#//go somewhere else if you are not satisfied with my management and my mental state

[penname-artist]

Forgive the tipsy rambling here and, maybe this is just looking back on something having aged through a lot of it but, do you ever just realize how much you've climbed to change as a person?

I guess it depends on the person. Not everyone has the same experience or makes the same steps. Some people hardly change at all. And some people, people like me, you wouldn't be able to look at versions of me more than two or three years apart without struggling to figure out they're the same guy.

Sure, lots of things always remain. You'll probably still like the same things, prefer the same comforts, or struggle with the same faults. No matter how much you change and grow, you're always just gonna be, y'know. You. It's the type of you that makes the change, though; whether to be the you that gives into emotional weaknesses, or the you that controls their ego from overinflating. Sometimes things teach us, events shape us and memories mold us into new characters. But really, it's just us, paving the way to bettering ourselves. Making something out of yourself. Being someone. And being proud of that.

I can't honestly say I enjoy looking into my own reflection, in a physical sense. I've become so hollow, so baggy-eyed and bony-shouldered with the wear of years of pacing holes into the floor. I don't think there will be a time soon I'll be satisfied with the missing and broken teeth, or the acne scars, or the protruding right side of my rib cage. But you know, appearances can't be everything. Even talents can only push you so far in life, the finite detailing of mine having been dwindled off somewhere in the late 2010s. I can't draw what I used to. I can't do a lot of the things I used to.

In some ways you could say I didn't have a choice. That I had to be kind. I can't work like I used to, can't go like I used to. I've developed a bad knee and stiff joints, mental anguish, social overload, muscle spasms, migraines, whatever else happens on any given day. Things I can't explain and things I can't control. But I can manage them, at least.

And I've watched my mother for years, in a far worse state. Fibromyalgia hardly scratches the surface anymore, with a ruptured appendix and a crushed spine about to undergo major surgery. I've witnessed unfairness and fear in the middle of the night, time and time again like some horrible nightmare no one can wake up from. But I've also seen grace, I've watched a woman go from all to nothing and still put a smile on to be the neighborhood mom, risk pain and days of bed-bound downtime just to take a child to a library event. Just to support their eldest child's new identity. Just to exist to love and care for and take care of her family.

I don't know a person who's been faced with a crueler world. I also don't know a person who's worked harder to be kind in turn.

I'm hardly there yet, I'm only in my twenties. The world is so big and so vast and so complicated. I've already tasted cruel, tasted grief as familiarity is ripped from me, as love and longing is left cold and silent as an empty space for someone who never said a word. I've tasted cruel, and born an inked reminder of what it can't do. It can't take me. It can take my friends from me, and it can take my body piece by piece, and it can take my life some unsuspecting day, but it can't take away me. I'm something. In everything I make, I'm leaving something of myself behind. I was here. I existed. I impacted. I did. The world was cruel and it'll keep being cruel but I'm going to exist anyways and I'm going to do anyways and I'm going to be kind anyways, and I'm going to climb this goddamn mountain one pebble at a time, and shout from every clifftop that I was something. It may not have been very much. But it was. And you can't erase me. I was something. And I am proud of the something that I made.

[edit: it's 11:08 PM, I think this took an hour and a half to write and so I'm sober enough to reread it and yeah can we check off the emotional drunk box now please? Please?]

[pazodetrasalba]

An Ode to Capitalism

Dear Caroline:

An old bias of mine is that knowing a little bit about investing is worse than knowing nothing at all (I still hold to this, and I'd justify it on the danger of making terrible investments due to overconfidence in what feels like a completely stochastic process). Another one, which I am recovering from, is the idea that any job that is useful has be physically painful and/or intellectually mind-numbing. This will sound silly to you, but it came as a function of my social background: mom and dad worked their way up to owning and working in restaurant; years later, stepdad did the same, from construction worker to furniture retailer, with a side business in funeral services. I had to help occasionally with the latter two, and was fixated on not continuing them in the future. The better alternative seemed something intellectually satisfying and physically undemanding, decently well paid and with free time for reading and cultivation, which is how I ended up where I am.

This book is one more drop in a bucketful of professions I've since learned can actually be both interesting and lucrative. Before reading it, I knew next to nothing about hedge managers - although having followed the FTX and Alameda story in news and books, I was not so much in the dark as, say, a year ago. It is also decently written and moderately engaging, but its virtues for me lie somewhere else: they help me glimpse a little bit more into your own mind and the sort of work and life you've led from your Jane Street days to the present. And I do treasure every scrap of information I can get.

Back to the book itself: some of the things it talks about (like the origins of the 2008 crisis) I had already heard or read about in the news, but others, not so much. I used to think that whatever hedge funds were, they were subordinate to / controlled by banks , which is obviously not the case. From this volume's perspective, they look more like the market makers, the entities that help the Invisible Hand work smoothly and the ones who make it their job to exploit market inefficiencies in such a way as to make the whole go back to optimal efficiency. In the way, they earn some money, of course. Doing this requires working unimaginably long hours, a willingness to take calculated risks every day and all the time, and amassing lots of information and crunching it in search of the little gaps, knowledge imbalances et caetera that allow profits to be made. it also has a massively psychologically challenging element to it: both controlling one's impulses and anxieties and navigating through the irrational mood swings, losses of confidence, blind panic and even blinder optimism that make the economical world go round. Describing this job as 'stressful' seems like a massive understatement.

The book was, as stated, quite entertaining - the Anonymous Hedge Fund Manager looks like someone it would pay (pun intended) to meet and talk to. It is also quite short, which is unusual in your recommendations. I don't quite get why you would like it so much, given that you are already extremely cognizant of everything it talks about, except perhaps because it might have been a light and entertaining read, and one depicting someone not unlike yourself doing a job not unlike what you were doing. Also, I've just checked that it is one of Matt Levine's recommendation, and I well remember reading your telling us that as a 'finance bro', you were rather keen on following his reading advice.

When the author was explaining how some hedge funds can blow up, towards the end, I couldn't help but thinking about your own situation in Alameda. Allied with other pieces of information, I tried to make a very superficial mental map of the fall, of which I'll share a couple of thoughts, even if it always shames me to put my economical illiteracy in front of your eyes in a way that can make you think less of me. Alameda's early successes, whatever the details, would have come from it being a very early hedge fund in a chaotic, wildly inefficient world -crypto- that lacked them. It seems like it might not have had that many good traders besides Sam, Trabucco and yourself, and trading bots that left much to be desired. Once the big companies began exploring the field, they probably outcompeted you quite easily, but a very big crypto bull market would have made it possible to still make large profits, even with extra bites coming from market making at FTX and Sam's lavish ventures investments and repurchase of FTX shares. The Diary mentions that blow-ups can come from overleveraging, and that seems to have been the main issue when the Terra-Luna collapse and crypto winter fell upon the scene. In a way, this is the narrative that Sam's lawyers were trying to put through in the trial, while they were attempting to push the causes of the collapse in your not hedging enough. Of course, in their hands this was bollocks for at least two reasons: the thing being judged was the commission of fraud, not of bad investment strategies - good luck in the latter would just have meant the fraud would not have been discovered, not that it hadn't been committed. The second was that, whatever your possible limitations and inexperience as a hedge fund CEO, having to bend over backwards to Sam's dictates and shopping sprees meant that you weren't in a position to hedge that much anyway.

This last year has also been a terrible one for you, and right now we are in the anniversary of those days when the whole house of cards came tumbling down. I am hopeful that you've left the worst behind you, even if one, last, big hurdle still lies in the month ahead, by which I mean your sentencing, but I think we have every cause to be mildly optimistic about that, and that is something you should keep in mind while you start the long, laborious healing process that is long overdue.

I also made a short review of the book in my bookreads, which you might like to see.

[kevin--of-desert-bluffs]

I did one in reverse lol a WTNV plot written like early TMA. Sorry if this one isn't as good I've only listened to like 22 episodes of TMA lol

Statement of Yu Story, regarding an incident they experienced in the Yorkshire Dales. Original statement given December 15th, 2012. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London.

Statement begins.

I want to start this by telling you a little bit about myself. Before all of this I was as ordinary as anyone else. I never drank or took drugs and have no history of mental illness. Instead my problem seemed to be more fatigue...with life, with how things were going. My mother used to say I was never satisfied. Maybe she was right.

Sorry, I'm trying to keep this short and sweet but I'm too aware that any moment now They might appear and I don't think I'll be getting out of that encounter. I've been running from them too long already.

My name is Yu Story. I used to live in Leeds, had done all my life. For work, I wrote direct mail campaigns for companies, selling their products. It was long and tedious work. Sometimes I would write things like – Dear Resident, finally some good news in this dreary world. At last, a reason not to kill yourself! - then I would backspace and write something more appropriate.

I had a friend, then a girlfriend, then a fiancee – the same person. Sometimes I cooked, sometimes she cooked, we had that kind of cosy balanced relationship. If it's all the same with you I'd rather not state her name here.

I suppose I must have had a breakdown. That's surely what my family have called it. One day I was walking from the glass box of my office to my old Ford Probe and a vision came to me. Yes, I know how that sounds but what else can I call it? It certainly wasn't real. I hope it wasn't real.

I saw above me a planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It was so far away, so desolate, and so impossibly, terrifyingly dark, and that day I did not go home. I drove instead. I drove a long time, and eventually I ended up in somewhere deep in the Yorkshire Dales, in a town called Night Vale and I stopped driving. I must have been driving hours to get there, and yet I never stopped nor felt the need to stop, it was like I'd hardly been driving for long at all. I should have driven home, but I didn't. I stayed, something I regret doing now. Night Vale was an nice town, quaint, not too modern but not as rustic as some places out there. It even had an old opera house if you can believe that.

The native residents were somewhat standoffish at first but the more I stayed the less suspicious and hostile they were although I don't think they ever completely accepted me as one of their own. I found a caravan for rent near a use car lot – not exactly glamorous but not bad. I'd thrown out my phone somewhere along the way to Night Vale and for some reason never thought to get another. I felt terrible about it – knowing that my fiancee and my family would want to know I was alright – but it never felt like the right time to call and so I never did.

It haunted me how easy it was to leave my old life. How few the repercussions were. The complete freedom, the utter lack of consequences, it terrified me. I can't even remember how long I stayed in Night Vale. Time started to mean very little to me. I managed to find a job. Or, the job found me. They, the man who was not tall and the man who was not short, knocked on the door of the caravan one day and just offered it to me. It sounded too good to be true but I thought what the Hell and took it. All I had to do was drive out into the Dales every day except Sunday and there I would find two trucks. I moved wooden crates from one truck to the other whilst a man in a dark suit watched me silently. It was a different man each time. Sometimes the crates ticked. Mostly they did not. When I was done the man would hand me some amount of cash – also different each time – and I would go home. It was the best job I'd ever had.

Except...a few days ago, it went differently. I moved the crates. The man in the suit, a stranger, watched. But then, as had never happened before, the man in the suit received a phone call. He walked off at some distance to take it. “Yes sir," he said and "No sir."

It wasn't terribly interesting. I moved crates. But then an impulse, an awful impulse, came over me. I took one of the crates. I took it and put it in my trunk. By the time the man came back from his phone call, I was done with my job. He gave me the money, nearly £500 today, the second highest it had ever been. And I drove home with the crate in my trunk.

When I got home I took the crate into my caravan and left it in the kitchen. This wasn't the kind of crate which ticks. It was a completely ordinary crate. I cooked dinner. I ate it outside, sitting by the open door, looking out across the town. I could see the blinking red light of a distant radio tower. I wondered how long it would take them to figure out that the crate was gone. I didn't wonder who 'they' were and don't now. Some mysteries aren't questions to be answered but just kind of exist as opaque fact, a thing which exists to not be known.

Sorry, where was I? Oh right. I went back in to look at the crate. I reached out and touched it. It felt warm, warmer than the air around it. It had this smell – sharp and earthy. Almost like freshly ground cinnamon. I put my ear to it and I swear I could music coming from within. A soft indistinct melody humming from within. It didn't look difficult to open. All I needed to do was pull out a few nails. I didn't open it.

Instead I went for a drive to the local diner. A distraction. Just like driving to Night Vale had been a distraction. I got a slice of pie even though I had just eaten and wasn't hungry. I ate quickly without tasting it and returned back to the crate. I touched the crate again. It was warmer now, as if whatever was inside was heating up. I started to worry that it might be dangerous. Some kind of weapon? I'd always thought it was probably drugs I was helping move but now...

I opened the crate. Bit by bit I opened it. The moment I did something exploded out of it and pushed me back against the wall. It was an enormous bloom, maybe six feet long and as it opened I began to scream. It was a human figure which unfurled from that flower. Right there in the centre of the blossom, as if they were being birthed from it. But it wasn't just this which made me scream. I knew the person in the flower or I had known the person it was mimicking. Not personally – no – I'd simply seen his face in the local newspaper. He was by all accounts a celebrated man of the community, often doing charity work and the like. He'd died of natural causes and there was a tiny article about him which I'd skimmed without thought. Now that same face looked at me. A face of a dead man growing out of a large flower.

I scrambled to my feet and exited the caravan. That's when I saw it for the second time. A planet of awesome size, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all thick black forests and jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It was so far away, so desolate, and so impossibly, terrifyingly dark.

I could hear the sound of an engine getting closer and knew They had discovered what I had done and were coming for me. I got into my car and drove as fast as I could. I spent days driving in what I hoped was an untraceable erratic manner. It was by chance I managed to be here in London at all, let alone by your establishment. I admit I felt compelled to come in and tell you what I saw. Where else was I to go? The police sure wouldn't believe me...I don't even know if you will. It doesn't matter, it's here now and I have to get going. I've been lucky but I feel like I won't be lucky for much longer. They're going to find me and they're going to kill me. Maybe I'll end up in one of those crates myself. Thank you for hearing my story.

Statement ends.

Mr Story's account is not dissimilar to any number of men in black conspiracy theories which exist and therefore is almost entirely sure to be a concoction of a clearly stressed and teetering mind. Despite his claims of being mentally sound, we can't ignore that Mr Story left his entire life behind spontaneously, a clear indicator of a mental breakdown possibly caused by the outset of greater mental problems. After all he seemed to be suffering from classic symptoms of paranoia, believing himself to be watched and followed as well as hallucinating the uh, 'dark planet' as he described it. Of course no such thing could possibly exist so close to Earth without dire consequences so it's not even worth checking on.

I asked Martin to look up this 'Night Vale' to try and at least corroborate Mr Story's claims of having lived there a while. He couldn't find a single trace of such a town anywhere in the world, merely sound alike towns or places which did not fit Mr Story's descriptions. I asked Sasha to cross-reference these findings in case Martin had missed something, which was likely. She too found nothing, so I am able to firmly conclude that Night Vale does not exist and was another aspect of Mr Story's declining mental state. As for claims of flowers that contain the bodies of dead people...well, I don't think we need to get the opinion of a botanist to rule that out – do we?

A missing persons report was indeed filed for Mr Story but his story does not have a pleasant conclusion in which he returned home and sought psychiatric help. Instead it seems that someone did indeed catch up with him and slit his throat, leaving him for dead in a field. What is more Tim recalled seeing a crate he remarked as being unusually warm to the touch amongst other items here at the Institute. Across the top someone had stamped the word 'Stonecrops'. We opened the crate and were surprised to see a small house inside. Not a dolls house exactly, more a model someone had made with extreme attention to detail in every room that could be seen from the windows although it could not be opened without breaking it. So – no flowers then, and perhaps not related at all. I think it's best we don't waste more time on this.

Recording ends.

You have no idea how tempted I am to write a kind of... parody fic where I take TMA episodes and switch them to the WTNV format i.e. take the plot and act like it's just something casually happening in NV.

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙰𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚣 𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚏𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚜: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

Disclaimer: In no way am I condoning, encouraging, justifying, promoting nor romanticizing yandere behavior or lifestyle. This is all a work of fiction and not meant to represent real life scenarios.

Warnings: Mentions of toxic relationships, violence, degradation, physical/mental abuse, kidnapping, hostage holding, self-harm, attempted murder and other yandere behavior. Read at your own discretion.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

𝐁𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐈𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧:

𝙽𝚊𝚖𝚎: 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚔 𝚂𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚑𝚠𝚊

𝙳.𝙾.𝙱: 𝙰𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚕 𝟹𝚛𝚍, 𝟷𝟿𝟿𝟾

𝙷𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝: 𝟷𝟽𝟾 𝙲𝙼/ 𝟻'𝟷𝟶 𝙵𝚃.

𝙰𝚐𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: ■■■■■100%

𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚋𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚢: ■■■■□90%

𝙾𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚕: 𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎

𝚈𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝙳𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝙱𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚕 𝙰𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜:

𝙴𝚡𝚝𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚒𝚐𝚑 𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚒𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚌 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚝𝚢.

𝙾𝚋𝚜𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚘𝚕 𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎 ��𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

𝙽𝚘 𝚝𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚋𝚎𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚛 𝚘𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚕 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜.

𝙱𝚛𝚞𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗.

𝙿𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚗𝚎𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚋𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚝.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He was the school's and the town's heartthrob.

From the time he was young, every girl was in love with him and every boy wanted to be him.

From the tenderest of age, old folks were praising how cute and adorable he was.

That's just how Park Seonghwa grew up, being admired and loved by everyone around him. He was so used to his little club of adoring fans.

He dated, or more like, messed around with more than a couple of girls in his classes.

Not a single one of them was immune to his charms, even if at first they said they'd never ever fall for him. They always fell like dominoes.

And then the day finally came....The day someone ignored him, the day someone didn't worship the ground he walked on.....

The day someone not only refused but humiliated him in front of others.

You had recently moved into the small town, wanting to get away from all the bustling and, in your opinion, futile life of the city.

So you moved somewhere more quiet, serene, calm.

You only wanted a nice and comfortable life, and with the small but sturdy job you accepted, it allowed you to have a comfortable living.

For a while, no one really noticed or payed the to you, and those that did were wary of you.

You couldn't blame them. A stranger suddenly moves into their town? Of course they'd be careful.

You were very observant and in that time you observed Seonghwa.

He was good looking you had to admit, but he had come into the shop with a girl by his side which suggested to you they were an item.

Meaning he was off limits so you didn't bother to think about him.

But then he came in weeks later with a different girl, which threw you off a little.

And then a different girl, then another and you saw the pattern.

You shook your head and cringed at him. "Fuck boi." You muttered every time you saw him.

It didn't take long for him to hear about the new girl in town.

Which to him meant another heart to steal and a pair of legs to open and add to his collection.

He was with his friends, who were anxious to see what would happen.

You saw him confidently stride up to you, cocky grin on his face as his eyes looked you up and down. You internally scoffed.

"Don't think you can easily play me boy." You resolved in your head to wipe that smirk off.

"Hey gorgeous. Come here often?" He winked at you.

"I work here." You responded with absolutely no emotion or expression, barely giving him a glance as you arranged the shelves in the store.

He moved so you could see him better, thinking it would cause you to melt, but you just stared straight at him as if he wasn't there.

"If you need any assistance, please ask one of the managers. I only stock the merchandise."

You had to hold back from laughing at his shocked face, probably because no girl had ever not blushed or become flustered from his close proximity.

You moved away from him to put some articles on the next aisle.

Not giving up, Seonghwa followed after you, his friends trailing close behind you.

He tapped your shoulder to get your attention again.

For the first time in his life, a girl glared at him as if he was no more than a bug....

That was strike one for him.

"Listen...... I.......just wanted to get your number?" He couldn't believe that he was actually sweating nervously.

"Sorry. I don't give my number to strangers." You stated.

Seeing an opportunity, Seonghwa smiled flirtatiously at you.

"Well then maybe I should take you out. Then we won't be strangers. Maybe we could even get...really close." He licked his lips.

His face froze when he saw you roll your eyes at him.

That was strike two.

"Thank you but no. And if you'll excuse me."

You moved to leave him there again, but his hand reached out and gripped your wrist, a little too rough for your liking.

"Come on darling...no one's ever said no to me."

Yanking your hand away, you looked at him with disgust as you told him:

"I believe I just did."

Those words and the snorts and giggles from his friends behind him were strike three for him.

In that moment something snapped in him.

How dare someone like you reject him? The Park Seonghwa.

He was so stunned by your actions that he couldn't get you out of his mind from then on.

He no longer looked at any other girls.

His thoughts were fixated on you and only you.

He had to win you over, he just had to.

You were the ultimate challenge and he was going to make sure he was victorious.

But you made it so damn difficult.

Every. Single. Time.

You never hid how much he annoyed you and that pissed him off so much.

Days turned to a month, then 3 and still you kept refusing him.

The final straw for him was when he tried gifting you a rather expensive necklace that would have anyone else swooning.

Not batting a wink, you threw the case back to him.

"I'm not some whore you can buy for the night just cause you feel like it. Go find someone else to be your toy, fuckboi."

He gripped the case so harshly it actually bent, eyes staring daggers at you as you walked home.

"You're not getting away so easily. You're going to regret this."

You were surprised when you didn't see Seonghwa the next day..

Or for an entire week.

But you shrugged it off, perhaps he had finally learned his lesson and opted for leaving you alone.

Walking home, you couldn't help but feel like something eerie was going to happen.

You tried ignoring it by plugging in your headphones and just head home as soon as possible. It was dark and cold.

You weren't paying attention to your surroundings so you didn't see nor hear the car that was heading straight to you.

You only felt something knock you to the ground, immediately passing out from your head hitting the pavement.

The driver got out of the vehicle, his dark orbs staring down at your unconscious figure.

Bending down, he tilted your chin to look at your bloody face.

"I told you would regret this."

You woke up sore and with a pounding headache days later.

But more than anything, you woke up frightened when you saw you were chained down on a chair, wrists bound on the arm rests and feet tied to the legs.

Who the hell would kidnap you?

Your answer came in the form of Seonghwa himself, coming into the dimly lit basement where he held you.

He smirked as he saw you swallow harshly when he came close to you, face bending down at eye level to you.

"You can get out of this whole mess you know...."

Cupping your chin, he brought his lips dangerously close to yours.

"Just give in to me and agree to be mine."

You swore this had to be a joke. He'd go through all this trouble just for this shit?

Unable to stand his close proximity, you opted for showing your contempt for him by spitting on his face........something he did not take kindly to.

He looked at you as if you committed a heinous crime. And he wasn't going to let you get away with it.

Lifting your face up, he slapped you several times across the face, not satisfied until your nose was bleeding and your cheeks were stinging so badly, there was going to be bruising for sure.

You cried out when he harshly gripped your burning cheeks, adding even more pain.

"Sooner or later, you'll have to give in. The more you resist, the worse it'll get."

He left you there for 3 days, or a week. You honestly couldn't remember, you were going in and out of consciousness for a while.

When he finally let you out, you thought he'd be a little more nicer to you, but you were wrong.

Things only got worse.

You were being treated worse than an animal.

You couldn't walk anywhere, you had to crawl. You weren't allowed to use utensils for food, nor your hands.

The first time you tried to refuse to these rules, Seonghwa shoved you to the floor and dragged you by the hair across the hallway.

And as for food, he smashed your face into the bowl, you were surprised it didn't break from how hard he did it.

You could never look him in the eye or else you'd get struck across the cheek.

"Never look your betters in the eye. You should be grateful I even spare a glance at such a lowlife like you."

He lived, no...he thrived out of humiliating you.

It was sickening to know that such an individual could hate someone so much to go out of their way to try and dominate them to such an extent.

The times he was actually being 'nice' to you, his voice was filled with mock pity, talking to you as if you were his little pet.

It was those times where you truly couldn't hold back and glared at him.

And it always end with you back in the basement, stripped naked, and left there for days in the cold, body bleeding and sore from the canning he gave you.

And everytime he came back, he'd always say the same thing:

"You could end all of this if only you'd love me."

More than once you thought about giving in, even if just pretending.

He couldn't possibly treat you any worse than he did now.

But your inner strength, independence and repulsion from him kept you from giving in.

You'd rather die than ever let Park Seonghwa win and give him that. satisfaction.

But the day you found out you were pregnant with his kid, you knew you had to get out of there.

You were not going to allow a child to be raised by a monster.

You never told him anything, he couldn't know. You even resorted to cutting yourself so he'd believe you were still menstruating.

And for months you played it nice, obeyed him so he wouldn't cause you harm or to the baby.

He actually began to soften up, thinking he had finally broken you into the perfect lover he imagined.

"Fucking idiot."

That was the exact thing you thought when you finally allowed him to kiss you, instead of the forced ones he'd usually give you.

Taking advantage that his guard was down, you pulled out the knife you had hidden and didn't hesitate to plunge it on his side.

He pulled back in shock, but had no time to react because you just took out the knife and plunged it back in...

Over and over again until he layed unconscious on the floor.

Blood was everywhere and you honestly couldn't believe you did that.

Choking back the tears, you scrambled to find anything that could help you break the lock, which you eventually found.

You ran out of that place, never looking back.

You didn't run into the direction of the town, people would be too suspicious.

You ran towards the direction of the highway, hoping someone would find you and take you to the nearest hospital or police station.

It seemed luck was on your side as a woman immediately stopped when she saw you running.

She didn't hesitate to help you out, taking you to a hospital so you could get checked up.

You lied and simply said you had been kidnapped and managed to escape, feigning that you don't remember who your kidnapper was.

The police bought your story and more so dropped the interrogation when you said you didn't want to press charges and just wanted to lay low for a while.

You moved all the way across the country, far far away from the place of hell you were in.

You quickly got a job and a small, but comfortable home to raise your newborn daughter in.

She was such a cute and beautiful baby, looking like an exact replica of her father which somewhat haunted you but you pushed those thoughts aside.

Time had passed, you were safe, she was safe and almost a year old, and you'd never have to worry about that insane man ever again.........

So you believed.

Unaware of the piercing eyes that were looking through your opened window, staring at you as you fed yours and his baby.

"You'll love me in the end....."

[saeran-imagines]

Ray x Reader - Promise

It wasn't a request or anything, but I wrote some Ray x Reader hurt/comfort for my needy soul~ Based on that one time in the garden where he says all those things about how it'd be okay if you hurt him 😢 But it doesn't fit anywhere specific on the timeline~

“I’m sorry.” Ray’s voice cuts through the silence. This was your second trip out to the garden with him, and the evening had been quiet and peaceful. You’d been sitting together on a bench surrounded by roses turned orange from the setting sun. This might be the longest conversation you’ve had with him. He doesn’t seem to like talking about himself, but he listened intently as you talked about your likes, dislikes and desires. He asked a thousand questions, wanting to know every little detail about you, down to your favorite shape and your mother’s last name. Not that you minded. You satisfied his curiosity, throwing in fun little anecdotes to entertain him along the way. He’s out of questions for the night, though, and the two of you have been watching the sun go down in silence. “I’m really sorry.” The bench creaks beside you, and you turn to see his head scrunched up in his hands.

“Ray, what’s wrong?” The night had been going so well, did you say something upsetting? Did he forget about something he had to do? Your mind races through the events of the last hour trying to figure out where something could have gone wrong. 

“I’m not nearly as entertaining as the RFA...” he starts. “You could have been talking with them this whole time, but you went along with me and let me selfishly keep you here all night.” Oh no, that’s what this is about... His insecurities have hardly been a secret since the day you met him, but you’d desperately hoped they wouldn’t show themselves tonight. He deserves to enjoy himself, even if it’s just for a few hours. You reach out for him, but stop when he flinches away.

“I didn’t-” you stutter, worried that saying the wrong thing could make the situation worse. “I came here with you because I like spending time with you, okay? Tonight was wonderful.” He curls up into himself more.

“Oh god, and I’m ruining it right now, aren’t I? It was perfect and I just ruined it.” 

“No, it’s oka-”

“I’m such an idiot, you can go ahead and hit me if you want.” He finally lifts his head to look at you, revealing his tear stained face. “You can throw things at me, or kick me, or pull my hair, anything that’ll make it up to you.” His shaking body looks like it’s about to collapse into itself, his fingers digging into his knees. Seeing him in this state is too painful, you have to do something about it. You might not have a magic button to take all his pain away, but god dammit you’ll do anything in your power to make sure you’re not a source of it.

"Ray.” His head snaps up like a trained puppy at the sound of his name being called. Which one of the horrible people in his life taught him that trick? You try your best to kick that thought out of your head, you can’t focus on the past right now. “You trust me, right?”

“Of course I trust you!” he sits up straighter, voice frantic. “Anything you tell me to do, I’ll do it.” You frown. He’s getting the wrong message, but at least you have his attention now. 

“Thank you.” You smile at him, hoping it looks more reassuring than pained. “Then, can you do me a favor?” 

“Anything.” He leans in closer to you, so close that you can feel his warm breath against your face. If this were a better situation, if you were in a safer place right now, you might have leaned in to close the distance. But that’s not what either of you need right now.

“Okay, then I’m going to make a promise to you, and I want you to try your best to believe me.” He leans back a little, his intensity shifting towards confusion. 

“A promise?” he asks.

“Yeah, a promise.” You reach towards his hands but you don’t take them, instead offering yours for him to hold if he chooses. He reaches out hesitantly, glancing back up at you to make sure he really has permission before grabbing them. His grip is just a bit too tight for comfort, but that’s the least of your worries right now. “And I don’t make promises very often, so please try to believe that I’ll keep it. Okay?

“...Okay.” His body is still tense with apprehension. When you asked him for a favor he expected to have to do something, to fetch you a meal, or fix a bug on your phone, or leave you alone for the rest of the night. He would have happily ripped his heart out for you to crush under your feet. But a promise… if you were trying to torture him, this is the best way to do it. He does trust you, though, more than anyone else. Maybe… maybe even more than his savior, though he wouldn’t dare say so out loud. So as much as he wants to, he doesn’t flinch or look away as he waits for you to speak. You run your fingers across his knuckles, smiling with more confidence at his earnesty. 

“Alright,” you resist the urge to tack a ‘darling’ or a ‘sweetheart’ to the end of that. This is the most attentive he’s ever been towards you, and you don’t want to ruin that by confusing him even more. “I promise... that I’m never ever going to hurt you.” You bring his hands closer to your chest and squeeze them for emphasis. His breath hitches and his eyes widen, now unable to look away from your intense gaze. 

You take a deep breath to control your voice. You’re very passionate about this and you want it to show, but the last thing you want is to scare him off by your intensity sending the wrong message. “I’m not ever gonna hit you, or throw things at you, or shout at you...” Tears start to form behind your eyes at the thought of doing something so horrible, but you continue. “There’s nothing you could do that would push me to hurt you.” 

You take a chance and lift your hand up to cup his cheek. He gasps but doesn’t flinch, tentatively leaning into the touch instead. If only you could do more... You could wrap your arms around him and hold him against your chest, telling him that everything will be okay while you run your hands through his hair. Or pull his face closer to yours and close the distance, kissing him so deeply and passionately that he doesn’t have the chance to doubt himself. But that would do more harm than good, this isn’t the time to be self indulgent. All you can do is convince yourself that you’ll have all the time in the world for that once you’re free from this hell. 

You feel a drop of water on your hand. Did it start to rain? No, he’s crying. Did you do something wrong? Your other hand moves on its own to brush the tear from his other eye before it gets the chance to fall. “Darling?” You mentally curse yourself, the pet name fell from your mouth while you’re caught off guard. His tears turn into sobs and you don’t know what to do. 

“I’d rather...” he manages to get a few words out despite his body telling him not to, screaming at him that it’s safer not to speak. “P-Please don’t promise that. I’d rather have- have you hurt me than leave me.” He’s not looking at you anymore. His eyes are focused on the gap of bench between you, not daring to look anywhere else. Fuck it. You do exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do and wrap your arms around him, pulling him into your chest and resting your head on his shoulder. Now that he’s pressed up against you the scent of something toxic beneath his layers of cologne becomes clearer. That must be the elixir that’s been keeping him in agony for god knows how long. You hold him tighter, but immediately let up when you notice his breaths are coming out squeaky from the pressure. What irony would that be, if you crushed him to death right after promising you’d never hurt him. 

“Hey, that won’t happen either. I’m not gonna leave this place without you by my side.” All self control is lost as you rub circles into his back and play with his hair in a desperate attempt to calm him down. Your mind is racing too hard to find the right words to say, all you can do is pray that your touches hold enough emotion to get through to him. You’re mumbling something into his ear, something about everything being okay, about not leaving him. You hear yourself call him ‘baby’ somewhere in there but you try to move past that thought before you have the time to get mortified over it. Maybe something in your messy attempt at comfort worked, or maybe he’s just all cried out, but his sobs eventually even out into sniffles. Weak and tired from the emotional rollercoaster, he doesn’t think twice before snuggling further into your embrace.

“...Okay,” he whispers. What?

“Okay?” 

“I’ll... I’ll try my best to believe you. I can’t understand why you’re being so nice to me, but since you promised I’ll try to believe you.” Right, the promise. You smile into his neck. 

“Thank you. I’ll prove to you that I really mean it.”

☁ ☁ ☁

“Ray?” The bench creaks as he jumps slightly, startled from the silence being broken. After you’d wiped each other’s tears away the two of you stayed side by side on the bench, holding hands and watching the sky turn dark. An attempt at cooling down before you go back to your lonely room and he goes back to his sleepless work. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s okay. What is it?” He turns slightly to look at you, but you don’t meet his eyes. The embarrassment of losing your cool earlier is still fresh in your mind.

“I just want you to know that I really meant that promise,” you say. “And don’t think it’s just because I’m nice, because I’m definitely not above smacking people down. But this promise is for you, Ray, I promise not to hurt you. And if I do by some accident, I’ll make it up to you ten times over.” His face flushes and he looks down at his lap. 

“But you are nice, you’re the nicest person I’ve ever met.” You chuckle.

“Nah, I’m not nice. I’m nice to you, but that’s because you’re... you. There’s a lot of people in this world-” the so-called ‘savior’ comes to mind as you talk, and your voice grows colder. “A lot of people in this world that I’d crush like ants between my fingers if I could.” With narrowed eyes you raise your hand towards the Magenta building, imagining the savior sitting inside. You squish your imaginary enemy with your fingers for emphasis. It gives you a rush of joy in some weird twisted way that you should probably talk to a professional about.

“But... you won’t crush me?” He asks softly, unsure of himself. There’s a glimmer of hope in the question, though, a glimmer that wouldn’t have been there if he’d asked an hour ago. You finally look at him and he meets your eyes.. 

“No, I won’t crush you.” Genuine smiles have been in short supply for you recently, but this gentle, peaceful moment with the object of your affection coaxes one out of you. ‘I will squish you though,’ is what you wanna say before diving in to pinch his cheeks, but you settle for another squeeze of his hand. You’ll have all the time in the world for that later. Right now you just need to escape.

[sailordiamondkitty]

So... I've been on "PAW Patrol Movie" in cinema recently. And as much as I don't like the animated series (too childish for my tastes), I simply ADORED this movie. The soundtrack, the animation, the story... All PERFECT 🥰 Well, except of the fact that some scenes were less than perfect and needed some redo... So I grabbed the pen (keyboard) and wrote my version 🙃 It's a bit more angsty than original and I definitely wouldn't put it in kid's show. But it was fun to write nevertheless 🙂

The scene I'm talking about is 'Chase rescues Ryder' scene. So I started with that and went my way a few minutes after 😉 Enjoy

Oh and for the ones not familiar with the movie, here's the original scene:

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

Ryder waited impatiently for the elevator to reach the top of the ridiculously high tower. He huffed irritated, as the idea of building something such high was as crazy, as it was dangerous. The soft ping indicated that he finally arrived at the destination and the door slid open.

‘Mayor Humdinger?’ He called out, stumbling out of the elevator, the storm outside easily swaying the already unstable tower, his eyes searching the office.

‘Yes, how can I help you?’ The man suddenly appeared behind the desk at the far end of the room, laying his hand casually on the flat surface of the table. The demeanour changed drastically when he noticed a person by the door. ‘Ryder? What are you doing here?’ He snarled furiously, his pack of cats hissing, sharing the despise for the boy with their owner.

‘This tower isn’t safe!’ Ryder called, trying to stabilize his movements. ‘We’ve got to get you out of here.’

The moment he finished speaking, the lights blinked and went down, darkness enveloping the room in an instant.

‘Oh no, the power’s out. That means the elevator’s dead. We have to go now!’ The boy tried convincing the man again, turning on the flashlight on his suit, the small light giving him at least a bit of comfort.

‘Nice try!’ Humdinger answered, crossing his arms. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you!’

Suddenly the room swayed again, this time harder and the sound of metal breaking sounded from outside. They were running out of time. Humdinger seemed to finally understand that, quickly lifting himself from the chair.

‘Okay, fine! I’ll go with you’ he decided, trying not to sound scared. He made his way toward the elevator, his cats attaching themselves to his legs, restricting man’s movements. ‘But I want to make it very clear, this is not a rescue! It’s… uh... an assisted exit!’ Humdinger exclaimed imperiously.

‘You can call in whatever you want, as long as you get in the elevator now’ Ryder replied, resisting the urge to roll his eye at the man’s antics. ‘I’ll release the cables manually from above’ he explained, using Mayor Humdinger’s body to lift himself up to the elevator’s hatch. ‘Once I’ve lowered you down safely, I’ll repel down the elevator shaft.’

‘Hmph, show-off’ Mayor murmured to himself, correcting the cylinder on his head.

Ryder bit down the reply as he looked down on the man in the elevator.

‘Even though we’ve had our personal differences over the years, I take no pleasure in doing this’ he said instead, his hand on a lever.

’Doing what?’ Humdinger asked warily. Ryder didn’t answer, instead pulling the lever, releasing the elevator as it started falling down at a rapid speed, Humdinger’s screams feeling the air.

‘Heh, actually that’s pretty satisfying’ he laughed to himself, eying the disappearing shape of an elevator and counting. ‘Three one thousand, four one thousand, five one thousand’ when counted to five, Ryder quickly pushed the lever back, stopping the elevator before it could crash at the bottom of the shaft.

While attaching grabbling hook to the metal bar, Ryder opened the communication channel.

‘Hey pups’ he called out ‘Humdinger’s out, I’m coming down.’

‘Nice job Ryder, see you on the ground’ came a reply, as he started descending.

Suddenly a gush of wind broke a part of the shaft, metal panel smashing on the other side.

‘Whoa, that’s not good’ boy commented, worry on his face. The next two panels above broke, nearly hitting him, as they fell. ‘Oh, that’s very not good!’

He continued descending, this time at a much faster pace, trying to leave the attached tower before it would, inevitably and definitely sooner than later, break completely. Wind howling through the shaft shook the rope, throwing Ryder over the shaft walls as he descended. He stopped the movement, trying to stabilize himself and that’s when another panel was torn out, this time right next to him. He stared at it for a few seconds, scared, trying to quickly decide how to best omit it. Suddenly the tower screeched, the metal holders finally loosing the battle with hazardous weather. Ryder’s terrified scream broke through the howling wind, as the tower fell, burying itself into the next building.

Ryder coughed, looking over the surrounding. Falling with the tower was not a pleasant experience and he made a mental note to try and avoid it for the future. He absentmindedly pushed the emergency beacon on his suit, red light flashing steadily. He eyed the debris that blocked his leg, stopping him from moving away from the site. He tried pushing it away, although with no avail. Ryder huffed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes.

‘Looks like I’ll have to wait for the rescue’ he told himself, the pain in his crushed leg indicating it was most probably broken.

At least the storm wasn’t bothering him here, the remains of fallen tower successfully blocking the wind. Some small parts of debris and dust fell from the ceiling and he coughed again.

‘Ryder?’ he heard a concerned voice from the side, a familiar one. He looked that way to see Chase descending the debris, running towards him.

‘Chase!’ he called, happiness in his voice. ‘I can’t believe you’ve found me.’

‘You can always count on me, Ryder’ German Shepherd puppy exclaimed with confidence as Ryder turned off his emergency beacon, switching it back to flashlight.

The broken wires shot a spark of electricity and Chase looked at them, worried.

‘Come on’ puppy said, turning his gaze back to Ryder. ‘We gotta get out of here’

‘I can’t , I’m stuck’ the boy replied, trying to push the large debris off his leg.

‘On three, pull as hard as you can’ Chase decided quickly, jumping over the broken rubble and positioning himself behind Ryder. ‘One.. Two.. Three!’

Ryder pulled the leg as Chase grabbed his shirt in his teeth, trying to help. After few seconds puppy fell backwards, as his teeth slid off the cloth.

‘It won’t budge’ the boy exclaimed, looking back at his friend, feeling hopeless. So even their strength combined weren’t enough.

‘One more try!’ Chase decided and Ryder obeyed, pushing the rubble again. At the same time, German Shepherd pup circled around, sliding under the fallen part, pushing it from underneath. They struggled for a while but finally managed to free boy’s leg. As he stumbled backwards, Chase quickly run from under the debris, managing not to get crushed by it. They breathed heavily, catching breath after the struggle.

‘We made it! Ryder, we made it!’ Chase jumped in the air happily, running over to his friend. He stopped abruptly though, seeing the pained expression on boy’s face. ‘Ryder..?’

‘I think it’s broken’ his friend answered, pointing at his leg. ‘It won’t be easy for me to get out of here in this state’ he added.

Chase immediately positioned himself at Ryder’s hurt side.

‘Lean on me, I’ll help you downstairs’ he exclaimed. Ryder didn’t hesitate, as he put his hand on puppy’s back, stabilizing himself.

‘You’re a good friend, Chase’ he smiled, as they took a few small steps toward the exit.

‘You are always there for me. It’s my turn to help you this time’ German Shepherd replied with honesty.

They were halfway through, when the nearby lighting shook the building. Some dust have fallen from the ceiling and Ryder looked up. He noticed the cracks all over the ceiling, small debris falling already.

Another shake and it was too late.

‘Watch out!’ Ryder shouted, pushing Chase away mere seconds before the rubble collapsed on the boy.

The weather finally stabilized when Skye crushed her helicopter into the machine, successfully ending the abnormal storm. She used her jetpack to fly down to the street, joining the cheering, as other PAW Patrol members surrounded her.

‘Do you see Chase or Ryder anywhere?’ Zuma asked, looking around to find the missing friends.

‘No, maybe they’re somewhere else’ Liberty wondered.

Suddenly there was a buzz on the comms and Chase’s worried voice came through.

‘Puppies, we need help!’ he almost shouted ‘We’re on the other building. Ryder’s crushed under the debris! I… I can’t get him out! And he’s not answering me either!’

‘We’ll be right there!’ Marshall replied. ‘Liberty, get some men to help us out, I’m not sure our strength would be enough to free Ryder. And call an ambulance too, it might be needed. Rest of you, follow me!’

The puppies rushed to the entrance of a building, as Liberty carried on her part of a mission. They didn’t have much time, as Ryder needed medical attention. Luckily the power in the city was back on as soon, as the storm ended, so they hastily made their way toward the elevator.

‘Chase, which floor are you on?’ Zuma asked, as the door opened.

‘15th, please hurry’ came a quick answer.

‘Don’t worry, we’re on our way’ Skye reassured him, as the door slid close and the elevator moved upwards.

‘Liberty, when you’re finished, join us on 15th floor’ Rocky called the Adventure City’s pup who became the newest member of PAW Patrol just recently.

‘I’m on it, see you at the top!’ she answered, the sound in the background indicating she’s already on her way with a backup. ‘The ambulance will be here shortly too, just finished the call.’

‘Good, we’ve arrived already, looking for Chase and Ryder’ Marshall said as the elevator stopped and opened.

‘Chase, where are you?’ Rubble called. The place was filled with fallen debris and parts of what used to be Mayor Humdinger’s tower.

‘Over here’ German Shepherd emerged from behind one of the biggest piles of rubble. ‘Quick, help me get him out!’

Another ping indicated that Liberty just arrived at the scene. They joined other puppies and together hastily made their way toward Chase.

The debris was huge and all they could see of Ryder, was his head and one arm, the rest buried underneath fallen parts of walls and ceiling. He was unconscious and bruised all over, from what was visible.

‘I tried to pull him out but I’m not strong enough’ German Shepherd pup explained.

‘And it’s a good thing you didn’t’ replied a tall, brown-haired man, one of the few accompanying Liberty. He crouched next to the puppy, eyeing the debris. ‘We need to carefully remove all of the rubble’ he instructed his companions. ‘Make sure not to move the boy, we don’t know how bad are the injuries.’

The work went swiftly, although not as fast, as the puppies would have wanted. About halfway through the work, the paramedics came and helped remove rest of the debris. Ryder was then moved carefully on the stretcher, the medics quickly looking for any visible injuries.

‘Well, his left leg is definitely broken, no doubt about it’ paramedic exclaimed, motioning the men to pick up the stretcher. ‘And probably right arm too. I don’t like the bruise on his forehead but it doesn’t seem to be very serious, hopefully. He’ll be fine, no grave injuries” he added, seeing the worried looks on puppies’ snouts, especially Chase’s. He leaned to pet pup’s head.

‘You did great, we’ll take it from here’ said the other medic, as they made their way towards the elevator.

The party exited the building, an ambulance parked not far from the entrance. People crowded the street, watching Ryder being put inside.

‘Poor boy…’ some lady gasped, while other nodded, agreeing with her.

‘He’s still just a child’ another added. ‘It should not have happen.’

‘It’s Mayor Humdinger’s fault!’ a man from within the crowd shouted, and people suddenly parted, showing the purple-dressed men in a middle of escaping.

‘What? How is this my fault?’ he argued angrily, the cats hissing by his side. ‘I didn’t ask to be rescued in the first place! Why should I be responsible?’

But nobody listened. Angry shouting escalated, people closing in on Humdinger. He screamed, scared, as he was enveloped by the crowd.

Chase didn’t look at the commotion, his attention solely on a unmoving frame of Ryder in an ambulance. As the paramedics began closing the door, he rushed forward and jumped inside.

‘I’m going with Ryder’ he exclaimed, laying next to the boy.

If the medic was surprised by a sudden movement, he didn’t show it. He closed the door and made his way toward the front of the car, as the other started the engine.

‘Come on, let’s follow them in our vehicles’ Liberty decided. ‘Skye, you take Chase’s police car, since your helicopter is broken.’

‘Yeah, will have to ask Ryder for a new one’ Skye answered sheepishly. ‘I really hope he got an insurance for it.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll figure something out’ Rocky cheered her up, putting his paw on her. ‘For now let’s focus on getting to the hospital.’

Other puppies barked with an agreement and split to get into their vehicles. Then they followed an ambulance, not noticing the frantic escape of Mayor Humdinger, as he managed to get free from the crowd. Not that it mattered. All it mattered now was Ryder.

First thing that Ryder felt was pain in his left leg. Broken, he remembered. He tried opening his eyes, but a bright light from a lamp caused him to close them again. He grunted, as he prepared himself for another try. This time slower, he let his eyes accustom to the lighting. He was in a room, hospital, judging by the look of it. There was something on his right, warm and fluffy, pressed to his side. Ryder moved his head carefully and saw Chase sleeping next to him on a bed. Boy’s moving must have woken him up, as he shifted and yawned, stretching his paws. Eyes locked with Ryder and puppy jumped up.

‘Ryder!’ He shouted happily. ‘You’re okay!’

‘I guess I am’ the boy answered, laughing softly. ’What happened?’

‘I freed you from the debris, we were trying to leave the building’ Chase answered. ‘You… there was a lighting nearby. It caused the ceiling to collapse. You pushed me aside but…’ German Shephard’s eyes filled with sadness and regret. ‘Liberty got some citizens to help us remove the rubble, then they moved you to an ambulance.’

‘Oh, Chase…’ Ryder moved slowly, embracing the pup. ‘It’s alright, we’re alright.’ He reassured him.

‘But you were hurt! I couldn’t do anything to help you!’ Chase argued. ‘I failed you…’

‘No, Chase, you didn’t fail me!’ answered the boy with a shock on his face. ‘You are the bravest pup I’ve ever met. I mean do you know any other who would jump over to the next building to reach me? I sure don’t. If it wasn’t for you, I would be still stuck there.’

The door suddenly opened, and a doctor entered a room with rest of the PAW Patrol behind him. He looked up from his notebook, noticing Ryder and Chase. A warm smile appeared on his lips.

‘Ah, Ryder, I see you’re awake now’ he said, moving to stand near the bed.

‘RYDER!!’ cried the puppies in unison, jumping on a bed to cuddle with their friend, licking his face happily.

‘Alright, alright, if you want him to get healed properly, I advise to give him a room to breathe’ the doctor laughed. ‘How are you feeling, my boy?’

‘Well, my leg and arm hurt and I’m a bit sore’ Ryder answered after a while, when puppies finally decided to stop licking him. ‘Other than that, I’m good.’

‘You’ve had an amazing luck. Except broken leg and arm, as you noticed, you’re uninjured. I advise lot of relax and you should be back to normal in about few months.’

‘Don’t worry, we’ll take care of him, doc!’ Liberty barked happily, swinging her tail. ‘Hear that, Ryder? No missions for you!’

Ryder laughed at that, along with doctor. Everything was fine.

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

So there it is, hope you liked it 🙂 I noticed a few things I could change here and there, as I posted, but I decided to not rewrite the whole thing again 😅

[amphxtrite]

george weasley x fem!reader

part one: I think I’m in love

warnings: spelling/ grammar mistakes

summary: The weeks leading up to your date with George are some of the best in your life. During the date George finds himself falling even harder and finally confesses his feelings.

a/n: Sorry this took a while, I had to rewrite this because I wasn’t satisfied with the first one. 

word count: 2.8k

enjoy <3

__________________________________________

The weeks leading up to your date with George were some of the best in your life. George was amazing, making you laugh at meals, taking walks with you around black lake, or just cozying up by the fireplace with you in the gryffindor common room while you read to him, or where the two of you talked about anything and everything. “This my dear y/n is a puking pastille.” He shows you one evening after dinner. “Eat one end and you’ll begin to spew like a volcano and eat the other end and you’ll stop. Pretty great eh?” He asks looking over to you. Your eyes are wide in admiration. “That’s amazing George! When one day you have a famous joke shop, don’t forget about me okay?” you tease. George smiles with a light blush, “I would never love.” He comments honestly. Wrapping an arm around you, sighing in content as you continue to read aloud to him.

“Y/n! Did you see the tryout results?” George calls out to you as you make your way through the portrait door after class. “Yeah congrats on making Beate-” George cuts you off. “Rubbish, Oliver’s picking favourites. Did you see the way you were flying up there, you were bloody amazing!” George protests exasperated. You blush at the compliment. “Hey, he made me a back-up so if you can’t play, I’ll still get a turn on the pitch.” You reassure the pouting red-head. “Still doesn’t make it right.” He sighs dejectedly, “Enough about quidditch, how were classes today?” He shifts the subject and soon you’re telling him about how a student managed to set his paper on fire in Charms and how Snape was being a snobby twat again. You found yourself lying on the common room couch with George on your chest, speaking about the future. 

“I just don’t know what I’d like to do as a career.” You comment with a sigh, twisting a lock of George’s hair with your finger as he smiles. “Do what you love, darling.” He suggests looking into your eyes. You think this over, skimming your head for a profession that matches your likes. “Nothing really comes to mind. I want to make people smile, but also help people, the problem is I’m not much of a fighter.” You frown. “There’s no need to rush y/n, it’ll come to you eventually, for now just do what you love and enjoy your life, alright?” George smiles up at you. A small grin makes its way onto your lips, and looking down at George content in your arms, your worries melt away. “You’re right, I’ve got time.” You smile, continuing to play with his hair as he tells you a bit about his family. “You know, I think my mum would like you.” He states, wrapping his arms tighter around you.” You blush at the compliment, “I’d hope so, she seems like a wonderful woman.” 

“Oi, lovebirds, get a room!” You hear someone call out, “Fred, they were having a moment!” Angelina scolds him, hitting him lightly on the head. You laugh at the older twin’s antics. “Well I’m sorry, but we’ve got practice today and somebody’s going to be late!” Fred rolls his eyes, emphasizing the somebody. George breaks out of his sleepy trance. “That’s today? Oh bloody hell!” George lifts himself off of you and scampers into the boy’s dormitory to retrieve his equipment. Sitting up you make your way to Angelina and Fred. “Has he asked yet?” Angie raises her eyebrow at you. You flush before shaking your head ‘no’ and she scoffs, 

“It sure as hell seems like it.” She notions to the position you were in as Fred and her walked into the room. You look at her with a sheepish grin as George races down the stairs again and practically drags the other two gryffindors out of the room. “I’ll see you after practice y/n.” He calls out with a wink, disappearing from your sight. You giggle lightly, making your way to your dorm to finish your Transfiguration essay.

The night before your date, George grows more and more worried. He wants to make this date perfect for you, but he isn’t sure how, he knew he was going to take you for butterbeer, but that was so plain, what else could he do?

“Hey Fred?” He calls his twin one night. “What’s up?” Fred answers turning over on his bed to face his brother. “How can I make my date with y/n special, I want her to see that I really like her and-” Fred sighs and flops onto his back again. “Listen George, this is all very sweet, but Merlin, you’ve asked 4 times this week!” Fred shoves his face into his pillow. George blushes. “I-I just want it to be perfect.” Fred looks at his twin again. “Don’t worry about it, she likes you Georgie, just take her for that butterbeer and maybe take her somewhere afterwards, how’s that?” Fred suggests. George nods, satisfied by Fred’s answer.

 “Oh and could you teach me orchideous?”

“Bloody hell George, go to bed.”

“How do I look, Angie?” You call as you step out of the bathroom on the day of your date. “A sweatshirt? Really y/n?” Angelina sighs and gives you ‘the look’ “Well I’m sorry! I’ve never been on a date before.” You frown kneeling down in front of your trunk, searching frantically for something to wear. Angelina walks over and grabs a pair of your jeans and a black top. “Here, go change.” She pushes you back into the bathroom. You roll your eyes, but shrug, “Why not?” You whisper to yourself taking off your previous outfit and slipping on the black top and jeans. You step back out, Angelina smiles. “Now that’s more like it, let’s get some accessories and head down.” You nod, putting on a necklace and some rings. You look at Angelina “Well?” She gives you a thumbs up in approval, and a large smile. “I still can’t believe my little girl’s going on her first date!” She squeals and pretends to wipe away a tear, muttering how proud she is. “Angelina, you’re only a year older than me!” You laugh, rolling your eyes a bit as she continues the façade, a small, ‘my baby’s all grown up’ being said, as if she were talking to a child. Grabbing your wand, and finally getting her to stop, you step out of the dorm with Angelina and head down to the common room to meet your date. 

George was at the bottom of the staircase awaiting you, rocking back and forth on his heels with Fred at his side. He didn’t have much to wear for his date, much of his wardrobe consisted of his school uniforms, so did his best with a white t-shirt and black pants. When he sees you coming down the stairs with Angelina, his heart does a flip, he unconsciously runs a hand through his hair and  straightens his shirt. “Hey George.” You greet wrapping the tall boy in a hug. 

“H-hey.” George manages to murmur. He mentally curses himself, why was he so nervous? It’s not like they haven’t hugged before. 

Fred gives him a look, “Oh, right. Orchideous!” George chants, and a small bouquet springs through the tip of his wand. “For you, love.” He smiles down, holding the bouquet to you. You flush a bright pink. “Aw, thanks Georgie!” You bring the flowers to your nose and inhale the sweet fragrance before transfiguring a vase and placing the flowers inside, “Hey Ange, could you bring these up for me?” You ask glancing back at your best friend. “ ‘course y/n, now go enjoy your date.” She laughs, pushing you forwards lightly and picking up the vase. George grins and offers his arm to you. “Shall we?” You smile, grabbing his arm. “C’mon George!” You laugh, pulling him out of the common room. 

The two of you head out to the courtyard to get your slips checked before beginning the walk to Hogsmeade Village, trying to make each other smile the whole way there. “And that’s how I almost got Ron to make the unbreakable vow with me and Fred.” He explains nonchalantly. Your mouth drops open. “The unbreakable vow? Jeez George, you were hardcore.” You state, slightly impressed, but also slightly frightened. George laughs before changing the subject. “Hey, how’d you get into quidditch?” The edges of your lips pull up into a large grin. “My mom’s been playing it since she went to Hogwarts, she’s the one who taught me to fly, you know. Sometimes she’d sit on the broom with me and she’d show me how to play quidditch. I loved all of it so much, but beater’s always been my favourite position. I’ve wanted to try out for the team before, but I didn’t think I was good enough.” You shrug. George rolls his eyes. “That’s absolute bullock, you’re amazing darling.” He compliments, taking your hand in his and squeezing it. You squeeze back. “Thank you. Now what about you, how did you discover your love for quidditch?” The two of you reach The Three Broomsticks as George wraps up his story, you found it adorable that George got jealous of his brother’s when they’d fly around the backyard, so when he finally learned to fly and play quidditch, he never wanted to touch down again, well until his mum made him of course. The two of you laugh over butterbeers. Sharing secrets and stories, enjoying the comfortable feel of each other’s presence and the warmth of the cozy pub. By the time your glasses were empty, the sun had set a bit and the sky had turned a light pink. “We should probably head back.” You sigh with a small frown, not wanting the night to end. “Ah, ah, ah love, I’ve got a surprise for you.” George grins mischievously. You cock your eyebrow, but follow George out of the pub and in the direction of Black Lake. “Now cover your eyes for me darling.” He asks, turning back to you. You roll your eyes, but oblige, bringing your hands up to your face. “You aren’t planning on pushing me into the lake are you?” You worry, knowing George was an infamous prankster. George chuckles, taking your hand. “No love… At least not today.” He smirks, and you push him slightly with your shoulder. He continues to guide you towards the lake, and the scent of the water and moss around you gets stronger. George pauses and takes a deep breath. “Alright y/n, you can look now.” You lift your hands from your face and slowly open your eyes, excitement evident on your face. You refocus after having your eyes closed for so long and gasp at the sight in front of you.

George had led you to the most beautiful picnic you had ever seen. A blanket was laid on the grass, along with a thick quilt on top of it, a cute brown basket was placed in the center, along with floating candles that adorned the sky around you. 

“I hope you like it, I wanted this date to be perfect, and-” You cut him off. “George, this is more than perfect, I love it!” Your arms find themselves wrapped around him again as you breathe in his familiar, warm scent and sigh at the feeling of his strong arms encircling you again. “I’m glad.” He smiles down at you. You blush at the close proximity of your faces and though you don’t realize it at first, you start to lean forwards. George notices this and flushes redder than his hair, his heart racing as he leans in as well. As your lips brush his, a strong gust of wind blows past you and you feel a shiver run through your body, and you pull back. “B-bloody hell, I didn’t think It’d be this chilly.” You comment, rubbing your hands down your arms for a bit of warmth. George, still blushing, regains his train of thought. “Oh, good thing I packed for the occasion.” He rushes over to the picnic basket and pulls out two jumpers. “Here.” He hands you a red, knitted sweater with a ‘G’ on the front. You smile gratefully and tug it on, loving the feeling of the sweater engulfing you. You sit down on the blanket and wrap the quilt around your shoulders. You look up to see George still standing, gazing at you, admiring how adorable you were in his sweater. “Well, come on then!” You tease opening your arms to him. George’s smile widens as he takes a seat next to you, smiling as you wrap the quilt around his shoulders too and snuggle closer to him. 

You get settled in between George’s legs, his arms wrapping around your torso and his chin on your shoulder before asking, “What else have to got in the basket?” He grabs the basket and tugs it towards you. “I packed sandwiches, treacle tarts, some sweets and a bottle of pumpkin juice.” He lists off on his fingers. You smile, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite. “Delicious, how did you know these were my favourite?” You tease, taking another bite. “I noticed you eat them a lot at lunch, so I figured they were my best bet.” George smiles, grabbing his own sandwich, the two of you eat in comfortable silence. As you pour yourself some pumpkin juice, you smile thinking of the wonderful time you were having. “This day has been amazing George.” You look over at him shyly. “Thank you.” you press a kiss on his cheek. The red-head’s eyes light up, like a kid on Christmas morning, a rosy blush blossoming on his face. “Of course darling, only the best for you.” He wraps his arms tighter around your body and takes a deep breath. You look over to him, your eyebrows knitting together in concern, “are you alright?” You ask, cupping a hand on his cheek, searching his eyes for discomfort. George only smiles, taking your hand in his and kissing your palm. “Thank you y/n.” Your eyes fill with confusion. “For what Georgie?” Your thumb runs over his cheeks a couple times. “For being here with me, listening to my dreams, and listening to me speak in general.” He sighs out. “For most of my life, people have only seen me as ‘one of the twins’ I’ve never been seen as my own person, but then you come into my life and make me realize I’m not just ‘one of the Weasley twins’ I’m me, George Weasley, you make me feel seen.” He admits, eyes full of honesty. You feel yourself well with tears as George continues. “You’re an amazing person y/n, and I don’t think I can go another day without asking you.” He presses his forehead against yours. “Will you be my girl?” You feel a couple of tears escape your eyes as you look into George’s beautiful brown orbs. A rush of happiness consumes you as you cup your other hand on your love’s face. “Yes George, yes. Of course I’ll be your girl.” You see his smile widen and his eyes glisten with joy before you pull his face closer and press a kiss to his lips, a month of accumulated love spilling through you. George grins into your lips, moving his hand to the back of your neck as he tilts his head for a better angle. The kiss was soft and slow, letting your emotions truly express themselves. He tasted of pumpkin juice and sweets, along with something you could only describe as purely George. perfect, you think to yourself. His lips moved in sync with yours in a passionate dance, the rush of sparks through your body weakening your senses until all you could feel was George, his lips against yours and his body flush against you. 

George finally pulls back from the kiss, keeping his forehead against yours and his eyes closed. “Wow.” is all he can manage to say, as he catches his breath. He couldn’t believe it, he kissed you. He really kissed you! He does his best to contain himself, but a giddy smile breaks through as he opens his eyes again to your gorgeous e/c eyes, full of happiness. “Best. Night. Ever.” He states pressing quick kisses to your lips in between each word. “Does this mean I can kiss you all the time now?” He questions innocently, a small pout on his face. You roll your eyes. “Of course love.” You laugh happily as he peppers kisses all over your face. “George!” You scold with a grin as he starts to kiss down your jawline. He pulls back, a smirk on his face “What?” He teases pressing another kiss to your jaw. Admiring your pink face, flushed from laughter and love, he sighs through his nose and buries his face into the crook of your neck again. You kiss his head before relaxing into him. “I can’t wait for my future with you.” You comment quietly, snuggling closer to George’s broad chest. You feel him grin into your neck happily. “I like the sound of that.” He murmurs. “Our future together.” 

@loveee911​ @justmesadgirl​

[starlightsearches]

Kissing Practice

I think you can accurately chart my mental state based solely on how often I write College AUs. We’ve got some enemies (not pictured) to idiots/friends to lovers in the next part, and I couldn’t be more excited!

Let me know what you think, feedback is always appreciated 💖

Armitage Hux x GN Reader / College AU

Warnings: Language

“Have you ever . . . ?”

Armitage already knows he’s turning red, but his suspicions are confirmed when he catches his reflection in the small mirror sitting on the top of your desk. Unlike the rest of your room, which features a thin layer of clutter—picture frames, mugs full of pens, piles of hats and jewelry and accessories—on all flat surfaces, the desk is clear of everything but his computer and notebook, and the mirror. He wonders if you cleared everything else off for him before he arrived, but he pushes the thought away.

“No, I, uh-” he turns to you, searching for the least embarrassing words to finish the sentence, but his mind goes completely blank when he sees you, perched at the end of your bed. You sit casually, with one leg hanging over the edge, and you use the other to support your notebook as you tap your pen absentmindedly against your teeth. Your eyes, though, are completely and totally focused on him.

“It’s okay,” you say after a moment of waiting, saving him the embarrassment, “I haven’t either.”

That’s not what he expected. He can’t mask his surprise fast enough, so he leans into it instead, letting it show in his expression and bleed into his tone, “really?”

“I mean, once, but I don’t really count it. Spin the bottle, and I was, like, twelve or something—I don’t even remember.” You punctuate your sentence with a shrug before returning to your work.

Hux faces forward again—not that he’ll get any of his own work done—although he at least makes an attempt to look like he’s focused. He’s trying to figure out how you both arrived here—not just at this topic, but here. In your room. So . . . amiable. It’s not easy for him to forget how tenuous this friendship is. How long he had to wait for the biting, whispered remarks and glares from across the room to turn into something gentler—with less teeth. It took the two of you ages to learn to trust each other, but no time at all for him to forget why he was ever so wary of you in the first place.

“But still,” you break the silence, and Hux startles, “it would be nice to, you know, know what you’re doing . . . when the time comes.”

Hux furrows his brow. What did that have to do with your friendship?

You watch him closely as you wait for a response, chewing on your lip and he stiffens. Oh. You’re still talking about kissing.

His palms grow sweaty, and it’s getting harder and harder to keep his grip on his pen, but he hums in assent because it seems like the safest option; his mouth has gone dry.

“I just feel like most people have so much more, I don’t know, experience? I guess it’s stupid to stress out about it, but-” you heave a sigh, and he can feel your eyes on him, your gaze burning a hole in the side of his face, “-it’d be nice to figure it all out, you know, before it counts.”

Damn, now his mouth feels too wet—how did that happen?; he has to swallow before he speaks, “Are you suggesting . . . “

“I don’t know. Would you- I mean, we could . . .”

There’s a heavy silence as he thinks about how he should respond. Armitage knows, without any thinking at all, that he’d like to say yes. He’s not too proud to admit, to himself at least, that he’s thought about it before, on occasion. Or maybe a little more than that.

The rational part of him is louder than he’d like.

It’s the rational, or maybe self-deprecating is the better word, part of him—the one that shares his father’s voice—that reminds him that he couldn’t handle it. That he’ll always be a stupid, pining boy no matter what happens. And it feels . . . dishonest in a way, knowing that it would mean something different for him. A chance to have something he craves but hasn’t had the courage to ask for.

“Actually, you know what?” You’re speaking again before he gets the chance to, rushing to get all your words out “-It’s a really stupid idea. I don’t know why I even brought it up. You can just ignore me.” You close the textbook lying next to you with a harsh whomp, running a hand down the side of your face. He knows what you’ll say next (I’m feeling pretty tired, maybe you should go) and there’s an unexpected pang in his heart. He can’t let this slip through his fingers.

“No,” his tone is surprisingly assertive, and he adjusts it before he continues, unwilling to seem too eager,  “I mean, I think we should. Since, uh, since we’re friends.” He ignores the irritating thought at the back of his mind that reminds him he’s never kissed any of his other friends.

“Right, it’s just . . . good practice.”

“And it’s not like it means anything.”

“Yes, exactly,” you’re gesturing a little wildly—the way you always seem to do when you get excited—before folding your hands in your lap, caging your fingers together to keep them under control. “ . . . so, do you want to come over here?”

“Oh, right.” Hux’s heart hammers against his chest as he arranges himself at the end of the bed next to you, resting his hands at his sides, hoping he shows more confidence than he feels.

You shift a little closer, turning to face him, and his entire body thrums. He’s never been so aware of his proximity to someone. Never felt his nerves alight like this, waiting for the first brush. There’s none yet; it’s an awkward dance as you move into each other, neither sure of the best way to begin. Although it’s becoming increasingly clear that neither of you know what you’re doing, he finds that inexperience doesn’t temper his excitement at all.

“I guess I could just-” you bring one hand to rest lightly against the flat of his cheek, the smooth pad of your thumb tracing soft lines over his skin. Your hand pulls him closer, until the tips of your noses are brushing, and he can smell the mint on your breath.

There’s a heartbeat’s pause, but no length of time could settle the growing fire that sparks over him in waves. He wonders if you can feel it, rolling off him, if you know the kind of effect you have.

Before he can ponder the question any further, you press your lips gently to his.

Oh god. Fuck. Your lips meet his, and immediately he’s overcome. Does it always feel this good to be kissed? He hopes so, since it doesn’t seem like he’ll get the opportunity to do this with you again. Your lips are softer than he had previously imagined, fitting between his own so perfectly. His hands clench to fists at his sides, his body unsure how to react to such a glorious feeling. Do you feel as good as he does?

A dim flicker of doubt smothers his elation. Is he doing this right? Or are you just putting up with him, waiting for the moment it’s over? He’s hyper-aware of each point of contact, trying to read your reaction and coming up blank.

On instinct he presses his mouth to yours, hoping to yield some kind of reaction, but he’s not thinking straight. He crushes into you, much harder than necessary and regret pools in his lungs as you flinch away.

“I’m- I’m sorry,” he stumbles over his words, sure he’s ruined everything. Even though it pains him to say it, he knows he has to give you permission to get rid of him. “We can stop if-”

“No!” you interrupt him with wide eyes, placing a hand on his arm as if to hold him there. You both turn to stare, eyes lingering on the place where your hand meets his sweater. “I mean, it’s fine. I’m fine. That’s what practice is for, I guess,” you finally meet his eyes, leaning in again but he pulls back, pausing, not completely satisfied.

“Did I hurt you?”

“I was just startled, mostly, but I’m fine now. do you want to . . . keep going?”

Although he thinks you might be downplaying your pain for his sake, he leans closer, bridging the gap between the two of you with the gentlest pressure he can manage, allowing you to set the pace. You must have enjoyed it a little, he reasons, if you’re so willing to kiss him again.

He reads no hesitation in your body now—your fingers more solid against him as you run them gently over the hair at the back of his neck, and he lets out a shuddering breath in response.

“Is this alright?” you whisper the question against his lips and he nods, his nose brushing in lines over the skin of your cheek. You’ve pressed yourself closer to him, your chest against his, and he’s not sure if it’s your heartbeat he feels pounding against his skin or his own.

This is natural, meant to be, even. The two of you move like you spend all your time wrapped up in each other. You kiss him like you know him.

The thought emboldens him, and he holds you closer, his hand to your hip. The hem of your shirt slides away under his touch, your bare skin solid beneath his palm, warm and pliant and more than he could ever hope for. When your tongue drags gently against his bottom lip, when he feels the low moan that escapes your lungs, he’s sure there’s nothing in the world he wouldn’t trade to just stay like this.

The door slams open, loudly, but your roommate manages to spit out the words, “oh my god, I’m so sorry,” before either of you think to pull away.

He sits up off you, shielding you slightly as you readjust your clothing, your hair and he tries his best to surreptitiously wipe his mouth off on the back of his hand. Your roommate sways slightly in the doorway, squinting at you with unfocused eyes—she’s a little more than a little drunk.

“I’m so sorry, sweetie, I didn’t know that you had, uh, company,” she says again, much louder than necessary before shifting to a stage whisper that both of you have no trouble hearing, “do you need me to go somewhere while you-”

“I was actually just leaving,” Armitage jumps from the bed, feeling the blush begin to spread. He runs an errant hand through his hair before throwing his notebook and computer into his bag as quickly as he can manage, halfway out the door and past your roommate before he pauses to turn back. 

He can still taste you on his lips as he looks at you, crowds of words trying to force their way out of his mouth, but he lets them die there. He’s not going to be selfish. He’s not going to ruin this.

“I’ll . . . see you tomorrow in class?” Is what he says instead, and your shoulders sag—in relief, maybe—before you nod.

“Yeah, of course . . . I’ll see you tomorrow, Armitage.”

The door closes behind him with depressing finality, and he’s left alone in the dismal light of the hallway.

He’s at the staircase before he drops his bag off his shoulder, leaning back against the wall to catch his breath.

His fingers graze his lips without much thought, back and forth. It’s just skin against skin. He should feel something, even a small fragment of what he felt with you. But there’s nothing now—almost the absence of feeling in memory’s wake.

Armitage huffs, pushing himself away from the wall, down the stairs and out the door into the cold night air. There’s no use in thinking this way. Because, no matter how he feels, he’ll never get to kiss you again.

[silverwhiteraven]

Wings of Broken White - Ch. 10

Tag List: @marichatmay

[ Posted on Ao3 ] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 9 ] [ Chapter 11 ]

[ Summary: End of School picnic preparations! ]

To celebrate the class’s successful final project, they were putting together plans for a large picnic in the park at the end of the last day of school. The last day wasn’t mandatory for students to attend unless they had work to catch up on or tests to make up. So Marinette was spending that time at home, busying herself in the upstairs kitchen, preparing food and treats.

A faint knocking sound distracted her a couple hours in, and after making sure she could walk away without anything burning, listened for the source. She gasped and smiled when she realized it was coming from above her, from her own room. The balcony! Chat must be here!

She ran up to her room and up to the lost, and sure enough, she could see Chat Blanc, seated on the balcony floor next to the trapdoor. She pushed it open quickly, and he perked up, his tail flicking and wings spreading out behind him excitedly.

“Princess! You came!” He smiled wide.

Marinette giggled and pulled herself up to sit next on the edge of the hatch. “But of course, I can’t just leave my Knight outside like a stray now can I?” He laughed at that and she hid her smile behind her hand. “So what are you doing here, gryphlet?”

“Well you see,” he flourished a hand dramatically as he spoke, “I heard that today of all days was your last day of collège, and I wanted to congratulate you. So here I am.”

She laughed and shook her head. “You sure it’s not because I'm cooking? If you heard about it being our last day, then there's no way you didn't hear that we’re planning a picnic later, too.”

He gasped dramatically, setting a clawed hand to his chest like he had been hurt. It did nothing to erase the cute smile on his face, though. “You doubt my intentions, Princess? Well, you are right to do so,” he sighed dramatically. “Indeed, I am not just here to congratulate and shower you in praise, but to rob you of your goodies. Forgive this dashing rogue of his glutinous ways?”

He fluttered his eyes at her, and she couldn't help but laugh. “You are forgiven, on one condition,” she raised her hand, index finger raised to indicate her one condition.

“Name it,” he leaned in, looking ready to do anything.

“Help me with the baking and cooking for later,” she stated simply with a coy smile. “You can eat a portion of anything you make yourself. That’s the means for you to get fed. Deal?”

“Deal!” He hopped to his feet with a big grin and she gently laughed, happy to see his energy. She led him back down into her room and then into the kitchen.

She quickly checked on everything, making sure nothing had burned while she was gone. Satisfied, she waved Chat Blanc to join her at the counter. His previously excited mood was replaced by slight nervousness. He looked unfamiliar with the layout, though his eyes sparked with curiosity. Marinette tried not to stare as she cleared her throat and started introducing him to the ingredients and tools. “Now, don’t touch anything just yet,” she added when she finished showing him around. “Cooking has ground rules you should always follow.”

“Like a chemistry lab?” His ears flicked and wings shuffled, and she giggled, nodding.

“Yep, just like a chemistry lab. First, let's get you an apron.” She grabbed one of the hooks by the stairs, and as she went to toss the neck strap over his head, she noticed the decal on the front. Kiss the Cook. She blushed and turned it backwards, swiftly putting it on Chat before he could see. Now the decal was hidden from view and she wouldn't have to think about it. She then went behind him to tie the waist strap, but paused as she looked at his wings in the way.

“Something wrong?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Your wings...These aprons are usually for my parents. I only use them when my wings are bound,” she said quietly, a bit awkward and unsure.

“Oh,” he replied softly. Her breath caught and she stepped back as his wings moved. They dropped slightly, only to completely fold up, pull against his back. He smiled at her gently over his shoulder. “Better? As long as you don’t tie it too tightly, I’ll be purrfectly comfortable like this.

Dropping her head to hide another blush, she nodded, coming closer and tying the apron. “So, uhm, next thing. Always keep your hands- uh, talons, washed.” He chuckled at her fumbled pun but nodded and went to the sink. She mentally facepalmed, knowing it would be awkward to wash gloves.

She carried on instructing him, meanwhile trying to keep to the edge of his vision until her flustering calmed down. She made sure he knew never to cross contaminate foods, to always clean the work area as they went, and continue to wash hands frequently. She scolded him when the oven timer went off and he almost reached in without proper hand protection. He was sheepish about it, but to her satisfaction, he didn’t make the mistake again.

At some point, she hadn't noticed the amount of flour dusting him because of how well it blended in. She only realized it when he had patted her head in reassurance that he could do a task without help now. The pat left a white handprint in her midnight hair, and she guffawed indignantly when she noticed it in her reflection on a mixing bowl. She didn’t bother trying to get it off, though, knowing it was pointless.

Finally, with quiche, pasta salad, croissants, and macaroons all done after a few more hours of working together, they were now sitting on the floor, waiting for the bread rolls to finish. The dishes and counters were already clean, the aprons were back where they belonged, and Marinette had even let out her wings to stretch them out alongside Chat Blanc’s. She tried not to think about their feathers brushing as they sat shoulder to shoulder, watching the oven like a pair of tired but happy hawks.

Chat started humming as they sat in comfortable silence, and she listened to the gentle sound. It was enhanced by a subtle purr, and she had to hold her breath to keep from giggling at the cuteness of the moment.

When he stopped, she asked in a whisper, “What song was that?”

“Hm? Oh,” he smiled softly and rubbed his neck. “A lullaby my mother used to sing. ‘Robin and his Maiden’. I made my own little parody of it not long after I got my Miraculous. Well, I only managed to do the first line, really, I'm stuck on the rest.”

Marinette sat up, attention caught. “Tell it to me, I want to hear.”

He hesitated, a blush under his mask indicating it was from shyness and not from doubt. “The original first line went like this: Little Robin on a roof, without his Maiden. The story is about Robin Hood and Maid Marian. Now I say it like this: Little Kitty on a roof, without his Lady.” Marinette giggled, realizing the comparison to her alter ego. “I’m stuck on the rest, because the story doesn't seem to quite fit with the changed names, you know?”

With a nod of understanding, she nudged his shoulder with her own. “Art is hard, I know. It’s okay to be stuck. You should try playing with the names a bit, maybe the rest will come to you along with fresh inspiration.”

He nodded and looked away, back to the oven as he began to hum again. Soon, the hums turned to words. “Little Gryphon on a roof, all alone without his Princess,” he gave a cheshire grin as she burst out in laughter and a fresh fluster. She pushed him over and he laughed as he flopped on the floor. She stood up and huffed, hiding her smile as she checked on the bread. The timer went off just in time, and, feeling satisfied with their golden brownness, she took them out and set them to cool on the counter.

She glanced at the clock and sighed. “Everything is done in time, that’s good. The picnic is in an hour.” She turned to Chat with a soft smile. “Without fail, I always end up late to meet-ups because I put way too much on my plate right before hand. Looks like I’ll be on time this year. I couldn't have done this without you, Blanc.”

He smiled back at her from his place on the floor, looking perfectly content to be there as he practically basked in her thanks. She laughed, feeling light and newly carefree. When they lulled back into comfortable silence, he sat up and looked at the clock himself. A sad smile replaced his normal one.

“Looks like I need to go before then. I have somewhere to be later, too.” He stood, brushing the last of the flour off his white suit, his wings fluttering as they too shook out little puffs of powder. Marinette nodded and joined him, leading him back upstairs and out onto her balcony.

“Thank you for stopping by, gryphlet. I had fun,” she looked away, smiling to herself. “And don’t forget these, your promised treats for helping.” She handed him a cardboard pastry box, containing a few of the goods they had made together.

He beamed at her as he accepted it, and then took her hand in his and bowed. “It was my pleasure, Princess.” He kissed the air above her knuckles and she giggled, struck breathless by his action. He straightened back up and let her go, smiling wide. “I’ll see you again soon.”

And just like that, he was leaping from her balcony and gliding away on wings that matched the sky and clouds.

It took her a little while to go back inside, having taken her time to be dazed as she processed the last few hours. Tikki had broken her out of it with barely restrained giggles and a reminder that they needed to get ready for the picnic with her class.

As expected, the hour passed by quickly after that, and with a little help from her parents, all of Marinette and Chat Blanc’s efforts were brought to the park and set out on tables alongside everyone else’s contributions.

Everyone in their class made it to the park, and a few had even dragged along some family members who were willing to celebrate with them. Many of them spent the whole picnic talking about the school year, and all the random moments that stuck in their minds. Hawkmoth and some Akumas were brought up at some point, and almost half an hour was subsequently spent on everyone acting out each other's Akumatized versions in light and welcomed jest.

When it all started to dwindle to a close, everyone spent time making summer plans together and discussing which lycées they were going to. It was sad to think that their group, together for four years strong, was going to be split up. Luckily, everyone had plans to join extracurricular school groups that were likely to have them meeting up just as often as before. Even their humanitarian projects like planting public trees and gardens was something they were excited to continue.

If anything, they all knew that distance wasn’t going to make their bonds any lesser.

And so, all in all, Marinette had a good time, and she felt ready to keep going into the future.

[suwya]

Till the Stars Had Run Away - Chapter 7

Summary: Killian Jones was a voyager. Actually, he was many things, or at least he had been - a lieutenant, a brother, a loving boyfriend - until everything had turned upside down and his life had hit an all time low. So, he gave up. Aboard his spaceship he abandoned Arcadia, his planet, navigating the stars and other solar systems in search of... well, he still didn't know what he was searching for, but his rule was "never remain in the same place longer than necessary."

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Rating: M

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Prologue; Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6

AO3

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A/N: Thank you @thisonesatellite for being the best beta reader I could ever ask for. And thank to all of you who are reading this.

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Chapter 7

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Everything exists,

everything is true

and the earth is just

a bit of dust beneath our feet.

(W. B. Yeats)

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“Help yourself.” David had accompanied Killian to some sort of warehouse with various spare parts of spaceships piled up here and there on shelves. “Sorry, I don't understand much about mechanics.” He apologized.

Killian looked around him, some pieces appeared to be useful, others looked like half-broken remains from which perhaps a couple of bolts could be extracted but nothing more. “It seems more boneyard than storage.”

“Yeah, well, not everybody who landed here was lucky enough to tell the tale..” David sighed.

A look of understanding passed between them. Killian nodded and started to rummage through the pieces. They had just checked the Jolly Roger to assess the damages, passing through a hidden corridor that led directly to the hangar without having to go out into the open. If I had known this passage existed, I would have probably been spared my hospital stay, Killian had thought.

“What is like to grow up on this planet?” He asked nonchalantly, still trying to decipher the man next to him.

“Nobody is from Vernal-Den.”

Killian looked at him suspiciously “Then, how did you land here?”

“Probably, same as you did. We had entered the gravitational field without even realizing it. Sadly, we were less fortunate than you, our spaceship was destroyed. It’s a miracle we survived. And in no time we were trapped here.”

“And you built an underground city.” There was astonishment in his voice.

“It’s not that big, and the tunnels were already part of this planet, we just repurposed them for our convenience.”

“How many of you live here?”

David appeared lost in a faraway thought. “There were more than twenty of us in the original group. Some had already gone away, joining a fleeing ship. Some… well, let’s just say they had tried an escape route that did not turn out to be the best choice. There’s just a few of us left now.”

“Why didn’t you leave?” Killian was curious to know what kept the other man tied to this lost land.

“I contemplated the possibility a couple of times. But at the beginning it was chaos, people needed a leader. Someone who took responsibility for organizing things down here.”

“You?”

“I was their leader on our home planet.” David answered, and Killian studied the man in front of him, his stance, the way he always looked straight into the eyes of his interlocutor. He exuded confidence and Killian had no trouble imagining him as a charismatic manager or even a king. But when he was about to ask, the other man went on. “When things started to run by themselves, I considered going somewhere else, but well, you can imagine, we don’t receive many visitors.”

“So if the opportunity arises to leave now, you will take it on the fly?”

“I don't know,” David shook his head, “but I would certainly think about it.”

Killian spent some time choosing pieces from the shelves. When he felt satisfied with his choices, he said “I think I have everything I need.”

David nodded and they made their way back to the ship. Killian was eager to get started on the repairs, the other man said he had some tasks to do and would be back to pick him up in a few hours, so Killian found himself alone in the hangar. But that was no problem, he loved devoting sweat and tears to his ship, and fixing it was for him like healing the wounds of a close friend.

Time flew by when he was with his lady, and when David returned, Killian was covered in grease and oil stains. “I’ve just talked to Mary Margaret”, the blonde man stated, “dinner should be ready soon, we better go home.”

A few corridors and passages down, David stopped in front of a double door. He seemed to ponder something, but in the end, he said “Let me show you something.”

Behind that door there was one of the most amazing things Killian had ever seen. A greenhouse. The man remembered when Henry mentioned it. Now he understood why the boy was so enthusiastic about it.

The place was enormous. Plants and trees of all kinds and species grew in full bloom under an artificial source of bright light and the temperature in the room was slightly wet but pleasant. Scents of different flowers filled the air and Killian recognized some fruits that he had only seen in pictures. He was staring with awe. “Well, this is…”

“Outstanding? Extraordinary?” David finished his sentence. “Yeah. Exactly my thoughts when I found it.”

“What do you mean, found it? Was it already here when you arrived?”

David nodded.

“But how could it be? You said that nobody was living here when you landed. Who is in charge of this place?”

“The place runs all by itself.” Under the astonished look of the other man, David added “Many things are strange on this planet, and I don’t have all the answers.” He shook his head. “I wish I had.”

~·~·~·~

Back home Killian took a quick shower to get rid of all the grease of the engine and when he was redressing with clean clothes, Emma approached him and started to help him with the ointment and fresh bandages for his bruises. They were alone in the upper part of the loft. She was chewing her bottom lip, maybe because she was concentrating on the task, or so he thought, and that’s why he was surprised when she abruptly said “We need to talk.”

He arched a brow. “I’ve found that when a woman says that, I'm rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

She rolled her eyes. “I want you to know what Sidney Glass told me about New-Tolemac.”

Emma had just finished fixing the last of the gauze, and Killian put a hand on hers stopping her movements. She lifted her gaze, staring into his eyes perplexedly. He nodded, trying to silently tell her that she could trust him with whatever she wanted to reveal.

But the closeness, her hand on his chest, the way she was looking at him, it was too much to bear for Killian. Intense and maybe inappropriate thoughts were forming in his head, and he needed to pay attention to what she was about to say. He took a step back and started to put on a shirt.

Emma sat down at the end of the bed. She was fidgeting, clearly uncomfortable and worried. “The King and Queen of New-Tolemac have joined forces with the Industry.” She blurted.

“Well, that’s a powerful partnership, indeed.” Killian conceded.

“But why? For years they have built and perfected a plan to defeat the Industry, they have been preparing for war. Now they want to be their ally. I don’t understand.” Emma shook her head.

“People often change sides according to their benefits.”

“Yeah. Mr. Glass said they have a common goal. But he didn’t know what that was. Or he didn’t want to reveal it to me.” Emma had been staring at her feet so far. But she frowned and raised her gaze to find his. “I don’t know what to think.”

Killian sat down next to her and covered her hand with his. “What is exactly troubling you?”

“If New-Tolemac doesn’t fear a possible attack of the Industry, maybe they won’t be needing Henry as their heir anymore. So I should be relieved. But if they still need Henry for their future business, they are more powerful now, and finding my son wouldn’t be much of a problem for them.” She shivered. “I’m terrified.” She admitted.

Killian looked sympathetically at her, then he opened his arms and she leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. “We will protect Henry. Nothing bad will happen to the boy.” He tried to reassure her, and she mentally thanked him for his choice to use the word we.

~·~·~·~

When Emma and Killian went downstairs Henry was immersed in a story. Mary Margaret was putting some things in place on her shelves, which in Killian’s opinion was not at all necessary, as they already seemed in order; he noticed that the boy glanced confused towards the brunette woman but didn't give it too much weight.

David was in the kitchen, browning some vegetables. "You absolutely have to try these," he told his audience, "they don't have all the intense flavor they had on our planet, but, given that they are from a greenhouse, they are not bad at all."

“What was your home planet?” Killian inquired.

“One of the NTH-Confederates.” It was Mary Margaret who answered.

“No way!” Henry had stopped giving attention to his tablet.

“Yes, why? Do you know them?” Was David’s question, while his wife simultaneously asked: "Have you been there?"

“Everybody in the multiverse knows them.” Killian stated. “I traveled a lot, but I never went that far away. Those planets are surrounded by legends and myths.”

“Well, it’s a very tangible and existing myth.” The brunette said with a nostalgic look in her eyes.

“It’s so cool! It has to be a wondrous place.” Henry was as enthusiastic as usual.

“Yeah. Well… I’d like it to be as cool as it used to be.” There was a hint of sadness in David’s voice. Then he shook his head as if he didn't want to indulge in melancholic thoughts. “But, they still have the best fillglow team of the multiverse!”

“What are you talking about?” Killian rhetorically asked.

“Why, The Buttercups, of course!”

“No, no, no.” Killian accentuated it by swinging one finger. “I mean, they are some fine fellows, I won’t argue with that. But The Black Clippers? That’s a team as it ought to be!”

“Oh, come on! The Buttercups have won four major leagues. What did your team win?”

“It’s easy to have the most requested players on the market when you are loaded. My boys, they cut their teeth on the field, they fought to reach where they are. They were not a guaranteed winning team, and look at them now, top end of the MFC table this year. Plus, they play fair.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” David was staring back at the other man, chin raised, one hand on his hip. He might even have looked threatening, were it not for the fact that in his other hand he was brandishing a wooden spoon and wearing an apron that read "the most charming chef in the world".

“Easy guys.” His wife tried to make peace. “Dinner is almost ready, would you like to help set the table?”

They all ate quietly, the boys still talking about sports, but with Mary Margaret's gentle interjection now and then, and some glances at her husband, they didn’t argue much. Emma, instead, was delighted, looking at Killian talking about his favorite team as if he was defending his honor.

When they finished eating, the brunette stood up and said to her husband “David, you should go and do your patrol, while I check at the hospital if they need anything.” Something that Killian had already listened to the previous day, as well just after dinner.

Henry looked at the woman frowning. “Why do you always repeat the same actions, day after day?” He was perplexed.

Killian hummed as if he had the clues to the boy’s puzzle “This is a stuck-track planet, my lad.” he explained to a confused Henry. “I’ve been on some of them when I was young.”

“You say it as if you were an old fellow.” Emma snorted. “What are you, a million years old?”

“It’s more like two hundred.” Was his reply.

And to her surprise, she didn’t detect any hint of a lie. “Are you kidding me?”

Killian was about to reply, but Henry interrupted their banter “What’s a stuck-track planet?”

“It means that time runs differently here.” The man explained. “The days or even weeks we spend on this planet are probably just a couple of minutes back home.”

The boy seemed fascinated by the idea. “Wow! Now I understand why my watch gives almost the same hour, it's not broken, it just moves really slow!”

“Exactly. And it affects people, too.” Killian went on. “They don’t age, or at least not in the way you do on Althea-Seals.” Then he drew near Emma, whispering so that only she could hear him “Stuck-track planets may have given me experience, but as you can see I’ve retained my youthful glow.” He winked at her, who just rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile.

“This is why the days all look the same here.” Henry deduced, who was giving further thought to the subject.

“This is why we follow routines so strictly.” Mary Margaret chimed in. “It helps count the passing of time.”

“Does that mean that you and David aren’t the age you appear, either?” Emma questioned.

The other woman thought about it. “Add twenty years, give or take. But it’s hard to say exactly.”

The married couple excused themselves while heading out of the loft to carry out their duties. Killian and Emma started to put away the remains of the dinner. Henry was probably still eager to know as much as possible about this strange planet and its slow time, but when he stood up with his dirt plate in his hands he couldn’t suppress a yawn. His mother insisted on him going to bed.

~·~·~·~

“Where do those flying rocks around the planet come from?” Killian asked David after he had come back from his patrol.

Henry was already sleeping upstairs, and the three of them were sitting around the table.

“Ahm, it’s not so easy to explain.” The blond man answered.

“Give it a try.” Killian wanted to understand how Vernal-Den worked.

David shook his head. “It’s not that I don’t want to tell you, more than I don’t actually know about it.” He made a pause trying to find better words to explain his point of view. “I would say it’s remotely directed.”

“From where?” Emma asked curiously.

“We don’t know.” This time was Mary Margaret’s turn to answer, who had just entered the loft, back from the hospital, and joined the other adults at the table.

“But I assure you, there’s none else on this planet, apart from the people we know about. And I trust all of them.” David had the urge to defend his friends.

“A couple of people we knew had tried to go outside to search for other forms of life, enemies, whatever... to understand who or what supervises this planet’s activities.” Mary Margaret sighed. “Let’s just say it didn’t end well.”

“But there should be someone else on this planet, defending it.” Killian didn’t comprehend.

“There’s nobody else living here, apart from the people we already know.”

“How can you be so sure?” Emma asked.

“Nobody else uses the greenhouse and its products.” David explained. “Nobody else wastes the energy generated by the planet. It’s just us.”

“But it’s clear that someone really wants to protect this planet from intruders, therefore the rocks. For what purpose?” Killian’s attempt to solve this puzzle only created more questions and doubts.

“Well, the greenhouse could supply oxygen and food for an entire population. I think that someone is interested in keeping this planet as a possible lifeline.”

“A lifeline.” The dark man wondered about it. “Who’s behind this?”

“My theory is just as good as yours.” The blond man shook his head again.

“But you do have a theory.”

“Who’s playing with planets as pawns for his own benefits?” David grimaced.

“You think the Industry is behind this?” Emma almost whispered, as if she was worried that the Industry itself could hear her. She shivered, and Killian put his hand on hers resting on her knee under the table. He was willing to tell her that everything was going to be ok, but he didn’t want to generate indiscreet questions from his hosts.

David shrugged. “Any other ideas?”

“I don’t know. We haven't lived here for a long time. You tell me.” Killian teased.

David looked straight at his guests. “We did some research, with the limited resources we have here, but I assure you it’s nothing we had seen before. What generates all the power needed to maintain the greenhouse and the system that propels the rocks outside the atmosphere … it’s not material, if you understand what I mean.”

Killian passed his bionic hand over his stubble thoughtfully. “Not material.” He repeated. “Antiparticles? But that’s preposterous! A fantasy! You can’t create energy from nothing.”

“Yeah. You would say so. But there’s no other explanation. It’s a power so strong that can create an entirely new world…” David made a pause, and then: “or destroy one.”

“Antiparticles,” Killian repeated, while all his theories were starting to fit in. “So that’s how that vile crocodile annihilates the planets he doesn't need anymore.”

The blond man nodded. “After looting everything the planet has to offer, the Industry injects some of those antiparticles underground. And they disintegrate every last molecular bond and electric impulse until the planet itself implodes.”

“Is that what happened to your planet?” Emma asked Killian even if she didn’t need an actual answer, and then she turned to the couple “Yours as well?”

“We’re not sure about that,” David answered. “From the sources we have, it appears that the NTH-Confederates planets are still alive and kicking, all of them. I think Mr. Gold has other intentions, some obscure interest in them. But I don’t know what it is.”

“Do you miss it? Your home.” Emma inquired. She didn’t miss hers. Life on New-Tolemac when she was a child had not been that bad, she couldn’t complain. But the lack of freedom and the memories of the last events there had left a sour taste and no desire of going back ever.

“Yes. We do.” There was sadness in David’s voice. “Most of the time. But we know that returning there doesn’t necessarily mean that we could go back to our lives. Many things have changed. And I’m not sure I’d like to see how our planet has become.”

“We had to make some difficult decisions before leaving our home. But it was for the best of all.” Mary Margaret sobbed. “It was a long time ago, but it still hurts like the first day.” David put his hand on hers, smiling faintly, trying to give her courage.

“What happened? If it’s not too much to ask.” Killian softly asked.

“We were under attack,” David explained. “We tried to defend ourselves, but the Industry’s power is difficult to overcome. We realized that the only way for us to survive was to abandon our land…”

Mary Margaret stepped in, “We believed that it was the end, that we wouldn’t be able to escape alive.” She sighed loudly “I had just had a baby, and we knew that taking her with us was too risky, it would have been her death sentence.”

“So we contacted a woman who promised us that our daughter would be taken care of, she knew that the King and Queen of a faraway planet were searching for an heir.” David went on telling the story, but his voice wasn’t as steady as he tried to make it. He was still affected by the sad memory as well as his wife. “We wrapped her in a white blanket with a purple ribbon and we gave her the best chance to be the princess she could have never been with us.”

“So you decided to sell her!” Emma shouted.

“What?” - “No!” David and Mary Margaret reacted simultaneously, shaking their heads in bewilderment.

“We never said anything about money.” David pointed out.

“We could have never done anything like that to our child.” Mary Margaret seemed shocked by her guest’s assumption and even a bit outraged.

Emma looked at them with an open mouth, but no sound came out. Then she abruptly stood up and rushed out of the house.

The married couple exchanged a questioning look. “Did I say something wrong?” Mary Margaret asked worriedly.

Killian shook his head. “I should apologize for her behavior. This is a sensitive matter for her. If you would excuse me.” He said standing up and heading to the door.

~·~·~·~

“Are you alright, love?” Killian found Emma sitting on the corridor floor, with her arms around her legs and her face buried in her knees.

He waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. So he sat down next to her. She was crying, her back shuddering.

“Swan…” he tried, but then... “Emma, talk to me.”

She raised her face to look straight at him. Tears rolling down her cheeks. “I have a white blanket with a purple ribbon from when I was a baby! I always had it!” And there was pain in her eyes, but also anger.

It was his time to keep silent. He didn’t know how to react to this new piece of information.

“It’s them!” She exclaimed between sobs. “Those people inside the house are my parents! How am I supposed to look at their faces?”

An immeasurable feeling of protection spread within Killian, but he had to swallow his urge to hug her as if their lives depended on it, because it wasn’t the right time. She was struggling against enough demons, he could not burden her with further emotional matters. “Well, love, if it were me finally finding my parents, I would be very pleased to spend as much time as possible with them, to get the chance to know them and understand who they really are.”

“They sold me! They didn’t want me!” Emma looked at him as if he were an alien. How he could not understand her point of view was beyond her comprehension.

But Killian did understand her, given that he had been sold as a child as well, he knew the feeling, he just didn’t think this was the same case he had lived through. “That’s not what they said in there. They were trying to protect their baby, to give her her best chance to live a life they couldn’t afford for her. And they didn’t seem happy about that decision. I saw regret and what-ifs in their eyes.”

He knew she too noticed the pain in David and Mary Margaret's strangled voices, but he also knew she wasn't ready to admit it. “They are lying.” She hissed.

“Are you sure about that? Henry once told me you have this superpower, that you can detect a lie when you hear it. I had the impression they were being honest while telling their story.”

“But I saw the contract!” She was grasping at straws.

Killian had to take her to a more practical level, something tangible that she could hold on to if she wanted to. “Aye, you saw it. And who exactly signed it?”

“I…” Emma tried to recall a ten-year-old memory, but it wasn’t easy. After all, she had been in shock when she had discovered she wasn't the real daughter of the King and Queen of New-Tolemac. “I don’t know… I mean, I’m pretty sure there were my adoptive parents’ names in the paper, but…”

And that was when Killian realized that he had bought her some time, at least. “So you are not completely sure that they are your parents.”

He saw how her shoulders hunched as she was looking at him with watering pleading eyes and he understood that part of her was yelling to run away from pain and old scars, but another part was whispering that maybe she could finally find that love that only parents can give and that she had never felt in her life.

“You know what? We’re going to go back, and we’re going to spend a few more days with those people. We could even ask them if they would like to come with us on our journey back.”

“But..” She started.

Killian stopped her with the raise of one finger. “If it turns out that they really are your parents, well, you’ll have more time to understand why they decided to abandon you when you were just a baby. And only after that, we’ll choose if we hate them or not. Sounds fair?”

She didn’t move for a few minutes, dwelling on his words, but then she put a hand on his bionic one, and even if she knew he couldn’t feel it, she squeezed it with gratitude. Thank you for bearing this weight with me. She would have liked to say the words, but they didn’t come. She didn’t have the strength to analyze why he was doing this for her. Too many feelings for one night, to face new and unfamiliar ones. “Okay.” was what she finally said.

[devinescribe]

Found You

Part 8 to '100 Promises'

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Warnings: swearing, I think that's it

"Oh shit... agh, brainfreeze," you cursed, holding your head. It was a hot summer afternoon, and you had decided to get ice cream with Niragi. "Dumbass," he laughed, watching you groan in pain. You glared at him, the pain going away. "Fuck off," you said, going back to slowly licking at the ice cream. He shook his head, laughing slightly.

He made his way through the hole in the wall. No, it wasn't a hallway, a literal hole in the wall. It went through and led into the kitchen. He had found out about it once when he saw Last Boss come out of it during one of his patrols. He followed it, and saw were it lead. By process of elimination he had narrowed down the other player of the game to be Last Boss. So, in a general assumption, he assumed you would be in the kitchen. It was dark as he made his way through it, hoping to get out of it as soon as possible. It gave him a bad feeling. Why was there a random hole in the wall leading to the kitchen? It seemed awfully strange to him. Like something out of a horror game when the monster jumps out to attack you. "Oh hell no, damn my thoughts straight to hell," he cursed, walking faster through the tunnel.

Finally, he was at the entrance to the kitchen. It was covered up by a couple things, but, he managed. When he did he heard you giggling about something.

"You know, I think this was a great idea," you giggled, nibbling on one of the cookies. "I know of quite a few places to hide if you ever need one. It can get... loud... hectic... and chaotic here," Last Boss responded. You smiled. You were about to bite the cookie again, before arms were around you. In the moment, you panicked, grabbing the person back and flipping them onto their back. You quickly grabbed the knife you'd picked up earlier, pointing it them, before noticing it was Niragi. You let out a relieved sigh. "Ow... that hurt," he groaned, sitting up, holding the back of his head "Sorry. Don't sneak up on me like that," you said. He smirked. "That makes 1,853 games of hide and seek in a row I've won. 8 year winning streak," he bragged, obviously over getting hurt. "Oh go fuck yourself, you whore," you insulted, flipping him off, sticking your tongue out. You turned to Last Boss and smiled. "It was nice hiding with you," you said. Said man was confused on how you kept switching between your emotions so quickly. "Oh... uh, it was nice... hiding with you too, I guess," he responded. You laughed, holding a hand out to Niragi. He grabbed onto you, and you helped him up. "See, I'm a bitch, but at least I'm just a bad bitch, not a heartless bitch," you laughed. He smiled a bit. Standing in the kitchen with you talking, the warmth. Even Last Boss was talking to you. Everything about it felt like home. Home felt like you. Home felt like the feeling he got whenever he was with you. Maybe it was because you were home.

He watched as you talked avidly with Last Boss. You two seemed to get along, which was good. "Shit, it's already 12 am? Don't we have a supply run thingy tomorrow?" You questioned, finally noticing the time. "Uh... yeah," Niragi responded. "At least were not drunk... then Aguni might have a problem," Last Boss said. Both men shuddered, remembering what had happened last time. "Ooh, spill!" You said, sitting on top of one of the counters. Last Boss shook his head, and Niragi looked away. "Was it that bad?" You asked, a smirk building it's way across your face. "One thing you'll notice about Aguni is... he's like... a military dad. He's strict, but also doesn't care at the same time? But there's rules. And since there's few rules, it's not like you can forget. So... yeah," Niragi explained. "Can't wait to actually meet this man and see if you guys are exaggerating," you giggled. "Alright, get off the counter so we can go to your room," Niragi sighed, stretching his arms. "Carry me?" You asked, hiding your laughter. "Last time you said that, we both fell down the stairs," he reminded, rolling his eyes. "That's because you have weak noodle arms you lanky bitch," you said, laughing. "Ahahahaha fuck you."

You three finally made your way up the stairs. "So, does everyone just... party the whole night?" You asked, seeing as there was no on really in the lobby, but you could still hear the heavy bass of the loud music playing outside. Niragi nodded. "Fun for them, annoying for those who actually try to sleep," Last Boss commented. It was really just a paradise for people. A safe haven for players. And why wouldn't it? There's protection, other people, food, supplies, electricity. Anything you could want or need was at the Beach. It was curious how they managed to put it all together. So well thought out.

"Well... goodnight," you said, opening the door to your new room. "I'll wake you up tomorrow. By any means necessary," he stated, disappearing into his room. You sighed, closing the door behind you. It felt the same, but it was different. You knew that it would be hard to adjust, but a part of you had already adjusted. Maybe it was the years of torture through your childhood, or the things you put up with in your day to day life, but this didn't feel weird at all. It felt... normal. Besides the games, no negatives were really made clear to you. So, what was so bad about being here? It seemed better than your normal life. You sighed, shaking your head. You shouldn't be thinking like that, your life before was just fine with Niragi. You thought you had lost him. But, then you found him here. So even in places of despair and chaos, you could find a silver lining. "Ick... that sounds cheesy," you muttered, getting under the covers of the bed. The second you laid down, all the pain in your body was alleviated. The pillows were cold under you, the bed soft. You let out a satisfied sigh. If this was what staying at the Beach was like, you wouldn't mind. But, you also couldn't let yourself fall into that mentality. Your eyes drooped slowly, sleep taking over your body.

"And how was your date?" You asked as soon as he walked into through the door. "We never speak of her again," was all he said with a groan. "Goddamn, that bad? What did she do?" You questioned, as he walked over to the couch, sitting besides you. "Well, at first, she was ok. Then she immediately went into the topic of money, which like big red flag, but I didn't care. Right after we started talking about friends and family. I brought you up, and she was all like 'no, you see, that's not going to work because I have to be the only special girl in your life' and I was like, well... jealous much? I don't know who hurt her but it's... ugh," he groaned. Niragi had never been interested I'm dating per se. He didn't have any interest in anyone all throughout high school, which was one of the reasons people thought you two were together. "What about you? How'd it go?" He asked. "Not great. He was narcissistic, misogynistic, and rude. Like... 'women belong in the kitchen' kind of misogyny. God it was horrible. A total incel of a boy," you explained, shaking your head. "Looks like we both have trouble with dating, hm?" He said, leaning his head back, staring up at the ceiling, following the cracks in them. He'd always suggested you two move, especially with the occupation both of you had, you could afford to move somewhere else. You'd always tell him to wait a couple years because you never know what could happen. You had always said, "What if you meet the person of your dreams and decide to move in with them?" He never thought much about having someone else. It was always (Y/N) and Niragi against the world. It seemed weird to his mother last time she had called to ask about that. He'd told her the same thing. "No one really... interests me. No one ever has."

Now, his mother was a person who changed herself for the better. She had never had the courage to leave her husband, his father, however. She observed her son's behavior, and asked him something that really made his mind question itself. "Do you think no one interests you... because you like (Y/N)? In a more than friend way, I mean." He had never thought about that. At all. He had only ever known kindness from you, and his mother later in life. So, did he? He couldn't have. It would be wrong, wouldn't it? To insinuate such a thing to you?

Screaming, heat, fires, crumbling debris all around you fell. The smoke and ash heavy in the air. " 'Ragi?! What's going on?!"

Shattered glass stuck onto your arms, blood dripping onto the asphalt. "You can't leave me... you can't, not again!"

Wake up.

"(Y/N), you can't leave me now..."

"I can! What the hell made you think that was ok!"

Wake up.

"You're bleeding!"

"No shit Sherlock. It's called getting shot. Somehow, I just can't seem to die."

"Don't fucking say that!''

Wake up.

"Oi! Wake up!"

"Don't leave me-! What the hell? What's going on?"

"It's time to wake up. We have a supply run to do.''

[eaglehealthworks]

Lots of words, lots of meanings Pt. I

This entry is intended to bring a little educational understanding to those who are unsure of what all the different terms mean in the world of people with drug/alcohol/behavioral issues. For the sake of discussing the individual, he/she/they are known as such and will be in active use, active recovery, or active wellness (complete remission, perhaps). There are those that will state that one cannot be cured and there is only a state of recovery because the individual is never not addicted to whatever caused problems. I contend that an individual can achieve active wellness which would include complete abstinence and a life without psychoactive substances and/or other excessive repetitive patterns know as behavioral addictions (e.g., gambling, sex, shopping &c.) in healthy, sustainable, and satisfying ways.

Yes, if someone who has been in the throes of chemical dependency or behavioral disorder return to the substance and/or behavior, the cycle begins where it left off for many biological reasons. The point is it is absolutely possible and very much achievable to never return to that way of existing. If you follow medical orders after realizing a high blood pressure diagnosis, the problem becomes completely manageable. If you get your blood pressure down then revert back to a lifestyle which caused it to increase then guess what, it will return with a vengeance. Same exact thing.

I’ll step off of my “You can live well” pulpit and get into the terminology because the layers to wellness are many, deep, and worthy of their very own post(s) .

What is drug addiction, and should we use the term or its derivatives?

According to the National Institute of Drug Abuse (NIDA, 2019), it is “a chronic disease characterized by compulsive, or uncontrollable, drug seeking and use despite harmful consequences and changes in the brain, which can be long-lasting”. Note how it is considered a medical disease by the established medical community. This gets some people in a tizzy and those are often heard exclaiming, “You did this to yourself!, It’s not a disease!, Cancer is a disease!”, &c. The number one cause of death in these United States is heart disease caused largely by; you guessed it, the sufferer (Weatherspoon, 2019). Smoking, diet, overweight, sedentary, all contribute significantly to this problem. Those previously mentioned anger mongers will often retort “Yeah, well it is also genetic!”, and so is chemical dependency (Johns Hopkins, 2021).

Whether or not the term is used or not is always up for debate, and only time will determine its existence. Addiction as a term is fairly straightforward and accurate; however, the term addict is filled with negative connotation, stereotype, and stigma. I can assure you that easily half of everyone I have ever treated looks and behaves just like every other citizen walking around in any neighborhood anywhere. Rich, poor, elderly, young, and all points in between describe people with substance use disorders and behavioral addictions, many of whom you would never guess. I have also known many straight edge folks who the average American might easily mistake for someone who abuses drugs based on appearance alone.

How does someone get diagnosed?

Well, it must be done by a licensed and qualified medical professional who has spent many years in study and has the student debt to prove it. Or you can generally ask someone who is suspected of having a problem with drugs, alcohol, or circumstance and they will know if it can be controlled or if help is needed. This does not take into account those in denial or fear of losing something by the very nature of the question (like safety, shelter, liberty, &c). In the case of the former, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders Fifth Edition (DSM-V) by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) uses the following criteria to determine whether a problem exists and/or the degree of severity if present (APA, 2013):

A. A problematic pattern of [insert substance or circumstance] use leading to clinically significant impairment or distress, as manifested by at least two of the following, occurring within a 12-month period:

1.     [insert substance or circumstance, e.g., alcohol, opioids, gambling, &c.]  are often taken in larger amounts or over a longer period than was intended.

2.     There is a persistent desire or unsuccessful efforts to cut down or control [insert substance or circumstance] use.

3.     A great deal of time is spent in activities necessary to obtain the [insert substance or circumstance], use the [insert substance or circumstance], or recover from its effects.

4.     Craving, or a strong desire or urge to use [insert substance or circumstance].

5.     Recurrent [insert substance or circumstance]  use resulting in a failure to fulfill major role obligations at work, school, or home.

6.     Continued [insert substance or circumstance]  use despite having persistent or recurrent social or interpersonal problems caused or exacerbated by the effects of [insert substance or circumstance].

7.     Important social, occupational, or recreational activities are given up or reduced because of [insert substance or circumstance]  use.

8.     Recurrent [insert substance or circumstance]  use in situations in which it is physically hazardous.

9.     Continued [insert substance or circumstance]  use despite knowledge of having a persistent or recurrent physical or psychological problem that is likely to have been caused or exacerbated by the substance.

10.  Tolerance, as defined by either of the following:

a.      A need for markedly increased amounts of [insert substance or circumstance]  to achieve intoxication or desired effect.

b.     A markedly diminished effect with continued use of the same amount of an [insert substance or circumstance]. (Note: This criterion is not considered to be met for those taking [insert substance or circumstance]  solely under appropriate medical supervision.)

11.  Withdrawal, as manifested by either of the following:

a.      The characteristic [insert substance or circumstance]  withdrawal syndrome (refer to Criteria A and B of the criteria set for [insert substance or circumstance]  withdrawal).

b.     [insert substance or circumstance]  (or a closely related substance) are taken to relieve or avoid withdrawal symptoms. (Note: This criterion is not considered to be met for those individuals taking [insert substance or circumstance]  solely under appropriate medical supervision.)

NONE – Presence of 0-1 symptoms

MILD – Presence of 2-3 symptoms

MODERATE – Presence of 4-5 symptoms

SEVERE – Presence of 6 or more symptoms 

Questions? Anyone? Let’s keep moving. Now with this information held firmly in your mind, you still need to be properly credentialed in order to affix a legitimate diagnosis to anyone, so this is for informational purposes only. Here are a few more terms to add to your lexicon though:

1.     Drug Intoxication. This is elusive because many people with a substance use disorder(s) have been using for so long that their strange and erratic behavior has become accepted traits. Often the presence of intoxication is a sudden change in demeanor, i.e., one moment a person is restless and anxious, they go to the bathroom and after emerging proceed to pass-out after sitting down anywhere (opioids). Or an individual is nervous and even a little shaky but after a few moments alone returns happy, smooth in gait, and chatty (alcohol). Perhaps a loved one is lethargic and grumpy, but after returning from the bathroom is full of energy and talking a mile a minute (cocaine, methamphetamine). Of course, there are many indicators, but you get the point.

2.     Drug Abuse. The continued use of a psychoactive drug or behavioral patterns despite the knowledge that it is causing social, occupational, psychological, or physical problems (APA, 2013). Put simply, doing something to excess where the consequences outweigh the benefits; An ice cream cone is great, a half-gallon  makes you vomit (in most cases).

3.     Drug Dependence. Maladaptive pattern of use resulting in significant impairment or distress, as shown by compulsive use, increased tolerance, withdrawal, and obsessive thoughts about it (APA, 2013).

 You know, the word withdrawal has been presented several times in this post and it deserves its own little section because it is this experience alone that keeps more people in active use than any other single precipitating factor. The human mind is in a constant state of seeking homeostasis or normal acceptable functioning. All people, not just those with drug/alcohol issues seek the avoidance of pain. Ok, somewhere there is a body builder claiming no pain no gain but let that pain be a sciatic or tooth nerve and he/she is reduced to a tower of gelatin seeking immediate relief.

 This next sentence is a value statement directly from the horse; withdrawal is an exquisitely harrowing experience engulfing the entirety of the human experience and reducing it to the most detestable overall sensation of prolonged living death. The only relief which is desperately sought and despised simultaneously is more of the substance that caused it. I really don’t know a better way to explain it. I know of septuagenarian Rockwellesque grandmothers who have sold themselves for heroin because their medical provider overprescribed opioids for years and due to pressure from governing authorities cut them off, just to avoid withdrawal. People question this but its sadly true, and not even the worst of the stories.

 If you ever want to chat with me about this or anything else related to relief from substance and/or circumstance please contact me here or at the clinic. Feel free to click on any of the links provided for more reading. Thanks for taking the time, enjoy.

-        Edesepam

References

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and statistical manual of mental disorders (5th ed.). https://doi.org/10.1176/appi.books.9780890425596

Johns Hopkins. (2021). Substance Abuse / Chemical Dependency. Retrieved from https://www.hopkinsmedicine.org/health/conditions-and-diseases/substance-abuse-chemical-dependency on 2021, June 30.

NIDA. (2019, January 17). Treatment Approaches for Drug Addiction DrugFacts. Retrieved from https://www.drugabuse.gov/publications/drugfacts/treatment-approaches-drug-addiction on 2021, June 30

Weatherspoon, D. (2019, March 29). What Are the 12 Leading Causes of Death in the United States? Retrieved from https://www.healthline.com/health/leading-causes-of-death on 2021, June 30.

[elldell1204]

Nightmare - Upstead Fic

This is my first Upstead fic, so I really hope you like it as I am so proud of it 😊 It’s starts towards the end of 7x09 and is an alternative, more tense ending to the actual episode/storyline, in my opinion. Enjoy!

wc - 3,688

“Angela.” It was almost a whisper, that’s how dry his throat was and how weak he had grown over the last twenty-four hours of almost constant beatdowns. Not only did Jay have to deal with the physical torture, but the mental one too. Every moment that led up to where he was right now was being replayed in his head, seeing as he has nothing more to do. Being the type of guy who always tries to find a way to improve himself in every way possible, he’s picking apart each second, imagining the hundreds of different ways things could have gone differently if he had just let the call go to voicemail, told his partner where he was going, gone in with backup, heard the guy’s footsteps behind him, fought him off. Hell, he was even going back as far as to question his quick decision of Marcus West being the one responsible for the murder of two young boys. He sees now though that he was getting too involved, being too emotional, trying his absolute best not to slip into the cold, heartless shell of a man that returned from Afghanistan all those years ago to the point where he went too far and got an innocent man killed. 

“Angela.” He tried again, prying the eye open that wasn’t glued shut with dried blood from the gash on his forehead. “Kick one of those pipes over to me.”

The woman that sat slumped against the pipes across from him raised her head. But she didn’t meet his eyes. How could she after what he had just revealed to her? The man before her had murdered her husband, in her mind. And even though her only chance at survival was to work with him, she had absolutely no desire in her heart to do so. He deserved to die, and if that meant that she would too, then so be it. But every time her thoughts ventured there, she reminded herself of her son. He already lost his father, so he needed his mother more than ever.

“C’mon, Angela.” He had managed to free his left hand by now, the ropes that once bound him hanging loose from his wrist as he gestured towards the objects in question. “We gotta work together if we’re gonna get outta here, so you have to kick one over, c’mon, please. It’s the only way.”

It was then she lifted her eyes to his. The dark chestnut pools had lost all life and purpose and were emotionally empty, barring the harsh disgust that was boring holes straight through to Jay’s soul, so deep he could sense it bubbling inside him, the feeling so undeniably familiar, being that he felt it towards himself the night he discovered his mistake, unable to correct it as it was too late.

***

Unbeknownst to Jay, his beloved unit was rallying outside the very building he was being held prisoner in, ready to take down an army if it meant they’d save him.

Voight was dishing out orders to each of them, but Hailey wasn’t listening, not really. She knew she’d do anything to get to Jay, even if it meant going against the boss’ orders or putting her own life in danger. Thoughts of how she could be so stupid to let him go without backup or to get her hopes up that he’d be in the van for the exchange kept swirling around in her brain. But she had to be totally focused on the now. The next few minutes could land anywhere on the spectrum between the most ideal scenario of finding him perfectly okay and finding him in a lifeless heap on the floor. She had to be alert and ready for anything.

That’s why she didn’t hesitate when Kevin hoisted her up to crawl through the vent in the wall.

***

It was now or never. The weaker of their two captors had come down the stairs a few seconds ago, armed with a water bottle and a fresh dressing for Angela’s wound. Now he was knelt down beside her, applying it whilst trying to keep down whatever he had for lunch. It was pretty much useless. She needed a miracle after the amount of blood she had already lost, and still it kept gushing out, even though Jay was pretty sure she didn’t have a much left.

“There you go.” The man announced, getting to his feet but staying crouched.

“Can I have some water?” Jay piped up, adrenaline starting to seep into his blood at the mere thought of the feat he was going to have to pull off.

The man simply looked over his shoulder at the battered and bruised body behind him, showing no objection nor acceptance.

“Please, man.” Jay begged now, his voice breathier to play the part.

The man’s gaze returned and stayed on Angela as he grabbed the water bottle, stepping backwards towards Jay when the harsh ringing of the metal pipe echoed throughout the murky basement as it collided with his head.

After he dropped to the floor, Jay checked he was out cold before sliding the rope, tied to his right wrist, off the pipe. He attempted to get to his feet, but he felt the room spin and decided on crawling until his blood pressure went back up. He once again checked the man was unconscious along with casting a glance over to the stairs to make sure the other guy wasn’t on his was to beat the crap out of him. Satisfied with the answer to both, he searched his victim’s pockets for a weapon of any kind. He found a switchblade, and although he would have preferred a gun, it would have to do. He then grabbed the pipe before crossing the short distance to Angela, kneeling down beside her.

“You did good.” He said, a little out of breath, as he used to knife to cut through the ropes that tethered her to the pipes like he was. The only acknowledgement he got was a helpless whimper and a sad little nod.

“Okay, stay here,” he gave the pipe to Angela, then laid a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “I’m going after the other one.”

And he was up. As stealthily as he could, he climbed the stairs, attempting to stay flat to the wall and out of sight. He could hear the words flowing from the other guy’s mouth, anger lacing each one, along with heavy footsteps reverberating across the floor above him. Then after a deep breath, he emerged, sprinting towards the guy who had his back turned. That was until Jay was about three feet away, when he promptly turned and fought back, blocking the slashes of Jay’s hand with his forearm and landing a punch to Jay’s gut with his other hand. It didn’t stop Jay though, he swung and he swung, and he knew, he knew that he’d have this guy by now if he wasn’t so goddamn weak and in pain.

The guy managed to forcefully shove Jay away from him, long enough to raise his revolver and fire a shot off. A lucky shot. One that ripped through the flesh of Jay’s shoulder like it was paper.

And he screamed.

A guttural scream that resonated from somewhere deep inside of him as the pain ripped through him. He staggered backwards, clutching at his wound whilst the agony set in.

And he was so goddamn close to getting out of there.

“Jay!”

He heard it. And though it was fairly far away, he couldn’t mistake that voice for anyone else’s.

Hailey.

Oh, how he cursed himself for not telling her how he felt before. He knew how unreliable tomorrow is, he’d experienced it first-hand with too many people, yet still he had assumed it was going to come around. Now all he had left to ease the pain of his stupidity was to convince himself that she would be better off without him. She deserves so much better than him. He was a murderer, essentially. And we’re not talking the bad guys, here. Marcus West had been on his conscious since the day he died, and despite the numerous assurances from multiple people that it wasn’t his fault that he died, he knew in his heart that at least some part of it was. He reverted his mind back to Hailey as he waited for the second and fatal shot to come his way. After all, if he was going to go out, he knew it would be a lot more peaceful if his thoughts were filled with bright blonde hair, bright blue eyes that remined him of the sky on the most perfect of sunny days and the infectious smile that could make him feel whole when he caused it.

***

She heard the gunshot. She’d heard hundreds before, but this one, the one that was most likely the difference between life and death for her partner, was the loudest. So loud it made her heart stop and legs go weak at the same time. It felt as if the walls were suffocating her, coaxing her into an unconscious state where nothing was real. Not like a dream, but less of a nightmare than the one she was living in now.

But she clutched onto reality, staying awake and hauling herself back into the moment.

“Jay!” She screamed as powerful as she could, her legs finding the strength to sprint in the direction of the gunshot. It was her only way of telling him that she was there and begging him to hold on, for her.

She needs him alive. She needs him to have her back, in every aspect of life. She needs him to make her smile when everything else seems dreary.

She needs him.

***

“C’mon, pretty boy.”

Jay was only partially conscious as he was half dragged, half stumbling up the steps to the roof. He had no idea what this guy was doing. Why didn’t he just finish him off when he had the chance?

They practically burst through the door and onto the roof, the guy shoving Jay so that he fell to his knees in from of him. He groaned, but still managed to get to his feet, albeit achingly slowly. Turning to face his captor, he was met with the barrel of a gun.

“Who are you?” The man seethed. “You told us your name was Jim, but that girl shouted Jay.”

Jay didn’t say a word. He just maintained eye contact with his one good eye.

“And the way you fought me...I have to give it to you; you were pretty damn good.” The man chuckled sadistically before stopping abruptly. “Which makes it very likely that you’re a cop.”

Jay’s eyes must have flickered, because the man soon cocked the revolver, taking a step forward and urging Jay to take a step back.

“Fuck.” The man grimaced. “I knew it.”

“You’re done, man.” Jay said, seeing his chance to negotiate. “It’s over, you can’t win. So either shoot me and get charged with the murder of a police officer, or let me go. You can escape, if you’re quick, and no one will even know you were here. I’ll tell them your buddy was the only guy and he was the one who shot me.”

He genuinely seemed to consider it, only for a second, before a rage burned in his eyes stronger than Jay had ever witnessed before.

“Why can’t I have both things that I want? You, dead, and escape.” He inched further forward, the barbaric smile returning, and Jay stepped further back. “As far as I know, you fell off the roof trying to let your cop buddies know you were up here.”

That’s when Jay realised how close to the edge he was, and a lump grew in his throat.

***

“Where the hell is he?” Hailey shouted, slamming her hands down on the table beside her. The rest of the unit, which had recently regrouped after sweeping the warehouse, flinched at the loud bang but understood her frustration as they felt it themselves. Hailey found the spot where the gunshot had happened; the blood splatter on the wall tipped her off. The first place she looked was down the stairs, but she had only found Angela, slouched against the wall, and one of the captors, laid out unconscious. But no gun, and no Jay.

“There’s only two exits, and Kim and Rojas have them covered. Let’s do another sweep of the warehouse, they can’t have just disappeared.” Voight ordered, and they all dispersed, except Hailey, who still had both hands firmly planted on the table as she breathed deeply, grasping onto the little composure she had left.

That’s when she realised there were more than two exits. There was one leading onto the roof.

She sprinted off towards the stairs that she’d memorised from the blueprints and climbed them faster than she thought humanly possible. When she reached the roof, she couldn’t help but to throw open the door, her gun raised ready to fire. And as she stepped out onto the roof, she took a split second to thank her past self for taking an extra few minutes to look over the blueprints one last time.

***

Both men heard the door open, only Jay had the advantage of being the one facing it. Which is why he had a few second lead of seeing the flurry of blonde hair rushing out. And also why he had the chance, whilst his captor turned to see what the noise was, to grab the gun and attempt to pry it from his hands. But the attempt was unsuccessful, mainly down to the fact only one of his arms was currently operational, so it resulted in a struggle of tangled limbs and grunts as each man tried to claim the gun as their own. That also meant that Hailey didn’t have a clear shot in fear of shooting her partner.

But suddenly she wished she had taken the chance and trusted her skills when both bodies tumbled off the roof.

She couldn’t move. She was fixed in place in fear of seeing her partner, her best friend, falling to his death. That’s when she heard the crack, the one from the bodies hitting the sidewalk, and it was then that every fibre of her being wanted to shatter. She wanted to fall to her hands and knees and wail and howl until she was hoarse and her tears had formed puddles below her.

But she didn’t. She ran to the edge of the building where she braced herself before looking over, ready to confirm her worst nightmare. And down on the pavement were mangled limbs and spattered blood surrounding them.

And Jay grasping onto a protruding metal pole with his right hand, his body dangling precariously as he grits his teeth to endure the pain.

Hailey couldn’t believe it. She wasn’t religious, but she thanked whoever was looking down right now for the miracle that just occurred.

“Jay!” She shouted, and you could tell she was on the threshold of breaking down from the way even the single syllable she spoke wobbled with unshed tears. She reached down her hand to grab his wrist, but she knew she wasn’t going to be able to pull him up on her own, even if she had all the adrenaline in the world pumping through her veins. “Help! On the roof!”

She screamed it once. Twice. Three times. All the while, keeping her grip on Jay’s wrist as he hung helplessly. But she could tell he was getting tired, and he was already weak to begin with. The next time she spoke she couldn’t stop the tears from falling.

“Just hold on, Jay, please. Please hold on.” It came out almost in sobs, but she was so desperate for him to stay strong that she didn’t care.

“Oh my god, Hailey!” Kevin shouted from the top of the stairs behind her. She heard his footsteps racing across the gravel before he dropped to his stomach beside her and looked over the edge. He didn’t hesitate to grab Jay’s arm, both him and Hailey heaving the man up and onto the roof.

And that’s where he gave up, falling to his back as the agony washed over him in full force, the adrenaline wearing off in its entirety.

“Jay, stay with me. Stay with me.” Hailey cried out, her bright blonde hair and fresh blue eyes as crystalline as the lake on a summer’s day being the last thing he remembers before slipping into unconsciousness.

***

The next thing he knows, the repetitive beep of the monitor and the chemical smell that lingers in the air is what he’s waking up to, along with the warm hand that is interlocked with his own and keeping him close. He flickers open his eyes, letting them adjust to the harsh white light before opening them fully and looking around. His brother is leant against the doorframe, watching him as he stirs before catching his eyes and smiling gratefully. To his right is a mess of blonde hair splayed out over the covers as Hailey rests her head and her eyes. He can tell she’s asleep from her slow breathing, but she looks anything but peaceful. He turns his attention back to Will, who is now walking gently towards him.

“Hey little bro,” he whispers. “You gave us quite a scare.”

“Can’t get rid of me that easily.” Jay quipped, his voice hoarse, managing a small smile.

Will merely smirked before explaining what happened when they got to the hospital, speaking quietly at Jay’s request so he didn’t wake Hailey. Once he was done, he left with a nod and a remark about letting the two lovebirds have some time together.

Jay inhaled and exhaled deeply before gathering the courage to wake Hailey. He ran his fingers through her hair then caressed her cheek with his thumb until she stirred. She sat up, a little disoriented at first but she soon came back to earth. That’s when she realised what woke her, and any remnants of sleep were quickly shaken away.

“You’re awake.” She breathed out, a little disbelieving despite the surgeon saying he was due to make a full recovery.

“So are you.” He smirked.

Silence hung in the air once more, but it was neither comfortable nor awkward. Both of them could tell there were words that needed to be said, but they couldn’t find the right ones. Somewhat luckily, that’s when Voight decided to grace them with his presence.

***

It was a little later now, and Hailey had just returned from work to sit with Jay again. He wasn’t being discharged for a least another few days, much to his dismay, but he was glad that she was there to make the wait more enjoyable. Whilst she was gone, he figured out what he wanted to say to her, the exact words, only when she stepped into the room a few minutes ago, they seemed to escape him. But it was now or never, so he threw caution to the wind and went with what his heart was telling him.

“Hailey?” It was a little louder than a whisper that he managed at first, but she heard and was up on her feet in no time.

“What is it? Are you in pain? Should I get a nurse? Or are you thirsty? I can get you some water…” She was a little on edge. She wasn’t used to seeing her partner, the war vet, the first person through the door, so incapacitated and…weak.

“No, no, I’m good.” He chuckled, and she relaxed, exhaling deeply and sitting down on the edge of the bed before meeting his eyes. He smiled softly, as did she. “You saved me.”

“Well, Kevin was the one to- “

“No, Hailey, you saved me. When that guy shot me, I was so close to giving up. I was so sure that that was it, that I was going to die on the cold, stone floor of a warehouse. But then I heard your voice. It gave me hope, it reminded me I had something, someone, worth fighting for, so close to me that I could hear you. And I was devastated when he dragged me up to that roof, but I knew that you’d find me if I just kept him talking, and you did, and you saved me again. And then when we fell, I grabbed onto that pipe, but I was so tired, Hailey, I didn’t think I was going to keep hold of it much longer. But then you told me to hold on, and I knew that I had to because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to hear your voice again, I wouldn’t see your smile light up a room again or hear your laugh and have it make my day. And I realised, Hailey, that I couldn’t let go, because that would mean giving up on a chance of having the most amazing life with you, and I could never pass that up in a million years. So, yes, Hailey, you saved me.”

That’s when he realised that she had silent tears streaming down her face, but a small smile graced her features.

“Jay…I…” She started, but she too was unable to put her feelings into words, as none seemed to convey the immensity of them. So she leaned down and captured his lips with her own, cupping the back of his head with her hand, kissing him so sweetly and passionately that she poured a thousand words worth of her feelings into that one kiss. It was like everything around them vanished, as if nothing else existed but them. He returned it immediately, holding her cheek in his palm, and they bared their souls, showing how much love they have for one another, and suddenly they both felt utterly complete.

[random-imagines-blog]

Bless Your Solemn Unending Virtue {Charles Xavier x Reader}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3384 TW: Reader death, drug use, sexual assault, prejudice. Summary: Sometimes a smile hides what’s behind the surface. And sometimes, even being a superhero, grow to be too much. Accompanying song: Judy Garland by Frog.

You were a hero. It was about more than the spandex, tight-fighting outfit and the cheesy lines that they made you say in the comics. It was about more than the kids who went as you for Halloween, their costumes getting compliments and candy. It was about more than your face being in the tabloids of celebrity magazines, pictures of you with your husband Charles, a fellow hero. It was about more than being girls night with your super kinswomen, Jean Grey and Jubilee. It was about more than the muggings you stopped, the carjackings you prevented. Did anyone know what it really was about? It was about the feeling of safety, and knowing that at the end of a hard day, you were there to keep the city protected. That no matter what was thrown against you - and there were a lot of those things - you kept up the smile and made it all seem effortless. And then, after that, it was about how you were taken for granted.

“I’m too lazy to lock my door tonight - it’s okay, y/n will make sure I don’t get robbed.”

“My date canceled on me tonight. Oh well, at least I can walk home alone in the dark and watch the news, and see what y/n did tonight.”

“Yeah, I know y/n saved the world but Professor X really was the power behind it. He made her career when he discovered her.”

“I don’t care who Y/N saves, as long as they look hot doing it!”

You, of course, grew tired of it. There were times when you wanted to give the whole superhero thing up - move out of New York state and settle somewhere no one knew your name, or your superhero name. Have kids, a backyard, no cameras. But Charles would always remind you of what you would be leaving behind, and you never could have that. So up went the frosty smiles in front of the paparazzi, in the same way that they would point their cameras up to do close ups on inappropriate parts of your uniform. And up went the number of times that Charles would have to put his own morals aside and use his powers on innocent people to get them to stop taking those photos and publishing them in their greasy magazines.

“I’m just so tired, Charles,” You said one night over dinner. You had gone up against Magneto once more, or as you referred to him, Charles’ true love. And you came out a little worse for wear but at least there wasn’t a body count. You were bruised, blistered, burnt, scratched - just completely exhausted.

“I know, love,” Charles said, putting his hand on top of yours gently. “But you have these mutations for a reason. These gifts. They’re to help people-”

“They’re mutations, Charles, you say that over and over. It’s just a defect that we were born with,” You sighed, moving your hand away from him. “I can’t take much more of all of this - I’m .. I’m drying up.”

“You are ... unendingly good,” Charles said, taking your hand back and kissing the top of it gently. “That’s what makes you, you. Not your talents. It’s that you want to help people...”

“I do, I do want to help people,” You said, eyes gazing downwards at your lap. “You’re right, of course. I can’t give up.” You smiled uneasily then continued to eat your food. You were married to someone who could read minds, and yet, you felt so entirely misunderstood.

-

God - you loved Charles. You loved the way that he would hold you in his arms and take you for rides on his wheelchair. He never complained about your weight because he could never feel it. Almost everyday felt like the honeymoon phase. You were happy with him. And you were happy with your work. Knowing that you were helping people was a good feeling. But it still felt like the weight of the world was on your shoulders. Like you needed more help, more support. Like your knees were buckling and you were going to fall down any minute now.

You’ve achieved so much. They unveiled a statue of you in New York City after you stopped Mr. Sinister, which was the toughest battle of your life. And you were expected to stand there and smile and wave and look grateful when what you wanted to do was yell at them to spend that money for actual good. Like repairing the damage that the battle had done. Or giving it to the people who needed it most. You didn’t need a statue. You needed - you didn’t even know. And because you didn’t know, you couldn’t ask for it. Even Charles didn’t know. Perhaps it was just to make the world quiet for a little while so you could focus on yourself, but no one could complete that request. But the world continued on voluby, never stopping. God himself couldn’t quell the pain in your heart.

A short time later, more statues came and yours got overshadowed. You didn’t mind this, but it was hard sometimes to be told that all of the work that you had done, you managed to do because of the men that you worked alongside. You were a team player, of course, there was no doubt about that. It brought on a world of insecurities and you began to work harder, work faster, work to the point of exhaustion.

If life was not about to bring you a break, you would break it. You skipped meals to go on training. You had sleepless nights and lived off of small breaks, and coffee, and took up the terrible habit of smoking because it made your stomach feel fuller. The years passing and your body getting weaker as you grew older took a toll on you. But not Charles. No, he became more and more powerful as time went on, and he got all of the praise for the work that you gave blood, sweat and tears for. And you had to hide it from your own thoughts. Drown it with alcohol, then turned to other things to make your mind go blank for a time. He knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure it out. He’d ask you as you would lay in bed together, and you would lie to him. If he knew that he made you feel that way, that the public made you feel that way because of him, he would feel guilty. It wasn’t his fault. He shouldn’t feel that way.

-

Another public event. Another chance to smile. At least there were children this time, and you did a lot of this for the children. You bent over and signed autographs, took pictures, gave them all the attention that their little hearts desired. Your own was full, and this was one of the few public excursions that you didn’t regret. Though your life was becoming more and more publicized, it was less actual heroic work. But you kept on your diet of coffee, alcohol, cigarettes and more commonly these days - drugs. You were sober for the first time in days, just for these little angels.

“I want to be just like you when I grow up!” A little girl had said this to you, and it caused a little burning in your heart, like a cigarette burn.

“You know, I was thinking just the same thing about you,” You said with a sad smile. “It’s the hope of people like you that makes real heroes. You should aspire to be yourself, not somebody else, okay sweetheart?”

Just as you were about to stand back up straight, an unfamiliar hand slapped at your rear - hard. In surprise, you shot back up and turned around.

A man that you had never seen before was looking at his own hand lovingly. The hand that had just slapped your ass. People were walking around the two of you like they hadn’t noticed it happening, but they must have. There were a couple of giggles from women who had witnessed it, and a man even gave a friendly pat on the shoulder and a ‘good one’ to the assailant as he passed on by. They were congratulating this man, and not even giving a thought to you!

The assailant caught your eye and gave a wink. “I think that thing is the most super thing about you!” He said, looking as if he had expected you to laugh along with his joke. When you didn’t, his mood changed. He started to get angry. “Feel lucky that I even noticed! People like you need to a get a sense of humor! It’s all in the business, sweetheart!”

Shocked, and completely appalled, embarrassed and humiliated, you slunk away. No one had stood up for you, or gave any indication that what he had done was wrong. That felt like more of a defeat than any you had been served from the hand of a villain.

-

You hadn’t been going out as often, preferring to lock yourself in the sanctuary of the school that Charles had created. You still faithfully went out and saved the world when the occasion called for it but you found it more satisfying to teach than to perform. Because that’s all that it felt like now - performances. A move to the right, a move to the left, attack. It was a dance number and you rarely ever missed your step, but when you did, you paid for it.

‘Y/N lets Shadow King Escape! Professor X and Cyclops Save the Day!’

‘Is Y/N Losing Her Edge?’

‘Close Contacts of Y/N Say That They Have Mental Problems!’

“Are you alright?” Charles asked you one night when he found you with a score of these newspapers around you in the back garden. He picked one up, skimmed the title, then let it drop down to the ground. “Do you want me to call them?”

“No, no,” You shook your head, hiding the tears that were building up behind your eyes. “They’re just nonsense, aren’t they? Other than this one.” You held up the first one, the one that mentioned him and your former pupil. “At least this one is accurate. You did save the day,” You smiled weakly. “I’m so proud of you, handsome.”

“You did a lot too. I don’t want you to think that you didn’t...” Charles said. For once, he didn’t know how to approach this. He was a smooth talker and could charm you most of the time when you were down, but this was something new. He had made a promise to you that he would not invade your thoughts, but he was so tempted to break that promise right now. He could feel something in the air. The energy around you was entirely different to what it had been before. You were approaching something dark.

“Don’t worry about me, Charlie,” You said, using a nickname that he usually hated but put up with coming from you. You leaned down and kissed the top of his head, remembering the hair that was there. You didn’t miss it much. “Staying positive is one of my superpowers.”

Even you didn’t buy that anymore.

-

You snuck out on a Sunday afternoon when you knew your absence wouldn’t be noted for a while. Charles was busy marking papers and your students were enjoying the weather. You took a car into the closest city, parked it, adjust hat that covered your head in an attempt to hide your face, and strolled down the street. It felt nice to be noticed. You were just an ordinary citizen walking down the street, feeling the breeze. Why, you might even stop in for lunch somewhere, or go shopping! The possibilities seemed endless.

It was the bells that caught your attention. An afternoon service at a church. Your feet were leading you there before you could stop them, and you stepped inside the air conditioned building to find a service was just about to begin. You could use a little faith in your life right about now. Even if you weren’t a religious person, surely you could find some comfort here today.

You sat in a pew in the back so as not to draw any attention to yourself. The congregation had all removed their headwear in respect to listen to the father speak, so you did so as well, resting it on your lap. Nobody even looked at you. It caused you to grow more comfortable, not having the stares. Why, if only life could be this quiet everyday!

The father was rather boisterous. There was singing, there was dancing! It didn’t feel like you were being preached to, which was lovely. It was like a sense of community, although you were reluctant to join in. But sitting out would only have brought scornful looks, so you were on your feet, singing along though you didn’t know all the words. He walked up and down the hallway, and it was on his second walk-through that he noticed you  and stopped dead in his tracks.

“We have an outsider in our midst today, folks!” He said, bringing all of the attention to you and to you alone. You started to reach for your hat, but the stares were already there. “Sweating like a whore in church.”

You weren’t expecting that kind of language from a father, but the hate in his eyes was clear. “I - I don’t know what you-” You started in an attempt to defend yourself but he stopped you.

“Mutants are an abomination in the face of God. We toss you out, sinner, we toss you out!”

With horror, you left the church, and ran and ran until you nearly smacked into a giant oak tree in a nearby park. It was there that Hank found you an hour later, your face still puffy from the tears that you had shed. They were from shame, from humiliation, from not understanding why, why couldn’t you just be accepted in a place without being noticed? But then you took a look at Hank as he drove your car back to the school and realized that it truly was hard to live like this. You might not have been covered in blue fur but you were highly recognizable as a mutant. That was your legacy, no matter what else you might attempt to do.

-

It was Ororo who found you first. She’d come to ask your advice on something, but you weren’t answering the door. Charles was teaching downstairs, so she knew that you two weren’t having ‘uninterrupted time’. “Y/N, are you okay in there?”

There was no answer.

Your car was still in garage, so you weren’t out. Apart from sleeping, which was odd for you to do in the middle of the day, there was no good reason for you not to be opening the door. Rather than bother Charles, she sent a little lightning charge through the electronic lock so it would open easily. She called your name once more when she stepped inside and turned on the lights. There was nothing out of place that she could see except for one thing - you weren’t there. The bed was made, the closet and bathroom doors were closed, the floor was spotless.

She went to the bathroom next and knocked on that door, thinking perhaps you were just being overly cautious about the locks while using it. “Are you taking a bath?” She asked aloud, but there was no response. She held the handle and turned it to find that though the door was not locked, it didn’t open all the way. There was something inside that was stopping it. The light from the main bedroom shone in just enough for her to see a hand on the ground with familiar rings on it - yours.

“Y/N!” She cried out frantically, then ran out of the room to find someone to come and help break down the door. Logan was the one to do it, slashing at the wood until the top half came off, and ended up falling on top of your body. The rest was cut off from the hinges with his blades, and he picked it up and threw it out of the way. His thoughts on seeing you were so strong that Charles could hear them from below. He froze up in the middle of his lecture, his mouth open, unable to breathe. A couple of the students got up to see if he was alright, but he was having trouble comprehending just what was happening.

The cause of death was overdose. It was hard to tell if it was on purpose or not, since you had asked for your next few days of classes to be canceled. Charles had been able to tell that there was something going on for a long time, but you never opened up about it. You had attempted to be strong on the outside while on the inside, everything was breaking down. No amount of shocks from Ororo were able to bring you back again.

-

The change in the world that happened after your funeral was something that not even Charles had been able to foresee. You had been buried on the school grounds, as you had once stated you wanted. There was no statue put up on your honor, for you would have hated that. Just a simple gravestone as if you were a normal person, and Charles planted a tree on top of you, so you would still be bringing beauty to the place. It had been a simple ceremony, but then there had been another that was more televised. It was what the world wanted.

There was a decline in crime - not because the bad guys were hiding away or decided to give up, oh no. It was because the people were fighting the injustices that you had dealt with for years. Men who attempted to sexually assault women were beat down and taught a lesson that it was never okay to put your hands on someone. The little girl who had seen you being groped by a strange man remembered his face, and after your death, she found him and while wearing an identical costume to the one that you wore, she reminded him of the ‘hands off’ lesson she had learned in kindergarten.

Hank McCoy told the story about how he had found you near the church, and how you had been thrown out merely for being who you are. How you had not been a distraction, how you did not disrespect anyone in any sort of way. How the world was still a place with prejudices. Every student from Xavier’s School went to the Church that Sunday and filled the pews for each service that was held that day. The father refused to speak for the morning and the afternoon services, but when Evening came around, he was told from higher up that he must give his sermon. A cardinal had come to sit in, and he found delightful conversation with Charles Xavier himself. Magneto, or Erik as he was still known to some people, sat in the first row next to his old friend Charles.

“You’re still a beauty, darling,” Charles would say to your grave every night, before lightly kissing the stone. The riots in the cities went on, but it was for the better and no mutant put a stop to any of it. Your heroics were celebrated once more, and so was the person that was behind the costume. There were calls to the masses that no one should ever treat someone like that again.

And that no person, man, woman, child, should ever have to put on a fake smile for the world’s sake.

[velkynkarma]

So I’m suuuper late to the party, but I finally, finally finished Rhythm of War. 

I am delighted by it. Thoughts and reactions under the cut, just in case for spoilers.

OKAY SO I had a lot of feelings about this book, and I wanted to be able to sit down and read the book properly and devote time to it, instead of sneaking paragraphs here or there during work breaks. So that’s why it took me so long to read it. In a way I feel like a terrible fan for taking so long when I was so excited about reading it for over a year, but in another way I am satisfied that I did it justice.

General thoughts/reactions:

I am legitimately impressed with how well Sanderson handled Shallan’s Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID is one of those mental illnesses that gets butchered so hard in media, and carries such a stigma of being “evil” or “creepy.” But Shallan’s representation seems much more factual in terms of how we know DID works today, including but not limited to:

Created from a severe trauma at a very young age, in which the brain starts splitting itself in order to protect against traumas and form survival mechanisms

Alters exist to protect the system and handle tasks for the host that the host cannot handle. Both Veil and Radiant handle tasks/functions that Shallan can’t

Also establishing that different alters can have different skills (such as Shallan being good at drawing and Lightweaving while Veil is bad at it, or Radiant handling espionage poorly)

Establishing that actual DID treatments do include encouraging alters to learn to work together and establish communication lines between each other. I like that the three create a pact to work together and rules to stand by and enforce them on each other to the best of their ability. They mess up sometimes (Radiant killing Ialai, Veil forcibly taking over sometimes). But they try. 

But also establishing that prior to Shallan’s realization of what was happening at the end of Oathbringer, each of these alters had their own memories and ways of handling things and did not necessarily communicate with each other

Establishing that multiple times in prior books when Shallan thought she was ‘acting’ she was actually Blending with another identity, either Veil or Radiant. This becomes more apparent when Veil or Radiant actively discuss being the ones to do things that were previously from “Shallan’s” perspective (such as Veil learning slight of hand/etc at the beginning of Words of Radiance). This stuck out to me as especially interesting since accounts of people with DID often mention not knowing they have it or are switching for years, but being semi-aware of doing things differently than normal. 

Veil being a protector-type alter and a trauma holder is extraordinarily common in DID cases and made an absolute ton of sense. It also suggests that she’s been around for YEARS longer than before Shallan ‘created’ her which, again, is not uncommon with DID cases

Veil, at least, also acts like she’s much older than Shallan, even calling her things like ‘kid.’ While Veil is, of course, no older than Shallan, this is completely accurate that alters can have different ages and even different genders to the host body in terms of how they perceive themselves

Establishing that fusions/integrations are possible, with Veil being ‘absorbed’ by Shallan at the end. This is a part of DID treatment and I like that it was handled in a way where both alters consented and the trauma was released, but it was handled. Even if Veil developed additional skills over time, it’s clear her first and foremost job was as a trauma holder alter, and once the trauma was no longer being hidden, her ‘purpose’ was done. And now Veil is a part of Shallan, and the expectation is that somewhere down the line, Radiant will join too.

Very very VERY VERY importantly, establishing Shallan’s interaction with other characters as a system with DID in a way that did not make her look like she was ‘crazy.’ DID is super serious and systems are often stigmatized. But I adored that Adolin is supportive and treats each alter on their own playing field (and even seems to be able to recognize them without Shallan changing hair color). I love that other characters like Kaladin admit they don’t exactly get it, but do their best to be respectful of it anyway. I love that nobody treats Shallan like a freak and sticks her in a padded room, and that people DO respect her wishes and treat Veil and Radiant as equally viable people. I love that it’s treated so healthily. 

Honestly my only real ‘hmm, not exactly like that’ moments were thinking back on how Shallan ‘created’ personalities. Veil being a trauma holder for Shallan’s old memories implies she’s been around for a long time, so she wasn’t really “created” in that sense, just given more of a face/name. But Radiant appears to have been created spur of the moment when Adolin was all ‘hey, let me teach you to swordfight!!!’ To the best of my knowledge people with DID don’t really have control over when they split, nor do they really get to actively ‘design’ their alters. It’s more like alters form as needed to handle something. But considering how accurate everything else is, and that possibly this is just Shallan’s way of handling her splitting in a way that makes sense to her, I’m willing to give this a cautious pass.

Also maybe lost memory moments. People with DID generally can lose time. Shallan doesn’t seem to, but then towards the end we also see she’s not a reliable narrator in her own right, since somehow Radiant managed to kill Ialai when we’re reading that passage. So it’s possible we the readers are missing things because Shallan is, too.

That said, the way DID works, it will never really go away even if Shallan does fully integrate. I’m curious if more alters could form down the line. I thought this had been happening with ‘Formless,’ but Formless didn’t turn out to be another alter so much. Oh well.

I had wondered about Shallan and Pattern’s bond for a while, and I’d been wondering if maybe she had a different spren ever since Pattern mentioned he could go away or she might kill him too back in...Oathbringer, I think it was? It seemed strange to me that Shallan wouldn’t have seen him around for a long time in his pattern form, or that she’d get chased by so many cryptics in book 1, if she’d been bonded to him this whole time. Or that she had a shardblade she could summon in book 1, but Pattern hadn’t been established as a character yet. And then when Adolin met a deadeye Cryptic in Shadesmar, I was like, ‘damn, that’s Shallan’s first spren isn’t it.’ And I was vindicated. I feel stupidly proud of myself for catching even one of Sanderson’s twists.

I think this is the first book in the series where Kaladin’s arc didn’t really grab me as much as the others to start. Not that it was bad, I still really enjoyed it, especially towards the end. But I was surprised to find when I got to Part Three and Kaladin’s name was listed but Adolin’s wasn’t that I went, ‘awww, damn,’ and used that as my break point for the night. 

I think part of this is that so much of Kaladin’s story that I love and adore is about not just Kaladin, but Kaladin’s friends and found family arcs with Bridge Four, and so much of that was taken away from him in the early part of the story. Like Kaladin, I guess I was just sad about everyone moving on and him being along. Sigzil going off to be the new Windrunner leader, Rock leaving, Rlain leaving (for a while at least), Adolin and Shallan leaving...it was hard. I felt his depression. Unfortunately, it made it a bit difficult to read, I guess.

On the flip side though, Kaladin’s ending arc in the story was A+ and I loved it. I love that his Fourth Ideal is specifically accepting that he cannot save everyone, which is something he’s struggled with from his very first appearance in the very first book. I love how this sheds so much light on that moment in Oathbringer where Syl is calling for him to speak the words and he just can’t, because at the time, he wasn’t ready to accept that he couldn’t save everyone. I love that he admits to Dalinar that he really did need help and a chance to recover, and that his setup for the next book doesn’t seem to be as Stormblessed, the soldier, but as a healer. And I love that he made up with his dad in the end, and did manage to at least save him.

ROCK. NOOOO.

TEFT. NOOOOOO! 

And yet as always, Sanderson books are the only books where I really feel...ok with character death. It’s sad, for sure, but also deaths have purpose in his stories. Nobody is killed meaninglessly. 

I think my favorite arc was Adolin’s, throughout the whole course of the book? I can’t help it. I love my enthusiastic, optimistic himbo who is just doing his best. Every time he was like ‘well I’m useless since I’m not a Radiant, but I’ll do the best I can’ I was like NO, HONEY NO, YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT YOU ARE REALLY? Look at all the people you help!!! Just look at them all!!! 

As stated earlier, I love that he’s just so damned supportive of Shallan’s condition. Even if they don’t have words for ‘DID’ in Roshar or even understand it in their own terms, he’s just so damn supportive. She tells him she’s got multiple alters and he’s just like ‘cool, how can I help.’ He loves his wife. He’s friendly with Radiant. He’ll share jabs with Veil. He just wants to help, always. 

I love that he’s so supportive of Kaladin too. I adored towards the beginning, where Kaladin’s going into a depressive spiral, and Syl gets Adolin because Adolin is one of the few people he can’t intimidate. And I adore that Adolin is supportive, but in a way that shows he gets it. He knows it’s not safe to leave Kaladin alone with himself and refuses to let that happen. But he also doesn’t force him to participate and acknowledges that yeah, you can feel like shit, and that’s ok, but you’re gonna feel like shit around other people, because it’ll help you. And it does. And I love that a thousand pages later Kaladin starts going into another depressive spiral and happens to mention, ‘fuck, Adolin’s not here to pull me out this time,’ recognizing what Adolin can do. I just love how much their friendship has progressed.

I love that he’s still so supportive of his brother, even if Renarin was barely in this book. I love that he even briefly defends Renarin against Shallan, even when he recognizes she doesn’t really mean any harm. 

I adore his continued arc with Maya. I love that he was so excited to go to Shadesmar so he could see her again. I love how he’s clearly had offers from spren or other Radiants to talk to spren about bonding to him, and he’s like, ‘nah,’ cause he’s loyal to her. I love how everyone keeps insisting ‘deadeyes can’t speak, deadeyes can’t feel’ and he’s just like, yes?? Yes they can??? Have you ever fucking tried??? I love that it’s his genuine connection to Maya that helps her recover enough to actually talk on her own with more clarity, and how she’s clearly coming back to herself. And what a revelation, that Maya and the others deliberately sacrificed themselves. And I love that ultimately it’s his bond with Maya that gives him success with the honorspren. He did this his own way, with his own skills, in a unique way that nobody else has ever done before, because maybe he’s not a Radiant in the shiny new sense of the word, but he’s the only person out there willing to treat his sword like a partner and show kindness to spren and that shows. 

I also really do hope he works stuff out with his dad because he’s got every right to be angry but also, I want him to be happy :( 

Ultimately I adore Adolin’s whole polarity, that he’s a masterful duelist and combatant, and has probably killed hundreds, and yet his best quality is his sheer kindness. He has really grown on me as a character since book one, honestly. I remember not liking him in book one. I still don’t, when I reread it! But in the rest, he’s probably second only to Kaladin as my favorite.

Venli. I remember not really liking Venli in earlier books. I thought Eshonai was cool, but Venli I remember just not really vibing with. Seeing her story really made her a lot more interesting to me though, especially since I love her whole gradual growth as a character. Openly admitting to herself that she’s a coward and just wanted to get attention against her sister...and then doing something about it to better herself. Doubting her abilities to do so and being uneasy about it the whole time, but ultimately doing it anyway. She’s a flawed character, but she’s a good character, and I grew to like her so much more after seeing her story. 

Also, I loved Eshonai’s mercy at the end there. Fuckin yes. Bittersweet smiles all around.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano wore white on the day he was to kill a king, because apparently white is the listener battle color, it makes SENSE now

I am also veeery curious what is going on with Szeth, who wasn’t really in this book all that much. And I’m curious if ‘Sixteen’ in Lasting Integrity is actually his dad, because they sure drew attention to a hiding Shin man and then immediately never mentioned him again. 

Raboniel. MAN. What a fucking character. I was fascinated with her from the beginning. I never knew exactly what to think of her, because we see her from so many perspectives. Leshwi, who has been established as possibly the ‘goodest’ and most sane of the Fused, openly tells us not to trust her. We learn she’s done terrible things in her lifetime, like trying to create a plague to destroy all of humanity, and one of her titles is just straight-up scary af. She learns how to really, truly, actually kill spren, which is terrifying. She tried to kill the Sibling, which is obviously Super Bad. And yet, she’s such a compelling character. She’s polite and reasonable, to a degree. Clever and enormously genre-savvy, but also blunt and to the point, knowing full well Venli is being used to spy on her and Navani is working against her and blatantly stating so. She’s so intelligent, and is willing to both respect Navani and work with her to create things together, and recognize her worth. I never fully trusted her at any point, because we know she’s done so much to be scared of, but man, I enjoyed reading her segments so freaking much. I was sad when she died, and her weird frenemy relationship with Navani was really intriguing. 

I really enjoyed Dabbid’s little segments. I’m so happy he’s comfortable talking around the others. I’m also happy to see Sanderson delving into including more autistic characters in different points on the spectrum, while also showing other people treating them well.

Taravangian. I still don’t know where to stand on this guy and I’m very nervous now that he’s basically a god and apparently smart enough to outwit everyone else again. I was excited when he actually managed to kill Rayse but fuck, we might have been better off with Rayse.

SOMEBODY ACTUALLY MANAGAGED TO OUTWIT HOID AND I’M SCARED AF AT WHAT THAT MEANS

Moash. I just. Fuck. I don’t even know. I’m not even sure if this counts as him killing under his own power or not. He doesn’t really want to take responsibility for his actions, and as long as Odium takes his pain and feelings, he doesn’t have to. But that moment when he wasn’t protected, he seemed upset with what he had done. So I really have no damned clue where his story is gonna go. But fuck, it’s scary how easily he almost undid Kaladin completely. He knew exactly what buttons to press. We’re lucky the Pursuer ignored him and attacked anyway, or he really would’ve won.

I’ll admit, my Cosmere knowledge is less than stellar, so I’m still not entirely sure I understand the stuff with the Heralds and Mraize. But I am definitely curious to see where it’s going on a surface level, at least. 

LIFT USES LIFELIGHT that explains a lot. I wish she’d been in this story more because I adore her lol. 

I know Sanderson announced Ace Jasnah a while back, but I love that it’s been so firmly established in the book itself. No beating around the bush or leaving people to wonder. She just straight-up says she’s got no real interest in sexual stuff and never really got how it drove others. I love it. I love seeing that so honestly and bluntly stated. 

Anyway I’m sure there’s a lot more to be said but overall, A++++ as always, super adored, next one when???? 

[ajokeformur-ray]

Can I just be whelmed? // J x Rosie x Pat // personalised comfort.

But I’d just like comfort from J and Pat bc of this week. From my manager doing what he did, to another coworker potentially having Covid, to my sleep deprivation, lack of appetite, my period is starting, ugh the list goes on😂 I just really would like something sweet with both of them bc all of this is just...too much and it’s slowly taking away my ability to want to keep going. @loveletterstoledger​

A/N: I hope that you enjoy this, my love!!!💗 You’re so strong and so brave and I’m so, so proud of you. I’m so sorry for everything that you’re going through and I truly hope that things improve for you soon, angel. Sending you hugs!🥰💗

Word count: 1, 726.

Bianca Stratford had once asked you that, if you could be respectively over or underwhelmed, could you ever just be whelmed? You hadn’t known at the time, though you had suspected not, being a bit more advanced in linguistics than she was, but right now did simply being whelmed sound really good to you, for everything was just... too much. There was so much that was going on, there was so much that was happening to you or to those around you, that it was dizzying to even try to list out everything which was occurring all at the same time. 

You didn’t even want to think about what had happened with your manager most recently. That had really unsettled you. You kept your relationship with Patrick and J as private as you could, out of respect for the first man and to protect the chaotic clown whom you called your home, and you knew that you were only interested in the two of them. There could never be anyone else for you. Hell, you didn’t want for there to be anyone else. You had everything you had ever wanted or needed in your two men, and that was that. There was also health risks at your workplace which were scary and terrifying in the worst of ways, your sleep schedule had been knocked way off kilter, as had your appetite... no doubt as a result of the daily stressors which relentlessly plagued you each day. And, to top it all off...

... Your period was going to start soon.

To put it simply, you were tired and you just didn’t want to even exist for a time. You wanted to just put on some Taylor Swift, or maybe some Queen, close your eyes and... go to sleep. You were done and you had had enough. Hour by hour, day by day, was your resolve to keep going, to keep working, chipped away by your harsh reality. It was relentless and it seemed like it would never end. That was all you wanted; reprieve. A break from your life. You just wanted everything to stop for just five minutes so that you could stop and breathe and re-centre.

Pat and J were both observant men. They saw much and spoke little, unless they were tearing someone to shreds with their silver tongues which could cut like the blades J favoured. As such, they had been watching your slow decline into an almost inability to function. You felt like a shell of the woman you knew yourself to be; a beautiful and strong woman who knew what and who she wanted. You felt like you were slowly crumbling, like water which eroded at the slowly receding surface of a cliff...

Pat and J both disagreed with you, but equally so were they both worried about you and your mental state. They intervened only when you skipped the second meal of the day. You were eating so little and the less you ate, the worse you physically and mentally felt. Additionally, your sleeping was being affected and the more physically tired you were, the faster your mental state declined, and on did the vicious cycle continue. You couldn’t break yourself out of it, so far gone down the road were you, so it was up to your koala and your clown to light your way back to who you still were, even now, when it seemed like the whole world was against you.

Finally on this night did you come home from work. You were on edge, so scared were you about contracting the virus which was globally making the rounds and ravaging the population in the worst way, and desperate for a shower. You headed there straight away, dumping your bag and outer layers down by the doorstep for disinfection, which you would do later on. For right now, you wanted to be clean so that you could encase yourself in charcoal grey and in royal purple respectively. You were in your house but you weren’t home until such a thing occurred, and you rushed through your shower, thoughts of going home making you want to cry with soul deep yearning which would only be alleviated by the very thoughts which kept you company coming into your cruel and callous, positively frightening reality.

When you came out of the shower, finally clean, though by no means safe from the physical risks which you had no choice but to surround yourself with, J had disinfected everything and all you had to do was to relax. You needed the money which you earned almost every day, even though J had said on multiple occasions that he could and would provide for you if only you asked him to. It was something you would never ask of him, though. You prided yourself on making an honest living, and besides... you were an independent woman who was wise and mature in her decision making and you were the type of person to make back up plans even before you needed them. You couldn’t ever ask for anyone to provide for you when, even with such risks involved, you could provide for yourself. You worried constantly that either of your men would leave you one day, or maybe even both of them would get sick of you... so you would need money saved up for another place if that happened... when that happened, whispered your mind, though you shushed that voice up quickly whenever it surfaced. You didn’t want to know, you always told yourself. You just didn’t.

“Are you okay, strawberry?” Pat walked into the living room, where you were stood with a glazed look over your beautiful eyes, holding a bowl of tomato soup which was precariously balanced on a plate which contained a grilled cheese. It was your go-to comfort meal, the same with Pat, and you felt yourself smile. You really smiled, though your gut churned with the lack of appetite; you felt sick because you were so hungry and that only made you want to not eat... so then you grew hungrier, you felt weaker and sicker... and on did the cycle go. It was just one more thing which Pat and J would help you to break out of. The cheese was safe for you to eat, and there was no dairy in the soup, either. You wouldn’t be made to be sick from this meal, so well did your men take care of you.

You sighed. “Yeah. I’m all right.”

J grunted quietly from his position on the sofa, his pinstriped clad legs stretched out and rossed at the ankles; his feet up on the coffee table. The clown quite clearly disagreed with you, but he didn’t push you.

Neither did Pat, who merely frowned and approached you easily. He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and handed you the plate in the same movement so that you were entirely surrounded by Pat’s warmth and by the heat of the soup and the quickly cooling grilled cheese. “You’re not fine,” Pat sighed in sympathy, and his fingers flexed upon the slope of your shoulders. “Come on, come sit with me and grumpy over there,” he flashed J a teasing smile, “we can eat together.”

You sighed and your stomach churned once more. You hoped you weren’t getting sick. It did sound good, though, and as always would you did you follow Pat over to the plush sofa. Your blanket, the one which you shared with Pat, was slung carelessly over the back, and you took your place in between Pat and J. You were sat so close together that your shoulders were pressed against each of theirs. You were truly surrounded by love in this moment, and it was everything you hadn’t known you needed until the precise moment that you did.

“Ya’ know...” J waited until you took a very small bite of your grilled cheese to speak. By his thinking, if your mouth was full, you couldn’t - wouldn’t - interrupt him. “y’re really strong, sweets. Braver than ya’ know.” He felt your eyes on him even as you chewed thoughtfully so he elaborated his point to save you from having to ask him. “You said no to your man-ag-er... you go to work even with the risks to ya’ health, to us, doll... even now, feelin’ sick and still eatin’, hm? Y’re more than ya’ know. Proud o’ya, little one.”

Tears stung at your eyes and they fell without your conscious decision to allow them to do so. Pat cooed from beside you and the calloused, blackened pads of his thumbs, for he had been working in the garage this day and car grease so stained skin no matter how hard one tried, wiped away the tears which fell. “You couldn’t ever disappoint me, marshmallow. Or our soldier. We love you.” Tender kisses were pressed to the side of your cheeks, to your temple, to your neck... as your throat convulsed with each unsure swallow, your gut and stomach churning alike but you knew, somewhere in the back of your head, that nothing was going to happen to you, Pat rewarded you with a kiss. His lips were soft and warm, just like him, and J, unsatisfied with how he wasn’t doing anything, pressed a sloppy kiss to the top of your head.

“What the kid said.” J nodded to himself, as if he had just realised something, and then he said, “We got’cha, my thorn. I’m a man of my word.”

It was a reminder. A promise. 

A vow.

“Thank you for loving me.” Your quiet whisper, your tears which fell like rain, your pounding heart. The feeling of Pat’s lips upon your skin, the ghostly imprint of J’s against the crown of your head. The warmth of their bodies pressed up against yours. The satisfying weight of food in your stomach. The promise of love which had always been and would always be yours... you weren’t okay and you likely wouldn’t be for quite some time, but you had all of these things and more. You had yourself, too, and on the days like today when you quite lost track of your own self, Pat and J were there with already outstretched hands, understanding and with love... always, always...

Love.