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koffeekoko · 2 years

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A TAINTED TALE

royalty au

prince!izana x fem!commander!reader

warnings: blood + blades (that's all i think)

word count: 1.7k

Spurts of blood fly up as thousands of knights and warriors belonging to opposing sides tear each other’s flesh out left and right. The metallic smell of fresh blood splattering all over the place fills the air and covers up any other smell present on the battlefield.

The sickening smell makes Izana scoff, he just wants to reach the one leading the opposing army as soon as possible, take them down, and declare victory from his side. It should’ve been easy, he thought; lead his troop up to the battlefield, kill through the enemies’ defense, take down their leader, return triumphant, and finally be rightfully crowned as the next King.

“We meet again, your highness” a teasing smile is present in your features, “I thought we missed each other. The first thing you do after years of not seeing me is press a sword to my neck? How unromantic.” You grin from ear to ear.

Easy is what he thought would be, but after nearly two years of peace, seeing you again in front of him – the one who always lead the army of your kingdom up against him in the times of disharmony between the two kingdoms – all bloodied, something stroked his strings. You were the highest commander of your kingdom, after all. Always leading an organized troop, few to none of the ordinary military could have skills enough to harm you.

Hesitation is what keeps Izana’s blade from ending your breath, he clicks his tongue in annoyance and presses his sword further into your neck, almost drawing blood. “What’s with your shoulder, some scrubs enough to draw blood from the mighty commander? You’re getting rusty.” He hisses.

“Aw, you worry for me?” you fling your own sword onto Izana’s neck, “thanks, but you’re one to talk. How’s your first time leading a war by yourself, exciting?”

“Don’t try, y/n.” Izana kicks your sword away with ease due to you priorly getting a deep cut on your shoulder from one of Izana’s soldiers at a careless moment. “You’re not on my level right now, you do realize I could easily have your head this moment?”

“You shall then, your highness. Dying on the battlefield makes an honorable death, wouldn’t you say? What’s stopping you?” you successfully hit his nerves.

“Your words.” Izana declares before proceeding to follow through. He dips the blade deeper, shallow but deep enough to draw blood from the clean skin of your neck. A drop escapes from the rupture caused by the prince’s blade, painting a trace of red on his sword in the form of a clean line, dropping down to the ground right before touching the skin handling the same sword. A loud shout commanding the prince to stop action resonates through the entire field, freezing Izana’s blade in place before anything unthinkable could happen.

The disruption had Izana whip his head in the direction of the shout. Curious for whom had enough courage to command the prince of something, you do the same as Izana. The sight of the one standing before your eyes leaves your mouth agape. Your longtime childhood best friend, from whom you’ve been separated with ever since you were taken in by the prince of your nation – the Akashi nation – years ago upon meeting you during a visit he paid to the Sano kingdom’s prince.

He was the only family you had before meeting your royal family. Ever since you’ve been separated from him, you’ve pondered what’s been of him. There’s no telling what could have happened. There are countless of possibilities, one in a million chance he’s even survived the harsh conditions from the orphanage. You sure do send him good prayers every now and then whenever you think of him, wishing he’d been taking care of himself if no one else did it for him. Now standing tall before you, covered in blood apart… tells you he’s been safe and sound all these years.

“Are you rebelling, Kakucho?” Izana raises an eyebrow at his right-hand man’s inquiry.

Kakucho Hitto, the Sano nobility’s most trusted knight and warrior, Prince Izana’s right-hand man and trusted personal guard, stands in between the borderlines of rebelling against his own kingdom by the single action of stopping the prince’s blade against the enemy.

“No, not at all, your highness.” Kakucho pants, all sweated and covered in the blood of all the unfortunate enemy he’s had to strike down in his way.

“Explain yourself.” Izana demanded.

“The commander... she’s… my sister. The one whom I had the pleasure to tell yourself about all these years.” A frown creeps into Kakucho’s face.

Kakucho knows how much the victory of this battle means to his prince. It’s been planned ever since the breaching of the established peace offering when Izana proclaimed war against the Akashi kingdom. Izana had offered months ago, at prince Manjiro’s coming-of-age and crowning ceremony, to rightfully take heritage of the crown and the throne if only he were to take over the lands of the archenemy kingdom, claiming in the process that he’s much more capable of the throne than Manjiro. The retired king, and the named king (or also known as prince Shinichiro) both agreed to Izana’s proposal, giving him an opportunity to the throne only if he were to return triumphant from the war as he claimed he would.

Prince Manjiro’s crowning ceremony was then postponed until a later time, until Izana was to announce war. Postponed to being carried out at a later date if prince Izana were not to bring victory to the kingdom, and only to be shifted onto prince Izana’s name if he were indeed able to bring victory.

And Izana would only be able to do that if he were to bring you down, the highest knight and mighty commander from the Akashi kingdom, the one who brought countless victories to the Akashi’s during times of war before the peace offering occurred. Bringing you down meant winning war against the Akashi kingdom, expanding the nation’s territory, and of course, wining the place of the throne. You are the key to Izana’s path to the throne, either a wall he must bring down, a stepping stone to help him up, or a possible ally and helping hand if chances provide.

“Are you sure?” Izana questioned while shifting his blade into a less life-threatening position.

Kakucho positions his right hand to his chest as a form of formal pledge. “A hundred percent, my prince.” he nods.

“Tsk. Aren’t you sweet?” Izana directed at you and retracted his sword, leaving a shallow cut on your right cheek. “Take her back with us, victory is ours either way.” Izana was merely talking big before turning around to make his leave.

“H-hey, victory isn’t decided unless you kill me.” you uttered.

“Don’t let anyone know of her presence, or else you know what happens,” Izana last stated before leaving the bloodied scene behind, completely disregarding your call.

Kakucho nods and turns to you with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, the war is over.” is the last you hear before your world falls into pitch black.

Kakucho made sure to instruct the few standing soldiers of their own to follow suit behind Izana’s step, only leaving himself after he’s made sure no eyes were left to watch him as he carries your unconscious body back with him.

Back at the castle, Kakucho was unsure where to situate you without having anyone accidentally discover of your presence. Final decision was made to let you simply stay in his room in the meantime until further orders from Izana. He’s decided it was the best decision for the moment being that his room was pretty secluded from the principal hall, which is usually very busy, countless people walk through it at the different hours of the day, risky. So, being a tiny garden apart of the main hall and across Izana’s room does seem reasonable enough.

»»————-　⚜　————-««

What can be a great aid but also a real nuisance is the speed at which notices travel across the kingdom. By the time Izana made it back to the gates of the kingdom, news regarding the situation of the war had already reached the king’s ears, thanks to the advanced messengers. Before Izana could take a full step into the familiarity of his own room, he’s already been called onto the crown room by the king.

The day could not be more unpleasant than having to walk into the crown room and kneel before the presence of his admired big brother and the king with tattered and bloody clothes, which is a proud sight for a warrior but not one proper enough for a prince. Not to mention, prince Manjiro was in the room as well, Izana scoffs at having him see him in this state.

“I heard your blade hesitated towards the enemy. Is that true, Izana?” the king voiced.

“There’s no such thing, your majesty,” Izana shifted in his position at the king’s voice, “it was but a single second thing.” he blatantly said, and the king hummed in thought.

Besides the heavy breathing of the old king, and the chewing sounds emanating from Manjiro’s munching on his snack, nothing could be heard throughout the large room. This uncomfortable atmosphere has Izana pondering if his own heartbeat that rings loudly in his ears could be heard by the others.

“You do know if the Akashi’s doesn’t see their commander, alive or dead, they won’t step down, yes?”

Izana gives a single nod. The word choices of the king have Izana almost believing that he’s heard word of him taking you back to the castle, but he’s left the task into Kakucho’s hands, and he’s never disappointed him yet. Kakucho’s reliability puts him at ease.

“Well, well… what matters is not victory of the war itself but your own, isn’t that right? As things are, I’m afraid…” the old man coughs and remains silent afterward. For suspense perhaps, Izana hates the old man’s guts.

“Let’s leave it at that for now. You are dismissed.” He says after a long pause, Izana bows and turns to leave. Before he’s stepped out to the hall, he’s heard the king calling out to him again, “good job, Izana. I’m very proud of you,” nothing but empty words, Izana thinks and leaves without so much as acknowledging the king’s praise.

Although it wasn’t explicitly put into words for him to hear, Izana knows it won’t be that easy. With how the king expressed himself, it’s clear that he wasn’t really satisfied with Izana. It’s still a long way ahead for Izana to achieve his goal and he’s chosen to walk through the harder path because of the misstep revolving around you.

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hamliet · 3 years

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Unless a Grain of Wheat Falls and It Dies...

Or, why I am pretty optimistic about the fates of Jean, Connie, Gabi, and all titanized people this chapter, which is also an excuse for me to talk about SnK’s allusions to Russian literature.

There are strikingly parallel ideas The Brothers Karamazov and Attack on Titan, as well as parallel plot points and imagery to the point where if it isn’t deliberate, it’s uncanny. (NB: before people yell at me about comparing a Japanese and Russian work, Isayama has used Russian names since the start of SnK--Shiganshina is a Russian name.) In particular, there are narrative allusions to a portion of the novel known as “The Grand Inquisitor,” which is a short story within a novel. The central thesis of “The Grand Inquisitor” is as follows:

nothing has ever been more insupportable for a man and a human society than freedom.

This parable is told within the story by Ivan Karamazov, a character whose intellectuality is his gift and his curse. He tells his brother Alyosha that the motivation for creating this parable is precisely the evils done to children (oh look, a major SnK theme) and specifically cites an example which was unfortunately taken from real life in Russia and which Isayama has an uncanny parallel:

I want to see with my own eyes the hind lie down with the lion and the victim rise up and embrace his murderer. I want to be there when every one suddenly understands what it has all been for. All the religions of the world are built on this longing, and I am a believer. But then there are the children, and what am I to do about them? That's a question I can't answer... If all must suffer to pay for the eternal harmony, what have children to do with it, tell me, please? ... if it is really true that they must share responsibility for all their fathers' crimes, such a truth is not of this world and is beyond my comprehension. Some jester will say, perhaps, that the child would have grown up and have sinned, but you see he didn't grow up, he was torn to pieces by the dogs, at eight years old...

... How are you going to atone for them? Is it possible? ... What do I care for a hell for oppressors? What good can hell do, since those children have already been tortured? ... I want to forgive. I want to embrace. I don't want more suffering. And if the sufferings of children go to swell the sum of sufferings which was necessary to pay for truth, then I protest that the truth is not worth such a price. ... too high a price is asked for harmony; it's beyond our means to pay so much to enter on it... It's not God that I don't accept, Alyosha, only I most respectfully return Him the ticket.”

The actual parable of “The Grand Inquisitor” is Ivan’s answer to Alyosha’s question about Ivan’s lines above. Ivan tells a story about how freedom is actually what dooms humanity: it is the curse. (Alyosha does not believe this.) Jesus comes back to earth and is promptly arrested, because his existence and return threaten the wellbeing of society. To be happy, one cannot be free, but one or two strong people in society should be free and bear the burden for everyone else (you can see the parallels to King Fritz/the Reisses).

Nothing is more seductive for man than his freedom of conscience, but nothing is a greater cause of suffering... all his life he loved humanity, and suddenly his eyes were opened, and he saw that it is no great moral blessedness to attain perfection and freedom, if at the same time one gains the conviction that millions of God's creatures have been created as a mockery, that they will never be capable of using their freedom...

This is SnK’s thesis: to be free, there will be suffering. It is part of human nature, and yet to not have it is to be lost. But SnK, despite its explorations of human darkness and monstrosity, has a higher view of humanity than does Ivan. SnK’s view is more alongside Alyosha’s, who says what is honestly the truth about not just the Reisses, but Eren now:

"Who are these keepers of the mystery who have taken some curse upon themselves for the happiness of mankind? .... It's simple lust of power, of filthy earthly gain, of domination—something like a universal serfdom with them as masters—that's all they stand for.”

Mikasa is akin to the Christ figure in the story, akin to Alyosha: Christ is constantly asked to speak, asked to act, and he does not until the very last moment, when he kisses the Grand Inquisitor on the lips. After the story is over, Alyosha then does likewise to Ivan.

Not to mention when Alyosha worries about Ivan’s mental state, he then answers with this:

“Listen, Alyosha,” Ivan began in a resolute voice, “if I am really able to care for the sticky little leaves I shall only love them, remembering you. It's enough for me that you are somewhere here, and I shan't lose my desire for life yet.”

A simple leaf can save a life. A leaf can save the world. A leaf, grown from a tree that started as a seed falling to the ground, dead, only to grow life from that death. Alyosha himself notes SnK’s central thesis of chapter 137 in the (very long) novel’s final pages:

...some good, sacred memory, preserved from childhood, is perhaps the best education. If a man carries many such memories with him into life, he is safe to the end of his days, and if one has only one good memory left in one's heart, even that may sometime be the means of saving us.

There’s a lot more to this, but this is the epigraph to The Brothers Karamazov, the central thesis of the entire novel:

"Verily, verily, I say unto you, except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit." -John 12:24

Suffering can grow great fruit in an individual life, and by giving something up, by even death, something beautiful can come. Through cruelty, you can find life.

This is not just a long-running theme in SnK, but a pattern in its plot. Often those who surrender then receive exactly what they had surrendered (but admittedly, not always, like Erwin).

Mikasa accepted Eren’s loss, and got him back.

Mikasa let Armin go, and got him back.

Falco gave up hope of survival, and got another chance:

Hange was going to die alone, feeling guilty for having failed her comrades, but saw everyone again, and they told her well done:

Historia gave up being free, but now we know she will be.

Levi gave up on his revenge, and then got it. Annie thought she would never see her dad again, but she did. For Mikasa, accepting that she has to kill the boy she loves coincides not just with her acceptance of her love, but with the acceptance and knowledge that he loves her:

It always comes with sacrifice, increasingly hard sacrifice, but usually the seeds that are dropped grow and bloom.

This chapter, everyone surrendered their hearts. They let their dreams fall to the ground, and I honestly think the story will allow it to plant life. Yes, the world as a whole is saved and that is enough to make thematic sense, but it works even better if the very people who were titanized this chapter also bloom again. They chose to trust Mikasa, Levi, Falco, and Pieck to finish the task.

The characters giving up their lives only to get them back make sense, and give Mikasa’s sacrifice of Eren. For Mikasa, Eren was her world, and she gave it up when she had lost everyone else. She had nothing left, and she still did it. I would hope she’d be narratively rewarded beyond just the world being saved, because Mikasa has always been motivated by her personal relationships.

Moving on from Mikasa: Connie’s mom has been kept alive and the concept of turning mindless titans back to humans was already brought up specifically in relation to her:

Connie giving up on his mother a dozenish chapters ago only to get her back now--not through sacrificing a child, but through saving the entire world--would fit the themes and patterns of SnK.

Thirdly, Gabi should not die. She’s Eren with positive development, and cannot meet the same end. Even people who are skeptical of every titan being saved seem to agree that she’ll be fine. It’s possible she’s the only one saved, but imo, not likely.

See, the only shifter characters who are going to have the option of self-sacrifice are Falco and maaaaaybe Armin. The others look like they’re about to die right here and now, never mind choosing someone to save: the mindless titans are ripping at their napes. Armin also looks to be in bad shape.

Yet Armin cannot narratively commit suicide; two chapters ago he was still screaming at himself for being useless and thinking he would be better off dead. He’s already tried the heroic sacrifice, too, so why would it work this time around? It does not work for his arc. Falco dying for Gabi was the plan without any freedom from the titan curse; it’s more powerful if ending the curse changes things, rather than forcing him to make the same choice that Reiner has always been trying to make: a heroic suicide. It could happen; it’s just not as narratively strong.

As for whether the worldbuilding rules, we know that mindless titans are not truly dead nor entirely mindless; they just don’t have freedom. Ymir’s case of getting herself back after decades shows that they aren’t quite dead or absorbed. They still have consciousness that can be awoken; Ymir described it as being in a long “nightmare.” Dina still went looking for Grisha. Connie’s mom remembered and recognized Connie, telling him “welcome home.” There is plenty of evidence that there are parts of these people that are still in there even if they are forced to become monsters (oh hey, it’s an Eren parallel; he was conscious of it and had choices while mindless titans do not, but the parallel remains).

#snk 138 #snk meta #aot 138 #aot meta #mikasa ackerman #eremika #eren jaeger #armin arlert #the brothers karamazov #gabi braun #connie springer #jean kirchstein #ymir #falco grice #galco #reiner braun #annie leonhart #levi ackerman #historia reiss

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fatbottombucky · 2 years

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Marvel Series Are Weird... Right?

SPOILERS FOR HAWKEYE SERIES+ MORE

I find it so odd that Marvel has given A LOT of their characters massive character overhauls for their series... just to possibly never use them ever again (AKA them dying)

Hawkeye, for instance, I never really liked him- a better term would be 'cared for', especially MCU Clint- I just never found him that interesting and I thought adding his family in Ultron seemed weird, rather pushed upon us as some weird character development by Joss.

The show... is amazing. I went in for Kate Bishop, I'm now walking away from episode 4 with a newfound love for Clint (I fell in love with him in episode 1 tbh).

We see Clint having to deal with Endgame, a year on. So it's been a full year since the death of Natasha, which is STILL prevalent for him. Honestly, Natasha plays such a key role in his series, I thought she'd be referenced once or twice, but it's been multiple times with a few past shots of her. It's clear Clint has survivors guilt.

Clint is partially deaf and uses a hearing aid. This is from being around explosions and made worse from Endgame during the last fight. Clint told his wife about Ronin and she actively helps him (from home) with trying to get rid of his Ronin past.

Clint isn't a great father, but he's trying very hard to be present which is very difficult and can emotionally affect men because their relationship with their children is strained- I love that his series is touching on this, where he makes promises and REALLY struggles to follow through and leaves him feeling guilty about letting his family down.

SO... we get all this emotional development, plus some character development. We see him secretly enjoy Kate Bishop's questions and her excitedness over... him. The show pokes fun at the fact Clint doesn't have great branding and actually, people forget about him- which he finds nice cause his job is to be discreet.

Someone on TikTok called Clint the 'Passive Avenger', he didn't want or sign up to be one, but Loki making him passive in Avengers and having to watch as he had no control over himself made him become an Avenger.

The ending theory of Hawkeye is that Yelena (Natasha's sister from the movie Black Widow) is going to assassinate Clint, due to the fact, someone has put a Black Widow hit on him (she was chosen because Valentina Allegra de Fontaine told Yelena Clint killed Natasha).

We go through all this development with Clint, we find out so much about him, and his relationship with Natasha. Only to have him die?

What is it with Marvel and giving characters extreme character overhauls only to kill them, we had done to us with Loki, which I still haven't forgiven them for (despite getting a Loki series). The whole ten years with Loki and him being a villain, to passive and then, finally, redemption to only be killed by Thanos. I went on a journey with that character only... to have him die.

Same with Vision, I never really cared for him. The WandaVision series was AMAZING!!!! I learnt so much about him through Wanda and he taught her to let him go; to grieve. I think that series was emotionally beautiful but they did it again. They gave Vision a lot of development only to basically kill off the Vision we came to like.

Am I the only one slightly miffed by this?

IDK the thought of seeing Clint struggle to be a father, to being an unwilling mentor to Kate and dealing with his grief over his best friend... if they kill him off it's gonna suck. I think, at least, one original Avenger should get a chance at retirement (not accounting for Steve cause he had to go back in time to do his retirement) but also still be in this world.

I also think Clint should be the one to have a proper happy ending in the current MCU cause of Nat's sacrifice, she willingly gave up her life so he could see his kids (plus millions of others) again. She did that for him cause she knew, despite who he had become, Laura and his family will make him be Clint Barton again.

The whole killing characters off just so you don't have to mention them in future phases is just weird to me. Killing characters off for shock endings and twists is boring. Killing characters off because the actors are moving on is also lame, i mean, they never have to actually appear again they can just be named.

#marvel #mcu #hawkeye #if they kill off hawkeye then im out of the marvel fanclub #stop writing characters to be interesting and then killing them off in the span of 6-9 episodes #it aint good writing or even twisty #its boring and dull

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mctherofdragons · 4 years

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Head Above Water | D.M.

He found you captivating, but not in the way Pansy Parkinson was. Pansy was pretty like the girls in the cinema, but you were captivating like the girls in the Jane Austen novels he secretly read by the fire at Malfoy Manor.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Muggleborn!Reader

Request: A muggle born reader that's always bullied by Crabbe and Goyle, But Draco is always watching her, and he considers her like the purest girl in the universe, but he refuses to leave those feelings bloom thanks to the blood status and shit. One day Goyle brings her to the lake to tease her, and Crabbe pushes her to the water and she starts to drown? Draco is panicking and he comes to rescue, once he brings you there there's fluff and him confessing to her! I love your writing love!!

Trigger Warnings: drowning, near death experience, bullying, mouth-to-mouth

Author’s Note: This request had me all sorts of emotional. We love protective Draco. I didn’t edit this so I apologize for any typos. By the way, friends, requests are open. Please let me know if you’d like to be on my taglist. I have taglists for all Harry Potter universe writings and a Draco Malfoy specific taglist. _______________________________________

Draco mindlessly doodled in the margins of his textbook, barely listening to Slughorn drone on about solutions and ingredients. He wasn’t listening, as the blonde’s mind was almost always on you. He found you captivating, but in the way Pansy Parkinson was. Pansy was pretty like the girls in the cinema, but you were captivating like the girls in the Jane Austen novels he secretly read by the fire at Malfoy Manor. He was entranced by what he couldn’t have. The forbidden fruit, he thought to himself, peering at you across the classroom.

Blood lineage was something that had been ingrained into Draco’s psyche as far as back he could remember. His father would speak to him sternly, explaining how pureblood wizards were of higher esteem. Mudbloods, as Lucius had called them, were nothing more than grime. Draco had taken the only knowledge he’d ever known about blood purity and applied it to his daily actions. He took pride not only in being of ancestry, but of spitting insults on any muggle-born he came across. The only problem was he had never accounted for a girl like you. A girl whose laughter sounded like cardinals landing in trees and whose skin looked like artwork.

After class, he had found himself sitting out by the Black Lake, secretly writing poetry in one of his notebooks. It was the perfect day to be in the tepid fall sunshine, listening to the sound of fellow students chatter and bask in the last few weeks before the snow began to fall. If anyone had known just how soft Draco Malfoy was for you, his reputation would be irredeemable. But in this moment he didn’t much care. He relished in the feeling of the warm autumn breeze dance across his skin as he found ways to describe you, drawing in cursive letters with his quill: she is bewitching, divine, perfect, angelic, everything-I-ever-wanted. Draco heard a bit of a commotion and peaked up. He saw his two friends, Crabbe and Goyle, looming over you. You had been sitting right on the edge of the lake, a blanket spread beneath you. As you had worked away at reading your Defense Against the Dark Arts text, your two most despised bullies had happened upon you and decided to use you for their amusement. Goyle had picked you up and thrown you over his shoulder, laughing loudly. “Let’s dump the mudblood in the water like the garbage she is,” Crabbe cheered. You kicked you legs, banging on Goyle’s back to get him to drop you.

“Putrid mudblood,” Goyle laughed despite your protests. All at once, he heaved you into the water. Maybe he was trying to kill you, but the reality was that Goyle likely had no idea just how deep and dangerous the lake truly was. The water was icy cold, sending shock waves of pins and needles all over your body. You were sinking faster than you legs could keep up with. Your surroundings were pitch black and regardless of your efforts, you couldn’t see anything besides the sun which felt a million miles away above you. Your mind raced with thoughts of the creatures you knew lurked beneath the surface. You tried with no avail to paddle upwards toward the light.

Panic had set in as the sweeping realization came over you that perhaps this was how you were going to die. Murdered at Hogwarts by a pureblood - which honestly was not far off from your muggle family’s greatest fear. You closed your eyes for a moment, beginning to lose more air and the inability to continue fighting. You had contently accepted your fate, until you felt an arm sweep around your waist. Your savior was pulling you quickly up toward safety.

You were unconscious by the time you had been laid on the grass. “Oh,” whispered, pulling your mouth open and attaching his. In an effort to save you, Draco did the first thing he could think of - mouth to mouth resuscitation. He was breathing heavy as he attempted to refill your lungs with oxygen from his own. “Come on, beautiful girl,” he begged, taking a deep breath before leaning back down to attach his lips over yours again.

Finally, you began to sputter. You felt yourself be turned you onto your side and let any water you had inhaled come out of your mouth. You turned back over to look at whoever had pulled you from certain death, moving your wet hair from your face slightly. There before you sat a soaking wet Draco Malfoy. His platinum hair was matted down to his head. You gazed over him, taking in the sight of his white button up shirt, which was now opaque and sticking to his skin. Water rolled down his cheeks, dripping off his jaw and onto the ground. He teeth chattered and he shivered a bit as he looked back at you. The autumn air that had once felt pleasant now felt like an artic wind.

“M...Malfoy?,” you coughed, taking a deep gasp in. It was painful to speak.

The blonde cupped your face. His family ring felt glacial against your jaw bone.

“I thought I’d lost you.”

You noted his choice of words. It wasn’t that he had thought you were dead, or that his friend would be in an awful lot of trouble. He thought he’d lost you. The words that came next were perhaps more jolting than the freezing water you’d just come out of.

“Oh, I’m so glad you are alright. You are exquisite, y/n. I love you, long have I loved you,” He said breathlessly. “I’m sorry for what they did to you. If you give me the chance, I’ll protect you forever. I’ve wanted for so long to tell you, and I’ve been a fool for waiting. To think I almost didn’t get my chance...I....”

You cut him off, reaching up to place a finger to his lips. You gazed into his blue eyes, searching for any inking that this was all a part of the grand and horrible stunt that had just been played. But there was no contempt in his irises, rather, just pure adoration of you and everything you were to him.

He leaned down, stopping for a moment to read your eyes, as if to ask for consent. You leaned up, letting his cold lips meet yours. Your body felt warm again as you pressed back into him, letting his tongue run over your bottom lip. Just then, you heard the voice of a professor, practically screeching.

“Get her to infirmary! Oh, dear Miss Y\L\N,” she tutted, watching Draco pick you up. You gazed up at him, enamored by being held in his arms.

“I’ll take her,” he said protectively. You felt safe for the first time since starting at Hogwarts six years ago. You felt chosen by someone you didn’t think would in a million lifetimes chose you.

And perhaps, you thought, this makes me feel like I’m dying in the most beautiful way possible.

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x you #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco #draco x reader #dracotok

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sukipershipper · 3 years

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I’m Gonna Crush Them (Snorpy/Chandlo-Angst Drabble) SPOILERS AHEAD

I love Snorpy and Chandlo a lot, theyre a good couple...but then I remembered you could kill the Grumpuses’ by not doing their sidequests. Its super sad, and I would be lying if I didn’t cry when Chandlo spoke about Snorpy when he died. So heres my hot take on that. Obviously I expanded upon the idea to flesh it out better.

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Poor Chandlo...Poor, Poor Chandlo. It was the only thought going through any of the Grumpuses' heads at the moment. A once happy go lucky Grumpus, with a calm and warm nature was now a shell of his former self. Naturally they were all still shaken by everything, but no one was more affected by what happened than him.

Chandlo could still hear the cries of his beloved echoing in his head. The painful cries, the tears, his strained face as he saw himself slowly decay away.

——

“C-Chandlo! HELP!” Snorpy cried, being swarmed by the snax, it was horrible. The little bastards that shoved their way down his throat. Chandlo had only barely managed to throw the last Hunnabee off of him before sprinting as fast as he could to help Snorpy. “HOLD ON SNORP-DAWG!” he cried.

But it was too late, too many had swarmed his body, they were killing him from the inside out. It was torture to have to bear. Snorpy felt tears well up in his eyes as he gripped his sides tightly, wincing and crying in pain. He reached out for Chandlo, who came by his side as quickly as he could. The latter watched as the Bugsnax caused Snorpy’s body to decay, slowly and slowly turning into nothing.

Chandlo and Snorpy stared at each other with wide and worried eyes. “I-I’m losing control! I can’t resist...The SNAX!” He said, Chandlo held him as tightly as could, begging for Snorpy to hold on, but he couldn’t...this was it...his final moments. “I see what you’re doing you delectable automatons” Snorpy said defeatedly “I know too much!...I have to be destroyed”

“Bro! STOP WITH THAT! You aren’t dying! Please!” Chandlo pleaded

“No! This is the only way to keep you Safe!...” Snorpy closed his eyes tightly as he felt his body begin to accept its fate, “...You’ve won Grumpinati” he said. Then…*POOF* The snax parts all scattered, and all that remained of Snorpy was a picture that was tucked in his apron pocket.

Chandlo couldn’t even process it all. He sat there, snatching the photo from the ground as he felt tears welling in his eyes...no sound escaped his mouth for a while...until the sounds of pure devastation erupted from inside him, in the form of two words. “SNORPY!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” He cried, weeping harder than anything. Any Snax that were there ran away as quick as they could. They weren’t about to face the wrath of this Grump that’s for sure. As Chandlo picked up the picture he grabbed the nearest weapon he could find and thrashed it about, killing any Snax standing in his way. Tears pouring out of his eyes. Blinded in a fit of rage.

——

Chandlo have a small sniffle. He shouldn’t be this upset! He wasn’t the only one to lose someone in this battle. Wambus lost Triffany, who he only just got back…Wiggle lost Gramble, someone who she loved more than anything...Cromdo lost Beffica, even with all the beef he still struggled letting her go...And Floofty...well Floofty lost a brother and Shelda….not that they’re really cared about the latter. And Filbo! God he lost two people who really cared about him, the ONLY people who cared about him, who saw his potential…

It all hurt.

“Heya Pal” a voice called. Chandlo looked up to see Cromdo, Wambus and Wiggle all standing above him, their faces drawn with worry all over.

Wiggle sat down first and hugged him tightly. “We all know this is hard for you...you and Snorpy really had something true and special between you...and now it’s gone...it’s not easy I know”, “It’ll never be easy, losing someone never is...It’s the saddest part of life” Cromdo chimed in, “The worst part is it can happen at anytime and you’ll never truly be ready to let it happen, let alone to someone you care about...even Beff and I had our differences but seeing her go like that was...it was awful”

“And I couldn’t even bring myself to worlds when I saw Gramble go...he never had any one who loved him and that was how he went out thinking…” Wiggle said, wiping a stream of tears from her eyes.

Wambus then out a strong hand on Chandlos shoulder, a strong yet shaky hand. It was the first time they ever saw the grump cry, “And when I lost Triffy...I-I couldn’t even move...she had so many plans when we went home...and now she’ll never get to live the life she wanted…”

“But the funny thing about death…” Wiggle said “...is that even though you lose someone...they aren’t truly gone...they live on through the songs we sing for them…”

“The treasures they had...” Cromdo added

“And the memories they blessed us with…” Wambus added, “...There will never be another Troffany Lottablog, or Gramble Gigglefunny, definitely no other Beffica Winklesnoot” the four all laughed a little at that, “and no other Snorpington Fizzlebean…but they’re never truly gone...we still remember them the way we know they wanted to be remembered, and live the lives they wanted us to lead with them...even without them there by our sides, they would want us to carry on...and make the most of the life we have now.”

“Cause you never truly know when it’ll be the end” Cromdo added, “and it’s when you let go of those memories of them...the time you had with them...or the life they wanted you to lead...that they are truly gone…”, “If we remember to cherish all the memories we had of them...it really doesn’t feel they’re gone” Wiggle said, hugging Chandlo again.

Chandlo gave a smile to all of them. He was truly grateful to have that insight from them. “I guess I’m just upset cause I never got the chance I wanted to to tell Snorpy how I really feel...he was always so secretive...I didn’t want to invade on his privacy, I care about his safety and his feelings so much... if I encouraged him to open up to me sooner...he’d still be here...and I would’ve had the chance to give him this before it was too late…” he said, pulling out a small velvet case, inside it was a gorgeous ring.

Wiggle gasped and let out another small stream of tears. Cromdo was shocked more than anything. Wambus have a small sniffle and pat on the shoulder.

Soon they reached shore. The journalist had gone to check up on each of them before showing them all back. When they finally got to Chandlo, they saw him with the picture in his hands. “Are you alright?” They asked. Chandlo shook his head.

He stood up and let out a long sigh, then he looked back at his picture. “We were amazing together Snorpy...I...I feel so weak without you…” he said, sniffling, “Wambus is right...There’s never gonna be another Snorpington Fizzlebean...not in a million years!...And Dawg? If the Grumpinati are out there…”

He scrunched his fists up and let out a low growl, one that had never been heard from him ever before.

“I’m...Gonna...CRUSH THEM”

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

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Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 12

Title: In the Quiet

Warnings: very brief mention of sexual abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

He wakes to the press of her warm body against his and the smell of her hair. A mixture of coconut and honey; an inexpensive shampoo that she’s been using for more than a decade and he never tires of. It’s the scent of home; the reminder of the place where he’s the happiest and feels the most comfortable and secure. Where he can be himself without judgment; not looked down upon for his weaker moments or when the darker days of battling his own mind have him feeling scared and vulnerable. For years he’d tucked that side of himself away; using booze and pain meds as a way to mask the pain and escape the demons and the monsters of the past. He’d become emotionally absent; refusing to make connections with anyone out of the fear of becoming too close and getting too attached, only to lose them. And he’d convinced himself that he was unable to love or be loved; years of torment at the hands of his father and the horrible decision he’d made while his child was dying condemning him. It seems like a lifetime ago now; a whole other existence entirely. In the last twelve and half years he’s learned to love again; wholly and unconditionally and so profoundly it is physically painful at times. And he’s allowed himself to be loved in return; blessed with a woman that knows his deepest and darkest secrets and sees past all his faults. Who forgives his mistakes and always gives him another chance, even when he knows he’s not deserving of it. And seven children that he’s had a hand in creating; incredible little human beings that adore and trust him without hesitation.

It’s a life unlike anything he ever thought possible. When both the enormity of his horrible decision regarding his son and his profound grief had set in, he’d sought comfort in the bottle and the unpredictability of a dangerous and bloody career. Relegating himself to a solitary and miserable existence; refusing to allow anyone to get too close and using women for nothing more than sexual gratification. Convincing himself that he didn’t deserve anything beyond that; a warm body on a lonely night and that beaten and battered shack in the outback with its rusted tin roof. Knowing if he wasn’t lucky enough to catch that fatal bullet while on a job, he’d more than likely die there on the dusty floor; drinking himself to death or OD'ing on a mixture of painkillers and cheap whiskey. There were days he prayed for it; an end to the demons that had been tormenting him since the moment he’d gotten the call in Afghanistan that his only child had passed away.

Part of him had died the moment Austin had; all the experiences he’d hoped they’d share, all the dreams he had about what his son would achieve and who he’d become suddenly coming to an abrupt end. Logically, they’d ceased to exist months before. When the specialists had said that despite their best efforts with both chemotherapy and radiation, the cancer had returned and was just far too aggressive and advanced; palliative care and pain management the only remaining options. But while his wife had been devastated and immediately began planning for the inevitable, he’d clung to that faint hope that the medical professionals were wrong; some miracle would occur and Austin would beat the odds. Reality soon began to set in, and it was then that Tyler had discovered just how weak and vulnerable he really was; turning to alcohol to numb the pain, spendings hours and sometimes days away from home because he couldn’t bear seeing his son suffer and his wife run herself ragged and fall deeper and deeper in the pit of despair and grief.

He hadn’t been able to handle it; unable to ‘man up’ and be who and what both of them had so desperately needed. Despite the ongoing issues in their marriage and her long and sordid history of cheating -and the rumours that the kid wasn’t even his to begin with- she had deserved so much better. And he had longed to give her that; a shoulder to cry on and someone to help with the burdens of caring for a terminally ill child. But he’d chickened out. His own grief and fears getting the better of him; unable to handle the realization that he was a total failure. So he ran. Volunteering to head overseas instead of staying behind and stepping up. Leaving his wife to handle everything on her own and his son to wonder what he’d ever done to deserve being abandoned.

It doesn’t hurt as much as now. Not just the trauma of seeing your child suffer and waste away, but the guilt and the regret his poor decision had brought about. It’s taken years of therapy to get as far as he has; moments of profound anguish as every single one of the skeletons in his closet came tumbling out. It took reliving the initial pain to kick start the healing; periods of immense grief for the child he’d lost followed by periods of extreme self loathing and time spent in the deepest and darkest bits of despair and desperation. But it HAD helped; the guilt and regret lessening, the hatred for himself losing some of its power. It will always linger just under the surface; the sting of the decision he’d made, how he sees himself as a monster not just because of it, but because of the things he’s had to do while on the job. Killing had never been about satisfaction or enjoyment. It had always been a means to an end; his chances of survival hinging on whether he could be quicker to pull the trigger or if he could outwit, outsmart, and out strength his opponents. And the only times he had gotten some pleasure out of it -other than just recently in Laos and Cambodia- had been five years ago. When he’d brutally and bloodily taken the lives of two of Mahajan’s men in an elevator in Mumbai, and when he’d had no chance but to eliminate that threat that had drugged and attacked him first. It had been personal then; threats made against his wife and his children. And taking the lives of those who would have delighted in torturing and murdering his family HAD given him a sense of satisfaction.

The demons of the past don’t carry as much weight now. Their power significantly decreased. But that doesn’t mean there aren’t moments when self hate and disgust DON’T return. When his mood is dropping and he’s more prone to returning to the pain and the regret of the past. It doesn’t happen often; medication and therapy helping to keep those moments to a minimum. But they do make an appearance. Self loathing making a comeback; reminding him of all the things he’s said and done that DO make him a monster and telling him that he doesn’t deserve the life he has now. That he’s committed way too many heinous acts to ever be truly forgiven. Absolution would never come his way; he's too far gone for THAT. In the same way guys like him aren’t allowed to love and be loved in return. And that’s when the fear kicks in; the concern that his life is way too good to be true and everything that is beautiful and perfect in it will be taken away to teach him a lesson. His protectiveness stems from it. The fear and worry profound; driving him to hold on to what he has even tighter than usual. On those days it all becomes too much to bear; a tightness in his chest and an ache that reaches to his very soul.

Some of that returns now; the fear that tugs at his chest and gnaws at his stomach. It had started last night; decorating the tree with the kids and coming across the ornament that Millie had made for Austin years ago. It’s always bittersweet; remembering what he’d lost while reminding himself of everything he has now. Had things gone differently and Austin never gotten sick, life would have been dramatically altered. His marriage somehow managing to be salvaged despite her inability to stay faithful, or at the very least being able to co-parent peacefully and amicably. He would have stayed in the military; grief and regret and the feelings of failure never turning him towards alcohol and pain meds to numb the pain and effectively ending what could have been a great career in special forces. Had he stayed with SASR and kept on the straight and narrow, mercenary work would have never even been on his radar. And that’s when things become complicated and troublesome. Even if his marriage HAD still fallen apart, there would have been no chance of ever meeting Esme. It WAS the job that led him to her; years as a hired gun somehow culmination with him coming face to face with who would turn out to be the love of his life. He had always thought he’d loved Sarah; she’d been his high school sweetheart and his first of many things. And it wasn’t until he was thirty-five that his eyes had been opened to just how wrong he’d actually been. Simply by chance meeting someone that would -even twelve and a half years later- take his breath away. Who would see past his jagged edges and the amount of baggage weighing him down and take a chance on him; looking past the mess he’d made of his life and patiently tearing down all the walls he’d build up around his heart. Who still looks at him as if he’s the most incredible man on earth; loving him with everything she has and everything she is and possessing an extraordinary amount of blind faith and trust.

She IS love. Everything that is beautiful and perfect about it. Never given up on him or them. Had Austin NOT died, he never would have found her and would have never known real love in its purest and most unconditional of forms. And his kids wouldn’t exist; seven incredible little human beings that he’d had a hand in creating. And even if he could go back in time and change things, he wouldn’t. He would choose to bear the pain of Austin’s death and the punishment that came with the horrible choice that he made. In the same way he’d accept the Dhaka job a million times over; taking a million bullets to the neck if it meant he’d be rewarded with what he has now.

*****

She lies with her back to him and her head resting on his arm. It had long ago fallen asleep; pins and needles stretching all the way from his shoulder to the tips of his fingers. They’d decided to bed down in the sunroom; pushing the love seat and the couch together to form a ‘nest’ and then fetching old comforters and pillows from the downstairs linen closet. Sometime in the early morning hours, she’d moved closer to him; briefly waking from her slumber long enough to move from her stomach to her side and then snuggling tightly into him. It’s a common occurrence if she has a bad dream. A desire for closeness; needing the feel of his much larger and bulkier frame against hers, quickly comforted by the warmth that radiates from it. His own eyes had never opened, body moving instinctively as he slid one arm between her head and the pillow while the other wrapped around her waist; drawing her even tighter against him, palm flat against her stomach and his face buried in her hair.

In the years he’d spent between his first marriage falling apart and meeting Esme, he’d gotten used to sleeping alone; enjoying the space and the freedom that came with having the entire bed to himself. In Dhaka, he’d been more than prepared to sleep on the floor until tempers flared; a heated argument erupting, fuelled by both sexual frustration AND tension, and his worry and fears surrounding what he was actually feeling towards her. It had taken some getting used to; having a body in bed with him throughout the night and waking up with them still there in the morning. But the adjustment had come quick, and by the third night he’d found himself actually enjoying the way she’d move closer to him; loving the feel of her skin against his and the brush of her hair and that soft, beautiful scent that lingered in it. Now he struggles to find rest without her. Used to the sound of her breathing and the weight of slender frame against his and the little noises she makes in her sleep; the soft sighs and the occasional murmur and giggles and the moments she starts to carry on very detailed conversations. All those little things that make her, her. And that he misses horribly when he’s away from home.

She rolls over to face him, eyes remaining closed as she issues a long, soft sigh and her hand comes to rest on his hip. The tips of her fingers dip below the waistband off his sweats; thumb repeatedly brushing against the slice of skin between the top of his pants and the hem of his t-shirt. For several minutes he watches as she sleeps. Eyes taking in every inch of her face; smiling and marvelling at the thought of how he’d not only somehow managed to both find her, but have her fall in love with him. She’s beautiful; the freckles splashed across and down the bridge of her nose, the long, dark eyelashes that skim the tops of her cheeks, the curve of her lips and the smooth line of her chin. It’s in those quiet moments where he only sees the damage done to her; the handful of small scars left behind from Mark’s fists and whatever ‘weapon’ he could get his hands on; electrical cords, wire hangers, heavy work boots and porcelain mugs and plates. There’s more. So much more. Disturbing ways that her ex husband had come up with to torture her both physically AND mentally.

There’d been other abuse as well; moments she’d been forced into sex itself or terrified into performing acts. And while it’s all equally vile and disturbing, THAT bothers him more than anything else. The fact that someone could violate and betray her in such a disgusting way. Someone that was supposed to love her; who’d taken vows to honor her and cherish her and care for her. And when she finally confessed the true extent of the abuse, the full story had sickened him; horrified and enraged at the thought of anyone touching her...the love of his life...in such a way. And it’s amazing. The fact that she’d not only managed to survive the abuse with her spirit and sanity intact, but that she’d been so willing and able to trust him. Giving everything of herself from that very first night in Dhaka; placing both her body and her heart in his hands and having all the faith in the world that he wouldn’t destroy them.

He places a palm over her ear; fingers splayed against her dark tresses and his thumb tracing the faint scar that cuts through the middle of her right eyebrow and travels up into her hairline. And when his hand moves to the back of her head and his lips find her brow, she gives another sigh; long and content, warm breath wafting against his skin. A soft smile curving her lips as her eyes flutter open and meet his.

“Sleeping beauty awakes,” he greets, and combs his hand through her hair, allowing the silky strands to slip slowly through his fingers. Lips pressing against her brow, followed by the bridge of her nose.

The smile broadens and those dark eyes sparkle. “Morning.”

“Morning. You good?”

“For the most part. You alright?”

“I’m perfect. It actually turned out to be a lot more comfortable than I thought it would be. You sleep okay?”

Esme shrugs. “I’ve had better.”

“You got up pretty early. Bad dream?”

She nods.

“You want to tell me about it or…?”

“Not really. It’s not something I want to relive.”

“Was it about me?”

“And Ovi. And me.”

“So a Dhaka dream?”

“Unfortunately. The first time there. And I haven’t had a dream about that in a long time. I was kind of hoping I’d never have one again, but....”

“Like Doctor Klein said, it’s never going to go away completely. It DID happen. We can’t pretend it never did.”

“Doesn’t mean I want to dream about it. It was bad enough living it. Do I really have to go through it all over again? While I’m asleep? It’s been twelve and a half years. Since it happened. And I haven’t had a dream about it in at least three. Now all a sudden it’s starting up again? What the hell is that about?”

“Me going away probably brought up some bad shit. And you’ve been stressed. That’ll do it.”

“I’m always stressed at Christmas. I always work myself up. Over stupid shit.”

“Doesn’t help that your mum sent that stuff from the kids and she’s been calling five times a day.”

“She knows what she’s doing, you know. This is a ploy. To fuck with me. She doesn’t bother for years and then all of a sudden decides to play the role of the perfect, doting grandmother? How long has she spent purposefully ignoring our kids? Treating them like second class citizens? Playing favourites? She pretty much stopped keeping track after Declan. I’m surprised she even remembered we had three more after him.”

“I’m kind of surprised she even remembered ANY of their names.”

“She’s not doing it for them. It’s not because she loves them and wants to spoil them. Her love is conditional. It always has been. And she knew getting in contact would bother me. That it would get under my skin and I’d dwell on it and I’d eventually cave and get in contact with her. Isn’t it enough that I sent a text message thanking her? Or that I’ll have the kids make thank you cards and send them to her? Do I REALLY have to talk to her?”

“Normally I’d say just ignore her and I’d remind you that you don’t owe her or anyone else in your family anything, but she’s only to keep calling. She’s only going to step it up and get worse. And seeing as we’d like to enjoy Christmas and have a nice peaceful holiday…”

“Maybe I should let my phone die and we’ll just use yours. Chances are she won’t message you.”

“The perks of being at the top of her most hated list, I guess. Why don’t you just block her?”

“Because then she WILL get a hold of you. And that won’t end well. You’re due for losing your shit on someone. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

“Not like she wouldn’t deserve it.”

“I’ll just keep ignoring her. Maybe she’ll get the picture and just give up.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just talk to her and let her say what she has to say? Let her run her mouth and hang up on her. Then block her. Boom. Done.”

“I don’t want to hear her shit though. I’m already not in a good place. Mentally, speaking. Why let her make it worse? That’s just asking for trouble. And I really do not want to spend my Christmas doped up on Valium or drunk off my ass. Maybe you could message her. From my phone. Pretend you’re me. Telling her off.”

“I’m pretty sure she’ll know it’s me. But I’ll take one fo the team. She already hates me and wishes I was dead. Can’t get any worse than THAT.”

“Who gives a fuck what she says. Isn’t that what you always say? Fuck what my family says? Let’s NOT talk about them.”

******

She wriggles closer to him; the fabric of her plaid shirt pressed against his chest and her cheek resting on his pillow. A hand sliding under his tee and over his ribs and around to his back; fingertips repeatedly grazing up and down his spine. And he lays a palm on the back of her head and presses his lip to her temple; allowing them to linger there for several seconds before resting the side of his nose against hers. Neither speak as time ticks on. Eyes closed and warm breath tickling skin. The tips of his fingers burrowed in her hair and gently massaging her scalp as hers continue their exploration of his back; travelling over the various and tracing the outline of the tattoo that sits between his shoulders. It’s when she reaches the scar left behind from Nathan’s attack that he pulls back to look at her, finding those dark, soulful eyes staring up at him.

“Does it hurt?”

Tyler shakes his head. “Not this morning.” Some days there’s discomfort there. More a tightness than an actual ache; damage done to the nerve sometimes causing loss of sensation into his hip and down the back of his leg. Other times it feels as if the wound is freshly acquired; a burning and throbbing that reminds him of the moment Nathan had stuck his fingers into the bullet hole to cause more pain and inflict greater damage.

“It’s been okay? For the most part?”

“More good days than bad days. Sometimes it feels like there’s something stuck in there; moving around and pressing against shit.”

“There’s no actual chance of that, right? That they left something in there? I mean, they showed me the bullet. They got it all out. Or at least it looked like it did. Do you think something could have been left behind? A small fragment? Do you think…?”

“I think you need to stop worrying. It’s been five years. Almost six.”

“Even after twelve years, I don’t think you fully comprehend that I CAN’T stop worrying. It’s who I am. I worry about the people I love. And I love you a bit more than everyone esle, so…”

“A bit more, huh?”

She grins and presses a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Just a bit. You know what would be nice? If we could stay here all day. Right here. Cuddled up just like this.”

“It would be,” he agrees, and slides his forearm between her shoulder and the cushions; hand coming to rest on her upper arm, thumb repeatedly brushing against smooth skin. “But..”

“No,” Esme protests, and nuzzles her face into his neck; head under his chin and her nose pressed against his Adam’s Apple. “No ‘buts’. I don’t want to hear any ‘buts’.”

“As much as I hate to be the bearer of bad news, we DO have kids. Who very shortly are going to discover we’re not upstairs and come looking for us.”

“Let them fend for themselves. We deserve a break. A mommy and daddy break.”

“Few more months, babe. And then two weeks. Just us.”

“In Santorini,” she reminds him.

“Wherever you want to go, that’s where we’ll go.”

“Still doesn’t mean I WANT to move anytime soon. I’d still rather lie here with you all day. Preferably with less clothes on.”

“I was hoping for totally naked, myself.”

“Me too. Just lie, totally naked, and make love. All day?”

“All day?”

She pulls back to look at him; a grin playing on her lips and her eyes sparkling playfully. “What? You don’t think you have it in you anymore?”

“I was more worried about you no longer being able to handle that kind of thing.”

“Oh don’t you worry about me. You know how resilient and tenacious I am. And how I’m fully committed when I’m really into something.’

“I’ve seen all of that first hand. I could handle it. I’d need water and food breaks, but I’d be game.”

Placing her elbow on the cushion below, she props the side of her head in her upturned palm, fingers of the other hand tracing the tattoo that decorates the left side of his neck. “Remember our little apartment? Outside of Sydney?”

“I do. I remember it very well.”

“When you finally got out of the rehab place and were finally able to live there full time? Instead of just weekends home? We had A LOT of those days in bed. Enjoying each other as much as we wanted. Rarely wearing clothes even when we DID leave the room.”

“The good old days, you mean?”

“We had some really good times in that little apartment. It was kind of weird though, don’t you think? Living together and having a baby while still in the process of really getting to know one another? It was strange. How we tackled things. Wasn’t exactly a normal way of going about it.”

“I figured we didn’t start out normal, so why bother going that way?”

“There was definitely nothing conventional about how we met. It’ll make a great story one day. For one of our kids to tell on our fiftieth anniversary.”

“Only thirty eight more years to go. Think you can handle it?”

“I think I’ll be okay. Do you think YOU can?”

“I’m pretty sure that if we could survive the past twelve years...especially the last five...that there's nothing we CAN'T get past.”

“Listen to you all sappy first thing in the morning,” she teases, and hooks a finger around the chain that dangles from his neck and pulls him into a kiss. “By the way, your daughter and I had a very interesting conversation yesterday. While you were out with the rest of the spawn.”

Sighing heavily, he presses a final kiss to her forehead and then rolls onto his back; hands pushing through his hair before clasping them together at the nape of his neck. “If it’s about periods or boys, I do NOT want to hear it.”

“I’ll go easy on you; I think I’ve tortured you enough for the time being. I still say you need to be prepared. Just in case…”

“And I’ll let you do what you need to do to get me prepared. I have faith in you. That you won’t throw me to the wolves.”

“I would never.” She rolls onto her stomach and props herself up on both elbows. “And this isn’t about Millie herself. Just something she’s concerned about.”

“And you promise it’s not about her period or boys?”

“I promise. It actually surprised me. And I thought with having a mercenary husband and after birthing four boys, that there was nothing that could possibly surprise me anymore.”

“Is she okay? Millie?”

“She’s fine. She’s Millie. There’s nothing wrong with her. Like I said, it isn’t really about her. It’s about something she’s worried about. And to be honest, I’m kind of worried about it too. A lot worried, actually.”

“You’re starting to worry ME now.”

“It’s about Alannah. And her home life.”

“About how badly it sucks?”

“Pretty much. I mean, you’ve seen it first hand. You’ve been in that home. You’ve talked to her parents. You know what they’re like.”

“If you mean emotionally absent and full of shit, yeah, I’ve seen it. Those people are fucked up, babe. I don’t know how you can have that much money and have nothing all at the same time. I don’t get it; how people can be that soulless and empty. And that's saying something when it comes from a guy that kills people for a living.”

“Normally this is where I give you a stern talking to about how that’s not all you do, but I’ll let it slide. For now. You’ve been in that home. A handful of times. You’ve talked to them. On the outside, everything looks great. They drive luxury cars, they wear designer clothes, her mother is practically dripping in expensive jewelry everytime I see her. I mean, they send her to a really expensive private school. They put on a pretty good show, you have to admit.”

“It’s what they want people to see. They want everyone to think everything is perfect. That they have a great life. Trust me, there’s nothing great about it. Not for the kid, anyway. And I grew up with someone with no soul or moral compass. That house? Worse vibes than the one I was raised in.”

“Which is saying a lot. You lived a shitty life. You’d recognize the warning signs. You were THAT kid.”

“So were you. You didn’t get your ass handed to you on a daily basis, but the mental stuff is just as bad. If not worse sometimes.”

“So we BOTH know how horrible it is. Growing up where we’re not wanted. And I know my mom always put on a big show for everyone. Acted like life was amazing and that she was the perfect mother. Behind closed doors? Mommy fucking dearest. Both of us deserved so much better growing up And so does Alannah.”

“I agree. She does. So where do we come into this? What’s Millie worried about?”

“It’s not just Millie that’s worried. I am too. I know how bad a crappy upbringing can fuck someone up. I’m a mess. And most of it leads right back to my mom. I’m the first to admit that I’m pretty fucked up. That I’ve got some long term issues I do battle with every day. Because of her. In the same way you have your own things; related to your dad.”

“Okay…”

“I don’t want that happening to her. I don’t want her turning into me. I don’t want her ending up with a guy like Mark because she has zero self worth and doesn’t think she deserves better. I don’t want her being forty years old and married to a second guy -an amazing guy, for the record- and completely unable to fully appreciate him because of some shit experience. I don’t want her turning out like this. I don’t want her spending her life hating herself and thinking she’s garbage because that’s all she was told she was. I don’t want some other guy ending up like you; loving someone so wholly and completely yet having to right another man’s wrong. That’s not fair. To you. Or to whatever guy she ends up with.”

“Babe, you…”

“Don’t try and deny it, okay. Don’t try and play it down. I know what I’m like. I know how bad I can get. You’ve spent the last twelve years having to prove you’re not him. And that isn’t fair. And I’m sorry. For ever making you feel like you’re not good enough or that you’re somehow like him. Because you’re not. You are so far from being anything like him. I’ve never meant to hurt you. And if I knew how to stop being this way…”

“Esme…” He lays a hand on the back of her neck and lifts his head to kiss her. “...stop. I love you. I get it. Why you are the way you are. In the same way you get why I’m the way I am. And you know what? We’re both fucked up. But somehow it works. WE work.”

“I just don’t want Alannah ending up like this. She’s still so young. There’s time to stop it. Before it happens.”

“How? You’re not her mother. What are you going to do? Go over there and over advice? Teach some parenting classes? Because that will go over REALLY well.”

“I’m hardly the person who should be teaching parenting classes. I’m not exactly perfect myself.”

“Your kids think you are. I think you are.”

“You think the sun shines out of my ass and that I poop glitter and fart rainbows. You’re hardly a good judge. But…” she leans in and presses a kiss to his lips. “...I love you for always wanting to stroke my ego. For always looking at me like butterflies fly out of my butt.”

“Your ass is nice, but it’s not THAT nice. And this stuff with Alannah. What can we do about it? She already spends more time here than at her own place. What more do you want?”

“Well she obviously likes being here. You’ve seen her at her own house. She doesn’t smile, she barely talks, hardly eats. Doesn’t even make eye contact with people. It’s like she’s nothing but a shell. And then she comes here and she’s completely different. She’s smiling and she’s laughing and she’s so loveable and sweet. And helpful. She’s a good kid. A good kid that deserves so much better.”

“You’re still not telling me what you think we can do about it. And we’re not moving here, so don’t even bring that up. We’ve talked about that. Numerous times. This isn’t the place for us. Not on a permanent basis:”

“I know. And to be honest, I wouldn’t want to live here full time. I love where we are. It’s private and it’s quiet and it’s beautiful. That’s home. No other place can even come close to that. It’s nice to visit here, but living? Definitely not a good idea. Especially for you. And Tanner. You guys need the quiet and the calm.”

“So what DO you want to do? You say you want to help the kid. How do we help her?”

“Millie brought something up. An idea. And it’s not totally horrible.”

“And that is…”

“She asked if we can bring Alannah back with us. To Australia.”

“As in permanently or…?”

“Temporarily. I think. For now. I don’t know; we didn’t really get that deep into it. She suggested it and I told her that I’d talk to you. So, here I am. Talking to you.”

“We can’t just take the kid. We can’t just toss her on a plane and take her home with us. There’s this thing called kidnapping, in case you didn’t realize.”

“And I told Millie that. That we can’t just take her with us. She DOES have a family. A shitty one, but a family nonetheless. We’d have to go through a lot of steps. Just like we did with Ovi. That was a lot of work. Getting everything in order so he could go with us to Colorado. I mean, we were in Mumbai for a month while the lawyers figured everything out.”

“It was a lot of red tape. And Australia’s a lot more strict than the States. About who they let in. And we’d have to get her signed up for school. She can’t just hang around the house. We both work and the kid has to learn. It’s not like we’d just be bringing her for an extended vacation.”

“But it CAN be done. I mean, I was allowed to stay in Australia.”

“Yeah, because we were getting married and we were having a baby. Two perfectly good reasons to let you stay. We bring some random kid home with us…”

“We’d have to call the lawyer. He’d be able to advise us. On how to handle everything. He’d probably be able to handle all the paperwork. And we’re not talking about adopting her. We became Ovi’s legal guardians. That’s a whole other ballgame. We’d just be taking her on an adventure. Let her experience something new. Give her a real family. People that love her and siblings to play with and drive her crazy.”

“And then what? We just send her back home a few months? Just ship her right back to the bullshit here? That makes NO sense.”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I just thought for the time being, we could help her out. Give her time away from her shitty life. And if in the end she really loves it and wants to stay, then we think about guardianship.”

“You’re talking about taking on another kid. That’ll make eight.”

“Two days ago, you wanted me to get my tubes patched up so we could have an eighth,” Esme points out.

“Yeah, one of our own. A baby. That we make. Together. Not someone else’s kid.”

“But that isn’t going to happen. We agreed on this. After the twins. That seven was enough.”

“But you’re okay with taking on Alannah? Just not with having our own baby.”

“I can’t do it again. I just can’t. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. But I am babied out. And this is a kid that needs our help. You're always the first person that WANTS to help everyone.”

“Usually when I’m helping people, I’m getting sent somewhere to kill someone. Not taking in their kids.”

“I will admit, it’s not a fool proof plan. Or much of a plan at all. And I do have my own concerns.”

He reaches out and pushes a hand through her hair; allowing the dark tresses to slip between his fingers and then looping strands over her ears. “Which are?”

“I worry about us. Me and you. Our plates are full. We have seven kids we’re raising. And we’re doing a damn good job, you have to admit. We make a really good team.”

“Yeah, we do. We always have. Right from day one.”

“But we’re also taking time to nurture us. Our relationship. That’s important. How many times has it been drilled into us? At therapy? That we need to step away sometimes and make the effort to connect and stay close and keep our bond the way it is. We’ve had to work on that. A lot. We’ve both had to step up to make sure we didn’t fall apart. To make sure we remember that we’re not just two people raising kids together. And I don’t want to lose that. Those moments with you.”

“I don’t want to lose that either. It’s a big deal to me. You know that. Keeping things together. Keeping US together.”

“And you’ve been amazing. At putting in the time and the effort. And it’s gone so well. We are so much stronger than we were five years ago. By A LOT. You know how cheesy it would always sound? When you’d hear people talking about loving someone more and more every day? I thought it was so stupid. That there was no way that was true. And in these last five years? I’ve realized how wrong I was. Because I DO love you more every day. And I’m scared something will come along and wreck that.”

“But? I know there’s a ‘but’ coming.”

“But I can’t help but worry that we’re letting Alannah down. That we’re just leaving her to suffer and grow up to be just as messed up as us. We have a chance to help her. And I don’t think my conscience will let me just walk away and leave her here. Not without at least trying to help.”

Tyler nods slowly as he considers her words; absentmindedly twirling a strand of her hair around his index finger.

“You don’t think I’m selfish do you? That I want to help? Even thought I’m scared of fucking us up?”

“Actually, I think you’re selfless. Not selfish. If you’re willing to risk something to help this kid....”

“I don’t want to risk anything. That’s the problem. I want to help, but I don't want to jeopardize us. That’s the last thing I want. Because we have come so far and we are so much better now and we’re so much stronger. I do not want this to be a case of a hundred steps forward and a thousand steps back.”

“That won’t happen,” he assures her. “I won’t let that happen. We just keep doing things the way we are. We make each other a priority. Like we've been doing for five years now. Taking on Alannah is not going to change that. If she was a baby or a toddler we were bringing aboard, I’d say no way in hell. Because that would be a lot of work and yeah, things would fuck up. Between us.”

“So what can we do? To help her. You want to, right? Help her?”

“I do. But…”

“I KNEW that was coming.”

“...it’s not just as easy as taking her back with us. I wish it was. But it is NOT that simple. And you know that. From the experience with Ovi.”

“I do. I DO know that. And I told Millie as much. That we had to jump through a lot of hoops to be able to bring him with us to Colorado.”

“And I don’t mind putting in the work and calling the lawyer and putting this out there to him. But it’s only going to work if her parents are on board. And honestly, I don’t know how the fuck we’d go about that. Talking to them.”

“You talked to Mahajan. About Ovi. You went to the prison in Mumbai and spoke to him.”

“That was an entirely different situation. He knew he couldn’t provide a proper home for his kid. He knew he couldn’t keep him safe. He didn’t really have a choice, and he knew that. But I can’t just go walking into Alannah’s house and tell her parents I want to take her to Australia. I can’t just say ‘you’re shit parents, give me your kid’. They’ll tell me to fuck off and most likely call the cops.”

“I guess that wouldn’t be the perfect way to approach the subject. But we could. Talk to them. Rationally. And calmly.”

“And they could turn around and tell us both fuck off and then forbid their kid from coming over here. Which means we break Alannah’s heart AND our daughter’s.”

Sighing heavily, Esme places her forehead against his chest and groans dramatically. “Why does this have to be so hard?”

“We need to figure out how to approach this. Without stirring up the hornet’s nest. And we can’t just make a decision like this overnight. We need time to talk about this. REALLY talk about it. Because this is a huge deal. This isn’t just bringing the kid for a vacation.”

“But we will? Talk more about it?”

“Can we get past Christmas first? Because I would really like to get through this holiday with what’s left of my sanity somewhat intact.”

“Maybe after New Years Eve. Then we can sit down and really talk it out. Pros and cons. The whole nine yards. We don’t need to rush into this. There’s a lot of time before we head back home. And if we DO decide to take her and her parents agree, we’ll need to give the lawyer some time to work on getting past the red tape.”

“I’m not promising anything, Me. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I want to do this and I think we should. I’m not going to lie to you. I don’t know if it’s a good idea. But I WILL think about it. And talk about.”

“That’s all I want,” she says, and presses a kiss to his cheek and then the corner of his mouth before placing her head upon his chest.

“You know…” he runs a palm down the length of her hair, then rests it on the small of her back. “...I don’t know what kind of hoodoo voodoo black magic you got going on, but I seem to get talked into the most fucked up shit.”

Laughing, she places her chin on his chest and looks up at him. “It’s the eyes. They get you every time.”

“And the ass. And the things you let me do to it.”

“We are NOT having that particular conversation. That’s just a no from me. We can go there, but we don’t need to discuss it. And speaking of going places, today’s the day.”

“Your little shopping trip with Desi. You ARE going to spoil yourself, yeah? No buying anything for me or the kids. We don’t need shit. This is all about you. So go crazy. Buy a whole fucking store if you want. I do NOT care.”

“Any requests? Something you’d like me to buy? Something you’d like to see me in?”

“Not really. I prefer you out of clothes, not actually IN them. But maybe something sexy?”

“Sexy as in a dress to wear for a night on the town or…?”

“Sexy as in only for my eyes to see.”

She grins. “You mean bedroom sexy.”

“Exactly.”

“I thought you didn’t care about the packaging? I thought you only cared about what’s underneath?”

“I don’t usually care. But, I do have plans. For New Years Eve. After Ovi’s wedding.”

“Really?” Her eyes sparkle mischievously. “What kind of plans?”

“It’s a surprise. But I think something sexy would fit right in.”

“Is it mommy and daddy ONLY plans?”

“Yes. Just us. No kids anywhere near us. No interruptions.”

“You want to have wild and crazy sex all night. The kind of wild and crazy sex that we can’t have with kids in the noise. The noisy kind of wild and crazy sex.”

“That would be nice, yeah. I would love to have some wild and crazy noisy sexy with my wife.”

“In that case…” she slides further up the couch and pushes a hand through his hair, speaking between soft pecks that she places on his hips. “...I will buy something very, very, VERY sexy. Just for you.”

“You spoil me.”

“You deserve it. You’re a good man, Tyler Rake. You’re a keeper.”

“And speaking of spoiling…” Curling an arm around her waist, he unceremoniously dumps her onto the mounds of bunched up pillows and comforters and then sits back on his heels. A grin playing at the corners of his mouth as his palms travel along the backs of her calves; fingertips grazing against the skin of her inner thighs before applying gentle pressure in silent encouragement for her to open them. “...it’s my turn.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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kim-lexie · 3 years

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‘start up’: week-by-week playback

here is a week-by-week playback of events from ‘start up’ and my unfiltered feelings. hope you enjoy! if you want to see somewhat cohesive thoughts on ‘start up’ check out my official review. here :)

*spoiler alert*

ep 1

ladies and gents it’s going to be a good one. i loved being able to see this backstory to lay all the groundwork for the future of the drama.

his story is devastating as a young individual unable to make his way into the world and then making a way to find it isn’t how he expected and lost a real thing he had with the relationship with the her grandmother. but the redemption when he goes to see her again.

her family becoming broken. her sister severing the relationship and chalking it up to being ‘oh i made the better choice’. and her father dying while getting her chicken and trying to get an investment to not let his daughter go hungry and to bring his family together.

to him making up a character that got her through hard times. and then trying to find him again. this is going to be great. and i know i’m going to be devastated bc she fell in love with the other man to begin with, and now she will see this new person.

soooooo much happened and i’m clearly not ready.

ep 2

why? why do we lie? we know nothing good will come of it. if anything this jipyeong is who she loves. but why lie? literally you can own up to it and start over boo.

disappointed in our sweet grandma for lying to dalmi for so long.

her sister is awful. and so is this ‘mother’.

this man just wanted to start up his start up but he was like nah don’t want to help you even though i need you. feel in love with the girl in the letters and showed up bc of the goodness of his heart. hope he doesn’t get lost in the fantasy of it.

their business, samsan tech, is going to be wild and great and he missed his opportunity.

ep 3

her mother saying she is the same as her dad not having a plan is so wack, and makes me want her to slap her.

aren’t you curious? why aren’t you asking why i am like this? because that is my concept the quiet good looking type. i can’t with him hahaha

i love that he asked about the music box. i wish it was really him that wrote the letters, because this will be heartbreaking when she finds out.

‘it wouldn’t be bad to sail off without a map even if we got lost, if it’s with you.’

this kid, dosan, is too funny.

i cannot believe her ‘father’ just throw her under the bus and had her oppa takes over the Korean branch of her company that she formed.

dang it. girl quits her job because he started his own company

they got first place. is that enough inkling for you?!?!?

they both like her. but only one of them will admit his feelings so he will win in the end. i’m so excited to see all of their relationships develop.

the cringe level of the edit of her winning her award. i cannot even. they’re charming everyone loves it.

ep 4

him learning how to be a hot shot ceo. i can’t. the placemats he is struggling.

his friend breaking the 3rd wall and telling us how dosan drives away all the ladies in university.

poor guy the only things she likes about him aren’t him at all but jipyeong.

she is going to be their ceo isn’t she. bc he said that he can’t be ceo. she’d kill it. what a queen.

yes boo! there it is we know who you’re going to pick. bc she wants them to recruit you not the other way around.

ep 5

this was a stellar episode. from both teams using the same data set and coming up with wildly different ideas to samsan tech almost crashing down. but setting a fire to dosan to do better and be more ambitious. i’m so excited.

our girl killed her presentation yes queen. you got this. the fact that the boys created a whole new software. these folks would be crazy to not invest.

this alex guy really believes in them i’m excited to see if there will be rivalry between the two hot shot ceo’s

the fact that her grandma doesn’t regret not sending her to college but rather regrets not meeting him earlier to support and encourage him made me cry.

ep 6

this was a great episode. so much happened in the development of their little company. disorder and disagreements led to stronger relations within the company.

i love how she picked the mentor. like yup i know alex is the biggest deal since slice bread but you’re our homie.

the fact that dosan was ready to come clean about the letters but overheard the grandmother get a sad report from the doctors and wanted to protect her and her granddaughter. so sad.

ep 7

i really need more than a second male lead for this man. i can’t stand the way he looks at her. he loves her and is trying so hard to shut off his heart to her.

i love the bickering between the two male leads. like seriously hilarious.

i love the sweet relationship that nam dosan will now have with her grandmother. and i love the idea concept he had for their business. a beautiful heart behind the machine.

dosan standing up for her and standing against this horrible man out to exploit their talent.

this ending scene i can’t. they’re cute too. and precious.

he kept the plant and is going to give it nutrients to keep it well. please do the same with your relationship with her honey.

ep 8

i really love jipyeong and need them together.

i cannot with their ceo step dad. like isn’t this too much.

i want the boss lady at sandbox to know that dalmi is the sandbox girl!!!

ep 9

the wind turned into a heavy storm that destroyed his self esteem. he feels himself falling apart bc of his secret.

she was attacked!

‘i made a wrong turn and stumbled upon fireworks’ nam dosan.

he brought them to the beach after reading that review of wanting to see more beauty that the world has to offer. i need him to own up to his feelings and make a move.

don’t lie bro we know you like dalmi. and of course it’s raining. bc that’s how it is.

we still get a scene with them running through the rain the chul-san and yong-san.

my heart is crumbling into a million pieces. jipyeong’s there and dosan isn’t. what are we going to do. this ain’t the moment of revelation we wanted.

ep 10

jipyeong is so great. 10 out of 10.

i don’t know what it is but i really am not about dosan’s character for some reason. i really just want jipyeong to be honest from the start and he could have ended up with her.

my heart. our dalmi.

‘i wanted to be the person you wanted. but it was too hard to bear.’

‘the person i want. i don’t know who that is.’

is the sibling of the member that died in their group?

do-san can’t leave his boys!!

‘does my dream have to be success. can’t it be a person?’

he just confesses to liking her while he was mixing their noodles. i can’t with him. love that he’s finally being honest. now it’s all up to dalmi.

everyone encouraging her before she has to promote their company. she did this. she is the ceo. she’s got this.

what the even?!? jipyeong was the one that was harsh to him. and it led his brother to commit suicide. oh no. and now they’re in the elevator together what’s going to happen?!?!

now she has two plan b?!? one from the investor and one from dosan and the big tech company.

they both confessed to the nice lady at the bar. hahaha i love these epilogue moments.

ep 11

yong-san’s brother story is so sad.

his dad standing up for the present he desperately wants to keep. and being the bridge for innovation.

their software worked on alex’s scheme!!!

and they won demo day.

oh no but alex isn’t as great as we thought he was...

chul-san and sa-ha are dating. i cannot even. this is the best!!!

they’re such a good team. brainstorming after their win. they cannot disband them.

i thought our man was going to get to them

in time to stop them from signing. but he didn’t.

ep 12

bro. alex is awful i hate this man.

the moments between. hjp and mrs. choi you are brilliant and heart breaking. i really want them to continue to grow into a better person and end up with dalmi.

why y’all got to fight why is dosan doing this. bro you’re not getting any brownie points by being like this dude.

i really love this side story with chulsan and saha. they’re cute. well we can share the vanilla latte. cute!!!!

chulsan made her a video of numbers to help her fall asleep. he’s too cute i want her to admit that she likes him. ahhhhhhhhh

the fact that they ended up going and we’ll have a three year gap errrrks me. like our boy jhp is going to finally start making moves and dosan is going to run in and save the day. like bro you’re a mess.

i hope they were able to save the app for her grandmother.

her applying to her sisters company i’m excited.

ep 13

lolol they used his cousin for the commercial and injae looks sooo cute. frozen inspired.

i love how she had /iced vanilla latte lover’ as chul-san’s contact name and the vlogs!!!

hjp our man saved her from the insurance guy.

now they all play go stop together!!!!

she tucked him in and he gets to stay

youngsil calling him out to just swing the bat and don’t hesitate or he’ll lose. is this foreshadowing our man losing dalmi?!?

they finally got to eat at the bbq restaurant that was below their original building

frick my life. why is his timing always wack.

at least chulson and saha can sail.

the whole gang is back together!

it was the twins that hacked it wasn’t it?!?

he stopped him. come on baby.

ep 14

i love his man listening to her cry. hiding her because she didn’t want her staff to see. and telling her to chill until she is ready. i love this man.

that’s right honey. don’t answer that phone move on.

their little photoshoot was faboulous, them as RGB

yes queen. she went to confront her family. and be like boo you thought i didn’t chance. honey you’re in for it.

her mother wanting to pay back her mother-in-law for raising her daughter in her steed.

dosan turned her down her offer to be their AI specialists at her company.

i love that his father saved the baseball.

me finally accepting my ship won’t sail when their girl walked 5 hours in the woods to get to dosan.

yong-san apologizing for saying that jhp killed his brother. they both are apologizing.

they all end up joining her company!!!!

ep 15

their self driving car passed the test. they’re too cute in their celebration.

she doesn’t want to lose her team again if they lose their bid.

sa ha is finally falling for chulsan. he’s so precious. him being like oh wait you’re asking me out.

of course it would be this trip getting stuck in an elevator together.

sailing off without a map. never will regret it. -dosan

injae absolved her adoption after seeing her grandmother.

he tired to out so all their memories with that one thing alone his big hands. hahah oh do san.

my hjp finally let go. he took his losses and kept the money tree and letters. it isn’t enough honey boo.

stop feeling inferior to me. work on your self esteem and look at dalmi again. then you’ll know who she really likes. with those hands alone, you beat our memories. -hjp

because it’s you. you’re the reason. that’s it. -dalmi on liking dosan

i really don’t like them together. but whatever i shall not have my way in this. it’s fine hjp is mine.

i love the sisters together. they’re precious talking about the sandbox girl.

is this article going to frick up their bid?!? but it was his hackers that did it the twins!!!

is hjp going to save the day?!?

ep 16

dalmi and dosan are a dream team. and they just served that reporter one great tell all.

i still can’t process bc i love hjp.

i feel like it hit mrs. choi when they were all talking dosan and dalmi when are finally saw dosan after a few years that her good boy would feel alone. TT

‘don’t become any lonelier jipyeong...’ their relationship makes me cry. i love that

i can’t everyone saying what they’ll do if they win. PROPOSE. say who their boyfriend is?!?!

i’m excited to see this start up to connect orphanages with a sponsor to help them in that transition. it’s a perfect fit for him. ‘i like your voice’, because it sounds like young-sil the voice of the app/help device. he’s going to personally invest and help them with their business plan. and then sponser kids!!! he is seriously a dream.

chulsan and saha are too cute. i love that she introduced him as her boyfriend. he was not expecting that. she finally found someone who she’s been looking for!

was that their goodbye? he isn’t the dosan from the letters? huh?

in jae is such a queen serving those papers to her dad at the q and a session, that no one showed up to.

them all crying in their old rooftop office. they’re such dorks i love them

his father took the sign to replace it with the one from the math competition.

dalmi and injae’s relationship is too precious.

he’s going to invest in their company. and dosan accepted hjp’s investment.

i want to change the world. follow your dream.

i liked this one.

i wonder if they won.......oh the epilogue!!!

they got married. and they kept the baseball. chul-san and saha revealed they were a couple. chul-san shaved his hair! i loved that we saw it all though pictures on their desk!! that was a creative way to fit everything in!

shareholders meeting!!! the gang taking over the world!

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bellarke-angel · 4 years

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Drabble request: stiles is killed by monroe post-series and lydia sorta does a scream that ends the whole world and sends her back in time to ep1, where she does a very complex martial arts move on Jackson when he hugs her from behind and tries to only act friendly in front of stiles (which still astounds him). Peter's someone she can deal with rather quickly but her main problem rn is to not scare the crap out of this lovable young stiles with her intensity while still grieving HER stiles.

Lydia was sure this was a dream, it had to be, waking up to find herself lying in bed as though nothing had happened. Yet the last thing she could remember was Stiles limp in her arms, blood covering both her hands and clothes...but it wasn’t her blood, it was his. He’d been stupidly heroic yet again, the pair walking hand in hand through the woods, sure it was weird to be going on a late night walk in the woods but it had become a little thing they’d do. To spend time together without all the murder and shit. Then Brett had appeared out of thin air, the boy scrambling helplessly blood gushing from his arm as he held it, his breath hitched as he collided into the couple.

One word and that was all Stiles and Lydia had needed to know about what had happened,

“Monroe.”

The boy strained, clearly needing medical attention. Stiles had been quick to the boys aid, trying to help him standing asking him a million questions at once. But all Bret could do was shake his head, mumbling something about his pack being hunted, that so many had died. Lydia couldn’t imagine the pain of losing so many. Stiles had instructed her to take Bret back to the jeep, to get him to the hospital before he lost too much blood. But before he could even shift Bret’s body weight onto Lydia, a sharp snap shot into the floor beside their feet. A gasp escaping their mouths. There was no time.

“Next one goes through the chest!” A gruff voice echoed from behind them - they didn’t have to turn around to know who that voice belonged to. Gerrard.

"Of course it's you," Lydia sighed heavily, anger bubbling inside her.

It might've been in his genes to be a hunter. But it wasn't what Allison had wanted, Lydia just wished Gerrard would respect what his granddaughter's wishes.

"I should've guessed you'd come crawling out of your hole at some point." Lydia snarled, Stiles close beside her, his hand resting on her lower back.

"To be fair, I've always thought you resembled a mole," Stiles chimed in, a dancing smirk on his face as he ran his free hand over it. The scrawny boy earning himself a glower from the older man before them. “What? It’s true.”

Lydia stifled the smirk that threatened to appear on her lips, the short girl staggering as she felt Bret stumble weakly. A worried glance shooting his way as Gerrard muttered something to the woman beside him, the girl raising her crossbow to aim so perfectly at Brett. The three knew how this was going to end, with Brett’s condition deteriorating rapidly, there was no chance he’d be able to run without getting hit. Stiles quickly straightened, raising his hands up trying to defuse the situation. Shoving all his jokes aside.

“Hey, hey, look. No-one has to get hurt anymore than they already have,” He rambled, “We’ll just be taking our little wolf friend here, and he’ll be out of your hair. We’ll act like this never happened.”

The cruel pair before them let out a harsh cackle, “You think we’ll just let him go? How many people have to die because you monsters roaming our lands? No. He dies tonight.”

It was ironic that she was a councilor, the woman who was supposed to help with the students and their issues. Now turning on them, trying to kill them for something they never asked for. They were just trying to survive, like everyone else in this ghost ridden town. All it took was the snap of a wire, for the arrow to come soaring towards the innocent, injured boy ready to take his life. It happened faster than Lydia could process, Stiles being beside her one minute to launching himself before Brett the next.

It was the sound of the arrow stopping that shattered Lydia’s reality. It had hit him. Stiles. Stopped plain in his chest, for a moment she found herself frozen in time. The redhead watching as the boy she loved stared down at himself, seemingly in shock that he’d actually risked his life for someone he barely knew. That he’d traded places, life for death. When his warm brown eyes locked onto Lydia’s, that was when she saw fear and pain begin to flood his mind. It was like Allison’s death all over again. But this time she was in Scott’s position, she was the one now cradling Stiles in her arms, the man having fell to his knees quickly losing the strength to breathe let alone stand. It ached her heart to watch, her hand putting pressure around his wound, her hands shaking as tears streaked down her cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Was all Stiles kept repeating, but she wasn’t listening. She knew it wasn’t. If it was then Allison would still be alive now, all it takes is one arrow and she knew Stiles knew that. “Lydia, listen to me. Y-you’ve got to get Scott, or...or my dad, I—”

“Why would you do that? You knew what would happen—fuck, Stiles.” Lydia questioned in anger, all the pain beginning to bubble up. The thought of losing yet another person she loved in the same way, causing sobs to rack her body. “I-I don’t want to lose you.”

Stiles raised a shaking hand to her cheek, his thumb grazing over her soft skin trying to memorize the feeling. He’d waited so long for them to be together, for Lydia to reciprocate his feelings and now it was all being taken away. Lydia let out a soft whimper, leaning into his touch, wishing everything to be okay again, but it didn’t change the fact that Stiles was dying. Right here, in her arms. A piece of her heart crumbling away.

“I love you, never forget that. Since the day I met you...you’ve been all I can think about, all I dreamed about, when I thought of my future, Lydia...” Stiles choked, the tears that were brimming in his eyes now falling. “You were all over it. You still are, okay. S—so whatever happens, promise me you’ll be happy, promise me you’ll go get that award you’ve always wanted. Promise you’ll take care of Scott.”

If Stiles wasn’t dying, she’d refuse to listen, refuse to hear his goodbyes or promise anything that didn’t involve him. She was finally happy, after all these years and that happiness was currently in her arms, on the edge of leaving her.

“Stiles, I can’t — “

It was getting harder and harder to swallow the scream aching to leave her body, but she watched as his eyes flutter, the boy struggling to stay awake. She needed him to hear her say it, to say she loved him more than he’d ever know, to tell him she didn’t want a future where he wasn’t in it. That for the past three years she’d loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone in her life, Stiles was she’d wanted...but it was too late, her mouth fell agape ready to flood him with all the love consuming her thoughts. But his eyes were closed, his chest still...his hand limp. He was gone. And that was when she screamed, just before everything turned black.

[x]

Lydia hauled herself up, wincing at the coursing pain that shot through her head. She hadn’t had a migraine this bad since Eichen House, it took her a second to notice the changes in her room, the walls a horrid hot pink that of which they used to be years ago. The sight immediately making her cringe, she could’ve sworn just hours ago her bedroom walls were a warm rouge pink that she’d chosen with Stiles not too long ago. Lydia shook off the eerie feeling weighing on her, trying to piece together how she could be in the woods with Stiles one minute, to waking up in her bed...but that’s just it. She didn’t remember waking up. The redhead startled hearing her door click open, her mother walking in looking at her as though she was crazy.

“Lydia, what the hell are you still doing here? School starts in ten minutes.”

The redheads eyes widened at that, not bothering to question how the weekend had managed to fly by so fast. Senior year was the year she’d sworn not to be late, it could remain on her record forever and after being stuck in Eichen for so long. Missing out on essential classes wasn’t on her itinerary.

“Shit,” She hissed beneath her breath, her mother glaring at her daughters foul language. Lydia’s green eyes flickered to her mother, knowing she’d get scolded for cursing - even if she was eighteen. “Sorry, I guess I slept through my alarm.”

“Well, you’d best get moving, you don’t want to be late.” Natalie tutted, she’d always frowned on anything but perfect when it came to her daughter. She knew Lydia was capable of whatever she set her mind to.

Lydia simply nodded, snatching up the first bag in her sight which just so happened to be her bag from her freshman year. It was horribly out of season, but it would have to do, she threw on an outfit - her grey boots, a loose fitted dress and her grey leather jacket thrown over the top. She instinctively reached for her car keys, which she always left resting upon her bedside table. Only to find them missing, she could’ve swore she put them there yesterday. The redhead knew she didn’t have time to fuss about where her keys were, darting down the stairs and into the kitchen, she’d have to ask her mother to drop her off.

The redhead had fought the feeling of heartache the moment she’d awoken in her bed, but heading towards the school with her books in her arms and bag on her shoulder. It just seemed to get heavier, Stiles flooded her mind, his last words, the pain filled brown eyes, she’d never known Stiles to be as pale as he was that night. It haunted her, and something told her it was too realistic to be a dream. She remembered it so vividly. Lydia sucked in a breath, something telling her today was going to be different and the second she walked towards the double doors, noticing two familiar looking boys, her closest friends, both looking a lot younger and doe eyed than the last time she’d laid eyes on them. Something stopped Lydia in her tracks, she was close enough to note the buzz cut on Stiles and the rugged curls on Scott’s head. Something was definitely wrong.

But right now, with a heavy heart of losing the man she loved seeing him alive and healthy was all she cared about. The redhead strode forward, not bothering to think it through and threw her arms around the skinny boys body. The weigh of her suddenly colliding with him causing him to stumble back in shock. Lydia could tell immediately that this Stiles wasn’t hers. At least, not yet. The girl pulling back, to meet the slightly confused, slightly frightened muddy brown eyes she loved so. But all she could offer him was a smile.

“Lydia...uh...” Stiles visibly gulped, clearly dumbstruck, fumbling for words to say. Seeing Stiles like this, shy and nervous just how he was when they first became friends, melted her heart. “W-What, uh...I didn’t think you knew I existed.”

Lydia laughed lightly at his words, back then she didn’t, she hadn’t even known he’d attended the school until Allison took interest in Scott.

“Nonsense, I know everyone.”

Scott had been stood beside his best friend, in his own state of shock at the redheads presence. Not once had she even glanced in the boys direction, now here she was as though she’d change over night. Stiles gave Lydia a shy once over, noting the apparent differences in the girl.

“Did uh, did you do something with your hair?” The nervous boy asked, frightened he’d scare her off. Lydia frowned at his words, lifting a gather of her hair, did he not like it?

“No…” She begun, suddenly self conscious that all this time Stiles might’ve disliked her straight hair. “Do you not like it?”

Stiles reacted quickly to her words, rushing to nod his head feeling as though this was his one chance with Lydia and that he might screw it up.

“Fuck, uh. No, no I love it. I think it’s beautiful, you know, that you’re beautiful. I-I just meant that it was straight, it’s usually curly.” Stiles stammered, trying to correct his error.

Lydia had forgotten how shy Stiles had been around her when they first met, always fumbling for the right words, shooting her loving little looks. It caused Lydia’s cheeks to burn with a blush, falling more in love with him every second that passed. The redhead had no clue how she was here, if this was some strange multiverse, or if she was simply dreaming. But to see her boyfriend like this with his stupid buzz cut, his goofy smile and fit as a fiddle. She was thankful. Because at least it gives her a chance at loving him again, to savor her time with him whilst she could.

[x]

Strangely enough, classes had passed by quickly, Jackson had been hounding her like a dog most of the day. Lydia surely didn’t miss that. The girl sat at the “popular” table listening to Danny hammer on about some model from Vogue; the boys usual topic of conversation. When her green eyes landed on a familiar set of brown ones boring into her, like she was a puzzle he was trying to decipher. Lydia muttered an excuse to Jackson, rising to her feet and heading over to Scott and Stiles.

“Hey.”

Was all she came out with, for no reason feeling a bundle of nerves build up in her stomach. Stiles seemed to smile instantly at her presence, clearly thrilled this morning wasn’t just a one off.

“What are you boys fanboying about? It’s just I was watching you guys and uh, whatever you’re talking about, it’s clearly important...or intriguing at least.”

Lydia knew Scott got bit around this time, seem as it was the start of freshman year. The two boys nervously glanced at one another, hesitant on whether to spill the details of their night.

“Just...boy stuff, I guess.”

The ginger had to stifle a laugh at that, “Wow, boy stuff...you sure you don’t mean werewolf stuff?”

Both of the boys eyebrows shot up, mouth agape as they looked at her as though she could somehow read her mind. Maybe she could’ve came about telling them a lighter, instead of dropping a bomb like that. But what was the point in wasting time?

“What? I mean, how do you know?” Scott struggled, scratching his head anxiously. His eyes suddenly growing wide, lowering his voice as he asked, “Did you get bit by that thing too?”

“No, ew. I just...happened to know, that’s all.” The girl shrugged, sliding into the seat beside Stiles. Subconsciously sitting a little too close to him, he’d been silent since she appeared. Lydia returned her attention to Scott. “That bite, starts something incredible.”

Scott remained dumbfounded, having no clue how she could’ve stumbled across all of this information. He couldn’t help but wonder if she was some kind of psychic. Stiles cleared his throat, eyes still trained on Lydia beside him.

“I’ve never got to admire those green eyes of yours up close,” Stiles looked as though he hadn’t meant to say it out loud, his face mimicking a tomato. Lydia could only smile, knowing her eyes were always her Stiles’s favourite. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be, it’s not often I get complimented this much.” She smiled sweetly.

“Doesn’t Jackson compliment you?” Stiles frowned, he’d assumed their relationship was the typical popular high school couple, honeymoon phase all around. Lydia scoffed.

“Jackson...has his own shit going on. He doesn’t exactly have time to notice me.”

It felt weird confessing that out loud, knowing that really was how their relationship had been all those years ago. Lydia loved him, despite the fact she knew he was gay…that he had hook ups with guys here and there. It hurt her to know she was just his beard, but as long as she portrayed this perfect picture for everyone else, she dealt with it.

“You don’t deserve a douche bag like him.” Stiles muttered beneath his breath, knowing the old Lydia would turn her nose up at him for saying that.

“Took me a long time to realize that.” She agreed, wishing she’d fell out of Jackson’s spell a lot earlier than she did. “I should’ve seen what was right in front of me.”

The pair seemed to share a silent exchange, both their hearts fluttering in their chests. The love Lydia felt for Stiles was unlike any of the love she’d felt for her past lovers. Lydia sighed, hauling herself to her feet.

“I’d best get to class, I’ll catch you guys later.”

[x]

Lydia walked down the corridor, she’d flew through her classes. She wasn’t sure if it was considered a cheat that she’d already gone through all of the paperwork and exams. But she hadn’t exactly asked to go back in time. It was the glimpse of dark curled hair that caught the corner of her eye. Her heart dropping to her stomach, it was as though all of the pain from three years ago came flooding back. Allison.

Without thinking Lydia was before the girl before she could stop herself. The urge to throw her arms around the brunette calling to her, but unlike with Stiles she fought it. This Allison didn’t know her yet, frightening her off wasn’t an option. Lydia forced on a fake smile, good at hiding her pain as always.

“Is that the new designer jacket from Gucci? Oh my god, I wish I could afford that.”

The shy girl brushed her hair behind her ear, smiling awkwardly towards Lydia.

“Uh, yeah. My mom’s sort of into their stuff.” Lydia felt like crying, it had been years since she heard her best friends voice.

Lydia wasn’t sure if this dream or whatever the hell it was, was supposed to be some form or torture or heaven. Whatever it was, she was grateful to see Allison again, whether it was real or not. Only now she was carrying both the loss of her boyfriend and best friend. The dark thoughts seemed to cloud her mind, the redhead being pulled from her thoughts by Allison. Finding the brunette waving a hand in front of her face.

“Hey, you okay?” The concerned laced in Allison’s voice made Lydia give her a weak smile. Shaking herself back into her act.

“Yeah, sorry. Just got lost in my thoughts, but we should totally be best friends?” The ginger beamed, linking her arm through Allison’s with a chirpy bounce of happiness. The brunette closing her locker with her free hand, going along with her.

“Sure, why not?” Allison laughed shyly, as they turned both the girls eyes met two boys at their lockets further down the hall. Allison seemed to notice Lydia’s gaze. “Friends of yours?”

Lydia glanced up at her long lost friend, a small smile on her face. “Yeah, two of the best people I know actually…”

It felt like nostalgia being back where their adventure had started, Scott, Stiles, Allison and her all together again. How it was meant to be. Something within her broke, she hadn’t realized how much she’d missed this.

“The cute one? What’s his name?” Allison asked, eyes trained on the boys.

“The boy with the buzz cut, Stiles?” Allison seemed to raise a brow at the name, but Lydia quickly noted she’d meant Scott. The redheads cheeks blushing, “Oh, you mean Scott.”

Allison stayed quiet for a moment, “I met him earlier...he seems sweet.”

“I think the feelings mutual,” Lydia grinned, gesturing towards the boy that was now looking Allison’s way. “And now the love story begins.”

Allison blushed furiously nudging her, hating the attention. “Hey, you’re one to talk. Clearly this Stiles, means something to you.”

Lydia shook her head, the brunette was correct to assume so, but she simply smiled. “Time will tell, my friend. Time will tell.”

But little did Allison know Lydia knew how their story unfolded. Love, heartache and adventure awaiting them. Lydia started to walk towards the lovable pair of boys when she felt a pair of snake around her waist, tugging her into whomever it was. As if on instinct, Lydia performed a perfect martial arts move on the boy who was her current boyfriend. Her heart was racing as she backed off of the boy realising who it was, Lydia placed her hand over her mouth in shock.

“Jackson! Shit, sorry. Y-you scared me.”

The attention of every student in the hallway was on her, each of them bewildered by the sudden incident. Lydia extended a hand to help him up but the boy simply scoffed, shoving her hand aside, a scowl written across his expression.

“What the fuck, Lydia.”

The boy dusted himself down, wincing at the ache that ran through his body. Lydia kicked herself, Parrish’s lessons came in handy, but they also appeared like they were on auto-drive whenever anyone touched her. Stiles saw the exchange from afar, anger coursing through his exterior at how Jackson had swatted Lydia away. The scrawny freshman rushing over, standing protectively before the redhead.

“Dude, she said she was sorry.” He spoke up, Jackson took a step towards the boy as though to seem threatening.

Lydia knew what Jackson could be like, the girl slipping between the two men, a hand on both of their chests.

“Let’s all just calm down, okay? It was an accident. You startled me, that’s all.”

Jackson huffed, glaring at Lydia with anger. “We’re over, Lydia. Sort your shit out.”

Lydia remained unfazed, she got over Jackson a long time ago. The woman rolling her eyes at the immature man, her eyes falling onto the worried brown eyed boy. A smile instantly finding her lips.

“I didn’t know you knew karate?” Stiles spoke up, looking down at the short girl.

“Martial arts.” She corrected, “I learned from an old friend of mine, guess it comes in handy sometimes.”

Stiles shuffled on his feet, looking over her shoulder noticing Scott was in some deep flustered conversation with Allison. A goofy grin on his face,

“Seems Scotty’s got a himself crush.”

Lydia watched the pair interact, the love blooming just as it had so long ago. “I ship it.”

Her words earned a loud laugh from Stiles, the man joining in, “I think they should have a name, just between us, how about...Scallison?”

“I like it, it’s got a ring to it.” Lydia chuckled lightly, her gaze returning to Stiles who met her as though they were in sync.

Lydia felt like a school girl with a crush when she was around Stiles, she’d always tried to hide it but she couldn’t fight the attraction she felt towards him. Even with his bald head. He was still her Stiles, he cleared his throat, gesturing towards the double doors.

“You wanna, you know, go for a walk or whatever? Feel free to say no.” Stiles asked, looking as though he was preparing himself for rejection.

The redheads heart fluttered, “I’d actually really love that.”

Lydia couldn’t read the boy before her, so many emotions flooding his expression. Happiness, confusion, excitement all wrapped into one. Stiles rubbed the nape of his neck with a innocent smile.

“Great!”

The pair walked out of the school, no teacher stood guard to tell them to head back inside. It wasn’t like missing a few classes would damage Lydia’s grades anyway. Comfortable silence hung between them as they walked, arms brushing from the close proximity, goosebumps running up Lydia’s arm every time they touched. Stiles was the first to speak up, breaking the silence between them.

“I didn’t even believe Scott when he said it was a werewolf…be honest with me, how did you know?”

Lydia pondered on telling him, seeing no harm, the worst that could happen is him thinking it was a joke.

“I...I’ve known about werewolves since I saved Jackson from the Kanima,” The redhead confessed, Stiles gave her an odd expression. Lydia sucked in a breath before she continued, “Scott was bitten by Peter, some asshole related to Derek Hale. From there Scott becomes a werewolf, he falls in love with Allison along the way, I know this sounds crazy...but I think, I think when I screamed when you died in my arms - brought me back here. Back to you.”

Stiles stood in ominous silence for a minute or two, debating whether to believe the woman he loved. It sounded ridiculous, she just so happened to be thrown back in time to when they first met. And yet it all pieced together, the way she noticed him, the way she looked, how her hair was straightened, longer and her face matured. This wasn’t the Lydia he knew.

“So...in the future I die...that kind of sucks.”

Lydia let out a breath of relief, thankful he believed her. “It was...one of the worst nights of my life.”

Stiles thought it over for a moment, shortly connecting the dots. His eyes suddenly sparkled with hope, a charming smile dancing across his face.

“Were we…? Are we more than friends in the future?” His question was hesitant, as though he was afraid to ask...maybe to know the answer.

Lydia bowed her head with a smile, “I loved you more than I’d ever loved anyone.”

The words that fell from her lips seemed to knock the air from Stiles’s lungs. All his life, since he’d known the red haired girl, he’d been waiting for the day she returned the love he held for her. Stiles found himself jealous of his future self, to have Lydia all to himself. To get to hear her say she loved him, to sleep beside her, to hold her close whenever she was afraid. Stiles longed for that life.

Before Lydia knew what was happening Stiles crashed his lips into hers, it took her by surprise but less than a second later she responded with the same amount of passion, pulling the boy close. Lydia found herself lost in the kiss, her mind, body and soul all focused on Stiles. The way he held her so gently, the way he kissed her with such fire and affection, his thick shaggy brown hair, those puppy dog brown eyes...that’s when a wave coursed through her body and everything turned black.

[x]

Lydia felt a rush of déjà vu, waking from the darkness, a surge of pain running through her head. She internally groaned, she swore there was nothing more that she hated than a migraine. The redhead head held her head, blinking a few times to get rid of her blurred vision, it wasn’t until then that she heard Melissa’s voice.

“Lydia?! Lydia, hey, can you hear me?”

The girl all but groaned a response, “Where am I?”

“Beacon Hills memorial. Can you tell me the last thing you recall?” The brunette asked, fussing over Lydia as though she’d been in some sort of accident.

“M-me and Stiles...why the hell am I in a hospital?”

It was quiet for a moment, Lydia looking up to meet Melissa’s concerned brown eyes. “Stiles was shot by an arrow...don’t you remember?”

Lydia’s eyes widened at her words. The woman leapt out of the hospital bed she’d been apparently lying in and was on her feet in seconds. Stiles wasn’t dead. Melissa held up her hands, placing them on Lydia’s shoulders, keeping her from racing out of the room.

“Whoa, slow down. Scott’s with him. You’ve been unconscious for a couple of days, Lydia.” Melissa informed her, easing the girls worries for a moment. If Stiles was in pain, at least Scott could help ease it. “That scream knocked you out, Scott found you three in time. Stiles and Bret had been rushed into surgery, they’re in recovery now. He’s been asking about you.”

Lydia sat quickly at the edge of the bed for a moment, thinking about kissing Stiles. It must’ve been some sort of...unconscious reality. Lydia sighed, glancing up at Melissa, tears welling in her eyes as she remembered the pain that harboured in her chest.

“I need to see him...please Melissa.”

Melissa nodded, she’d been hearing those exact words from Stiles since the moment he’d regained consciousness. The curly haired woman gestured to the door, holding it open for the redhead to head through. Lydia couldn’t settle the bundle of nerves that were in a knot in her stomach, the last time she saw Stiles, the real Stiles. He was bleeding out in her arms, before she knew it Melissa was pushing open a door that led to Stiles’s room.

Lydia stood in the doorway, feet seemingly glued to the floor as she looked at him. The boys brown eyes finding her the second she came into his sight. She’d never seen his face glow with such happiness and relief, except when he’d got her safely from Eichen. Tears burned in her eyes as she let all of her emotions free, he was okay. His hair scruffy, his face paler than usual from the loss of blood, but he was alive.

“Lydia, thank god.” His voice was hoarse, rough from lack of sleep no doubt.

The boy’s voice seemed to break her trance, the redhead rushing to her boyfriend’s side, taking his hand in hers. Tears trickling down her cheeks, Stiles smiled softly, he knew how she felt, he’d thought the scream had threw her into some kind of coma. He thought he’d lost her just as she thought she’d lost him. He ran his thumb over her cheek, wiping the tears staining her face.

“You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” Stiles told her, hating to see her so upset. Lydia let out a strangled laugh, heart faltering.

“I thought you were dead.”

Lydia’s voice broke, struggling to keep herself together. The ginger hesitantly climbed into the hospital bed, making sure her hospital gown didn’t ride up, curling up beside Stiles. Lydia’s head resting on his chest, her eyes fluttering shut as she listened to his heartbeat. Stiles held her close, trying to let her know he wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m right here, Lydia.” The messy haired boy assured her, “I’m not going anywhere. I waited so long to be with you, you think I’d leave you now?”

Lydia arched her neck to meet Stiles’s gaze, her eyes flickering down to his lips, the boy noting the lingering stare, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

“When they told me you were here too, that you were unconscious for some unknown reason,” Stiles started, “I almost lost it...I’ve almost lost you more times than I can count, they wouldn’t let me see you. Arrow wound and all. I had to make Scott promise to keep an eye on you.”

“I didn’t even know where I was...it was like I was in some weird dream. You were there, Allison and Scott too,” Lydia said, wondering if she had somehow gone insane. “Part of me wished it was real, because it would’ve meant you were still alive. But...even then, I knew I’d rather be with you. Here, now...just like this.”

Despite the sharp pain in his chest from the wound, Stiles reached down planting a adoring kiss on her temple. Smirking in amusement as he watched Lydia’s cheeks flush scarlet. The redhead tightening her hold on his hand.

“I love you with everything in me, Stiles. I really truly love you.”

As his heart raced with happiness, he smiled. “I’ve loved you since I could remember and I’ll love until my last dying breath.”

Okay so I absolutely LOVED writing this one shot, I hope @petrichorblue94 and all my other readers love it as much as I do! Thank you for the amazing request too!! :) A big thank you to my wonderful girlfriend @jaguarslegion for helping me on the parts I was stuck on. Thank you for reading, you can also find this on my ao3 > LoverOfCoffee

#stydia #stiles x lydia #stiles stilinski #lydia martin #allison argent #scott mccall #scallison #stydia fanfic #teen wolf #requested #anyway i hope you like it #ao3feed #one shot #ff #5k words #time travel

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masterofmagnetism · 3 years

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...my hands are cold

WHO: Erik Lehnsherr, Julio Richter @rictorscales, and Scott Summers @firstxman. Mention of Jean Grey-Summers. WHEN: 7 days until [redacted] WHERE: Sara Memorial Hospital, Genosha WHAT: Ric returns from New York with Lorna in tow. Erik snaps. WORD COUNT: 7k TWs: Murder mention, abuse, threats, violence, PTSD, suicide ideation, choking, hospital

ERIK: It'd been a week, and Erik's composure was beginning to crack.

(False. His composure had cracked a week ago in the middle of that training exercise. Once upon a time, halfway across the world, Erik had been an engineer, and he knew the way things broke. Slow, snaking cracks at first, so small you would scarcely notice. When the shatter finally came, it was never spontaneous--you just hadn't paid attention until it was far too late to patch the cracks.)

He'd been searching for the familiar tug of Lorna's magnetism from across the harbor since the moment she left. He hadn't found it, no matter how he'd tried. Part of him hoped it was because she wasn't in New York, but he suspected that for all his power, for all his skill, he simply didn't have the finesse to pluck her out of the barrage of signals that was New York City.

(Never enough--)

Wired as he was, the first sign of his daughter hit him like a steamroller. Familiar, definitely Lorna, but wrong wrong wrong, because whatever that was felt far too much like the sensation he'd had on the mountaintop in Tennessee two decades ago.

And then it came again.

Erik was on his feet and out onto the balcony in moments. Out at the docks in a few moments of flight more, watching across the water as he reached for what tendril he could feel of Lorna. Faint. Weak.

Then there was another disturbance, not Lorna's but with her, heading toward the island, and Erik saw his daughter in Ric's arms, felt his stomach drop somewhere below the seabed, well before they reached the shoreline outside the hospital.

G-d, not again. Please, not again.

"What. Happened. To my daughter?"

RICTOR: The distance from New York to Genosha seemed both less and more than Rictor thought it ought to be. The exhaustion clinging to his bones from exerting himself both during the fight and after made it seem an impossible spread to cover, and Lorna’s weight in his arms, however slight, felt like an anchor threatening to push him down into the water. There was some part of him, crossing that sea, that thought he might never get there. There was some part of him that was sure the next step would see his foot finding water instead of dirt, some part of him that was certain he would tire before the journey was end, that they would both drown someplace in the in between.

And there was some part of him that was okay with that.

The knowledge of what was likely waiting for him in Genosha made the distance seem shorter, because Rictor knew it would be nothing good. There was no best case scenario here, no ending that didn’t see him facing consequences he didn’t know how to fathom. If he got Lorna to the hospital, odds were he would deliver her into Jean’s arms. Jean, who viewed the still form in his arms as a sister, who had lost every other member of her family only weeks ago now, who burned up the lawn when he was still in school, whose burning flesh he could still smell from time to time when his heart was beating a little too quickly in his chest. Jean wouldn’t react well to this. Neither would Scott, who might stop him before he got to the hospital, or even Rahne who would smell the blood on his clothes if he made it home and know it wasn’t his. People loved Rictor. He understood that, even on days when it wasn’t enough to push the comforter off his shoulders. People loved him.

But they loved Lorna more.

It wasn’t something he blamed any of them for, wasn’t something he thought was a bad thing. It was understandable. Rictor was brash and destructive and angry more often than not. Lorna was heroic and brave and funny even when she wasn’t trying to be. Rictor was an irritation. Lorna was a hero.

And he’d probably just gotten her killed.

It was a fact that echoed through his head with every step, a fact that settled into his stomach the second he stepped foot on Genoshan soil. Lorna’s heart was beating, but it hadn’t been for a moment there. And Rictor had fixed it, had restarted it with the vibrations in his fingers, had used the beating in his own chest as a guide for how fast it might need to be, but he wasn’t a doctor. He didn’t have any more understanding of the human heart than anyone else, didn’t know if he’d done it right. A person’s heart could beat, but it didn’t mean they were okay. It didn’t mean they were alive. It didn’t mean he hadn’t failed her.

He’d only touched ground for a moment before he felt the vibrations of footsteps approaching, recognized them with a sinking feeling because there was no best case scenario here, but there was a worst case. Jean, Scott, Rahne, none of them would hate Rictor as surely as Erik. None of them would kill him with as little hesitation. They all loved Lorna more than they loved him (who wouldn’t?) but they did love him.

He didn’t think Erik did.

And if the chill in Erik’s voice was anything to go by, it wouldn’t have mattered anyways.

He could have lied, he guessed. He could have said I found her like this, and schooled the beating of his own heart well enough to chance getting away with it. He could have said I saved her, and technically been telling half a truth. He could have said a million different things, could have made things easier for himself, but that had never been Rictor’s style.

(Guido’s voice was cutting through the stale air in the silent car, quiet and uncertain. ’You ever hear of suicide by cop?’ Tabby’s voice, a thousand years ago, terrified and so much smaller than he ever remembered her being before. ’Rictor, I don’t wanna die.’ Jean’s voice in his head, angry and terrified. ’I just want you to be safe.’ Rahne in all her righteous fury standing at the foot of a building and staring up at him. ’Do you know where you are?’ If they saw him now, they’d all be angry. Rictor thought he might prefer it that way. Anger, after all, was so much better than grief. Wasn’t that why Lorna did what she did to begin with?)

“She came to me,” he said, flat and lifeless. “She wanted --- She was looking for a fight. Said you’d messed with her head and fucked her up. She wanted something to hit and I helped her find it. I didn’t --- I thought we could handle it.” They couldn’t. The proof was in Lorna’s still form, in Rictor’s labored breath. We’re kids, he wanted to scream. We’re kids, and you keep dragging us into wars. You keep making soldiers out of us.

(As if any of them would have ever had another choice.)

ERIK: I thought we could handle it.

Nurses were coming out of the hospital with a bed, taking Lorna from Ric's arms. Lorna, whose hair was wet with seawater and blood. Whose head lolled back when she was set down, whose pulse was an uneven, stuttering thing instead of the healthy pounding he was used to. Who was dying, the knowledge making something in his mind frost over.

She was looking for a fight. Said you'd messed with her head and fucked her up.

It didn't matter what he did. Didn't matter why. It never did, because whatever he did was never enough to keep his children safe. Lorna was dying, a bullet wound in her chest, and Erik knew with icy certainty that that was his fault.

She could've stopped it, if she wasn't distracted. She wouldn't have been there at all, if she weren't angry with him.

I thought we could handle it.

Ric should've seen. Should've known she was in no state for a fight, should've stopped when he realized they were out of their depth, should've done one of a million other things that would've meant Lorna's heart was beating right when she came back home.

It had been an annoyance before, the man's tendency to go looking for trouble, the evidence of his finding or creating it stacked high in the form of police reports in Erik's office.

But now someone else was paying for it. His daughter was paying for it.

(He should've been following her to the hospital room. He should, but he wasn't, because he couldn't watch her die and he couldn't help fix what was wrong. He was powerful, but not in the way Jean was, not in the way that helps people.

He was a weapon. Always. And a knife cuts friends and family as assuredly as it does enemies.)

There was another nurse lingering outside, saying something to him, but her words didn't register through the static in Erik's ears.

In all his fights against the X-Men, Erik had always pulled his punches. Never, not once, had he intended to do real harm to any of the children. Never.

But he flicked his fingers, and Ric went sailing into the brick of the hospital wall. The nurse disappeared.

Ric was stumbling back up when Erik reached him, and Erik's hand was around his throat to drag him up a moment later, fingers pressing into the blood vessels at the side of his neck.

(There were so many ways to snuff out someone's life. Bodies were fragile things, and in ninety years, Erik had learned nothing so much as his to take them apart.

Always better at breaking--)

Ric's pulse, unlike Lorna's, was pounding beneath his fingertips, and Erik needed that balance righted. Needed his daughter's to be stronger than his, and maybe that would be enough to convince him she'd be okay.

He'd electrocuted the ones who killed Anya. But he finds the classic standby in his hand before he even realizes it.

The blade feels like home in a way little else ever did.

"You should've kept her safe. She came to you for help, and you got her killed because you don't know when to quit." Erik's voice, his eyes, were as cold as his blood, as cold as the pit in his stomach and the static-silence in his mind, which fixed on one thing.

Make him pay.

Ric didn't know when to quit. Erik would make sure that he didn't have another choice.

He couldn't fix Lorna, but he could fix this.

RICTOR: Everything moved around him in a blur. They were on the beach and then they were in a waiting room, and Rictor didn’t know how he’d gotten there. Someone took Lorna from his arms and he fought them for a heartbeat, turned away quickly and defensively before recognizing the scrubs and the stethoscope and the tired eyes. He was panicked, he was half there, and he hadn’t gone with his father’s body to the hospital when he died. He hadn’t watched the paramedics load a corpse onto a stretcher and drive away in an ambulance with no lights on, didn’t know if they had taken him to a hospital or directly to a morgue, but he’d gone with Rusty. He remembered it now, the rest of them sitting outside in the waiting room, hearts in their stomachs because they knew what the nurses would say long before they came out of those double doors with carefully schooled expressions because they were mutant kids who’d just lost a friend and that made them a powder keg waiting on a spark. He remembered the shake of a head, remembered the quiet tones that curled around the words, ’We did everything we could do.’ They did everything they could do, and it wasn’t enough. Rusty died anyways.

Rictor did everything he could do. He pulled Lorna from that water, he started her heart to beat alongside his own, he carried her across a fucking ocean and got her to the only hospital in the world that would help her without question, without treating her like a powder keg and him like a spark. He did everything he could do, and it still might be enough. She might die anyway. She might die, and it would be his fault.

He almost forgot Erik was there, in the chaos. He’d been so quiet since Rictor arrived on that beach, hadn’t said a goddamn word since asking what had happened, and Rictor knew that didn’t bode well for him.

(Hodge got quiet, sometimes. When Rictor spat out a smart remark, when he shook something Hodge didn’t want him to shake, when he crossed his arms tightly over his chest and refused to do whatever it was Hodge wanted him to do. Hodge got quiet sometimes, and it always ended the same. White hot agony, a bruising grip on Rictor’s chin forcing him to look his captor in the eye, the silence broken only with cold, clipped tones ordering the man’s underlings to hurt Rictor more, to make him cooperate, to break him into pieces. Rictor preferred the yelling to the quiet. At least it gave him some idea of what was coming.)

The nurse who’d taken Lorna glanced to him before she took her away, something like an apology in her eyes, and Rictor didn’t need to look at Erik to see the cold fury on his face. He could feel it, from across the room. Anger was its own kind of energy, and it was one Rictor was incredibly familiar with. It was one he understood intimately.

He’d never faced Magneto. That was always the X-Men’s deal. He’d never stood on a battlefield across from a gaudy purple outfit and a stupid helmet that blocked thoughts from the world. He’d never been on the wrong side of the Brotherhood, never felt his heart in his throat and wondered whether or not the man who fought for mutant rights would take their lives to get his utopia. He’d only ever known Erik, only ever seen the Genoshan leader, the tired voice on the phone when he called from another jail cell on another early morning. Erik was safe. He would get irritated, might even threaten in vague terms, but he’d never act on it. He’d never hurt him.

Magneto was different.

Rictor felt the air shift just a moment before he was thrown backwards, a moment before his back met brick and his ribs ached with the impact. For a moment, he was thirteen. He was in a white-walled cell at whatever building the Right had claimed as their own, was glaring at Cameron Hodge as he stood by the doorway watching his men throw Rictor around. For a moment, he was ten years old in Mexico. His father was angry that he was still adamantly refusing to even look at a gun, had a hand raised in a warning that was no empty threat. His jaw still ached from the last warning he’d ignored.

He wasn’t that kid now. He wasn’t in a house in Mexico surrounded by people who saw what was happening but didn’t care enough to help. He wasn’t in a white room in San Francisco outnumbered and rendered powerless by inexperience and a dampening collar. He was in Genosha, in a place where safety was promised to him. He could bring the building down on their heads, could open the ground beneath Erik’s feet, could shake his heart in his chest and his brain in his head the same way he’d done to all those men on the docks.

Rictor wasn’t a little kid anymore. The difference was that now, as an adult… He deserved this.

His legs were shaking as he put them underneath him again, his breath trembling as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. He was afraid. He could feel it in his heartbeat, in that desperate pounding. He hadn’t thought he would be. He’d been chasing death for so long now, on rooftops and ledges, down the barrels of police officers guns, and he’d thought he’d be ready for it when he finally caught up. Maybe it hurt more when it was someone you cared about delivering that final blow. He might have made a plan to ask Jean about that if not for the utmost certainty that he’d never get the chance to do so.

(X-Men came back from the dead all the time, but Rictor wasn’t an X-Man. Rictor was like Rusty --- small and unimportant and destined to rot and be forgotten under the earth. And that was a good thing. He really thought that was a good thing.)

He hadn’t even regained his balance yet before a hand gripped his throat and pulled him off the ground, leaving his feet dangling inches above the hospital floor. He kicked out instinctively, eyes watering as his hands came up to claw at Erik’s, gasping for breath. He kept his eyes locked onto the other man’s, tried not to think of how many times Hodge had gripped his face and turned his head so that he could look nowhere but in his eyes. His gaze only darted away at the glint of something metallic in Erik’s hands, fear flashing across his face at the realization.

Rictor was going to die here.

‘You should've kept her safe. She came to you for help, and you got her killed because you don't know when to quit.’ Ric couldn’t even argue with him. He was right. Of course he was right. Rictor got people killed, shook the world until they fell off it even when he didn’t mean to. It was what he was good at.

“Do it,” he gasped out, the words painful as they took what little oxygen he could draw in and shaped it into sound. “Just do it.”

ERIK: Ric's heartbeat is thundering beneath his fingertips, breath coming in short heaves against his palm, and a part of Erik hates how those sensations settles something in his shoulders and chest, makes the world spin just a little bit less.

Shaw imparted a great many lessons, in the few years he'd spent as the man's prisoner. The one that had carved itself into his bones was that of control.

You were either in control, or someone else was. It was as simple as that. Everything that happened had someone responsible. And no matter what, the only person who you could trust to bend things your way was yourself. People were fickle, people lied, people manipulated and schemed and wiggled their way past your defenses to slide a knife between your ribs, all in the pursuit of control.

Erik couldn't fix Lorna. He couldn't fix her mind, he couldn't fix the gunshot wound in her chest or the slice to her head, he couldn't fix the heartache he'd caused. There were other people in control of Lorna's life right now, a small army of doctors and nurses who even now are gearing up to wheel his daughter into the operating theatre. Other people held a piece of his life in their hands, and he hated it.

But this? This was familiar. This was a scrap of control over someone who'd had it and hurt Lorna with it. It didn't matter what the circumstances were, didn't matter that the man beneath his fingers had dragged this island out of the sea himself just months ago. Didn't matter that Ric had tried just moments ago to defend Lorna from the nurses, or that he never would've wanted this to happen.

It didn't matter, because the rug was being pulled out from under Erik’s feet again, one of his children was once again on their deathbed, and he was useless except in this.

Ric had miscalculated. Ric had made a decision that led to his daughter coming back ashen and pale and cold and still, and Erik couldn't undo that decision, but he could make Ric pay for it.

The pulse thrumming under his fingers and that wild look of fear that had the man turning his face away from the knife was a sign of some control. Some grasp of something solid when the world felt like quicksand under his feet. He needs to hang onto it. Needs this to last long enough to feel like he's not going to fall apart at the seams.

The knife is at Ric's ear, accompanied by a low hiss of "You never could fucking listen," when footsteps and a sharper, louder voice cut through the frigid stillness of his mind.

Scott.

RICTOR: When he was with X-Force, Cable had whole days of training dedicated to mental stamina over physical. You had to control your thoughts, he’d told them once, but you had to control your emotions, too. Your grief, your anger, your excitement. Your fear. Fear had been a big one back then, one that they were all reminded of often. ’If your enemy knows you’re afraid,’ Cable would say, ’then you’ve already lost.’ And Rictor would laugh, would say something sarcastic or insulting, would try to get Tabby or Roberto to laugh with him because they were always the ones most likely to join in on his antics, would make a game of it because he wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t. He told himself that, after everything he’d been through, nothing ought to scare him anymore. He watched his father die in front of him, less than a few feet from where he’d stood. He was tortured by a group of radicals who wanted to use him as their statement piece, held captive by a madman who wanted him to break the world to prove a point. Rictor didn’t get scared.

But his heart was pounding in his chest all the same, and Cable’s words were echoing in his head along with everything else the X-Force’s tired leader ever told him that he didn’t listen to when he should have. Ric didn’t know if Erik --- if Magneto was his enemy or not. He didn’t think it mattered. Magneto had him up against the wall, had his feet kicking above the ground and his throat in an iron-clad grip that went nowhere no matter how much he clawed at the man’s hand. He didn’t know if Magneto was his enemy or not, but he knew Magneto knew he was afraid. He knew Magneto was going to kill him. He knew he probably deserved it.

There was a knife, hovering next to his ear. He could feel it there, feel the steady thrum of the pulse in Magneto’s wrist as he held it. There was no hesitation in that heartbeat, no doubt. He was going to kill Rictor without thought, without guilt. Rictor closed his eyes for a moment, a strange sense of calm washing over him, and he wondered if this was how his father felt in the heartbeat between the bullet leaving its chamber and entering his head. He wondered if it was what Rusty had felt on that battlefield when he looked down at his hand as it touched his chest and came back bloody, if it was what Jean had felt on the lawn when Zatanna got close, if it was what Scott felt in Central Park when his lungs filled up with blood.

He wondered if it was what Lorna felt the instant before her body hit the water.

When death came for you, when it was large and looming and inevitable, did the adrenaline wash the fear away? Did it make it hurt less when the knife slipped between your ribs, when a person you’d trusted in spite of everything twisted it into your heart? The human mind, Cable told him once, had ways of protecting itself from trauma. It locked away the worst memories, made them hazier and distant. It repressed the things that would break it as a method of self defense. Didn’t it make sense that it would have defenses against this, too? Didn’t it make sense that your mind would try to spare you from the sharp, bitter fear of death, even when it couldn’t spare you from death itself?

Magneto’s voice was a sharp whisper in his ear, bouncing around the knife to claw its way inside, and when Rictor opened his eyes it was Hodge holding him for just a moment. It was Hodge with fury in his eyes, with a snarl on his lips, with breaths that came quick and angry. ’You are here because you are useful to me. The moment you outlive that usefulness, I’ll put you in the ground. It wouldn’t have to be like this, Julio, if you would listen.’

He never fucking listened. And he’d outlived his usefulness now, just as he’d always known he would. Hodge turned back to Magneto, the calmness settling into his chest, and his expression was blank and his heart was slowing because he was going to die and maybe knowing it made it a little less terrifying. Maybe accepting it made it a little less real. Maybe ---

”Erik!” Rictor’s head whipped to the side, and he saw Scott Summers standing there, hand on the side of his visor. Scott Summers, who looked furious and sad and maybe just as frightened as Rictor was. Scott Summers, who was going to save his life.

Rictor didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

SCOTT: It came from Jean through the bond, sudden and sharp and terrified. There’s something wrong with Lorna. The words dug a pit into his stomach and poured dread inside until it was overflowing, until there was no room for anything else. She wasn’t on Genosha, had left the island for good reason, but Jean’s voice in his head swore she was here now, swore that she’d just touched down on the beaches and that something was wrong, and Jean had never been incorrect in all the time he’d known her. (Not in Scott’s eyes, at least.)

So he ran. He ran with the dread growing and spilling over, with his heart in his throat, ran to the newly minted hospital because he was a man built from worst case scenarios and he couldn’t think of a more terrifying place for Lorna to be. There was a nurse rushing out the door when he got there, and she stumbled to a stop the second she saw him, gripped his arm tightly to keep him from bursting through the doors. The glint of fear in her eyes mixed with relief told him that he was in the right place.

“Lorna Dane,” he breathed, “is she ---”

“She’s in the O.R.,” the nurse said, a hitch of panic in her voice. Scott’s heart pounded in his ear drums, made it difficult to hear her. “She sustained a GSW to the chest, a head laceration, and drowning. They’re doing everything they can.” Scott closed his eyes behind his visor, went to pull his phone from his pocket to call Jean, to tell her what was happening. He needed to find Erik, too. Even with everything going on, Erik deserved to know that his daughter was hurt.

The nurse’s grip stopped him from retrieving the phone, kept him in place, and he opened his eyes to look at her again. She still looked terrified, still looked like she had news to deliver. The dread sloshed over the edge again, splattered into every corner of him. “What else?”

“Her father…” The nurse swallowed, shaking her head. “The Richter boy brought her in. Covered in blood, looking ready to keel over himself. Her father was with them.” Scott’s breath hitched. “He’s going to kill him, Scott. I was going to find you or Jean, to warn you. He’s going to kill that boy, and I don’t think anyone but you can stop him.”

Scott nodded, pulled his arm from her grip. “Thank you,” he said, mouth dry. “Thank you for telling me. Find Jean. Tell her to call me. Tell her… Tell her I said not now, but soon. Sooner than we’d hoped. She’ll know what it means.” The nurse nodded and then she was gone, taking off in the direction of the apartment Jean and Scott shared. Scott didn’t waste another moment before shoving through the hospital doors.

It wasn’t hard to find them. Everyone was too afraid to intervene, but the murmur of chaos that accompanied something like this was utterly unavoidable. People parted for Scott as he shoved passed, quiet hints of recognition in their expressions as they nodded. Some looked dubious, like they figured he was walking into a tragedy. Others looked hopeful, like they thought he might still be able to stop it. Scott didn’t know which feeling to settle on himself.

For everything that Erik had done, Scott had never considered something like this a real possibility. He’d never thought, even on his worst days, that Erik would hurt a mutant on Genoshan soil. He’d never imagined Erik killing one of their own who was misguided and irritating but so painfully young. He’d underestimated just how much the Phoenix had corrupted him. He’d let his love and his admiration blind him to the distinct possibility that this all could end in tragedy that could have so easily been prevented.

And now, Rictor might pay the price for his oversight.

It felt like it took forever to get to the center of the chaos, like walking on a treadmill and running as fast as his body would allow while still standing in one place. When he got there, the scene was both better and worse than he might have imagined. Rictor was alive, feet kicking and eyes wide, held a few inches off the ground by one of Erik’s hands wrapped tightly around his throat. The other hand held a knife close to Rictor’s face, and Erik’s mouth was moving but the words were too quiet to be made out. They weren’t for Scott. They were for Rictor. They were intended, he suspected, to be the last thing Rictor ever heard.

His hand found the side of his visor, ready to flip it up if need be, ready to do what he and Jean had planned to do long before they’d wanted to do it. It would be cruel to kill Erik here. It would be unjust. Killing him before he knew if his daughter would survive the night, striking him down in the midst of his grief, it wasn’t what Scott wanted. But he’d do it. If he had to, he’d do it.

”Erik!” His voice bounced off the walls, and two pairs of eyes darted over to meet his. One set angry, the other resigned. Scott’s chest was heaving. “Erik, put him down. Now. Look at yourself. Is this really who you are?” (‘It is,’ the Phoenix whispered. ’It always has been. You know that, Scott Summers. You know how to end it. You’re planning on doing it regardless, so why not now? Why not make yourself a hero for it?’ He pushed the voice away.)

ERIK: Scott's voice echoed off the walls, sharp and far more akin to the voice he used on the battlefield than the familial tone to which they'd lately grown accustomed. No, this was the battlefield voice, and he stilled, knowing even before he turned to look that Scott's hand would be in place on his visor.

Magneto turned, and stared right back at the captain of the X-Men, and the tension in the room, on the battlefield, went taut.

(When had things become a battlefield with Scott again? Had it ever stopped?)

He'd never seen Scott Summers kill. He knew he'd done it, but Erik had never seen it, and he was almost tempted to call the man's bluff. They were in a hospital. Opening the visor was a risk.

Scott's expression said it was one he was willing to take, and for a moment, he almost missed the way he was already calculating his odds against the man anyway.

No. Not Scott.

Erik's lips pressed thin, grip shifting around Ric's throat. Normally a threat would send fire through his veins, but he didn't feel the heat now. None of the familiar thrill of walking the knife's edge, that lash of adrenaline. He just felt cold.

'Is this really who you are?'

What else would I be?

Erik was an assassin, a weapon. He wasn't a hero, never had been.

He wasn't a father, either, not a good one--there were graves for three of his children, with a fourth possible if the nurses failed here tonight. His own failures with the kids were in Lorna's flight. In the way Jean refused to be on the same side of the island as him right now. In the way Scott's hand rested on his visor.

Ric was still choking in his hand, hands scrabbling for any leverage against his arm, and Erik still paid him no mind, staring at Scott levelly.

Control. Don’t lose control.

(Some part of him whispered that it was far too late for that. That he hadn't been properly in control since the Raft.)

He couldn't control anything if Scott Summers killed him in this waiting room.

He could wait. Bide his time. He was nothing if not patient.

The knife slid free of his hand and sheathed itself back at his calf. He lowered Ric back to the ground, eyes never leaving Scott until Ric's feet were steady on the floor. He turned, then, leaned in to hiss in Ric's ear.

"You do not leave this island without my express permission, or I will have your head," he said lowly, before letting go of the man entirely.

Gaze back on Scott, and he approached slowly, pausing a step away. A tilt of the head, ever so faint, a twitch of his jaw.

"Mind yourself, Summers."

And then he was brushing past, the nurses parting around him as he stalked toward the door. "If she wakes up, I want to know. Immediately," he barked, and then he was gone, hospital door swinging closed behind him.

RICTOR: For the millionth time that night, time froze around them. Magneto glared at Scott, Scott glared back, and Rictor --- Rictor was an unimportant third party, dangling in Magneto’s grip, clawing in vain against the iron clad grip around his throat. There were spots dancing at the edge of his vision, and he didn’t know if Scott and Magneto were staring silently at one another or if sound simply wasn’t making its way through the fog the lack of oxygen had hanging over him. Everything that was happening around him, the standoff between the two men, the scrambling of hospital staff desperate to get out of the blast zone, it was all background noise. It was all inconsequential.

The grip around his throat shifted, but it didn’t relax. He still couldn’t draw a full breath, still couldn’t break the vice. He wondered, distantly, if the plan was strangulation or stabbing or if Magneto intended to forgo both options and snap his neck. He wondered if his death would be swift or slow, if he’d suffer much longer before it happened. He wondered if Scott would kill Magneto when it was over. Not before. He wasn’t worth enough for the leader of the X-Men to make a preventative strike. He knew that.

His struggles were beginning to weaken, those dark spots closing in until finally, slowly, the grip around his throat began to lessen. He felt himself being lowered until his feet found the ground, took a shuddering, gasping breath the moment he was able. Magneto was still holding him, leaning in close to whisper the first words that Ric had been able to make out since Scott entered, and Rictor’s blood ran cold. He squeezed his eyes shut, telling himself they were watery because of the oxygen deprivation, telling himself his heart was pounding because his lungs weren’t getting enough air, telling himself he was fine. If he’d had enough air in his lungs to form words, he thought he might have said something stupid. He thought he might have said fuck you, or I’d like to see you try, or anything that carried his usual attitude. As it was, he could only gasp, could only put his hands to his throat as if he might be able to force more air in that way.

(There’d be bruises, later. Rictor had had enough powerful men hurt him to know that much.)

When Magneto released him entirely, Rictor fell to his knees. There were more hazy words, more movements around the fog. Someone was approaching him, and he scrambled to his feet instinctively, trembled just enough to make the walls groan. When he looked up, it was Scott approaching, concern and guilt etched into his face as he reached out. Rictor shoved by him, shaking his head. “Don’t,” he said hoarsely. “Don’t fucking touch me.” Scott looked like he wanted to say more, but Rictor didn’t give him a chance. He moved passed a few concerned looking hospital staff, pushed out an exit that wasn’t the one he vaguely remembered Erik leaving through a few moments before, and left.

SCOTT: Erik stared at him, and Scott stared back. Rictor still hung in the other man’s grip, and Erik hardly seemed to recognize that he was there at all. The only attention he was paying the young man was the hand around his throat, a hand that would kill him soon if the grip didn’t soften.

There was a question in Erik’s eyes. Scott could see it. He wondered if Scott would really kill him here, wondered if he’d risk civilian casualties in order to take him out. And, terrifyingly, Scott didn’t know the answer. Before Central Park, before the Phoenix, it would have been no. But now… ’He’s a danger to everyone,’ the bird whispered. ’You know that. Killing him here would be worth it. A few dozen innocents might die, but how much will that number be multiplied by if he goes on like this? How much worse will it get?’ And Scott knew the answer wasn’t a kind one. He knew there was no scenario where things didn’t get worse. He knew that there was a nonzero chance he’d lift his visor no matter who got caught in the crossfire.

But it wouldn’t be necessary. He saw Erik’s resolve slip, saw the slow, steady pace with which he lowered Rictor to the ground. Rictor was already gasping for breath, already sucking in oxygen with the desperation of a man who’d been without it too long. Scott watched Erik lean in, watched the words leave his lips. "You do not leave this island without my express permission, or I will have your head.” He’d have to keep an eye on that, then. Rictor would hate it, but it would be easier for all involved if he stayed put on Genosha. They needed to keep Erik as docile as they could until the time was right. Until they were ready.

Scott’s eyes didn’t leave Erik even as he began moving away from Rictor, his hand still resting on his visor in a clear threat. His jaw tensed as Erik approached, muscles tightening at the coolness of the other man’s tone. “You’ll be grateful,” he said lowly. “You’ll be grateful I stopped you later.”

(And he wasn’t just talking about this incident. He wasn’t just talking about Rictor. Erik would be grateful for all of it, when it was over. He’d be glad that Jean and Scott stopped him before it was too late. He’d be thankful they killed him before he could turn into Sebastian Shaw. Scott had to believe that.)

He didn’t take his eyes off Erik until he was gone. Only when the doors swung shut behind him did he turn to Rictor, make his way across the room. “Julio,” he said lowly, but if the other man heard, he showed no indication. He stayed on his hands and knees until Scott got close, until he was scrambling to his feet with a wild look in his eyes, until he was spitting curses and searching for an exit like a trapped animal. And then he was gone too, tearing out the door opposite the one Erik had exited from. Scott didn’t know where he was going, but he was confident that, for tonight at least, he’d make no attempt to leave Genosha.

Sighing, Scott turned to a nearby nurse. “Will he be okay?” He asked lowly, motioning after Rictor. She glanced towards the door and nodded, a little hesitant.

“He’ll probably have some bruising,” she said, “and he should come back if it gets hard to breathe.” He wouldn’t. Scott knew that, but he nodded anyways. “Other than that, he’ll be fine, physically.” Emotionally would be a different story. She didn’t have to tell him that.

Scott thanked her and asked her to call him with any updates on Lorna before leaving the hospital, scrubbing his face with his hand. It was silent outside. Both Rictor and Erik had gone, taking the chaos along with them. Scott sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. His chest ached, his throat was sore, and his eyes burned. This, if nothing else, served as proof that he and Jean made the only call they could. This, if nothing else, proved that they were right.

Pulling out his phone, he typed out a text to Jean. ’Soon,’ it said. ’It needs to be soon. Let’s talk tonight.’ His finger hovered over the screen for a moment. A siren wailed nearby, an ambulance on its way to the hospital doors.

Scott hit send.

#c: scott summers #c: julio richter #f: discord #d: my hands are cold #tw: murder mention #tw: abuse #tw: violence #tw: ptsd #tw: threats #tw: suicide ideation #tw: hospital #tw: choking

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frangelic999 · 4 years

Text

Villains of All Nations

I'm reading a really interesting book about pirates, Villains of All Nations, by Marcus Rediker, and I just want to share some excerpts because it's extremely good. It explains that the terror of piracy was born from a different kind of terror, "practiced by … ministers, royal officials, wealthy men; in short, rulers – as they sought to eliminate piracy as a crime against mercantile property … in truth, the keepers of the state in this era were themselves terrorists of a sort, decades before the word terrorist would acquire its modern meaning … they have become, over the years, cultural heroes, even founding fathers of a sort. Theirs was a terror of the strong against the weak." Pirates, in response, "consciously used terror to accomplish their aims … This they did in the name of a different social order … In truth, pirates were terrorists of a sort. And yet we do not think of them in this way. They have become, over the years, cultural heroes, perhaps antiheroes, and at the very least romantic and powerful figures in an American and increasingly global popular culture. Theirs was a terror of the weak against the strong. It formed one essential part of a dialectic of terror, which was summarized in the decision of the authorities to raise the Jolly Roger above the gallows when hanging pirates: one terror trumped the other." Long post about pirates ahead. Henceforth all bolded text is mine, the rest is from the book:

On the hanging of the pirate William Fly in 1726: Fly, however, did not ask for forgiveness, did not praise the authorities, and did not affirm the values of Christianity, as he was supposed to do, but he did issue a warning … he proclaimed his final, fondest wish: that "all Masters of Vessels might take Warning by the Fate of the Captain (meaning Captain Green) the he had murder'd, and to pay Sailors their Wages when due, and to treat them better; saying, that their Barbarity to them made so many turn Pyrates." Fly thus used his last breath to protest the conditions of work at sea, what he called "Bad Usage." He would be launched into eternity with the brash threat of mutiny on his lips.

As we will see, poor seamen who turned pirate dramatized concerns of class. Formerly enslaved Africans or African Americans who turned pirate posed questions of race. Women who turned pirate called attention to the conventions of gender. And all people who turned pirate and sailed under "their own dark flag," the Jolly Roger, enacted a highly political play about the nation … When pirates stitched together the black flag, the antinational symbol of a gang of proletarian outlaws, they "declared war against the world."

The multiethnic freebooters of 1716-26 numbered around four thousand over the decade. They wreaked havoc in the Atlantic system by capturing hundreds of merchant ships, many of which they burned or sank, and all of which they plundered of valuable cargo. They disrupted trade in strategic zones of capital accumulation – the West Indies, North America, and West Africa – at a time when the recently stabilized and expanding Atlantic economy was the source of enormous profits and renewed imperial power. Usually sailors joined pirate ships after working on merchant and naval ships, where they suffered cramped quarters, poor victuals, brutal discipline, low wages, devastating diseases, disabling accidents, and premature death. Piracy, as we will see, offered the prospect of plunder and "ready money," abundant food and drink, the election of officers, the equal distribution of resources, care for the injured, and joyous camaraderie, all as expressions of an ethic of justice … Piracy may have held out hope for a good life, but it was not to be a long one.

Many pirates, like Fly ... used the occasion for one last act of subversion. An endless train of pirates walked defiantly to the gallows and taunted the higher powers when they got there. Facing the steps and the rope in the Bahamas in 1718, pirate Thomas Morris expressed a simple wish: to have been "a greater plague to these islands." John Gow, who was a very strong man, broke the gallows rope at his hanging in 1726. He went to "ascend the ladder a second time, which he did with very little concern, dying with the same brutal ferocity which animated all his actions while alive."

In 1720, when eight members of the crew of Bartholomew Roberts were captured and tried in Virginia, they were rowdy and outrageous ...They went to their deaths bidding defiance to mercy … "When they came to the Place of Execution one of them called for a bottle of wine, and taking a glass of it, he drank Damnation to the Governour and Confusion to the Colony, which the rest pledged."

The drama played out again and again. When the fifty-two members of Roberts's crew were hanged at Cape Coast Castle in 1722 before a concourse of Europeans and Africans, a group of pirates explained: "They were poor rogues, and so must be hanged while others, no less guilty in another way, escaped." They referred to the wealthy rogues who bilked sailors of their rightful wages and proper food and thereby turned many of them toward piracy.

When Bartholomew Roberts and his men learned that the governor and council of Nevis had executed some pirates in 1720, they were so outraged that they sailed into Basseterre's harbor, set several vessels on fire, and offered a big bounty to anyone who would deliver the responsible officials to their clutches so that justice could be served … They made good on such bluster when they happened to take a French vessel carrying the governor of Martinique, who had also hanged some members of "the brotherhood." Roberts took revenge by hanging the poor governor from his own yardarm. Thus did the pirates practice terror against the state terrorists. It was a war of nerves – one hanging for another – and constituted a cycle of violence.

On the use of terror by pirates:

Pirates used terror for several reasons: to avoid fighting; to force disclosure of information about where booty was hidden; and to punish ship captains. The first point to be emphasized is that pirates did not want to fight, no matter how bloodthirsty their image was in their own day and in ours. As Stanley Richards has written, "It was their ambition to acquire plunder and live to enjoy the pleasures that it brought them. A battle might deprive them of that ease of life. Hence on the chance occasion when they had to go into action against another ship, it was looked upon by them as almost a repulsive necessity. They were after booty, not blood." … Harsh treatment of those who resist, announced the Boston News-Letter in June 1718, "so intimidates the sailors that they refuse to fight when the pirates attack them." After all, the pirates would ask: why are you risking your life to protect the property of merchants and ship captains who treat you so poorly? … In this practice of violence, pirates were no different from naval or privateering ships, who practiced the same methods. Indeed, a portion of pirate terror was the standard issue of war making, which pirates undertook without the approval of any nation-state … Pirates also practiced violence against the prize ship's cargo, destroying massive amounts of property in the most furious and wanton ways … They descended into the holds of ships like "a Parcel of Furies," slashing boxes and bales of goods with their cutlasses, throwing valuable goods overboard, and laughing uproariously as they did so. They also destroyed a large number of ships … They practiced indirect terror against the owners of mercantile property.

On the pirate social order:

We will see that the early-eighteenth-century pirate ship was a world turned upside down, made so by the articles of agreement that established the rules and customs of the pirates' alternative social order. Pirates "distributed justice," elected their officers, divided their loot equally, and established a different discipline. They limited the authority of the captain, resisted many of the practices of capitalist merchant shipping industry, and maintained a multicultural, multiracial, and multinational social order. They demonstrated quite clearly – and subversively – that ships did not have to be run in the brutal and oppressive ways of the merchant service and the Royal Navy.

For, as it happened, there were not merely two kinds of terror, the terror of the gallows and the terror of the Jolly Roger, but three. To understand William Fly and his dispute with the ministers of Boston, to understand the gallows drama repeated in one Atlantic port after another, and, most important, to understand the very explosion of piracy in the eighteenth century, we must attend to what Fly said of “Bad Usage,” of how his captain and mate used and abused him and his brother tars, treating them “barbarously,” as if they were “dogs.” He was talking about the violent disciplinary regime of the eighteenth-century deep-sea sailing ship, the ordinary and pervasive violence of labor discipline as practiced by the ship captain as he moved the commodities that were the lifeblood of the capitalist world economy. Even though there is no surviving evidence to show exactly what Captain Green did to Fly and the other sailors aboard the Elizabeth to produce the rage, the mutiny, the murder, and the decision to turn pirate, it is not hard to imagine. The High Court of Admiralty records for this period are replete with bloody accounts of lashings, tortures, and killings. Fly was talking about the ship captain as terrorist.

On the necessity of labor for imperial designs:

The sailor knew that thousands of people were moving and laboring around the Atlantic, some willingly, some unwillingly, with many of them, like himself, subjected to violence. By 1716 a worldwide process of expropriation, called primitive accumulation, had already torn millions of people from their ancestral lands in Europe, Africa, and the Americas. … The enclosure movement and other mechanisms of dispossession had set thousands in motion on the roads and ways of England in particular and Europe in general. Masses of people ﬂocked to the cities, where they found work, frequently as waged laborers, in manufacturing and especially in armies and navies, as war required vast amounts of labor. Hundreds of thousands more would embark for colonial plantations as laborers, whether free or unfree. Expropriation had “freed” millions of workers for redeployment to the far-ﬂung edges of empire, often as indentured servants or slaves, on plantations that would produce what may have been the largest planned accumulation of wealth the world had yet seen. It was said that sugar, the leading and most lucrative Atlantic commodity of the eighteenth century, was made with blood. By 1716 big planters drove armies of servants and slaves as they expanded their power from their own lands to colonial and ﬁnally national legislatures. Atlantic empires mobilized labor power on a new and unprecedented scale, largely through the strategic use of violence—the violence of land seizure, of expropriating agrarian workers, of the Middle Passage, of exploitation through labor discipline, and of punishment (often in the form of death) against those who dared to resist the colonial order of things. By all accounts, by 1713 the Atlantic economy had reached a new stage of maturity, stability, and proﬁtability. The growing riches of the few depended on the growing misery of the many.

On the shift in attitude toward pirates:

The sailor knew that the rulers of the Atlantic empires had taken a harsh new view of pirates as the enemies of imperial designs rather than as allies who might help to accomplish them. For much of the seventeenth century, pirates had been indirectly employed by the Netherlands, France, and England to harass Portugal and especially Spain in the New World, as well as to capture a portion of their glittering wealth. Operating largely from Caribbean islands, especially Jamaica, the sea rovers sacked Spanish American ports such as Veracruz and Panama City, repeatedly trashing Catholic churches and in many instances toting back to their ships as much silver plate as they could carry. But by the 1680s ruling-class attitudes had changed. Jamaica’s bigwigs could make more money, more predictable money, by cultivating sugar, and members of Parliament in England sought a more stable and reliable system of international trade. Pirates, who disrupted both projects, began to be hanged in signiﬁcant numbers in the 1690s. According to historian Max Savelle, the Treaty of Utrecht in 1713 “was thought of, both in Europe and in America, as a settlement that would establish a lasting peace in America, based on the principle of the balance of colonial power.” Britain in particular hoped so because its traders, at home and in the colonies (especially Jamaica), had won the Asiento, an agreement with the Spanish government that allowed them officially to import 4,800 slaves per year and to smuggle a huge number more. The “Returns of the Assiento and private Slave-Trade” proved a more dependable way to exploit Spanish wealth. Pirates now stood squarely in the way of the hoped-for stability and proﬁts.

On sailors' methods of resistance:

The sailor who embraced the Jolly Roger after 1716 came from a potent experience of life and labor in a wooden world. The sailor’s workplace, the deep-sea sailing ship, was something of a factory in those days, a place where “hands”—those who owned no property and who therefore sold their labor for a money wage—cooperated to make the machine go. Sailing these small, brittle wooden vessels over the forbidding oceans of the globe, the seaman took part in a profoundly collective work experience, one that required carefully synchronized cooperation with other maritime workers for the sake of survival. Facing a ship captain of almost unlimited disciplinary power and an ever readiness to use the cat-o’-nine-tails, the sailor developed an array of resistances against such concentrated authority that featured desertion, work stoppages, mutinies, and strikes. Indeed, the sailor would invent the strike during a wage dispute in London in 1768 when he and his mates went from ship to ship, striking—lowering—the sails in an effort to make merchants grant their demands. Facing such natural and man-made dangers, which included a chronic scarcity of food and drink and a galling system of hierarchy and privilege, the sailor learned the importance of equality: his painfully acquired experience told him that a fair distribution of risks would improve everyone’s chances for survival. Separated from loved ones and the rest of society for extended periods, the sailor developed a distinctive work culture with its own language, songs, rituals, and sense of brotherhood. Its core values were collectivism, anti-authoritarianism, and egalitarianism, all of which were summarized in the sentence frequently uttered by rebellious sailors: “they were one & all resolved to stand by one another.” All of these cultural traits ﬂowed from the work experience, and all would inﬂuence both the decision to turn pirate and how pirates would conduct themselves thereafter, as we will see in subsequent chapters.

#pirates #marcus rediker #labor #stuff I posted from books #text

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firesoulstuff · 3 years

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Captain Canary prompt 1.

1. “You look like an angel.”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/67365241

He’s dying.

Leonard knows he’s dying; he has for a few hours now. Maybe days. Weeks? Not years, no, not years; maybe not even weeks. Oh, he’s been in this shitty situation for months and maybe years, but he hasn’t been actively dying up until some more recent point.

Whenever that was, consciousness comes and goes lately.

He tries to breathe, to focus on the world around him. He breathes in through his nose and as a result finds himself violently coughing. His shoulders shake, and he gags on something wet foul tasting in his mouth, the scent of copper filling his nostrils and if he weren’t so busy coughing he would groan. He does, eventually. He knows its blood without opening his eyes, which is fine, because he doesn’t have the strength anymore to try opening his eyes.

He tries to breathe again, and this time is a little more successful. His entire body still shudders when he lets the breath out, and his lungs burn when he takes another one in, but there is no coughing this time.

He has to admit, of all the ways he ever considered his life would end, he never thought it would be like this.

He always figured however he went out it would be quick. Maybe his old man would finally tip over the edge, or Mick would. He thought he might catch a cop on an off day and get a bullet in the chest. As a kid he thought he might get locked up too far from Mick and that shiv wouldn’t be stopped the second time around. As an adult he thought Lisa might get herself into some kid of trouble and he’d find himself seeing red, and the guy would be too much for him to handle without a plan.

Lisa.

He whimpers at the thought of her. He’s been trying not to think about her lately and what she must be going through, thinking he’ s dead. At first he had been holding onto the hope that he would get himself out of here, or the team would do it, and he would be able to go back to her. Mick would never let him blow himself up and then not tell Lisa what happened, so he knows she thinks he’s dead. His plan was to hug her. His plan was to hold her close and promise her a million times over he was so sorry for leaving her like that. His plan… His plan…

“Throw away the plan.” He mumbles, so quiet he barely hears the echo of the words. He tries to groan again, some confirmation to himself that he is still alive, and all he gets for his efforts is more coughing.

No, he never thought he would go out like this.

No matter how far off the rails his life went, he always had one ultimate plan; he was going to be remembered.

He had always operated under the mindset that he would be remembered as a crook, and a damn good one at that. Then the Legends happened. Rip Hunter and his mission happened. Sar… He doesn’t want to think about her, but she happened. Things changed, and he blew himself up to save free will. If he knows anything about the Legends he knows they – Raymond – would’ve called him a hero. That’s fine, in fact it pulls a tiny smile to his mouth. Leonard Snart, remembered as a hero.

He sighs, the breath shakier than the last.

He hasn’t been remembered.

The Oculus blew, but he didn’t. He was about to, but then there was a feeling of static all around him and a man in a yellow suit.

Thawne.

Eobard Thawne saved him, and then locked him up here, in the depths of the Vanishing Point. He called him an insurance policy.

“Just in case 2014 doesn’t work out.”

Leonard hadn’t known what that meant – he still doesn’t – but thinking about it makes his stomach twist.

Or, maybe that’s the hunger.

It’s been weeks since he’s heard so much as a peep from anywhere in this place, much less Thawne or one of his lackeys brought him any food or water. Something happened, the Legends or Barry or whoever fought Thawne and his whack-job crew must’ve won, and they never knew he was here.

Leonard Snart, forgotten.

All of a sudden he thinks he hears footsteps coming and if he had the strength he would laugh at himself. He’s hearing things now, summoned by his thoughts. Great, death can’t be far off now.

He thinks he hears the creak of a door, and the hope it instills almost feels like enough to motivate his eyes to open.

But he can’t handle that disappointment.

He’ll be looking at a dark, empty room, and despite what his senses are telling him he knows there is no person standing in front of-

“Leonard.”

He wants to cry.

Her voice, it sounds so real. Full of concern and tears, almost identical to how it sounded when she told him she wouldn’t leave him behind, right before he made her do it anyway.

Almost identical, with the tiny exception of a trace of hope.

Maybe that’s why he forces his eyes open. He knows… He knows she isn’t real. She’s a delusion. But… What if… If she might be real, if there is even the tiniest chance, then he can’t risk disappointing her.

He wants to laugh when he opens his eyes, and he thinks he does smile. There she is, crouching in front of him and looking down with tears shining in her eyes. She’s dressed all in white, with a light shining behind her like a crown around the back of her head.

“You look like an angel.” He manages to whisper, and if he had the strength to jump he would, because she toucheshim.

She touches him, and he feels it.

God, he really is dead isn’t he?

She looks away from him, she says something, be he doesn’t hear whatever it is. The temptation of unconsciousness is overpowering, he has no choice but to give in.

As he slips under one final thought manages to cross his mind; she was wrong.

She said dying felt lonely, like everyone she loved was a million miles away.

For weeks he’s been thinking about that and how painfully right she was, but now? It feels like she’s right here with him.

“Come on Crook, rise and shine.”

His eyes are still closed but he can feel his brow furrowing, as well as his thoughts and senses getting clearer.

He isn’t dead.

Right?

Opening his eyes is much easier this time, though he isn’t sure if that should signal something good or something bad. Despite his eyes opening he can’t see much at first due to the bright light that forces him to close his eyes again. Somewhere in his mind he realizes that the light isn’t that bright, but he hasn’t seen light in somewhere between weeks and years.

“Gideon, dim the lights.”

His entire body freezes.

That voice, her voice, it’s real.

He opens his eyes again, and this time he only has to blink to adjust to the light, as it’s much lower than it was a moment ago.

But it’s still bright enough he can see her.

She’s next to him, her eyes about on level with his so at least one of them sitting down. Both of them, actually, he realizes upon further inspection. They’re in the med bay of the Waverider and he’s laid up in one of the chairs while she’s on a stool next to him.

He opens his mouth to speak, to ask how, but he starts coughing instead. His whole body lurches with the movement, his senses focused entirely on it to the point he doesn’t notice Sara getting up and retrieving a glass of water until the spell has mostly passed and he’s grimacing at the sight of fresh red droplets joining the smattering of old and dried ones on his shirt.

“It’ll stop soon.” She comments as she hands him the water, one hand on his shoulder. “Gideon said you have bronchitis, and the blood is from coughing while your throat was so dry. We’ve got you on fluids, Gideon says the infection should clear up in a few days.”

He nods, though frankly he is almost too caught up in the feeling of the cool water slipping down his throat to care about anything she’s saying. The water tastes so good. He drains the glass sooner than he would like and she smirks as she takes it back from him.

“Pace yourself.” She warns him, “You don’t want to make yourself sick.”

He nods, and she returns to the sink and refills the glass. He drinks it slower this time, though it’s a force. He only lets himself drink half the glass and then he hands it back to her. She looks at him for a moment, as though she’s waiting for him to change his mind, but eventually she sets the glass aside on the pivoting tray attached to the side of the chair. She sits back on her stool, and for a moment it’s quiet.

“How long?” He finally asks, his voice still raspy and he has to clear his throat, but he doesn’t launch into a coughing fit this time.

“Over a year.” She tells him. “Things are… Things are a little different now.” She sighs, “We killed Savage, so Kendra and Carter left. Rip left too, after he had been missing for a while. He’s started this thing called The Time Bureau, he impounded the Waverider for a little while, we just stole her back the other day and now…”

She trails off, looking down at her hands in her lap like they might suddenly give her the words she’s looking for.

“It’s a long story.” She settles on.

“Sounds like it.” He says, “And it doesn’t sound like anything good.”

He gives that a moment, waits to see if she’s going to say anything more, and when she doesn’t he presses on.

“What were you doing at The Vanishing Point?”

“Rip had been held there.” She tells him, and the look she gives him is a silent question. Did he know? Were they held together?

He didn’t know, and she must see that on his face.

“After we got him back he… I mean, he was Rip but… I don’t know. He seemed proud of us. Then he turned around and created the Time Bureau to replace us?”

“It didn’t feel right.” He supplies and she shakes her head.

“We wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything there left behind by The Legion, or worse anything Rip might be hiding.”

She looks to him then with a whole new question in her eyes.

“Please don’t tell me-”

“No.” He promises before she can finish. “It was Thawne.”

She nods, and that’s something at least.

“I’m sorry.” She eventually says. “We should’ve looked harder.”

“Sure.” He scoffs, “And what would you have done when Thawne caught you snooping around his hideout?”

She shrugs, “At least we might have found you.”

“You did find me.” He insists, “When there was no one there to stop you. I’m alive, I think.”

She chuckles at that, “You’re alive Crook, don’t worry.”

“You’re sure?” He teases.

“I’m sure.” She says, “Even though you mistook me for an angel.”

“I said that out loud?” He asks, smirking.

“You did.” She confirms, “And Ray already gushed about it to Mick, so good luck living it down.”

He hums, if that’s the price he has to pay for living, never being allowed to forget he called Sara an angel, he’s more than willing.

“Captain.” Gideon’s voice suddenly interrupts the moment, and Sara glances up at the ceiling. “You have an incoming message from 2017.”

“Coming Gideon.” She answers, and Leonard raises his eyebrows.

“I’ll explain later.” She laughs as she rises to her feet. “For now you get some rest.”

Before she goes she bends down and presses a kiss to his cheek, smirking at the surprise on his face when she pulls away.

“Welcome back, Leonard.”

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thran-duils · 4 years

Text

Grateful (I’m Yours, P3)

Title: Grateful (I’m Yours, Part 3) Summary: Kylo Ren/Fem!Reader. Reader is employed at a brothel and has a customer willing to pay enough to keep her to himself. But, she doesn’t follow the rules… Words: 1,650 Warnings: Angst angst angst Author’s Note: Okay, again, people asked for a third part. And for a long time (it’s been 3 years, holy shit) I didn’t have any idea of how I would tie things up if I started again. But, upon hearing “Old Wounds” by PVRIS, I found that muse. There will be a part four to tie this up (and I do already have it planned out!) and I will promise smut. Because that was the basis of this fic to begin with.

Part 2 || Part 4 || Masterpost || Fanfic masterpost

They say don't open old wounds But you're still brand new And all the flames you said you ran through You got a little more to prove One day I'll give you my heart When it's not in two They say don't open old wounds But I'm going to

“Where are we going?” you asked, trying to make conversation.

The storm troopers stationed near your table barely let on that they had heard you. The only indication was the slight cock of their heads.

When they did not answer, you began, “If you’re not allowed –”

“We’re not,” the one closest to you informed you robotically.

Your mouth snapped shut and you turned your eyes downward, staring at your half-eaten plate. The food was bland today, flavorless and a sad attempt at anything resembling a proper meal. The meals seemed to go awry at times large amounts of storm troopers were deployed, the ship standing emptier than usual.

The knowledge of that frightened you more often than not. Especially when Master Ren was one of the absences. Despite your dislike for the First Order, knowing you were on one of the main – nay, the main – ships, you were ever aware of the potential danger of attack from the Resistance. How funny it was to you to find yourself fearing injury from the side that claimed virtue, the good guys. Here on this ship, you were opposite. And how you longed to be back on neutral ground.

Pushing the food around your plate, you stalled having to leave the room – one of the many designated for breaks for the soldiers. Three times a day it was for you alone to eat in.

In silence.

Alone.

Although, even if there were others here, all of the storm troopers acted callous like the two accompanying you now. You were not even sure I fit was always the same ones that were at your side. It was difficult to assess the voices through the static and they never removed their helmets. So, even in a room with them would still be lonely. Though you supposed they had to remove their helmets to eat. Therefore, they would be able to speak. Frankly, there were barracks upon barracks of people to socialize with if only you were allowed –

“Are you finished?”

The guard’s voice broke through your thoughts.

Dropping your utensils, you nodded stiffly. “Yes.”

Sighing, you stood up from the table, readying to head back to your room.

To stay there and read. Or grab a book and find another room to read in. Preferably next to a window. At first you felt bad about having two people follow you around constantly while you went about your leisure. But in the last couple months, you learned they were stationed outside Kylo’s room anyway. So what did it matter where you were?

The time spent here had been extremely lonesome. You found yourself craving Kylo’s attention, basking in it. Maybe this had been his plan all along and if it had been, he had surely won.

<> <> <>

“Y/N.,” General Hux acknowledged you with as much disdain as ever.

He had never given you a chance. If you meant something to Kylo, you apparently were not worth the effort. You were surprised he acknowledged you sitting in the hall at all to be honest.

“General Hux,” you returned, your hand placed on your book to mark your spot.

There was something in his expression that was setting you on edge. He rarely looked amused and his amusement seemed malicious. His eyes dragged over your frame before meeting your gaze again.

“Funny that Ren brought you aboard.”

“Is it?”

“It is. I didn’t think he had the capacity to care about anything outside of himself,” Hux returned.

Did Kylo actually care about you though? Perhaps Hux’s view of emotion was as dense as you expected Kylo’s to be. It seemed to you that the only things he was capable to feel – or at least display – was solemnness, anger, and lust. His warped view of treating you kindly as he so boastfully expressed before bringing you here had slightly altered. But not by much. His touch was gentler, yes, as were his words. And he brought you tokens, trinkets, and gifts instead of money. But you still could not bring yourself to forgive him for making you leave.

“I am sure you are grateful.”

You could not hold back a snort, picking back up in your book, tired of the conversation.

It seemed he was not done yet. “Even if it was not your planet that had been sacrificed.”

Your attention was back on him. “What?”

“The Supreme Leader let me choose. I think Ren knew I would have… temptation to choose your planet. Just to spite him.”

“What do you mean sacrificed?”

Cocking his head to the side, Hux studied you. A smile grew, tight lipped, more malicious than before. “Hmm. It seems Ren didn’t confide with you?” Your silence said enough. “Don’t worry your pretty little head, Y/N. Your planet is still intact. And you are safe enough here. I would not blow up my own ship. Even if it would cut Ren deeply. I am practical. He knows this.”

You had nothing to say, so you stayed quiet.

Hux smirked once more before departing with, “I’d stay close to Ren if I were you.”

<> <> <>

You were waiting in Kylo’s quarters when he returned. Your hands were red from wringing them, your feet beginning to tire of the pacing. The wait had been inpatient.

He had barely closed the door before you were on him, “Why did you bring me here?”

His helmet was released, exposing his face. He looked perplexed with you.

“I told you why,” Kylo stated, turning away from you to place his helmet down. “My time is saved with you here with me.”

Fists balled at your sides, you spat, “You’re lying!”

He studied you then, you felt him prodding.

“Hux.”

“Tell me the truth!” you demanded. “Did you really believe Hux was going to hurt me? That he would slaughter millions to get underneath your skin? And I mean what the hell? How unhinged is he? Did he really blow up an entire planet?” You ran your hand over your face, anxious. “Oh my god.”

Exhaling deeply, Kylo unhooked his coat, tossing it over the back over one of his chairs. “Y/N. I’m tired. This can wait.”

“No! No it can’t!” you exclaimed, seeing his jaw tense. “I deserve the answer. You know I do. I am left here all alone all the time. I have no one to talk to, to spend time with until you come back. Which is because you insisted that I came aboard this ship. So, you are responsible for me! If you even care about me at all, just at least be honest!”

Silence stretched between the two of you, your chest heaving, waiting for him to grant you an answer.

“Fine,” Kylo finally said, stepping closer to you. “Yes. There was the possibility your planet could have been chosen. Hux wanted to test his new weapon. Is that all? Are you satisfied?”

Tension left you in a sharp gasp, shaking your head.

“What –”

“I don’t underestimate Hux’s deep loathing for me,” Kylo pressed on, ignoring what you had been about to say. “He caught wind of what I was doing when I visited your planet. Found out who you were, what we were doing.”

You breathed, “Why didn’t you just tell me that?”

“Because what I said wasn’t a lie.”

“You just omitted the whole part about someone possibly wanting to murder me,” you retorted, anger swelling up again.

“And?” Kylo drawled.

Staring down at your hands, you let this sink in. You had left because you thought him possessive, unable to stomach the possibility you could have someone else. But, there had been a deeper reason. And he had done it to protect you.

“But why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Touching the side of your face, Kylo began to speak but you flinched away. His expression was unreadable as his hand fell back down by his side. “Would you have come as easily if I had told you that? If you could not put the blame at my feet for mere selfishness?”

“It was easier to have you angry with me than worry you and let that eat away at you. That a whole planet could have been in danger because of you.” He cleared his throat and admitted, “I never meant for you to find out.”

Shaking your head, you tried to move around him, but he stepped in your way. “Y/N.” His voice was taut.

“I need a moment.”

You tried to move around him again, but he blocked your way again, holding his hand out, stopping you in your tracks.

“Don’t!” you exclaimed, trying to push back against his Force to no avail.

“Calm down,” Kylo ordered you. “This is exactly how Hux wanted you to react. He wants you angry at me!”

“Well, I am! For letting me get involved with any of this at all!”

“He is who you –”

“I’m angry at both of you! You both… you have so much power and you use it for all the wrong reasons.” Tears formed. “You let him kill so many innocents!”

Kylo swallowed sharply and told you, “Don’t be foolish, Y/N. I could not stop him. That was between him and the Supreme Leader—”

“Oh, bullshit!” you shouted at him and he closed his mouth, gawking. You suspected he had half a mind to punish you right then and there but to your surprise, he did not. “You could have done something. You know you could have! But you did not care the moment you brought me here!” Shaking your head, a tear escaped, rolling down your cheek. “Because at least it wasn’t me that was dying. Right? It was okay then?”

Guilt pooled in your stomach, causing knots. That others died in your place, that he had openly admitted it.

“You should be grateful,” Kylo told you gruffly. “I saved your life! I have provided you protection and stability.”

Staring him down, you grated, “Let me go.”

Weight lifted off of you and you stormed around him, free of his grasp.

#kylo ren x reader #kylo ren fic #star wars fanfic #kylo ren fanfic #star wars #female reader insert #my shit

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animeimagineposts · 4 years

Text

Benimaru (Fire Force)

Asakusa had managed to overthrow the white-clad who'd tried and failed to bring everyone to their knees. As I circle checking on citizens I come across a male white-clad stood in front of a fountain holding someone under the water who slowly stopped struggling and let their body go limp.

'What are you doing?' I shout, running over to intervene.

The male white-clad smirks and steps away from the body dressed identical to him, 'we take care of our traitors just like you lot do.'

I was confused, then in the next second, the white-clad vanished into thin air. Instinct takes over and I pull the unconscious white-clad out of the water and begin resuscitation noting that once the hood fell away the victim was a girl. After what seemed like forever the girl splutters and coughs up water opening their eyes which held pure fear.

'You can explain everything later,' I say, not wanting her to cause herself more stress.

I pick the girl up and carry her in my arms deciding to take her to my house instead of the company. The male white-clad had called her a traitor, and I couldn't possibly see how this girl could do anything wrong because she looked so innocent and kind of weak.

Once inside the house I carry her up to the bathroom and place her down on the edge of the tub while I grab a towel to wrap around her now shaking and dripping wet body.

'Thank you,' she whispers, as I wrap the towel around her.

'I'll go get you some dry clothes err—'

'y/n, I'm y/n,' she replies, voice still slightly hoarse.

I nod, 'I'm Benimaru.'

I leave the girl to undress and grab her something of mine which would surely swamp her frame. The bathroom door was slightly ajar as I return, and before I can knock I catch a glimpse of y/n's exposed back and the multitude of bruises and faded scars marking her skin. Now I was even more intrigued.

'Here are some dry clothes. I'll be in the kitchen once you're done,' I call out and place the clothes by the door.

Y/N

Benimaru, the captain of Fire Company 8. Why had he saved you? You'd come to burn this place to the ground because the white-clad could. He should hate you. Maybe he'd saved you so that you could face trial for the white-clad crimes, or maybe he wanted to kill you himself. A million negative thoughts cross your mind as you undress.

'Here are some dry clothes. I'll be in the kitchen once you're done.' He calls out from the other side of the bathroom door.

You freeze upon turning to find the door ajar, had he seen your scars? He sounded pretty calm, so maybe he hadn't peaked. His clothes were way too big for you, to the point you had to roll the waist and both legs just to be able to walk without tripping over. You stare at your wet white-clad 'uniform' and shake your head, maybe this was your chance to start a new life.

You pad barefoot through the house until you find the kitchen and stop in the doorway watching Benimaru cooking something on the stove.

You bite your lip, 'why didn't you let him kill me? Do you want to kill me yourself?'

Benimaru turns around and instinctively you shrink back, 'why did he call you a traitor y/n?'

You sigh, 'that was my older brother. He's been loyal to the white-clad for years. When he found out I had some power he forced me to join, using our little sister as leverage who had no power and the white-clad would kill in a heartbeat. I never wanted to fight or use my power, I was happy living a bland life raising my sister after our parents died.'

You keep your eyes focused on your bare feet not wanting to make eye contact because you were embarrassed and ashamed, however, a shadow looms over you and next thing you know your chin is cupped and your face forcefully raised but not aggressively like you used to. Benimaru was an enigma amongst the captains, strong and respected but never seemed like he wanted the job.

'I know you're telling the truth y/n, you'd be an awful liar. Where is your sister now?' he asks, brushing some wet hair out of your eyes with his free hand.

You gulp, 'last time I heard the white-clad were keeping her somewhere in the Netherworld but my brother never gave me details because he knew I would try and risk dying to save her. What happens now?'

Benimaru tilts his head to the side, 'that's up to you y/n? Has anyone ever seen your face?'

You shake your head, 'no, I wore a mask. Why?'

Benimaru sighs, 'if you swear to give up any information on the white-clad, I will help you get your sister back. Do we have a deal?'

Your eyes widen, 'yes, we have a deal Benimaru. I will do anything to get my sister back and make the white-clad pay for what they've put me through.'

Next thing you know your chin is released and you're pulled into a bone-crushing hug, which was a sensation you hadn't felt in a very long time, so you shakily wrap your arms around the captain hugging him back.

'I saw the scars, I will make them pay y/n,' he mumbles into your hair.

You can't keep the smile off your face, this was the first time in a long time someone was genuinely on your side and you felt like you could trust someone.

'Thank you,' you reply softly, knowing things were about to change for better or for worse.

#fire force #fire force benimaru #fire force blog #fire force imagines #fire force imagine #fire force fandom #fire force fanfiction #anime #anime imagines blog #anime imagine blog #anime imagine #anime imagines #fandom blog #fanfiction blog #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #anime fandom

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lokikingofasgardslover713 · 5 years

Text

Loki Laufeyson Masterlist

Masterlist

Series

The Ulfhednar {Finished}

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6 Ch.7 Ch.8

Description: This was my first fic I posted on Tumblr. Robbing from the Avengers was a walk in the park. Or until the god of mischief ruins any plans of escape. A fight ensues leading to the discovery of who and what the thief is and it isn't a discovery she ever wanted known. Especially by the very gods she was meant to obey.

Warnings: Blood, angst, stubbornness (M/F)

Forgotten Gods {Finished}***

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Description: What if the one in a million shots at stopping Thanos was Loki had to fall from the Bifrost into the titans hands? And, what if the reason had to be the kidnapping of said gods true love? Can Strange and the others pull this off, and keep the reader safe to return to Loki once it is all over or do they fail miserably and cause more damage?

Warnings: Smut, Inferred Non-con, Angst, Blood (M/F)

Sparkling Topaz & Mead {Finished}***

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven

Description: After learning her powers don't work on either god, the reader reluctantly surrenders and returns with the Avengers. Very reluctant to help, what she is intrigues the god of mischief who takes interest in her in more ways than one.

Warnings: Smut (M/F)

The Wolves Den {Epilogue}

Description: Werewolf AU. The god of mischief finds himself entering Midgardian bar searching for the wolf he has tracked after a nights run. Not to keen on how he finds her, he begrudgingly gets the Avengers involved.

Warnings: Blood, violence (M/F)

Loki’s Gilded Pet {Finished}***

Description: What happens when Loki is brought a prisoner to play with when he is in the dungeons? Reader is a mortal, some how she is brought through a passage between Midgard & Asgard to be apprehended & treated poorly before being taken to proper authorities. To cover there tracks the guards that found her throw her to Loki in hopes he will kill her.

Warnings: Mentions of rape, Smut (M/F)

Prickly Master List {Finished}***

Description: Stemmed from and Inktober oneshot in which the god of mischief wants his own familiar that is ALSO a promised lover who is reluctant to give into the god and makes his life a living hell.

Warnings: Angst, Smut (M/F)

Havoc’s Worship Dragon!Loki {Finished}***

Description: Loki is chaos, chaos is havoc & havoc has found a treasure, a jewel, a new being to worship other than himself!

Warnings: Non-con, dub-con, Dark Loki and Thor, Smut (M/F)

Drooling Masterlist {Finished}***

Description: A female frost giant hiding on Midgard just so happens has the god of mischief land in her living room after the events of Avengers Infinity War. Little does she know, this causes her to come into heat long before her time.

Warnings: Smut, dub-con? (M/F)

Shattered Peace {Finished}

Description: During Thanos attack on the Statesman, the titan, instead of taking Loki’s life takes something more valuable. Leaving the god and a distraught lover in his wake.

Warnings: Angst, Heartache (M/F)

Savage Spite {Finished}

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Description: Loki really makes a mess & it seems it will take longer for him to right the mistake than originally thought! Reader is a young celestial whose powers have yet to be known just how strong they really are. She and Tony Stark’s daughter, Morgan were raised together as sisters.

Warnings: Smut, Angst (M/F)

Shackled Babe {Finished}***

Description: After the events of infinity war and end game, both Loki and Thor seek a new realm to rebuild Asgard. The brothers remembering Odin telling them of a kingdom in the realm of Alfheim once ruled by a generous light elf. One who fell out of favor to have the throne handed to another, but it should be a safe place to rebuild.

Warnings: Smut, Implied Non-con, Angst, war (M/F)

Bitter Bonds {Finished}***

Description: After Loki is judged on Asgard he is immediately given/sold to the new king of Jotunheim, Helblendi, as a peace offering. 5 years later, two visitors journey to Jotunheim, a woman for trade talks and the other Thor,bargaining for Loki’s freedom. What happens when she bargains for the brother of her late husband?

Warnings: Torture, Panic Attacks, Angst, Smut (M/F)

Helot {Finished}***

Gore Cryptic Strange Advance Issues Evocation Relapse Desperation Home

Description: In efforts to gather more intel, the recon goes to hell the instant a dying slave is thrown into the mix, leaving both Thor and Loki not sure what to do with her. Nothing is known of who she is or where she comes from.

Warnings: Smut, Torture (M/F)

Wolf Season {FINISHED}***

Description: This is the first time the readers heat is brought to her attention by none other than the god of mischief. How does she take to the discovery, but more importantly, how does Loki take it? Will Loki keep patience with her stubbornness or will he allow nature to take over? (This IS NOT ABO)

Warnings: Smut, Angst (M/F)

Sexual Healing & Godly Appetites {WIP}***

Description: Loki catches the reader looking for bad dragon toys (google it, you won’t be disappointed) Secretly he has wanted the team healer for a while and seeing her looking for a toy ignites a fire only she can extinguish.

Warning: Smut, BDSM (M/F)

The Auction House {WIP}***

Description: The team takes on a fine art auction that deal in super soldiers as the main prize. The key to the vault each individual is kept is inside the antique sold while encrypted data is scent out detailing the kill count of each soldier before hand to know who you are buying. The one up for auction tonight is top priority and Loki’s true soulmate and last love.

Warning: Angst, Smut in later chapters, Hints to a rough past (M/F)

Oneshots

Mermaids & Gods ***

Description: After the events of Infinity war are sorted out, the team takes a long overdue vacation and drags a certain “reformed” trickster with them.

Warnings: Smut, blood (M/F)

Christmas Praxis***

Description: This is sickly sweet and haven’t a clue where it came from & then it all went to smut! Reader is explaining Santa Claus to Loki who is having trouble grasping the tradition compared to what it once was.

Warnings: Fluff, Smut (M/F)

Loki’s Sacrifice - Dark!Loki***

Description: Loki is brought a gift by the Jotunn to appease the new king of the realms. A sacrifice saved just for this purpose, or so it seems until he gets his first look at what she really is to the Jotunn people.

Warnings: Non-con (M/F)

I Will Not Kneel - Dark!Loki***

Description: Loki’s newest mortal toy isn't exactly as breakable as the ones before her. This intrigues the god who decides to keep her and not pass her off to another.

Warnings: Non-con (M/F)

Mischief's Teacher ***

Description: The general of the Valkyries leaves Asgard with Brunhilde, but not before training the princes to fight. Little did she realize the impact she had on one of the princes until he shows up in Sakaar.

Warnings: Smut (M/F)

Arcane

Description: Written with @starscreamloki - The newest addition to the team isn’t thrilled to be forced into joining the fight, especially when the God of Mischief himself shows up and threatens to reveal her secret she has kept hidden ever since her capture.

Warnings: Swearing (M/F)

Judas Kiss

Description: Loki stumbled across the reader when she was traversing between Jotunheim and Asgard, the god having taking to her after learning she was nothing but a Jotun slave. The intrigue of her had Loki deciding she was to be brought to Asgard to assure she was safe.

Warnings: Angst, War (M/F)

Sea Maiden- Jotunn Loki***

Description: The team, sent by Fury to recruit the reader, haven't a clue as to what she is, just that she is strong, fast, and unrelenting in a fight. Her secret is revealed by Thor and Sam who decide it would be fun to throw her into the water during their at the beach.

Warnings: Smut, Angst (M/F)

Faithlessness

Description: Reader has crashed to the barren lands of Jotunheim after she is tossed out of a space craft and left for dead. Though you can guess who is the one who finds her, taking her back to the palace it is discovered she is just not any mortal or alien race.

Warnings: Pain, Angst (M/F)

Sakaarian Heat***

Description: Jotun!Loki & Jotun!Reader - Upon attending a recent party at the urging of the Grandmaster, Loki finds a very rare creature and it turns out she belongs to him.

Warnings: Smut (M/F)

Six Steamy Sentences

Description: This was a writing challenge and a teaser!

Warnings: ANGST (M/F)

Keeper of Beasts***

Description: After Ragnarök, Loki, Thor, Brunnhilde and Hulk/Bruce escape the destruction of Asgard but not onto the Statesman. Instead they board the other craft that belonged to the Grandmaster and accidentally return to Sakaar. There, as luck would have it, they are bought by a frost giantess visiting the realm, but nothing is as it seems.

Warnings: LEMONS, Angst (M/F)

Warring Loyalties

Description: The conquest for many Romans was more than just land. Taking what and who they wanted, a troop learn of a race of creatures, the selkie whose women are loyal to the end. This was the grand scheme of things when the general waited on shore for the OFC to return. Having come to shore, she never realized they were watching her patterns.

Warnings: Angst, dark things, blood, War (M/F)

Best Laid Plans of Gods & Shield Maidens

Description: After years of chasing after the reader, Loki finally gets his chance to show her how he truly feels. Though it takes a masquerade for the reader to understand just how much he has longed after her and only her when he could have anyone in the 9 realms.

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Bullying, self-loathing (M/F)

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki god of mischief #loki fanfic #loki lemon #loki x oc #loki x reader #loki x ofc #lokikingofasgardslover713

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