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sevendeadlywhispers · 9 months ago

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7Seals

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Chapter 6*

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•Previous Chapter: Chapter Five

•Next Chapter: Chapter Seven

• New chapters every Thursday

•Content: Levi Ackerman × OC female. Slow Burn! Canon verse!

• Word Count: 2.7k

• Warning: This content may not be suitable for all readers. If you've watched all of AOT then you will understand that the show handles heavy subjects such as abuse, racism, violence, and other heavy subjects. This fanfiction will also have the same heavy themes. Chapters with heavy themes will be marked with * at each chapter. This chapter contains themes of abuse. If this bothers you please do not read.

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78Fahrenheit (demo) - Ethel Cain

2:22 ─────━❍─ 1:25

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The wind whispered through my hair as I guided my ODM gear through the intricate patterns of the training course. My body moved with a dance-like grace, effortlessly slicing through the air to sever the napes of the practice dummies.

The past three days had been a relentless cycle of one-on-one training with Captain Levi. His focus? My ODM gear and nape-slicing skills. Not a word escaped his lips during these sessions; he merely observed, occasionally mirroring my movements with his gear.

"You're using too much gas," Levi's blunt comment reached me as I returned from a practice run, my body dripping with exhaustion. Collapsing to catch my breath, Levi's foot jabbed into my leg, a harsh reminder that rest was a luxury.

"Get up. I didn't say you could sit, brat," he grumbled, his impatience evident.

"You're making unnecessary movements with your gas. Release, then move."

"Are you trying to kill me?" I retorted, still catching my breath. Levi's response was curt.

"It's not impossible."

"Fine. I'll do another run," I conceded, my determination overshadowing the fatigue.

"No. We're finished for right now," Levi declared. "Take five, then meet me on the training fields. We're recruiting today."

His words hung in the air, and I didn't argue. The training had pushed me to my limits, bruises from the gear darkening every day. The ODM gear, a relentless companion, left my thighs raw and my legs trembling. Levi's challenges extended beyond physical strain; they tested my mental fortitude, an arena where I was already grappling with the mess left by Alexander.

The pain echoed not just in my body but in the foggy recesses of my mind. Mentally checked out, I wondered how much more my body could endure and whether the cloudy aftermath of Alexander's actions would ever lift.

Doubts lingered in the air as I took my short break, sweat clinging to my skin from the relentless training. The question haunted me: Was I truly good enough for a spot on a special operations squad, especially one led by someone as formidable as Levi?

My mind circled back to Alexander, the one who knew me best, my companion for the past six years. His silent presence loomed in my thoughts, and a nagging doubt crept in – perhaps he had been trying to protect me, knowing my strengths and weaknesses better than anyone. Maybe he was right; maybe I was too weak for Levi's squad.

Levi made me feel like a mere shadow in his presence. Every spar was a reminder of my incompetence. He urged me to pin him, a simple task, yet one I struggled with. I hadn't even secured a spot in the top ten of my class. So why did Levi choose me? What did Erwin see in me that warranted such a position?

Survival haunted my past, with Alexander by my side for the last six years. Did Erwin consider my mere survival a qualification? My thoughts spiraled, questioning why I had lived through the fall of Wall Maria. Levi's intervention had saved me, but why?

Wouldn't it have been simpler to let me perish? It would have spared everyone the trouble, and given Alexander a chance at happiness. My internal debate echoed with the possibility that perhaps I wasn't meant for Levi's special squad. My presence, a potential burden, could jeopardize him and the entire squad.

Training days blended into a haze of exhaustion, my body pushed beyond its limits. Bruises marked my skin like a roadmap of pain, a testament to Levi's relentless regimen. Mentally checked out from the mess with Alexander, my mind felt clouded, a storm brewing beneath a calm exterior.

The haunting question persisted: Why me? Why did Erwin and Levi see potential in someone who couldn't even pin their captain during sparring? A whisper of doubt insinuated that maybe I was a mere survivor, not a true Scout.

I just keep going in circles.

I questioned Levi's motives, Alexander's warnings, and my abilities. Was I destined for more than just survival?

As I reached the training fields, Levi's gaze met mine. Where was the emotion that lay behind those eyes? Inner turmoil gripped me, a symphony of conflicting emotions. Every move felt like a step closer to revealing my inadequacy.

"You're late." Levi's voice broke through my thoughts. "I said five minutes, not twenty."

"I lost track of time." I stumbled over my words.

"Save it." Levi groaned. "My office after dinner."

"Yes sir," I said to him as we walked towards the group's training.

The sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the training grounds. Levi's voice cut through the air, a command that echoed with authority.

"I need high ground." His groan spoke of a tactical mind at work, and without hesitation, he navigated the field, reaching the closest building.

With practiced ease, he utilized his ODM gear to ascend, his silhouette against the darkening sky. From my vantage point below, he seemed like a shadow, a silent observer seeking an advantage. His eyes, sharp and unwavering, scanned the training fields.

"Oi," his voice rang down at me, a summon I couldn't ignore. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get up here."

The dread settled in, knowing that the pain of using my ODM gear awaited, yet duty demanded my ascent.

With gritted teeth, I propelled myself upwards, each motion a reminder of the physical toll training had taken on me. When I reached the rooftop, Levi had already claimed his spot, his eyes fixed on the recruits below. The town sprawled beyond, a canvas painted in the hues of dusk.

"Wherever I go, you go," Levi declared his words a simple directive that held more weight than spoken. His gaze remained focused on the ongoing training, looking for potential new members of his squad.

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The world below unfolded like a patchwork quilt as we soared through the dense woods. The ODM gear granted us an exhilarating freedom, taking us to untouched corners of the training grounds. The rush of wind against my face, the feeling of power coursing through every movement—it was a sensation unlike any other.

"Guys! Stop!" Hange's voice echoed through the trees, halting our swift progress. Alexander, always the assertive one, zoomed past me, hooking into the trees ahead. "Get up here, Hange!" he called out, his words carrying a playful challenge.

"Yeah, Hange, stop being scared and come join us!" I added my teasing encouragement. Hange's reluctance toward the ODM gear was known, a fear born from a face-first landing during their first attempt.

"Our gear is supposed to be used for emergencies only on this exercise, remember?" Hange's voice drifted from below, a reminder of the rules we were supposed to follow. But rules were always meant to be bent, weren't they?

Following Alexander's echoed voice, I found him perched high on a sturdy branch. "Come here," he beckoned, and I ascended to join him.

"What's up?" I asked, settling onto the branch beside him. The scenery spread out below us, a sea of treetops and greenery.

"Enjoy the view with me," he suggested, and I couldn't help but marvel at the beauty surrounding us.

"It's beautiful," I commented, my gaze lost in the vastness of the woods.

"Yeah, but you're prettier," he said with a casual grin, a compliment that never failed to make my cheeks flush. His words, always laced with a charming boldness, echoed back to the first day we met at training camp.

"Wherever I go, you go. Okay?" Alexander's tone shifted his words carrying a weight of seriousness.

"I can't afford to lose you, Iris."

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The memory lingered, a snapshot of unspoken promises amid the rustling leaves. As I returned to the present, perched on a rooftop with Captain Levi, the echoes of those words whispered through the air, a reminder of something that once was.

"Are you done daydreaming?" Levi's baritone voice asked cutting through my thoughts.

"I-" I stumbled over my words but it was pointless.

"Do you see anyone from the squad below worth our time?"

"Oluo and Eld." I quickly said. "They work well together."

"Oluo doesn't take his training seriously. All he's done is talk." Levi observed. "Who's his captain?"

"Alexander."

I saw Levi's gaze in the corner of my eyes. It wasn't too kind but it wasn't angry either.

"Should have known, guessing Eld was on your old squad as well?"

"Yes sir. Oluo has fifteen solo kills and Eld has ten. Together they've had ten assists. They work really well together." I explained to him. "We have a lot of trust in each other."

"Trust?"

"Yeah, without trust, you're as good as dead," I muttered, avoiding Levi's eyes as my gaze lingered on the vast landscape below. His eyes, usually intense, now held a curiosity that felt like it delved into my very thoughts.

"What are you guys doing up there?" Alexander's voice snapped the fragile thread connecting us, and I turned my attention to the man with ash-brown hair, scowling up at us.

Levi and I exchanged a swift glance, a momentary understanding that vanished in the face of Alexander's intrusion.

I haven't seen Alexander in the last couple of days. The mess hall had been a lonely place without him, and the tension that lingered between us found no resolution in his avoidance.

"Recruiting," I responded, breaking the silence with words that carried more weight than he could fathom. The distance between us felt like an unspoken chasm, fueled by his baseless accusations.

"Well, recruit somewhere else. My squad's off-limits."

Alexander's words, delivered with a glare aimed directly at me, cut through the air like a knife. Levi, embodying an unexpected calm, stood up and gracefully descended from the roof, landing in front of Alexander.

"Problem, soldier?"

As they faced each other, I stood on the roof, caught between past accusations and an uncertain future.

"Yeah, there is. You're interrupting a training session with my squad," he snapped, his stern gaze fixed on Levi.

The towering figure of Alexander made Levi appear even smaller. Anyone could sense the tension and understanding that Alexander wasn't about to extend a warm welcome.

"Your soldiers lack discipline if being observed is a distraction."

Levi had a calm and confident demeanor that I know made Alexander mad. His words lingered in the air like the tension between them, prompting me to leap off the roof and join Levi on the ground. I could feel the squad converging, drama was the scouts favorite activity after all.

"Then that's more of a reason to move along and recruit elsewhere. My squad's off-limits."

"Nothing is off-limits for me. I have free rein to choose any member of the regiment, whether they want to join or not. Including you." Levi's assertive voice could be heard all around us.

"And who gave you such power?" Alexander questioned, his disbelief apparent.

"Commander Erwin. I'd love to chit-chat about meaningless shit all day, but I have a job to do."

With those words, Levi turned and walked away, leaving a stunned squad and a seething Alexander in his wake.

"Get back to training," Alexander bellowed at his squad, eyes lingering.

As Levi walked away, leaving Alexander fuming with frustration, the tension in the air lingered longer than it should have. I felt the weight of Alexander's disapproval as he turned his piercing gaze toward me.

He grabbed my wrist, leading me away from the unfolding drama. As we entered the nearby building, my thoughts raced, trying to make sense of the power dynamics shifting within the regiment.

What have I gotten myself into? The clash between these two is like a storm, and I'm standing in the middle of it.

Alexander's grip on my wrist tightened as he led me away from the gathering crowd. The building's interior enveloped us, shielding our conversation from prying eyes.

"Explain yourself, Iris," Alexander demanded, his voice low and harsh.

I struggled to find the right words, torn between defending Levi's actions and pacifying Alexander's evident anger. This is a delicate dance, and one wrong step could lead to more trouble.

"He's just doing his job, Alexander. Recruiting for the Special Ops," I offered cautiously.

Alexander's scowl deepened.

"And you think that gives him the right to disrupt my training session? To challenge the authority of my squad?"

I bit my lip, contemplating my response. How do I make him understand without making things worse?

"He's persistent, but it doesn't mean he disrespects you or your squad. He sees potential, that's all," I tried to reason, trying to choose my words wisely.

Alexander's eyes bore into mine, searching for sincerity. "Potential or not, this isn't the way to go about it. We have rules, and he can't just waltz in and disregard them."

"Just trust Erwin. He knows what he's doing." I said trying to calm his nerves.

The room hung heavy with tension, a suffocating silence enveloping us. I turned to face Alexander, uncertainty clawing at my insides. His gaze, cold and unforgiving, pierced through me like a blade. The air was filled with unspoken words, and I felt my stomach plummet into an abyss of dread.

Before I could comprehend the storm about to erupt, my body stumbled backward, colliding with the sturdy desk behind me. Panic surged as I braced myself, my trembling hands reaching out to steady the chaos within me. The echo of the impending storm reverberated through the room, drowning out any semblance of peace.

A sharp contact against the right side of my face sent shockwaves through my senses. I winced, instinctively cradling the stinging pain. The heavy breathing in the room intertwined with the shiver that ran down my spine. The sting of tears welled up, soothing the physical ache but doing nothing to quell the storm raging within.

"Who do you think you are?"

Alexander's voice cut through the silence, each word a lash against my already battered composure. He advanced, a looming presence that seized control of the room. His hand found a fistful of my hair, yanking me mercilessly closer to him. I bit back a cry, my eyes locked with his, a silent plea for mercy.

"Do you think I'm fucking dumb?"

His words lashed out like a whip, each syllable seething with anger. His grip on the back of my head tightened, and I felt the world tilt under the force of his rage.

"Answer me."

His demand hung in the air, a command that brooked no disobedience. I swallowed hard, my voice a fragile whisper in the charged atmosphere.

"No."

The tears streamed down, tracing a path of despair on my cheeks. His eyes bore into the raw vulnerability laid bare before him. My body was locked in the vice of his anger, and I braced myself for the tumultuous storm. His words sliced through the room, anger boiling beneath the surface.

"Tell that captain of yours to stay the fuck away from our squad."

Another demand hung in the air, a venomous command that echoed in the silence. I nodded, a silent acknowledgment, but it was never enough. His fist collided with my face, a burst of pain and frustration.

"When I ask you something, you answer. Got it?" His voice was a relentless storm, demanding compliance.

"Yes," I whispered, the word hanging in the charged atmosphere.

"Do you understand what's going to happen if you don't listen to me?" His question sent shivers down my spine, and my voice trembled as I replied,

"Yes."

The weight of his expectations bore down on me, and I felt the vulnerability in my compliance.

"Good. Now come here," he said, lifting me off the floor and holding me close. His touch was a paradox of comfort and pain, his hand gentle in my hair as he cradled me. I felt his lips press against the very spot his fist had struck moments ago.

"Please listen, Iris. I do this because I love you." His words were a desperate plea, a conflicted confession that hung in the air. He squeezed me one last time before releasing his hold, his departure leaving an emptiness in the room. He didn't look back, and the silence that followed echoed with the weight of unspoken struggles. I was left standing, all alone in the dark training room while the day still passed on.

It wasn't the first time he hit me.

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Authors Note:

Abuse is never to be romanticized. This is to spread awareness and help others cope in different outlets. You are not alone.

For more help:

National Domestic Violence Hotline: 800-799-7233

Text START to 88788

You are not alone.

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#levi ackerman #levi x you #captain levi #aot x reader #attack on titan #levi aot #aot #levi attack on titan #snk levi #levi x reader #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi angst #levi #snk

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rin-henricov · 3 months ago

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What do you think storks home life was like as a kid, did he even go to school?

Sorry for waiting so long!

According to my old headcanon, Stork was born and lived in a time when most merbs preferred to build their homes deep underground in order to protect themselves from the atmosian monsters that previously inhabited Terra-Merbia.

In a remote provincial village, it was not possible to provide a good education to those in need due to difficult times. The vast majority of merbian schools had a three-year term of study, were small and could have one teacher for three classes. It is not surprising that in those days the qualifications of teachers were below average, and young ones preferred to work in the mines for reasonable wages instead of wasting their time at school desks. The possibility that our pilot might have gone to school is dismissed immediately, not so much on a whim as by his parents decision.

Stork's father was an ardent chauvinist, a staunch conservative, and a clinical misanthrope. In addition, he was prone to a severe form of kleptomania, and in the past committed small thefts relative to neighboring villages. Despite the fact that he married a weak-willed merbian woman, guided solely by selfish motives, his father was extremely selective in choosing a spouse who was ready to fulfill any whims of her husband, and therefore actively took advantage of the fact that she would not be able to argue for a divorce, would not try to divide jointly acquired property and defend her rights. At one point, he had forced Stork's mom to marry him, telling her that no one would want a plain-looking girl like her, and that she wouldn't last very long without a penny, and he knew how to make easy money. He may also have forced her to conceive a child as an additional labor force (In other words, his father viewed the merbian women solely as a living incubator).

Stork's mother was a deeply unhappy woman, holding on by one-sided inertia to an unwanted marriage. She had no voice in the family, as husband had estranged son from her as soon as the latter learned to speak, thereby taking the initiative to raise him. Stork grew up as a cold and distant merb, not feeling much affection for mother, because he did not feel her deep maternal love in answer. She was also involved in some of her husband's criminal schemes, and all of the small scams took place with her tacit consent.

Stork's relationship with his family members was characterized by heightened tensions. The father did not provide any care, perceiving it rather as a tool that requires correction for certain needs. As I noted earlier, he did not pay due attention to his education, instead assessing in advance his son's ability to fully provide for the whole family, and therefore chose an authoritarian approach to his upbringing. But as the boy grew up, there were many conflicts between the future pilot and his father on any minor issues. Already at a young age, Stork showed perseverance in setting personal boundaries and confidently defended his positions, which often became the reason for their disagreements, sometimes reaching such a level that he was ready to seriously fight with his father for the last canned fish left from a week's supply.

The environment in which Stork lived had severely reduced his social skills, so from the very beginning he built a wall around himself to protect himself from all the preconceived judgments and ridicule of others. Everyone around him knew him as that unsociable boy who most found solace in the company of old books and rarely tried to fit in with any company. Peers did not take him seriously, and even the few children who had the most dysfunctional families tried to stay away from him. The only merbs with whom he could exchange a few words were the neighboring hunters, who periodically came to borrow some provisions for the road.

Due to the shortage of consumer goods, his father found it advisable to teach Stork how to repair household appliances and some basic engineering. Despite good intentions, he approached this issue strategically, which, again, could be caused by the primary motivation to have someone who can do everything for him, thereby significantly saving on costs. However, the young merb's desire to expand his skills has not weakened. He took the initiative to study technical sciences, going beyond his father's initial plans, but given the current period of time, finding the right materials proved to be a difficult task, and he had to borrow books either from dilapidated libraries or from the bureau of unnecessary things. Sometimes the young merb obtained books in other ways: for example, such as bartering, theft, or trading with other villagers. To compensate for the lack of studies, in his spare time Stork preferred to spend hours in complete solitude (for example, in a cramped pantry), studying a volume of an engineering encyclopedia, or reading a reference book under a blanket by the beam of a flashlight while everyone was asleep.

Because his father was repeatedly denied employment cause existence of criminal record, at some point he decided to use his name to register in the illegal hunting business, but he always sent his son to fulfill the contracts under strict orders not to return until the customers' whim was fulfilled. He himself motivated his decision by the fact that this would not only allow him to move from mother's shoulder, but also prepare him for the harsh hardships of life. (Despite the fact that his parents repeatedly fell under the law, most of the court cases had such ambiguous circumstances, as a result of which they were suspended and archived due to some investigative mistakes).

Stork was a "general-purpose" hunter and was determined to eliminate any beast inhabiting the surface. He hunted down, lured, and killed monsters in any hard-to-reach places; in the wilds of the swamp mire, huge mountain peaks, and deep ravines, he was always on the lookout. To catch and finish off his prey, he needed a deep understanding of wildlife, including its inhabitants: how they behave, how they differ from each other, and how best to deal with them. He always tried to think carefully about his plan so as not to give them a single chance, but sometimes it came at too high a price. Mastery of the appropriate weapons and use of tactical techniques also played into his challenging craft. One of the most effective weapons was his late grandfather's family crossbow, providing a reliable combination of power and accuracy while remaining relatively compact and easy to carry. For close combat, he most often used a machete with a predominantly single-sided sharpening.

No matter what kind of chthonic bestiary he had to exterminate this time: Stork, with the composure of a field surgeon, carried out even the most laborious order for a meager penny, knowing that in his case any little thing would be required. The risk of being eaten up by a bog howler and a long stay in isolation negatively affected his condition, however, despite this, the young merb was fed by hunting monsters from the first years of independent life. In addition to this he regularly donated secondary waste from previous traps, which served as an additional source of family income. Due to extensive knowledge in the field of monstrumology, he also independently designed some structures for traps, which helped to significantly develop his inventive skills. Despite deep aversion to his work, she aroused in him a sincere interest in creating various traps with which he would equip Condor compartments in the future and not only.

I took inspiration from such media products as "Made In Abyss" and "LISA: The Painful" to set a certain tone for my headcanon, and I hope that I, well, did at least a little. Anyway, feel free to ask questions if there's anything else in this post that interests you. I will be happy to answer them to the best of my ability and free time! ^_^

#storm hawks stork #storm hawks #stork #merbs #rin's ask #text post #longread #headcanons

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my-breakup-playlist · 7 months ago

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Every so often I see those posts to the tune of "if you could go back and tell your past self one thing--"

And I know mine. But also I don't. It's messy and complicated.

Back in high school, I was heavily debating breaking up with my ex. I made pro/con tables. I prayed about it. I consulted my bishop.

That one was probably a mistake-- see, my ex was about to go on his Mission, and a breakup right before would shake his faith, the bishop argued. So he pressed me to stay.

So I did. And when my ex came back, I married him.

I'm pretty sure my time-traveling future self bearing a grave warning would have outweighed religious authority (though not as much as you might think), and I could have avoided this.

But here's the thing:

I grew up in pretty much a walled garden/ivory tower situation. A community all but engineered to keep The Good Ones (rich white conservative Evangelicals) safely cloistered inside, and keep everyone else out.

I only left that place because I moved out of my parents' home and into his hastily-procured studio apartment in the second-shittiest complex available on short notice. Leaving that walled garden and seeing actual people leading actual lives fundamentally changed me as a person-- as did the significantly more liberal group of student-teachers he met a few months later that became our friend group, etc, etc.

Without that big move, I probably would have stayed in that sheltered place. I probably would have stayed religious. I would have been pointedly shielded from the kinds of experiences that would have made me realize I was queer, or anything that might 'radicalize' me to be at all more liberal.

I know for a fact that I would have been shunted into the Singles Ward at church, to be paired off with whoever else would deign to have me.

And I probably would have stayed right there: conservative and religious, probably pressured into having children that I didn't want and couldn't handle.

I know that now because I knew it then. That was the future that was laid out for me.

That pro/con list wasn't about my ex's smile or whatever-- right there on the con list was that I didn't think I loved him. But I knew he was the alternative to that specific future. College was not actually an option-- not when supporting my parents and siblings by waitressing while living in their house was more reliable, and not when my contribution to the household finances was so obviously needed. I was absolutely aware that the only thing that would make me Off Limits to my family as a resource (both to them and to myself, because obligation runs deep) was belonging to My Husband's Household instead.

My ex checked the boxes of being in favor of my education, good with money, and unlikely to physically hurt me-- and, of course, being willing to marry me. I didn't have a guarantee that any future opportunities would meet those qualifications, let alone do better.

It wasn't a mistake born of passion and naivete. It was a calculated, carefully thought-out decision.

And based on the options I had available to me at the time, I think it was the best option I had.

#starting over #I know of two people who would be dead right now if things hadn't gone in this direction #which is the other half of the argument against time travel #you know. in the hypothetical.#so: I think I needed to marry him #maybe not stay married for as long as I did

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a-cacophony-of-silent-words · 1 year ago

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Still Breathing Part One: Into The Tiger's Den

Chapter 1: Sacrifices

How could things go so bad so quickly?

Twenty-four hours ago everything was business as usual. Twenty-four hours ago, everyone was alive. Now? Now, Tim and Jason are the only ones left. The last of their family hiding out in a derelict building from a Joker who’s somehow become a nearly omnipotent monster. Everyone’s dead. All of them. A thought that’s bringing Tim closer and closer to a complete breakdown with every second that passes. He’s trying to fight it, he doesn’t want to do that to Jason, who’s already at his wits’ end, but…

Dammit, this can’t be happening. Why is this happening?

Tim runs a hand through his hair as he sits down on a crate and just breathes. Forcing down the hysterical sobs that want to rip apart his composure. God, he was just sitting on the couch in the manor with all of them two days ago. He can’t remember what the last thing he said to any of them was. Can’t remember if he gave them a hug before he left. When was the last time he’d told them he loved them? Fuck.

He curls in on himself pulling the jacket Jason had given him that morning closer around his shoulders. How can this be happening? How can they all be… How can he be losing another family like this? It’s all so fucking wrong. This is--

A rustle of fabric and the rattle of a gun makes Tim look up quick and he can only stare in surprise at the sight before him. Jason has one of his guns pointed directly at Klarion’s head. All things considered, Klarion doesn’t seem particularly perturbed by this situation. He just places a finger on the muzzle of the gun and turns it away from his face. “Honestly, I would appreciate you not attempting to shoot at me. After all, I didn’t come here to injure you with your own damned weaponry.”

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Jason snaps, irritable and tired. So tired. Still he does lower the gun without arguing.

Klarion smirks as Teekl jumps down from his shoulders and slinks over to Tim. “I didn’t come here for you at all. Teekl has something of a fondness for Tim, so we decided to come to the rescue. Think of me as your chaotic savior, here to do all I can to rid us of our mutual problem.”

“Great. Then why don’t you just zap the motherfucker into space and let him die, already?” Jason grumbles, holstering is gun and leaning, sullenly, against the nearest wall.

That only gets him a deeply unimpressed look from Klarion, who responds, “If I could have done that I would have already. You severely overestimate the capabilities of magic and underestimate the power of our foe. Not surprising honestly, he has been taking his sweet time. If anyone else had found that damned thing we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“What do you mean?” Tim finally finds his voice, hollow and strained as it sounds to his own ear. “Do you know what happened to to Joker?”

With a sharp laugh, Klarion nods. “Oh yes. You would too, but for the nature of the beast.”

“Just cut the cagey shit and fill us in already,” Jason growls, obviously growing short on patience. Tim can’t really blame him. Klarion can be a pain in the ass to deal with on the best of days.

Klarion raises an eyebrow slightly, but deigns to explain nonetheless. “It doesn’t have a name, but it is an immensely powerful and ancient, magic weapon. Supposedly it was created to destroy what it deems to be redundant universes by granting godlike powers to those who meet certain qualifications.”

“And Joker meets those qualifications?” Tim asks.

“Probably.” Klarion shrugs. “I never bothered to learn them for myself. A dead universe wouldn’t be much fun to play in after all. Regardless, thanks to its power, I can’t even begin to use my magic against Joker. That��s why I’m here. To offer my assistance to you.”

“Sounds like there’s not much you can do, blue boy.” Jason pauses, turns to look at Tim with a look on his face that Tim’s not real sure about. “Unless I’m missing something?”

Tim grimaces, allowing himself to absently scratch Teekl behind the ears, which feels a little weird knowing they’re not a real cat, but it’s comforting nonetheless. “There might be one way, but… it’s not exactly a good one.”

“Good isn’t what I do anyhow, so do tell.” The grin that spreads across Klarion’s face is more than a little unnerving.

“We need…” Tim hesitates, glancing at Jason. “We need to go back in time… and kill the Joker.”

“Delightful!” Klarion croons and Teekl lets out a purr that makes Tim’s stomach turn.

Jason is already shaking his head though. “Baby bird, you know I’m always down for killing Joker, but… messing with fucking time travel? That shit never goes the way you want it to.”

“I know.” Tim agrees. He’s well aware of the risks, having met two future versions of himself who were both murderous assholes despite his vows to change that future. “But as it stands I can’t think of any other way to stop this. If Klarion’s right--”

“I am.”

“-- then what are we supposed to do on our own, Jay? Even Clark couldn’t stand up to that monster! He’s just going to keep hunting us down like it’s some sick game until he gets bored and finishes us off. It’s hopeless right now, but… two months ago? When we know where Joker would be? Where we know what to do? We can stop all of this from ever happening.”

“And then what?” Jason gestures, angrily, with on hand. “Bam! Kill the Joker. Then what, kid?”

Tim stares back at Jason, levelly, because they both know what would need to happen after that, but neither of them really want to voice it.

“Besides—” Jason avoids Tim’s gaze. “—Isn’t the universe fucked anyway? Even if we kill Joker, some other fucker will just grab the artifact and that’s it for the universe. If we’re so determined to go back and bust something, why not the damn thing itself? I mean if it’s not even supposed to exist in the world it shouldn’t cause a problem, right? So why don’t we do that?”

That’s Jason for you always asking the exact right questions, but any hope Tim had that Jason could be right disappears when Klarion giggles. “Are you serious? Honestly, don’t make me laugh. It has the power to grant someone all the abilities of a god and you think you can destroy it? You’d never even find it. You already forgot it existed, even though you knew all about it two weeks ago. It doesn’t want you to stop it, as much as an object ‘wants’ anything. It’s a machine that will keep repeating this process until the universe is either destroyed or changed enough to sate it.”

That’s what Tim was afraid of. Klarion had said that the nature of the beast was that people who should know about it, didn’t. Something powerful enough to rewrite the memories of an entire universe wasn’t something easy to destroy or defeat.

“Jesus.” Jason hisses, low and with feeling. “Just how powerful is this thing?”

“Apparently its creation devoured an entire universe of magic users… but that might just be a legend.” Klarion hums as he studies his fingernails. “Sufficed to say, destroying the artifact is not an option. Killing Joker, though, that has distinct possibilities. If nothing else it might make this universe unique and not worth erasing.”

“How the fuck do you even know any of this?” Jason obviously isn’t liking being outnumbered here.

Klarion rolls his eyes. “I do read books after all. Now that that’s solved! Shall we put this plan in motion? Your universe destroyer might be taking his time playing his cat and mouse game, but I don’t fancy a battle with someone who makes my magic look like parlor tricks.”

A shudder runs through Tim’s body as he breathes in. “July twenty-fifth is the last time we knew where Joker was before all this. He was in--”

“You don’t need to tell me all that.” Klarion waves off Tim’s explanation as he walks by on his way to the other side of the room. Teekl leaps up, joining their witch. “Only whichever of you is going needs to know where. I just need to know when.”

Jason scowls. “You can only send one of us?”

“You’re lucky I can do that much.” Klarion kicks a few things out of the way and begins setting up his circle. “That choice is for the two of you to make, but it’s not as if it really matters. Once your mission is complete this instance will cease to be. Probably. Time isn’t really my forte. Chaos is.”

“We know,” Tim mutters, then turns to Jason. “Jay, you should go.”

“Why?” Jason gives him the most incredulous glare Tim has ever gotten in his life.

“Haven’t you always wanted to kill Joker? Here’s your chance. Besides you’re just the better person for the job.” Tim lies. Mostly lies. It’s true Jason, who’s killed before, is more prepared to deal with this job, but that’s not why Tim wants him to go. He’s being selfish. He’s… “It’s just better if it’s you.”

Jason narrows his eyes, like he’s seen straight through Tim’s bullshit and opens his mouth to probably say so, when there’s a loud crash from somewhere else in the building. An eerie giggle echoes through the hallway beyond the room they’re hiding in.

Klarion, now hunched over the circle with his eyes closed, lifts his head slightly and opens one eye. “No more time for chatter, birdies. Let’s go.”

Tim stands up, ignoring the incredibly disturbing sight of Teekl transforming into their more humanoid form. He fishes in the pocket of the jacket for his collapsed bo staff as he starts for the door. “Go, Jay, I’ll hold him off until--”

Jason grabs Tim before he can walk passed him and pulls him into a tight hug. For a moment Tim is half crushed against his brother’s chest and everything is still. Then Jason whispers, his voice cracking with emotion. “I’m sorry, Li’l Red.”

In that second, Tim feels his heart sink into his stomach, but he can’t even speak before the wall of the room comes crashing down, debris falling like a curtain to the floor revealing the figure of Joker grinning at them more wild-eyed than ever before. Jason shoves Tim away and immediately Tim feels something with fur and claws grab him by the arms from behind. Heedless of Teekl’s warning growl, Tim struggles against their grip. “Wait! Jason! Please! Please don’t!”

He doesn’t listen. He never listens. Please this can’t be happening!

Jason pulls his guns out and shots ring out. Bullets stop, seconds before hitting Joker’s head, falling harmlessly to the floor. Jason keeps shooting.

Joker laughs with hysterical glee as a crowbar appears in his hand. “Oh! I nearly forgot that I’d get to kill you all over again! This is going to be such a joy for me, you don't even know!”

“Jason!” Tim screeches as Teekl drags him backwards, their claws digging in deeper and deeper as he struggles to get free.

Vaguely he hears Klarion say something that might be, “Oh that does sound much more interesting!”

But he’s not paying attention, because at that moment Jason runs out of bullets and Joker’s grin widens impossibly. “All done now? Is it my turn already?”

“Fuck you!” Defiant to the end, Jason chucks both guns at Joker’s head. It only buys him a second more. Joker shrugs them off and lunges forward. He grabs Jason’s face and drives him down into the tiled floor. The crowbar falls towards Jason’s skull and Tim wails for his brother. He can’t save him. He can’t save anyone. Angry at the world, at Jason, at himself, Tim screams his throat raw as time slows down.

Abruptly Teekl’s gone. Nothing’s holding Tim in place any longer, but the world around him is rushing by in a blur of color and movement like a video rewinding. Then everything stops so suddenly that Tim’s caught off balance and falls against a crate. Bewildered, he looks around and realization sets in alongside a building dread. He’s nowhere near Gotham. There’s a steady beeping sound coming from a small device in the middle of a dirt floor. A woman sobbing as she fights with a padlock on a pair of iron doors. And a badly beaten teen in the old Robin suit laying on the floor by her feet.

Klarion severely overshot.

Tim breathes. He needs to get out of here right now. Break a window above him and crawl out. Just go. He can still accomplish his goal in this time period, he shouldn’t screw up the timeline any more than he absolutely has to. He can’t know what that will cause.

But… Jason’s right there. He couldn’t save his brother in the future. Couldn’t stop him from dying. Again. But here…

Shaking himself into action, Tim stands upright. He doesn’t have time for this. This building is going to go up in less than two minutes. He needs to act now. Without giving it anymore thought, Tim steps out from behind the stack of crates and heads for the doors.

Sheila jumps at his sudden appearance, looking at him with fear and hope in her eyes, pleading, “Please, help us. Please…”

Tim spares her a brief glance, but doesn’t speak. He ignores the bomb, he knows he can’t disarm it in time, it’s a Joker special. Too convoluted to solve. Instead he takes a lock pick set from his boot – Always, always be prepared – and goes to work on the padlock. It takes longer than he’d like and by the time he finishes the annoying beeping that’s counting down to their doom is getting louder. They don’t have much more time. He looks up at Sheila as he pulls the chain away from the doors. “Get them open, I’ve got Jason.”

Sheila nods, unquestioning, not even seeming to register that this complete stranger knows Robin’s identity. Well so much the better for him. As she pushes the doors open as wide as possible, Tim lifts Jason gently by his less damaged arm, hooking an arm around his back. Jason groans, weakly. “B?”

“No,” Tim answers, softly. “But I’ve got you, Jay. It’ll be okay.”

Sheila returns and supports Jason’s other side. Between the two of them, they manage to put some distance between them and the building. Tim pushes them down behind a rock seconds before the blast sends red hot shrapnel flying past their hiding spot. Holding Sheila’s head down, Tim silently laments that the rock is really too small of a shield, but it does it’s job well enough.

Slowly, the commotion dies down and Sheila, shaking like a leaf, her arms wrapped tight around Jason, looks up at Tim. “I-is it over? Are we really still alive?”

“Yeah.” For better or worse. Tim shakes off the wave of anxieties rising in his chest as he stands up. “Yeah, we’re alive.”

She turns her attention to Jason. “…He tried to save me. Even after…”

“… That’s what Robin does.” Tim coughs to try and hide the sadness in his voice.

There’s a silence between them as Sheila starts patching up Jason’s injuries. Then she glances at Tim again, stops, and stares at him. “Who-Who are you?”

“I’m…” He trails off, uncertain, and just then he hears the sound of a jeep growing closer. He sighs. “Nobody important. Stay here.”

She nods, hesitantly, and Tim steps away from the rock heading back towards the smoldering remains pile of rubble that was once a warehouse. He watches as the jeep slides to a halt and Batman jumps out and runs to the wreckage. Everything about this is a goddamn mess.

“Batman!” Tim yells as he gets close enough to be heard.

Bruce doesn’t seem to hear him.

“Over here! Hey!” Tim tries again, but that doesn’t work either. Dammit. “Bruce!”

That does it. Probably because no one in the area but Jason should know to call him that when he’s in the Batsuit. Bruce whips around and looks straight down at Tim panic turning to suspicion. Looks like he’s about to demand Tim’s identity immediately, Tim ignores it and jerks his head towards Jason and Sheila. The tension bleeds out of Bruce just a bit as he spots the pair. In the end he doesn’t speak to Tim, just rushes past him to where Sheila and Jason are.

Sheila looks up at Bruce as he approaches, saying, with some trepidation, “He needs some serious treatment, but… I-I think he’ll be okay. I hope he will. We can take back to the camp and I’ll treat him there.”

Without really responding, Bruce gathers Jason into his arms with intense care. Tim watches in silence as Sheila runs ahead to the jeep with Robin’s cape spreading it out in the back and climbing in, waiting for Bruce to lay Jason there. His job here is done. It’s time to leave. Jason will be okay. It will all--

“Come on.” Bruce’s voice rumbles beside him.

“I—” Tim starts to shy away, but Bruce, dexterous as ever, manages to grab him by the elbow while still holding Jason firmly.

“You need treatment too.” Bruce indicates Tim’s left arm with a tilt of his head.

Tim looks down and frowns at the blood soaking into his sleeve. Teekl had really dug their claws in it seems. “…Okay.”

Meekly, he follows Bruce back to the jeep, jumping into the passenger seat while Sheila and Bruce situate Jason in the back. Some part of Tim is screaming that he should run. Now. While they’re distracted. Leave. Don’t give Bruce anymore chances to figure him out.

He doesn’t.

He’s tired, drained beyond even his normal capacity, and, Bruce is right, he needs his injuries treated. So he just closes his eyes and leans back as the car starts and they speed away to save the boy who should have died.

Next Chapter

First Chapter (You Are Here)

#argothia's writing #argothia's fanfiction #story: still breathing part one: into the tiger's den #series: still breathing #fandom: bat family

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argothiathedreamer · 2 years ago

Text

Rating: Teen and Up Summary: Tim goes back in time to avert the end of the universe, but things quickly go awry and he's left with an important decision to make: Carry through with the plan as he originally intended; Or make a risky play to change things for the better. Argothia's Notes: Promised myself I'd start posting the Still Breathing Rewrite on my birthday whether I had a massive buffer or a teensy one, as it turns out I've got a decent one. Enjoy!

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How could things go so bad so quickly?

Dammit, this can’t be happening. Why is this happening?

“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Jason snaps, irritable and tired. So tired. Still he does lower the gun without arguing.

“Great. Then why don’t you just zap the motherfucker into space and let him die, already?” Jason grumbles, holstering is gun and leaning, sullenly, against the nearest wall.

“What do you mean?” Tim finally finds his voice, hollow and strained as it sounds to his own ear. “Do you know what happened to to Joker?”

With a sharp laugh, Klarion nods. “Oh yes. You would too, but for the nature of the beast.”

“And Joker meets those qualifications?” Tim asks.

“Probably.” Klarion shrugs. “I never bothered to learn them for myself. A dead universe wouldn’t be much fun to play in after all. Regardless, thanks to its power, I can’t even begin to use my magic against Joker. That’s why I’m here. To offer my assistance to you.”