aurora all because of her tone. He put the Irish American in her place with a busted lip. She figured him doing this was a one time deal for right after it happened the man she knew and married came back to the surface and couldn’t stop apologizing. She was wrong. 

The next following year the beatings got worse, but Aurora hid them well thanks to the power of makeup and certain clothes. By day she was a law student with a bright future in her career and when she got home Aurora turned into a victim of spousal abuse. 

If Beau didn’t have his hands on her and using the woman as a punching bag of some kind he would take stabs at her emotionally. From all of this it slowly turned her into a cold woman and no longer was the bright candor woman she grew up to be. 

One night though the beating had gotten so bad for Aurora. She had just gotten home and had left work early due to feeling sick so of course the married woman to the hospital to only find something horrible out. Aurora was pregnant. She thought maybe telling Beau about this would make him see the error of his ways and straighten up -- IT DIDN’T. 

In a fit of fury of learning he impregnated his wife Beau put his hands on her and wouldn’t stop. His reason? He didn’t want children and worried it would ruin his career as both a lawyer and a shareholder of the company. Beau was greedy and didn’t want to share it with any children of his. It was bad enough he had to share it with his older brother despite the fact the older Hawthrone didn’t want nothing to do with the company. The brothers can blame all of that on their late father’s will and her mother’s decision in handing it to the boys. 

When his wrathful rage was over Aurora was unable to move and could hardly see either. Seeing this of what he had done to his wife, Beau had trashed the house to make it look like a home invasion and with Aurora still on the ground he then proceeded to rape her in attempts to make the story more believable. He even went as far in injuring himself. Beau then had called the cops and sounded like a frantic husband who had failed in keeping both their home and his wife safe. If he wasn’t a lawyer the man probably would’ve made a career out of being an actor. As they awaited for the paramedics to arrive Beau kept repeating like a mantra to Aurora on what to say to them.

The proper authorities and paramedics arrived to take the married couple to the hospital with their main attention on the wife. Her eyes were swollen shut, her lip busted open, nose most likely broken along with her body being covered in bruises. While there she learned she suffered a few broken ribs and was at risk for kidney failure due to trauma, but of course that wasn’t all. She had suffered a miscarriage. 

With all of this information and the loss of her unborn child, Aurora had decided enough was enough and that she was going to deal with this HER way. The O’SHEA way, not the lawful way. 

Arriving home a few days later everything went back to normal and Aurora waited. She waited for her wounds to heal and waited for Beau to strike again for.

Three months later and it was time. Aurora had left the college campus early and left a voicemail on her husband’s office phone that she had a surprise waiting for him when he gotten home. She had his favorite homemade dish prepared with a glass of some of the finest wine they had in their cellar.

Beau asked her if she was up to something to which Aurora responded, “Can I not do anything nice for my husband?” was her answer to his question. After dinner the two retreated to the bedroom and while Beau awaited for his wife, she had changed into something a little slutty for him. When she came out of the bedroom with that smile on her face, Aurora had a syringe hiding behind her back that contained a deadly poison within it -- batrachotoxin.

As the good wife straddled her husband is when her smile disappeared with a glare followed by the words, “You had it coming.” and with no warning she injected the poison into his bloodstream by jamming the needle in his chest. Out of this action Beau slung her off the bed and onto the flood with him taking the needle out of his chest though before he could do anything against Aurora is when the toxin took effect. Beau had fell to the floor and was becoming paralyzed thanks to the toxins. Acting quick Aurora had set their bedroom curtains to ablaze and quickly went down the stairs with a fresh pair of clothes in hand. 

When it was all over and her house burnt, Aurora’s story stuck with her not being home at the time of the fire that taken the life of her husband. Aurora honestly did cry yes, but not for what you think. She cried at his funeral not for his lose, but for her freedom. A freedom she thought was long gone. 

After the funeral Aurora picked up the pieces of her life and not long soon gotten her degree in aw. Upon getting her diploma she up and left again, but this time to California -- San Francisco to be exact. She wanted to start somewhere fresh and when she arrived there, Aurora went back to her maiden surname. 

Several years have passed and like I said, Aurora is about to turn 32 on Valentine’s Day. She has decided to return home due to the news she has heard of a war brewing with her family smack down in the middle of it. 

Aurora is honestly worried about how her family will see her now since it has been years since she barely had any physical contact with them and only keeping up with them through phone calls. She knows she has changed a lot since leaving Chicago behind for she was no longer the kind gentle soul with a daredevil side, but now she is someone who is much more blunt now and doesn’t give a damn if it sounds harsh or not. Since Beau’s death the lawyer has taken up self defense classes to improve her fighting skills and mastered it. 

Upon arriving to the Chicago, Aurora recently has taken up the job as District Attorney and is ready to face the enemies of her family all while protecting them. It’s time to show Chicago just how much she has changed.

WANTED CONNECTIONS: anything tbh. former flames (both sexes), friends, frenemies, former classmates. 

#crimson.intro #tw: violence #tw: miscarriage #tw: murder #tw: rape #tw: spousal abuse #IM SORRY FOR IT BEING DARK #IM HORRIBLE IK

[a-marlene-s]

Floating White Lotus

This fic was inspired by this post by @captainkirkk.

Book One: Water

Title: “Dandelion Root Tea”

Chapter: Beginning - Previous Chapter - 4 - Next Chapter

Masterlist

Rating: T (curse words mainly.)

Genre: Humor, Drama, and more humor.

Summary: Floating White Lotus, a former fire nation ship that was converted into a traveling tea shop. The shop is led by the rumored the Dragon of the West, (No knows if this is true or not… yet) and his nephew who wishes to forget the everlasting war. Well, until a certain someone decided he’d be the perfect fire bending instructor.

Archive Of Our Own: Floating White Lotus

Fanfiction.net: Floating White Lotus 

Wattpad: Floating White Lotus 

D/C: I own nothing.

Shout-out to ProudGeek4Ever! Thank you so much for beta reading the Floating White Lotus!

Dandelion Root Tea

It improves digestion and aids weight gain. Purifies bladder and kidneys. Reduces the risk of urinary infections, purifies the blood and improves blood circulation. Eases bloating and aching joints. Helps cure skin conditions. Warning! Can cause allergic reactions when taken by mouth or applied to the skin. Ragweed Allergy.

"There have been multiple sightings of Aang and the others from all kinds of places, but no one has an exact location on their current whereabouts," Iroh explained as they packed their supplies onto four Komodo Rhinos. They would make it a lot easier to get to their next location. He took out a map and showed Zuko where they'd been seen.

Zuko frowned. It was easy to tell where they'd been, but it was impossible to say where they were heading. Either Aang severely lacked navigational skills or he was a master at evasive maneuvering. He couldn't care less what they were doing as long as they were out of his sight. "Here's to hoping we don't run into them anytime soon."

-.-

"Tell them, Zuko! We aren't spies!"

Zuko resisted the urge to slam his head against the metal serving tray he was holding. They were not supposed to be here. Here, as in the same place he was. The three should be out looking for bending masters for Aang.

Not here.

Tied up to a pole.

Being interrogated by the Kyoshi Warriors.

Kyoshi warriors that thought they were spies for the Fire Nation.

"You know these guys, Zuko?" Suki turned her attention to Zuko that was close to pouring hot tea over himself. "Put the kettle down."

"He knows us! We're frie-OW! Katara!" Sokka glared at his sister who was now giving Zuko a pleading stare.

Zuko could only shake his head at this point. The kettle got placed back down on the tray. He took a deep breath and looked at the female warriors. "The bald monk is the Avatar and the other two are Sokka and Katara. The ones I told you about. They live on the South Pole."

"He's the one that got his thumb stuck on a fishing hook?" Suki pointed at Sokka with her fan with an incredulous expression.

"He then tried using another hook to take the first one out and got the second one stuck too." Katara quickly explained the story. It earned her a glare from her brother and laughter from everyone else.

"I thought it was four hooks?"

"That's a whole other story, Zuko."

-.-

Zuko served tea to Aang and Katara. Sokka was lying on the ground moping about their capture. He looked out and saw the villagers had decided to honor the Avatar by cleaning the statue of Avatar Kyoshi. He had to give it to them. The statue was over three hundred years old and it still stood strong.

"Rumor has it that the Avatar is a master at evasive maneuvering." He kept pouring the tea like if he was simply discussing the weather.

"He lacks navigational skills. It's worked well enough."

"Oh, like you are any better, Sokka!"

The Avatar and the banished Prince got first row seats of yet another sibling squabble. The airbender turned his attention to Zuko and saw him looking out into the yard with a wistful expression. Outside there were children playing with sticks and a leather ball. "Have you thought over the possibility of teaching me firebending?"

"I'm still not teaching you. You are not ready."

"Ah!" Aang grinned at the older boy. "You do plan on teaching me."

Zuko rolled his eyes and placed the teapot on the table before heading out of the hut. "I am never going to teach you how to firebend. I'll become Fire Prince before that happens."

-.-

Sokka's jaw dropped at the sight. "Zuko? What are you doing here?"

The Kyoshi warriors were putting on make-up and tying up his hair. One was looking through the uniforms to find a one that fit.

"Training." He'd always been straight to the point. Sokka kept staring at him with a gobsmacked expression. Maybe it was the hair? "Why are you here?"

"To train…"

-.-

He watched Suki and Sokka fight together with the Kyoshi Warriors. He had to remember to compliment Sokka later. He'd improved since the last time he had seen him fight. It was a well-known fact in the Southern Water Tribe that Zuko had taught Sokka some hand to hand combat. The younger Water Tribe boy kept losing his weapon. This way he had a fighting chance.

With that in mind, Sokka did well, but he was nowhere near Suki'd level. She had gotten him on the ground. The question was if her would accept defeat. Sokka stretched his neck and saw Zuko patiently looking at him. The memory of all their lessons came to the forefront of his mind.

Sokka turned back to Suki and bowed. He told her it would be an honor to be trained by her if she would consider it. Zuko smiled. His friend had come far.

-.-

Zuko watched as the majority of the girls on the island chased after Aang. The lovers spat between Aang and Katara had resulted with Katara walking off. He rolled his eyes and went back to training a few of the warriors how to wield dual broadswords.

In return, they had gathered herbs specific for this region. It was a good trade. Just another day for Zuko and the Floating White Lotus.

"Zuko."

They all stopped training as Jee ran up to them. He motioned for the warriors to leave him and Jee.

"We spotted Zhao's men on the island. I had the men sail away to avoid suspicion. Your uncle is with them and I have a boat waiting for us." Zuko didn't react as Jee had expected. He was calm and looked around to see that both Aang and Katara were nowhere to be seen and Sokka was still being taught by Suki. "Get back to the ship. They won't recognize me right now."

The warrior paint hid the scar and the headband covered his ears. You wouldn't be able to tell it was Zuko in the armour unless you already knew.

"How would you get back to the ship?"

"Don't worry about it. I have to make the others leave before they get found by Zhao."

"Don't get caught. Otherwise, we'd have to deal with the consequences of your stupidity."

"Me? Doing something stupid? Don't make me la-"

Sometime later~

"That's ridiculous. Zuko does something stupid? Impossible." Jee watched Zuko get flung into the air by the unagi. At least some flames were extinguished. As for himself, well he didn't go back to the ship. He stayed behind and stayed hidden. Someone had to make sure the prince didn't get killed. "Who's laughing now? Not me. That's for sure."

Luckily the Avatar and his group left and the attackers followed. Jee took the opportunity to get rid of the fires the unagi had left behind. The main threat was gone.

Zuko groaned while he limped towards him. "I thought I told you to leave."

"And have your uncle kill me if anything had happened to you? No thanks."

-.-

"Are you sure it's okay to leave Zuko behind?" Sokka asked with his gaze on the island that was getting further and further away. "If he gets caught by the Fire Nation..."

"Zuko is stronger than he looks Sokka. Plus, they paid more attention to us, than him."

"Why do you think he left?" The young monk was curious and thought it was more to the story.

"All we know is that Zuko got disowned by his family and is not welcome back until he gets his 'honor' back." Sokka used air quotes. "I personally believe he didn't want to join the army and it got him banished. As for Iroh... Someone had to take care of the guy."

"Is that enough to get them arrested?"

"We don't know."

TBC

R/R.

Tag List: @amynchan, @aliendoodles2

Tag List is still open! 

#Tea Zuko AU #avatar #Avatar: The Last Airbender #zuko #sokka #katara #aang #au #Floating White Lotus

[dantes--rebellion]

Ernest was the last person Dante had expected to hear from after the last time he’d seen him and the drama that had occurred. A year had passed since Ernest’s outburst and the visit Dante had taken to that small town. Now, it appeared that Ernest had calmed down at the behest of his wife, Elise, and reached out to Dante once more, this time calling him by his real name and not this Anthony he thought he knew. But the news wasn’t good. Miss Margret, the older woman that had been introduced to Dante as his former teacher, had passed away, and Ernest was letting Dante know about the funeral.

It was something Dante had to go over in his mind about, whether or not he should attend, he’d been leaning more toward ‘no’ and had made up his mind to take Patty to the beach that day instead, but then he got a call from Elise that changed his mind. She said that since their encounter last year Ernest had taken up drinking and was falling apart, she said it would do her husband good to see Dante again, whether or not he was actually the Anthony he’d known as a child. Dante grumbled, said it wasn’t a good idea, but when the woman started to cry over the phone, and he gave in. 

This is where he stood now, in the graveyard next to Ernest who wasn’t speaking to him and Elise who was crying again. Dante suspected that was more for her already drunk husband than the old woman she’d hardly known. Either way, Dante assumed it was valid. Ernest was a mess. He looked like he’d aged twenty years in just one and was loud, clumsy and rude at the funeral. Dante was growing annoyed with his antics and took him aside. “This is disrespectful, it’s the woman’s burial for Christ’s sake, get a grip.” That didn’t go over so well. 

Ernest pushed Dante away and stormed off, bumping his wife’s shoulder as he went and Dante had to suppress the urge to beat his ass. “I’m so sorry, so sorry.” Elise had cried in embarrassment, apologizing for him, as if he deserved that. Ernest had been a proper asshole the first time Dante had met him, and now, against all odds, he was even worse. 

When the service was over Dante declined Elise’s offer to come back to her house for coffee, he wanted out of this town as fast as possible never to return. He kept thinking of his motorcycle parked outside the cemetery gates and how badly he wanted to fly away from his godforsaken place. 

He said his goodbyes to Elise, wished her well and couldn’t have left fast enough. 

Finally, he was where he wanted to be, driving down the highway with the wind in his hair and heading back home. He was feeling grateful for his newfound family of friends, glad he was no longer drunk and stuck in the past like Ernest was. The thought of that could have easily been you wasn’t lost on him.

He was thinking all this over when he saw the pickup truck in his side mirror. It was swerving dangerously, left to right, picking up and losing speed. It was then Dante realized it was far too close to him. The truck pulled out to pass, not seeming to see Dante was so close, and hit him on the left side of his bike. The next few moments were all a blur. Dante went off the road and the truck did too, neither having time to hit the breaks before they went off the road. There was dust, a loud crash and then blackness. 

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

Icy blue eyes opened about ten minutes later and Dante groaned. He’d been thrown into a tree, some fifty feet away from his bike, and his head throbbed. He went to move and found himself stuck, a tree branch impaling his side. “Ugh, fuck!” Dante grimaced and pulled himself up, his blood leaking and spurting from the wound. He fell back on the ground from the fall and landed on his back. “Damnit,” He spat blood and sat up, pulling the remains of the branch from his side, which had knicked a kidney and screamed harshly as he pulled it out. Dante was in pain, but being who he was, also extremely lucky. If he were a regular guy, he’d be dead. A regular guy. He thought suddenly, the person in the truck. Shit. 

 He allowed himself a few more moments to regain his sense and for the hole in his side to close up before the stumbled to his feet. He was still shaky, but already mending. He walked slowly to the small smoke stack before him that used to be the pickup truck. Through blood, steel, and glass. He heard moaning before he stumbled upon the broken body of Ernest. And wasn’t entirely surprised. 

Dante knelt beside him and the man choked on blood as he spoke. “An-Anthony...” He said weakly, “I’m sorry...I....” He’d been drunk of course, even with the coppery and overwhelming stink of blood that flooded Dante’s senses, he could still smell whiskey on him. “Don’t talk,” Dante’s spoke in his own broken tone, “Save your strength, I’ll get help.” But Ernest only shook his head, they both knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was too far gone. 

“D-don’t...tell...” He started and had to cough up more fluid, this time it was black and Dante winched, couldn’t help it. “Promise me...don’t tell...Elise...I was...drinking.” The last wish of a dying man and Dante felt his heart hurt at that request. Of course she would know he was drunk, it was pitiful and Dante couldn’t help but think it was a waste of a life. 

“I won’t tell her, I promise.” And he was telling the truth, he knew he wouldn’t have to tell her that. A small smile seemed to form on Ernest's lips before his eyes rolled back in his head and he was gone. Dante cursed and sighed, hearing the sound of sirens approaching. 

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

He’d come for one funeral and ended up staying for another. He’d come full circle here and was standing in the graveyard once again next to Elise three days later. Now, it was her turn to look like she’d aged decades. This poor woman, what a shitty hand life had dealt her and Dante couldn’t help but relate. 

Once the service was over Dante was once again happy to leave, but this time Morrison had to come and pick him up as his well-loved motorcycle was totaled.”Take care of yourself, Elise, again I’m sorry this had to end this way.” And his words were sincere, yet he couldn’t help but still feel just as angry at Ernest as he had been on the day of Miss Margret’s funeral. 

“Dante,” She asked in a small voice before he turned to get into Morrison’s car. “Are you really not Anthony? How did you know where the time capsule was buried?” 

Dante took a breath and looked at her with an expression of pure empathy and honestly. “No, I’m not that Anthony, that was my twin brother, Vergil. That’s who Ernest remembered. I knew where it was buried because I knew him so well, and the twin thing, I guess.” 

 “Oh.” She seemed surprised to hear that and even seemed to brighten the tiniest bit. “Where is your--” 

“Gone. Just gone.” Dante said, not giving her the chance to finish the question and say his brother’s name, all this was enough on its own, he could not allow himself to tumble down that rabbit hole right now. If he started crying now for all this grief, he knew he’d never stop. 

“I see.” He looked down, catching his drift, then reached into her purse to pull out and folded photo. “Would you take this, please? I think Ernest would have wanted you to have it.” 

Dante was not in the least bit surprised to see the picture of Miss Margret, Ernest, and Vergil. 

“Thank you.” He said, not sure if he meant it, it was hard to look at but he supposed it was important for him to keep it just the same. “Find peace, Elise. Don’t make the mistake we did, being a couple of fools, and let the past ruin your future.” 

#( my drabbles ) #( HC ) #hc #( headcanon ) #( about ) #v: post dmc anime #tw: alcholism #tw: car accident

[singledarkshade]

Echoes

Part Twelve - Final Part

Rip stood staring at the man who had abducted his former team and hurt Gideon. A former colleague who had abandoned his oath to protect the timeline and instead was associating with pirates trying to damage it instead.

“Alban Tremaine,” Rip stated coldly, “I thought you were dead.”

Tremaine’s eyes narrowed as he sneered, “They told me the same about you.”

Rip shrugged, “Rumours etcetera.”

“I can arrange for you to die properly,” Tremaine told him, “And if you’re here so is the Waverider, meaning I get what I want.”

“Yes, the Waverider is here but you’re getting nowhere near her,” Rip said before asking, “What was your end game? You know the reputation of the people you have in this room. Did you really think they would let you get away with this?”

Tremaine laughed again, “Do they look as though they can do anything to me?”

“They have a tendency to surprise you,” Rip replied.

“And I suppose you’re going to stop me,” Tremaine mocked, “On your own.”

“Of course not,” Rip smiled slightly, “I brought some other friends.”

Rip watched Tremaine’s surprised face when the Flash zipped past him while Vibe appeared behind him with Jax and Killer Frost.

“No,” Tremaine snarled, “No.”

Within seconds the Pirates were all unconscious, the Legends were freed and Tremaine was standing alone.

“Cisco, get everyone back to the ship,” Rip ordered, “Gideon, recall the Jumpship.”

Nodding Cisco opened a breach and herded everyone through it. He turned back to Rip.

“Two minutes,” Rip stated.

Cisco nodded and closed the breach leaving Rip alone with his former colleague. Rip pulled a knife from his belt, stopping the man moving by pressing the blade to his neck, “You crossed a line, Tremaine.”

“Grabbing the idiots?” the other man asked, swallowing nervously as Rip pushed the blade into his skin a small drop of blood sliding down his neck.

Rip shook his head, “Going after my ship, attacking my AI. Trust me when I say Gideon is not happy about it.”

Panic covered the other man’s face as he realised exactly what Rip meant, “You wouldn’t?”

“I would. I have,” Rip replied with a smirk, “And Gideon…oh she is pissed, she is more than happy to leave you stranded here.”

Tremaine glared at him.

“Trust me she is kinder than I am,” Rip told him, “I would have put you on the ship when it blew.”

The light from the breach opening made Rip turn slightly, Tremaine grabbed his arm jerking the knife away before swinging at Rip. The fist striking his face threw Rip against the wall, he ducked from the next blow throwing a punch of his own. Tremaine cried out when Rip’s fist struck his kidney before Rip threw his elbow up slamming it into the other man’s face. Tremaine staggered back blood streaming from his nose.

Without a glance back, Rip strode through the breach onto the Waverider’s bridge the breach closing behind him. Giving a sigh of relief Rip leaned against Gideon’s console.

“The pirates’ timeship is now destroyed, Captain Hunter,” she told him, “I suggest you head to the med-bay so I can check your injuries.”

“Much as they are, I will,” Rip sighed, acquiescing to her concerns.

Turning to leave the bridge he found himself facing Sara who was glaring waiting for an explanation.

“Later,” Rip told her and, before she could say a word, headed off the bridge towards the med-bay.

  Sara stared after the man she had thought dead until five minutes ago as he left the bridge. She turned in frustration, her eyes falling on the three members of Team Flash, Mick and Jax.

“Do one of you want to tell me what’s going on?” she demanded.

Silence met her.

“Gideon?” Sara demanded, “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“Once I have confirmed the crew’s health,” Gideon replied, completely ignoring the question, “We shall return to the present to allow Mr Allen and his team to return to their lives.”

Sara folded her arms annoyed, “That wasn’t what I asked, Gideon. How is Rip alive? How is he here?”

“Once I have confirmed the crew’s health,” Gideon repeated, “We shall return to the present to allow Mr Allen and his team to return to their lives.”

Mick chuckled, “I need a beer.”

Sara frowned as he walked off the bridge.

“Captain Lance,” Gideon spoke up, “Please report to the med-bay so I can confirm your health.”

Shaking her head annoyed that she was not getting answers Sara headed off the bridge.

                                  *********************************************

  Rip sat working on the memory alterations for the crew to ensure they didn’t remember his survival or help to save them. Gideon was still healing the injured members of team before they returned to the proper time and he would have to forget about her once more.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Mick Rory asked sharply.

Rip sighed looking up at the other man, “Gideon was incapacitated and neither Cisco nor Jax could repair her. They brought me in, tried their best to stop my memories resurfacing but it didn’t work. I thought I would help before I let Gideon remove them again.”

“Blondie is demanding answers,” Mick told him, leaning against the nearby wall as he took a drink from the bottle of beer he had.

“Sara can demand all she wants,” Rip replied unconcerned, “Gideon isn’t going to give her any and as soon as we’re sure everyone is healthy we’ll redo the memory wipe.”

Mick nodded, taking a drink, “How’s the kid?”

“Jonas is doing well,” Rip smiled at the thought of his son, “I also have a dog now. Called Gideon.”

Mick looked at him for several moments before he began to laugh.

  “You’re alive,” Sara noted, her arms folded across her chest, “You can imagine how surprised I am to see you.”

Rip shrugged, “I used the Time Courier when the core exploded. It spat me out a few months later.”

“Where?”

“I also just saved your life,” Rip ignored her question.

Sara grimaced annoyed she was still not being given answers, “How did you get back on board my ship.”

“My ship, Sara,” Rip reminded her sharply, “Just like Gideon is mine. I let you use the Waverider but trust me if I wanted her back I would take her.”

“Why don’t you?” Sara challenged.

Rip stood, his hand resting against the wall, “Because I have other responsibilities that I can’t ignore.”

“So, what you’re saying is you abandoned Gideon?” Sara smirked slightly, “Again.”

“Captain Lance…” Gideon started.

“It’s alright, Gideon,” Rip soothed before he turned back to Sara, “I never abandoned Gideon.”

Sara rolled her eyes, “After we stopped Thawne you left the ship, made your Bureau and when you got her back made the Waverider a training simulator. She was off when we took her.”

“I left because I knew I wasn’t in the right frame of mind to be doing any kind of missions after what Thawne did to me,” Rip threw back at her, “You and the team were stuck by the anachronisms you made so I created the Bureau to ensure there was a way to fix them. And wasn’t it lucky the Waverider was sitting somewhere that you could easily access with a pass that worked even after being stolen? With Gideon sitting ready to leave.”

Sara frowned.

“The Waverider and Gideon will always belong to me, Sara,” Rip told her softly, “I allow you to remain onboard.”

  Rip stepped into the room where Barry, Cisco, Caitlin, Mick and Wally were waiting for him.

“It’s good to see you, Rip,” Wally greeted him, hugging him quickly, “Especially with you knowing who I am now.”

Rip chuckled, “It’s good to see you too, Wally and unfortunately it won’t be for long,” he paused taking a quick breath, “Gideon, are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain Hunter,” she replied, “The remaining members of the Legends are all currently together on the bridge discussing your return.”

Rip nodded, “That’s helpful. Hit them with the gas and ready the brig.”

“Done,” Gideon told him.

Rip turned to the others, “I have programmed the information the team will remember. Gideon, please give access to all those within the room so they know the story. Barry, Wally, if you could assist Mick to put the others in the brig so that Gideon can keep them unconscious until I’m gone”

Both nodded and zipped away, Mick rolled his eyes and followed on.

Rip let out a soft sigh, it was time to leave again.

                                  *********************************************

  “Are you going to talk to me?”

Rip looked at the woman sitting on the chair staring at the picture of Miranda and Jonas on the desk waiting for her to say something. When no answer came Rip sat at her side.

“Gideon…”

Without a word, she turned and wrapped her arms around him holding onto him tightly, “I thought I could do this again, Rip. I thought it wouldn’t hurt so much the second time.”

Rip sighed, “I know.”

Gideon’s arms tightened, “But Jonas is more important. You have to protect him, and I have to protect you.”

Pulling back slightly, Rip rested his forehead against hers, “You always protect me. From the moment I stepped onboard the Waverider I knew you were there for me no matter what.”

“You are my favourite Captain,” she smiled at him, “The only one who ever saw me as more than just an AI, more than a source of information.”

Stroking her cheek Rip sighed, “Because you are.”

“I have enjoyed the past few days so much,” Gideon whispered, “Being with you once more.”

Rip nodded, “So have I. But I have to go, Gideon. I have to return to Jonas. I wish things were different, I wish…I wish so many things.”

“Shh,” Gideon soothed, “I know. If I were human I would come with you.”

Rip stroked her hair, “If you were human I wouldn’t let you be anywhere else.”

Gideon hugged him again, “My wonderful Captain, it’s time. The Legends memories have been rewritten. I need to remove yours now.”

Taking a deep breath Rip nodded.

“Close your eyes,” Gideon told him, “When you waken you will be back with Jonas in the life you have made with him.”

Hugging her one last time Rip gently brushed his lips to hers before he closed his eyes. He felt Gideon’s hands pull him down to her and a gentle kiss on his forehead.

  “Daddy,” Jonas grinned when Katrina opened the door to him, “You’re here.”

Rip caught his son and gave him a big hug, “And I have finished my project.”

“You did?” Jonas cried in amazement.

“Which means everything will now go back to normal,” Rip promised him.

Jonas hugged him again.

“Well you’re actually here in perfect time,” Katrina said, “We’re heading to Bobby and Hal’s for dinner.”

Rip grimaced slightly, “Whose cooking?”

“Sam and Kelly are bringing the food from Clover,” Katrina assured him, “No chance of food poisoning.”

Hugging Jonas to him Rip nodded, “That sounds just what I need. It’s been a long week and I have missed everyone.”

A bark from his feet made Rip look down and he crouched down scooping the puppy up, she yapped enthusiastically licking Rip’s face.

“Oh, I have missed you too, Gideon,” Rip smiled, pausing when a smile filled with affection floated through his mind.

Katrina pulled his attention back to her when she closed the door, “Ali is meeting us there and I’m driving. Let’s go.”

With his son and puppy in his arms Rip followed Katrina, looking at Jonas he smiled, “This means we’ll be going to the zoo on Saturday,” Rip told him, “And I have a surprise treat for you.”

“What is it, Daddy?” Jonas asked, his eyes alight with excitement.

Rip chuckled as he continued down the stairs behind Katrina before teasing his son, “Now that would be telling.”

  Cisco piloted the small drone that had been watching over Rip for the past few hours back to Star Labs.

“He’s back with Jonas. His memories of the Waverider, the Legends and you are gone once more,” Cisco reported to Gideon, “What about the team?”

“They believe that you and Mr Jackson were able to fix my systems,” Gideon replied, “And that Mr Allen led the rescue mission. Captain Hunter’s survival is once again a secret.”

Cisco nodded, “That’s good. I promise I will watch over them for you.”

There was a moment of silence before Gideon came back, “Thank you, Mr Ramon I am grateful to you for that.”

“It’s no problem,” Cisco assured her, “I’ve met both versions of Rip Hunter, Gideon. He deserves to have a good life with his son.”

“He does,” Gideon replied, a smile clear in her voice, “Take care of yourself also, Mr Ramon. I shall contact you in a few weeks to check on him.”

With that she cut communication.

Cisco smiled slightly rewatching Rip reunite with his son again before he headed to join the ‘Welcome Back Wally’ party.

#fic #legends of tomorrow #rip hunter #gideon