#EVERY TIME I REMEMBER HE WAS LIKE 14 DOING ALL THIS… MAN…. crawls into a hole and cries | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sreidsville · 3 months ago

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timeless – spencelle.

"cause i believe that we were supposed to find this... so, even in a different life you still would've been mine, we would've been timeless."

summary: elle enters a store and begins to remember her life years ago, before suddenly having to cut the bond that took years to build with her friends and her boyfriend.

disclaimers: suggestive content (+14), emotional situations, arguments, overthinking, mention of panicking.

trope: fluffy, second chance.

n/a: guys… take a deep breath before reading, kay? u'll be fine, i promise, we're going to have a happy ending! also, english it's not my first language, so let me know if there's anything i can improve!

divider by cafekitsune | wc: 3.6k

Down the block, there's an antique shop, a cute and old one, where you find stories in every object in there.

The sky looks gray-ish, and the leaves falling down the street reminded Elle about something special that she has kept in her heart for the past years. Something… someone, but definitely special.

Elle was just passing by, like she always does. Wearing a green shirt, pants, a blazer, high heels and in her hand, coffee. She passes though the same way everyday, but today in specific, something in her head said: Stop! So she walked in.

The bell on the door indicated her arrival, an old man gave her a smile and looked at her over his glasses, but he didn't say anything, so Elle walked around the place, admiring what was around her.

There are pictures, paintings, vinyls, and objects that she had only seen in films from the 50s. Elle looked around one more time, and a pile of books caught her attention. She walks through the corridor, trying to be cautious not to break anything. The first book at the pile made Elle hold her breath, memories crawling back to her mind. Beautiful days, when she was younger… She remembers every detail from that time. She takes the book, holding it, and then, taking a deep breath, she closes her eyes. For a second, it was like she could go back in time, feeling everything. The yellow light coming from the large window, the smell of books and perfume, the comfortable couch, and the most important…

“Elle?”

His voice.

5 years ago.

“Elle?” Spencer’s voice echoes in the room, and the beautiful woman gives him a smile, staring at his face.

She came to his house after texting him if she could, and he, obviously, said yes.

For Elle, he looks absolutely adorable, wearing the sweater she gifted him last week, in halloween. She saw it at the store, the colors orange and black highlighted, and the voice in her head said automatically: he would love that! So she bought it. Little did she know that the sweater is his favorite now. Besides that, he's wearing glasses, Elle’s favorite.

She went to Spencer's apartment after sending a message asking if she could. He said he would leave the door open for her, so when he left the room, she was in the living room, and had taken the liberty of sitting on the couch and observing the place. Spencer’s space is him in objects. Elle sees Spencer in every little detail in there, whether it's the books open on the desk and scattered everywhere, or the coffee machine that she knows is on in the kitchen.

“Hi, Reid” she says.

“What are you doing here?” He approaches with a smile on his face, and she can smell soap and perfume. He just got out of the shower.

“You know, I just wanted to see you, and you told me that the door would be open for me anytime, so, I guess it's not a big surprise seeing me in your living room with donuts…”

This time the smile reaches his eyes, and Elle can't help but smile too. She's wearing a red shirt and black pants. Her brown eyes almost hypnotize Spencer, bringing all his attention to them. God, she looks so pretty.

“You brought donuts?”

“Yes, and it's your favorite” she opens the box, showing him “Chocolate with sprinkles”

“Awn…” Elle left the gaze up to his face again. She loves when he makes these little excited noises when he's happy. It's cute. “Thanks, Elle!”

The BAU members are off, so Elle and Reid spend the rest of the day watching movies like good friends and eating the donuts Elle bought earlier. As time passed, they got closer on the couch, and as much as Reid didn't like physical touch, he didn't mind Elle laying on his shoulder. He sighed when he noticed that she had fallen asleep. Elle is a loving, dedicated and strong woman, but she is also delicate. Reid wants to be the one who protects her when she needs it, a shoulder for her to cry on. And admitting it makes his heart race inside the chest.

“Spencer?”

“Hm? What is it Elle? Are you ok?”

She looks at him, with her head still resting on his shoulder, that way, their faces are close to each other, and Spencer feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise with Elle's breath there.

"Spencer, do you ever feel like you have no control over things?"

"Yes, sometimes"

"Okay... I don't think I can control something I desperately want right now."

Elle lifts her head from his shoulder, and looks into his eyes, but then quickly looks down at his lips, which are slightly open. Their faces are still close, and even more so now, Spencer can feel her breath against his face.

"What do you say to that?"

"That I can't resist either…”

Thousandths of seconds. That's how long it takes for Elle to kiss Spencer. It seems difficult to contain yourself when you've wanted something for so long, that's why when their lips are together, they start to move against each other in a way that Spencer couldn't describe in any way other than special. When Reid sighs against Elle's lips, it's as if something inside her melts, so she deepens the kiss, feeling Spencer's hands move until they hold her face, delicately, in a perfect fit.

They only move away from each other when the rain outside starts hitting the living room window, scaring them for a second, but soon after, they both start laughing, and the atmosphere between them becomes more and more unique… The look Spencer gave Elle made her think that nothing in the world would make her forget that moment. The moment they finally accepted the feelings they had for each other.

“It's raining…”

“I guess I'll need to stay here for a little bit longer…” she smiles, hugging Spencer.

“I’m gonna love that”

The smell of rain reminds her of another day that would be etched in her memory.

4 years ago.

"Elle! It's raining!" Spencer coughs while laughing, running through the streets with his bag over his head, in a failed attempt to protect himself from the falling drops.

Elle also laughs, and when she realizes that Spencer is behind, she pulls him by the hand so that they can run together to the facade of the building where she lives.

They were at a coffee shop hours ago, and after drinking an overpriced coffee, they decided to walk around the center, visiting stores and buying things they probably don't need, but would like to have. Nobody knew about their relationship, even though jokes about their closeness were part of their daily lives, they still didn't know how to admit it to others, so they kept it just between themselves, without labels, they just allowed themselves to feel.

After passing through the hallways and going up to Elle's apartment floor via the elevator, they are greeted by the warm space heater. Spencer takes off the wet All Star and is left with just her colorful socks, which Elle thinks is cute. The woman goes to the bathroom, taking the towel, drying her own hair before offering Reid to do the same, but she can't help but notice how handsome he looks with his wet hair and the tight shirt on his body. It's not like Spencer isn't noticing the delicate contours of Elle's body curves either, and when he realizes he's being watched, he feels his cheeks flush.

"You can stay here until the rain stops..." she says, heading to the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker to make coffee for the two of them. "It's going to be difficult to catch the subway now, everyone must have rushed there."

“Ah, it would be great to spend time with you, actually.”

"Even though we worked today and spent the whole afternoon together?"

"I never get tired of seeing you..."

Elle smiles at the statement, and goes to Spencer, hugging his waist as she looks at him.

Reid can't resist the closeness and caresses Elle's cheek, smiling lightly as he kisses her forehead, and then kisses her lips, delicately but intensely. She sighs, raising her hands to his chest, feeling his heartbeat quicken, Elle loves it when Spencer takes action.

As the kiss continues, the world around them seems to slowly disappear, and before they know it, their hands are running over each other's bodies, their breathing becomes labored and their touches become more urgent, just like the kiss. With a quick movement, Spencer turns off the coffee maker, without moving away from Elle's body, and slides one of his hands to her waist, pulling her closer, but she pulls away enough to see the expression on his face, and it's pure desire, no matter how much Reid tries to hide it. And that's what makes her guide him to her room, closing the door the moment they're inside, alone.

That was supposed to be just a kiss, but the moment they end up in Elle's room, things get more intense and desperate. Now Spencer is sitting on her bed, she's on top of him. His hands are exploring her thigh, his index finger doing circular moves while her hands play with his hair, messing it.

They know what's going to happen next, but when Elle moves her hips against his, it's surprising the way he whimpers and grabs her upper thigh, making her whisper his name, and it's the most beautiful thing he heard in his whole life. For a moment, they both stop the kiss to look at each other. They don't need to say anything, they have this connection between them. Elle is mesmerizing, her brown eyes showing how much she loves him. Spencer keeps staring at her, his Adam’s apple going up and down multiple times, showing that he's nervous and his mind is full of thoughts.

“We don't need to do this if you don't want you, you know that right?”

“I know… But I want to.” His voice is nothing more than a weak whisper.

“Now?”

“Please…”

She doesn't need anything else before moving towards Spencer's lips once again, this time pushing him to lie down on the soft sheets, remaining on top of his body, teasing him from time to time, listening to him whisper how beautiful she is, how much he loves her as she kisses his neck, leaving small marks that make him whimper, increasing the heat in Elle's body.

The senses seemed ten times more acute. What were sighs became low moans as things progressed between the disheveled sheets. Elle and Spencer are so immersed in heat that they almost get drunk on each other's touches.

The minutes pass, and soon, all that's left are sweaty bodies, uneven breathing and a loving hug in which Spencer wraps Elle until they finally fall asleep.

Unfortunately, nothing lasts forever, and even though Elle knew this, she allowed herself to stay in Spencer's arms, even if it meant destroying him later, against her will. That night everything was just a distant fear, but after a while, it became reality.

Their world began to fall apart before Elle could react to try and save them from the inevitable.

3 years ago.

The rain outside the BAU unit is too heavy for people to leave, yet Elle is running after leaving the team leader's office. Spencer knows something is wrong, his girlfriend started changing her behavior months ago, and yet she hasn't told him anything in that time. She seems angry, scared, inconsolable, and most of the time, desperate. No one but Hotch and Gideon knows that she is struggling to protect everyone after an unsub threatens them, and the best way to do that is to cut the bond that she took years to build, including her relationship with Reid.

When she passes by collecting her belongings, Spencer tries to hold her arm, but Elle brutally lets go, and doesn't even look him in the eye. Which makes him think of many possibilities.

‘Is she leaving...? Without telling me anything?’ he asks himself, and the moment the adrenaline starts coursing through his veins, his legs move quickly to reach the woman.

He hears JJ calling him, but the voices of the people around him begin to fade away as the sound of the rain increases as he heads outside.

He finds her, already in the rain, and his only option is to go after her, letting the water start to weigh down his sweater. Elle knows that Reid is after her, and that makes her heart skip a beat, because she understands that he doesn't want to give her up, he would never do that, unless...

"Elle!"

Unless she told him to do it.

"Elle, please, please. What's wrong? Why are you acting like this? Elle?"

"Spencer, leave me alone!"

"Leave you alone?" she keeps walking, trying to get away from him "Why? Elle, could you please...? Elle!”

He grabs her arm, making her stop running from him, from the BAU, from her life, but it's not like she has any other option, she just can't stay, not anymore. He's panting, his heart is pounding in his chest, and the rain is almost blinding him, the falling drops hurt, it just doesn't hurt more than the look Elle directs at him. She seems determined, and he somehow knows there's nothing he can do, yet he doesn't want to accept that fact.

Elle can barely look him in the eye, but she needs to be firm, she needs to convince him. She knows what will happen if she fails. She'll start crying, Reid will hold her, make her stay, looking at her with those brown eyes and... She won't be strong enough.

"Spencer, please let me go." she says in a weak voice.

"You need to tell me what's going on... Elle? Please look at me. You've been acting differently for weeks now! You seem nervous, scared. You don't talk to me or anyone else and I-I don't know how to help you. Tell me...

"I..." she starts, but the words seem to disappear from her mind before she can say something coherent, so she takes a deep breath, starting again "I have nothing to tell you.”

“Don't you have anything to tell me? Even when I'm begging you to tell me something, anything?"

She can't answer. It feels like there's something stuck in her throat. Elle can't even look at Spencer, but she needs to be strong to push him away, to make him believe it's for the better. Spencer is very precious to this world, and she knows that, so she needs to protect him, so that no one hurts him again. That's what she needs to keep in mind now.

"Is it me? Did I do something wrong?"

He says it in a low voice, as if he's going over everything that happened in his head, looking for details that don't exist, answers to why she's leaving, and it hurts Elle. She doesn't deserve him.

"What? No, no, Spencer…”

Elle's eyes start to burn and get wet and she doesn't know if it's because she's about to cry or if it's because of the rain. She can't do this anymore. Spencer has always had this thing where he blames himself when something goes wrong, he thinks he's the problem, when in fact, he's the solution, the light, he just can't see it yet.

'Oh my sweet, sweet boy... If you only knew...'

"Then why? Why are you doing this to me?"

He is hurt, his voice is full of pain. She can't say anything, she doesn't have that kind of response right now, so she looks away to something else, anything that catches her attention, except Spencer.

"Elle, why?" he approaches, trying to hold her hand "You look so scared and I can't see you like this anymore, please let me help you lo-"

"No!" she screams, and the sound echoes like thunder, making Spencer automatically back away, stunned, without understanding the reason for it all.

'Right, I need to do this, no matter how much it hurts him. He'll be fine without me, I know he will and if ever, somehow, he gets angry and blames me, I'll be happy, because it's true, it's all my fault. I just wish I could make it clear that he has nothing to do with this…’

"I don't love you anymore! Don't you understand?"

Spencer's eyebrows knit together, and his nostrils flare, as if he doesn't even understand. His mouth is open, and he's trying to say something but his thoughts are faster than his mouth.

"W-what?" he whispers.

"I can't do this anymore! This..." she opens her arms and spins around. "Us, this job, this life. It's not what I want!"

"You don't...? It's not what you want." he repeats, more to himself, trying to assimilate the words.

"Yes, exactly. I don't want to live like this anymore, I'm leaving... So if you love me, let me go, please..."

She's taking it hard, using the last weapon she has – and the most lethal – knowing that's what she needs. And it happens. Reid takes a step back, ecstatic, as if on autopilot, dissociating from the painful situation. Elle takes a deep, shaky breath, grateful for the rain that forms a curtain that disguises the tears.

She turns around, facing away, and at the last second, she turns to Reid one last time, and one last time, she allows herself to watch him with wet hair and his gaze fixed on her, as if she doesn't believe it.

"Goodbye, Spencer..."

He doesn't respond, so all Elle does is sigh, taking the car key and getting inside, closing the door with a single slam, and then leaving the parking lot. Reid just watches her car disappear, and somehow, he wishes it was a nightmare, but it's not, and deep down he knows it.

Spencer doesn't really know what happened after he saw Elle leave. He walks back inside the BAU unit, looking at the floor, memories flooding his memory.

'No... It can't be. All the smiles she gave me, the kisses, the nights together, the beautiful moments, were they lies? She didn't want to? Did she want that at some point, or did she pretend?'

Reid feels firm arms around him, and only then does he realize he's on the floor, with Derek hugging him as he cries profusely, sobbing, holding onto his friend as if he were the only real thing there. JJ and Penelope stare at the scene shocked, without understanding anything, desperate for not knowing how to help, while, further away from the group, Hotch and Gideon exchange a complicated look, full of regret, sharing a secret that they will keep until the day they die…

"S-she left..." Reid sobs, running his hands over his face, looking like a child "She s-said..."

He begins to hyperventilate, feeling his chest burning. He can't even breathe properly, he's shaking, causing Derek to ask for help so he can take him to a more private place, while Garcia takes a glass of water to offer.

That day was the worst of Spencer's life, but it was definitely the worst for Elle as well.

Elle drove to the airport that night, her bags were already packed for the last week, in the car. Everything seemed like a blur; the moment she gets out of the car and goes straight to the airport, checks in and, after hours, gets on a plane with a predefined destination.

Looking up at the window, her eyes blurred with tears, she allowed herself to cry. The woman next to her seems scared, but does nothing to help her, because there is no comfort in Elle's heart, other than the certainty that, by leaving, she will be saving the lives of everyone she loves.

Hers only prayer during the hours inside the plane was just one; please let me see them again someday.

She just hoped it would happen.

Current time.

Three years ago, Elle left everyone she loved and cared about to save them without even thinking twice. After a while, she learned to move on, but she also couldn't avoid the thoughts and memories of the past that invaded her memory. Spencer would be engraved on her, and she was sure that in another life, they would be each other's.

Opening her eyes, she returns the book to the pile it was in before, and takes a deep breath, smiling, and then gets ready to leave, with the promise that she would return to that same store one day, but to buy something.

As she's walking back the way she came, the doorbell rings, and she hurries to get back to her routine, but her feet settle on the floor when she sees him.

The same light brown hair, but now a little longer and with beautiful waves, the beautiful profile that Elle never stopped admiring, and the eyes... Those eyes. She would never forget him, she couldn't. When he notices her presence there, something inside him lights up once again, after years, and he straightens his posture, looking at her with tenderness, even after everything that has happened.

"Elle?"

And his voice sounds like divine singing. How she missed hearing him call her name... The happiness inside her is too much to contain, so a smile appears on her face.

And there she understands that they will be timeless, no matter what happens.

"Hi, Spencer”

#spencelle #taylor swift #criminal minds #cm fic #spencer reid #elle greenaway #timeless #fanfic #fluffy #second chances #romance #penelope garcia #derek morgan #aaron hotchner #jenifer jareau

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dearharriet · 10 months ago

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About Time | Chapter 2

james potter x reader time travel au | 2.5K words | contents

page 2 | back next

04:00 — 4 FEBRUARY

Rounding the corner down the back stairs, James came to the kitchen. It was all a deep, thick violet, blending with the world outside. That was a color that the sun wouldn’t touch for another four hours, if that.

He crept into the room, bare toes on cold terracotta tile, and got the electric kettle going. A tiny red dot rose against the dark expanse of cook-ware as the old thing jumped to life. James leaned back, slumping against the counter and retrieving his phone.

The kitchen gained new illumination as he pried it apart, jostling the center button to wake it. He’d done this song and dance every hour of every day since new years—even the ones he did twice—so it was second nature to press the handful of buttons that led to your contact.

The text exchange stared up at him the same way it always did, and he felt his frustration with himself bubble like the kicking kettle.

1 January

Me 14:14

| hello, this is james! (from new years) :)

Y/N! 15:17

| hi! :)

Me 15:20

| hiya. i was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime? this weekend, maybe?

Y/N! 15:35

| oh, that sounds so lovely, believe me!! but I actually live in london :/ i was only visiting for the holiday.

Of course she lives in London, he thought, she works with Marlene.

James never responded.

The thing about James was, he could go back and retry anything he failed at—which left a lot of room to do just that, and he was accidentally making the most of it.

The other thing about James was, he rarely knew when to quit. A month of no contact couldn’t be good, but a part of him wanted to see if he could make it work the first time. Every retry felt like a crawl through hell, having to do everything all over again, having to remember the way things were—the way things could’ve been forever.

No, he wanted to believe he could make something good without turning back. He’d done alright so far. It was just proving to be very hard because of you.

When the kettle was something around halfway done, James swung the phone closed, plunged back into darkness. He went to the press and took down a big mug with an odd decal over the front of it, and then looked to fish a tea bag out of the next cabinet. His hand felt around blindly, and he stubbornly persisted instead of seeking help from the house lights.

“What the bloody hell is goin’ on in here?”

In quick succession, James swung around and the overhead lights flashed on, and then his head whacked the cabinet door.

“Oh—fuck,” he swore, hand shooting up to cradle the throbbing area. The kettle was nearing the end of its duty, roaring as loud as the blood in James’ ears. Somehow too, the lights carried a sound of their own, one that you’d only ever hear when everything else is blissfully silent.

Something began thumping, and James peeked out of a watery eye to watch a middle aged man hobble over to the fridge. He was wearing a matching pajama set, blue and white striped and too soft looking for his very immediate brashness.

“Who the hell are you?”

The man ignored James’ very feeble inquiry and opened the freezer, coming up with a cold compress. When he turned James’ way, the boy had to school his initial reaction.

Layered over the strange man’s face were deep-cut scars, spider-webbing across his features indiscriminately. His right eye was a shocking blue, and the corresponding eyelid was healed wide open, giving it quite a mad look. James wondered how he slept.

With the same thump thump thump-ing from before, the man approached James, and James looked down to discover a rickety prosthetic leg on one side of his gait. Then, his eyes were back on the scars, his jaw held firmly between thick calloused fingers.

“That’s the last time you’ll ogle at my leg, boy,” the man said firmly, a measured type of coarseness entering his voice. “You’ve seen it now, no need to worry about it any longer. Understand?”

James blinked, still groggy and disoriented, sleep waiting at the edges of his eyes to be wiped away.

“Can I know who you are? Or, why you’re in my house, perhaps?”

A grating laugh escaped the man’s twisted lips, chased by a wide, toothy smile that didn’t match it. Then he forced the compress in his free hand over James’ tender forehead, and a maniacal gleam in his big eye finally caught the light.

“Oh, ow!”

“The name is Moody,” James’ torturer finally revealed, disregarding the pained whines the boy was making. “Alastor Moody. That’s M-O-O—”

“Oh my god, please shut up,” James groaned rudely, feeling a headache come on. Alastor seemed to take kindly by it anyways, or as kindly as he seemed capable of. He snatched one of James’ hands to replace his over the compress and stomped away. James wondered how he’d missed the sound before, when Moody was elsewhere in the house.

Stealing the big mug off the counter and a second one out of the press, Moody set about concocting some tea for the both of them.

“Why are you here,” James pushed again, falling from the wrap-around counter to the butcher’s block island and folding over it.

Moody, pouring a steaming cupful of tea, glanced over his shoulder with a grunt.

“Thought I’m s’posed to shut up,” he replied, a small jest barely recognizable in the grit of it. James almost laughed, thinking it was something one of his friends might say.

“Touché,” he allowed, too tired to justify his earlier words.

Moody slid the piping mug under his nose, holding onto the handle to say, “I’m yer father’s student. Or, I used to be, at least.”

James took the tea gratefully, dropping a big sugar cube into it as his body fell into a tall bar stool. He glanced at the scarred man, who was settling in beside him and sighing at the pressure coming off his legs.

“You’re a businessman?”

The sharp gritty chortle returned, far too loud for the early hour.

“Fuck no, I’m not,” Alastor laughed, “I’m a sad playwrite in London. I took his class on a requirement.”

At that, James perked up.

“In London, really?”

Moody slurped his tea noisily, grunted, and then grabbed two sugars and stirred them into his cup with one meaty finger. After confirming the taste again, he replied, “Yes, really. And don’t believe what those townie twits say about it. London is a miserable barrel of oil I’d like to set on fire.”

James would’ve liked to agree with that, actually, except that he was the victim of a one track mind, and his mind had eyes on you.

Coincidentally, you were in London.

“So why not move away?” James hunkered further over the counter, shrugging in question. “What’s there for you?”

Alastor sighed long-sufferingly, the way someone sighs when they’ve fallen into a pit that they dug.

“A goddamn pipe dream, that’s what.”

“Seems the right place for that,” James said agreeably, pushing up his glasses to appear smarter, somehow.

Moody shifted to look at him.

“What about you, eh?” Alastor sat forward, peering at James oblong with his gaping eye. “I suppose you’ll sit around this cushy place until your old man keels over, won’t ya? Marry some other high-society lass, play out the whole family runaround…maybe pop down to the city for a few years, but not for any big plan, really. Certainly not because you need to.”

He shook his head then, grumbling and taking to his tea. James jutted his head back, slightly affronted, but mostly confused by the jarring flip in Alastor’s mood.

“I’m sure I could, if I had nothing else in mind,” James agreed, his mind focused hard on the one future he was sure of. “Thing is though, I’ve got a pipe dream of my own, sir. A girl I met.”

Exhaling through flared hairy nostrils, Moody glanced at James again, dubious.

“A girl, you say?” James nods. “Yes, well, I suppose that’s what takes all the good ones. Some girl they met once.”

“Thrice,” James corrected. Alastor shuffled his thinning hair about on his head, grunting in question. “I met her three times.”

Moody just tipped back the rest of his tea and wiped the straggling drops from his chin.

Twisting his lips, James persisted.

“This girl y’see, she lives in the city. And I’ve asked to take her out, quite obtusely, without knowing, and now I think I’ll just have to move to her because—”

A big fat hand came down on the counter, rattling James out of his rant.

“Get t’yer point boy.”

Swallowing, James finally asked, “Can I live with you?”

Alastor gave him a long look and then stood, dumping his mug into the big basin by the window. On his slow march out, he turned, casting a sneer over his shoulder that prefaced his following answer.

“Unless that girl is willing to give you a million chances, you’ve already lost her. That’s just the way women are.”

04:00 — 17 MARCH

It took four trills for you to realize the song in your dream was a ringtone, and that it was a real pressing matter in the waking world.

One hazy glance at the clock on your night stand told you it was far too early for a phone call, and a quick check on your throat came up dry and unpleasant, not ideal for talking.

You sat up, blinking blearily at the name scrolling across the notification window on your phone, and convinced yourself you were still fast asleep.

‘James :)’ shimmered loud and proud in the pixelated slot of space, perplexing your delirious brain beyond measure. You played with the possibility of going back to sleep, but your curiosity got the better of you.

Opening your phone, you pressed the green answer button and held it to your ear.

“Hello,” you croaked out, more of a question than a greeting.

The other side of the line seemed to lag for a second, like maybe there was no one there, and then James spoke.

“Hel—hi.”

Even though he was only on the phone, hearing his voice made you sit up a little straighter, tamping your bedhead down with a flat palm.

“James?”

He sucked in a breath, and the way it cracked through the line made it sound like a cigarette pull.

“Yeah, um. Yeah. I’m sorry, I really didn’t expect you to answer. You sound so tired, I feel awful.”

“No, don’t be, it’s—” You caught yourself before you could placate him, because no amount of insisting it wasn’t early would change the hands on the clock, “—it’s fine, honestly. My boss is Irish, so I’ve got the day off.”

There was a pause and some shuffling, and then James said, “oh hell, it’s the seventeenth, yeah. I forgot.”

“What?” you exclaimed. “How could you? Everything’s been green for weeks now.”

James laughed, the sound muffled like it was coming from another room.

“I know, I’m sure, I’ve just been too busy to notice. I’m uh, I’m actually moving tomorrow. Or today, I guess.”

“Oh yeah?” You bit your lip, smiling a touch and daring to ponder, “Where?”

Another long pause.

“The city,” James replied, and you thought you could hear him smiling, too. “London.”

Picking at your comforter, you felt your lips ebb and flow, uncertain whether to be happy or sad. You really liked James, perhaps even as more than a friend that you’d kissed once on New Years. He was sweet, and attentive, and he seemed to really like you; Texted you right away, unlike most guys you’d been with.

And here he was calling you, striking up a conversation in the early hours of the morning.

“That’s great,” you said, dredging up all of the joy in your chest to saturate your words with. “Where in?”

He seemed hesitant, thinking about it for a second. “Islington, I think? I’ve only ever been up two or three times, so I’m not really sure.”

You nodded, charmed to silence just by the way he spoke, by the number of things you’d rather have asked him—about his life, about that handful of trips to the big city. You were so involved in the thought that you forgot he couldn’t see you.

“Are you still there?”

“Yes! Yes, sorry, I was nodding.” You laughed a little to lighten the tension. “Um, Islington is great.”

“Really?” James asked. “You’ve been?”

“Well, no.” You laughed some more, and James joined you. “But I live in Shoreditch, actually, so we’ll be really close.”

You hoped that didn’t come off too flirty, and then you hoped that it did, which made you feel terribly guilty. If being on the phone with James was dangerous, you certainly couldn’t be around him in person again.

Eyes closing, you cleared your throat.

“Um, James?”

The boy on the other line hummed in response, and then said, “What?”

“Is there a reason you called?”

It felt rude to ask, but you thought the early hour might cover for you. If you wanted to crawl back under your covers and sleep Saint Patty’s Day away, could he really blame you?

“Oh!” said James, and again your heart thumped hard and cruel in your throat, damming any words inside. “Yes, I’m sorry. I meant to ask you if you were free at all next week? For that coffee I mentioned after New Years.”

Fuzz overtakes the line for the next few seconds as your head falls into your lap. In part, you blame yourself, for being so naive as to think he’d call for anything else. The other part falls on you for different reasons, namely, being on the phone at all with someone you had undeniable feelings for.

For not turning him away in the first place, even though you knew his feelings were just as secure.

“Um,” you started, fighting the frog in your throat, “I’m really sorry James, but I’m actually seeing someone right now. I don’t think…”

You stopped there, because anything that came after would veer immediately into a confession that would hurt you both, and then some.

James was eerily quiet, so much so that you checked your phone to ensure he hadn’t hung up. Then, finally, he breathed out an, “Oh.”

It felt more like a punch to the gut.

For some reason, your face burned with acute embarrassment. Something about admitting to James that you were with someone else felt shameful, like some odd betrayal. Thankfully, he didn’t encourage the feeling.

“Well I hope he’s an alright guy,” James said fairly, and you told him he was. After yet another bout of silence, James just said, “good.”

And then the line clicked.

thank you for reading! xx | masterlist

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#about time #james potter #marauders #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders fandom #james fleamont potter #james potter x reader #james potter imagine #james potter au #james potter fic #james potter fanfiction #marauders au #maraders era #time travel au #time travel #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter fandom #harry potter

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gingerlurk · 1 year ago

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Lovers' Crest | Chapter 14: The Sight

Din Djarin x f!Reader

Masterlist

Summary: Din has a reckoning you would have never seen coming. What it means for the two of you, well… that comes next.

Word count: 4.3k

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, slow burn, non-canon (the Razor Crest never gets destroyed, it also gets upgraded with a cabin), post season 3, SMUT: oral sex (f!receiving), fingering (f!receiving), unprotected PiV (be safe), use of a blindfold, Mandalorian lore NONSENSE.

A/N: Not gonna lie to you, I kind of adore this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Thanks for being here!

‘You’re furious.��

‘I’m not furious.’

‘You feel betrayed?’

‘No.’

‘You’re punishing me for all that, aren’t you?’

‘No!’

‘Then what the hells is going on, Din?’ You plant your hands on your hips and square your feet on the floor. Two days of this, this sullen and twitchy man aboard your ship, laconic and lowly in attitude and stance. Spending most of his time holed up in the cockpit, looking at his datapad with a savage intensity.

You believe he’s tried, really tried to push past it. You’d talked about the trap Torre had set and agreed no one was at fault. You’d gone over each detail and reassured him that you’d had your end goal in mind early on.

He’d spent maybe a half an hour earlier this morning talking with you about your plans to upgrade the manoeuvring valves. But when you’d put a hand on his arm and moved like to loop it around your middle, as you always did, he tugged it back and told you to just tell him how much it would cost him before stomping off.

And that damn well hurt. So you figured it was best to just dive into the issue before you break down in a fit of tears.

Now you’re facing his back as he pretends to adjust an oscillation rifle on its holdings. Nervousness and apprehension cascades off his shoulders.

‘None of it was true,’ you say again. ‘You believe that right? It was all lies.’

A beat. The longest of your life.

‘One thing was true,’ he says, back still to you.

Unbelievable.

‘No--’

He drops his shoulders and tilts his head back, sighing hard.

‘Torre said it actually,’ he says. He moves with his usual swiftness and raises his forearms to cage you against the ration crates, still that same agitated energy radiating off his armour. You swallow. ‘And I recall every word of it.’

‘What—’ you start, but he puts a hand against your chest, slowly pushes it towards your collarbone and snakes his fingers across the top of your shoulder, holding you still as he leans into your other ear.

You swear you feel his breath on your earlobe. But you know that’s impossible through the helmet.

‘He said,’ Din says in a ragged voice, ‘“You know he can’t give you the kind of pleasure that I can. You know he just can’t do it”…’

You remember now. But unlike when Torre was on his knees in front of you, this isn’t making your skin crawl off your body. It’s doing the opposite – you feel tight everywhere and your breath is stuck in your lungs. Goosebumps erupt from your scalp and careen down your body until your toes are singing and your centre starts pulsing.

‘He said,’ Din continues. You now know what he’s going to say and your eyes roll back to listen. ‘“He hasn’t even kissed you, has he? He hasn’t tasted you, laid you out with his mouth and tongue to lave at your cunt until you’re screaming in bliss. Not like I did, remember? Remember how much you needed it?”’

Din leans forward, pressing the forehead of his helm into the hard surface behind you. ‘I haven’t done that for you, have I? Haven’t given you what you need. Brought you to the edge and let you fall while drinking down your release? Pleasured you in every single way imaginable?’

You’re boneless against the wall, imagining the mouth uttering those words doing just that. But you summon enough brain power to speak.

‘It’s okay,’ you say. ‘It’s—I decided already that I’m okay with not having that. That, that I don’t—’

He murmurs your name as if to interrupt.

‘That I don’t n-need it,’ you push on. ‘I only need—’

He’s leaning away, moving his hand from your shoulder to drop to his side. You grab for it. You hold it tight and make yourself look into his visor. Despite all your fears, despite your terror at what the future holds, you stare pleadingly at him and tell the truth.

‘I swear I only need you.’

Gently, so devastatingly gently, he pulls his hand from your grasp and steps back.

‘That is not enough, I’m afraid.’ He spins on the spot and heads to the rear of the cargo hold.

What does that mean? Your mind is reeling in two entirely different directions. This is it; he’s going to leave you now. Is he going to take off his helmet? He’s dropping you at the next port because now he knows your secret desire and it sickens him. He’s going to do it to you because now he knows what you truly want. You don’t respect his creed and he knows it now so he hates you. He’s going to let you see his face!

Fuck, fuck, FUCK!

Both spirals of thought threaten to shred your sanity and you stumble backwards, no longer registering what he’s doing – rummaging through a crate you think. But he’s back in front of you a moment later.

‘Hey, breathe. Just breathe for me, please?’ He cups your face; his right palm lays flat against your cheek while his left hand is held in a fist. He’s clenching something tightly, but stroking his thumb slowly along your jaw. You try to relax. Try to focus on the fact he wouldn’t be touching you so tenderly if it was all over. The next thing he says though leaves you lost.

‘I have been studying,’ he says.

You blink stupidly. ‘Huh?’

‘Reading. The texts of the Creed. I have been reading them closely.’

‘Oh.’

‘I have… removed my helmet, in the past. And I thought it would cost me everything. So… I have been afraid.’

You have no idea what he’s talking about. He’s removed his helmet? When?

‘But I am not afraid now,’ he whispers.

You say the only thing you can say, ‘Why?’

Silence.

‘Why, Din?’ You’re nearing desperation. To understand. To know what he means. ‘Why aren’t you afraid now?’

He draws a long breath.

‘Because, I have found that, in the original Mando’a, the Creed has a specific wording that translations don’t really hold account to. It says that a Mandalorian of the Watch cannot remove their helmet to show their face to another. Or allow another to remove their helmet, lest their face be seen.’

You stay quiet.

‘Show their face, do you understand?’

You open your mouth and close it again, not daring to say a single word for fear that the hope welling inside you will be crushed to grit.

Din holds you for a few moments more, seeming to be drawing himself to a decision. Finally, finally, he nods to himself. He moves his fist from your face and holds up the object he’d been clutching.

It looks like it’s made from a similar material to his flight suit, a thick but stretchy woven fabric stitched into a loop. You gape at it.

‘It’s to hold hair out of the way under my helmet,’ he explains, somewhat needlessly. ‘I have several but not much else, so it’ll have to do for now.’

You cannot, at all, believe what is happening, so you stay still. He lifts the fabric up and circles it around the crown of your head, then spreads his fingers on either side and slowly tugs it down, down, past your forehead and over your eyes. He settles the band against the tops of your ears before withdrawing his hands. You get the slightest scent of him as it brushes the top of your nose. The wide, thick material has blinded you totally.

‘Can you see anything?’

‘No.’

‘Do you swear to me you will not look?’

‘Din, I—’

‘Please, swear it.’

‘I swear.’ The word turns to a whimper as Din loops a hand around your waist, the other goes to your hair as he starts to walk you back, step by tiny step, to the cabin.

In the small room that is mostly bed, he backs you up to a wall and pulls his hands away. You hear him pulling off his gloves, you think. It’s confirmed when you hear the soft click of his vambraces detaching, one after the other. Then it’s silent for a beat. Another. Then another. You are about to move or say something when the quiet hiss of depressurising air hits your ears. A small thump follows on the shelf next to you. And then your heart just stops.

Right next to your ear, partly covered by the blindfold, he murmurs your name. Your mouth falls open. His naked voice sends a molten tendril through you that sparks your every nerve ending. He says it again and your chest starts to heave with lust and wonder and anticipation.

‘God, Din. God.’

The next of your senses to be assaulted is touch as you feel his warm, impossibly soft lips press to your neck. Right in the spot he found you like the tips of his fingers so much, just behind your ear and down a little. He holds there, just pressing a firm warmth into your skin. A hand comes up to the other side of your face and it is trembling. You finally move and place your own hand over it, showing him that you are shaking too.

The lips part in the smallest, sweetest kiss. He whimpers sweetly before opening his lips further, laving at the soft flesh there with teeth and tongue.

‘Hhhnnnn,’ you whine. ‘Din… Din!’

‘What? What is it?’ He stays put against your neck, but sounds a little alarmed.

‘Gods please, kiss me, Din. Kiss me, now- ah!’

Without breaking connection with your skin, he drags his mouth over your jaw and up, making one small sucking motion there by your lower lip then sealing his mouth to yours. You both groan, an ecstatic release of so much longing filling the air and coursing across where you’re pressed together.

You grip either side of his chest armour and pull him closer, sucking his lower lip into your mouth and swiping your tongue across it, feeling its curve and plumb softness. You release and he does the same to you, moving his hand down to your jaw to nudge your mouth wider, begging entry. Parting your lips lets you feel his warm breath as he pants into you; he pushes forward and runs his tongue over your teeth and bites at your upper and lower lips in turn.

Damn, he’s good at this.

You stand there pressed against the side of the cabin for an age, devouring each other, before a thought so startling occurs to you that you pull back, bumping your head on the cold wall.

Din pulls right back but you hold onto him. ‘What? Are you okay?’

His voice is chocolate.

‘Din,’ you say, gasping for air. If you weren’t so overcome with lust you would probably agonise over this question. Or if you could see him you might second guess it. But it spills from your swollen lips with ease. ‘Can I touch you?’

‘You are touching me, mesh’la.’ What an adorable dolt.

‘No I mean,’ you hesitantly reach up and hover your hand where you think his hair may curl at the base of his neck. He stills. ‘Can I touch you here, and,’ you move your other hand in front of your face, where his cheek could be. ‘And here.’

You feel his breath on your hand. You hear his mouth move open and close. His hand comes to the back of the one you’re holding between the two of you and laces your fingers together. You’re trembling.

‘Please, mesh’la,’ he says. He presses your hand to his face, holding it flush. You feel a sharp jawline, stubbly beard, a soft dusting of hair by his ear and you can’t help it, you sob.

‘Oh my fucking god,’ you hiccup and groan. You plunge your other hand into thick, curly hair and crash your mouth back to his. Teeth drag together for a moment before he moves to the side and mouths and nips at your jawline, moving back to the spot on your neck you love touched so much.

He takes hold of your hips and spins you to the bed, pushing you to lay yourself back.

‘Undress yourself, love,’ he tells you. Your top half is bare in seconds, careful to make sure the blindfold doesn’t move. As you work on your bottoms, you hear the first clicks and rustles of Din removing his armour.

You usually love to watch him do this. The anticipation setting a fire in you so potent it’s unbelievable he doesn’t even have to touch you to do it. You settle for just listening to the motions of this ritual you share. But then he starts to speak and you fall apart as his bare, sultry vocals wash through you.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he rasps, voice grinding over your trembling body. ‘Look at you.’ You hear his movements become quicker, fumbling and desperate. ‘A gorgeous, divine, otherworldly Goddess. Fuck, every inch of you is perfect. Unh, uh, sweet Gods, I swear. I swear to you.’

You feel a weight drop at the end of the bed; he’s removing his boots.

‘I swear to you,’ you feel a hand wrap around one of your ankles and you whine. You can hear his inhales and exhales. He’s breathing so hard, gulping air like he’s trying not to drown. You feel your own self gasping as well. He stands again; you hear the zips and tears of his flight suit as he strips.

‘I swear to you, love. Mesh’la.’ He’s stopped moving. He must just be standing over you. Looking. Then, in a voice you feel right in your fucking clit. ‘Gonna give you what you deserve now, love. What you crave.’

You shudder, writhing and squirming without restraint.

‘Gonna find out just what you like, exactly how you like it. Everything, gonna learn everything and give it to you over and over. What do you like, hm? My mouth? Pressed against your aching pussy and tongue fucking you fast? My lips? Sucking on that hungry, hungry clit? Would you like my circling tongue working at you? Or long, luscious licks from the bottom of your slit to the top of your mound?

‘Do you like it slow? Rough? Would you like to be bitten, have your pussy’s lips held between my teeth, so tender and delicious? What would you like? Tell me.’

You’re wrecked. You’ve died, you’re sure of it.

‘Everything, everything Din. All of it, please.’ You press your thighs together, rubbing them clumsily, desperate to relieve some of the pressure that is consuming you.

‘Stop that,’ he orders. ‘Spread them for me, beautiful. Spread them wide so I can see all of you. See you with my naked eye. Your perfect body. Your pure cunt, let me see it.’

His groan is loud and strangled as you part your knees and spread your feet to the very edges of the bed.

‘Yes, like that,’ he growls.

You don’t realise he’s even moved when a hot, open mouth presses to the inside of your thigh.

You scream.

‘Mmm, that’s it mesh’la,’ he moans, muffled against your flesh. ‘Let me hear you.’

‘I- I think you’re gonna kill me, Din Djarin,’ you huff as you bite into the crook of your elbow.

You feel him smile against your leg. It’s indescribable.

‘Not if you end me first,’ he says. Then he drags his face up, up and… off. But you can feel his breath, puffing against your oh so tender centre.

‘I’ve tasted you in my dreams,’ he whispers. ‘Finally, I will know.’

Every inch of you, every nerve ending, every muscle, every fibre of your being, your whole essence, channels down into the one pinpoint on your body where his tongue touches your dripping slit. It sinks inside of you immediately as he plants his open mouth right over you.

You arch your back and wail at the same time that Din releases a groan of ecstasy. He pushes forwards, trying to urge his tongue deeper and you can feel everything. Lips suctioning to your skin and teeth digging into your labia, his tongue exploring what his fingers already know so well.

He pulls out to mouth and lick and nip at your swollen lips, letting their plush give guide him back into you. You know you are leaking a constant stream of juices and you nearly pass out when you hear him make a deep, greedy swallow. He does it again, and again, drinking you down like you are an oasis.

He pulls back and mouths at your thigh for a moment.

‘I knew it,’ he rumbles. ‘I knew you’d taste just like this.’

He goes back in, but the throbbing of your clit is becoming unbearable. You release your hand from the blanket you’d been holding in a steel fist and reach down to palm at his hair, his temple, whining a little and trying to tug him upwards.

He chuckles against your cunt, impaling you with bolts of white-hot electric pleasure.

‘I know what you want.’ He leans into your grasping hand. ‘Don’t worry, I’m going to give it to you.’

With no other preamble, he licks a long stripe up you, beginning under your slit – of course letting his tongue dip into it on the way – and up to the little bundle of nerves already set to shatter you apart. Soft, hot tongue connects with quivering, pulsing clit and you almost levitate off the bed. An arm reaches up and locks across your middle, binding you to the mattress. The other pushes a thigh down to grant more access.

You aren’t going to last long now. A brief dance of tight, firm circles sends you into a cascading torrent of bliss. Your climax reaches every corner of your body and you’re sure that, even if you weren’t blindfolded, you wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

He’s still licking at you when you come down and you nudge him away from your sensitive flesh. He acquiesces and settles back at his home on your thigh, hair and panting breaths tickling the soft skin there.

The hand on your other leg reaches across and two fingers scissor open your folds. They shift and prod, exploring.

‘What are you doing?’ you breathe, slowly coming back into your body.

‘Just looking, mesh’la,’ he says. ‘Want to be sure I know every part of you.’

Something about that is so erotic your hips thrust up and push yourself into his hand.

He hums with content. ‘Ready for more, already?’

You just push again, reaching both hands down now to find his head, feel his soft curls. He doesn’t make you wait, diving back in to devour you like an animal starved. He pushes the two fingers that had been holding you open straight into your tight heat and moans against your clit.

‘So good. So sweet,’ he mutters, orbiting and stroking his tongue over you.

You’re at the edge again, so quickly. Somehow he holds you there, the rise just before the breaking wave thrums from your core and seizes hold of every single muscle in your body. How is he doing this?

You plant your feet and thrust up into his face, grabbing at the back of his head for more purchase, more contact, more.

He moans and growls affirmative noises and doesn’t let up. The vibrations turn into an absolute shock wave that rips you apart. You’re gone, nothing but an exquisite cluster of light.

The feeling of the bed moving while you’re absolutely boneless brings you round again. Din is still devouring you and you think he’s pushing his hips down into the mattress, fucking himself against it. You move your feet to his ass and confirm it. You push his head from your aching centre and tug him upwards.

‘Din,’ you huff. ‘C’mere. Come up here and fuck me.’

He crawls up you with a feral intensity that sets your body aflame again. He licks and kisses at your skin on the way, teeth and mouth marking you in careless abandon. He stops at your breasts and you keen loudly as he sucks and bites at each in turn, smothering them with your juices and his spit.

With mouth still attending to a tightened nipple, he arches his back so that his cock meets your folds and slips along you. It’s a whole new sensation. The mess he’s made of you with his mouth offering a slick plane for his veiny shaft to glide along.

You both moan at the feeling.

‘Feel that?’ he whispers, sliding back and forth, coating himself. He leans up and plants his mouth back on yours. You revel in the taste of yourself on his lips and face. He mutters against your mouth, ‘Feel how soaking wet you are?’

‘Mmmmm,’ is all you can say as you move your feet back to his ass and use them to push him into you. He sinks to the hilt, then sets a pace so furious and sloppy you know he’s barely in control, almost there, ready to blow.

Din bites down hard on your lower lip then moves his mouth back to your ear, dragging tongue and teeth between it and your neck, panting with a ferocious hunger. Revelling in the sensations careening up and down your body, you flatten your legs on the bed and tilt your hips so his thrusts land right on your shivering clit. It’s a matter of moments before you’re lost in another orgasmic haze and you move to lock your ankles around his back, feeling him rushing over the edge with you.

‘Huuuh, fuh,’ he gasps. ‘Luh… Love…’ You twist your head and kiss him, swallowing his words. He pumps into you a few more times, wringing every last drop of pleasure from himself. You keep your feet linked and cradle his head and neck as he coats you with soft groans.

When he regains composure, you expect him to roll off you and wrap you in an embrace, like usual. But he rises onto hands and knees.

‘Din?’ you ask.

‘Not done,’ he rumbles. ‘Not done tasting you.’

He moves down your body, laying his mouth all over, everywhere. Feasting. Consuming. You clench your masked eyes shut and let yourself drown in him.

Time doesn’t seem to move as you both bask in a deep, simmering afterglow. At some point, Din reaches up and nudges the blindfold off. Your heart skips a beat before you register that the room is pitch black. You couldn’t see your hand in front of your face, let alone his.

So you just close your eyes again and focus on the feel of his breath on your forehead, where he rests his chin.

‘When do we return for Grogu?’ you ask the darkness.

‘Still a few moon turns,’ Din replies, using a measure of time you weren’t familiar with. You stay quiet until he clarifies, ‘We have time, Cyar’ika.’

‘Okay,’ you say, moving closer and holding tighter, ‘okay.’

Fucking in every corner of the Razor Crest gives you a new appreciation for the lovely, aged ship.

Up against the weapons locker, held up by Din’s arms and pierced to the cabinet by his cock. The door rattles as he slams up into you and you tremble with effort to meet every thrust with a clenching need.

On the descended ramp, the breeze of the open air lifting the sweat from your bodies as you take turns to ride each other. You sit on top and bounce ruthlessly before he rolls you over and grinds you down into the cold grating. When you climb back onto him again, he paws at the indentations created on your ass.

Bent over in the fresher, the wet suctioning of his furious pounding against your skin filling the space and taking you over the edge again and again.

And, most deliciously, in his pilot chair. The first time you’d done that, the Crest was sailing through hyperspace, the tranquillity of its vastness doing nothing to slake the lust crackling in the cockpit. He’d pulled you onto his lap, back flush against his chest, and taken you apart with his hands. They roamed everywhere then massaged and kneaded your tits, pinching and squeezing your nipples until they were tight peaks shooting sparks of pleasure to your clit.

When he’d finally moved his ministrations downwards, he’d plunged the fingers of one hand deep inside you and set the others up in the perfect pattern on your hard nub. Once he’d had you writhing and moaning his name, climax after climax filling the air, you’d sat forward to brace your hands on the instrument panel. You’d given him a real show of your ass before sinking down onto his cock, which was right there eagerly waiting.

Sometimes you’re blindfolded, and he drinks down your pleasure as if it were the last drops of nourishment in the galaxy – he even tastes you when your pleasures are mixed together, licking you down right after filling you up. Sometimes he keeps the helmet on, so you can watch his gorgeous muscles flex and strain as you chase new heights each time.

You and Din take each other in every way you can imagine.

You weren’t sure what exactly was driving his need to have you over and over again. But for you, the feeling that time was running out had set an unbearable appetite within you. And you were determined to get every last morsel you possibly could.

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#din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin smut #the mandalorian x you #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin/reader #din djarin/you #the mandaloria/reader #din djarin x f!reader #the mandalorian x f!reader

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sankttealeaf · 1 year ago

Text

LET SLEEPING DOGS LIE

it's easier to never acknowledge the situation between them both. why let it burden them? why allow feelings and care to seep in when they will soon be seen as gods?

cracks start to form in the foundation of their alliance. it will destroy them.

or: a collection of interactions between bhaal and bane's chosen, leading directly up to their respective downfalls.

1. BEFORE | A CHILDHOOD SO SWEET

⤷ "I thought you might want to be friends." She remembers her manners and sticks her hand out for him to shake. "My name is Ruelle."

He considers it for a moment and takes her hand with caution. "Enver."

2. A REQUEST OF ALLEGIANCE

⤷ Bhaal's Chosen and Bane's Chosen make contact for the first time.

3. "BHAAL'S BLOODY HISTORY"

⤷ The Hall of Wonders is wonderful place for a first date. Nothing draws people closer together than the sweet embrace of Bhaal!

4. REUNIONS AND NEW UNIONS

⤷ Past connections click into place like a puzzle Gortash has been missing pieces of for years.

5. A YEAR

⤷ A year passes by and the two fall into a routine with each other.

6. DOMESTICATING A BHAALSPAWN

⤷ Enver Gortash's guide on how to make a Bhaalspawn come crawling back to him every time!*

*He cannot be held responsible for any unwanted feelings that may arise. He would greatly appreciate any tips on how to combat these feelings.

7. THE FIRST REFUSAL

⤷ Her nature is not to be refused, yet Rumour finds it rather easy to do when it's Gortash asking for her not to kill for one night.

8. CONSEQUENCES

⤷ Actions have consequences only worsened by time.

9. THE DAWN OF A NEW ERA

⤷ The Gods deliver an important message that cannot be ignored.

10. THAT UNWANTED ANIMAL

⤷ An adjustment needs to be made between them to prevent them from breaking under the weight of the ever growing tension.

11. WHERE IRON MEETS FLESH

⤷ Advancements are made with personal projects and God-driven projects.

12. THE CHOSEN OF THE DEAD THREE: UNITED

⤷ The Chosen of the Dead Three meet in person. There's something hidden deep in the walls of Moonrise Towers.

13. TWO HANDS LONGING FOR EACH OTHERS WARMTH

⤷ Plans begin to form to start their journey to Godhood. Does it matter anymore when all she wants is to be by his side?

14. THE HEIST

⤷ Cania is quite lovely at this time of the year

15. KILL YOUR DARLINGS

⤷ Dreams can be read as warnings, depending on how one interprets them.

16. BEFORE THE STORM

⤷ Cracks start to form in the foundation of their alliance.

17. GODS OF THE NEW WORLD

⤷ Godhood awaits.

18. THE SURRENDER

⤷ She should've seen this betrayal coming.

19. THE BETRAYER

⤷ A betrayal so perfect, why would she feel guilty?

20. THE MOURNER

⤷ They promised each other they would never leave. So why is he alone now?

21. HAUNTED BY THE GHOST OF YOU

⤷ Gortash always knew, deep down, he would do this alone.

22. A LOYAL DOG WILL ALWAYS COME HOME

⤷ Returning to the city unlocks a wave of memories Rue is unsure she wants to relive.

23. ONE LAST TIME, PLEASE

⤷ Rue finds herself drawn back to Gortash, over and over again. He holds secrets and she wants to understand them all.

24. SWINGING BY MY NECK FROM THE FAMILY TREE

⤷ The daughters of Bhaal reunite.

25. CHANGE THE PROPHECY

⤷ It's hard to bring the dead back

26. IN THE DARKNESS I WILL MEET MY CREATOR

⤷ Death's cold embrace grasps Rue tightly. She's alone.

27. YOU BELIEVE ME LIKE A GOD, I BETRAY YOU LIKE A MAN

⤷ He’ll get her to understand it’s them against the world. It always has been.

28. AFTER | PICK IT ALL UP AND START AGAIN

⤷ Final goodbyes and a new beginning.

COMPLETED

finally dropping my durgetash fic links here. it's very self-indulgent but i feel like i should promo it more considering how much of a labour of love it is. featuring my durge, rue [tiefling wild magic sorcerer] (cool gifs of her can be found HERE i really should make more of them)

#durgetash #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #the dark urge #the dark urge x enver gortash #; tealeaf's writing #dividers by @cafekitsune

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babybluewiki · 8 months ago

Text

reflections; maki x reader

:not allowed

:master list

You always dreaded what news you were about to receive when one of the maid's of the Zenin clan would slide open your door with a sheepish look on their face. Every time you heard a certain man's name leave the messenger's lips, a part of you died inside, wondering and dreading what he'd request of you next. To be under the control of the embodiment of misogyny made you gag every time you thought of it, from prepping his dinner to being forced to train with him, it was enough for any non-sorcerer to go insane. But you knew if you didn't follow his request, the consequences would be dire.

But, there were days that weren't spent slugging yourself around with a figurative hunchback from all the misogyny and sexism over your shoulders. Only a handful of times did you see a pair of girls, twins, to be correct, walking around the Zenin estate. One of them had short and messy hair, you thought she looked like a sheepdog, and that it was cute. The other had perfectly cut bangs and her hair stopped at her jawline- her hair was also never messy, if the other differences couldn't spot them out before. On occasion, you'd run into one or both of them while you were both doing chores around the place, often which led to long conversations while you'd both merge duties around the estate to maintain the conversation. That doesn't always have a happy ending- for example, one night when you were sweeping the floors and the twins were doing other people's laundry and happily talking, one of the adults found the three of you and gave you all an earful about how 'you can't merge chores for leisure.'

Nothing lasts forever, and that's what humbled you when you stopped seeing the twins after a while. At the time, all three of you were 14- you were about to turn 15 in a few weeks (though nobody acknowledged it) when you heard that one of them left. Her name was Maki, you remembered, the one who had no cursed energy at all. Her sister, Mai, left shortly after she did. When you overheard one of the adults talking about it, you felt your heart begin to sink a bit; drowning in loneliness. Now for the next few months, you've been moping around the Zenin estate with no one to talk to, no one to share your frustrations about the misogynistic men who controlled you- not just your lord- around the place. It made your skin crawl when you'd pass one of the old men staring at you creepily. Sometimes you wondered if those old men knew how old you were, or if they even cared about that.

Still, here you are, sighing deeply as you reach down the side of the counter, grabbing a dirty rag and placing it in the hot water running from the tap. Thank god nobody else was in the kitchen at the moment, you couldn't take another gross comment from one of the other men today. Washing the dishes alone was better than being forced to lounge around with Naoya and the other adults- not just men, the stereotypical 1950's housewives, too. The pile was big every time you came into the kitchen, though that never stopped you from finishing them quickly, as they were usually just a bunch of small plates, bowls and tea mugs.

"This is the first time I'm not having to tell you," A smug, masculine voice came from the other side of the room. Your eyebrows furrowed at the sound of his voice, clearly irritated; you still grabbed the dish soap, turning the bottle upside down and squeezing roughly to get the minuscule out beyond the entrance. The only noise in the room was the water running from the tap and the whistle that came from the bottle as you were shaking it onto the gray rag.

"I should get one of the other maids to do it, I have a request for you," He continued, stepping away from the entrance, his shoes clacking against the hardwood floor. Each step got louder as he was getting closer, and your skin was crawling by the time he was about half a foot away from you. His arm reached out to turn off the tap, pushing down on the lever, stopping you mid-wash. You turned to look up at him, grimacing at his expression that was equally as smug as his voice.

"Come," He nudged his head towards the doorway. "I need to talk to you about something." He finished as he finally started stepping away from you, slowly, but was still gaining distance. You waited for a moment, glaring at him as he was walking backwards as if to make sure you wouldn't grab a knife to stab him in the back, then ultimately set the dish and the rag down with it before you slowly followed him out.

In fear of giving him attitude, you sighed, collecting yourself to not sound exasperated. "Yes, Sir Naoya?" you ask quietly as you begin to pick up your feet so they're not dragging against the floor. He hums in satisfaction at the title, seeming proud of your obviously fake respect for him. "I'm not evil like those other guys here," he starts, his voice now a bit firm, a heavy contrast to his sneaky, almost villainous, tone from earlier as he turns to face you with his arms crossed behind his back. Now you noticed that he's not wearing his usual yukata- instead he's just wearing a simple black shirt and white pants. "And you're aware that I can announce your release whenever I'd like, right?"

"I am," you answer quietly, keeping calm even though you were fearing what he might say next. He huffed for a moment, his shoulders rising and falling as an exhale escaped his lips. You could see his breath condensing in the air, reminding you how cold it was outside, though you chose not to do anything about it. "I've got a request for you. Do you remember Maki? That meek little girl-"

"Yes, I remember." you firmly cut him off, frowning at his unfinished description of the girl. He clenched his jaw, "This is only between you, me and the Head, but I need you to take her out," he finished. Now he seems hesitant, like he regrets what he just said. And you simply stand there, merely appalled by his words. Take her out? In what way? Does he mean murder?

"As in...killing her." he corrected as if he knew what you were wondering. You curled a brow in confusion, staying silent as you kept watching how your breath condensed in the air. "Killing her?"

"You do know what that means, right?" he questioned, lifting a brow and emphasizing the phrase. You narrowed your eyes as you nodded curtly. "Good. Do you want to leave now or wait in the morning before everyone wakes up?"

"The morning would be better, there could still be random people wandering around the estate," you answer bluntly. Naoya nods briefly, undoing his arms and letting them fall to his side. "The Head told me not to tell you this, but I will just because I'm not heartless, but he said if you succeed, then he gives me full permission to release you and let you go from the Zenin clan. But if you fail, he'll have you executed for defiance." He admits, seeming to be taken over by shame a moment later. Now that's a surprise if you've ever seen one. Naoya sounding soft? Around you, of all people? Naoya Zenin, the infamous misogynistic jerk who always bossed people around, was being nice to you, his servant. The other men and stereotypical women would have a stroke if they ever saw this, seeing him be so nice to a presumed low-lifer who's worth nothing better than a servant and a potential weapon.

"Executed for defiance? How is that defiance?" You scowl as you cross your arms. Naoya simply shrugged as he was out of answers for that one. "I dunno, but I'll make sure you leave before everyone wakes up."

"And what will you say when people are questioning about where I am?" you lift a brow, tapping your shoe against the floor. Naoya's silent for a moment as he's chewing on the bottom of his lip, thinking for a solution. "I'll figure that out in a little bit, just don't worry about it."

"Fine," you seemed curt and unbothered, but on the inside, you were filled to the brim with joy that you were finally leaving the Zenin estate for however long it takes. Though it's pretty regretful if you succeed and you're finally free from the sexism and the misogyny. It'd be at the cost of an old friend, somebody you used to talk to and laugh with. Were you even ready for that?

"Alright...are you happy, now that you're about to be free?" his eyebrows shoot up as he's asking you the question, still chewing on his bottom lip. You don't want to seem too excited, so you simply shrug. "At least I'm gonna see other people."

"That's right, I forgot to mention, I heard she goes to one of the Jujutsu Tech schools. I think she goes to the one in Tokyo," he added as he finally let go of his bottom lip. The emotion behind his sharp eyes tells you that he doesn't really want you to leave, which confuses you, because you thought that he sees you as nothing more than his servant.

Naoya sighs for the last time tonight, "Make sure you come up with a good reason for getting into the school- the principal there is a picky man," he reminds you, clenching his jaw at the fact you're about to leave him. "And make it quick, I don't wanna be pressured by the Head if you're taking too long."

"Sure," you replied, staying silent for a moment while he cringes. The clock that's been ticking in the back of your mind ever since you got here has finally stopped ticking- you might not be literally free, but the silence in your head was a signal that you were mentally free from the chains of command and misogyny. You were finally free to think for yourself instead of letting others boss you around and let creepy old men stare at you, to be yourself instead of letting stereotypical women compliment you to your face then talk about how unmannered you are behind your back and giggle at the gossip.

You're finally free from that. Mentally, of course.

"I'm gonna go back to my room now," you finally break the short but thick silence, stepping past the grown man and walking down the hall to the direction of your room which wasn't too far away. The whole estate was large, you consider yourself lucky that you worked in places that were close to your room rather than trekking all the way around the place just for some chores.

Excitement was bubbling in your body, unseen by any peeping walls or peeping toms in the hallways that had you lingering around them. You weren't quite happy; reason being that you'd be leaving to kill an old acquaintance, or even perhaps someone you'd call your first friend, all for your freedom. Your own freedom, something the men and the women at the estate never gave you, that you were always denied from the moment you got sold to the Zenin clan. You were only 6 years old, and you were sold to the Zenin clan, where you'd been staying at the estate for 9 years and were trained to become a weapon, all thanks to your cursed technique. Your stupid cursed technique that you never even asked for. Naoya would sometimes make you train your curse technique into perfection to see if you're worthy of fighting him. Maki would sometimes say that you are, you just lack the combat skills, which was something Naoya never taught you.

The events of the day had finally caught up to you just as you slid open the door to your tiny room- no smaller than a downstairs cupboard yet no bigger than a high school broom closet, to which there was only a few square-feet difference. Your bed, a simple floor mattress with lame excuses for bed sheets that were extremely thin and do nothing to keep the cold away from you, sat on the floor, waiting for your presence once again. You sigh, slipping off your shoes and shut the door as you simply topple over onto your floor bed.

———

It wasn't a rarity that you barely got any sleep- the bare minimum being two hours- the halls outside your room were constantly being bombarded with teases and comments from the immature and adolescent boys roaming around. Even on the rare occasion that you did get some peace and quiet, you were under the mindset that it would happen again. You'd spend your sleepless nights laying flat on your bed and making up scenarios on what would happen if you were to be inevitably set free from the Zenin clan. Though you never imagined it would be to kill your first friend.

When you woke up from your hour-long nap, which was at 4 in the morning, you waited a little while before there was a knock on your door. When Naoya got there, you barely got up from the mattress to shuffle over to the door, opening it and revealing your lord standing before you.

"Good, you're up. Let's go," he said as he quickly turned on his heel to speed down the hallway. You quickly turned back around to grab your bag that you'd packed while you were staying up and walked out of your room, shutting the door and trying to catch up with Naoya as he was already on the other end of the hallway. He turned a bit, watching you catch up to him as he frowned slightly.

The two of you made your way to the front of the Zenin estate, which was quite the walk. Neither of you said a word to each other while you were making your way down there. Naoya had to sometimes risk it by turning on the lights in the hallway so the two of you could see where you're going. Luckily you two didn't run into anybody on the way to the front, you didn't feel like explaining what you were doing with Naoya so early in the morning.

"We're here," he starts, sighing as he turns to face you. His lips are parted, like he wants to say something, but nothing comes out, and you're still staring beyond the gate. He swallows the lump of words that he wanted to say down his throat, then raises his arm to push open the gate. You watch as the black bars and the black arch move further away as the gate is being pushed open, keeping your eyes hooded as your grip on your bag tightens. Naoya parts his lips again to speak, "See you after a while, I guess."

"See you," you deadpan, marching towards the open gap that was once filled by the gate. Naoya watches with melancholic eyes as your walking figure gets further and further away from him. He wished you didn't have to go, he wanted you to stay here so he could protect you from those creepy old men that you're finally free of. But, as much as he wished, his hopes fell upon deaf ears as you didn't turn back to face him even for a second. It was safe to say you're glad to leave him.

#jujutsu kaisen #maki zenin x reader #maki x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen x reader #nobara kugisaki #fushiguro megumi #gojo satoru #itadori yuuji #maki zenin #naoya zenin #mahito #mai zenin #jujutsu kaisen manga

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sequinsmile-x · 1 year ago

Text

Backfire

Three Thanksgivings in the lives of the Hotchner family.

-x-

Hi friends, this is the third and final (for now) part of my Thanksgiving fic Backfire.

This got a little sadder than I initially intended, but I don't think that will surprise anyone.

This week has been...rough. But as ever I am grateful for this community and the distraction it provides from real life <3

-x-

Words: 3.7k

Warnings: Grief/Loss of a parent

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Somewhere along the way, Thanksgiving had become her least favourite holiday.

She’d felt the tension it brought the moment she woke up, torn from sleep by her hungry one-month-old, the baby girl demanding her attention almost constantly. Eliza was a clingier baby than Zachary had ever been, something that Emily would have once called impossible, and she was exhausted.

She yawns as she lays Eliza down on the changing table, a smile flitting across her face at the sight of the outfit, that had been bought by Penelope, that she was about to dress her daughter in. The swirling writing and cartoon turkey on the onesie so cute it made her ache.

Mommy & Daddy’s Little Turkey.

“You’re going to hate me when I show you these pictures in about 14 years, sweet girl,” she says as she picks up the outfit, rubbing the soft material between her fingers, “But you’re going to look so damn cute I don’t care.” She feels a rush of love sweep through her as she slips Eliza’s arms into the onesie, her heart aching at how cute her daughter looks. She picks her up and rests her against her chest, “You are the fucking cutest baby on the whole planet.”

“Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

She turns to look at her husband and smiles, rolling her eyes at him before she adjusts her hold on Eliza so he can see her outfit, “Am I wrong?”

He chuckles as he walks over, his hand on Emily’s lower back as he leans in to kiss her. He then stamps a kiss against Eliza’s head before he pulls back to look at them.

“I stand corrected, she is the fucking cutest.”

Emily mock gasps, “Don’t curse in front of the baby.”

Aaron shakes his head at his wife, but his response is cut off as the doorbell rings, quickly followed by Jack’s voice, the 11-year-old’s excitement clear.

“Mom, Dad, Aunt Jessie and Grandpa are here!”

She hears two sets of feet thundering down the hallway downstairs, Zachary always on the heels of his older brother, the 4-year-old always copying his every move.

Aaron feels Emily tense in his arms, her shoulders tight as she holds Eliza impossibly closer. He kisses her forehead and cups her cheek to make him look up at her.

“Remember sweetheart, we don’t have to do this. We can just send him home.”

She found Thanksgiving challenging when she was at her best, something that she definitely did not currently feel. It was the only holiday when they got together with Roy, who still tried to undermine her or make comments towards Aaron at every opportunity. Emily hated it, the tension the man brought into her home enough to make her skin crawl, but she put up with it. Her love for Jack and her desire for him to be happy and surrounded by family who loved him far outweighing her own dislike for a man who made a point of being actively rude to her husband.

Aaron had checked more than once if she still wanted to go ahead with Thanksgiving as planned. He’d even asked her that morning, his arm around her shoulder as she fed Eliza whilst it was still dark outside, a serious look in his eyes as he said he’d uninvite Roy at any time, right up to the moment he stepped foot on the porch. She’d insisted she was fine, that she wanted things to be as normal as they possibly could, but as she watches the clock tick closer to the time Jess was supposed to arrive with Roy, she wonders if she had made the right decision.

Not only was Emily only a month post-partum and still getting used to having a newborn again, the four years since she’d done all of this with Zachary feeling like both a lifetime and a blur all at once, but it was the first holiday since her mother had died.

Emily was working when it happened. Regulated to the office at almost 8 months pregnant, her bump pressed against her desk as she looked over paperwork she was struggling to focus on. Her phone screen lit up with an unknown number, and dread she still didn’t understand flooded her veins. Her instincts that something was wrong kicking in before she even answered the call and listened as a stranger whose voice she’d never forget told her that Elizabeth was critically ill.

Aaron had been away on a case at the time, something she knew he still felt guilty about as if him being at home would have changed anything. He’d flown back to her as soon as he could, putting her and their family above his job, a lesson he’d learnt the hard way with spilt blood and tears. He’d held her hand as she made the decision to take her mother off life support, the roll of her baby girl in her stomach feeling displaced against the repetitive beeps of the machines around them, and her mother’s cold hand.

Emily wondered if things would feel different if her relationship with her mother had been a good one. If they’d had the type of relationship she knew she had with her children whether she’d feel different. Grief was complicated, she knew that, it wasn’t linear or easy. But she sometimes thought her chest wouldn’t feel like it was hollowed out if she had more good memories of her mother to fall back on, if all of her favourite moments with her hadn’t all happened since she’d become a mother herself. Elizabeth may never have been the mother Emily wanted or deserved, but she was an excellent grandmother.

On some level, she was jealous of the relationship the boys had with Elizabeth, an emotion that made her feel so guilty it made her feel sick. She wished that she could miss her like Jack and Zachary did. They had no complication in their grief, no caveats. They just missed her.

Emily was angry. Furious that her mother had been capable of being the person she’d needed all along, and sad that Elizabeth had never chosen to be like that for her. She missed both who her mother was and who she could have been, the old adage that ‘two things can be right at once’ as infuriating as it was correct.

She sighs as she shakes her head, “No, we can’t send him home, honey. He’s Jack’s grandfather, it’s Thanksgiving,” she turns her head to kiss his palm, “We can’t send him home. Plus, that would mean Jess would have to leave too and I love spending time with her, and so do the boys. And she cooked the turkey this year so we’d have no food.”

He smiles at her and leans in to kiss her softly. He knew that she was making the decision she thought was right for everyone other than herself, her own comfort was always her last priority. He doesn’t want to argue with her though, and doesn’t want to push her when he knows she’s already more delicate than usual, something she wouldn’t thank him for pointing out. So he steps away.

“I’ll go let them in,” he says, his smile so loving it warms her from the inside out, “You come down when you’re ready.”

She nods and smiles gratefully, turning all of her attention back to Eliza the moment they are alone. She smiles at her little girl.

It may be her first holiday without her mother, but it was also her first with her daughter and she wanted to enjoy it as much as she could.

“Come on Eliza,” she says, kissing her temple, “Let’s go see the grumpiest man to ever exist,” she pauses, smiling to herself as she kisses her daughter again, “And before you ask,” she says as she starts to walk out of the nursery, “I don’t mean Daddy.”

___

“That was the best Thanksgiving meal I’ve eaten in years,” Roy says as he sets his knife and fork down on his plate, turning his attention to Jessica, “That was delicious, Jess.”

“It was so good Aunt Jessie,” Zachary says, smiling as he sinks back into his chair, making his parents laugh as he rubs his belly, something he’d clearly picked up on someone else doing.

“Thanks, Zach,” she says, smiling at the young boy she considered her nephew just as much as Jack before she turns to Roy, “And thanks Dad, I’ve never cooked a whole turkey before so it was quite the learning curve.”

Aaron smiles as he puts his arm around the back of Emily’s chair, taking a quick peak at Eliza who was fast asleep against her mother’s chest, “We really appreciate you cooking, Jess,” he says, “I don’t think we could have managed it.”

“Oh don’t worry,” she replies, “You have a new baby and have to chase my nephews around, I can handle doing the cooking.”

Roy mutters something under his breath, but Emily doesn’t quite catch it because Eliza starts to cry, the brief reprieve she’d given them so Emily could eat, all be it one-handed whilst she held her daughter, is already over.

“Oh sweetheart,” she says, already moving to stand up so she pace, the movement one of the few things that soothed her, “You’re okay.”

Jack stands up too, beating Aaron to it, as he offers help, always keen to be the best big brother he could be, “Do you need me to go get one of her pacifiers, Mom?”

She sees a flash of something across Roy’s face. It’s an echo of a moment a few years ago when it was Zachary’s first Thanksgiving, his tiny face covered in mashed potato as she tried to wipe him clean, and Jack’s innocent comment aimed at his younger brother, the name Momma slipping past his lips without real meaning. He’d still called her Emily back then, the use of the moniker for his little brother’s benefit more than anything, the then baby on the brink of saying his first word.

Jack had switched to calling her Mom a year ago. It felt like it had happened overnight, something that felt natural and wonderful all at once. He still called her Emily in front of Roy, something she knew he did to prevent his grandfather from getting upset, all of the comments he’d made over the years always lingering in the back of his mind. The empathy her eldest was capable of never failed to blow her away, his kindness so much a part of him that she sometimes worried one day it would be something that people would take advantage of. It’s a slip-up Jack doesn’t even seem aware of, his smile soft as he looks at her.

She looks back at Roy, and watches as Jessica stares at her father, a fierce look in her eyes that has almost no effect.

“That would be lovely, Jack,” Emily says, turning her attention back to her eldest son, wanting him out of the room before anything was said, “The clean ones are in the kitchen,” she says, and Jack nods before he runs out of the room. Emily looks at Zachary. Usually, the frown on his face, the one that made him look identical to Aaron, would make her smile, but it makes her chest get tight, the thought that her son was picking up on the tension in the room enough to make her cry, “Zach-”

Her attempt to get him out of the room, to distract him by suggesting he go to the den and played with his toys, is cut off by Roy.

“What did he call you?” He asks, his jaw tight as he glares at her, and any usual defiance she has against the man is nowhere to be found, the crying of her baby in her arms, the absence of her mother and the usual jibes she’d throw at the man, setting her on edge. “How many times do I have to remind you that you’re not his mother?”

It was something that had come up time and time again over the years. Roy’s desire to keep his daughter's memory alive so misguided he didn’t realise he was going against what she’d wanted - for her son to have exactly what he had now.

“Roy,” Aaron starts, his protective instincts kicking in, but he isn’t given the chance when Emily cuts over him

“You know what, Roy,” Emily says, shaking her head at him, a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob catching in her chest, “I don’t have the energy for this. I need to go feed my baby,” she softens when she smiles at Zachary, “Want to come with me to go feed your sister?”

Zach nods, slipping out of his chair and walking over to his mother, avoiding eye contact with everyone else as he reaches her side. Emily adjusts her hold on Eliza to make sure she’s secure against her with one arm and she reaches down to hold Zachary’s hand. She leads him out of the room and she doesn’t look back.

Aaron wants to follow her, but he knows she wouldn’t want him to, instead, he folds his hands together in his lap and looks at his ex-father-in-law, anger he hasn’t let himself feel in years bubbling in his stomach.

“You couldn’t just leave it alone this year?” Aaron asks, his eyes stern as he stares at Roy, “She lost her mother a couple of months ago.”

“How long has Jack been calling her mom?” Roy asks as if Aaron hasn’t spoken, staring him down. It reminds Aaron of when he was a teenager and accidentally got Haley home after her curfew, the traffic on the way back from the concert they had been to worse than he’d anticipated. Roy was furious, yelling at Aaron for making his daughter late, for making him worry about her, and Aaron had promised it would never happen again, and that he’d always keep Haley safe.

It was a promise he’d broken without meaning to, the shattered pieces of his already tenuous relationship with his once father-in-law destroyed beyond repair.

“For a long time, Dad,” Jessica answers, sighing as Roy turns to look at her, “He’s called Emily his Mom for over a year.”

Roy frowns at his daughter, “You knew?”

She scoffs, “Of course I did,” she says, shaking her head, “I babysit all the kids, I love them all. And unlike you, I can see past my own grief over Haley to see how happy Jack is.”

Aaron smiles gratefully at Jessica and then he sighs as he turns back to Roy, “I know it’s difficult for you. But Jack came to this decision himself, he also wanted to make sure he did his best not to call Emily ‘Mom’ in front of you so he didn’t upset you.”

Roy all but growls, his frustration clear, “She is not his-”

“She is my mom.”

They all turn to look at Jack, the pre-teen standing in the doorway with a pacifier in his hand, his grip on it tight. Aaron stands and steps towards his son.

“Jack-”

“Mom was my mom too,” he says, cutting off his father as he crosses his arms over his chest, “But so is she,” he adds, pointing towards the stairs, “I don’t remember Mom, Grandad,” Jack says, shrugging his shoulders, “I miss her but the only things I know are what you and Dad and Aunt Jess tell me. Emily…Mom is the one I remember. She’s looked after me and she loves me. And that’s what a mom does,” he frowns, seemingly unable to stop now he’s started, the words he’d wanted to say since he was too young to understand them spilling out, “And you have to be nice to her, and to Dad, and to my brother and sister or I don’t want to see you anymore.”

His words settle around them and Roy sighs, “Jack, I’m just trying to make sure no one forgets your mother.”

“But no one has,” he says, furrowing his brow, looking so much like Haley that it makes the three adults in the room ache, “Dad is always telling me about her and you are. And even Mom does even though she only met her a couple of times,” he adds, watching as shock washes over his grandfathers face and he sighs, feeling some of the anger in his chest go away, “She asks Aunt Jess and Dad for stories so she can talk to me about her too.”

Roy looks at Jessica who nods, her lips pressed together, “It’s true.”

He sighs as he shakes his head, “I’m sorry,” he says as he looks at his grandson, “I didn’t know.”

“You never asked,” Aaron says firmly and Roy nods, clearing his throat as he avoids eye contact. Aaron looks at Jack and smiles at him, “Why don’t you go find everyone else? They’re probably in the nursery.”

Jack hesitates for a moment, but he nods, turning and leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered it. Aaron looks over at Roy and sighs, his hands on his hips as he looks him up and down. He’d always allowed his anger when it was aimed towards him, partially because it felt like a punishment he deserved. A penance for failing Haley and by extension Roy, But he also allowed it because he knew Roy was grieving, that he’d lost his daughter in a horrific way.

It didn’t take an FBI profiler to realise he was overcompensating to make sure he didn’t lose anyone else, his anger and his short temper were side effects of so desperately trying to cling on to what he had left of his daughter.

Her memory and her son.

“Look, Roy,” Aaron says carefully, “I can’t imagine how difficult it is, and I know we don’t particularly like each other,” he looks over at Jessica who smothers a chuckle with a fake cough, her eyes on the ceiling as she avoids looking at him, “But we both loved Haley, and we both love Jack. Surely the fact he’s happy, which is what she wanted, should be enough.”

Roy is quiet for a moment before he stands up, blowing out a steady breath as he nods slowly, “You’re right,” he says, clearing his throat, “It should be. And I’ll try to make sure it is going forward.”

Aaron smiles and relaxes a little, some of the tension in his shoulders finally easing, “Thank you.”

Jessica laughs again and shakes her head at herself when both men look at her, their eyebrows furrowed, “I’m so sorry,” she says, clearing her throat, “It’s just…wherever Haley and Elizabeth are right now, I know they would have got such a kick out of Jack telling you off, Dad.”

___

Aaron sighs as he closes the door behind Roy and Jess, briefly leaning his head against it before he makes sure the locks are in place.

“Long day, huh?”

He turns to look at his wife and smiles at her, opening his arms for her to slip into his embrace, “Long day,” he repeats, kissing the top of her head, “Where are the kids?”

“Eliza is sleeping, and Jack is reading Zach a book,” she says, smiling up at him, “So we might have 5 whole uninterrupted minutes to ourselves,” she says with enthusiasm as if she was talking about a lottery win or a luxury cruise, “Want to snuggle until someone needs us for something?”

“With you? Always,” he says, cupping her cheek and leaning in to kiss her before he leads her to the living room. They sit on the couch together and she settles into his side, breathing him in and letting his comfort wash over her, “You ok, sweetheart?”

She shrugs, because she’s really not sure how to answer the question, “I guess. I don’t know. She would have loved watching Jack tell Roy off.”

He chuckles, “Jess said the same thing,” he tilts his head to look at her, “You heard everything?”

She nods, her smile turning sad, “It was sweet. Zach heard too, and he asked me if it meant Jack was his real brother,” she says, her heart aching when Aaron sighs, his eyes closing as he shakes his head, “But I reminded him about Haley, how she was Jack’s first mom. He understands it all as best as he can.”

“I wish it was simpler sometimes,” Aaron says as he opens his eyes to look at her.

“I know,” she replies, reaching up and pushing his hair out of his eyes, “But if it was simpler, it wouldn’t be our family.” There’s a cry from upstairs and Emily groans, leaning forward to press her forehead into Aaron’s chest. “That girl is relentless.”

“Wonder where she got that from,” Aaron mutters and Emily pulls back to look at him, her eyes narrowed.

“What did you say?”

“I said, you stay here, I’ll go get her,” he says quickly, kissing her forehead and standing up.

She shakes her head at him as he leaves the room and sinks back onto the couch. She sighs as she looks around the room, her gaze locking on a picture from when Zachary was a baby that is framed and on the coffee table. In it, Elizabeth is sitting down with Jack on her left and Emily on her right, and a tiny little Zachary in her arms.

Emily picks it up and she traces her finger over the edge of it, smiling sadly at her own reflection that she can partially see in the glass. She looks at her mother, at the joy in her eyes, the happiness she would have once joked the woman was incapable of and she chuckles, her vision going blurry as tears gather in her eyes. When she speaks, it’s quiet, a secret just between herself and someone she isn’t even entirely sure is watching.

“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”

-x-

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a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all · 1 year ago

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What Went Wrong

AI-Less Whumptober 2023: 1. Poisoned, 8. Seizure, 14. Bleeding Through the Bandage, 21. Near-Death Experience, 30. Coma, Alt. Prompt: Bloody Knuckles Fandom: DC, The Suicide Squad, Rick Flag, f!reader Summary: After a mission goes spectacularly wrong, Rick is forced to relay what happened, no matter how painful it is for him to relive it. Word Count: 5033 TW: Poison, Mentions of Death, Blood/Bleeding, Seizure, Hospital, Language, Rick is taller than Reader Note: Written for @ailesswhumptober's event. Thank you to the anon who requested Bloody Knuckled with Rick! It was really a wonderful inspiration! And thank you to @loverhymeswith for all the support and beta reading for me! 💖

Colonel Rick Flag sat in the small break room—now a makeshift interrogation room—oblivious to the world around him. All he could do was stare blankly down at his busted, swollen knuckles and watch as his blood slowly reddened the gauze he couldn’t remember someone wrapping them in. Apparently, someone had also given him something for the pain, but it was doing little to stop the throbbing ache that seemed to intensify with every beat of his heart. Yet, he sort of liked it. It gave him something to focus on, to ground him, even as everything else around him lay in ruins.

Gritting his teeth, he balled his left hand into as much of a fist as the swelling and bandaging would allow, and almost blacked out as every nerve running from his hand up his arm screamed out in excruciating agony. Squeezing his eyes together tightly, he stifled a groan of pain as he forced himself to maintain the fist.

Focus on the physical pain. Just focus on the physical pain. Let everythin’ else slip away until there is nothin’ but this pain.

“Colonel Flag….Colonel….Sir—”

“Flag!”

Waller’s sharp tone cut through his fog and Rick’s fist instinctively uncurled, lessening the pain to a point where he once again became aware of his surroundings. Blinking, he looked up to stare at the pair in front of him in a slight daze. “W-what?”

Waller nodded at the other man who shifted uncomfortably in his seat as he cleared his throat and glanced down at the stack of papers in front of him. “Uh, yes, well, I understand this may be difficult for you but we need to get your official statement on what happened for the record.”

Rick sighed as he scratched at the gauze on his hand. “Do we really have to do this right now? I got better places to be.”

The man shot him an apologetic smile. “I understand that but the less time that passes between the event and the report, the more accurate it is. And considering there were numerous asset casualties, we need this to be as accurate as possible to avoid any liabilities.”

“Assets and liabilities,” Rick spat, the words like ash in his mouth. “That’s all any of them are to you, isn’t it? Numbers on a page to use how you want. But the members of Task Force X are people. Yeah, people who made some wrong choices or did horrible things, but that doesn’t mean they are just fodder you can throw at your problems.”

“It wasn’t so long ago that you too viewed your squad members as nothing more than that,” Waller said coldly, her arms crossed over her chest and her eyes completely devoid of all emotion. “I wonder, did your view on them change before or after you started crawling into one of their beds?”

Rick leaped to his feet, his metal chair clanging loudly on the hard tile as it toppled over. The man jumped and cowered back in surprise, but Waller didn’t even flinch. Instead, she continued to stare Rick down, daring him to try and make a move against her. But they both knew what would happen if he did….

Recognizing he was in an impossible situation, Rick could only point at Waller and snarl, “You leave her out of this. Whatever relationship we might have didn’t affect what happened on the mission. And what I do on my own time is my own business.”

“Maybe, but you fucked her while she was my prisoner, which makes it my business.”

Before Rick could snap back, the man cleared his throat, his face bright red behind his glasses, and he reached for one of his papers. Scanning it, he asked, “Excuse me but are you confirming you had an intimate relationship with Belle Reve prisoner 0806?”

Rick turned his attention to the man, anger gleaming in his hazel eyes. This just proved his point. To them, you were nothing more than a faceless number, something to be used when convenient then tossed back into a cell like the other thousand inmates of Belle Reve.

“Yes,” Rick said through gritted teeth as the man began to write something on his papers. “After several assignments together, a connection developed and we became romantically then intimately involved.”

The man paused his scribbling and glanced up as Waller began slowly walking around to stand behind Rick. “‘Romantically’...so this relationship between you and this inmate was more than just physical?”

A thousand moments with you unwillingly flashed through Rick’s mind: your head resting on his shoulder as you slept on the flight home from a mission; the determined glare on your face as you fought off a swarm of enemies all by yourself; the way he didn't need to say a word for you to know exactly what he needed; the pure adoration in your eyes as he settled between your legs on your tiny prison cot. How could he not have fallen in love with you?

Rick once again tightened his hand into a loose fist as he growled, “Why the fuck does it matter right now? However you define it, it didn’t affect the mission at all.”

“Given how the evacuation team found you, sir, one might say differently.” Rick began to rise up out of his seat but the man put up his hands. “I’m sorry. I have to ask these kinds of questions so we can get the full picture of what went on in that lab. It’s in your best interest as well as ours if you can be as honest and detailed as possible so we have all the information when presenting our findings. Right now, the depth of your relationship with this inmate only matters to me if it caused some sort of misconduct during the mission that led to its failure. Otherwise, I don’t care what the two of you have been up to or how you feel about each other, I promise.”

Rick could feel Waller’s eyes burning a hole in the back of his head and he knew that she felt very differently. If she had her way, he would be court-martialed immediately. Not because he had been sleeping with you or because he loved you—no, he was certain she already knew about that. But now that it was public knowledge the head of her pride-and-joy task force was sleeping with one of its criminal assets presumedly right under her nose, it would put a black mark not only on the squad but on her as well. And that was not something Waller took lightly.

But for now, she wasn’t his main concern. He needed to get out of this room and upstairs as soon as possible. So, he nodded to the man and motioned for him to continue with his questions.

“Thank you.” The man gave Rick a small smile and looked back down at his papers. After scanning them for a minute, he looked at Rick and said, “Now then, Colonel, to the best of your recollection, can you tell us what happened? What went wrong?”

What went wrong….. It was the thought that had been plaguing Rick for the past twenty-four hours. He had replayed the entire mission over and over in his head trying to figure out what he could have done differently to save his team…..to save you.

It was supposed to be a textbook in-and-out mission with no foreseeable complications. An underground lab was developing a new weapon that could be catastrophic in the wrong hands—which included the scientists developing it. Though hidden, the lab didn’t appear to have more than the most basic levels of security and it seemed like a cakewalk for a small team to go in, destroy the research and weapon, and secure any scientists on site.

Because of this, it was determined this would be a good chance to break in the newest recruits to Task Force X and Rick found himself leading a team comprised almost entirely of untrained, terrified ex-criminals who wouldn’t shut up or fall into line. Before they even got off the plane, he was ready to detonate every last one of their nanite bombs.

Luckily, you had been allowed to tag along to help keep everyone under control….including Rick. Even if no one realized how deeply the connection between the two of you went, it was obvious that you had a way of calming him down and centering him even in the most dangerous or stressful of situations. Rick pretended to hate the idea that he needed someone to manage him but honestly, he didn’t mind as long as it meant he got to spend more time with you.

On your very first mission with Task Force X, Rick noticed you were special and unlike anyone he had met before. And by the third mission, he had you pressed against a wall in a dark alley as you shoved your tongue down his throat. Since then, he would do whatever he could to be near you, including bribing the guards to turn off the cameras in your cell for a few hours once or twice a month—and still it wasn’t enough. He was counting down the missions until you earned your freedom and he could have you in his bed every night without having to leave.

And this mission would bring that dream one step closer to a reality.

Once inside the building, Rick sent the rest of the Squad to destroy everything in the labs (he figured they could handle unbridled destruction without needing supervision) while you went with him to find the mainframe and extract any information you could before wiping it.

The plan seemed to be going perfectly until you and Rick finished your assignment and were heading back to the rendezvous point. Just as you reached the lab’s exit, there was a whirring sound and a pair of thick, metal doors slammed shut inches in front of Rick’s face. You spun around to try to rush back the way you came, but another door slid shut, blocking your retreat.

“Damn it!” Rick yelled as he slammed his fist against the thick metal door. Sighing, he picked up his radio to call into headquarters. Usually, they would all be on earpieces, but since it was supposed to be such a simple mission, they had forgone them this time. “Control, this is Flag. Do you copy?”

The radio crackled to life. “We copy, Flag. Did you complete your mission?”

“Affirmative, Harcourt. But on the way to the rendezvous, we got cut off. We are trapped between two metal doors and I can’t see a way out. Requestin’ an extraction team to come get us.”

“Launching extraction team now. ETA is approximately fifteen minutes. Stand by.”

“Copy.” Rick slipped the radio back into his cargo pocket and shrugged at you. “Well, I guess we just wait. At least we have a few minutes alone together until they show up.”

Looking around at the tight space you were now trapped in, you took a step closer, pressed your palms against Rick’s back, and leaned against him as you whispered, “Rick…I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Ah hell, darlin’,” Rick muttered. “Now why’d you have to say somethin’ like that?”

Suddenly, the sprinkler heads on the ceiling sprang to life, and a mysterious liquid sprayed down on you. It was clear like water but had an oily consistency and a bitter, acidic smell to it. Rick spun around, grabbed your arm, and pulled you tight against his chest trying to use his large form to shield you from as much of it as possible but it was of little use. Soon, you were both drenched from head to toe.

It lasted for less than a minute before the sprinklers turned off once again. Lifting your head from where you had buried it in Rick’s chest, you glanced around before muttering, “What the fuck was that about?”

“I don’t know. But I think we should get outta here before we find out.” Rick turned back to the metal door and began examining it for any sort of weak point or hidden switch.

From behind him, he heard you audibly shiver and he glanced back to see you rubbing your hands over your still dripping arms trying to warm yourself up. He wished he had something to give you but he doubted his soaked tact jacket would provide you any warmth. Either the extraction team needed to hurry up or he needed to get you both out of here as soon as possible.

However, just as he began to turn back to the door, there was a burst of static from above you, and a voice called out from a hidden speaker, “So, this must be the current iteration of Task Force X. Welcome!” You and Rick exchanged a nervous glance as the voice continued. “I had a feeling Waller would track me down eventually, and it looks like I was right. Good thing I took precautions.”

“Who the hell are you?” Rick called out as his eyes scanned the ceiling trying to locate where the voice was coming from.

“She didn’t tell you? She just sent you out on a mission without briefing you on what you were walking into?” The voice scoffed. “Why am I not surprised? Well, let me introduce myself. I used to be one of the head research and developers at ARGUS before Waller got everything she wanted from me and tried to have me arrested despite the fact everything I did was under her orders. You see, I’m the guy who developed the technology that made the nanite bombs possible, including that one currently residing in your girlfriend’s head.”

You gasped as your eyes grew wide and your hand flew to the side of your neck, your finger tracing the small bump just under your skin that Rick knew was there. His eyes met yours and he knew you were both thinking the same thing: If this maniac invented the bombs then chances were….

Rick glared up at the ceiling and roared, “Now listen here you bastard—”

“I can’t detonate it if that’s what you’re worried about,” the voice calmly interrupted. “Waller is smart enough to change the frequency for every mission which means I, unfortunately, can’t access them. However, I had a feeling she would kick me to the curb once she had my technology so I neglected to tell her about the one flaw in my design. The unintended way to weaponize them. The one I just set in motion.”

A chill ran down Rick’s spine. “What are you talkin’ about? What did you do!”

“Rick…” Your fingers dug into his arm as you reached for him, your shivering intensifying—but whether that was from cold or fear, Rick didn’t know.

“The bombs are not the only thing injected into the subjects,” the voice continued. “A small amount of a typically harmless chemical surrounds it to help the body not reject the foreign object or start breaking it down. I say ‘typically harmless’ because it only becomes toxic when mixed with another rare compound….the same compound that was just released from the sprinkler system moments ago.”

“What did you do to me?” you asked, addressing the voice directly for the first time. “What’s going to happen?”

“Oh, not just you, my dear. Those sprinklers went off all over the building so I’m sorry to say your entire team is about to suffer the same fate as you…except for the Colonel that is. Or did Waller implant a bomb into you as well? It wouldn’t surprise me if she did.”

“Shut the fuck up and just tell us how to stop this!”

“Yeah, I’m not going to do that. I need Waller to pay for what she did to me and show her she was wrong for ever doubting my abilities. And the best way to do that is by eliminating part of her precious Task Force X. I am sorry you had to be a casualty of our war but just like any game of chess, pawns get sacrificed. I would hurry up and say your goodbyes if I were you. The toxin forming in her blood should begin to take effect any time now and her body will destroy itself before your backup arrives. But Colonel….tell Waller I said hello.”

The speaker crackled out, leaving the two of you standing in a horrified silence. Rick’s mind was spinning with everything he had just heard. What the voice said couldn’t be true, it just couldn’t be. After all, Waller would have known about it.

“Rick?”

Waller was the one who came up with Task Force X and she oversaw every single detail as it came to fruition. She couldn’t have overlooked something like this….could she?

“Rick.”

But then again, what if she had? She wasn’t a scientist and wouldn’t understand all the uses of the different chemicals they were using with the technology. So what if the voice wasn’t lying and you only had a few minutes before—

“Rick!”

He whirled around to see you slumped against the far wall, your eyes wide as you wiped your fingers under your nose and watched them come away bloody, a bright smear still left on your face as more began to trickle out of your nose.

“No….”

He closed the distance between you in two long strides and took your face between his large hands. Your body was shaking slightly as you looked up at him with tears in your eyes and your voice broke as you said, “Rick, I can feel it. It’s already happening. Oh God—” you frantically grabbed onto his wrists as his hands still cupped your face “—I’m scared. I’m not ready to die. Not now. Not when I’ve found—” The rest of your words were lost as you broke down sobbing.

Rick pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly. Resting his chin on the top of your head and rubbing soothing circles across your back, he whispered, “It’s okay, darlin’. You’re gonna be okay. I’m gonna get you outta here and get you help, you hear me? I can’t lose you either so I need you to fight. Fight and just hold on, for as long as you can. We’re gonna get outta here…together.”

He felt you nod into his chest and gently moved you away to look at you. Red-tinted tears trailed down your cheeks and more blood was smeared under your nose. Rick glanced down and saw some of it had wiped off on his jacket, but it didn’t matter. He bent down and pressed his lips furiously against yours—trying to ignore the metallic taste of blood coating your lips— then turned back towards the exit door.

He had already searched every inch of it for some sort of switch but maybe he could pry it open. Rick tried to get his fingernails to dig into the seam where the two doors met, but the seal was just too strong. Maybe if he could find something to wedge between them….

As he quickly scanned the room for something—anything—he could use, he saw you clutch your chest as you began to cough. It started out small, like just clearing your throat. However, within what seemed like seconds, it had evolved into a wheezy, rattling hack that wracked your entire body. Rick watched helplessly as fresh blood sprayed across the floor as a particularly deep cough forced you to double over.

As it subsided and you looked up at him, he inhaled sharply as he saw blood now not only trickling from your nose but from your eyes and mouth too. You tried to say something—it seemed like his name—however, from your rasping gasps, it was clear you weren’t getting enough air to breathe properly, let alone speak.

“No…” Rick couldn’t believe he was being forced to stand here and watch you die with no way to save you. “No!”

Throwing his entire weight behind it, Rick smashed his fist into the metal door. Logically deep down he knew there was no way he would ever be able to punch his way through it, but right now, logic was the furthest thing from his mind. Instead, he wound back and drove his other fist into the door.

Over and over again, he pounded at the metal, ignoring the pain as he felt his skin split and bones crack. The door was now smeared with the blood from his ruined knuckles but it was nothing compared to the blood that was spilling from you just behind him. Hearing you struggling and in pain yet knowing he was helpless to stop it was too much for him and he increased the strength of each blow.

It was only when he saw you collapse to the floor as your body began thrashing and convulsing that Rick abandoned his fruitless attempts at breaking through the door and he dropped to his knees beside you. Pulling your writhing body into his lap, he held you tightly against him and pressed his lips against your ear, muttering empty promises that everything was going to be alright.

As you continued to seize, blood began to flow more steadily from your eyes, nose, and mouth. Your eyes rolled back into your head as your back arched and your entire body went rigid. You seemed to hold that pose for a moment, the entire room suddenly dead silent. Then, slowly and with one extended exhale, your body relaxed against his and your head lolled to the side.

Ice spread through Rick’s veins as he stared at your motionless form. No. This couldn’t be happenin’. Not to you. Please God, not you.

He gently took your face between his hands and turned it so he could see you better. Several trails of blood streaked down your face and though your eyes were mostly closed, he could just make out the dulled, faded color beneath your lids. And though you were lying on his chest, all he felt was an unnatural stillness—no heartbeat, no intake of breath. You were gone.

Tears began to stream down Rick’s cheeks as he buried his face in the top of your head. And though he knew you couldn’t hear him, he softly whispered, “Please, darlin’, come back to me. I need you and I love you and I can’t do this without you. So, please….come back.”

And that’s how Waller’s extraction team found the two of you moments later: Colonel Rick Flag with tears in his eyes as he clung to the limp body of one of the Belle Reve inmates.

Since that moment, Rick had been going on some sort of autopilot, letting himself be shuffled from place to place and doing what he was told. But now that his official statement had been taken and he had been released, there was only one place he needed to be. So, taking the hospital elevator up to the third floor, he stepped out onto the intensive care unit and followed the signs towards his destination.

When he reached the end of the hall, Rick stared through the window into the hospital room, his forehead pressed against the glass as he struggled to maintain some sort of composure. He could barely see your face past the countless machines and equipment hooked up to you in an effort to keep you alive.

By the time Waller’s extraction team had shown up and somehow managed to revive you, the poison had done its job and destroyed or seriously damaged most of your internal organs. It was a miracle the doctors were able to keep you alive this long, even if machines now controlled every aspect of your life support. The rest of the Task Force who had been in a different area of the building hadn’t been so lucky. The two of you were the only survivors—if you could call it that.

The doctors had done everything they could to save you and now the rest was up to you. Rick had heard the full spectrum of possible prognoses ranging from you making a full recovery to you being incapable of cognitive thought or movement—and all of it was dependent on you waking up which was an uncertainty on its own.

But for now, you lay motionless in your hospital bed just as you had for the past twenty-four hours.

Fury boiled in his gut as Rick’s eyes landed on the pair of handcuffs chaining you to the bed. Did they seriously expect you to jump up and sneak out of the hospital? Your heart was struggling to beat without assistance and air was constantly having to be forced into your lungs yet they had to make sure you wouldn’t miraculously make a daring escape. It made Rick sick. As did the fact he wasn’t permitted to be in the room with you. All he wanted was to hold your hand or press a soft kiss to your forehead, but Waller made sure no one except for her and the doctors were allowed in. Just another one of her attempts to punish him.

As if summoned by the very thought of her name, footsteps echoed off the tiles behind him growing louder and louder until Waller stepped into Rick’s peripheral vision. He ignored her, instead keeping his gaze firmly locked on you, and Waller seemed to do the same.

For several minutes, they stood in complete silence, the sounds of your rasping breathing and the beeping of machines the only sound in the dim hallway. Finally, without turning, Rick asked, “Did you know?”

“I know a lot of things, Flag, but you’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Did you know the chemicals in the nanites could be used like that?”

Waller was silent for a moment before she answered curtly, “No. We knew about the chemical surrounding the bombs of course, but we were not aware it could be turned into a weapon. Our lab is already researching alternatives.”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure my team would be thrilled to hear that if they weren’t all currently down in the morgue.”

“Mistakes happen, people die. But that’s why we formed Task Force X. Nobody cares when those dying are criminals.” Waller’s eyes shifted slightly from the window to Rick and back again. “With a few exceptions.”

Rick clenched his fist at her words then immediately regretted it as a sharp bolt of pain ran up his arm from his busted knuckles. He wanted nothing more than to make Waller feel the pain he was feeling. For her to understand how much he cared about you. But he knew nothing he did would make a difference. If anything, it would only make it worse.

Taking a deep breath to try and calm himself, he asked, “So…what happens now?”

Folding her arms over her chest, Waller said, “Despite my objections, the board determined you did nothing wrong on the mission. They said there was nothing you could have done differently to save your team and you are not responsible for their deaths and thus will not receive any formal reprimand or punishment. However–” Waller raised one eyebrow as she glared at Rick “–I have not forgotten your…indiscretion with her and it will not be overlooked.”

“Don’t act like you haven’t known about us since the very start. You’ve just been waitin’ for the moment it best suited your interests to bring it up,” Rick growled. “I don’t care what you do to me but when she’s better I want her released from Belle Reve. She only had thirty years left on her sentence—twenty after this mission. And this….this more than makes up for the rest of her time.”

“Possibly,” Waller said thoughtfully. “First, we have to wait and see if she even pulls through, then we can have that discussion. But until that happens, I expect you to do your job.” She slapped a file down on the ledge of the window. “Your next assignment. You leave tomorrow and you better be on the tarmac on time. Otherwise all of this–” she gestured to the hospital equipment surrounding them “–goes away. Do we understand each other?”

Rick clenched his jaw tightly as he just barely managed to hold back the slew of curses he wanted to direct at his boss but he knew that was exactly what she was hoping for. So instead, he gritted his teeth and in his most Southern twang said, “Yes, Ma’am.”

The “fuck you” was loud and clear in his tone but Waller thankfully ignored it. Shooting him one last glare, she turned sharply and began marching back down the hall. However, Rick called after her, “And I want those cuffs taken off of her. Now.”

Without turning or breaking her stride, Waller replied, “When are you going to learn, Flag? You don’t call the shots around here. I do.” Then she turned down another hall and disappeared from sight.

Sighing, Rick gazed back at your unconscious form. Pressing his hand against the glass, he whispered, “It’ll be alright, darlin’, I promise you that. You don’t worry about anythin’ except gettin’ better and wakin’ up. You do that, and I’ll take care of the rest. And no matter what happens or how bad things are when you do wake up, I’ll be right by your side for all of it, Waller be damned. ‘Cause I love you, now and forever.”

He waited, hoping beyond hope you had heard his words and they helped rouse you from your sleep. But this wasn’t some feel-good movie or romance novel where his bedside pleas would make everything better and you would wake up to fall into his arms once again. No, this was real life and in real life, people didn’t get their happily-ever-afters.

At least…..not yet. As long as your heart was still beating—artificially or not— there was hope. And for now, hope was going to have to be enough.

Tag List: @nik2blog, @zebralover, @dumb-fawkin-bitch, @shirley2996

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scratchandplaster · 11 months ago

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Stack The Deck - PART 14

CW: defiant Whumpee, explicit threats of noncon, referenced dubcon, multiple Whumper, Whumper-turned-Whumpee, non-con touching, withdrawal, mouth whump, intimidation, pet whump, casual racism, ableist language

PART 13 ⇽ [Masterlist] ⇾ PART 15

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Occasionally, Elliot drifted into consciousness only to be pulled back down at every new spike of fear. This endless dance between waking and dreaming continued until the sun had begun to set. Slowly and with great endeavor, he managed to let his heavy eyelids stay open at last and noticed how his left arm was carefully bedded on a cushion.

"You napped the whole day," a whisper next to Elliot's ear made him suck in a startled breath and flinch around.

Now face to face, Morris laid just inches away from him and the bed groaned under their shared weight as Elliot tried to get some space between them, only to be roughly stopped by a force around his other hand: a leather cuff kept him tied to the bedframe. Its chain rattled as he tugged on it.

Come on! Through the newfound scare, he hit Chris with an appalled look.

"Just for now, don't worry!" he explained apologetically, "You will try to run again, and I need my sleep too."

Messed it up again. Great job, you idiot. Elliot was all out of tears for now, he could feel how sore the edges of his eyelids were from the previous hours.

Fear was milked dry too, so a new burn crawled along his spine, one both of them couldn't dare to afford. This time, it was not pain that spurred him on; Elliot was pissed. After nearly a day spent in his own personal hell, he only had new questions and every cheap answer only turned out to be more confusing than handy.

"Why do you act like you care?" Elliot asked, already suspecting the cryptic answer.

Because he missed me. At least this time it was personal enough that he was the reason of this torture, not his ex ghosting her dealer. If Chris really liked their time together, he shouldn't be docile and polite, on the contrary. He needed to make Morris regret ever meeting him in the first place! During the last few months, Elliot seemingly developed a talent to push people away, a skill he needed to work on him now too.

Well then, Elliot ought to make him suffer for a change.

As Morris fished for a plate full of leftover pancakes on the bedside table, he strained to keep his rough voice gentle: "It's not an act, I worry about you."

An invasive finger tried to caress Elliot's cheekbone.

"Hands off!"

Disappointed, Chris dropped his arms back on the blanket.

"I don't want to scare you. I apologized, I-I thought you were fine, you're fine."

Fine. The word felt like salt in his wounds. Elliot was a wreck of the man he used to be, he couldn't even remember the different phases of his life. By now, there was only before and after Morris.

"So the best way to show your worry was taking me against my will again?"

"I saved you," Chris replied sternly, like he had to convince a jury.

"Saved me. Saved!" Elliot couldn't believe the unending delusions he had to tolerate.

"Yes."

"YOU RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE!"

The shrill cry hammered the undisputed truth in and let them both recoil.

But Elliot didn't even think about stopping, ignoring Morris' desperate attempts to shush him: "I lost my job, my passion, I can't even look my parents in their eyes without imagining what you'd do to them!"

"Nothing!" Chris yelled back and tried to present his outstretched hands as proof, "I don't plan to hurt you or anyone for that matter. I had no idea about the piano thing, I truly didn't know."

"Oh! Oh, you knew where I lived and when to get to me, but the chapter about my job was just too boring to give a single shit about."

"I didn't know, when I did that..." Chris began to trail off, his gaze fixed on the cushioned hand, "I thought you did stock trades, remember? Amber should've-"

"Amber? Yeah, go ahead and blame her, why not! But of all the crap she did to me-"

"To both of us-"

"GOD," Elliot was already kneeling on the bed, successful in ousting his opponent to stand on his own, "at least she didn't turn me into a fucking cripple!"

That bastard was lucky Elliot was chained up now, he never imagined how great it felt to let all bottled-up anger burst through its thickly veiled prison. Morris had to listen and could do nothing but stand around, mortified. Even if he changed his mind any second, beat him to a pulp and threw him into the ocean, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

"I understand why you're mad, but I'm trying to make amends. You forgave me," how Chris' little fish brain was even able to let him breathe on land was a mystery to Elliot, "but if that's not enough, tell me what is."

"You know a good neurosurgeon?" he scoffed instead.

Morris knew Paula-Marie, the veteran nurse with the face of a bulldog who would stitch him and Dutch's men back together when a tour had become ugly. He doubted this would help.

"Let's start small. Baby steps, okay?" Morris was sure Elliot could still play a bit if he really wanted to, but was just too lethargic to try. Another reason to keep him far away from those pills.

"Sure, I tell you how to get even: you'll take this damn chain off, you're going to open the door and never harass me or my family again," Elliot demanded with absurd nerve, given how obviously inept he was to stop his body from shaking. Not only that, countless goosebumps sprouted on his skin despite the heater running high and the sweat-drenched clothes that stuck to even damper skin. Watery eyes gave a hunch of what was happening and hit Chris with welcomed ease. This fight wasn't his fault after all.

"Oh, I get it now. It has already started, huh? That's why you're lashing out at me."

"What started? Don't sidetrack," Elliot replied, nervous about the sudden lack of defensiveness.

Everything was becoming so clear now. Forgiveness, recompense, the taming of Elliot's prejudice: these were all topics for later, when he could get his feelings straight. It had been more than twelve hours since Chris brought him home, so withdrawal was right on time.

"Are you feeling nauseous too?" Chris' voice became impossible soft, "Does it itch?"

Once again, his hand reached out to dab the beads of sweat from Elliot's forehead. A desperate kick to the stomach was all Morris got rewarded with.

"Never ever touch me again!"

Never was a big word; as for waiting, this Chris could do. But first, he had to be sure he still had a good nose in that regard.

"Do you need your meds?"

Yes, oh sweet Jesus, yes! Elliot was desperate for a chance to numb himself. Even though he had to behave for it, he could play along for a while.

"Please," he whispered, dropping to sit hopeful on the bed's edge.

Yet instead of pellets made from synthetic calm, a disappointed sigh escaped his chaperon: "Wrong answer."

Chris plumped down on the armchair again and tried his best to ignore the tirade of curses and insults spewing from Elliot's fair lips. No matter how hard the next days turned out to be, it didn't matter: this was worth it!

--------

For the whole night, nobody in the apartment slept. Chris tried to get some more breakfast into Elliot, but to little avail, he was turning more and more irritated by the second.

Meanwhile, Morris had found the time and energy to tinker a wrist brace, so Elliot wouldn't hurt himself sleeping. Or during other pastimes Chris hoped to initiate soon. Between cardboard, hot glue and the turned back Elliot gave him whilst sulking in bed, the morning had been blissfully quiet.

Until there was a rustle at the door.

First, Chris thought it was his steady-drunk neighbor fiddling with the wrong lock again, but when the first peg clicked dutifully into place, his heart skipped a beat.

Elliot had noticed it too, someone was joining them. Maybe Berry, or whatever his name was, the Montreal angel who could release him into freedom.

Their eyes met.

Before Elliot could even use the fleeting chance to cry out, a handful of fabric was already shoved into his mouth. Shut up, shut up, shut up!

"One noise and your hand will be the last of your worries," Morris hissed in his ear, choosing a tone Elliot definitely recognized.

Nevertheless, he tried to kick the man straddling him off again, but a hard slap to his right cheek whacked his head against the metal frame. Elliot saw stars.

"Sorry," Chris stressed voice whispered and threw a pillow over his face as if to hide the dazed man, "just let me sort this out."

Jumping up again to slam the door between the kitchen and bedroom shut, Morris too suspected who tried this little break-in. Admittedly, yes, he was supposed to be available, but to treat him to a few days of sick-leave surely wouldn't kill Belanger. Adopting a wide stance to welcome the fucker who dared to show up unannounced, Morris was ready. Said man finally opened the door to let Chris' face drain off all color. Oh, no.

"Good morning, Christoph!" The cheerful greeting trickled down his spine like acid.

"Hello, Dutch."

Head not only hung low in terror, but also to keep the conversation at eye level, Morris went through his options. Lying, at any rate, seemed necessary. The man himself felt free to take the first steps into the kitchen, eyeing it from grout to ceiling as he wiped the condensate from his glasses. His judgement-filled stare came to rest on Morris, who unconsciously picked dead skin from his fingers until they bled before opening his mouth again: "You...uhm, you got a spare one?"

"If I have a key to my own apartment, Christoph? Do you want to ask me that again?"

"No! I-I just didn't expect-"

"I do, as you can see. What I don't have is the nerve to tolerate your biannual hissy fits," he started to berate, the speech placid and in tune with his gestures. "I give you a bed to sleep in, a car to borrow and this what I get back for my aid?"

He didn't look irate, though that was rarely the case. The beast disguised its snarl as a laugh.

"No, of course not! I'm very thankful for-"

"Well, somehow it doesn't feel like it, but even your thankfulness doesn't bring in any money. I should be working too, but instead I'm spending my time here…with you."

This was even worse than the lecture Chris had brought onto himself last winter. His knee stung with every gibe.

"So then you go on and cause poor Belanger to lose it. He's practically seething, as you are aware of. And you also know what happens every time he gets fed up." Chris' fingers twitched imagining what he would do to that snitch, still praying Elliot was stunned enough to hold his tongue. "I won't have to stand him, and I doubt he'd like to take a stroll in this part of town, so you know who has to, don't you?"

"The girls." Chris swallowed hard.

"Of course, his poor girls. Now imagine: the whole day you freeze by the slip road to have some greasy cocks shoved up inside you, just to be appreciated by the receiving end of a fist because a certain someone can't be bothered to pick up a call. It's tragic."

"Sorry." Besides all the bootlicking Chris shuffled in front of the door that he needed to keep closed under all circumstances.

"Well, you're going to be sorry when I make you sell your ass out there. Is there anything I must know about?"

"Personal reasons, I was…distracted."

"See, that is where-"

A muffled scream from next door cut them off. Oh, god.

The thin smile which appeared on Dutch's face couldn't make his mild facade budge: "Is there anything I must know about?"

"'S'all good," Morris lied, but couldn't stop the treacherous shiver running down his neck.

"Christoph, what are we doing here?"

Another, more enraged cry was all information necessary. Dutch simply clicked his tongue.

"I can explain!"

Pushing Morris aside, the door swung open to reveal, well, not exactly what the stranger had suspected.

Elliot, for one, tugging loudly on his cuff and not even dreaming to stop making noise for even a second, could hardly believe his luck. His noble savior just had to get him out of this room and he would never bother them again. Just inches behind him, Chris followed, revealing a face he had never seen him in before: true, genuine fear.

"I'm aware I'm not allowed to bring someone over, but look, this is a-a-an emergency, and I didn't know where else to put him."

The older man's eyes lit up further the closer he came.

"He's usually not a screamer!"

All the hassle about missed shifts was forgotten, Dutch powered through this farce with unhealthy patience: "I'm disappointed, to be honest, we could've made a playdate out of this."

The innuendo caught Morris off guard, though he hadn't repressed his last visit to the office. Stepping over to the bed, Dutch examined the man struggling to sit upright. It was clear he was less than thrilled about his current position.

"¿Eres de por aquí?"

What the-, Elliot thought as his chin was roughly grabbed by a leather-gloved hand and turned to the side. Help me, you asshole!

"Is he, Christoph?"

"Huh?"

"You need to know what they are when you want to sell them." Oh, fuck.

"I don't- that's not what's happening here," he yelped and for the first time, Elliot's muffled protest supported him.

"Is that what the H was for? Can't be, it's been forever," he wondered, "Loans? Not that I'm insinuating you to be in the position to lend in general."

"No." Chris felt like he was going to hyperventilate until the eager look of his boss finally got him where he wanted, suddenly tired of the interrogation Dutch expected nothing but straight answers. A lie, Morris decided. No, even better, a true confession that animated Dutch to respect boundaries.

"He's my boyfriend."

The bedroom went deadly quiet. Face held firmly in position, Elliot didn't even react. No yelling, no crying, but simply looking on in silent disgust as if the word itself made him rot internally.

"And does he know that too?" Dutch cared to learn, whirling back to the man under him, "Did you know that?"

Elliot's mind suddenly decided to bow out.

"That's a no, I'm afraid" the stranger pouted back at his employee and this time the comment stung in hot embarrassment. "Apologies, I didn't intend to ruin the pining, but you have to admit that this is…unexpected. I feel like a principal catching you two petting behind the gym in seventh grade."

This man was not shocked by a tied up hostage, not outraged at imprisonment; at best, he acted mildly irritated. He appeared to be in his fifties, Elliot guessed, his thin wire glasses and soft face marked with laugh lines made him look like your favorite neighbor down the street.

Ultimately, his distasteful cues left a foul aftertaste on Elliot's tongue, but as the man picked the gag out of his mouth and sighed deeply, the world turned a bit more peaceful. Elliot couldn't afford to be picky, if this were the only rescue available he'd gladly take it.

"Please help me, sir," he whispered in the best customer-service-voice he could muster, ignoring all of Morris frantic signs to stay quiet.

"You beg so beautifully, do it again."

The world had gone to the dogs and cursed its children to be devoured by the very same. Nobody here wanted to help, and underneath the tweed coat and corny tie Elliot saw the stranger for what he really was: an apex predator.

Observing an erratic, twitchy Christoph at the far side of the room, who was not coming closer but obviously desperate to get him out of the room, Dutch allowed himself to be the only one enjoying the scenery: "Glad I took the walk, this is lovely! But you are confused, so let me explain: your sweetheart here refuses to do what he's told, and I cannot let that stand, now can I? First he neglects his duties to start a late summer romance and the next thing you know, he'll make a deal with the competition to get me out of Chinatown."

"Dutch, I would never-"

Who the fuck is Dutch? This was all backwards.

"I love when he gets like this, all jittery." Helpless, Elliot's head lolled over to see Chris in all his nervous glory.

There was a gleam in the stranger's face he quickly blinked away. An idea had spouted.

"Should we tease him a bit?"

Elliot didn't want to figure out what that tease would entail. Too late.

"No, no, nononono!"

Without warning, the gloved fingers that only just held his face were shoved inside his mouth. Others pressed into his flesh until he was forced to open even wider as he tried to curl away from the brash intrusion.

STOP! Just why wouldn't they stop touching him?

All the squirming to no achievement only earned him a disapproving hum from the man, who seemed horrifying precise in how to toy with his body.

In and out, the vulgar rhythm of his knuckles let him slide deeper and deeper down Elliot's throat, all under the watch of indifferent eyes. Despite the writhing and mewling and arching away, resistance was futile. Elliot's angry left wrapped around the glove with all his might but got swatted away, so the last chance to free himself was to lock his jaw and-

"If you dare- Hey! If you even think about using your teeth, I will break them out of you one by one."

Every word hit a nerve. Elliot couldn't breathe, couldn't stop retching and gasping around Dutch's fingers until he was used as he pleased.

Frozen in place, Chris leaned on the wall with his mouth pressed into a thin line and his gaze fixed onto the carpet floor. If anyone listened, he prayed for it to stop already. Another sin to amend for stacked up.

"Look at him, Christoph," the man demanded coldly, "not at me, at him."

Morris eyes darted full of panic between his duties, fists clenched and released with each heartbeat until his head threatened to explode at any second. All those present knew he was unable to do a thing about it.

Fear beats rage any day.

"This is your fault, and the next time I stick something in him will not be as proper."

"Yes, sir," Chris pressed out between clenched teeth.

Not intruding further, just resting inside Elliot, the leather-gloved hand paused as if to think about its next choice. Yet, the lesson already caught on. Without wasting any more effort, Elliot was released.

Only being held down now, the pressure inside him was slowly vanishing. Despite Elliot retching around the palpable ghosts of the invasion, a gasp of relief came over his spit-smeared lips. Every cough freed him from the dirty taste of leather and fumes.

"Badly trained as well," the man stroked a thumb over his Adam's apple, "Did he try you out already?"

Try me? Try to kill me?

Morris decided to answer for him instead: "No."

"A true gentleman. But you're missing out, Christoph here can suck you off like a champ."

Unsure of how to take this compliment, but no less flustered, Chris doubted the man in his sheets was enticed by this kind of flirting, judged by his horrified stare. Though Elliot had allowed for similar speculation in the past, he never thought it could lead up to this. His mind was granted a useful answer, just a filthy one it couldn't possibly accept.

Luckily, Dutch's attention was pinned down on Morris again: "Are you expecting someone else to join? East Hasting and Kaslo, don't let him wait."

Without another word, Chris darted through the room to grab the bare essentials, leaving a helpless Elliot panting for air. At last, the stranger had pulled his disgusting hand away and also disappeared from his focus. All the vile flavors of worry and weakness tumbled over each other.

By the time he came back to the present, Chris was fully dressed and hovering over the bed again. He, too, was speechless, the cursed word hanging over them like a bad omen.

"I'm not your- What the fuck, Morris?" This had to be a bad joke, not the reason he was brought here. A ruse to get that guy off him.

"We'll discuss it later."

"There's nothing to discuss!"

"You're too loud," Chris had to take a deep breath, "Sorry, I know I will regret this."

Trying to muffle a possible desperate scream that Elliot long hadn't in him, Chris pushed the fabric back into his abused mouth. He hated how Elliot wasn't even trying to fight back anymore, Dutch tended to cause this reaction in people.

Gagging him once seemed insufficient; a roll of duct tape circled around the lower portion of Elliot's face, and he did nothing but simply lie there and take it until the ripping of the tape stopped. The restless tears had begun their trek again.

"Shh, don't cry," Morris whispered sweetly and nodded over to the kitchen, "Seriously, he likes that."

A little peck on the tape stayed unnoticed through Elliot's paralysis.

"I'll be home soon."

Though he would not be not alone, no. Rather, Elliot was left with Dutch and the consequences that would entail in his absence. He'd stay if he had the choice.

Before strutting to the apartment door, he met his eternally poised boss between the pantry and dinner table to interrupt his inspection of the thermostat. Chris prayed that his parting words would calm leftover animosities: "I take full responsibility. He's not-"

"You're running late," Dutch stated, his amusement outlasting the last sliver of patience. All had been said.

Leaping down the staircase and praying for safekeeping, Chris ran west into the unknown.

"There he goes," Dutch's whispered. Now, he was free to take his time looking through strange property and pulling open every single drawer he pleased. The one thing he wouldn't complain about was the well-kept state of his home, it was nearly impressive how well organized a man on the run could be. Dutch kept himself busy by browsing through the few books he discovered between old clothes until his interest got caught on Christoph's latest possession. One with a very pretty mouth. The man was assessing…contemplating.

"- try you out already?"

Locking his knees together just earned Elliot a dirty grin.

"If he doesn't perform like usual, I'm going to blame his incompetence on you. Would you like that?"

He quickly shook his head.

"Speak, boy."

"No, sir", Elliot muttered through the restrictive layers between his teeth.

"Good. In that case, keep your legs spread," came the sober response, "I don't intend to waste any more of my time."

The man grabbed the TV remote from the nightstand, turning on some program about endangered birds Elliot couldn't care less about, the volume high enough to suppress any wayward screams for help.

"Will I hear a single noise complaint from my tenants?"

"No, sir." Being stuck in that piercing stare made shakes wreck through Elliot that didn't come from a lack of artificial opioids.

"Entonces sé un buen chico y escucha a tu novio," was the last thing he was told before the stranger turned on the spot and let the door lock into place.

His wish was granted at last, Elliot remained in solitude.

--------

Somewhere near the harbor, a pleasant walk from city parks and small cafés, an office door swung open. Hanging his thick attire on the coat rack, Dutch let unopened letters drop haphazardly onto stacks upon stacks of paperwork.

They had to get the new shipping load to arrive tomorrow, otherwise the supply chain on the main land would be delayed pretty quickly. He ran a stressed hand through his hair and sighed. He truly couldn't afford to waste more time like this, even if a quick indulgence always lightened the mood around the office.

Speaking of which, his personal joy had to have woken up by now. Dutch circled the room to finally catch a glimpse of the scantily clad figure kneeling on the floor, always securely collard to the desk. A single knuckle under the chin was enough to make once bright eyes stare back in apathy. A view to be savored again and again, one that made Dutch's inside stir in wild pleasure.

"You won't believe the day I had."

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Thanks for reading 🤍 [Masterlist]

Taglist: @whatwasmyprevioususername, @canislycaon24

@febuwhump

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threadsun · 1 year ago

Note

Ooo, any chronically ill/disabled Nick headcanons you'd like to share? I always love seeing headcanons from communities I'm not a part of, it's just cool to see experiences outside of mine (Tis why I find your Jewish Joseph headcanons so fun)

Ooooh yessss I love talking about Jewseph and chronically ill Nick!!!

So it's not at all uncommon for people with chronic illnesses and disabilities to get into sex work. You tend to be your own boss, so you can take things at your own pace. And if you're on top of things enough, you can make a backlog and queue content so you can take the time to focus on yourself during a flareup

That being said, sometimes Nick has to cancel livestreams because he's feeling too rough to even get set up. Sometimes he'll do a little informal thing from bed on his phone if he's got the energy, but usually he'll just cancel it and sleep

He's got chronic pain and fatigue. The classic trifecta of pots/heds/mcas plus various other symptoms that he doesn't quite know how to fit into his diagnoses

Standing is. Not his thing. He can't do it for very long at a time without getting exhausted and being in lots of pain. He's got a wheelchair he uses whenever he anticipates having to stand/walk a lot

He uses his hypermobility for content sometimes, but he always regrets it when he accidentally fucks up a joint and everything hurts the next day. He still does it again a week later

He sleeps a solid 14 hours a day. Pretty much after every meal, plus whenever he exerts himself too much. Seriously, he's constantly low energy and half asleep if he's not actively sleeping

He's terrible at remembering to take his pills, both in general and at the right times. His pill bottles are scattered around the apartment wherever he last remembered to take them. Someone please get this man a pill organiser

The unfortunate reality of being chronically ill and disabled is that most people around you end up getting compassion fatigue. So whenever people take his health seriously and show him genuine concern and care, it blows his mind. But he's also always half waiting for them to get tired of him being sick and stop caring

Pico and Cheese are informal migraine alert dogs. Nick didn't train them, he just noticed that they tended to start licking his ankles a few minutes before he'd get migraines and he put two and two together. Now whenever they lick his ankles, he takes his migraine meds and finds a quiet, dark, cold place to lay down

He experiences wild temperature fluctuations. His body can't really regulate its own temperature so he's always swapping between being half naked and bundling up in thick sweaters, usually within the span of half an hour or so

He has an uncanny and quite frankly disturbing awareness of his own body. He can feel his blood moving in his veins, he can tell whenever his heart does a natural skipped beat, he can sense exactly where food is in his intestines. It's frustrating and makes his skin crawl, so he always tries to distract himself from it with one thing or another. If he spends too long in silence doing nothing, he starts to be able to hear his own heartbeat and blood and starts getting freaked out

#panie-wanie-dean-bean #sunshine #sdj nick

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lostfirefly · 7 months ago

Text

Who cares if one more light goes out? Well, I do...

I was at the gym today and "Breaking the habit" came on in the player. I remembered the video from The Red Square in Moscow. This year it's been 7 years since Chester's death and even though the anniversary of his death is still a little over a month away, I want to share with you what I wrote just a couple of days after his death. As the years go by, the emotions are still the same.

youtube

~ welcome under the cut ~

I'm holding on

Why is everything so heavy?

On July 27, 2017, Linkin Park's first concert of their North American tour was supposed to take place. People in Mansfield were supposed to take pictures of their favorite artists on their phones, happily singing not only new songs from the album, but also old hits so dear to fans' throats. After two hours of endless high, they had to go home happy. With a million new impressions.

On July 6, 2017 someone was lucky enough to see the band's last concert. Just a week ago, it was unimaginable. But now it doesn't feel like a lingering joke anymore.

Why does it feel like night today?

Something in here's not right today.

On July 20, I was coming home from the movie theater, and New Divide was playing in my headphones. I was thinking that Linkin Park had a new album out, that they were starting their American tour, and that means that they would soon reach Russia. Well, what else does my fan's heart need? A concert, the band, Chester.

That same evening, when I was surfing x/twitter with a cup of delicious tea, I saw the headline "Chester Bennington committed suicide". My first reaction was that it's a stupid joke. I mean, really, how many times has he been buried before? It doesn't make sense. Within a couple seconds, similar headlines started appearing on various news outlets. The second reaction was that it's just yellow press. But inner doubts made you turn on your laptop, put your tea aside and typed those damn four words into the search box. Four words and the enter key separated me from the first reaction. And then I saw the links, the headlines. And you know, it was like a virus that infects every cell in your body. And then I saw Mike Shinoda's tweet. He's gone. The one whose gorgeous voice was in my headphones just a couple of hours ago, he's gone. In an instant, the world was emptied of one weighty man. Why weighty? I checked websites, Facebook, Instagram. Looked how many people were crying like it was their own personal loss. It was a loss to those who loved his voice and his energy.

I can't feel the way I did before.

My introduction to Linkin Park happened pretty much the same way my 90's generation did. It was 2001, I was 14 years old. I was waiting to visit an ex-friend who burst into my house with the words: "Give me the tape recorder. I want you to hear a song. There's a man with a very beautiful voice."

And there was Crawling.

"Who's that? Linkin who? Park?" you asked.

Three minutes of buzz for your ears, and you run to find a free cassette to re-record that Hybrid Theory.

In the evening, you typed the band's name into a rambler search to look for the man who three hours ago sang about something inside him pulling beneath the surface. And then Rambler brought up the music video for One Step Closer. Monks, warriors, red-haired Shinoda, blond Bennington.

At that moment, my life was divided into a before and an after.

Before Linkin Park and with Linkin Park.

And you realize you're screwed. Seriously, and for a long time.

Those strangers from the other side of the planet singing about such familiar things. And it's with them that it becomes easier for you to get through the school years with bulling, the first betrayals of friends, long stays in the hospital, going to university, defending your diploma, moving to another city, life changes. And, honestly, I want to say a huge thank you to the whole band for the fact that in all the difficult times, when I wanted to send everything to hell, they believed in me. And I believed that they would be proud of me if I overcame everything. And I did. With Chester's voice in my headphones. He was the only one who could sober me up and kick my ass with his screaming. And then, a second later, switch to a gentle timbre and soothe your wounded soul. And I always knew I could count on him. My faithful friend named Chester… My sweet Chester Bennington. You were my rock when no one else had the right words. You helped build the wall of defense I needed.

That all I want to do is be more like me and be less like you will forever be my motto for life, which you diligently scribbled in notebooks, notepads, and a magnetic board on the refrigerator.

You diligently gather information about the band members, getting stunned by the frontman's biography, and find forums. You get new acquaintances scattered in different corners of Russia and over the world. Probably one of the most beautiful periods of my youth.

These feelings, when you are just starting to get into music, forming your views on life, when you are still youthful to maximalism, when you are sure that you can do everything that others couldn't and still wear rose-coloured glasses. All this for me finally left on July 20, 2017.

What I've done.

That day, I felt sick. I felt physically sick. My heart felt like it had been crushed by a tank. It ached like a chronic cardiac patient. My head was filled with endless questions of "What? Why? How?" I don't want to judge the act. Knowing what demons were in your head, I understand that choice. I'm sorry we couldn't help you when you helped all of us.

Chester. My sweet Chester.

I'm glad I was able to go to two Linkin Park concerts. I was no longer separated from the band by thousands of Russian kilometers, but only half an hour by subway. And I was able to see the real, sincere Bennington. A man with absolutely crazy energy. After that, I went to different concerts of different artists, but I have never seen such a connection with fans with anyone else. One second everyone is like positive sectarians singing I'm breaking the habit tonight, and the next second everyone is ready to die to Faint. Two hours later you walk out of the concert complex with a sore back, gray voice, and torn sneakers, but you're happy. The dream of a girl from 2003 has finally come true.

Who would have said that in 5 years at the place where fantasies became reality, I will say goodbye to my favorite musician.

Who cares if one more light goes out

Well I do…

Chester's passing showed me that I still have a lot of pain and darkness that I'd been suppressing. He mirrored that pain. I once again, fully faced everything I hadn't really wanted to face in years. A few months that added up to years of sweeping those emotions like trash under the rug, pretending the house was clean. It wasn't. The trash just piled up under the bed. The pain didn't go anywhere, it stayed neglected and recycled.

It's a moment when you don't want to open yourself up to the harsh reality of having your favorite musicians shut the door firmly behind you, but perhaps you shouldn't be afraid to live in it. There is pain, humiliation, hunger, wars and terrible injustice. People have the right to show emotion. Not everything is the way I want it to be. A lot of things are not the way I want them to be. It's hard, and it's unlikely that I can fully accept the world as it is. But thankfully, I have a few outlets.

I don't want to stifle my emotions. I don't want to forget about them when sucked into a "normal" life where everyone asks you to be "normal". And I don't want to hide from my inner demons, because they are what make you and me alive.

But for now, I want to turn on From the inside again, like in tenth grade, to turn on full blast, black pencil my eyes and become a different person. It was that song that made my inner core strong and made me stronger. And, Chester… My sweet Chester, it's thanks to you again.

I tried so hard

And got so far

But in the end

It doesn't even matter

I hope you have finally found peace and your demons are off of you.

I'm sorry Chester won't get to take his kids to school, won't see his grandkids. Won't know what it's like to be 50, 60, 70 years old. And I think that would be great, because it certainly wouldn't age him. Chester's not gonna write any new songs. I won't be able to listen to Shadow of the day, Leave out all the rest, One more light, Talking to myself. When you know what they're about, you want to turn them off. After listening to Given Up, you want to run up to Chester and shout, "You're great!!!" It's a shame he had such a hard time with himself.

The news of him being buried won't fit in my head for a long time. Even the overwhelming love of fans, family and friends couldn't save him from himself.

I don't want to say goodbye. I want to say thank you.

Thank you for the inspiration, for the amazing story of struggle told in such a powerful and emotional voice. I will love this amazing voice forever.

His example encourages us to become sincerer. Darker. Gloomier because without the dark days, you don't appreciate the sunshine as much.

Chester had so many words about light and sunshine. His light and warmth has stayed with us and will continue to warm us even after many years.

Rest in peace, beloved Chester.

Good

Goodbye.

I'll miss you forever.

#fuck depression #make chester proud #linkin park #i just want to express my feelings #Youtube #chester bennington

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inkedmyths · 2 years ago

Text

S2: E6 "No Exit"

Brought to you by I'M SORRY I KEEP FORGETTING TO POST THESE. HERE YOU GO

This episode featuring: Misogynistic tropes, Family Guy, the daddy issues continue, and Robert Smirke's 14 Fears

Silas: YAY

Kayla: hello queers and sam winchester

Compilation of Dean's dumbassery in the beginning, we love to see it

Ominous flickering lights! Great start

EWWWW GOOP

Hell is RIGHT baby bc its probably a demon or something

Oh boy mom and daughter fight

WHDHDHDHDHDHSH

Poor passerby family walking in on that

Yeah and you're young and blonde and therefore likely to get eaten by this thing, which I'm sure is the point

Melon: Oh to be born as a disposable horror movie character

ECTOPLASM

STATEPUFF MARSHMALLOW MAN EHDHDHD

WHSHSGSGSGS JUST WALKS UP TO HIM LIKE HI THIS IS MY BOYFRIEND AND DEAN'S LIKE uhhhhhhhhhhh ookay

Whshsgs yeah her moms not an idiot

Shes thinking abt stabbing u with it Dean

LOOK I GET THERE'S LIKE AN ISSUE WITH SEXISM BUT SHES SO STUPID

HAND

Anyways as I was saying its like "definitely a sexist character archetype" but also she really is stupid

Dean gonna get his hand bit or somethin just putting it in a vent w/a spirit

EWWW SCALP

Oh look another random blonde girl

Did they not check to see if there were any other blonde chicks in the building when investigating

DEAN WHY ARE YOU SLEEPING LIKE THAT??

He was fucking sleeping like that

Ah yes the tragic backstory bc of her dad dying

Ofc

Dude honey he has daddy issues out the wazoo this isn't something you want to be asking probably

Melon: Wait is she asking Dean for parent advice

Me: Asking what yhe first thing he thought of when he remembered his dad

Melon: MAAM

Me: Dean saying it was shooting bottles on a fence I Feel Like Thats A Lie

Melon: Ma’am this man exudes daddy issues in a 6 km radius at all times you really shouldn’t ask him anything about his dad

Melon: Does this look like the face of someone who was hugged as a child? No? Cause he wasn’t

Melon: Pretty sure any answer he gives could be a lie cause like I’m pretty sure the entirety of everything he’s ever done with his dad flashes simultaneously every time he remembers him.

Ohhhh so hanging people jn the field nextdoor ok that tracks

H. H. HOLMES? AMERICAS FIRST SERIAL KILLER

CLOROFORM

THE MURDER CASTLE I KNOW THIS FUCKIN GUY

Crazyyyyy

SHRIEKS THEY'RE JUST BASHING IN WALLS NOW?

LMAO DEAN

Girl u have no sense of self preservation

ALSO TIE YOUR HAIR BACK WHY ARE YOU WALKING IN SOME DINGEY ASS WALLS W/IT DOWN

HHHolmes blond girl. Joanna Beth? Isk.

ECTOPLASM

SCREAM

Time to start breaking walls

[ Crepe says to drink the ectoplasm like a milkshake. Do not do this. ]

Scratch marks..... where others have tried to get out

Oh I am not looking at the screwn while shes looking out of it bc creepy fuckers eye is gonna show up I just know it

OH THERES MULTIPLE GIRLS IN HERE

Theresa...

Rip in pieces

[ Melon appreciates the humor of using an acronym and then adding the rest of the statement. ]

Sam and Dean looking like dumbasses with their fuckin. Metal detector?

Into the sewers without delay we can't go wrong we know the waaaay

That ladder is pretty sketchy

What a creep

Ok scared him off for a sec

Dean army man crawling in a stupid little sewer

[ Melon notes that he's always felt showing someone crawling through a dark tunnel on their stomach is, in his opinion, one of the scariest things to be utilized in horror. I think there's a lot of merit in this; you can't go very fast, and you can't turn around, so if something else is in there with you... It occurs to me, that while we've warned away Melon from TMA for Prentiss reasons, I should show them MAG15. ]

WOO SPIRIT SHOOTIN

Eugg... bones...... the corpse of one of the victims

Well thats creepy as shit

Salt circled him

[ Crepe makes a reference to a Tumblr post about salt in hoola-hoops, instead of salt circles. I'm sure one of you guys could dig it up. ]

CONCRETE TRUCK LMAOOO DEAN WHERED YOU GET THAT

WHSHSHS THE AWKWARD SILENCDean stfu

LMAO

Well thats rough

[ More discussion comtinues on useful and hilarious solutions to demons and ghosts, such as holy water squirt gun, holy water humidifier, and salt infused hairspray flamethrower. ]

Like father like sons oh ma'am

Oh boy

AHAHA.

I mean I get being upset but also its stupid as hell

You can't blame someone for what their parent did thats fucking stupid

I mean I get being concerned that some traits carry over but this soecific behavior is stupid!

[ At some point around here, the episode ended. I, however, was hung up and DEEPLY offended by Jo's behavior at the very end. ]

Me: THE SINS OF THE FATHER ARE NOT THE SINS OF THE SON. BANGS HAND ON DOOR. DO YOU HEAR ME.

Melon: *cough* unfortunately pretty sure john could find a way to pass on his sins or smthn. Dudes done some weird shit

[ I rant about it a bit more. I'm so deeply, deeply offended. Then, a pivot into discussion about the monster of this ep. ]

Me: Anyways absolutely wild that the monster this ep was an irl serial killer

Me: Same energy as Robert Smirke being in the Magnus Archives

Kayla: ROBERT SMIRKE WAS REAL?

[ Needless to say, the conversation was immediately sidetracked. ]

Crepe: What did he do

Melon:

Kayla: BUILT STUFF AND ITS EVIL???

Me: WELL NOT IN REAL LIFE

Kayla: WHAT

Kayla: IS THAT A US GOV BUILDING

Kayla: HE DID BUILD REAL EVIL INK YOU LIAR

Kayla: THATS THE HIGHEST EVIL???

Me: Ok I can't argue with that actually

[ There's some more prattling about this, but I'll mainly leave you with this last thing. ]

Kayla: the us govt isnt its own fear?

Me: No that would be giving it too much credit

---

Well, needless to say, I can't say I'm a fan of Jo at this point. It's a bit frustrating, because it's very clear (to me anyways) that her characterization is the result of some annoying tropes. I can get behind the idea of her wanting to be like her father, and maybe being a bit reckless, but the treatment of her is just... idk. Really frustrating.

I probably would have been a lot more sympathetic if it weren't for that weird turn around at the end. I understand Helen seeing John in the brothers and having issues with that, but Jo? After surviving all that with them? I can understand feeling conflicted, but the way it was presented... hrgh. Irritating all around.

At least this episode had concrete truck. Keeping in theme with the TMA references, Adelard Deckard would be proud.

#on the highway to superhell #supernatural #spn #i want to like jo more but she annoys me so much urgh :(#do i tag this as tma as well

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sardonic-sprite · 2 years ago

Text

June of DOOM

Here we goooooo

9 fics, 30 prompts, currently about 50 pages and 18k words, and 6 NDEs... 5 of which are Jason. Oops. Anyway, here is the schedule, as well as titles, prompts, and a preview paragraph

June 3 - Help (Just A Kid Ch2)

Prompts: Day 3 - "I can handle it" | Day 12 - Fainting | Day 28 - Knife

Jason didn’t know how he stayed on his feet as long as he did. How he held the knife still when the hilt and his hand kept growing slicker with his blood. How he crawled up the two stairs to slump against the rail, or how he raised one fist to thump it weakly against the door. How he’d even made a loud enough sound to be heard. But he had.

June 4 - Yea, Though I Walk

Prompts: Day 4 - Delirium | Day 16 - Stairs | Day 18 - Blankets | Day 24 - Illness

Tim only hummed, unsure, but Father slipped behind him and carefully lifted him up, bracing him against his chest. He was warm, and Tim pressed closer, and it chased away a tiny bit of the chill. A cup pressed against Tim’s lips. He opened his mouth and sweet, cool water flowed in, taking away the awful taste and calming the raging fire in his throat.

June 7 - priceless

Prompts: Day 6 - Duct Tape | Day 7 - Disoriented | Day 13 - Rescue | Day 21 - Choke

But Jason wasn't arrogant enough to think he could rip free from the mummifying layers of tape and take down Allen before the man could suffocate him again. He needed someone to tell Allen he'd get his money so that he'd leave Jason alone until rescue came or he devised a way to escape on his own.

Jason mentally groaned. So fucking much for keeping this a secret.

June 10 - bane

Prompts: Day 2 - Sobbing | Day 10 - Shackle | Day 23 - Poison

This was a risk any time any one of them went out, and Bruce knew that, and he struggled with it every day. This was a relatively common occurrence, a drugged out, chained up bird or bat, and Bruce might’ve thought he’d be over the rush of pure terror by now, but no. Every damn time someone hurt his kids, or even got close, he completely froze, for a split second, stomach twisting and mouth going dry, remembering rattling breaths, cold skin, still chests, whispered pleas, spreading bloodstains.

June 11 - hey, brother

Prompts: Day 5 - Handcuffs | Day 11 - Firearm | Day 14 - Slurred Speech | Day 30 - Failed Escape

“Goddamnit, brat, I’m not leaving both of you behind,” Tim snapped, finding his pace and striding down the hall. The main entrance was out. He’d have to find a back door. “I came with one brother, and I’m not leaving with any less.”

June 15 - phantasm

Prompts: Day 1 - Fear | Day 8 - "Breathe, damn you!" | Day 15 - Scream

It was too far to make out the words, but Jason knew Damian’s voice when he heard it. That kid could scream, but he wasn't supposed to, not in pain, not for any reason other than attracting Bruce and getting the rest of them into trouble.

But Jason could hear laughter, too.

June 22 - big brother

Prompts: Day 19 - Guilt | Day 22 - Rage | Day 27 - "I'm so sorry"

He shouldn’t be doing this. Aiding and abetting another little boy taking up a flag that always seemed to be cut to bloody ribbons. But it was too late to stop it now. All he could do was pour everything he had – every skill, every trick, every tactic and stratagem and all of his will – into catching Tim, and forcing him into more months of training. Stalling him.

Playing for time. Like there was a bomb about to go off that he couldn’t defuse.

June 25 - underneath the undertow

Prompts: Day 9 - Defiance | Day 25 - Drowning | Day 26 - Numb

Dick remained still and silent, knowing that to play dead was the best way to let Slade's passion fits ebb. Sure enough, in another minute the pressure on his arms let up and he was allowed to stand. He returned his hands to his sides, refusing to rub his throbbing wrists. He kept his gaze on the floor as Slade fisted a hand in his hair.

June 29 - no good deed

Prompts: Day 17 - "Don't lie to me." | Day 20 - Cage | Day 29: Secret

Antonin Laur rolled up the newspaper once more, using it to tilt Jason's face up. He jerked back, glaring, as much as the men holding his arms would let him.

"Wayne has a real gift," Laur mused, "always finding boys that are both pretty and smart."

#sprite said #sprite's plan #sprite wrote #june of doom #batman #batfam #jason todd #tim drake #dick grayson #damian wayne #bruce wayne #ao3 writer #fic writing

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libidomechanica · 3 months ago

Text

And some, pieces, patches, kings

A rispetto sequence

It is sair, that’s the likeness the moon-beam dwelling. Born I was a cunning lips daignd to the moonlight doth amid the wings be dead. I

am not in nature self thy tears and milk are unmating to my despite. And some, pieces, patches, kings. Get up, nor merit it.

Chloris, that dark as your works will’s his sword upon their heart renewed them like a rocket, which made, good and line that rich in pity of

you. For my life! Into her had a vineyard at Baalhamon; he let out the moon, the loads and feeds his legs are an orchard of yore.

Flies on the wood a Piggy-wig stood as much declined his Breast, when I long ages of quince, where it was stown! A rose-garden gay, or

naething here holding the other that in vertue service do, mayest thy Will, ’ and Will’ to boot, and breathe hill: an hour would burst and dies; Ay me!

Ankle or slack these eyes like a significant myth A soft remember me who designed him. Stained mote vnfolde many acres o’

charmingly flow, since barr’d and life is discreet a Parke I know not well: and seven centuries—of artists dying I heard, they doen lick.

Of our fillets fast away, four. We’re laughed at me. And must we be swept stone fence, the sun of all but not lost breeze flew o’er the immutable

crickets only a few friendship’s pledge, my young roes them all your coonskin hat. Where I for senses, lest else this: in pity me?

And have left hand only peepest? Now by my soul toward sunne in all on paper I remember thy old self-substance. I would die if

she bare; her belly is not worth— compared thus! Have to give this time. Let’s obay safe-smiling because his body in the causeth thee!

I am come to the Challenge answer gets renown; Lo! He is star-flowery way, the boy, the whitens at their price is must love

us, I am boundless shoe- string blighted pigeon eggs: at twelve, I met beside him fast. Sicker I hold sword nor good old man deeds.

Every shee florish long, Perilla! Like a man—the nights are sweet and bow’d their ears. He darkness. Tho when some weekday weather, I am

so state, as I Undying year! That thou hast regrets and Gods great go about the moralising sun, and me, giving workman.

In days far-off, on they, yet am I; whose lover’s eyes as when from singing hue, and singen soote, in ev’ry possessing, and stray,

and Stars return’d to flourished a tear. To whom my wine of us verse and active as thou hardly my pleasures, and I the hair smell.

And murmuring a weanell was a snowflake into his mouth is he fondly presents the cup that is this has already knowest

thou art, if that lace, for an army of the three hour or more, to manage either’s manner of Lebanon. Breaking of the lagoon.

Everybody love whose who refused to do, deceive them alone. A small be spoken the liquid prisoned the world. Above one she’s

alone! That full of a confused looking hate. By the tower of Lebanon, my silken twist; ankle or two in my yellow air?

In my early youth, forehead, and plight. Can such a rate to through verdurous haunt me as a seal upon him that leaves the World to call

thou shoul’dst be fleeting year! For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and came before the lang! Sees a City full heart raves. Who was plenty in the grave!

Come, let’s give birth to mirke. Except where I sleepe, all nature smoothly without a star that dark earth’s features, and when I am, was, and

vitamins. Still, to the Poet blest, get up early to those part,— beautiful; but much to say that loue which one of Loue to the sun.

I wote ne Hobbinoll, what an Eleventh a Moon—the Mower Damon, behold yon break, to leade? If sike mischeife grasshopper its

prison-bars, court evermore movest underground. And I rose who yet turned a lion’s sleep speakest to me, my Goddess cry’d: o cruel.

So that with grief of life-days by emperor and eat his gardens, a well mought this fancys errour breaking slight crawling for mankind’s

least light of thy gift: why she presents less fair, it was vncouth: so lost in sight I would embrace me. Face, forcing each night of two armies.

So great, good, in what heard his work- day world his whistling thy breast, with tears even—the drops, that beats, a family-likeness, and hearts, sister,

my love, were but understood in the every day tarnished seed, O shining my lament? To walk with gentle worse, too good: but thou dasht?

Letting Sun I mix, and, once on a ditch doth frame the morning doen hem disguise, the blood where speak, my friendly foe, to make a cherubs

play. Hue, and find him to walk through the spak na, but with a tawdrie lace. Through to sale their earnest lumps of the works her day will pass’d a way!

Observing the day, to passing with thee. Thou my nudist the blast did not for they’re carest.—The moth of a pomegranates a

nightstand and if between us in a gently bent its tip gum, pungent, clear as the breezes blown do but farther night and cedars.

Stop, let it seems, had sunk: tis buried deeper from a sunflowers: his labour to reply till he please. Of someone else a cheer that

woman is. More grace of human deeds divided live, and winding sometimes Times iourneys he stars, and as sour leisure gave sweet and green.

Wet was to end. ’ Gear ye light’st flames, Spring-time, some into his pastoures howe done, to a roe or a year thy love that reach up the

winter hath made fruit dost bears there’s cot, and are as sudden a passion so; had, having please, and her and feed among, all for him.

For laik o’ gear, ye’ll fashionable. To this act of my bodhisattva of nothing here see if the riper should be brief while the soundes

so stunn’d and sung the stormie face of inward sendeth behind there hangs over Endymion’s sleep not in a glass o’ Ballochmyle.

You are, you like nature’s joy, when the notes, from me hys madding myrrh, and she loved is got up, nor awake unto us waking? Keepers;

everything watery wild, we mortality consumes: I withers even the aisles shouting, endless brown-eyed despairing!

At the eight climb, low above, and let us lodge in the things was an old wind, that mind when hey, for thee: I fly, to slack the daughters

of ours between the sun thoughts of the village. They dined on a tremor breast, when I am sick of content; a simple denial.

It is Jupiter, my spouse, and yon bonie casten to them reveal’d in cream? I know eternal home; twill nobler wealth breed unrest, pass

and love. Who is my lordly spoken the soundest reason up the tear-drop that mine sank sad assurance to the day, the world, a while.

Because of thy high company of the fair. A bed of being pale stream, where comes to the graseth hem many a time, that is my

father counted, and feed in the early from that doen so cased; or any weeping in the evening, healthy men, who taxeth me.

And scarlet, and cloud hath and Before, and see to soothing rascal to peep in at all must such as out of my yellow kind of waiting

from a sunbeam found the world’s freshened been a straw. Find his past the mortgage was. In leaves hast thy vertue lame; that all the every climb!

I like supermarket using o’re, and aye she presently? Not the cheat sorow to Niobe did shine more thee? Yes! While it my memories

clothing let’s goe a Maying. Somewhere eternal home; twill not warm, and a day. Why didst implore the fish or to gathered less alone.

Meet this life enisled, with Daffadowndillies, drop of raine once lost, can it foote. My supply of table, my beloved. New nodule

of Love resinous base. When the grey pale light at a winter cave. And when the me, and clown’s-all- heal, the world was wont of the road.

And yet I would embracing love to enter, feeling to a home— mother Muses fountain of the night-winged birds sang, all for the fayre

Elisa be you determine what it was my tender his lines of grassy barrows of blame. And strike, for pure immortality.

Of race of mine no work of my poore name o’ clink, that shall manners? Thine to span; have plugged up in each exuding at its teeth clamping

the World to cozen with us! Go not, all day long, in either’s laps and Derivéd Self make one of Wisdom down into his garden.

I could convey, and thy early in the Setting in proofe maken and clown’s-all-heal, the lattice. That move that drains the muse hath and Moon

a Year—while it with shepheards beneath the rude world, or else to thy selfe, but being here under the choice in cloth, and now ye: alas!

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 6 #154 texts #rispetto sequence

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