#But as I am there is a cornered animal in my heart who's only able to want his own survival at any cost

[i-cant-sing]

Time Traveller AU part 11

Part 1 is here. Part 2 is here. Part 3 is here. Part 4 is here. Part 5 is here. Part 6 is here. Part 7 is here. Part 8 is here. Part 9 is here. Part 10 is here. Time Traveller au masterlist is here. Check out my MASTERLIST for more!

Part 12 is here!

Your eyes are closed as you travel through time and space, wondering where you'll end up this time. Surely, if the universe saved you one more time, it means you'll probably end up in a better place-

Your eyes snapped open at the loud sound of thunder. You're staring up at the sky, dark clouds lightening flashing across it and-

I'm still falling!

You're not able to breathe until you take a gasp just as you hit the ground below you-

Wet. No, not ground. You look around in the dark water, not able to visualise anything before adrenaline kicks in and you start to swim to the surface.

You gasp as you come up and look around you.

You're in the sea. You're in the middle of the sea!

Your heart is drumming against your chest as you look up at the sky. Its dark, filled with heavy cloud and thunder. As the waves around you begin to move, your blood runs cold.

Storm. Sea storm.

Before you're able to react, though you doubt you could've prepared yourself, the waves crash down on you, pulling you back under the waters. No matter how hard you try to come back up, the waves thrash you here and there, insistent on drowning you. Even if you're able to break the surface for a few seconds, you're only able to take in so much air before getting waterboarded by the sea.

You're thrashing about under the waters, your body starting run out of adrenaline and reaching exhaustion, when you spot something in the corner of your eye.

Its a dark, huge figure. Horizontal, streamlined-

Shark. Its a fucking shark!

You'd scream if your body would listen to you. But you froze, and for some reason, your mind went on autopilot and made you raise your fists.

What? Fight the shark? What the fuck Y/n-

The shark was less than 5 feet from you when an orca came out of nowhere and attacked the shark.

You could only watch as the two sea animals fought each other, the killer whale clearly winning as the shark's thrashing began to subdue. That was the last thing you saw before losing consciousness, praying to God someone finds your body at least.

-

You wake upto the sound of a woman screaming.

Screaming. So, I must be in hell. Huh.

Your eyes flutter open and you look around the large white room you're in.

Its a hospital ward.

Your gaze falls on the shrieking female patient, currently being strapped to her bed as nurses try to inject her with something.

"Oh, you're awake." A nurse states as she comes by your side, noticing the English accent. "Didnt think you would after they found you washed up on the shore. You were shivering all over!"

Ah, nearly drowned. Nearly had hypothermia. Maybe I should have a "near-death" board.

You cleared your throat. "Where am I? How long was I out?"

"You're in London, honey. It was the nearest hospital from where'd they found you. You've been here for a day." She watched you sit up. "Where you from, dearie?"

Pressing your temples, you answered. "Just... around."

Her face turned somber. "You're one of those, arent you?"

"One of who?" You narrowed your eyes at her. "One of who?"

"One of the damned who spread their filth-!" She snarled, stopping when she saw a doctor come up. "Hello, Dr Lowe!" The doctor merely gave her a nod, his eyes fixed on you. "And how are you, miss-?"

"Y/n." Whats the point of lying with another name? Its not like they'd find a record of you.

"Miss Y/n." He nodded. "Do you remember what happened? Why you were on the beach?"

"Um..." You tried to come up with an excuse. "I think... I was trying to swim."

Dr Lowe raised a brow. "Swim? In the winter?"

"Mmhm. Better to prepare myself for the summer." You feigned a smile, not receiving one back.

"Why?" The nurse asked, shrinking when the doctor shot her a glare.

"For... for fun?" You answered, unsure. What, is swimming a crime here?

"And you were swimming in... these clothes." You look down, noticing you were still in the Ottoman attire, wearing a flimsy gown.

"I was rehearsing for a play." The lie rolled out easier this time.

"Are you married?"

"No." I just escaped several attempts though. "Are we done here? I need to get home."

"And where would that be?" The doctor asked, crossing his arms as he looked at you.

"Outside of London. I dont feel comfortable telling you the address." You answered, not appreciating his interrogation.

"Miss, do you know what day it is today?" Shit.

"No. I have never been good at remembering dates." You pull the sheets off you to get off the bed but the doctor's words stop you.

"Its 8th of October."

And this is where you made a stupid mistake.

"What year?" The question came out before you could think of the repercussions.

"You... dont remember the year?" The doctor and the nurse shared a look before looking back at you.

"1860."

1860. 1860. London-

Victorian era.

Shit.

"Of course, I remember the year. I was just making sure. Anyways, I have to go-"

"You're not going anywhere, miss. You're not well. You need treatment." The doctor grabs your shoulders, pushing you back down.

"No, no. I am all good now! You saved my life, but I need to go-" You tried to push his hands off your shoulders, watching the nurse leave in a hurry.

The doctor shook his head. "No, miss. You may be fine physically, but not mentally." "What?" "You dressing up like this, playing some character, going to the sea to drown yourself because you're not happy with life, not remembering dates, and not having a husband- you have hysteria!"

You shook your head frantically. "No, I dont have hysteria-!"

"Not to worry miss! Its very common among women these days, sadly. But I have treated many of them successfully! And I'm sure that will be the case for you as well- Nurse! I need restraints and injections-"

Injection? Hysteria? Oh no, no. No. No! You've read about how they treated hysteria in the 1800s. Sent away to the seaside, lobotomy or forced orga-

"I AM NOT HYSTERICAL!" You thrashed around as more doctors and nurses came to hold you down. You spot the nurse holding up an injection and you only fought harder to escape as you realised Victorian medicine was basically poison itself.

"STOP- STOP! DONT INJECT ME WITH THAT!" You struggled with all your might to free yourself from their grasp, but their grip was tight and unyielding. "ITS FUCKING POISON! YOU IDIOTS! YOU'RE GONNA FUCKING KILL ME!"

You watched in horror as the nurse brought the needle closer to your arm, not even bothering to use an alcohol swab to sterilise the area so great- you'll die of an infection-

"Let her go!" They all looked towards the doorway, where a man stood looking furious. Wearing a brown coat with long sleeves and a wide collar exposing his waistcoat, he marched over to your bed and angrily took off his top hat.

"What is the meaning of this cruelty?! Unhand my wife now!" He yelled at the hospital staff.

Dr Lowe glared at him. "Wife? She said she wasnt married!"

The man scoffed. "We had a fight!" He glared at you this time. "Well, I'm sorry I spent a night away at the pub, darling! Forgive me and come back home?"

They all were staring at you now, and it only took a moment of eye contact with him for you to catch on.

"Fine. I forgive you. Lets go home-"

"Wait a second." The doctor narrowed his eyes at you. "You were found at the beach hours away from here. If he's your husband, then what were you doing there?"

He caught you off guard for a second, but you lied through your teeth.

"I obviously ran away!" You huffed. The man at the other end pulled the doctor by his collar. "And I'm from the newspaper, so if you dont let my wife go now, I will write an article besmirching you- not this run down hospital, no. I will be critisising you personally- whats your name?"

"Dr Lowe!" You pitched in. "Thank you, darling." The man nodded at you before continuing to threaten the doctor.

"I will crucify you, Dr Lowe."

The doctor huffed and nodded at the staff to let you go.

5 minutes later, you were walking with the man to the front desk to collect your belongings. You dont have your time machine on you or your jewellery from the Ottomans.

"Thank you..." You looked at him.

"Colin. Colin Felton."

As you waited for the nurse to return with your things, Colin introduced himself. True to his word, he did work in a newspaper, though you could only describe his work as "investigative journalism", but the term wasnt coined yet.

He was here at the hospital because he'd been trying to collect evidence on the inhumane attitude of healthcare workers towards patients and the alleged barbaric treatments towards the residents.

"So, why'd you help me? I mean, how'd you figured I wasnt hysterical?"

"I didnt." He grinned. "Hysterical or not, no one deserves to get lobotomised or whatever sadistic process they were going to subject you to." Colin looked at you. "How'd you know the injection was going to kill you? And what poison?"

"Look at the state of the hospital- there's arsenic on the walls. And most of the patients there were either strapped to their bed, or lying limp, drooling and groaning. The staff themselves looked like death, and there's no real concept of hygiene here, is there?" You shook your head. "The place is understaffed, overpacked, and completely unprepared for any epidemic or even anything mild!"

Colin chuckled. "Well, well, well. Who taught you so much about hospital management?"

Well, I am from the future where modern medicine has been able to provide vaccines for diseases you could die of.

You shrugged your shoulder. "My brother and I spent a summer at the mortuary." Which is true. You and Qasim had decided one summer to learn more about human anatomy (so that you could one day make your own humanoid-robots) and as kids who were unsupervised by working parents, you decided the best way to learn anatomy would be to go to the mortuary and just... take one home.

Look, in your 7 year old mind- it sounded like a good idea. There were a lot of unclaimed dead bodies at the local morgue and they wouldnt mind if you took one, right?

Qasim was hesitant but went along when you stated it was "for the advancement of science!"

Yeah, anyways, the moment you and Qasim had sneaked in and pulled the storage compartment holding someone, the doctor there caught you two. The only reason he didnt call your parents then was when you two begged you'd do anything and you were just trying to learn about human body and you swore that it wasnt for any "black magic", he instead made you and Qasim intern at the morgue.

Dr Johnson was more concerned that you two werent freaking out over dead bodies, and he probably kept you two around to see if you had any homicidal tendencies, but he found out you two were just curious kids. He was a great teacher, in all honesty, not only did he teach you about anatomy, but also a lot about the embalming, forensics, murder weapons and-

"What do you mean they're not there?" You asked the nurse. "Where's the rest of my stuff?!"

"I'm sorry ma'am, you didnt have anything on you besides the clothes on your back. And you're wearing them-"

"I'm going to give you one more chance- where's. My. Stuff?!" You snapped at her. The nurse stared at you unflinching. You pulled up your sleeve, ready to lunge. "You listen here-"

"What my wife means to say-" Colin placed a hand on your shoulder, reeling you back. "-would you please be kind and check again?"

"Like I told the missus- she didnt bring anything. Also- your missus was carried in here in the arms of another man-"

"What man?" You cut her attempt at tattling.

"He didnt give a name." She scoffed. "He just dropped you on one of the beds and left."

"What did he look like? What was he wearing?"

"I dont remember his face, but he wearing a black coat and hat, and I remember a golden band on his ring finger." She gave you a nasty look at the mention of the ring.

-

"What was so important that you lost?" Colin asked as you two walked. After questioning the nurse until she got fed up, Colin pulled you out of the hospital.

"Just some... jewels. A bracelet. Some cash- well the last bit of it that would get me home." You mumbled, every part of your being doing its best not to break down over losing the only way home. Because if you dont remain calm and lose your shit, you'll end up right back at the hospital to undergo nightmarish treatments.

"We could report it to the police. Although I doubt your case would take priority over the recent rise in murder cases-" You tuned him out as you tried to think where your time machine is.

I was dropped into the sea.... and the waves were harsh. Did I lose it in the sea?

Your stomach twisted at the thought of losing the time machine forever. At least with the thief theory, you had a small chance of getting it back. But you cant go scuba diving to find it in the sea!

"So, what are you going to do now?" He asks as you both sit down. You're holding your head in your hands. Colin's brows furrow in concern.

"Y/n?"

"I dont know, Colin!" You looked up at him. "I dont know! I lost all my belongings, everything that I needed to get home! I have no family, no place to stay and I'm a woman in a time where everyone is trying to either send me off to the looney bin or live horribly in a workhouse!"

"How do you know workhouses are horrible?" Colin raised a brow at you, an accusatory look in his eyes. "This isnt the first time you ran away from home, is it?"

You looked at his face, judging you. If you say yes, he'll think you're just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use him to get money. And you're already low as it is, you dont need more kicking down.

Scoffing, you glared at him. "What? You think I'm just a mad woman who is actually homeless and is trying to use you for money?" You shake your head, your mind making up excuses. "I... snuck into one of the workhouses."

"Why?"

"So... that I could expose the horrible working and living conditions." You continued before he could ask why. "A friend of mine lived in a workhouse. She complained about the hard labour, the isolation, the inhumane punishments. She died there." You looked down, both for dramatic effect and to avoid being caught in a lie. "I wanted to get justice for her. But the higher ups found out and tried to keep me quiet, which lead to me being on the run and hiding from them, wearing disguises-" You gestured to your Ottoman attire. "-but they caught me and put me on a boat to kill me. It was just pure luck that I washed up on the shore."

Allah, I know lying is a sin but lord- that was amazing how quick I came up with that. Please do not use this to make an example out of me.

Colin gave you a sympathetic look.

"I think I have a way to help you."

-

You were sitting in Colin's apartment.

"Here you go." He returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea.

"Thank you." You took a sip, letting the warm beverage heat your hands. "So, whats your plan?"

"I share this place with 4 people, and one of them has moved out. So, we have a vacant room for you." Colin pointed to a room on the left.

You sighed. "Thats very kind of you to offer Colin, but I cant live here for free-"

"Who said "free"?"

"I dont have a job. I cant pay rent-"

"You do have a job." Colin grinned, leaning back in his chair. "Work with me."

"At the newspaper?" You set your cup down. "I mean- I dont have any experience writing-"

He waved you off. "You dont have to write. I'll write. You- will just collect information for me."

You pondered about his statement. So basically, he wants you to be the "investigator" in "investigative journalism".

"Look, you're gutsy, you're smart, and you're strong willed. I need someone like that to collect data and infiltrate places to expose injustice." Colin leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "I'd do it myself, but I've been around these places so many times that they know now that I'm from the paper. Plus, there are many places only a woman could sneak into instead." He clasped his hands. "Its an interesting job. You'll get to meet all kinds of people. And who knows, maybe even the man who saved your life and stole your belongings."

You nodded. "So, how much will you pay?"

-

Later that night, you met with Colin's flat mates- Liam, who was a police officer, Shepherd, who was a barkeeper and Benjamin who was a barber. Fortunately for you, they were all glad to have you as a flatmate, or well maybe they were just happy to have someone to share the expenses with.

Next morning, Colin told you about the assignment he was working on.

"My main project is about exposing the harrowing conditions of patients forced to undergo unnecessary and painful treatments and the atrocious attitude of the staff towards the patients. Especially in mental asylums." He huffed out, shaking his head as if recalling the nightmarish scenes he'd seen. "But thats a big project and is still underworks. You, will have to first interview and collect some dirt on some influential people and upperclass."

"Why?"

"To get access to Queen Victoria." "And why do I need her?" Colin smiled. "Well, the royal family has many sick people, so if she were to become aware of the grim conditions her subjects have to go through at hospitals, then maybe she will do something about it."

"And you think she would help us?"

He nods. "I believe she will. I think birthing 9 children and being surrounded by men who keep things from her, she doesnt have time for her subjects. But if we were to point her in the right direction until she's unable to ignore the problem."

Well, it is true that the English royal family had many illnesses passed down, famously haemophilia and due to inbreeding, some mental illnesses as well. You suppose Colin's plan just might work.

"Okay. So who's my first interviewee?"

"Charles Dickens."

-

What an asshole.

When Colin told you that you were going to interview or well "dig up dirt" on Charles Dickens, you already knew the literary legend was a jerk. Like most kids, you had read his books- "A Christmas Carol", "Oliver Twist", "David Copperfield", etc. Unlike most kids, you looked him up on the internet and went down the rabbit hole to find out everything about his life.

Including his unhappy marital life, where he was married to Catherine Dickens and basically cheated on his wife with an actress 27 years his junior- "Ellen Ternan", or as he liked to call- "Nelly". He had a secret affair with Nelly, who he had apparently spoken "highly" of- having “a pretty face and well-developed figure”—or “passably pretty and not much of an actress.”

But wait- it gets worse.

So after Catherine found out about his affair, she quietly lived apart from him. A painful scandal arose, and Dickens did not act at this time with tact, patience, or consideration. The affair disrupted some of his friendships and narrowed his social circle, but surprisingly it seems not to have damaged his popularity with the public.

While Catherine maintained a dignified silence, Charles took it upon himself to justify his affair by writing letters about Catherine as being an "unfit wife" because of some "peculiarities of temperament" she had, even saying that she didnt care for the kids nor they for her, which in 1800s- was all that you were good for as a woman. And if you're not good at your job and have "peculiarities of temperament" then that means you're just insane.

Yes, Charles Dickens tried to justify his cheating ass with a girl almost 3 decades younger than him, by saying "my wife's crazy!" Which is... a pretty serious allegation because you could be sent to the mental asylum for torturous treatments.

Which is how you got into his house in the first place. Your cover story is that you're a doctor at the mental asylum and have come over to check on Catherine after Charles wrote letters to the hospital expressing his "grave concern over her mental health". That was a tip Colin was able to get.

And now here you are, sitting in his parlour as he told you on and on about his works, how terrible his life was in general- not growing up, and how women in his life have been just such a bad influence.

"What do you think, doctor?" He asked, finally stopping after 20 minutes of yapping.

You cleared your throat, setting the tea cup down. "Oh I think you're absolutely right, Mr Dickens! My God, what good is a woman if she cant even satisfy her husband or take care of her kids?!" You watched his eyes lit up at your words. "I mean, all women are naturally homemakers. They're supposed to be the providers, the nurturers! If a woman fails to make her family feel warm, fails to make her house a home, then she surely has something terribly wrong with her head! Ah, she definitely needs our help!"

"So, you agree? Catherine needs to be institutionalised-"

"Well, I didnt say that." You gave him a coy smile. "I do understand your concern for your wife- you are a loving husband after all. Loving, caring, honest husband. Such a rare breed of men these days, hm?" You watched his smile falter a bit. "I think I will need to observe her a few more times before I make any decision, Mr Dickens. Now, good day!"

-

"I dont understand why I'm not being paid." You huff as you flop onto the sofa.

Colin sighs, rubbing his eyes. "Because I'm not being paid. And if I dont get paid, you dont get paid, remember?" Ah yes. Since you're not officially hired by his newspaper because you're a woman, you're basically Colin's employee.

"And why are you not being paid?"

"Because the paper didnt publish my exposé!" He handed you the paper.

You looked at the front page and threw the paper to the side. "What the hell is this? How long are they going to run the same news- FRONT PAGE, TOO! Its already been a week!"

"Its a big deal-"

"What? Some guy is returning to London is a news now?" You scoffed.

"Its not just some guy." Colin sighed tiredly, slumping in his chair. "Its a FitzGeorge."

"What the hell is a FitzGeorge?"

"You dont know FitzGeorge?" You shook your head. "Prince George, Duke of Cambridge? Queen Victoria's first cousin?"

You tried to remember anything about him. But you dont remember reading much about any cousins of Queen Victoria, when her kids were already so entertaining to read about.

"So, Prince George is returning?"

"No, he's been dead for years! How do you not know this?"

"I live under a rock. So who is returning?" You redirected him back.

Colin gave you a look. "His grandson. Silas Edmund FitzGeorge."

"Right. And why is he so important that he's been on the front page for a week now?"

"He's the most eligible bachelor now." Seeing your unamused look, Colin explained. "Prince George and Queen Victoria fell apart when the former married a ballerina, Sarah Fairbrother. They married without the Queen's consent, though with Sarah being a ballerina, I doubt her majesty wouldve approved of the union either way. Anyways, since they married without her consent, the marriage was essentially null and any heirs produced were illegitimate and not recognised by the crown, thus would not be granted any Dukedoms. Prince George had 3 sons- George, Adolphus and Augustus FitzGeorge. The youngest- Augustus, had two children: Daisy and Silas. Unfortunately, the kids were quite young when they lost their mother. Augustus was away on service on the sea, when his wife was brutally murdered in the family home and rumour has it- Silas had witnessed it first hand. It was just pure luck that he was not spotted by the murderer that the young child was hiding in his closet. While the kids were in mourning, Augustus had apparently went mad with sorrow when he received the news and drowned himself. Pitying the orphans, Queen Victoria had promised to make Silas a Duke and Daisy a Duchess when they came of age. But Daisy was sent to the mad house out of the blue and a few months later, she died there. Poor Silas was now taken in by his grandmother, Sarah, the very woman Queen Victoria hates. Long story short, Sarah worked very hard to raise Silas and eventually he ended up being the first in the royal family to attend Oxford university-" he leaned forward, smiling. "-without any help from the crown."

Oh, so Silas is self made. And not a nepo baby.

"Silas not only is highly educated, but he's also a very successful businessman. He has invested in many businesses and he's been a huge part in reforming industries."

"So... he's rich and self made? Got it." You looked at Colin. "Still doesnt explain why he's making news? Hell, he even took importance over those horrible murders!"

Colin grinned. "Well, he's not the most eligible bachelor just for the commoners. Apparently, the queen is considering him as a match for one of her daughters." He watched realisation finally dawn on you.

"I still should be paid." You grumbled before glaring at him. "Maybe you need to write a better article, good enough for it to take over the front page."

"If you're done criticising my writing skills, I was going to tell you a remedy for this problem." Colin had an evil glint in his eyes. "And we'll have to use our friend Mr Dickens for it."

-

Colin is a genius.

You're currently sitting in Sarah Fairbrother's house- or well a small mansion. Its a huge estate, lush green grounds surrounding it as far as the eye can see. You were sweating by the time you reached inside, the gardens were huge.

How did you end up here? Colin suggested to use dirt on Charles Dickens and blackmail him into getting you an interview with Sarah, since he is popular and part of the high society. And you only had to say "Nelly" for Dickens to fold. He asked Sarah that a young woman would like to interview her for her years as a ballerina.

You knew Sarah was Silas's grandma, but you still were not expecting to see a slim, 86 year old woman who looked absolutely beautiful. Honestly, she did not look a day beyond 60.

"So, how did you know you wanted to become a ballerina?" You asked her, starting off the interview.

The plan was for you to get close with Sarah and find some secrets, so that when Colin writes about them, the editor will take him seriously and then start posting his Dickens article.

The conversation went from her life as a ballerina, to her life as Mrs FitzGeorge. Sarah practically told you everything, you could see she was lonely and she hadnt had anyone to talk to properly. She was kind, sweet lady, and a prima donna ballerina, and you didnt understand why the queen wouldnt like her. But the thing is, her being a ballerina was a stigma in itself, because back in the 1800s, ballet theatres were used as parlours for men to drink and sleep around with women. Thus, by association, ballerinas were bad too.

But despite the queen's shunning, Sarah did not speak ill of her. No, she was a lovely, demure lady who was still very much passionate about ballet.

"And for all the young girls who aspire to be a ballerina one day, much like myself, what advice do you have for them?" You asked,

"Dance with your heart, and your feet will follow!" She smiled so gracefully, that you couldnt help but return it.

"Thank you for such an amazing interview. I am sure girls from all around London will look upto you one day." You said, closing your journal.

"You flatter me, darling." She giggled before looking down at your legs. "You know, I saw your skirt ride up a bit earlier and I think you have the perfect calves for ballet! Have you ever considered?"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "I wish! But I think I'm a little too old to learn ballet now."

"My dear, you're never too old to enjoy life!" Sarah smiled.

"Perhaps, one day." You stand up. "I would love to know more about it. Maybe we can do this again, if you have time?"

It wasn't right to use her loneliness, but... you had to make a living. Besides, there are far worse things you can do than talking to an old lady to solict information.

-

You were not expecting Sarah to invite you back two days later, that too for dinner.

"Its not just a dinner, Y/n." Colin said, pacing back and forth. "I think Silas is going to be there. Of course, it'll be a party in his honour! Ah, the return of the beloved grandson and the most eligible bachelor in town!" He continued to mutter incoherently, his mind working overdrive as he began planning ahead.

"How often does he go mad like this?" You whisper to Benjamin, who was currently styling your hair for the dinner.

He smiled, his moustache curling up. "Quite often." He had your hair in a nice updo, and on your insistence, he also allowed some hair to frame your face.

"You cant go empty handed." Colin said, stopping his pacing. "Its high society, you cant go empty handed! You need to get a gift, something appropriate and if possible, memorable enough for them to call you back again and again."

You glared at him through the mirror you were standing in front of as Benjamin helped tighten your corset.

"I dont think anyone will be forgetting me after the objectionable alterations you made to this gown." You pointed to the outfit you were wearing- a baby blue silk gown with delicate lacework around the scandalous neckline and puffy sleeves, courtesy of Colin.

Colin rolled his eyes. "So what if you showed some skin? I'm only trying to ensure that you leave a lasting impression on them." He put on his hat. "Now come along, we have to get a present too."

You and Colin walked down the streets of London, the area bustling as people returned from their jobs and either rushed home or to the pubs.

"Where are we going to get a present now, Colin? One that is both good enough and you can afford to buy too." You commented as you pulled your coat tighter around your body, the cold biting at your bones.

He offered you his arm and pulled you close to his side to warm you up. "I was going to get a wine bottle but the shop closed early today and Shepherd said he hadn't been able to secure any good bottles at the pub, so we'll- we'll just have to go for the next best thing." You two stopped in front of a shop on Regent street.

Regent's Antiques!

"Really? And you can afford antiques?" You raised a brow at him. He shrugged before pushing you inside the shop. "I dont know, but I am good at bargaining."

The shop is huge and immediately stepping inside, you could tell that there was nothing here Colin could afford to buy. The shelves that held the items alone looked like they were made of rich wood, the smell of mahogany, musk and polish filling up your nostrils.

"Lets get out of here before we embarrass ourselves-" you whisper to Colin but he brushes you off and walks further into the store. Sighing, you start browsing the store, an amalgam of things were present there- relics, ceramics, gold and silver and other metalware.

"And how much is this for, sir?" You turned to see Colin ask the salesman for the price of the vase he was holding. You didnt have to hear how expensive it was when you saw Colin's eyes widen as he nervously chuckled before putting the vase back. You heard him do this again over the next 30 minutes, picking up stuff and placing them back.

In the corner of your eye, you spotted a small box. You picked it up and opened it, smiling as it played a melody while the ballerina figurine twirled in the center.

The perfect gift.

You went upto the counter and asked how much it was for.

"100 pounds."

100 pounds... 100 pounds in 1860, with inflation would be todays-

Your eyes widened as you looked down at the box. The salesman mistook your shock for interest and began explaining how its made of pure gold and that this box belonged to a king who gifted it to his queen for their everlasting love.

"Mmhm. Interesting-" You cleared your throat, placing the box back on the shelf. "- but its not what I'm looking for."

"Y/n? What are you doing? I already bought the gift!" Colin came by your side.

"What did you buy?" You asked him before pulling him to the side to whisper. "What could you have possibly afforded in this place?"

"I almost didnt find anything but then the owner of this place saw me and showed me something a little more in my range and I'm getting it wrapped up now!" He told you gleefully.

"The owner? Who?"

"Mr Blackwood! He came here to get a present for someone too and then showed me some old items that were either too ugly or too damaged or just been here for so long, they had to store it in the back! And I found a gem, not too shabby and in a good condition too!" Colin grinned proudly. "Come on, I'll show you the back!"

He ushered you to the storage and true to his word, the room was indeed filled with boring and damaged items. "Take a look around, I need to haul a carriage to load the present and you cant be late!" He left you there.

You browse through the stuff there before going towards the wooden cabinet in the corner. Its locked. You look through the glass panels at the precious antiques inside- mostly bejewelled items like daggers, boxes, broaches and-

Your breath hitched.

Time machine.

My time machine. Its here!

You press your hands against the glass before pulling on the handles to open it, only for the lock to not budge.

Its just glass. You raise your fist. I can just-

"I wouldnt do that if I were you." A voice called out from behind you. You turned to see a man in the doorway, broad shouldered and even from a distance, you could see he had two shades in his eyes.

Green and brown.

Well suited in a coat and shiny dress shoes, he looked like he was going somewhere. He stepped towards you, an mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Those are my belongings." He said.

Oh. So, he's the owner.

"Not all of it. Thats mine." You point to your machine inside. "It was stolen from me a few days ago."

He shrugged. "How can I believe you? I dont know you." He takes another step towards you. "Besides, everything here once belonged to someone. Now? Its mine."

You frowned. "That belongs to me. I even have an official police report." You dont but you decided to bluff.

He chuckled. "Sure you did. But it still doesnt change the fact that its in my possession now." Before you could reply, Colin returned.

"Ah Y/n! I see you've met Mr Blackwood. He's the-" "Owner. I know. And he stole my stuff." You grumbled to Colin.

Mr Blackwood narrowed his eyes at you. "I did not steal it, young lady. Someone came to us and sold it."

You glare at him. "No-" "Yes, of course, Mr Blackwood." Colin cut you off. "And we appreciate that you've kept it safe, but we would like to buy it back from you."

Mr Blackwood looked at him and then at you, before smiling.

"I wasnt planning on selling but since you already bought one of my antiques..." he nodded. "1000 pounds and its yours."

Your jaw went slack and you almost started to swing when Colin grabbed your elbow.

"Mr Blackwood, if you could just give us a better deal-"

"1000 pounds, Mr Felton. And not a penny less." He said before leaving.

-

"Why are you mad at me?" Colin asked as he sat next to you in the carriage.

"I'm mad at him, Colin! There was no way that was worth 1000 pounds! No one would pay such a ridiculous amount! For anything!" You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

"Of course it wasnt worth a 1000 pounds. He raised the price because you pissed him off." You glared at him. "Look, just focus on tonight and when we get our paycheques, I'll go talk to Mr Blackwood again and bargain a good deal. Because even if he did gave us a good deal right now, I couldnt afford it, not after spending money on your outift and that gift,"

You scowl but nod stiffly. "Fine."

The carriage reached the FitzGeorge estate, stopping at the entrance where a small army of servants waited to greet you and other guests.

"Good luck. See you in a few hours." Colin wished you before calling two servants to carry the gift.

"What the hell did you buy?" You ask as you watch the servants carry a rectangular box wrapped in brown paper and a big red bow inside. "Come on, tell me. What if they ask me what it is?"

Colin grinned as he tipped his hat at you. "I guess you'll have to figure out something on the spot. Bye!" The carriage left before you could pester him.

Huffing, you lifted your gown a bit as you walked up the steps and entered inside the beautiful mansion.

The lobby is filled with guests and servants who are taking their coats and leading them inside. There's a stairway on the right leading to private quarters upstairs, a drawing room beside the stairs where you had interviewed Sarah the last time you were here. On the other side, you see a table stacked with presents, your own gigantic box settled behind them.

This was not just a small dinner, was it?

You're lead inside what seems to be a ballroom, the lights seeming to bounce of the polished wooden floors. Waiters are serving guests alcohol and appetisers, and you hold the champagne filled glass too.

Hey, just because I'm not drinking doesnt mean I cant hold it. I need to blend in.

You hold the glass in your hands as you look at the attendees, trying to spot any famous personalities. You notice Charles Dickens again, of course he's here too. Your eyes drink in the pretty dresses of the women and almost roll at the sight of obnoxious men who dont make an effort to conceal their ogling.

Soon, the butlers gets everyones attention as he annoucnes the arrival of the hostess.

"Lady Sarah Louisa FitzGeorge, accompanied by her grandson, Lord Silas Edmund FitzGeorge!"

Sarah was wearing a black regency gown, puffy panelled sleeves and a golden brooch with an onyx stone in the center of her neckline, her neck adorned with pearls and matching tear drop earrings. She walked arm-in-arm with a dashing young man, and you could definitely see why he was the "most eligible bachelor".

Dark chocolate brown hair, the thick locks styled properly and you were sure that under the sunlight, they'd have different shades of brown and golden in them. Fair skinned, yet not deathly pale as most of London is, he had thick brows framing dark grey eyes adorned with enviable thick lashes, that dont seem to be focusing on anyone, just looking ahead, unamused. A sharp Roman nose, followed by perfectly sized pink lips, with a deep and defined cupid's bow and a strong jawline.

They both walked down the stairs and entered the ballroom together, Sarah practically beaming with pride as she walked in with her grandson who towered over her. Everyone talked in hushed whispers, admiring Silas's beauty and how he looked like royalty. Sarah continued to smile at the guests as they made their way towards the center.

As the guest finally quieted down, Sarah began speaking.

"Thank you all for joining me tonight to celebrate my dear Silas's return from Oxford!" People clapped at the huge academic achievement but Silas still looked like he'd much rather be anywhere else than here. Sarah continued. "I had dearly missed him so much. He's been my rock, my star, my everything after his grandfather left me. But tonight is not about sorrows, no. Tonight we celebrate Silas! I hope you enjoy this, darling." She looked up at him and Silas smiled gently at her, a dimple appearing on his left side, leaning down to let her kiss his cheek.

Sarah clapped her hands, nodding at the butler.

Moments later, ballerinas entered the ballroom and began putting on a show. Ah, so this is why you were invited back. Sarah probably thought that you'd enjoy this due to your keen interest in the performing arts.

I mean... its not bad. Actually, its quite entertaining. But you're not here to enjoy ballet. You're here to get dirt on the upper class of London.

You move through the audience, picking up on interesting bits of convo here and there, mostly about extra marital affairs and tax frauds. When you see Silas again, he's not by Sarah's side anymore. No, instead he's now surrounded by some men, much older than him. They seem to be close to him, though Silas doesnt seem to share any familiarity with them as they speak in hushed tones, a hand on his shoulder to emphasise their point. Finally, Silas gives them a nod before moving away from them, and he's once again crowded by 3 boys, much closer to his age this time and Silas actually gives them a smile as they head out of the ballroom.

Friends, maybe relatives? You dont recall Colin telling you he had any brothers, only a sister who passed away in an asylum.

Your eyes trail back to the men who were talking to Silas earlier, only to see a familiar face there.

Mr Blackwood.

Despite being much younger than the men, he seemed to hold authority over them. You could see from the way they shook his hand, eagerly, desperately and talking over each other, but Mr Blackwood just stood there with a charming smile, listening to their concerns before holding a hand up to silence them. He said a few words that seemed to quell their worries before he moved past them and for a brief second, his eyes met yours and he smirked, tipping his head at you before leaving the ballroom.

You thought he'd come to you, maybe interrogate why someone like you was here in the first place, but perhaps you blended in better than you thought.

"Y/n! Darling, you came!" Sarah greeted you happily as she embraced you in a hug. "How do you like the show?"

"Oh, its just so... exquisite. Bewitching, really!" You smile before complimenting her outfit. "And your gown, your jewellery, everything looks so beautiful! If I didnt know any better, I'd say you were Silas's elder sister!"

She laughed softly, her eyes sparkling. "Oh, its you kids who keep me so young! Come on, I want to introduce you to Silas! I'm sure he'd be delighted to meet you." She lead you towards the lobby after a servant told her about his whereabouts, and there you saw him and his friends from earlier.

Silas leaned against the wall, watching humourlessly as the boys went through his gifts, opening them up crassly and mocking the gifts, all while he sipped his champagne.

"Silas- boys! What are you doing?!" At Sarah's admonishing tone, all of them straightened up.

One of the 3 boys, a blonde pouted as he stood up from the floor, dropping the gift box in his hands and you heard glass break.

"Nana! We were just helping Silas open his presents!"

Another boy, also blonde but he was taller than the first one, sheepishly hid his hands behind his back, though the crinkling of wrapping paper gave him away.

"Yes Nana, we were just helping him! He gave us permission to do so."

"Permission to act like animals?" Sarah fumed, making them lower their heads. It was kinds of adorable seeing them standing there looking defeated while a woman much smaller in stature than them scolded them.

Finally, the third boy who was the brunet and the oldest of the three stepped closer to Sarah. "Sorry Nana, we'll be more careful next time. Right boys?" The blondes nodded. The brunet then settled his eyes on you. "And who's the lovely lady next to you, Nana?" He changed the topic and Sarah's anger seemed to evaporate as she looked at you.

"Ah, yes! This is Lady Y/n Paddington!" Yes, Paddington as in Paddington the bear. What? This was the only name that came to mind at the moment that couldnt be traced. "She's the one who interviewed me about my career as a ballerina a few days ago. And look! Today we had a show for her to see!"

The three boys greeted you nicely, making some comments about how pretty you are before getting glared at by Sarah. Silas remained leaning against the wall, looking out the window at the dark night.

"Silas! Darling, come say hi!" Sarah called him before turning her attention to the boys, scolding them for being so undignified for opening Silas's presents.

Silas walked over to you, and you took a deep breath to introduce yourself-

"Are you done?"

You blinked at him in confusion. What?

"What?"

Silas looked past you at his grandma before looking down at you.

"I said, are you done? Have you gotten what you came here for?" He asked monotonously.

Wow. So does everyone have a stick up their ass in high society?

You narrowed your eyes at him. "And what exactly would that be?"

His expression didnt change. "Jewels, cutlery, secrets, contacts, a rich man?"

"What makes you think I already dont have all of those things?"

He scoffed, giving you a look. "You stick out like a sore thumb. You're not part of the wealthy." Silas looked at the champagne glass in your hand before smirking.

"What now?" You seethed.

"Anyone with a taste for finer things in life knows not to hold the glass from the top. You hold it from the stem, so that you dont warm the drink from the heat of your palm." He leans down to whisper in your ear. "Stop pretending to be someone you're not."

You know you shouldnt have, you know that you're better than him academically by literally centuries, you know this is how all rich douchebags act, but you just couldnt let a self entitled brat insult you to your face and you've had enough of those in the past few eras.

You smiled. "I guess you would know who's pretending." Silas smirk faltered.

"Remind me if the FitzGeorges are still considered royalty or not?"

You watched his eyes set ablaze, his jaw tick but before he could respond, the sound of paper being ripped cut him off.

"Charles!" Sarah yelled at the young blonde who had just ripped the wrapping paper off your present.

"Nana! This one's from Lady Y/n! Look-!" He removed the lid from the box before Sarah could stop him and your heart dropped at the sight of the contents.

Its a painting.

Its a portrait. The portrait.

The one Baldwin had made. The one that Mehmed had gotten on his conquest. The one you forgot to destroy in the Ottoman empire.

And now its here. In 1860 London. How the hell did it survive over 700 years?

Sure its not as brand new as the last time you saw it, the paint is faded and varnish is gone, but the face- your smudged face is still there!

"This is ugly, right?" Charles remarked, only to be smacked on the head by Sarah.

"It is not! Its exquisite! Its one of a kind! Just like how Silas likes his things- unique!" Sarah looked at you smiling. "I'm sure there's a story behind this, right darling?"

Your throat went dry as you nodded slowly. "Y-yes." You cleared your throat, eyes fixated on the portrait. "The owner told me that this belonged to the Turkish empire once, and um... one of the princes of the time had gotten it as a part of his loot from the conquest."

"But who's the broad-" Charles cut off his words as Sarah glared at him. "I mean- who's pretty lady in the painting?"

"She's... unknown. I only know that this was commissioned by her lover. Also, he was insane apparently." Sorry Baldwin, but you were insane.

Sarah clasped her hands over her heart, touched. "Ah! Painting by a man madly in love of his beloved! How romantic! I will have this hung up in our hallway with the rest of the paintings!"

You shake your head. "Oh, I dont think it'll go with your style-"

"Of course it will! Its a symbol of love, of devotion. Just like me and my Georgie. Just like how I wish for Silas to experience it one day." Sarah smiled at Silas.

"Yes, the day when Silas will be bitten by a rabid dog." Charles snickered only to have his ear twisted by Sarah as she began dragging him away, saying that she will tell his father of his behaviour tonight.

Without much to say, you left shortly after, bidding Silas's cousins goodbye and not bothering with Silas who was glaring daggers at you.

-

"You said what to Silas?" Liam asked as he returned from his patrolling. "I cant believe it. He is a part of royalty, maybe not directly but still!"

"He started it first." You pouted as Benjamin chuckled behind you, undoing your updo.

"Yes, but he was right to call you out. I mean, who holds the flute from the top?" Shepherd asked, sitting down as he handed Liam a drink.

You narrowed your eyes. "Well, I'm sorry that I'm not an obnoxious, rich, raging alcoholic!"

All of them chuckled as Colin sat down with a lazy smile, nursing his drink.

"You did good work tonight, Y/n." He raised the glass to you before downing his drink. You perked up. "So this means I'm getting paid with a bonus?"

He chuckled and gave you a nod. "Of course, but first- we'll need to write articles."

"We?" He nodded. "Yes. We. You will work on the FitzGeorge article for me, and write mostly good things about them so it gets published. I, will be working on the Dickens exposé along with the other secrets you've been able to get tonight. This way, when your FitzGeorge article gets published, you will get even closer to the family and the publisher will finally let me post the dirty secrets of high society! Its a win-win, really."

You leaned forward. "You make it sound so simple but while I may have been allowed to personally interview these people- that too, under the guise of not being associated with the paper, I dont think I will be allowed to work at your newspaper without being called out as your source and then none of these rich snobs will ever let me be close." You leaned back, letting Benjamin massage the knots out of your head. "The reason why Sarah even let me interview her was because I told her I wanted to promote the arts, starting with ballet. She thinks I write for the girls fraternity houses, like some sort of school project. Not a major publishing house!"

Colin rubbed his chin before snapping his finger. "I got it!" He grinned as he leaned forward. "You can write two stories! One- about your interview with Sarah! And it'll be under your name and we'll spread it around actual girl hostels, to make it seem legitamate when someone from the FitzGeorge house gets it. Doesnt matter if it'll do well or not, because you'll only sing her praises and this will make you well liked by Sarah and make her invite you to more events. And the other story, will be about the FitzGeorge estranged family relations with the Queen! Now that will get us more readers and the editor will be happy to publish it too! As for how you will actually write it- well, how would you like to be a boy?"

Everyone stared at Colin, as if he'd grown two heads.

"I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I said, how would you like to be a boy?"

-

"If I wasnt sent to an asylum before, I'd definitely be sent to one now." You stated as Colin adjusted your bowtie.

"Only if you get caught!" He gave you a cheeky grin before shaking his head. "Which wont happen! I wont let you get caught."

"Now, turn." Benjamin said making you face him. He smiled as he placed a fake moustache on you. "Colin, you really are testing my skills these days. I mean, making Y/n a man? With a moustache? And styling her hair, even though it would've made everything so much easier if someone would just let me cut their hair-" you glared at him. "Okay, okay. No chopping off your hair. Jesus, what's with the death glare?"

"You're worried about the death glare? I'm worried why Liam was so pissed about being the only one whose clothes fit Y/n. I guess he always thought that being a copper meant he way more buff than he actually is." Colin commented. "Despite his lean built, he's surprisingly strong. Did you see the way he flipped over that thief?"

Benjamin nodded, combing your moustache.

"You're a very gorgeous male! Very demure." Colin grins before giving you some brief instructions on how to keep your cover and act manly.

"Right- so what name did you pick for your story?"

The corner of your mouth quirked up slightly.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes." What? Arthur Conan Doyle is probably just an year old right now. Its not gonna affect anyone if you chose one of your favourite characters names.

Plus, you're going to be an investigative journalist. So, it fits well, okay?

"Lets go, Mr Holmes."

-

With Colin's reference, you're able to get a job at the paper. And with your people watching hobby, you're able to successfully pass of as a man, a pretty man- but a man, nonetheless.

You've been hit on by a few women on the streets.

After working here for a few weeks, you finally get paid when the editor publishes your work on the FitzGeorge. You wrote mostly about Sarah and the FitzGeorge family relations with Queen Victoria, and just a few tantalising words about Silas that would have the readers waiting impatiently for the next update on the bachelor, thereby garnering more attention and you- more money, which you need to buy your time machine back.

You're sitting at your desk, typing down your next article when there's a commotion in the office.

"The boss is here! The boss is here!" Everyone rushed to do their respective tasks, or at least- look busy, do nothing. Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted the owner of the paper walking down the hallway, talking to-

Silas.

Silas was walking beside him, looking uninterested as he listened to his friend explaining how he operated his news agency. He gave a lookover to the cubicles before moving on. For a second, you thought he's seen you. But you were hiding behind other men, there was no way he'd spotted you.

Oh no. Is he here because he'd figured out you were the one who wrote the article in the paper? No, no- he couldnt have-

Fortunately for you, he hadnt. Silas was there because his friend, the owner, had invited him to show his newspaper agency.

With the weight off your shoulders and your pay in your pocket, you were back at the antique shop.

"You got the 1000 pounds?" You cursed mentally when you heard his agitating voice.

"Mr Blackwood, I have 3 pounds-" He cut you off with booming laughter. "Ah, poor people crack me up."

Resisting the urge to strangle him, you cleared your throat. "If you could just give me a real figure, an acceptable deal, I would like to buy my own property back."

He rested his head on his palm, leaning on the cash counter. "Now what's so special about it, hm? Because I cant seem to figure out what it even is?"

"Its nothing...." You remark before sighing. "Its a toy. It holds sentimental value."

He tilted his head. "Does it now?"

You nod.

He smiled, though something else swirled in those mischevous eyes. "Alright, I'll give you a deal." You prepare yourself. "I'll give your toy back if.... you go out on a date with me."

You narrowed your eyes. "I am not sleeping with you, Mr Blackwood-"

"And why would I do that to myself?" He raised a brow. "All I'm asking for is one date, a lovely dinner that I'll be paying for and then we can return to the shop and you can have your toy back."

You pondered over his offer, trying to figure out any traps.

"Why do you want to date me? I'm poor, like you said."

He shrugged. "Maybe I find you intriguing." He leaned forward on the counter again, wiggling his brows. "Come on, its just one date. No funny business, I promise."

You stared at him for a few more minutes before nodding. "Fine. But I get to pick the place and I will have you know that I have friends all over that will be looking for me if something were to happen."

He smirks at your attempt to threaten him. "I think we both know that I could get away with it all, love. All while making your friends disappear if I wanted to."

The way he stated it like it was true- it sent a chill down your spine.

Mr Blackwood waved to you. "See you tomorrow at 6, darling! Dont be late."

-

The next night, Colin had dropped you off at the antique store, telling Mr Blackwood- or Henry, as he insisted you called him, to bring you back before 10 pm.

You sat across from him in a fancy restraunt.

"I'll have a beef wellington and for the lady-" Henry looked at you.

"Just chips." You closed the menu, handing it back to the waiter. Henry chuckled, shaking his head.

"So... whats your deal?" You ask him, resting your elbows on the table.

He leaned in as well, dual coloured eyes sparkling with mischief and amusement. "I'm resourceful. You?"

"Cut the crap. Why am I here?" You glare at him, and he chuckled, resting his head on his palm. "I like you."

"As anyone with eyes should, but also why would you do that to yourself?" You huffed as you move away, resting against the chair as you crossed your arms over your chest.

He copied your actions, resting his arms against his chest. "Maybe I want to fall in love with you."

"I'd rather poke my eyes out." You snarked. Henry looked at the cutlery on the table. "There's the fork."

Your nostrils flared. "You think you're so clever?"

"Oh I know I'm clever, love. But it is truly remarkable it took you so long to figure it out." He grinned cheekily. "Alright alright. Ask your question."

"How do you know the FitzGeorges?"

He looked rather bored at your question. "I know everyone." Seeing your dissatisfaction, he offered you another answer. "I'm rich. They're rich. We socialised."

Thats how rest of the dinner was spent- you interrogating him, him dodging you with vague answers. Though you had a feeling he knew more than he was letting on, almost like he could read you like an open book.

Finally, the night came to an end as you saw his store come up in view.

At the end of the street, just a few shops down from his, you stopped and looked at him. "Well, this was a... date." He chuckled as you continued unphased. "I held up my end of the deal, now its your turn."

Henry nodded, grabbing your hand in his warm one, thumbing your knuckles. "Of course. I'm a man of my word." He brought your hand upto his lips, pressing a soft kiss.

"I hope you get home safely, darling."

You made a disgusted face, yanking your hand from his grasps as you wiped his kiss off with your coat. "I hope I never see you again."

He chuckled, throwing his head back. "Oh I think I'll be seeing you again rather soon, love. I enjoyed our date too much." Seeing you pissed made him laugh again, and he nodded his head at the store.

"Come along. Lets get you your toy-" He was cut off by the sound of a loud blast, the shockwaves so powerful that it made the glass of all windows in a mile shatter, the ground shook. In a second, Henry lunged at you, covering your body with his as another blast went off. Moments later, he got off you and you finally saw his shop set ablaze and completely destroyed.

Your ears rung as you stared at the fire in the shop, not noticing the people rushing out of their homes, not hearing the screams of shock, not hearing Henry calling your name.

"Y/n?! Y/N?!" He shook you by the shoulders hard, finally making you look at him. He was saying something, but you couldnt understand what. You looked at him confused, before your eyes shifted back to the fire.

You dont know when Colin came, you dont remember when Henry pushed you into his arms, yelling at Colin to get you out of there. You dont know when you got home, you dont know what the boys were asking as they picked out bits of glass from your skin.

All you know is when you woke up the next morning and stared at your bandaged skin, events of last night flashed through your head again and the realisation became the painful truth-

The time machine is destroyed.

-

You're staring at the tea cup, the beverage swirling as the maid added sugar in it.

Round. Round. Whirlpool. And then... everything settles.

The motion of the tea perfectly depicted how your life has been for some time. Thrown around in a hurricane of calamities, from one era to another, your life coming close to an end just like the tea threatened to spill over the edge, before everything settles down. Like your plans of ever returning home- stopped.

You'd returned to the sight of the incident, a part of you holding on to the hope that maybe- just maybe, your time machine survived.

It hadnt. Nothing in that store had. Henry Blackwood ran around the store, his face hardened and his collected faccacde was long gone, replaced with frowns and wrinkles. His store was surrounded by coppers and what you could only assume were either detectives or insurance guys.

After the devastating realisation, you had sort of went into a depressive spiral. Lying in your bed for days, your pillow stained with tears, Colin promising to replace whatever it is that you lost as Benjamin petted your hair, inconsolable.

A few weeks later, you returned to work. Though nothing interested you anymore, you felt like you were living on borrowed time, that any moment now, you'll face the consequences of screwing around with history and either die or possibly destroy the universe.

"Y/n?" You blinked, coming back to reality.

Sarah was sitting across from you, her face concerned as she set her tea cup down. "Darling, are you okay?"

You tried to smile, but your facial muscles didnt cooperate.

"Yes. Just... a bit tired." You diverted your eyes as you brought the cup up to your lips.

Sarah's brows furrowed even more, but she could see you were hesitant to talk about the subject.

"I called you here today to congratulate you on your article!" You looked up at her, staring at her a bit dazed. "The interview was very well received with not only just people in my circle, but female students all over in London as well!"

Sarah continued to sing your praises, while you kept your head down, offering little hums here and there.

"Even my family, who I hadnt talked to in a while, told me that they adored the way you wrote-" Your heart cracked.

Family. Mom. Dad. Qasim. I'll never see them again. They wont find out what happened to me, probably hoping that I'm missing but... alive at least. Forever holding onto that painful hope, that I may return home one day.

But I wont. I cant.

You stood outside the FitzGeorge house, under the pillars as you watched the rain fall.

"I think you should stay until-" Sarah offered, eyes looking at the sky that was pouring like cats and dogs.

"I need to go home. Thank you." You tried to smile again, but your eyes betrayed you, shinning with tears. But you left before she could say another word.

Your bones could feel the cold rain biting, your dress drenched, your socks uncomfortably wet, the tip of your nose chilled, your hair sticking to your skin, but none of it mattered. Not when you needed the same rain to hide your tears.

Your neck muscles strained as they tried to contain your sobs, your grief.

I messed up. I screwed up everything. This is all my fault.

You walked faster out of the estate, the water splashing as you stormed away, trying to find some corner where you can hide away and cry your heart out.

I'm alone. I'm all alone. I have no one. No home, no family.

You struggled to breathe, feeling like your chest was caving in.

What have I done?

In your haste, you didnt see the carriage coming straight towards you, until someone yanked you out of the way by your arm.

"Are you blind?! Or deaf-" Silas stopped his scolding as he stared at your red eyes, your wobbling lips. He loosened the painful grip on your arm, his eyes still staring into your crying ones.

Silently, he pulled you back towards the estate, though he didnt take you inside. He had a feeling you didnt want his grandmother pestering you with questions right now.

An arm around your shoulders, Silas lead towards the botanical garden house.

He helped you sit on one of the benches as the dark clouds seemed to veil the garden house, giving you two privacy. He sat down next to you.

"What happened?"

Silas watched your face screwed up in pain as you bring a hand to your temples, your lips quivering as you sniffled.

"I lost... everything."

After a few moments of silence, before sighing.

"You've only lost when you give up. Have you given up?"

You turned your head to the side, looking at his serious face.

"Yes."

He took another deep breath.

"Can you do anything about it?"

"No."

He glanced at you before looking back at the clouds.

"Do you want to die?"

You stopped for a moment. Do I? Do I want to die?

"Maybe."

"Thats not an answer." He raised a brow at you. "How about this- until you find a definitive answer to that question, you keep on living?"

Seeing your dead stare, he continued. "Look, if the worse has already happened to you, you have nothing left to fear anymore. In fact-" Silas went on to say similar motivating stuff for the next 20 miuntes, and you were simultaneously listening and not listening. Well, you heard what he was saying, you just didnt bother processing it because your mind was preoccupied by your own monologue.

He's right. The worse has already happened. I have lost the machine. I have lost my only way home. I have screwed up history. And yet, I'm alive.

Yes. This is what the universe wants- to see me down on my butt, laughing at my misery.

Well, guess what? Fuck this, fuck the universe! I'm been so careful only to barely survive. Now? I'm gonna live and I dont care what chaos it'll cause!

"Y/n?" You looked at Silas, who looked at you expectantly. "I asked you a question."

"What?"

His shoulders slumped.

"I said- will you marry me? And before you say no-"

"Okay."

Watch this, universe. Its my turn now.

So???? Thoughts???? Comments and asks???

Part 12 is here!

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

The Yandere Dark-Horse Survivor °°°°°

The Dark Horse Survivor who happens to survive with a group as the world descends into undead chaos. Crying at the back of the group as the unspoken leaders take down storming zombies. When you happen to join or be saved by one of them, all you know is that Hale is the only one whining about endangering themselves with a bigger group. You plan to ignore him but the whining of his just never stops.

“Alright I think our best plan of action is through these back allies.”

“Hmph and you plan to go through the town square with all of us? You might as well just be ringing the dinner bell.”

“Which is why we’re going to use the trash lids for shields.”

“Yeah and offer our deliciously unguarded calves?!”

“Hale. Please just let him finish.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who is at one point or another cornered by a zombie and no one is free to help him. The group is split, fighting off zombies with their different circumstances. Hale is all alone and for once since this apocalypse has began he’s forced to finally fight for his own life. 

“NO! NO! Someone save me! I don’t want to die!”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who by the time you and the rest of the group can get to him is covered in blood and surrounded by the mutilated bodies of the zombies who cornered him. He’s stuck in a trance continuously smashing the remaining mush of  bodies with an axe as though they were still relentlessly reaching for his living flesh. It doesn’t matter if it’s you or one of the other leaders but someone snaps him out of it. Finally able to stop bringing the axe down, he shakes with wide eyes.

“They were going to kill me….I would’ve been dead if I didn’t–”

He’s still shaken as the group barely makes it to a string of vehicles, figured unfit to drive he gets put in the smaller car with you. There you find the urge to comfort him to some degree whether it’s to quiet the silence or because you felt sympathy for the man finally coming to grips with the new world.

“You have to remember, they aren’t people anymore.”

“....”

“They’re nothing but another animal in the wild. When it comes down to it, it’s a fight for who’s the most eager to survive. Today that was you…you should be proud of yourself for that.”

“.....”

“....”

“...thanks…”

“Anytime.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s suddenly a lot quietter. Where he’d usually whine about the conditions of the temporary shelter, he offers to keep watch at night. Suddenly he’s asking for some weapons from whoever’s going on a supply run. Along with actually conversating with the group.

“Then she took the ketchup and threw it all over him…she was great.”

“I'm sure I’ve lost my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Yeah he’s the one who took me axe throwing; turns out that’s what saved my life in the end.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor that actually has your back now. Proving himself to be a valuable member of the team and someone you actually begin to trust.

“You know Hale when I first met you I took you for a wet blanket who wasn’t going to last a month.”

“Oh, how generous I thought you were a blood sucking parasite with how much of our stash you were eating.”

“Hm I guess first impressions aren’t everything. Unless you are still a wet-blanket disguising yourself as someone cooler?”

“Ah, but you are a still a bloodsucking parasite I just don’t think it’s food you’re takin’.”

“Really then what am I taking now?”

“My common sense. My heart....I’ll tell you later, seems like dinner’s ready.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s skill level makes a complete 180. From someone who couldn’t manage to keep his head cool, he’s able to storm entire buildings and make it out unscathed. Its something not everyone notices but the leader does and they are unnerved by it. Weird tensions start to grow as the Dark-Horse Survivor starts acting more on his own; taking full advantage of this newfound skill. Too bad for the leader who notices his technique and strength aren’t the only things he’s begun to use.

“Hale where the heck have you been?!”

“Out. You’re not my mom. Hey (Y/n), got you a little somethin’.”

“Wow Hale I didn’t think I’d ever see that again! Thank you so much! I’m going share with the little ones.”

“Hale. You went in the mall?!”

“I did.”

“Hale, that is a restricted area! No one is supposed to go there!”

“Well I did. Cry about it.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s pulling away from the group more and more. And the only reason he seems to stay with the group is you. Everyone seems to know it too. The time the rest of the group spends maintaining the shelter or sorting and counting food Hale spends working out trying new ways to kill zombies…brutally. The Dark-Horse Survivor that is the first to escalate his methods to the living. 

“Look we don’t want any trouble just–”

“Give me your food—SHCK!”

“Hale!?”

“He had a gun to (Y/n)’s head. There was no room for negotiating. Come on (Y/n) let’s wash that disgusting blood off you.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s tired of the group and as the journey continues tired of following you follow after them. He’ll wait for the perfect opportunity to take the most food, the best vehicle, the guns and then point the barrel of his gun in the direction of the group. The Dark-Horse Survivor who apathetically shoots at the feet of the children when the leader takes a step forward.

“Come on we’re leaving, (Y/n).”

“I’m not going with you!”

“Do you want to kill these kids? Get in the RV.”

“....”

“LET’S GO!”

“...sorry everyone…”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who isn’t bothered by your tears. You’ll get over it. The Dark-Horse Survivor who’s already gotten a lock on the collection of weapons he’d stolen, taken your knives or anything you had to defend yourself. Instructing you to stay in the RV while he shakes every place and every person down for any extra supplies. Forcing you to be a witness to the atrocities he’s completely numb to. 

“You didn’t have to take their food, we have plenty!”

“Don’t tell me you like having the same thing every night? You’ll be thanking me when you’re actually getting the protein you need. When we stop I’ll let you organize.”

The Dark-Horse Survivor who only softens when he’s forcing cuddling you into his chest. Squeezing you so close, you’re practically apart of him. He whispers in your ears about his perfect paradise in a world as terrible as this.

“You, me, a fortified home that automatically guts all who threaten you…a place where I can be certain you’ll never be ruined by anything else again.”

The Dark Horse Survivor who became that way because he's fully embraced what he wants and his only focus now is his and your survival….everyone else can burn for all he cares.

Kofi → Here

Masterlist → Here

Commissions → Here

[imaginedreamwrite]

thrift thursday for LTH with konig

reader worried about how's she going to afford the major stuff fr the baby (car seat, stroller, crib, baby monitor, etc)

she comes home to a crib that is already built, baby monitors around the house, and plans to go shopping for a stroller she likes

When I get back I have to start saving to buy baby furniture

König reads and re-reads the text a few times before blowing out a puff of smoke. He tampers the cigarette when he’s done beneath his boot and raises his head, looking at the trees surrounding the property. He was expecting you any minute now, his eagerness to see his omega and unborn baby was understated.

“Are you sure I should go? The doctor said it’s fine to fly, but should I?” You were invited to a relatives wedding, and weren’t sure whether you should go.

“Ja, and get a prenatal massage before you attend the wedding.” König encouraged you, heavily encouraged you, because he had plans for the cabin.

You were worried about being able to afford things, about being able to provide for your baby. Even with everything König had done, you still felt as if you needed to do this alone. But he was going to prove you wrong, he was going to show you that you had someone who was strong and capable in your corner.

König brushed the cigarette off the steps when he heard the crunch of gravel beneath the tires of the vehicle. He stood and waited as the vehicle came to a stop. König’s heart clenched with prideful glee over seeing his omega carrying their baby, and he crossed the distance to help you out of the vehicle.

“Willkommen zu Hause, kleines Kaninchen.” König rested his hands on your belly, smoothing them up and down the roundness to feel his baby kicking against his hands. “Hallo mein Kleiner, dein Vater ist hier.”

“I missed you.” Your confession was a melody he craved, and his hands shifted from your belly to your cheeks, cupping them in his large rough hands.

“I missed you too, meine omega.” König leaned forward and slated his lips against yours, tenderly and softly kissing you. His hands drop to your shoulders and then your waist, as he pulls away only just. “I have a surprise. Komm mit mir.”

He grabs your hand and leads you, taking you from the gravel drive up the porch, and then inside. König steadies your hand as he helps you up the stairs to the nursery. The door is closed with a hand painted image of a small bear on the wood and your babies name above the bear.

“König, what’s going on?” Your voice is tight, as if you know he’s up to something. “What did-”

“I am your alpha,” he turns to look down at you, his blue eyes search yours as he speaks, “you are meine. And I will always take care of you, I will always take care of what is meine. And you…”

“König-“

“…are carrying my baby. And this is my family.” He leans forward, pressing his lips to your forehead. Once he pulls away he presses his hand against the door and opens your view to the nursery.

There inside is a well crafted and handmade wooden crib, one with sturdy frames and carved animals that match the nursery’s forest theme. It’s a gift for you and your baby, something to ease your anxieties about this pregnancy.

“König…” you breathe his name and feel your heart racing, your eyes welling with tears as you enter the room, your feet carrying you to crib. “What is this?”

“Ours,” he stands behind you, his hands resting on your shoulders, his chest to your back, “this is our baby’s room.”

“You did this?”

“While you were gone.” He bends down and kisses the top of your head, the alpha that was yours was encompassing you tenderly. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s beautiful.” You mumble, eyes soft and tender. “König, thank you.”

“Yes,” he agreed with you and slipped his hands under your shirt, “it is a beautiful crib. We have almost everything we need, but we will go and pick a stroller together.”

He felt you lean back against him, your back pressed to his chest, and your hands covering your belly. It was the best gift he could give you, the proof of his devotion and commitment.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[8:04 am]

(cw: previously pregnant!reader, “mommy,” “daddy,” a baby)

Sleep was never something that you thought you valued enough before having a kid. You used to be able to get through the day with a few hours of sleep after a night out or a night of poor sleep, but after having a baby- you craved sleep. Nights of once comfortable sleep became hard to come by when pregnant and even harder to come by with a baby who woke up every 4 hours crying. Waking up and immediately having to care for someone else, was startling and something you had quickly gotten used to.

The familiar crackle of the baby monitor would go off and either you or dad!Jaemin would be up so quickly, it wouldn't even register that you were even awake until you were changing a stinky diaper.

Which is why it was so weird- almost unnerving to wake up with the sun out and the green numbers of the alarm clock blinking a time at you that was far later than what you were used to seeing.

You sat up in a fright, looking at Jaemin's side of the bed only to find it empty and the sheets cold. Your heart was pounding, something must have gone wrong. You were on the verge of jumping from the bed and sprinting to the nursery when you heard the familiar crackle of the baby monitor.

"Okay let me see those chunky legs baby girl. Stretch up and around and squeeze," you head Jaemin drawl out in his baby voice.

Your daughter cooed, and a familiar pass of gas from her tiny body was heard. It was quiet and then "woahhhhh, little missy," before they both burst into a fit of giggles.

"Do you feel better now? I bet you woke mommy up with that big one. Hey, missy, I hope you didn't dirty your diaper, daddy just changed you!" Jaemin laughed before the baby giggles got louder than before. Must have been the tickle monster.

You slid out of bed and made your way to the nursery to find your daughter laughing and kicking her arms and feet in joy on the changing table while Jaemin tickled her.

"Oh my goodness! Is the tickle monster attacking you, baby girl?" You asked in an animated voice.

She wiggled even more furiously as she heard your voice, happy gasps of air. Jaemin smiled, “are we so excited to see mommy? Are we so excited?!”

He lifted her up into a sitting position and she immediately reached for you. “Oh my baby, I missed you. I slept in too late,” you told her before turning to Jaemin, “I’m sorry I slept in so late.”

He waves you off, wiping away at the dried drool at the corner of your mouth, “the baby slept in too. I think the sleep training is finally kicking in. Wasn’t it great to get longer than 6 straight hours of sleep?”

You pressed your lips to your daughter’s chubby cheek, “the best, but I’m not so sure hearing this one let out the biggest fart ever first thing in the morning was an equal trade off.”

Jaemin laughs, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, “she had a blow out when I got her. I win.”

You roll your eyes, “I wasn’t aware our little bundle of joy was a subject for competition.”

Said bundle of joy sends Jaemin a very wet raspberry and whines to let you know she’s hungry. He scoffs playfully, “fine, mommy wins.”

[beautifulbluejay]

Fate

Theon Greyjoy x Fem!Reader

Summary: After Robert’s rebellion and the extinction of the Targaryen house, House Stark decides it shall take part in one of its oldest traditions in which, on the eighteenth name day of the the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, a tournament shall be hell for her hand. Noble men from all corners of the seven kingdoms travel to Winterfell to compete, including your childhood friend Theon Greyjoy. However, anyone who believes that you are to let yourself be married off without a fight is in for a rude awakening. Loosely based off of the Disney animated movie ‘Brave.’

Warnings: Smut, MDNI (18+)

Part One

Word Count: 1,461

“In accordance with one of the eldest traditions of House Stark, from the days of its sovereignty over the North of Westeros, on the eighteenth nameday of the eldest daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, a tournament shall be held. Any heir of nobility, affluence, and honor set to inherit their lord father’s seat is permitted to compete in the event for the daughter of Winterfell’s hand, of which shall be determined by she.”

The words of your father echoing out through the great hall made your heart drop into your stomach. In air in your chest escaped you, a tight pain replacing it, squeezing at your throat. Your lips parted as your law slacked in astonishment, eyes wide as all of the rest in the hall turned to you.

You wanted to scream, cry, argue, anything, but you found your tongue dry and your throat unable to utter a word. Your older brother, Robb, however, spoke for you.

“You cannot be serious, father? You wish to marry her to a random stranger!” He argued, shaking his head.

Sansa smiled at you, attempting to calm your nerves. “I find it terribly romantic,” she spoke.

“Then you do it!” You yelled out at her, finally finding your words. If you were able to think straight, you may feel guilty for yelling at your younger sister who was only trying to lighten your suddenly dark mood. You turned to your father, glaring and squeezing your fists. “I am not a prize to be won! I am the eldest daughter of Winterfell and I wish to choose who I marry.”

Eddard Stark looked at his daughter a bit solemnly, feeling a tad bit of guilt for allowing Catelyn to talk him into adhering to this ancient Northern tradition. It had not been utilized for decades, so he did not know why they needed to start it again now.

Except, deep down, he did. The North had given many men and resources to the rebellion that Eddard had decided to back. The rebellion had divided the seven kingdoms. Eddard knew that this competition would not only bring the noble houses together, but it would promote trade and investments in the North and House Stark.

Eddard didn’t want to use his daughter as a pawn, but he thought this could also be an opportunity for her. You had always loved Winterfell and the North, but you wanted to explore and see the rest of the seven kingdoms. You wanted to fall in love and live somewhere new, have a life of your own separate from your family and the North. This competition was the best way to explore all of your options.

“You will choose the tournament in which the men compete,” Eddard spoke, hoping that it would satisfy his daughter even if only the tiniest bit. He was very wrong, however, as your face grew more red.

“You wish for me to sit obediently and choose a game for stubborn, stupid men to play? A game that will determine the course of the rest of my life?” You yelled at him, even shocking your mother with your blind rage. You let out a huff, calming yourself to a light seething. “I will find a way out of this,” you promised, stomping out of the great hall.

You raced to the stables, grabbing hold of your bow and quiver that you had stashed outside of your horse’s stall from the day before. You saddled your stallion as quickly as you could, muttering angrily to yourself as you went. You then mounted the beast, patting his side with urgency to let him know you needed him to run as fast as he could, the two of you racing into the forests of Winterfell. You knocked an arrow on your bow, drawing back the string and aiming at your first target.

Theon treaded quietly through the tall grass, his fingertips brushing the green weeds. You knew it was him coming up behind you without even turning. He was, in fact, the only person that knew of this spot. Your little clearing at the edge of the woods that looked out over a meadow which expanded for miles.

It had been only your spot for a long time, until one day you had been so upset that you had stayed there for a full day, sunrise to sunset. Your family had been so worried that they all went looking for you themselves. Theon had found you first, following your archery targets that trailed through the forest on its trees.

“I won’t do it, Theon,” you spoke, biting back the new round of tears that threatened to spill. You had just managed to stop crying. “I won’t let some pompous, shrewd, half wit marry me. I will find a way out of this.”

Theon sat down beside you in the grass, letting out all of his worries and stress out in a long breath as you leaned your head on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and leaving a soft kiss on the top of your head.

Your relationship with Theon had always been a complicated one, from the moment he was brought home as a ward-slash-prisoner by your father. You had never treated him as anything less than family, though, which created a very close and unbreakable bond between the two of you.

Sometimes you would fantasize about your father and mother marrying you off to him, becoming the Princess of Pyke and living on the sea. However, your mother made it very clear that Theon would not be marrying any Stark daughter. Catelyn barely tolerated him being your friend, she would die if she found out there was a hidden romance.

You knew that she had nothing to be worried about, though. Theon Greyjoy would never see you as anything other than a slightly younger sister. And you would never see him as anything more than a slightly older brother-slash-hostage, of a sort. Or so Theon told himself.

“Who knows, princess, you could meet the love of your life through this tournament,” he spoke, his voice sounding more sad than he meant it too. You did not notice, though. “All of the young, noble men of the seven kingdoms competing for your hand could bring you a bit of fun.”

You scrunched up your nose, looking at him. He hated how adorable he found your expression. You shook your head, pressing your cheek to his arm and staring up at him with wide eyes, lashes fluttering sweetly. He would die for you if you demanded it while looking at him like that.

“You know I hate it when you call me that,” you spoke.

“I know-” he smirked amusingly before leaning in to you closer, lowering his voice. “-princess.”

You rolled your eyes, pushing off of him with a scoff. Allowing your shoulders to rest against one another’s comfortably as you fiddled with the long grass.

A calm moment of silence passed between you two, the breeze dancing through grass, kicking up the sweet smell of spring Earth that you loved about the North so much. The South smelled much too floral for your liking. The North smelled like the real outdoors, the land you loved so much.

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” you spoke sadly, staring at your hands as they fiddled with a stem, frowning.

Theon looked over at you, watching as the wind blew around the wisps of hair that had escaped your messy braid, making you look exactly how you were always meant to: wild and free. He admired it, admired you.

“Me too,” he breathed out. “That place doesn’t really feel like my home anymore.”

“Don’t say that,” you frowned even more, feeling guilty for ripping this boy away from his home and his family, a thing in which of course had no hand. “Pyke will always be your home.”

Theon shook his head, picking a flower from nearby and tucking it behind your ear, smiling as you turned to look at him. “My home is right here,” he spoke, so softly that you wondered if you had imagined it.

Your breath caught in your chest and, for a moment, you could have sworn that Theon looked down at your lips.

“I will be back with you in a fortnight,” his voice seemingly cementing the statement in stone. “I promise, princess.”

Theon Greyjoy left for his home of the Iron Isles the next day. A fortnight passed and you waited at the gates for him, but he did not come. You waited each day for a week, asking your father about when he would return. However, you were met with silence every time.

Part two coming soon!!

[chosaraki]

You make me hesitate

—————————————————————————

Gun Park x R.femele. (Stubborn, brave, Kindness)

—————————————————————————

Y/N inspired by Manjiro Sano

—————————————————————————

It was dawn in Seoul. The city seemed to breathe with difficulty under the thick fog and the flashing poles. Gun walked on the roof of one of Charles Choi's commercial buildings, his hands in his pockets, his hard gaze lost on the horizon.

- Are you running away from me?

The voice came like a weak breeze behind him. He turned around.

Y/N was there.

Messy hair. Coat too thin for the cold of the night. Big, brown eyes, shining with concern, as if he were a mystery that she would never be able to decipher, but still tried every day.

She was so different. So absurdly out of place in that world of blood, dominance and cutting silences. And maybe that's why Gun was completely attached to her.

- Are you going to pretend you don't feel anything again? - she asked, approaching slowly. - I'm not an idiot, Gun.

He didn't answer. He just looked at her like a cornered animal.

Y/N stopped in front of him. He raised his hand slowly and touched his face with his fingertips. He was cold. It always was.

- You disappeared for three days.

- I had to solve a problem - he replied, looking away.

- Lie. You avoid me when you feel too much.

Gun looked into her eyes. Those huge, sincere, frighteningly pure eyes. He hated that. He hated how she made him hesitate. How she could talk to him without fear, even knowing exactly what he was capable of. How she could love a monster and still face it as if it were something... saveable.

- You're weak - he said suddenly.

- I know.

- Anyone could crush you.

- I know.

- I could crush you.

- But don't - she replied. And smiled. That tender, stupid, brave smile.

Gun clenched his fists. His heart was beating slowly. I hated how she made him feel. How his small body fit so perfectly between his arms, even when he tried to keep his distance.

She got closer. Now her body was glued to his. Breasts lightly pressing on his cold chest, arms around his waist, head leaning against his chest.

- Gun... I don't want you to be someone different. I just want you to stop hurting yourself.

He didn't hug her. Not yet. He stood there, like a statue, feeling her heat infiltrating each layer of his armor.

- Do you hate me for being the way I am? - he asked, his voice almost hoarse.

- I love you despite the way you are - she whispered. - Because I see what's underneath. And that's real.

He closed his eyes. He laid his chin on her head. His whole body relaxed, as if her touch was the only place where he could surrender.

- You're so small, Y/N...

- But big enough to carry you, if you need it.

He let out a dry laugh. Almost a hiccup. She crushed him without even raising her voice.

—————————Later that night————————

Lying on her bed, in a small apartment hidden in the center. She wore a thin tank top and shorts, partially exposed breasts while lying on her side, her face serene. Gun watched her as if she were a sacred animal.

- Why do you let me touch you? - he asked, his fingers running down her waist, going up her back to the bra closure.

- Because you never hurt me when you play.

- Even with my hands dirty with blood?

- I see your dirty hands... - she stared at him with big eyes. - But I also see when they tremble.

He leaned, slowly, and deposited a kiss on her collarbone. Then another one in the center of the chest. And one more in the stomach, where she shrank with tickling.

That night, Gun made love as if it were his first time. No brutality. As if her body was the only redemption he deserved.

When she moaned her name in a low voice, with watery eyes with feeling, he almost cried too.

—————————One has later—————————

She slept, breathing slowly, hair falling over her face. Gun got up and went to the window, lighting a cigarette.

Charles Choi had sent observers. People who wanted to test Y/N. Use it against him. Steal it.

He would kill everyone. One by one. Without hesitation.

But for her?

For her, he hesitated.

And that made him human. For the first time.

—————————————————————————

Big and expressive eyes, small and light body, delicate features, sensitive heart, emotionally intense, stubborn, brave even with fear and a kindness that does not belong to the brutal world where Gun lives. She has big breasts, but still a fragile structure - the physical and spiritual opposite of what Gun usually attracts. And that's exactly what disarms him.

It will be called Y/N.

���————————————————————————

[goldenshrikecomic]

Hello, this is gonna be a long one and I hope I don't bother you too much with it but you have something great going and and I think maybe some advice for someone like me who wants to do a longer comic and I took heart in that one ask you recently answered were you said you are plenty of pages ahead of the readers to not get paralysed by a deadline which seems like a no-brainer now that I read that with my own two eyes black on white but I had not thought to maybe go about it that way and I needed to have someone spell it out for me apparently. So to my question.. see, I have a skeleton of a story I have key scenes that need to happen and that I want to happen and I am sure in between things will shift and change and grow and a part of me can't wait for it to happen but- How do you start. How do you get going. It is in my head I have some written notes but most is in my head and I do not want it to remain there and rot I want to draw and tell the story I had in mind but I feel.. paralysed on the starting line of this journey and I am unsure how to go from there because my mind gets caught up in estimates of if I post one page a week that is "only" 52 pages. That seems so little. How many years would it take. Can I do this. And then my mind fires up in passion because I am willing to commit I want to do this I need to do this and I have a good idea of how to pace myself and how to go about it. I have the beginning of it on the back of my tongue and the tip of my fingers I can imagine it so vividly I wish I could animate it (if that wouldn't take up even more time and be insane I would) But somehow I still feel stumped on how to start. How to get over this first hurdle. It might be the executional dysfunction playing a huge part in it, maybe I am overthinking to much and stand in my way because of it, but like... How did you start your comic. How did your journey on GS begin? I know this was a bit of word vomit I am sorry but you are an inspiration and you seem to go about things (from what I could gleam from the asks) in a way that feels like it could work for me too and the way my brain functions but I do not know how to start? I dunno if it makes sense I am no english native and my thoughts are hard to put into words.

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for a while because it's such a loaded question. I have plenty of asks in this tag about my comicing process, so check them out maybe. This reply got lengthy! The more I wrote the more I noticed I feel very inadequate trying to give people tips on making comics. It's such a trial and error process.

I've seen plenty of advice for people wanting to start out comics to just start small, come up with a smaller story to get a feel of it before you go big. And I absolutely understand it in hindsight because I would've done many things differently if I had just tried it out first, but it's not what I did. I wanted to make a big comic, and a big comic I made, as my first project.

I don't think about the years these things take, but it'd absolutely ease your worries if you could come up with a simple style and be able to make pages faster. I've stripped my comic of shading and gotten more lenient with myself when it comes to backgrounds. You absolutely need to cut some corners if you want to make more than one story during your lifetime. It's a limited time afterall! Being able to turn your sketch into a lineart without having to redo everything with a careful hand would help a lot already. And colors, they take a lot of time.

This is not how I went about it in the beginning, but I'd love to tell you to write those things in your head down before you start. Leave holes, just write in what you know because you will forget some cool details if you keep them in. Write the starting point, middle and the end, even with just couple of words. Add things that interest you in the middle of those points. Do you want a sad arc for your character at some point? Write it in. Come up with what makes it happen. Weave it into the other scenes. If you know what's to come, you can add foreshadowing to the earlier scenes. Even if you didn't know what would come, you can take something from earlier scenes and make it foreshadowing. Writing is a fluid process. You can jump around and add things, you don't have to approach it by putting one block next to the other. Once you have the elements you want, you just have to tie those things together. It's the hard part. And you will change your mind about many things when you get to draw your characters and see them doing the things you've written.

The start! I always say it's the worst part, but I've started to think it might be the second worst. I think the worst part comes after you've started and worked for several ten pages on fumes and you finally run out of juice. Picking up after that is hard, for me at least. But if you can manage, it should get easier. You know your characters better by now, and they carry some of their own weight.

Make a canvas. Think about the scene you want to start your comic with. Night or day? Calm or busy? Just doodle, BIG and loose. Add some frames by just drawing lines, move things around, resize. What do you want to portray with the first page of your comic? I like to establish some of the world or atmosphere, and only then move on to the characters.

Don't try to be perfect, in fact leave that first canvas completely unpolished and move on to the next one. What should this page tell? Will you show the character? I'd leave the establishing shot of them as the last big panel. The rest of the page should build up to it. The last panel is important, it's a hook to turn the page.

Come back to polish those pages more only after you have a few of them done. The most important thing is to get yourself away from that first page, because the first page is scary. After five pages you can move things around and start adding ears to your spheres. You've started a comic now. You can go back to the first page and make it nice, because you already have opened the path to continue.

IT'S HARD. But it's rewarding. It's not for everyone but it's awesome if you can make it yours.

[reejindeed]

It seems like a lot of us One Piece fans started to leave the fandom for other things. You have your folk lore, I really got into pokemon. I wish you luck on your new art adventure.

I was pretty much only reading One Piece whenever the Kid Pirates were involved tbh

After a lot of the Yamato drama and general transphobic/homophobic/racist bullshit that kept getting regurgitated with the same three points of discourse I just got… tired. I’ve been tired for a long time. I wanted it to be better and I can absolutely see and acknowledge One Piece and Oda for where it is and for where he is, but like… man. It just wasn’t making me happy. Keeping up started feeling like a chore and an expectation. I was actually almost happy when the Kid Pirates were written out because I had this moment of like… finally I can be free of this shit.

Unfortunately the majority of my audience is One Piece-based so I don’t think I’ll ever fully be able to leave leave, (especially because something like Irish paganism and mythology isn’t exactly enough to go off of to keep a steady flow of money and I would have COMPLICATED FEELINGS about that anyway since I’m still very much a novice here), even if I am able to allow myself space to breathe and pursue other interests outside of this big huge modern epoch. This is still my livelihood, which is another part of the reason I didn’t want my entire career to be centered around making fanart of an anime I didn’t feel great about. I wanted to be thinking more about what I want to be doing, and the type of work I want to have representing myself as well as what is marketable and will make money. Fanart for large fandoms builds more interest for commissions because it has a wider reach than original work. It does serve a function. It’s just not where my heart’s at, and given the state of everything I’d rather be putting my energy towards something that makes me want to draw again.

I still have a lot of love for the little corner I built for myself within the One Piece universe. I still really respect One Piece for what it is: an INCREDIBLY vast sandbox that allows for the immense creativity of the fandom to build upon this empire that Oda has created. That’s no small feat, and I have an IMMENSE amount of respect for Oda as a writer, world-builder, and artist. I’ll still probably be drawing the Kid Pirates for a long time.

Just not as much as I used to.

I really hope I can also continue to build an audience of people who have similar interests as me in all regards, not just one specific fandom for one specific anime.

[florsial]

Spreading my 2 headed lamb Regulus animagus agenda with Black Brother angst!!!

word: 820

someone give Sirius a hug or something like damn he rlly going through it

WWE WERE BORN TO DIEEEEEEEEEEE ( i love ldr music)

As he walks, the crunching of the branches underneath his feet calms the harsh beating of his heart. It hadn't been a good day. He felt like he was constantly being watched by his parents. The entire day was spent anxiously looking over his shoulders, expecting his mother to turn a corner with a wand in hand or his father to yank his shoulder with a bruising grip when his back was turned.

He really needed his walk, at least that was what James insisted on.

For a couple of minutes, he manages to clear his head, the grip of his parents loosened, leaving his mind to heal from the harsh and bruising touch. His feet soon stopped near the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and he was able to see Hagrid's hut, he figured he might as well stop by to say hi.

Sirius takes a couple of steps before he promptly stops. With widened eyes, he takes a step back from the disfigured animal. A two-headed black lamb, a baby, but not exactly a newborn, nowhere near a sheep. Its two heads conjoined by the side of their faces, the eyes wide and watching Sirius' movement with unsettling attention. The animal was creepy and yet he could not look away.

It made a noise, from one of its heads, and its legs wobbled a bit. A small movement that makes Sirius' heart ache pitifully. Remus had a farm back in Wale. He told Sirius of animals, sometimes humans, born with more than one head and dying not much sooner because they simply were born to die, doomed from the very beginning. They wouldn't have been able to survive the harsh world with the disability, nor would their bodies be able to continue the demands of life. And looking at the lamb, he thinks of how this might be the last time he sees it.

With slow steps to not scare the animal, he approaches with an outstretched hand. A comforting gesture. He manages to close enough where he can sit down and pet its soft fleece. The animal reciprocates the action, settling down to the ground beside Sirius.

"Hey there little guy," He hums.

The lamb doesn't reply, only closing its eyes. So Sirius continues to talk, "How have ya been? Well I hope, you look tired."

"I am too you know?" He runs his fingers through the soft black fleece. The animal shifts its position, slowly maneuvering itself to Sirius' lap.

"Looks like both of us are worn out, huh?"

The lamb never replies, Sirius guesses it takes too much out of the animal. So he fills the silence with his chatter about his friends, his academics, pranks, and Remus, but soon it shifts to a bit of his parents, and some of Regulus, which leaves his eyes watery. Despite never getting a baa in reply, he feels heard and comforted by the lamb.

When he finishes, he finds his face damp. The lamb leans closer and Sirius begins to sob into the black fleece. He admits in his tears, that he misses his family. He misses the times when their mother didn't scold them for minor things and gave them a cold shoulder, when their father wasn't locked up in his office or shouting at their mother, and the times he played with Regulus while the little boy was still oblivious to the world and giggled at every little thing.

At that, the lamb finally replied in its soft baaa from one of its heads. A sound that draws a wet chuckle from Sirius.

"Thank you," he mumbles softly against the fleece, "Lulu would like you, he's always been fond of lambs."

Another baa in response that makes Sirius smile.

He isn't able to stay with the lamb for long though, because he hears the familiar calls of, "Padfoot! Padfoot!" And he knows that his friends must be looking for him. Sirius turns to the lamb who is now slowly moving off of Sirius. A clear sign that he is about to leave. He wants to tell it to stay but before his mouth can form the words, the lamb makes a sound and turns around to leave. He watches the lamb move further but isn't able to stay long enough to see it fully leave his sight before his friends jump him with a group hug. Dragging his eyes away from the leaving lamb.

For the rest of his time in Hogwarts, he doesn't see the two-headed lamb again. It's only when he takes another walk to clear his head during the war in 1979, does he see it again. Black fleece and two heads conjoined standing on wobbly legs, staring directly at him, but it didn't feel like a visit, it felt like a goodbye. A permanent one.

The next day, Regulus is declared dead and Sirius never sees the two-headed black lamb again.

[nottoonedin]

An ALNST Theory/Hypothesis/Over-analysis/Interpretation of events

AKA: Me slowly descending into madness over an animated web series-

(Btw this is mostly just for fun, don't take it too seriously lol)

(TW: Death, Blood)

Long post warning:

I assume we've all seen the newest posts that Vivinos has put out on their YT community tab (or wherever you get your ALNST updates), and the one that everyone is obviously talking about is the post titled <CURE>

And.. yeah, of course, just goes to show that Round 6 is just around the corner (I am screaming internally) and the attention is going to be focused on Ivan and Till, and how their story will progress (or end, depending on if someone's gonna die, which seems likely, unfortunately).

But the post that really caught my attention.. was this fucking post:

When I first saw it, in my mind I thought ''Haha, how cute and goofy! This is exactly how I saw their dynamic!'' and went on with my day.

But after thinking about it for a while, my brain decided to think up this wonderfully awful thought:

''What if Hyuna (unintentionally) had a hand in what happened to Hyun-woo?''

Now, at first, this sounds fucking crazy. The general consensus (from what I've seen) is that Luka killed Hyun-woo. But I do see some parallels between this post and the incident in Round 5 which might help explain what actually happened, but first:

Why I don't think Luka would have been able to kill Hyun-woo:

Luka is DEFINETELY not known for his muscles or strength, I mean look at him:

He's like a sickly Victorian child, not to mention his asthma, chronic migraines and heart disease. I don't believe Hyun-woo has any health problems (not that I know of anyways), so I feel Luka would have a hard time trying to push Hyun-woo over so he'd fall onto a rock. To put it simply, Hyun-woo could most likely beat Luka in a fight, unless someone interfered in some way...👀

Luka's ''fighting'' tactic:

With the parallels between The Trio doodle and Round 5, I've noticed there's a pattern with how Luka gets rids of his ''opponents'', be it on stage or outside of it (*cough* Hyun-woo *cough cough*).

He initiates the attack, it being mentally or physically depending on his opponent. He's subtle about it however, the only one being aware of his antagonism being the one he's antagonising, preserving his perfect, can-do-no-wrong persona.

2. Obviously, the opponent retaliates. But, of course, Luka expects this, it's what he wants, after all. He knows he'll be seen as the victim by onlookers. How could anyone hurt such a precious, weak, defenseless little guy??🥺🥺He doesn't even bother to fight back at all (may be too weak to).

3. A stronger force, seeing Luka in ''distress'', steps in and takes care of the attacker (the opponent), avenging Luka, who they see as the victim. He isn't the type to do it himself, letting others do his dirty work.

Now, let's apply this to the flashback in the All-In MV..

What may have happened to Hyun-woo:

Luka may have said something to Hyun-woo that deeply distressed/angered him, or perhaps Hyun-woo knew about what Luka did to Hyuna.

2. Angry, Hyun-woo attacks Luka.

(I'd also like to note that in this frame, Luka looks more like he's just had someone pulled off him, rather than he's just attacked and pushed someone over onto a rock.)

3. Hyuna finds Hyun-woo attacking Luka and, naturally seeing Luka as the victim, tries to break them apart (which would have been hard if Hyun-woo was super pissed). There's a struggle, and.. well...

Hyuna accidentally kills Hyun-woo, which doesn't bother Luka. Just means his opponent has been eliminated. As far as he's concerned, Luka wins.

Final Thoughts:

Does this theory leave a lot of questions? 100%. For example, if this theory was true, why would Hyuna be so angry at Luka? Does she later find out about his manipulative nature? How? On the stage perhaps? I find this unlikely, however, since I don't believe Hyuna ever went on stage and escaped beforehand, due to a post Vivinos made a while back:

Can this theory be easily debunked? Oh, ABSOLUTELY (I hope it is debunked in canon, to be honest lol). But it does give ideas for some angsty fanfics, I believe hehehe-

For real though, Alien Stage is all up to interpretation. Some questions may never be answered. It leaves room for different ideas, which is one thing I love about the series. <3

Thank you for reading my batshit little ramble/theory!! Hope ya'll have an awesome day/night!

[lostcauses-noregrets]

As a veteran fangirl who only got into aot 2 years ago. I have been a massive fic reader for many fandoms over the years but the sheer number of long, detailed epics in the eruri fandom needs to be studied.

The number of long cinematic fics with indepth world building that are crafted with sheer love and respect for the characters in this fandom is incredible. Usually a fandom is lucky to have few that becomes classics but there seems to be one in every corner here.

I am very grateful for your Tumblr which has been a massive archive of knowledge and guide to navigating this fandom.

Thank you so much Anon ♡ I didn't originally intend for my blog to become the Eruri archive when I first got into the series in 2015, but 9 years and 23K posts later, here we are!

You're not the first person to be struck by the sheer range of incredible writing in the Eruri fandom, to say nothing of the fanart. We've been blessed by so many amazingly talented writers over the years, and one of the most amazing things is that they just keep coming. Many people predicted the demise of the Eruri fandom when Erwin died, when the manga ended, when then final anime episode aired, but the fandom is still thriving and new writers are posting fic every month.

However as you rightly pointed out, it's not just the quantity of the fic that's remarkable, it's the quality of the writing, the characterisation and the world building. I have a few of my own theories as to why that should be. First of all the canon material is a gift. Erwin and Levi are both mature adult characters with considerable depth and nuance and their canon relationship (regardless of whether you view it as romantic or not) is intertwined with the plot. It doesn't hurt that both of them have tragic backstories and then of course there's Erwin's internal conflict, heroic sacrifice and Levi's determination to fulfil vow. Honestly what more could you ask for from a ship?? It's no surprise that 3 of the 5 most popular manga chapters chosen by readers of Bessatsu Shonen manga focus on Erwin and Levi's relationship. They really are just that good.

I also think that because Erwin and Levi are both adults, rather than typical teenage shonen protagonists, that they attract a slightly older fanbase. That's not to say that younger fans can't be amazing writers of course, many are, but I think older fans often have a range of life experience that they can bring to their writing. Also I know for a fact that there are many Eruri authors who have successful professional careers and are published authors in other fields including technical writers, academics, researchers, historians, poets, journalists and more.

I've lost count of the number of times I've heard fans say that the Eruri fandom has spoiled them because of the quality and range of the fic and art, and honestly, it's hard to disagree. I regularly re-read fics that were written a decade ago and the characterisation is still pitch perfect. Some of them even pre-empt canon events that appeared in the manga years later. At the same time, I'm discovering new authors every week who are writing heart breaking fics that provide new insight into these characters who I've loved for so long. The Eruri fandom really is one in a million and I'm very grateful it's been such an important part of my life for so long. I'm glad you're able to enjoy it too ♡

[cookeybg]

Autumn's Loss of Petals - Chapter 1

Title: Autumn's Loss of Petals

Various POVs : Damian Wayne, Tim Drake, Jason Todd, Dick Grayson

Tags: Angst, Loss of love, amnesia, brotherly love, familial love, will add more if relevant

Obviously, I do not own any of the rights to any of the DC comics, animated cartoons or movies and I am not getting paid to write this. This is purely for my enjoyment :)

Word Count: 1,936

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Damian

“Before I have you sign, I must ask, are you sure you want to go through with this?” Dr. Sato’s soft kind eyes looked at Damian with compassion. "Must you keep asking me such an inane question, I've already said yes." Damian snapped, he hated seeing the look of pity everyone kept giving him. "It is an important question, many think they can go through with this without fully grasping the consequences." Dr. Sato's eyes somehow turned softer when he smiled, a tinge of sadness marred the corners of his eyes. "It's just protocol, little D." Dick reached out to pat Damian's hand only to be swatted away. "He is my child, once he has made up his mind he will stay strong." Talia stroke Damian's head gently, she was not swatted away. "If you would only tell us who it is, we might be able to set things right. Before going through with such a major surgery." Bruce crouched next to where Dick sat, his hand hovered over Damian's. Jason snorted where he leaned against the door frame and Tim, sitting in the chair next to the door, paused in his typing. "There is no point if the object of his affection doesn't reciprocate." Talia glowered at Bruce, who glared back, finally placing his hand on Damian's. "Yes, well," Dr. Sato cleared his throat, "if you have determined that this is for the best, please sign the release form so we can begin the surgery." Damian rolled his eyes. He didn't understand why his family had to be here, he would have been fine on his own. He grabbed the clipboard the doctor had handed him and signed his name neatly. He coughed, his hand shooting up to cover his mouth. He was too late, a bit of blood had splattered on the consent form. Removing his hand he stared down at it, a clump of thick white petals came with it. He felt the room silence, his family ready to fight an opponent they could not punch. He felt weak, his breath coming in short, burning his throat, leaving a sour taste. He felt pathetic and that was the worst feeling of all. He hated that this was what had become of him. That he had let his feelings rule him in this way. His mother had warned him all his childhood that love would only hurt him, would hinder him; yet here he was beholden to it, ruined by it. "Tt." He crushed the petals in his hand. He grimaced, feeling the hateful tears, that he had tried to keep at bay, drip down his cheeks. A choked sob escaped him, before a hacking cough over took it. He clutched at his chest, the noise from the heart monitor attached to him rising to dangerous levels, the temperature in his head skyrocketing, forcing his veins to bulge, a high pitched ringing overtook his hearing. His fingers dug into in cheeks, his palms covering his open mouth, preventing the bloody saliva from splattering out. His forehead bumped his knees with the force of the last cough. With watery eyes he saw a full flower in his cupped hands, it's waxy white petals let the blood it came out with slide off with ease, dripping, staining the white hospital blanket. The strong sweet smell of it mixed sickeningly with the smell of iron and bile. The ringing gradually dropped and when he looked up his family were being pushed to one side, their panicked faces pale under the florescent lights. A nurse pat his back, telling him to lay back, trying to comfort him. Dr. Sato pushed his medical bed forward, his calm soft demeanor gone, replaced with the concentration and determination of a doctor who had been working in this field for decades. They rushed him out of the room, the white sterile walls blurring in their wake. He knew he was dying, his head light, his limbs heavy. He felt relief. When they placed him on the metal bed of the operating room, they placed a plastic mask over his nose and mouth, told him to breathe in and count backwards. He saw a pair of blue eyes reflecting the sky, tousled black hair and a smile brighter than the sun, his arms opened wide, beckoning him for one last hug.

Soft light streamed in through the large window, gently waking Damian up from his dreamless sleep. His mouth felt like sandpaper, his throat felt worse, he tried to lift his hand to rub at it but a weight prevented the action. The weight was warm, comforting and when he looked down he saw Talia holding his hand, half her body laying on the mattress. He tried to call her but all that came out was a rasp, the effort was too much and he fell back into unconsciousness.

“When do you think he will wake up?” Dick asked, pacing the room. “According to records from other’s surgeries, it can take anywhere from a couple of hours after surgery to three days.” Tim said sitting next to Bruce on the beige couch, his face hidden behind his opened laptop. “How do…did you hack the hospital records?” Dick asked stopping in front of Tim. “Is it really considered hacking if it was so easy?” Tim scoffed. “Yes. Yes, it is.” Dick said. “What, you going to arrest him, pig?” Jason was lounging on the recliner, an open book in one hand. “Boys, please let’s be respectful to your brother’s recovery.” Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, his hair looked like it needed brushing, his dress shirt rumpled and unkempt. Damian watched his family bicker with half opened eyes, he was already annoyed with them. He carefully glanced around, he no longer stayed in the sterile white hospital room he had first been admitted to. He could tell that his father had put him in a private hospital room complete with a two seater couch, two reclining chairs, a coffee table and a giant 4k television hung on the wall. The walls were a light warm colored wood and the giant window that basically covered one side of the room faced the peaks of mountains. He tried to tell them to shut up, instead what came out was a soft gasp. The gasp left a burning sensation in his throat, he needed water. “Little D!” Dick rushed towards him, “How are you feeling? OMG I’m so relieved that you’re awake.” He sobbed, clasping Damian’s hand to his chest, being careful of the IV needle embedded in it. Bruce and Tim had followed Dick, but were much more reserved. His father looked relieved, smiled at him and ruffled his hair. Tim smirked, the bags under his eyes looked darker and more defined. Jason had left the room, when he returned he brought a nurse with him. The nurse worked around them, checking Damian’s vitals, while Dick prattled on about how relieved Kori and Mari would be when they found out he had woken up. Damian did not have the energy to make Dick shut up, though he was relieved he was there, something he would never admit to. The nurse gave Bruce a cup of shredded ice, giving him instructions to feed it to Damian slowly. She helped put him in a sitting position, adding pillows for back support. She then excused herself, stating that she would inform the doctor of his wakefulness. The ice that his father fed him was the best thing he had ever tasted. He wanted more, was frustrated when he couldn’t snatch the cup away due to his heavy limbs. He was shaky and uncoordinated, Tim and Jason teased him, taking advantage of the fact that he couldn’t retaliate both physically and verbally. Bruce scolded them, feeding Damian another sliver of ice that melted far too quickly on his overheated tongue. The room quieted down when Dr. Sato walked in, his soft smile directed to the whole room, when it landed on Damian it softened further.

“I am happy to see you awake. If you would allow me to do a few tests?” He indicated for the rest of the family members to leave the room. They all reluctantly complied, Bruce squeezed his shoulder telling him to call if he needed him. Damian rolled his eyes, why would he need him? Dr. Sato gave him a brief check up, checking his breathing with a stethoscope and his eyes with a small pen light. When satisfied, the doctor brought the stool chair that had been under the hospital computer in the room, close to the bed, sat on it, looked at his clipboard and then gave Damian a serious look. “Physically, it seems that you will recover wonderfully.” Dr. Sato stated, “Do you remember why you had this operation?” Damian scoffed, opened his mouth to respond, but when he realized that he couldn’t remember his mouth shut with an audible clack. He rubbed at his neck, trying to message it, trying to distract from the uncomfortable feeling of blankness. He looked around the room, did he get hurt? Obviously, his throat burned and he had bandages wrapped around his neck, but what hurt him? His hand slowly drifted down to his chest, he had bandages there too, the skin felt painful, inflamed, he hadn't noticed before. "I was hurt." Damian rasped, unsure of his respond. "In a way," Dr. Sato nodded, "we removed a growth from your lungs and heart, it was causing an obstruction to your airways." He tried to remember, a subtle image of a memory crept up and quickly slipped away. It felt like a cold bolt had struck him, the sudden pain making him wince. "No, don't," Dr. Sato patted the blankets next to Damian, "rushing it will do you no good and will only hurt. Many patients in your shoes will have temporary amnesia, slowly you will regain most of your memories." "Most?" Damian couldn't go above a whisper, his throat burning with any effort of speech. "Hm, yes, all of the relevant memories will return, except for the ones that caused the injury in the first place." Dr. Sato wrote something on his clipboard and stood up, "You were very brave, I am glad you pulled through. I will inform your family to give you some time alone to process, I'm sure they would like to go eat and shower. Please rest, you need plenty of it." He smiled and left, the door giving a soft click as it shut. Damian stared at his hands, a faint image of white petals lingered, but he couldn't remember the shape. He shakily touched his chest, it was solid, his flesh intact under the gauze. He took a deep breath, it tasted of blood but it was clear. His heart beat without constraint, comfortable in his chest. Damian could feel it, that something was missing, he gripped his hospital gown. It felt like he could reach in if he pressed a bit harder, like he could fill the cold void left behind by whatever they had removed. Fill it with his fist, squeeze his heart so that it could feel warm. It was an silly thought, dangerous even, he should be grateful that it was gone. Wet droplets landed on his hand, large and hot, with a shock he realized they were tears. He was crying and couldn't figure out why, all he knew was that this emptiness was unnatural. He had forgotten something important. He wanted his father, he wanted his mother, he needed his family.

I will be experimenting with different POV's for this fic, but they will all be Damian-centric. I hope you enjoyed it and I hope I got the imagery across.

[dumpsterfire-daydreams]

(Content warnings: TW: Fake Interrogation, TW: Mild knifeplay, TW: Restraints, Playful Soap, Adorable Soap, Loving Soap, Protective Soap)

The metal table was biting cold against Ana’s skin. That alone was going to cause her to break if the situation went on much longer. The thin fabric of her tank top did nothing to prevent the frigid sensation from chilling her to the core. And shorts weren’t much better when it came to comfort. She knew that if she just held out a little while longer, it would all be over. And if she could see a clock, a watch, anything to help her pass the time, she could steel her mind against all the discomfort she felt. The desperate thought made her laugh internally, though. Because, whether she had her eyes open or closed, she wouldn’t be able to see a thing anyway. A blinding light stared down at her from above, its brightness making her wince whenever she tried to adjust to it. And no matter how hard she twisted and turned in her restraints, she couldn’t diminish its unrelenting gaze.

Though her sight wasn’t her greatest asset, she could still hear just fine. And the sound of heavy footsteps pacing around the table where she lay made her stiffen with resolve. And the tiniest bit of fear. But she was determined to see this through no matter what happened.

“So,” a muffled voice spoke in a far too casual voice. “Where are they?”

Ana clenched her jaw, squinting to see past the light’s glare. Whoever was speaking had something over their mouth to disguise their voice. They didn’t want her to have any clue who she was talking to, so she could rule that potential intel out. But maybe she could see a detail that would give something away?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, with a practiced calm.

There was a long stretch of silence, and the pacing continued. But her whole body jolted when her interrogator slammed their fists down on the table beside her head, making her jump.

“Where are they?!” The man screamed. “I know you took them. Now tell me where they are or things will get very unpleasant for you.”

"There was a detail!" she thought to herself. "The interrogator was a man! Or, at the very least, had a very masculine-sounding voice."

A loud noise crackled next to her ear, and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw the man shove something towards her face. She immediately wondered what it was but fought the urge to turn her head. She had to be level-headed, collected, and perfectly calm. She couldn’t give any hints to what she was thinking. Ever.

Luckily, she didn’t have to battle her curiosity for long. Because the object was shoved at her face so that she could get a proper look. Her heart hammered in her chest as her vision focused on… an empty bag of Animal Crackers?

Just like that, her resolve morphed into confusion as her mind stalled. Her interrogator went on, but whatever they were using to muffle their voice had slipped a bit.

“You don’t want to talk? I’ll make you talk!”

Suddenly, a scenario that was supposed to elicit the ultimate terror devolved into peals of laughter. Ana writhed and gasped for breath, not from pain but from relentless tickles.

“Soap, that’s so not fair!” she gasped out between giggles. "I was really getting into it!"

"Can you be serious for just 15 minutes?" Price grumbled from across the room, exasperation clear in his voice. "This is supposed a torture simulation, not fun and games."

The overhead light clicked off and Ana blinked rapidly, trying to readjust her eyes to normal lighting again.

"I am being serious!" Soap protested. "She ate all my snacks and thought I wouldn't notice! You said we should try to use their weaknesses, and I know hers inside and out. Besides, tickles can be torture!"

Price crossed his arms, shaking his head. "Come on, Soap. If I'm gonna be forced to oversee this, you're doing it my way. It's late. And right now, her passing this training is the only thing between me and a good night's sleep. If I end up staying out here all night because of you, it'll be you on that table instead. Now start over. And be realistic."

Soap rolled his eyes, earning another giggle as he poked Ana’s side one last time.

"Okay," he sighed, tugging his mask up over his nose and giving her a playful wink. "Going back in character. Get your game face on, lass."

Ana nodded, letting her grin fade back into a deadpan expression as she tried to convince herself she was in real danger again. The overhead light clicked on and there was a faint beep as Price restarted the stopwatch.

"I'm gonna make this nice and simple," Soap growled, dropping his voice into a menacing tone. "Tell me where your team is. I want details and I want names."

After a slow inhale and exhale, Ana spoke. "I don't know."

"I think you're lying," the "interrogator" chuckled. "You know what happens to liars, girl? They always tell the truth eventually. At the cost of a few fingers or toes, yes. But it always ends the same."

The graphic threat was an effective touch. Ana could feel terror beginning to coil in her stomach and her pulse jumped. The fear only increased in intensity when he slowly pulled out a knife. She could hear the soft scraping of metal against metal as he drew it from its sheath. And her breath caught in her throat when the cool metal of the blade pressed lightly against her neck.

"Come on, baby girl," he murmured in her ear. "Sing for me. I know you want to tell me what you know."

He was playing dirty, and he knew it. It was common knowledge on base that a smooth talking man made her weak in the knees. After Alejandro caught her mid-breakup recovery watching the same cheesy romance movies on repeat, no one on the team ever let her live it down. But what Soap had no way of knowing was that he was tripping a very dangerous wire by using his knife alongside it. The minute it touched her skin, Ana's heart rate quickened. And it wasn't from fear.

The warmth of his breath ghosted across her shoulder, whispering through the fabric of his mask as he pressed closer. She felt a slight tremor run down her back. But she squeezed her eyes shut, trying hard to focus only on the assignment at hand. Not how close he was to her. Not how her body was reacting to that closeness.

"I-I work alone," she panted. "There is no team."

"Let's see if I can jog your memory then," Soap hissed, pulling out his phone and pulling up a picture of Captain Price. "Have you seen this man?"

Ana turned her face away as he held the image up to her face. She knew this trick well. He was trying to watch her face for the slightest hint of recognition. And she had a terrible poker face. But Soap moved with her, forcing her to face his phone.

When the image came into focus, she couldn’t help but start laughing all over again. It was indeed a picture of Price. It was one she'd seen before. But it had been cleverly edited in advance. In the original picture, Price was frozen mid yell while jabbing his finger at a snarky recruit's face. But Soap had clipped the image in the style of one of her favorite memes. So now there were a total of three angry Price’s standing in a circle, pointing and yelling at each other in classic Spiderman fashion. The tension shattered as both of them fell into yet another fit of laughter.

"That's it. I'm done," Price yelled, throwing his stopwatch across the room and stooping to collect his things.

Soap threw up his hands. "I'm sorry! It was too good of an opportunity. Did you see her face? Even you've gotta admit that was hilarious!"

Soap turned the screen towards Price, but the captain's scowl stayed firmly in place.

"Yes, very funny," he spat, throwing his backpack over his shoulder. "Since you're in a joking mood tonight, how about this for laughs? Neither of you are permitted to leave this room til she passes. Keep the antics up as long as you want, Soap. But if I wake up without a full report and a passing grade outside my door, I will personally kick. Your. Ass."

Price turned on his heel and stormed out of the interrogation room, slamming the door behind him. Silence stretched on for a good while afterward, too. Ana felt a bit ashamed of herself. Soap certainly wasn't helping with his playful personality. But even with that, she should have had the self-control to keep a straight face. It was a silly idea, but what kind of soldier was she if all a captor had to do to break her was make her laugh?

"He's right," she sighed. "We gotta get this done without goofing off. It's important."

"Come on. It's not that important," Soap mocked her, surprised she was turning serious on him now too. "The 141 doesn't get captured. He get in, we down the baddies, we get out."

"Yeah, but I'm not nearly as experienced as the rest of you guys are. What if something happens during a mission and I have to actually use this stuff?"

Soap went quiet, his grin quickly vanishing. His eyes flashed as he frowned a bit. "Not happening. Not on my watch."

"But it could! We have to be prepared for every possible outcome. I know you don't like to hear it, but it could."

"But it won't."

He said the words with a gruff finality, crouching to retrieve the stopwatch from the floor. His easy going nature was gone now. The sudden shift made it clear such a scenario was a topic he never wanted to dwell on and would not discuss any further.

As Ana watched his mood sink uncharacteristically low, suddenly his antics throughout the night began to make sense. He wouldn’t take the role playing seriously because he couldn't. He couldn't bear to imagine someone actually hurting her like that. And the minute he began to see true fear settling in her mind? The second she looked at him with real terror in his eyes? He had used humor and jokes to intentionally shatter the illusion, unable to handle her looking at him like that.

"Soap, are you okay?"

He sat down on the edge of the table, staring down at the bundle of training forms. There was a checklist of scenarios she had to successfully withstand. And there were blank areas beside them for him to describe her responses in excruciating detail. From the look on his face, Ana could tell he did not like what he was seeing.

"I'm fine," he snapped, sending the papers fluttering to the floor. "We can just fake it. We'll spend a few minutes getting our stories straight, check a few boxes, and you'll pass. Then we can just go to bed and forget any of this ever happened."

It was difficult for Ana to take on a comforting role in her current position. She was still strapped to the table and her hands and feet were still bound. But she hated to see him so distraught. She shifted a bit, gently nudging his leg with her foot.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm okay! None of it's real. What happens in this room stays in this room. At the end of the day, we're still just Soap and Ana. Friends to the end, right?"

She'd thrown in the sweet little motto he'd started shortly after she'd joined the team, hoping it would lighten his mood even just a little bit. Instead, he winced. His jaw clenched briefly at the mention of the phrase, and he still wouldn't meet her eyes. But Ana persisted, determined to lift his spirits somehow.

"Come on, don't be a debbie downer! Say it with me. I know you want to," she teased, gently starting a playful chant. "Friends to the end! Friends to the end! Friends-"

"Damn it, Ana! I don't wanna be just friends anymore! I'm in love with you, okay? Don't you get that?"

Ana froze, lying there on the table in shocked silence. Her mind stalled, unprepared for the sudden admission. And for a good while, she didn't know what to even say. But Soap went on.

"I've seen a lot of things, doing what I do. A lot of death, a lot of pain, a lot of suffering. I've seen what it can do to even the strongest people. How it changes them and makes them a broken shell of who they used to be. I won't let that happen to you. I'd rather die than let someone do anything on that list to you. And I sure sure as hell won't be the one to do it to you for a fucking grade. Even if it's just pretend."

"Soap…," her voice trailed off as emotions began to take hold. "I-I don't know what to say."

"You don't have to say anything. Just because I blurted something without thinking out doesn't mean you owe me anything. I just… I just thought you should know."

"...I love you too."

Now, it was Soap’s turn to freeze. Slowly, as if the moment was so fragile even a wayward breath would make it shatter, he turned to meet her eyes.

"Please, don’t joke. Not about this,” he whispered the words like a prayer. “Do you mean that?”

Though her face flushed bright red, Ana held his gaze. Her hand twitched in its bindings as if she wanted to reach for him. But she nodded.

“I do. I have for a long time. I just didn’t know how to say it without risking our friendship.”

For a moment, time stood still as the two stared at each other. Their faces were a mixture of shock, pleasant surprise, and adoration. They were like two magnets once held apart by opposing threads that they’d just severed, now drawn together with nothing left to hold them back.

Soap moved, lunging forward into a passionate kiss. And though she lay prone beneath his shadow, Ana lifted her head as much as her restraints allowed to eagerly kiss him back. His hand slipped behind her head, deepening the kiss with a desperate tug. Soap’s lips felt soft against her own, sliding against her full lips like they were made to be their perfect match. Their tongues began a wild dance and Soap let out a low moan. All this time biting his tongue and holding himself back. And yet here he was, watching as his wildest fantasy was finally made real.

With what felt like great effort, Soap finally pulled back. His knees framed her hips, and he gently rested his forehead against hers. Their chests rose and fell, meeting with each inhalation as they caught their breath.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Soap panted, closing his eyes and savoring the moment they’d just shared. “To kiss you. To touch you. You’re so bloody gorgeous, doll.”

Ana sighed as his fingertips traced the outline of his waist, his thumbs brushing upwards just beneath the hem of her tank top. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her. And from the way Soap shuddered above her, it was clear that he’d felt it too.

[casuallyawkardd]

Hello dear, how are you? 😘 I wanted to know if it's ok, do you write an imagine where reader calls Miguel for the "first" time from the nicknames that spiders sometimes call him, but NEVER in front of him like "Guelito" "Miggy" or my favorite " Miguelito". thank you and I loved the second part "Close Encounters of the Spiderkind" I'm looking forward to seeing the next chapters

'Miguelito' is also my personal fav 😌 I should start work on pt 3 of 'Close Encounters of the Spiderkind' very soon so thank you for the love. Appreciate you anon 💕

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x GN!Reader

Warnings: fluff, awkward beans being awkward beans, can be interpretted as platonic or romantic depending on the vibes you want

"Sounds like big guy's mad again."

"When is he not, Parker?"

You shot the other spider a half hearted glare, too tired to fully commit. It had been a long week, in fact it had been a long three weeks. Someone, everyone had agreed not to point fingers, had lost one of the anomalies. It was a variant of Rhino, some version that looked like a bodybuilder and a mecha anime had a baby, had barreled his way through HQ and was now loose in Nueva York. Miguel's home turf.

For being such a large hunk of muscle, the anomaly was apparently very good at flying under the radar. When you and the other spiders were able to get a ping on him, he was even better at forcing his way through an escape plan. Every 'we almost got him' and 'we'll get him next time' seemed to be grinding against your boss's psyche, sometimes clenching his jaw so tight that you were concerned about his teeth breaking.

The latest hunting party was gathered in the cafeteria, comprised of Gwen, Hobie, Pavitr, Peter B and you. The bane of your existence right now, aka Peter, was obnoxiously slurping on his soda on your right, taking a bite of his O'Hara Burger between gulps. Normally things like that didn't bother you, but today it was like nails on a chalkboard; the urge to beat your own burger, that had quite the resemblance to your boss, to a pulp only growing by the minute.

"Can we just all agree that good, old Migs was the one who fumbled the bag today, yeah?" Hobie chimes in with his usual nonchalant attitude, picking at his own food.

"A...greed," everyone chimes in, all equally tired. Well...almost everyone.

You side eye Peter, who seems to be holding off on his own response. "Well..." he starts carefully, speaking through a mouthful of burger, "you were the one who wasn't able to cut the anomaly off at the corner."

"Excuse me?" you snap back.

"I'm just saying," he holds up a hand in a placating gesture, "I don't think blaming Miggy for everything is always fair. Man's got a lot on his plate keeping all of us in line."

"Boo..."

"Yeah, you sound like an old man."

The younger spiders at the table joined in on the conversation, "I am an old man, respect your elders," Peter scolds the teens before looking back at you. "Look, I'm just saying maybe take one for the team and...apologize."

"What!?"

"For fumbling the bag today."

You take a deep breath in through your nose, head leaning back as if asking for an answer from someone up above. Finally, with a heavy sigh, you look back at the man next to you, "And why do you think me apologizing will help?"

Peter shrugs, "Maybe an apology is what Mig needs to relax a little, he likes when people take accountability. Besides, everyone knows he has a soft spot for you-"

"That man doesn't have a soft anything," you cut Peter off before he can start rambling.

"C'mon," Peter sighs, giving you a reassuring pat on the shoulder, "just go in there and be all 'Ohhh~ Miguelito, I'm really sorry for messing up, please let me help pull that stick out of your ass,'" his impersonation of you has you snickering despite yourself. Damn him and his dorky humor.

"I think I'd be dead if I called him that, or anything we call him when he's not around."

"Honestly, our little nicknames are probably the more tasteful ones," Gwen notes, "Trust me, I've heard some real creative ones."

And that's what brought you to where you were now, slowly making your way into Miguel's lab. You had to keep playing the events of earlier today in your head as a reminder of why you're even here in the first place. Yes, you were the one who was meant to stop Rhino from escaping yet again, but Peter was right. You had choked. Froze on the spot and Miguel had to be the one to pull you to safety. The memory replayed over and over as you mentally scolded yourself, thinking that Rhino would be in the Go Home Machine right now had you stood your ground. But hey, hindsight was 20/20.

"Whatcha doin'?" Lyla's chipper voice pulls you from your thoughts, yellow hologram blipping from here and there as she followed you.

"M'here to see Miguel," you answer a little reluctantly, knowing what she'll ask next.

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because...?" Lyla's now projecting at your side, life sized and walking in stride with you. Her eyes are focused on you, not needing to watch where she's going, seeing as she fazes through every obstacle. Your silence has her pixels forming a teasing smirk, "Oh, you did something wrong~" she coos in a sing-song voice.

"Not now, Lyla."

"Jeez..tough crowd today. I'd expect it from Miguel, but you? I thought we were friends," Lyla stopped walking, giving you a mock pout that had you rolling your eyes and continuing on your way. Lyla's so-called 'betrayal' was short lived as she appeared on one of the control tables, sitting with her legs crossed. "Well, it is good you're here. Big guy's been debating whether or not to call you into his office for the last hour."

That had you pausing. "Why does he want to talk to me?" you ask the AI, who only smirks back. It's clear that she knows, what you know, that he also knows... "How mad is he?" you decide on inquiring next, wincing a little in anticipation of her answer.

Lyla keeps you waiting, of course she does, humming and tapping her chin with a finger. "Not...too mad. Slightly over the average amount for him."

"Was that supposed to make me feel better?"

Lyla laughs behind her hand, pixels now standing in front of you again, "Come on, you're stalling~ Rip it off like a bandaid," she pantomimes patting you on the shoulder. With a heavy sigh, you press on into the main room of Miguel's lab.

He must've heard your conversation with Lyla, the platform already starting to lower at its painfully slow pace. Miguel is standing stiff, hands on his hips and his back to you. The sight has you swallowing thickly, nerves only heightened as you watched the man, who was going to tear you a new one, approaching in the most ominous way imaginable.

With a deep breath, you step forward, finding your voice after a moment, "I think we should talk," you tell him, cursing how your voice has that slight waver to it.

Miguel audibly sighs as well, shoulders sagging at the effort. "I agree," he replies, turning to face you and stepping down to the ground floor. Your stomach drops as he approaches, Miguel stopping and crossing his arms over his chest as he looked down at you. Why he had to be stupidly tall and intimidating was a mystery to you, one that wouldn't be solved in this moment.

"Look, I know today could've gone better," you start with, "we almost had Rhino and we lost him. Or, I guess I lost him.." your eyes avert to the floor, hands fidgeting together, "What I'm trying to say is-"

"I'm sorry."

The two of you speak at the same time, giving you pause. Your eyes finally look up to meet his, brows knitted together in confusion. "I'm sorry, what?" you deadpan, looking at him in disbelief. Surely my ears just aren't working, you think.

Miguel huffs, not a fan of repeating himself as he adjusts his stance, "I said, I'm sorry. The anomaly got away again, that's on me."

"...What."

"You were in the prime position to neutralize the target and I got in the way," he continues to say, as if not hearing your interjection. "I...let my concerns get in the way and cloud my judgment-"

"Wait, hold on-"

"I let you down, I let the team down..."

"That's enough, Miguelito-"

"¡Cállate!" You jump when he raises his voice. "I'm trying to swallow my pride and apologize here," he snaps, annoyance evident in his tone. He huffs, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers and muttering under his breath in Spanish. You, on the other hand, were frozen on the spot. Mainly because you were still reeling from his initial outburst, but as realization set in at your slip of the tongue. Maybe he was too mad to notice?

"I came to apologize to you," you clarified, pausing when Miguel shoots you another glare. However, you were unperturbed, "It's my fault the mission went wrong. I got cold feet," you spoke a little softer, embarrassed at your confession. "If anything, I should be thanking you for making sure I didn't get trampled to death..."

"Stop," Miguel chimed in, holding up a hand to silence you. His lips pressed together in a hard line, thinking of what to say next. "You don't need to be so hard on yourself."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

"Hey."

You crack a smile, hiding a chuckle behind your hand. Miguel's frown deepens and you can't help but laugh even more at the sight, the tension in the room dissipating once you realized the feeling of guilt was mutual. That and the fact you were both too stubborn to let the other be in the wrong. He seems to catch on to the irony of the situation, a reluctant snicker escaping him as he shook his head wryly.

Before either of you could pick up where you left off, there was a beeping sound coming from each of your Gizmos. It looked to be an alarm, further inspection revealing that Rhino had been spotted and all available spiders were to go to the given coordinates.

Miguel was on the move, his touch surprisingly gentle on your arm as he guided you to follow him out of the lab. Once you fell into stride, he was typing away on his Gizmo, "Parker, do you copy? I want you to gather the group from earlier and meet y/n and me there."

"Got it boss," the familiar sound of Peter B's chipper voice answered, "Anything for you, Miguelito~"

You winced slightly as he emphasized the nickname, a fresh reminder of your slip of the tongue. It had you feeling anxious once more as you walked beside the source of said anxieties.

"Don't call me that," Miguel snapped into the comm, "and don't be late," he added before ending the call. His eyes glanced your way, causing your breath to catch in your throat for a brief second. The knowing smirk and low chuckle he gave you in response was a surprise, stunning you even more.

It took a moment for you to remember that you were still walking, quickening your pace to catch back up. The two of you didn't speak as you walked through HQ, some kind of silent understanding that your earlier debate would be an 'agree to disagree' kind of situation. Everyone knows he has a soft spot for you, Peter's words echoed in your head, putting a little spring in your step. Confident that you wouldn't freeze up this time around.

Tags: @prettylittlebrowngirl @khaleesihavilliard @leahnicole1219 @edgycatx @graysonshaven @qiaipia @3zae-zae3 @melovetitties @jebsoxnoshansk @thedevax @erissco @its-carlerrr @muimui06 @cheezit-luv3rr @leo-lvr @stqrlightrs

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

The Tragedy of Love, Death and Maggots part 6

Part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5

We were at the border to the cultists' territory when Mrin stopped us. “Athena was here,” she told us. “Look at the markings on the wall.”

Indeed, there were nasty little marks on the off-white walls, in the shape of rather inappropriate and anatomical figures. The only person who would have the immaturity to do such a thing, as well as the guts to do it in the heart of the cultists' lair, would be that damned girl.

I sighed. “Of course it's her. Who else would draw dicks on the walls of hell?” I shook my head. “Fool child. Do you have any idea how long ago she passed through here?” For all that she had one eye, Mrin's sight served her better than the rest of ours combined. If anyone could figure it out, it would be her. 

“What am I, your blood hound? I can't tell-” she stopped and took a closer look at the markings. “Oh. She was here not long ago. Look, the ink on the wall hasn't dried yet.” 

“Oh, thank the heavens! We might be able to catch her if me hurry,” Brett exclaimed. “Come on, come on! We've gotta get to her before something else does.” His breath hitched, and that sunny smile of his cracked. “If- if ‘thena got hurt, I wouldn't be able to forgive myself!”

Ah, the follies and passions of youth. I shook my head and gave Mrin my signature grin, the one we used to exchange two years ago, back when it was the two of us and she had two eyes. She returned it, hesitantly, showing off yellowing, chipped teeth. 

Before anything could pass between us, Brett put his hands on our shoulders and pushed, sending me careening down the hall. “Hurry up,” he demanded. There was a wildness in his eyes, like an animal being chased down. “There's not much time left.”

Mrin sighed. “There's never any time, Brett. I know you're worried about her, but we can't afford to rush in. The cultists are dangerous, and if we get caught unprepared, we'll be unable to save ourselves, let alone Athena.” 

I nodded in agreement. “Besides, we don't even know where she's gone. Sure, she's here, but here can be in the congregation hall of the cultists or in some random corner, and we need time to work out which exactly it is.”

He held that look of cornered terror for a moment longer, begging us to change our minds. Then he gave up and nodded. “Alright. I take it we're scouting the lair first? Knowing her, that's where she'll be.” 

“Yeah, sure.” I started forward again, keeping up with Brett as we made our way towards the home of the greatest monsters in our little hell.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[rebelwheelssoapbox]

The Influences Of Ableism in Veganism: A Disabled Vegan Perspective

by Michele Sommerstein

I don't know about you, but for me between the multiple genocides, the rise in COVID cases, the massive COVID denial, the related rise in mask bans, the elections, police violence, the rising threat of fascism, climate change, and so many other issues – for fuck's sake! it's a lot. And so lately, I've been feeling like while I am doing what I can to be part of the collective effort for justice, (for another world is possible), I can't only make protest art. My heart also needs lighter projects.

[image description: a collage. background is a field with a blue sky and white clouds and a field of rows of flowers of various colors. standing in the field is a silhouette of a pig that takes up most of the art. their shape is filled with a photo of from the universe (space) there is a human eye on them that slightly blends in with the space pattern. lastly behind them but towards the right is a pink cosmo flower with an orange center. as if the pig is smelling the flower. ] And so recently I've returned to making vegan content. But not some call for intersectionality, articles discussing inner-movement issues, kill counter references, and environmental stats, as I had done in the past. Just lighter. And perhaps because it has been a while since I have made vegan content, I found myself unexpectedly reflecting on the intersections of my disability and vegan identity. Before my disability identity-themed YouTube show (Rebelwheels NYC), I had a short-lived vegan cooking show called My Easily Amused Kitchen.

[image description: video thumbnail. a screenshot from the video taken in my apartment. a white wall and a purple couch behind me. text reads MEAK ep 1 creamy pea soup of vast fantasticness! my easily amused kitchen. there is olive oil being poured onto a bowl of peas. and I am pointing with my finger up sitting next to a penguin stuffed animal. I have glasses, a black shirt, and longer hair with bangs] And looking back on that time, I realize that I really wasn't being fully authentic in the videos. Of course, it was done in my motorized wheelchair and there was some of my quirky humor, but I remember I often downplayed any kind of physical fatigue even though that is part of my disability.

You see, between my animal rights activism at the time and the vegan content that I watched on YouTube, I was very much familiar with the protein myth. The false idea that if you go vegan, that you will by default, be physically weak due to not being able to get enough protein on a vegan diet. Often I saw other (physically able-bodied) vegans whether in person or via YouTube videos who were very intentional about presenting veganism as part of an energetic lifestyle in an attempt to counteract said misinformation.

And there are many professional athletes who are vegan. I personally knew a guy (not professional) who was vegan, who lifted weights and ran marathons with ease.

[image description: The background is a colorful collage of blue, yellow, and pink. The main text reads pity is not compassion! The vibe is artsy and punk. There is smaller text on top that reads spare us your pity we want our rights! And then towards the lower left-hand corner, it reads intersectional disability solidarity. Lastly underneath the word compassion is the phrase unlearn ableism.]

And then there was me, a disabled vegan, and not Paralympic disabled, disabled with low spoons (slang term for energy), disabled with health problems, disabled where muscle weakness is literally part of my disability. And now I can type that and say “represent” with a sense of disability pride, but back then it almost felt like it was a hindrance to the cause. And to be clear, no one ever said to me “hide parts of your disability for the movement.” It was just the way it was presented that made me feel like I should. And it wasn't just the impression I got from a lot of people in the vegan community. I could sneeze and an omnivore would say “Is that because you're vegan?” (as if they themselves never sneezed?)

As a result, I was very aware of how my disability was somewhat being linked to the protein myth. As if I wouldn't be disabled if I wasn't vegan. As if people aren't born with disabilities. As if disability and veganism were somehow incompatible.

[image description: white background. black typewriter font. "Ableism is... (a form of) discrimination. The false idea that disabled people are by default, inferior. When in truth disability is just another way for a mind and/or body to be." ] And so part of me felt that to show my truth was feeding into that weakened stereotype, thus hurting the movement and thus hurting the animals, which obviously as a vegan and animal rights activist, you don't want to do.

Looking back, it was also a lot of internalized ableism on my part, for I had yet to be aware that ableism was even a word, let alone working to unlearn it, and certainly had not yet found my groove and voice in my disability identity.

That said, I now see how essential it is to have a variety of vegan representation in all areas but in this case, ability and health.

And so, in the name of creating something lighter, and because it just so happened that I needed a new vegan cheese (long story), I filmed a taste test where I was un-apologetically me. Full throttle neurodivergent, processing delays, immensely honest, not downplaying when I was physically fatigued or in pain nor the fact that while there are many vegan cheeses out there, I could not try a lot of them, due to dietary intolerances and ingredient sensitivities.

[image description: tumblr has cropped the video thumbnail. the full thumbnail is as follows. Background gold glitter. Over that rainbow stripes. Purple blue green yellow orange red and dark red. To the left a photo of myself wearing a silence equals death with a watermelon pink triangle symbol on it holding up a piece of vegan cheese. I have oversized black cat eye eyeglasses and my rainbow flower crown hair band is pushing back my dark hair. Next to me is a collage of various vegan cheeses. And over that is the text in a bold black font "disabled and neurodivergent vegan taste test vegan cheese." Every line has a white rectangle behind it and behind that is a black rectangle shadow. In white text with a black rectangle behind it. "Not sponsored. Very honest."] And as a result of being authentic and sharing my truth, I'm starting to come across other disabled vegans like me, chronically ill vegans, neurodivergent vegans, etc. and it's lovely Many years ago, I wrote an article entitled Is Veganism Ableist? A Disabled Vegan Perspective. And in regard to the ideas of veganism, the answer remains no. However, I do think in the wanting and sometimes desperation to do all we can to save the animals (and to a certain degree, the planet as animal agriculture is one of the larger contributors to climate change), a lot of us took action to dispel the protein myth, and while in ways it was good, some of our actions had consequences that also caused harm. It is a reminder that when we take action to fight misinformation, we must make sure that we are also not punching down in the process (whether intentionally or not.) This is something that goes far beyond veganism. In the end, us vegans from marginalized communities must represent with as much realness as possible, not only so people know that vegans vary, but so other marginalized people who are perhaps 'vegan-curious', will know that they too are welcomed in the movement. After all, the animals need as many allies as they can get. (Author's Note: In the past, I have written articles using my birth name Michele Kaplan. However, in the past year, I have decided to use my mother's maiden name, and thus why this article is by Michele Sommerstein, while past articles are by Michele Kaplan. Same person. I didn't get married. This just felt right to me for personal reasons)