#I fixed it and then it fell again and it was beyond repair

[an-internet-introvert]

My god, is 4pm to early to go to bed because god it has been a long weekend

[k9wa]

𑣲 RILE HIM UP ! ft BOOTHILL.

⠀ — your least favourite cyborg is brought back to you a mangled mess.

⠀ OR

⠀ — being boothill’s mechanic when you lowkey can’t stand each other.

⚠︎ sweet sweet tension, a little suggestive towards the end, gn reader (no referring pronouns), can they fuck already, this was ib by his lightcone, wc 1.9k

boothill's eyes flickered to life, emitting a faint glow of red as his systems began to reboot.

a pair of familiar red pupils met yours, two crosshairs fading into sight as boothill regained his sight and— to your dismay— consciousness.

as the cyborg regained his motion he attempted a step forward, only to realise he didn’t have the feet or legs to do so. the only thing keeping him powered on were some metal claws screwed into his back and a few loose cables connecting to your terminals.

“sugar plum,” boothill's scruffy voice cut through the silence. “do y'care to explain where my legs might’a run off to?”

you actually cocked an eyebrow. how the hell were you supposed to know? boothill was brought back to you in a mess of scraps and wiring— the damn hunk of metal was lucky you made him as blast proof as possible and he was left salvageable. 

“care to tell me how the hell you got this roughed up?”

you asked in turn, crouching down to look at the detached and ruined internals of boothill's torso where the stand-in wires were connected. you ran a finger carefully along the edge of his shredded metallic stomach.

“guess i didn't make you as smart as i thought. time for a newer model, maybe?”

boothill's eyes flickered down to his missing lower half, then to your hand that was more or less caressing him. it was amazing how much annoyance they could show in all their artificial glory.

“look who’s talkin.” the cowboy grumbled, pointy fangs poking out in an irritated grin. 

“how ‘bout, ‘gee, boothill! i’m real glad y’ain’t get blown to smithereens beyond repair!’” 

“it would've been less work for me if whoever blew you up finished the job.”

you sighed as you stood up, putting a hand lazily on your hip.

“how’d it happen?”

boothill bit back another argument with a gruff chuckle.

“some real cutie-pies i was huntin’ down had a lil’ more firepower than i expected. guess they didn’t appreciate me spoilin’ their party.”

boothill visibly cringed as his insult was substituted with some cutesy nickname mid explanation.

“and can you fix my beautiful synesthesia beacon already? this thing is drivin’ me up the wall.”

the request fell on deaf ears as your fingers typed something on your laptop, likely another string of code.

“you’re more concerned about your censor than how long it’s gonna take me to put your legs back on…” you sighed to yourself, still leaned over your workbench, eyes focused on your screen.

“i'm not touching it right now. you’re lucky i’m even letting you stay sentient after this.”

boothill snorted at the remark, brows furrowing in a steady grimace.

“well, ‘scuse me for wantin’ to speak freely–  i’m a grown man!” his pointy teeth shone as they peeked out again in a grin.

“y’know what? just leave yer lil’ tools and all the pieces there— i’ll get my legs back on myself. don’t need no charity work from the likes’a you.” he laughed. “heck, may even give myself a new pecker while i'm at it!”

the mechanic had half a mind to listen, sit back and watch boothill struggle to reassemble himself just to prove a point and simultaneously bask in his embarrassment when the former realised it wasn’t possible.

(not that he would’ve admitted defeat– you would have begrudgingly stepped in and helped before he inevitably messed up his wiring more.)

you stepped back over to boothill, hands moving to hold his cheeks so you could tilt his face side to side to check for any more damage.

“cool it, cowboy.” your eyes squinted in focus as they looked at boothill's, lightly tugging up on his eyelid to check for scratches or cracks.

“i'll get you back up and running, just lose the attitude already.”

boothill's eyes narrowed as he felt your touch on his face. the temperature difference of warm fingers on his cold, mechanical body stirring an oddity where his gut should have been. though he tried to ignore it, the sensation was there, clear as day against all his artificial nerve endings. 

“real easy for you to say,” he huffed, avoiding your eyes as he was examined like a broken toy. “let’s see how peachy you are when yer all strung up and legless, love muffin.”

that censor really was gonna drive him insane.

“just get it over with.'' boothill muttered in annoyance. “and try not t’fuss anythin’ up.”

it took quite some time, as expected, for you to successfully reattach boothill’s legs and fix his mangled midsection. when you were finally finished, you tugged out any leftover wires that connected boothill to your terminals and pushed back in your wheelie chair to beckon the cowboy forward. you pushed your glasses up to your forehead, some hair getting swept out of your eyes with them.

“feel fine?”

boothill rolled his ankles and bent his knees, giving his legs a good stretch to test their mobility.

“mighty fine,” he responded, satisfied to feel they were weighted and moved the same as before. “though i can’t say i’m lovin’ the breeze up my backside.” 

boothill glanced down at himself, steel body completely bare and lacking any of his signature clothing. 

“got my pants lyin’ around anywhere, sugar plum?”

you pointed to another table in the room, where boothills clothes— (or rather the new ones you had to go and get—) were neatly folded, his hat placed on top of them. 

boothill went to get himself dressed, hoisting up his bell bottomed pants and sliding on his jacket. he stole a glance in your direction every so often, resisting the childish urge to roll his eyes at the mere sight of you.

the artificial man hit a small bump in the road as he went to zip his jacket (could you really call it that with how little it covered?) up—  his fingers weren’t responding as well as they should have been. he could open and close his fist, but lacked the precision to pinch and hold the zipper.

“hey, honeybun,'' boothill called over to you with a furrowed brow. “didn’t i tell you not to go fudgin’ anythin’ up?”

you, in all your overtired glory groaned, turning around in your chair and waving boothill back over.

“what are you talking about?” 

“my cute lil’ fingers ain’t workin’ that’s what i’m talkin’ ‘bout!”

boothill's footsteps were clunky and loud as he stomped his way back over to his mechanic.

you reached for his hand, an uncharacteristic gentleness in your touch as you examined five mechanical fingers.

“make a fist,”

boothill obeyed, curling his fingers into his palm.

“open it,”

he obeyed again, letting them open and relax.

“hold up two fingers,”

boothill tried, but his fingers got stuck halfway into the motion, locking at the joints.

“son of a bitch.” you sighed, turning for one of your tools. “sit back down.”

boothill grumbled and went to hoist himself back onto the workbench.

“least one o’us can say it…” 

“do you want me to fix you or not?”

“i'm sittin’ ain’t i??”

you pulled boothill's shirt off his left shoulder and popped open a tiny panel on the curve of his neck, sliding your glasses back on to the bridge of your nose. with a lean forward you began carefully looking at a few thin wires that filled the space.

boothill tapped his fingers against the tabletop while you worked, that same oddity as before settling in his now repaired gut. he rarely got messed up enough for you and him to spend this much time together, or for you to have to really be in such close proximity.

it’s not uncomfortable, but the feeling is by no means familiar. it’s actually a little embarrassing– a galaxy ranger, a space cyborg and expert hunter, feeling almost flustered at some close contact like some kind of shy little girl.

“something the matter?”

boothill nearly jumped as you spoke up quietly to check on him, voice quiet and so close to his ear he had to refrain from leaning both closer and away.

“nah, everything’s just dandy.” boothill’s voice followed yours– quieter and a little softer as a result of the closeness.

“you’re sure?” you looked up from the small mess of wires, eyes glancing up at your cyborg over the rim of your glasses. “might as well fix anything else that’s bugging you while i’m here.”

boothill would have swallowed if he had the need to lubricate his throat. he shook his head, turning to look somewhere— anywhere else.

yours lingered on him, albeit briefly, observing the clench of his jaw and the way he tried to shift in his seat without being disruptive to your work. he didn’t see the little smirk tug at your lips as you refocused on the task at hand.

boothill’s cybernetic limbs felt almost human in their sensitivity, sending faux shivers up a spine he didn’t even have. the mechanics fingers running down his forearm are doing him no favours as they move to hold his hand again.

“close your fist…open it…two fingers up…”

each command was obeyed, ten gunmetal fingers finally holding up a little peace sign.

“that should be it, come see me if they start acting up again.”

you stood up, tentatively reaching out to fix boothill’s jacket and begin to zip it for him.

boothill didn’t protest the act, but it was…confusing, to say the least.

“reckon i’ll just start seein’ those auto bots again,” he leaned back on his palms as your fingers fixed his collar, straightening it out.  “much as i love our lil’ visits.”

you only hummed, smoothing out a few wrinkles and neatly tucking his scarf into it’s neckline, as he liked. “you could,” you mused, hooking your finger lightly into his collar and giving a gentle tug forward. “they don’t take as good care of you as i do, though.”

this time boothill caught the little smirk on your lips, clear as day and enough to make him question if short circuiting was possible.

you’re doing it on purpose, he knows. the careful touches to his hands and body against the sensors you put there, quiet voice leaving him with a frisson you made it possible for him to have.

boothill returned the smirk, albeit a little wobbly.

“you tryin’a rile me up, sugar plum?” 

he entertained you with a lean forward, two white crosshairs looking right at you while he considered if a hand on your waist was too forward or the perfect cornering move. 

“just like watching you squirm.”

you were gone as quickly as you’d arrived, finger unhooked and going to pick up his hat.

“but say i was,” you didn’t bother with a glance over as you made sure the brim was straight and unharmed. “i hardly have to try.” 

boothill hopped down from the table, following your path and offering a scruffy chuckle when you reached up to place it on his head.

“yeah? and what makes y’say that?” his hand found a place on his hip.

you didn’t respond— not verbally, anyway. a quick flick of your eyes downwards was all he received. 

so he followed, looking down as well, to the very appendage he had insisted you give him over and over again pushing against his trousers. 

his own dream, now his downfall. 

boothill pushed passed you, pushing his hat further down onto his head while he stomped away. the profanities that left his lips filled the air— or rather their replacements. something something i love you blah blah peach cobbler something cutie-pie or meow!

“remind me t’settle for them lovely auto bots next time!”

he opened the door with a firm kick of his boot, stomping out with a scowl. 

as if he wouldn’t be back. you took better care of him, after all.

⠀ 𑣲 MASTERLIST / GOT A REQUEST ?

[renlyslittlerose]

Prompt (if you’re up for it!) : Obi-Wan/Anakin slice of daily life?

Thank you!! :)

Thank you, peach! I went a little hurt/comfort with this one - hope you don't mind! 😭

---

Staring out the window, Anakin watched the lights of passing speeders reflect off the raindrops. Next to him lay a broken electrodriver, bent and scorched. It was beyond repair, but Anakin had to at least try. Maybe if he could fix this, he could fix everything wrong with the galaxy. He could fix the war, he could fix the Order, he could fix whatever was wrong with himself.

But it wasn’t that easy. Never was.

Shifting, Anakin looked down at his broken arm. Wires and bits of broken metal jutting out from the wrist component, the jagged edges highlighted by the light from outside. The fact that he’d been able to bring it back to Coruscant without anyone noticing the damage was a testament to its initial design. Anakin would have been impressed had he not been so concerned with hiding it from his men. They couldn’t know how quickly he’d come to almost dy—

Biting the inside of his cheek, Anakin clenched his flesh hand into a tight fist, trying to stop the tremble.

They couldn’t know. Not even Rex.

A tremor ran through his bond with Obi-Wan then, like the flutter of lashes. Glancing at the clock, Anakin noted the time. It was late. Or early, depending on your perspective. Grabbing the broken electrodriver, Anakin had just enough time to shove it under his leg and toss his blanket over his arm, before Obi-Wan’s silhouette appeared in the door.

Moments passed with nothing said, only the quiet concern emanating from Obi-Wan, before Anakin curled back in on himself, returning his vacant stare to the window outside. He didn’t want to talk. Not now, not when he wasn’t sure if words would come out, or a frustrated sob.

Obi-Wan remained in the doorway a moment longer before Anakin could hear his bare footsteps on the floor. Light suddenly flooded the kitchen, reflecting off the window. It was warm and golden, and Anakin watched Obi-Wan’s movements on the windowpane.

A kettle was grabbed, followed by a tin of caf and two mugs. The sound of water falling into the kettle resounded about the quiet space, then the gentle ‘thunk’ of metal against a stove top burner, followed by the soft crunch of a spoon inside the dark grounds in the bottom of the tin. Anakin closed his eyes and let out a sigh. The rustle of Obi-Wan’s sleepwear and the gentle tap of metal, combined with the steady rainfall against the window guided Anakin to some semblance of ‘okay’.

Minutes passed before Anakin felt a firm hand on his shoulder, and smelled the sweet aroma of caf with too much sugar and milk. Opening his eyes, he took the offered mug that hovered in his field of view, thanking Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan disappeared again, but when he returned he had his own mug in his hand. Scooting over on the couch, Anakin winced when the electrodriver fell on to the floor.

Obi-Wan bent down to grab it before Anakin could. Sitting next to Anakin, Obi-Wan glanced down at it and pressed the pad of his thumb against one of the broken wires. A small hiss left his lips, and when he pulled away a droplet of blood pooled out from the skin.

“That was stupid,” Anakin croaked.

Obi-Wan let out a soft huff. “In my defense, I’m still not entirely awake.”

Taking a sip of his caf, Anakin winced as the hot drink scalded his tongue. But the warmth as it traveled down his throat and settled in his belly took away some of the sting. Tapping his finger along the side of the mug, Anakin waited for Obi-Wan to say something about the broken part. He could feel his curiosity in their bond, and watched as his eyes skirted down to the lump on Anakin’s lap.

“You should take off your arm,” Obi-Wan finally said. “The dead weight cannot be comfortable.”

Anakin hesitated. He didn’t take his arm off in front of people often - not even Obi-Wan. But he was right. The weight had begun to make the muscles in his shoulder and neck ache. Taking another swallow of his caf, Anakin passed the mug to Obi-Wan and reached up to unhook his arm. It came off with a gentle hiss, the sound carrying through the apartment. Sliding it out from beneath the blanket, Anakin put it on the cushion next to him.

“Better?” Obi-Wan asked as he passed the mug back.

Anakin nodded. “It’s a start.”

“When did you get in?” Obi-Wan asked.

“I don’t know. A few hours ago?”

“Have you been to see a healer?”

“No.”

Obi-Wan didn’t sigh like Anakin expected; didn’t say anything further, either. Instead he shifted closer, his arm wrapping around Anakin. Closing his eyes, Anakin rested against Obi-Wan's shoulder, pressing his face against his neck. He smelled like clean sheets and a spiced soap he’d bought when they were stationed on a mid-rim planet. He smelled like home.

“In the morning,” Anakin mumbled.

“What?”

“I’ll go to the healers in the morning.”

Obi-Wan squeezed Anakin’s shoulder and kissed the top of his head. “Bring a bandage for my thumb back with you.”

[mountaingutta]

How exactly did Knock Out and Breakdown meet?

I've been thinking for a long time about how these two freaks met. So I have a few ideas about it.

There are two options: either they met before the war (with several sub-versions), or after the war.

Today, I'll explore one scenario of their meeting before the war

Knock Out was a medical student who was sent for practical training at a construction site. In truth, the project required at least two or three trained medics, but the lives of the construction workers (from the lower castes) didn't concern the officials and aristocrats of the higher castes too much. So they sent Knock Out along with a few other students who were considered expendable

The reason: Knock Out was born in one of the colonies beyond Cybertron, but studied on Cybertron. Because of this, he was treated as an outsider

He wasn't exactly thrilled about the situation, but the internship was mandatory for all students. Had he refused to complete the assignment, it would have seriously affected his grades and risked expulsion from the university

I'm almost certain that Knock Out has mysophobia, or something similar. So working at a construction site, even in the role of a medic, would have been his worst nightmare

Breakdown was one of the construction workers. He was a bricklayer. He also helped demolish old buildings, clean up, and transport construction materials. So he was almost always covered in grime

Breakdown worked together with Bulkhead (I adore that bun — they were best friends before the war)

Knock Out's first day was a disaster. Right off the bat, the construction site supervisor yelled at him, angry that instead of getting experienced medics for a long-term assignment, he'd been sent a mere medical student for just a few months

But they kept him there anyway, because anyone with medical knowledge was better than nothing

That same day, a minor accident occurred — some of the cables used to lift building materials snapped and fell on a few bots who didn't manage to get out of the way in time

Among them was Breakdown. For him, it was love at first sight

For Knock Out, it was a battle with a panic and nausea

Still, he pulled himself together and got to work. Fortunately, there were no serious injuries, so he was able to repair them relatively quickly

The whole time he was doing it, he was chattering — he chatters a lot when he's nervous. Mostly he comments on the injuries, his actions, and everything he sees around him

"this joint isn’t a joint anymore, it’s a modern art piece", "I’ll fix it now… or break it completely. Either way, it’ll look fabulous", "risking my manicure and everything"

Breakdown kept staring at him in silence the whole time. He didn’t even hear what Knock Out was saying. And when it was his turn, Knock Out thought he had a head injury. So he leaned in to take a closer look. The close proximity made Breakdown’s processor overheat, and he promptly passed out

When he came to, the doctor was gone, and he was back in his quarters. He was terribly embarrassed — but he really liked the doctor

He heads straight to the medbay, despite all the warnings from Bulkhead

Meanwhile, Knock Out was scrubbing the entire medbay, making sure not a single speck remained, and he was in no mood for visitors. He simply threw them out, saying not to come unless they needed actual medical help

Breakdown, feeling down, goes out for a drink with his friends. During the outing, he comes up with a brilliant idea — he needs to get injured to see the handsome doctor again. Bulkhead thinks it’s a ridiculous idea and tries to talk him out of it

But it doesn’t work, so he just tries to minimize injuries and constantly brings him to the medbay

All that time, Breakdown never dared speak to Knock Out. Only once did he manage to say something — but it was a terrible attempt at flirting, and the builder nearly died of embarrassment

After that incident, he wasn’t seen at the medbay for a long time

Before the war, there was a caste system on Cybertron. Although I haven't found a detailed description of this system, I'm almost certain it was based on the ancient Indian varna system, with influence from the social structure of ancient Rome. So, in short — you couldn't change your caste, and you couldn't marry or have romantic relationships with someone from a significantly higher or lower caste in the hierarchy

That’s roughly what Bulkhead would always say after each visit to the medbay — though that didn’t stop him from having a ‘friendship with benefits’ with one of the scientists from the local lab (Wheeljack), and sharing with him all of Breakdown’s romantic misadventures

Throughout all this time, Knock Out was completely miserable because of the situation, counting the days until it would all be over. He dreamed of escaping this place as soon as possible and never coming back

The medbay was terribly equipped, the tools were outdated, and there was always a shortage of medications and spare parts — or they were expired. The furniture and equipment were arranged in a horribly inconvenient way, and he couldn’t move them on his own because everything was too massive and heavy for just one person

Although the builders were quite attractive bots but the dirt, noise

During yet another construction accident, Bulkhead was seriously injured and ended up stuck in the medbay for a long time

Breakdown kept visiting him all the time. Sometimes he tried to talk to Knock Out, sometimes he just sat in silence

During one of these visits, Knockout was trying to move a massive wardrobe, but could barely budge it. Breakdown saw this and decided to help. Knockout was surprised, and for a few seconds they stood in awkward silence. Finally, Breakdown dared to speak

— Do you need help? — …Yes, please. — Where to? — To the left, by the window.

These were the first words they ever exchanged. Breakdown beamed with happiness. He moved the cabinet where Knock Out had told him and asked if any more help was needed. Knock Out hesitated, but then asked him to move a few more pieces of furniture

Breakdown didn’t manage to finish everything. He had to leave because his shift at the construction site had started, but he promised to come back and help later

After that, he really did help reorganize the medbay. After a few visits, they even managed to have a conversation

They became comfortable around each other

From time to time, Wheeljack would stop by the medbay. These were very interesting visits. Explosive. They added work and stress for Knock Out

But it contributed to the development of the relationship between Knock Out and Breakdown. They both took a disliking to the scientist

Breakdown started coming to the medbay almost every day — sometimes as a visitor, and sometimes as a patient

Gradually, their affection grew and became mutual. Knock Out decided to teach Breakdown the basics of medicine — at least so he could treat minor injuries

Breakdown told Knock Out about the construction site and brought him a worksite radio so he wouldn’t get bored

After work, Breakdown would invite Knock Out to the local bar to have a drink and chat with other bots. He hadn’t yet dared to ask him on a real date, so he always dragged Bulkhead along, who occasionally brought Wheeljack. Those evenings were the most interesting — and the most traumatic

At the bar, the radio often broadcast speeches about resistance and rebellion against the caste system, the Senate. About injustice and cruelty. Because of this, many arguments arose

Finally, Breakdown dared to ask Knock Out on a real date. He was so nervous that he mixed up his words and, instead of giving the gift, he smashed it

Knock Out agreed

The date took place at the top of an unfinished structure, with a beautiful view of the city and the sky. But it was quiet and enchanting

Aside from the terrible music performance by Bulkhead and Wheeljack, who helped Breakdown prepare everything

But they quickly left and gave the couple some time alone

They had a few more dates

Breakdown introduced Knock Out to the other builders. The older ones didn’t exactly approve of the relationship because of the status difference, while the younger workers supported them — questioning all that caste-system nonsense

Knock Out still hated everything related to dirt, but it was no longer a phobia that sent him into a panic. He had grown used to life on the construction site, to the noisy and messy builders who had accepted him. Although he still scolded them every time they came to him dirty — unless it was an emergency. He was also quite skilled at throwing a circular saw

But the internship period was about to end. Knock Out, who had once dreamed of it, now wished he had more time here

When the day came for him to leave, he promised Breakdown that after finishing his training, he would come to work at their construction site. Until then, they would keep in touch from afar, and he’d visit as soon as he had the chance

But it wasn’t meant to be. Knock Out never finished his training because the war broke out, and he joined the Decepticons, while Breakdown joined the Wreckers. They lost contact, and a lot of time passed before they would meet again

[bloatedandalone04]

Wrapped Around Your Finger - Part 1.4

Series Masterlist | Original Fic

➪in which anakin feels completely isolated from you for the first time in five years, and he doesn’t know if he will ever be given the chance to fix his mistake.

PSA: strongly suggested to read the warnings before proceeding.

WC; 4k | Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

Anakin gave his guitar to Theo as he sprinted off stage and towards the very dressing room he broke your heart in.

You never came back after walking away at the beginning of the show, and that had him completely on edge. He looked around the backstage area and when he couldn’t find you anywhere, he checked the dressing room. But you weren’t in there either. 

Maybe you went back to the bus? God, he hoped so. He just got you back, he couldn’t handle losing you again so soon, and for a completely different reason this time. 

His nerves were completely shot as he practically sprinted to the bus, the only thought on his mind being to get back to you and further explain things to you. If he needed to drop to his knees and beg for you, he was more than willing to do so, because you were it. His one and only, and you always would be. 

The show tonight was one of the longer ones, so in the two hours he was on stage you could have literally gone anywhere. His heart was in his throat as he pulled open the bus door and looked around, and he could feel it quicken its pace as he realized that you weren’t here either. 

Where the fuck did you go? You told him you’d be here after the show, yet he couldn’t find any trace of you. 

Actually, he couldn’t find any sign of you at all. Your bag was gone, your jacket was picked up from off the couch, and your laptop wasn’t on the table anymore. “No,” he rasped. “Fuck. No.”

His hands were shaking as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and called you, but he was sent straight to voicemail. 

You were ignoring him.

“Fuck,” he nearly yelled as he called you again, only to be met with the same result. “Fuck!”

After the third call he was forced to leave you a message, and he felt as pathetic as he sounded. “Baby, please. Please….call me back. I’m so sorry,” he rambled as he pulled at his sweaty hair. “We need to talk about this more, we have to work this out, I….fuck, Y/n, you said you’d be here after the show.”

He was crying now and was choking on his words as he said them, and he hoped you would be able to understand him, but he also hoped you couldn’t. He hated the fact that he was the one crying after he fucked things up, possibly beyond repair, when he really had no right to. 

“Please, just…tell me where you are and that you’re okay and safe, please,” he begged and dropped onto the couch. “I love you.” 

His phone fell to the floor after that and his hands came up to cover his face. 

He had no idea what to do. He was shaking and his eyes were sore as he couldn’t seem to stop the tears from leaving them.

What the fuck is he going to do? How is he going to fix this? 

He can’t lose you. He can’t, he wouldn’t be able to function without you. The thought of not having you around him after this was enough to send him into a panic attack, and he knew he needed to get a hold of himself, but he didn’t know how. 

You weren’t here, weren’t at the venue, and your stuff was gone. Where did you go? You wouldn’t have left without telling him, right? You wouldn’t have gone back to London and not tell him, right? 

He didn’t know anymore. 

His phone went off from its place on the floor, and he scrambled off the couch to grab it, and when he saw that it was you who texted him, he nearly cried of joy. But your message wasn’t what he wanted to read, and it left him feeling even worse.

Princess: I’m safe. I just need some time to think. Please, at least give me that. 

-

You slept on a chair in the airport last night, your duffle bag being your pillow and your jacket being your blanket. 

Your eyes were bloodshot and sore beyond words from all the crying you’ve done since Anakin told you that he cheated on you. Did that count as him cheating on you? Not exactly, but his lips touched someone else’s, so what did that make it? Accidentally cheating? You didn’t know and you were too upset to care about what to call it. 

After he went on stage and began the show, you couldn’t stand it anymore and left. You went back to the bus and was originally going to stay there and sleep on the couch, but the more you got into your head, the more you wanted to get the fuck out of there completely. 

Running away from your problems never helped anybody, but you were too stubborn to think rationally at this point. 

So you bought a ticket for the earliest flight back to London and grabbed your things before fleeing from the bus and sending him a text after listening to his voicemail. 

You felt bad about leaving like that, but you were so upset and hurt. Your heart felt like it had been physically ripped from your body and been left back with Anakin in Paris; the place you wanted to visit for so long now with the love of your life. And the two days you were there with him were amazing, and you were prepared for so much more, but every hope and dream you had for that city had been crushed and destroyed. You weren’t sure you ever wanted to go back, Eiffel Tower be damned. 

There were other towers you could see, right?

The whole flight back to London you wrote down the last few chapters for your short story in your notebook, needing the distraction to help keep you sane enough to be able to get back to your room in one piece. 

You looked like a mess once you got back onto campus, and you avoided everyone like the plague as you made a beeline towards your dorm and had a forty five minute shower. It helped a little bit, but you were still left feeling empty as you sat down on your bed with wet hair and opened up your laptop to type out what you wrote down on the plane. 

After you added some final touches, you printed it out and got changed into a pair of jeans and a grey shirt, leaving your hair still damp as you made your way to Kenneth’s classroom. 

It was empty when you entered it, and he looked up at you in surprise when you closed the door behind you and walked over to him. “Miss Y/l/n,” he greeted and closed the book he was reading. “I wasn’t expecting to see you again so soon. I thought you’d still be with that boyfriend of yours.”

The mention of Anakin had a sharp pain shoot straight through your heart, and you flinched slightly as you cleared your throat. “Yeah, something happened with that,” you whisper and he gives you a look of concern as he notices the way your eyes glaze over with tears. “I’m okay. Promise.”

He gives you a smile that nearly had you sobbing right then and there, because how the fuck did things get to this? How did you end up back in London, crying in front of your instructor with wet hair that dampened your shirt as the seconds went on? 

“Alright,” he said quietly and braced his elbows on his desk. “What’s going on?”

His voice was so comforting and caring, you allowed your walls to come down a bit as you held up the stack of papers in your hand and wiped your eyes with your other. “I wrote my short story,” you announce. “I didn’t get around to editing it, so it’s probably full of errors, but I just wanted to give it to you because..”

You stopped your sentence short, but Kenneth gave you a look that told you he knew exactly what you were saying. “Because you’re not coming back to class,” he finished for you. “Are you?”

He stated it instead of asking it, and you bite down on your bottom lip as you nodded. Glancing down at the papers in your hands, he gestures for you to give them to him, and you do so with a sad smile. “You don’t have to read it,” your voice broke as you felt yourself beginning to cry again. “I just wanted to show that I really did love every second of these classes. I know I can do so much more, but it’s just not a good time for me right now.”

Kenneth flipped through the pages and looked up at you. “I’ll read it,” he promised, his gaze the softest you had ever seen it, and you realized just how much you would miss being able to talk to him like this and not feel embarrassed about it. “You’re an amazing writer, Y/n. It was a privilege to have you in my class, and I hate to see you go so soon, but I also want you to start putting yourself first. You’re always worried about everyone else around you, don’t forget to take care of yourself, too. Whatever happened before this, don’t let it take over. Use it, if it helps.”

You nod and wipe at your eyes with both hands now, sniffling quietly as you look at the man you respect deeply. 

“You’re going to go on and do great things. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you,” he lightened the mood by laughing and it made you laugh, too. “Just don’t forget to put yourself first. I remember when my teacher told me that, and it stuck with me for most of my life. I didn’t realize how much I needed to hear it until he said it.”

And you didn’t either. 

It was true, you put everyone above yourself and it often made you forget to take care of yourself. But not anymore. 

You were going back home, and you were dropping out of the program, but you weren’t quitting. You just needed to figure some things out and keep yourself grounded until you decided what was going to happen next. 

“Thank you,” you whisper. “For everything.”

Kenneth nodded and set your story down onto his desk. “Good luck, Y/n,” he said and it was the second time he used your first name since you walked in here, and it somehow made everything seem so much more real. You weren’t his student anymore. “I’ll reach out to you once I’ve finished reading this.”

“Okay,” you nod and turn around, giving the classroom one last look before heading towards the administrative office to officially drop out of the school. 

You cried more as you packed up your room, and then Bailey came in and let you cry onto her shoulder as she held you and told you to keep in touch. After that you met Evan’s eyes from across campus, and the three bags you were carrying told him all he needed to know. 

He brought you into his arms, too, and these were the people you were going to miss most about this chapter in your life. “Call me whenever you need to, okay? Or whenever you want to,” he begged and you nod against his chest. “Fuck, this sucks. I’m going to miss you.”

You laugh sadly, “I’m going to miss you, too,” then you step away and get a ride back to the airport, your heart feeling the heaviest its felt in all the twenty two years you’ve been alive. 

-

Anakin didn’t sleep at all, but that was no surprise. 

He got a good two nights of sleep with you while you were here, but now that you were gone, his sleep schedule was already back to being fucked. 

His whole body felt weak as he paced around backstage, holding his phone up to his ear as he called you for the first time today. He told himself that he’d give you some time, but fuck that. He missed you and needed to see where things were with you at the moment. 

“Hi,” you answered, making Anakin instantly stop pacing. 

“Hi,” he said back quickly. “How are you? Where are you?” He had no idea where you were since you only told him that you were safe, and he wasn’t one of those boyfriends that needed their girlfriends location on all the time. 

“In the car,” you answered and he felt his heart drop. “On the way to the airport.”

“The…airport?” He stuttered, his eyes burning as he let your words sink in. “You’re going back to London?”

“No,” you say quietly, and he could hear in your voice the way you were holding back tears. “I’m already in London. I’m going back home, Anakin.”

Anakin felt his whole body tense up, and it felt almost painful to move. So he stayed still as he tried to process your words. “You’re in London? How? When?”

“Last night. I bought a ticket and left. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I just don’t know what to do anymore, Anakin,” you cried and the remaining pieces of his heart shattered to bits. “I dropped out of the writing program and now I’m on my way back home. I need to feel normal right now or I might just go crazy.”

“Baby,” he shakily said as he met Vinny’s eyes from across the room. His friend gave him a concerned look, but Anakin just turned around and headed for the dressing room. “Baby, please.”

“Please, what? I don’t know what you want me to say. I don’t know what to say,” you sobbed and he let the door close loudly behind him once he reached the dressing room. 

“Say that we’re going to be okay,” he begged, beginning to pace around the small room as he tugged at his hair. “Say that you and I will be fine, that we’ll talk this through and that we’re going to be okay.”

You were quiet for a few seconds, leaving him to listen to your uneven breathing. “You’re in Paris, Anakin,” he hated the way you hadn’t called him Ani even once since the start of this call. “I’ll be in LA tomorrow. Maybe this time away from each other will be good.”

“We’ve been away from each other,” he said as his heart twisted in agony. “I don’t want more time apart.”

“You’re on tour, Anakin-”

“I’ll come home,” he cut you off. “I’ll talk to Helena, we’ll stop the tour for a few weeks or something. Please.”

You sniff quietly. “The tour is too important,”

“You’re more important. We’re more important,” he thought maybe he was getting through to you, but then you destroyed that small ounce of hope with a single sentence. 

“I can’t do this,” you whispered. “I need time. Have fun on the rest of the tour, Anakin. I really mean that.”

Then you hung up before he could say another word, leaving him to call you back three times before you turned your phone off. 

“Fuck!” Anakin yells out and throws his phone onto the couch before sitting down next to it, his hands coming up to cover his face as he tries to hold back his tears. 

This was all his fault. He fucked things up between you beyond repair, and he was the one to blame. 

You flew back to London, for fucks sake, and the whole time he thought you were still here. And now you’re going back to LA, back to the apartment you and he shared, and possibly packing up there as well. 

What was he supposed to do? He needed to be on stage in less than twenty minutes, and he was on the verge of a panic attack. 

Anakin looked around the room wildly, as if anything he would help him even a little bit. His eyes landed on the various alcohol bottles placed on a table in the corner, and he knew he shouldn’t. The last time he drank was at the club with Liz, then she kissed him and he threw up twice and swore he’d never drink again.

But it was different this time. 

He needed to feel nothing right now, to get him through the show, then he’d figure out how to fix things. 

Without giving it a second thought, Anakin grabbed the first bottle he could reach and spent the next ten minutes drinking it. He set the now empty bottle down and left his phone on the couch, swinging the door open and stumbling his way backstage. 

The first person he saw was Liz. Of course it was Liz. 

Anakin’s eyes glazed over and he made it to her in less than four strides. She turned to face him with that fucking smirk of hers, and he narrowed his eyes on the bruise that had formed on the bridge of her nose, and for a split second he was proud that his girlfriend did that to her, then he remembered that you might not be his girlfriend anymore. “There you are,” she cooed. “We were starting to get worried.”

“Shut up,” he muttered, getting into her personal space. This was another situation where he could use his size to his advantage, even if he hated to do it, but he didn’t care right now. “This is all your fault. Y/n left because of what you did, because of what we did. Are you happy? Are you fucking proud of yourself?”

Vinny, who was standing nearby quickly made his way over, as did Helena, who had been talking with Theo a few feet away. “Anakin,” Vinny murmured, pulling on his arm. “Hey, don’t do this, man. She’s not worth it.”

Helena guided Liz away and towards the side of the stage, and Anakin could see how angry his manager was as she talked to the photographer. 

Anakin turned to Vinny, his eyes burning and his head spinning. “She left,” he rasped. “She left, Vin. Y/n left to go back home.”

Vinny stepped back in surprise but kept his hand on Anakin’s arm. “Back home? Like, back to London?”

“No, back to LA. She already went back to London and dropped out of the program and now she’s going back home,” he nearly cried. “She’s going to leave me, Vinny. I lost her.”

The drummer looked alarmed, and he pulled Anakin into his arms within seconds. “It’s okay,” he tried to comfort him, but they both knew it would never work. “It’s okay.”

Anakin felt pathetic. This is the second time Vinny had to comfort him in less than two weeks, and while he knew Vinny would never mind doing so, Anakin still felt terrible. It shouldn’t be this way. He should be better than this. 

“We’ll talk after the show,” Vinny promised, pulling away and reaching up to smooth out Anakin’s hair. “You and I will figure everything out, okay? It’s going to be okay.”

Anakin felt like a shell of himself as he nodded and allowed Vinny to lead him out onto stage, his mind a mess of thoughts and doubts and worries, and all of them were about you. 

The lights were blinding and Anakin’s vision blurred from the flashes. His head was pounding and his throat was dry as he tried to get out the last song of the night as quickly as he could, but he felt sick. The bourbon he had downed earlier didn’t help, either. 

He felt bile rise up his throat but he held it back and tore his eyes away from the crowd so he could look over at Theo. The bass player gave him a concerned look as he began to sing the song as well, no doubt sensing something was wrong and deciding to help the poor guy out.

Anakin was thankful for that as he didn’t have to raise his voice anymore since Theo is singing alongside him now, so his throat was given somewhat of a break. While his friend didn’t have a strong enough voice to be the lead singer, Theo still had a pretty good singing voice, and Anakin knew he should probably start having him sing in more songs in the future.

He felt his heartbeat quicken as even more sweat began to settle on his skin. The flannel he had adorned at the start of the show had long since been tossed aside and had left him in just his graphic tee, but he was still so fucking hot, and the lights weren’t helping at all. 

He made the mistake of looking over to his right, where he saw Liz and Helena standing backstage. While his manager had a frown on her lips, Liz had a lustful look in her eyes, and somehow that made Anakin feel even more sick. 

His fingers fumbled on the strings as he messed up the tempo of the song, which is something he had never done while he was out on stage before. Embarrassment floods through him and he quickly falls back into the right rhythm with Vinny and Theo backing him up as best as they could. 

All these cameras on him were not helping, even though he was used to being filmed at this point. He felt like was three seconds away from having a full on panic attack, and he would probably die of humiliation if he woke up tomorrow morning to see thousands of videos online of him breaking down on stage. 

The headline ‘Anakin Skywalker Has Epic Meltdown During Last Song Of Show’ was one he refused to read the following day. Fuck, he hated those stupid tabloids. They were written by money hungry, self-obsessed assholes who wouldn’t know what privacy is if it slapped them in the face. 

You hated them, too, and your distaste for them was more than valid. 

He missed you. God, did he ever. 

Anakin wasn’t used to missing you. He never needed to. Ever since his third year of high school he’s had you by his side. You were never more than a few feet away from him back then, and even now you were always usually backstage and quietly cheering him on. You should be where Liz is currently standing now. 

Or maybe he should be with you. 

Since the second you became his girlfriend you were always his top priority.

He hated that he had somehow managed to forget that fact the minute a pretty girl started paying more attention to him than you were. Could you be blamed? You were thousands of miles away and chasing your own dream while he was living out his. You couldn’t give him every second of your time like he was used to receiving, and he really fucking hated how he had actually managed to turn into one of those pricks who forgets about how good he has it as soon as things don’t end up going his way. 

Anakin wanted to stop singing the song and call out to you, but you weren’t in the crowd. You weren’t backstage. You weren’t here. You weren’t with him. You wouldn’t answer him, because you’re so fucking far away while he is here acting like everything is just fine. All he wanted to do was to run off stage, find you, and wrap you up in his arms, but he wasn’t sure if he had that right anymore.

He’s insecure and has never been away from you for this long. It was like he didn’t know how to properly function without you by his side. 

All the excuses in the world would never make up for just how poorly he’s treated you and for how little effort he’s been putting into your relationship. 

He didn’t blame you for wanting to end it.

But he needed you. He had just gotten you back, just gotten that sense of normalcy back, but you were gone again. 

Possibly for good this time, and he only had himself to blame.

-

One more part after this x

[yan-lorkai]

Hello! I really loved the Idia fic you wrote for the yandere alphabet letter. If it’s alright, could I ask for something related to one of the other letters? The part about how Idia would hate to break his darling because part of his darling would no longer exist.

I’ll admit, I kind of want to know how he’d react to a darling that became of shell of their former self after the kidnapping. If there was any genuine love there at all, I imagine it would break his heart. Thank you!

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/N: Angst, I like it. I did some hcs this time, otherwise I would hog this ask for me and answer it much later, like I did with that other fic lol. Only thing I had to say is: poor darling. They deserved better.

He has gone too far. He has broken you beyond repair. He knows it, he can feel in his bones that something is not right when you look at him with those dead eyes. But he ignores the signals and cope by working as usual. He can pretend everything's fine and that you still love him or else he'll break down crying.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Idia wasn't thinking about the consequences of his actions when he kidnapped you. He was angry, he was terrified to lose you. You were flirting with someone else (you were not, he is just insecure and an overthinker). He can see your injuries half healed, he can hear your shallow breath and barely audible whispers of fear everytime he is near. You used to be so happy to spend time with him, braiding his hair, cuddling into his side while binge watching animes with him. He didn't know he would lose this.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ You break very fast, almost like glass. And he can hears shards of glass exploding every time he looks at you. There's no blood on his hands but he feels like there is, he feels like he killed you and the person in front of him is different from the one he used to love, that one was full of life, happy and had a warm smile on their face. This you, unkept, emotionless, isn't the one who he fell in love.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ This you don't get the motivation to shower, don't have the motivation to eat or to talk, even if only to swear at him. This you is like a doll. A doll he washes and dress on your favorite comfy clothes, a doll he spoon feed you your favorite foods.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ He feels so guilty about what he did that when you're sleeping, when your face finally relax from your usual tense and tired expression, that's when he cries a river. Tears streaming down his face as he silently begs you to come back, to fight him again, to swear at him and hit him. He just want you to come back. The you he used to know and love... The you forever lost.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Now Idia didn't like you talking with other people but he'll try to get you into therapy. He wants to try anything that possible could bring you back. He throws himself at your feets and beg you if you wanted, just so you can call him pathetic and useless and a bad lover. You could spit on him and he would thank you for it.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Thing is you are too tired to respond to therapy, too tired for anything. You can only wish for things to end, to be a bad dream. But of course, Idia won't let you remain motionless on your room, crying as you listens to the silence and feels phantom pain all over your body. From your perspective, he may like this. He always liked the control he had over you, always reading your texts, always arguing with you about your friends.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ But you were broken and nothing he could do, nothing he can plan could fix his mess.

[mangosrar]

Always, i will be here.

chris sturniolo x reader

a/n: guys this one is lowkey-highkey sad but i love it so much:(

loosely based off always by Daniel Caesar!!!!

My y/n,

I wonder when i first met you, in a way that was more than just physical. I wonder when a line in a song reminded me of you, or the first time i walked past someone who carried a scent so similar to yours, that i questioned if you had just walked past me, or the first time someone made a joke so good i had to relay it to you later and pretended it was my own.

I always thought that heart break was caused by mean words said so harshly they pierce the soul. But in reality, they’re from goodbyes that weren’t told, kisses never shared and hugs never felt. These are the ingredients of a broken heart and they can never be fixed. Broken beyond repair.

The thing is even if you could go back, you wouldnt belong there anymore. I still perform autopsies on conversations we had lives ago. They could hook me up to a polygraph and ask me if i still love you, i would say no, and the line would jump and stutter in the exact pattern of your laugh. It feels better to die at your hands y/n, than to never have felt them at all. The heart has its own memory, and i have forgotern nothing, so dont set me on fire and act like you're the one burning.

I remember once you told me you killed a plant by feeding it too much water, and now you worry love is voilence and i know i always say you hold on to too much and every time you reply; asking me where you should put it down. This is starting to look like a contest of who cares less but i liked it better when you were on my side. Im afraid i will love you for the rest of my life and we will never be in the same room again, and im worried the amount of time we have left together is limited so please lingre near the door or forget your jacket and come back for it later. Please just tell me that im not as forgetable as your absence is making me feel. You only hate the people you love, and i know i could never be someone you dont like.

But surrounded by the churches and the dirt, i fell in love with you here. I had never told you. I wish i was braver. It's okay to not be who you thought you would be. But now summer is almost over, my feelings didnt change, and you aren't coming back. But always, i will be here y/n.

My Chris,

Christopher Owen Sturniolo, you have siezed my spine, took my bones and left me to melt into a sticky pile of mush where my body used to be.

I have spent half of my life loving you, and the other half figuring out my love for you. If i could write a book on all the things i wished you would have said, i would run out of pages. I feel like a kid at christmas whos been hopelessly dreaming about getting a pony,only to be given socks. I pushed you out and now youre so far away i cant even reach for you. I could call you a hundred names and scream and shout about why you were awful. But where would that leave me. I still loved you. I still have to live with that.

Its like youve taken a part of me and left it where i cant find it. I tried to forgive you, so i could move on, but how is that possible when i find you in every song, every tone, every frequency and every static. My brain cannot move an inch without bumping into some part of you. You are just a burning house that i want to live in, so why can't you let me put you out?

I wish you had left me wondering. I think it would have hurt much less if i never knew what made you fall out of love with me. You held me tight as i weeped like a little girl who had just dropped her ice cream, you kissed the top of my head and rocked us back and forth. You muffled my sobs with your lips. You whispered sweet nothings to me as i cried in your arms. You wiped the tears that fell for the heart you broke. You told me there will always be a piece of your heart that belongs to me. You have stained me. Tainted and bruised my soul. You told me that you’ve never had a love like ours and never will. You said that you’re future wife will know about me. Your kids will learn what love is through the stories you tell them about us. And suddenly, im at the kitchen table. Crying. Wondering what went wrong. But always, i will be here chris.

@christinarowie332 @jcwrites-blog @sturnphilia @biimpanicking @sssturniolofart @lividnity

LMK WHAT YALL THINK!!!!

[thephonemenarentreal]

This is an ANGSTY fic with feels, but it is sort of in a set of fics that follow one into the other?

I love you Titan Speakerman, but I imagine he's the Titan that is really going through shit the most...

Also more explanation/Exploration of how Tremolo's condition works and plays out in his behavior :<

Title: Beyond Repair

Rating: PG-13 Warning: Trauma, mental health things, Titan Speakerman tears and sadness, language

Characters: Tremolo, Titan Speakerman, Mr. Biggs Guest Appearance: The chillest speaker chief engineer of all Whistle (belongs to @tabieeee cuz I can't imagine Whistle not comforting poor sad Titan :<)

Summary: Desperation was a loss of control as everything fell apart. It was the need to try and fix everything. It was a need to try and put together a family that was gone. It was a need to try and keep everything together, even as everything was coming apart and breaking.

It was a want to be able to repair what was broken.

But some things are simply beyond repair.

-------

“Papai! Wait! Please!”

The moment those pleading words rang out, there wasn’t a speaker present that couldn’t help the small wince. How could there not be when those three words were filled with so much pain, a plea that would lead to nothing, a desperate thing like a wounded wolf, howling for the pack that was abandoning it.

Because in a way, that is what this was. An abandonment, but one that all parties involved, save for one, had agreed upon.

Tremolo himself had been the first to speak up about leaving when his mind felt clearer. It had been a thought he had grasped upon in the swirl of babbling thoughts he constantly had to sort through. It was like his mind was a radio, rapidly moving through the channels and through the static and noise, words were thrown out that he grasped onto, like he was hunting for the words of ghosts that were once such clear thoughts.

There was so much pain in his head, and not just the migraines that tore at the back of his mind from time to time. There were so many memories. Faces he would never see again. People he loved that were gone like a void that was only growing larger and above all, there was a titan sized ball of static, melded around anger, hate, love, sadness, grief, guilt, and all the spectrum of human emotion that were experienced all at once so strongly in a way his mind couldn’t sort out. There weren’t words yet created to explain it all and his own constantly failed him, lost in the babble of voices that talked in panicked circles.

All Tremolo knew was those three words brought too many emotions to bare and he was doing his best to keep his back to the one who spoke.

If he didn’t turn around and kept walking, hearing those three words, Tremolo could pretend it was coming from his adopted son again. That pipsqueak of a speakerman that tripped over his own two feet and had all the grace of a two legged capybara rolling about in the mud. His son, so full of spirit, never keeping down for long despite the hard training Tremolo put him through.

How he had grown into a confident fighter, loud and boisterous, and willing to do what it took for victory. He walked with confidence, no longer that shy, runt of a speaker. Still that son that at times needed those father-son talks to lift spirits and sort out the world. How many had Tremolo been the one to sort things out and explain the world?

Once he had been able to sort out everything. Now his mind was crackling, broken, and unable to focused, but some clear thought murmured he couldn’t look back.

If he kept walking and didn’t look, it was his son pleading for him to come back. Just his most dear adopted son.

Tremolo could feel the slight tremor under his feet as something heavy landed on the ground close behind him, the thunder of a large form that sent panic right through his mind, ringing in his ears, and the sound of gunfire and explosions and screams started to build up in the static. The screams and noise was growing louder and louder until it was like a force reached inside him, wrenching his head to look. That he had to turn around now, just to make it all stop.

Fear gripped him, along with rage. The cognitive dissonance that had settled in his mind stared at the titan Speakerman who had knelt down, trying to look less intimidating, but all Tremolo saw was red. Red like blood. Red like death.

And this thing, this weapon, this monster spoke with the voice of his son.

“Don’t leave, not like this. Please, I ...I can fix this, I promise. What I did, I can-”

“Tania, Valencio, Bricker, Abi,”

Tremolo spat the names out, feeling that anger and grief burning up in his core and out through his speakers in a vicious snarl.

“Henson, Urie, Avonte, Primerose, Kirina,”

His hands clenched tight as he turned to face the Titan, “Nate, Minimi, Fransceso, Liam!”

Tremolo pointed at the Titan Speakerman, watching the massive speaker flinch back, “How are you going to fix all of them, all the family you killed!? How are you going to fix death, eh arma do diabo!?”

Those words might as well been loaded bullets for how they had the titan sitting back on his heals like a child being yelled at by a parent. The massive titan trembled, head tilted to the ground and a thrum was in the speaker system. A low thrumming sound of distress as he shook his head.

“I..I can’t, but I can do better. I won’t let it happen again. No one else-”

“Just like you were suppose to protect your family! No, murderers do not deserve family! Outcast! Exile! A shame upon everything! I would spit on you, strip you of everything, you Diabol! I will not listen to your words! I know the truth!”

He didn’t know any truths. All the thoughts in his head ran in panicked circles, screaming and shouting about the monstrosity before him. It was not his son. It was a weapon. A monster. Something built that no longer could feel like before. Terrible. The thing could probably read his thoughts and try to sway him. Using words to-

“You’ll kill us all. You’ll lead us right into the jaws of death. Sacrifice all of us! No one listens that you are the harbinger of our doom! Nothing but death! Nothing else! Hands that only destroy now, unable to create! Monster! Someone...someone has to kill the monster! Someone-”

Tremolo jumped as a hand came down on his shoulder and he looked up sharply at Mr. Biggs. The large cameraman just tilted his head before firmly turning Tremolo around to push him gently towards the vehicle, “We need to go now, I think at least,”

Biggs looked back at the titan that knelt there, wordless, trembling, that static in his speakers growing louder, choked out, as if they were breaking. The large speakerman looked as if he would say something, but didn’t. Tremolo hated when he could tell his life partner was not speaking up and even worse that Biggs held his silence for his benefit.

His life partner still could read his moods, even if they had grown more erratic and turbulent inside his own head as the voices of that skipping radio of his thoughts spat out random phrases and words, mixed with a deep-seated terror that dominated everything now.

“Can we at least say goodbye properly?” the question was a weak one, stuttered out and small from the Titan, head listed a bit, “Can we at least do that? Just once more?”

If he didn’t turn around, it was his son speaking to him.

That rapscallion youth who ran headfirst into trouble but always held a smile in his laugh. That damn fool. His most precious son. The son he always wanted and never had the chance to have. How proud of him he was. The moment his son defeated him in a training session and laid him out flat on his back and the stuttered apologies of horror expecting Tremolo to be upset.

How could he be upset to have his student surpass him though? He had laughed.

How could he ever hate his most precious son?

Because he was dead, the voices in his head whispered fearfully. He was dead and this thing mimicked him. Knew all the things to say, didn’t it? Sounded like him, but not him. Its a demon, a weapon, a killer. Given the chance it would kill the rest of his family if he put his back to it-

Tremolo struggled, wanting to turn around but Biggs large hand were firm on his shoulder pushing him along.

“Come on Tremolo. We need to go, “Biggs said quietly.

Yet Tremolo struggled, trying to twist away, wanting to face the thing that his thoughts couldn’t comprehend entirely. Everything didn’t match. Monster or son? Loved one or demon? A person or a weapon? Someone who was just as broken as him or a liar?

“I buried my son long ago! No! I will say nothing of a goodbye to a monster!” Tremolo howled, “I know your tricks, fiend! You shame him, using his voice like that! Shut your mouth, charlatan! My son is dead! With the rest of my family! I saw him die! I saw it!”

Frantic were his thoughts as he struggled, wanting to turn around and curse more at the thing, even when it felt like something in him was dying with every word. That part of him lost in all the static crying out not a word of it was true. None of this was true. His son wasn’t dead. He never saw him die even if his delusions tried to create these new memories and ideas and force him to believe them.

A part of him was screaming, trying to claw its way out while other parts were screaming back until it felt like there was a war in his own mind and he was being torn in every direction.

“I’m not dead! I’m right here! And I’m sorry, even though I know no apology will ever be enough for what happen or any excuse won’t bring everyone back!” The voice was angry, cracking with a grief that was hard to understand, “I’m not-”

Tremolo managed to turn around, wild like a beast himself as he looked at the Titan Speakerman. That monster that spoke with his son’s voice, looked like his son with that baby-faced that even being made into a titan couldn’t seem to cure.

That was his son. It wasn’t his son. His son was alive. His son was dead. A monster was trying to steal his memories. Those memories were all they had left. He loved him. He hated him. He wanted to apologize. He wanted that thing to pay. The thoughts swirled and swirled, the static growing louder and faster, spitting out more strings of words that rambled out of him as he wriggled and roared.

“Murderer! All that blood is on your hands and it won’t wash clean! You can’t fix anything! Broken, all of it! The whole family! Gone! You didn’t hear them scream! You didn’t see them dead, blown apart, in pieces, covering everything everything!”

He felt Biggs’s hands more firmly grasp onto him and drag him along as he howled like some animal, trying to chase off some perceived threat, unable to recognize anything in the swell of his own disillusion. Biggs carried him along crushed to his chest, only pausing at the vehicle to turn to someone at the side.

“Take care, Whistle,” the large speakerman murmured, “Please take care of everyone now. I know it is a lot to ask-”

“It’s fine,” Whistle gave a small wave of her hand, “I figured I would have to take up the reigns of this rodeo now that the head rodeo clown is on his way out,”

Tremolo twitched at that, turning to look at the chief engineer. That had been their joke between the two of them all this time, something said in jest, and meant in jest now, although the words were more hollow. The chief engineer was putting on a smile.

Even though she had her head turned towards the titan and that loud, rumbling, like thunder, that prelude a storm about to come. Only this one would be a terrible grief.

That comment though was grounding at least, helping to calm all those horrible screaming voices to a quiet murmuring whisper at the back of his mind as the radio skipped a little slower.

“… this rodeo clown wants to leave now,” Tremolo murmured, going limp as his thoughts settled some, grasping onto those silly little banters in the past that could quiet it all, “Take me out to the clown farm and let me run free and silly in the pastures of my fore bearers,”

Biggs shared a look with Whistle, the latter blowing out a shrill sigh of air, that had the tell tail soft whisper of a whistle sounding, “...take care both of you, alright? I’ll keep things steady on this end. You two just,” she shook her head, “Just get your heads on straight and maybe come back into the saddle when you’re ready loves,”

“We will, uh…” Biggs sighed, “We will see you later,”

“Whistle,” Tremolo murmured, “That one is Whistle,”

The static was still so loud and chattering in his head. His hands gripped at his head, as if that would be something that could silence it. If he could make it stop, then maybe he could articulate everything he really wanted to say. Maybe he could-

“I won’t let anyone get hurt again,” the cracked voice of his son spoke up again, heartbroken, but still that idiot young speaker that thought if he just tried hard enough, he could defy every rule in the book and forge ahead, “I promise you papai! I’ll fight harder if that is what it takes! I’ll do everything it takes to keep everyone safe from now on! I’ll make you proud again, okay!? Next time we see each other, I’ll be someone you can be proud of again, even if you don’t forgive me!”

Tremolo clutched his head harder, fingers digging along the scars.

How could he say he was proud of him?

How could he say he was guilty?

How could he say-

“There are worms in my head and they are eating their way out,” Tremolo whispered frantically, “Wriggling around. Need to put on some dubstep to crush them all away,”

“We can do that,” Biggs said, gently setting him into the back of the vehicle.

“I promise you, I’ll fix it, even if you say I can’t, I will!”

He couldn’t see anything from where he sat. Tremolo could pretend that was his son yelling out there. He scoffed.

“Idiot filho,” he murmured out like a soft whisper, “You can’t fix this, don’t even try. Just move on and… just move on. Do something with your stupid self, filho,”

Biggs and Whistle were the only one who heard him speak, the former just quietly moving to sit besides him, glancing over as the chief engineer let out a soft sigh, shaking her head, “Take care you two,”

Those were the last words before the door shut with the ringing of something broken, like a speaker that was cracking with a blistering sort of noise. Tremolo let his head fall back, hating how that awful sound, that broken, terrible sound, was mixing with the final farewells of all the other family he had lost so far.

Such a terrible sound.

“Why are all the goodbyes screaming in my head,” Tremolo murmured before sinking down, arms moving up to cross over his head, “Why do they always scream?”

Such a terrible sound his son made, but he couldn’t think straight enough then to register anything at all. Tired. He was just very tired.

In sleep, at least, the static in his mind finally quieted down and he could try and rest. A least for a few blissful moments the world could leave him be.

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

Whistle watched the vehicle leave, but she didn’t linger to watch it cross over the horizon. She was the Chief Engineer and she had her own duties to tend to and she was never one to linger on goodbyes like this.

Especially not with the horrible din the titan was making that promised to break into a full-blown breakdown. Grief was a powerful thing and heart-break from losing family was hard for anyone to take, let alone someone still swimming in guilt from what destruction had been done and lingering effects from having been controlled by a parasite. All of that was a cocktail that promised nothing good if not handled right away. The chief engineer turned, intending on offering some comfort to the titan in her care, only to catch the Titan Speakerman stumbling to his feet, thrusters to take off in a rush. At the very least, it seemed he was going to the hangar to hide away, like a creature crawling into its den to howl.

A sigh whistled out of her as she took off, knowing trouble when she saw it.

The Emergency Medical Cameramen had already told her a dozen times that units that were rescued from parasites often had a host of lingering issues from intense trauma and the overwhelming guilt that could trigger extreme bouts of depression. Any sense of losing control on their situation could trigger intense episodes and there had been serious concerns of how that would play out in a titan as the Titan Speakerman’s symptoms had started to grow worse by the day, especially with all the added trauma of seeing a loved one fall into a terrible mental state.

Added to that, the therapist had stated there were signs of growing paranoia about how other speakers saw him, not quiet to the level of delusions, but a marked concern that his own faction was shunning him. Social problems were creeping up along with a growing sense of needing to “fix” everything that led to irrational decisions that were impulsive.

Adding abandonment of important family figures and seeing someone loved turning into someone they weren’t, well, that was just he cherry on the pile of cow droppings for this whole thing Whistle was doing her best to ride out.

Whistle entered the hangar and was greeted by the sound of bangs and metal screeching against metal. The engineers present were silent and clearly unsure of what to do. Most were trained to help build and maintain a titan, not act therapist to someone who was clearly spiraling and entering a worrisome outburst. The chief engineer felt her core sink just at the sight before her.

The Titan Speakerman was letting out choked sounds, peaking his volume as he banged his head into the wall with some worrisome force, one hand clawing at the side of one speaker with clear intentions of causing some sort of damage. There was a few sparks, a yowl of pain and pause only for the fingers to dig right back like the Titan was set on tearing himself apart and banging his head into the wall. Whistle put her hands on her hips, coming over and letting out a sharp, loud whistle, “Oi! Don’t go undoing all the repairs I just did!”

The words seemed to snap the titan to his senses some, at least to stop the banging of his head, although he just leaned against the wall, looking down at her like some wounded, frightened animal, trembling and still crackling in his grief in those speakers like a constant feedback loop that wouldn’t abate.

“I don’t...I don’t want to do this anymore,” He whispered, “I don’t want to be a titan. I want to go back. I don’t want- I’m- I’m really just a monster now. Murdering, stupid, horrible-!”

And the banging resumed with a loud shriek that was peaking the sound again in the hangar. Whistle sighed, moving to hop up to get on the titan’s back, patting along his shoulders as best as she could.

“Come on big guy, shhh. Head banging isn’t permitted in the hangar unless we are playing some mad heavy metal rock, you know that,” Whistle said, voice raised to be heard, “How about some floor time yeah? Good old floor time, just me and you,”

There was a strangled crackle in the speakers, but the titan relented as he slid slowly down until he was face down on the floor, sprawled out like he truly was dying of a broken core. Whistle sighed, settling down to sit in the titan’s back, continue to pat where she could, just to let the massive speakerman know she was still there, as any chief engineer would be.

“There we go, there we go. Settle right on down like a tired bull in the pastures. Just you, me, and the non-judgmental ground,”

“I killed him didn’t I? I killed my own father. I did this to him. And to Biggs. And- and-!” another choked sound, the sound of metal screeching as fingers curled against the metal of the hanger, no doubt going to leave marks, “I deserve to be scrapped! I’m a shame, a fucking-”

Whistle had to get back to her feet to avoid falling off the Titan as he started to just bang his head on the floor, not with the same force as before, but it was still a worrisome trend that he was developing of being distressed and going right to finding something to bang his head off of. Apparently though that was common among those who were victims of parasites. A reaction to be under the control was to want to try and pry it off, leading to desperate codes to bang the head against surfaces that didn’t manifest until the control relented.

Such violent shows of self-destruction were normal, if horrible to watch and try to prevent.

“How about we wait for the therapist to get here and you can tell them all about how you feel?” Whistle said, hopping down, moving around so she could get in front of the titan’s face, giving a pat along the side of the head.

“None of the other titans have therapist,” the titan speakerman groaned, “Because they aren’t fuck ups like me! I’m the weak one! The stupid, murderous, can’t fight off a damn parasite-!”

“Oi! Who cares about the other titans! They got their own issues and problems and giving people the runaround! Optical says Titan Cameraman is like an unruly damn yearling stallion, jumping the fence to go prance about in the world like an idiot and don’t get me started on the Titan TV-man! Parallax made a real monster stroking his ego like he did,” Whistle said with a huff, hands on her hips, “If you don’t think you are good enough, then guess I’m a hack of an engineer since I put you together, eh?”

The titan let out a low warble of a noise, turning his head towards Whistle then, “No, you’re the best engineer-”

“And if I’m the best engineer, then what does that make you?”

“The best titan…?”

“There we go. Now you are finally starting to talk some sense again,” Whistle moved to start with more pats, using both hands to help sooth the distraught titan, “It is okay to have some thoughts that ain’t the brightest around. Always storms to get through now and then, and things can hurt a lot, but you still got me and the engineer team,”

The Titan Speakerman let out a warble, head thunking to the ground, but he let it rest there now, curling up a bit with a noticeable list of the head to keep the back of his neck away from sight, “...I miss everyone,”

“I do too,”

“And its my fault-”

“No one’s fault about the parasite love,”

“Could have been stronger. Could have-”

“Shhh, let’s not talk about that right now. Save it for when the therapist gets here. They are on their way and then you and them can sit and let all of that out,” Whistle murmured, “Until then, how about you do me a solid favor?”

“Favor?”

Whistle nodded as he leaned up against the titan, “When I get a mite down like this, longing for the greener pastures, reckon those are times when I’m needing some good old music, yeah?”

“I guess,”

“You still got that playlist I shared with you? The one that is only supposed to be played during emergencies?” Whistle asked.

“The one that is made up entirely of stupid meme songs?” the titan speakerman murmured.

Whistle chuckled, “That’s the one. Think you can focus up enough to play that until the therapist gets here, or are you too soggy to peel yourself off the floor?”

The Titan Speakerman let out a huff that could have been a laugh, voice still small as he slowly sat up, “I’m not soggy,”

“You’re looking flatter and wetter than a roadkilled armadillo in a rainstorm,” Whistle said with a small kick to his side, “Sadder than a cowboy who’s horse kicked him square in the nuts and ran off with his wife,”

She hopped up into the titan’s hand when it was offered, letting him lift her up as he rose to his feet, shuffling back into the hangar seat proper. Calmed down some, but Whistle wasn’t so foolish as to think the worse was over. Outbursts like this came in waves, sometimes just the shouting and self-hate, sometimes as violent as this one with the self harm and shrieking. The EMCs had said this would probably go on for a long while.

Therapy was the best medicine for now and just getting the titan talking through everything jumbled up inside from being out of his mind, the significant personal losses, the paranoia, the spats of delusions. In a way, it almost felt like he had taken on a part of Tremolo’s behavior as his own, like a dumb father like son parody gone wrong.

“How about we get some music going now,” Whistle said as the titan lifted her back to her hangar station.

“Which song do I even start on?”

Whistle paused before chuckling as she started to sort the things on her desk, “How about some Rick Ashley. This is the one time I’ll let you rick-roll me and not smack you over the head with the largest wrench I can find, yeah?”

That earned a quiet laugh from the titan as he slumped back, looking for all the world, tired as hell, “All right,”

Whistle gave a hum as the dulcet tones of Rick Ashley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” came over the speakers, drowning out those crackles and broken sounds of sadness. It was a good distraction for everyone. Things were broken, maybe beyond repair, but that just meant picking up the pieces and trying to see what could be made of what’s left.

At least that was what the engineer in her stubbornly held onto.

If it couldn’t be fixed, then they were just going to have to rebuild it from the grounds up with what they had and there was nothing more to it.

Just they all needed the time to figure out what they were working with and what the blueprints were.

[inkykeiji]

omgomg clari about that ask of sukuna phisically hurting reader how do you think is aftercare after putting her through all that pain? if there’s any haha

ooooh anon this is SUCH a good question!! well first, i think if sukuna ‘fell in love’ with you (aka became extremely possessive and obsessive with you, utterly infatuated with you, completely addicted to you, the closest he can come to ‘true’ love) he would be unbelievably thorough with you. yes, he loves hurting you, loves the way your facial features wring up into the cutest little wince, loves the way his name splinters into the sweetest little yelps in your throat, loves the way you sob and sniffle and stutter when he screws his face into mock concern, lips jutted out in an exaggerated pout and forehead wrinkled with false worry as he coos out aw, sweetheart, did that hurt? but at the end of the day, you’re still his. you’re still his to take care of, his to fix, his to make better. and despite how sadistic and malicious he is, right down to the very marrow of his bones, right down to the gaping black pit where his soul should be, he still takes meticulously good care of his things. 

as such, he always mends those of his things that he breaks, and he does so with a rigorous sort of fastidiousness. he’s damn near methodical with it, and it would feel cold and sterile if not for his quiet murmurs as shockingly gentle fingers, claws retracted, piece you back together, patch you up, put you in the right order again. so good, baby, you’re doing so good for me, he praises, words void of their usual, characteristic tinge of patronization as he snaps those tiny, tiny bones back into place, sets them straight and secures them in a splint.  

and you, you’re so sweet, so soft, so stupidly naive, consistently lulled into some sort of inexplicable sense of safety and security and solace every single time, that it makes it that much more fun to shatter you to absolute bits again, to have you shuddering in his arms or his lap as you wail into his neck and cling to the demon that desecrates you, that destroys you, over and over and over. but it’s all okay, because you know as much as he loves to ruin you so beautifully, to smear your face with spit and sweat and tears, to leave your body mangled and stained and scarred with him—thick gouges from claws down your back and over your ass, imprints of his fangs engraved in your neck, stamps of four handprints encircling your arms and wrists and thighs—Daddy would never break you beyond repair, Daddy will always make it right again, no matter what. 

[weird-homosexual-in-your-area]

“Pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Repeat, pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Assigned technicians, escort pilots in unit B43C1 to docking bay immediately.” 

She was roused from her dream-like state by a blaring siren, louder than anything she remembered. She wasn’t startled, nor did she reflexively cover her ears like she would have done months ago, she just sat up and left her rest bay. A technician, she didn’t have his name memorised- whatever, they all looked the same to her since the conditioning- was at the door, clearly agitated at her for some reason or another. He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her out of the room, toward the docking bay. 

“You know, I had tickets to go out with my mates, evening of that sortie the other day,” he commented, face slightly reddening, grip on her arm tightening. “Tickets to see that Terra-Kadora game- you know the one I’m on about? Of course you don’t, you don’t see that shit now.” 

He suddenly stopped, with a painless jolt to her arm pulling her in front of him. He towered over her, but she felt no fear, more confusion as to what he was getting at. 

“’Course, you didn’t care if we got to see that game, did you? It don’t matter to you that we were stuck in repairs for two full fucking days, fixing your leg after that stupid jump kick trick you pulled,” he muttered. He was clearly unimaginably angry. She didn’t really pay much notice- he didn’t know how good it felt in the cockpit pulling that off. He couldn’t know. The joy of piloting was beyond him. “That was my first scheduled off day for a full month. Can you imagine that? A full month doing nothing but working, and your first day off gets cancelled because some idiotic brain-dead little shitbag felt like looking flashy. Can you imagine that?” 

A dreamy smile fell onto her face. She was imagining it, and it was as close to heaven as she could imagine. 

“What are you fucking smiling at?!”  He pulled her close to him, screeching in pure rage. She reflexively tried to activate her close-range jammers, to fire off an AP volley to disable the attacker, close in for that sweet, sweet kill; but nothing happened- those facilities weren’t available in her flesh-body. She dropped her smile, knowing better than to provoke the anger of the techs- especially ones who work to fix her mech.  

He sighed in exasperation- they were nearing the docking bay, and she’d have to have the helmet on soon. “I’ll be watching you today. If you pull that shit again, we’ll have issues- I managed to convince the highers to let my guys out today instead, and I doubt they’ll be convinced to do it again.”  

He passed her onto another technician, telling him to “put it in the cockpit on B43C1E”, and gave her the pilot’s helmet. She slipped it onto her head, and suddenly, darkness.  

Silence. 

Nothing except the hand of the technician dragging her to her beloved suit. 

She was pushed down a step into the cockpit and harnessed in. She felt several jolts of agony and euphoria, bright light and blackness, screeching sound and empty static, as she was plugged into the neural system. 

Then, the OPH- the oxygenated liquid allowing her flesh-body to breathe in the cockpit- flooded into the heart of the mech. She fought the urge to recoil as it reached her stomach level, the cold seeping down to her reactor- no, her bones. She wasn’t synced with the mech yet, unfortunately, so she had no reactor to keep her warm. 

As the liquid reached her head height, she reflexively held her breath, preparing to drown, but caught herself and exhaled fully. The liquid needed to fully get into her lungs, or the sheer pressure of the liquid around her would crush them. As it made its way down her windpipe, she fought the urge to splutter it up, to get it out of her lungs, and just let it into her body. Her vision filled with stars, red and yellow hues as her brain screamed for air, until suddenly she didn’t need to breathe anymore as the OPH reached her lungs, filling her with ample oxygen. 

Silence again. No sound, no sight, no feeling but the frigid liquid encasing her like a personal prison. Nothing. 

Then, all at once, her senses lit up with the familiar view from the eyes of her true body, one not of flesh and blood but of reinforced titanium and coolant.  She heard the familiar hissing sound of the scaffolding holding the mech retracting, its purpose fulfilled as the body was now inhabited. 

DEPLOY 

She didn’t hear the word, but it popped into her head. One second it wasn’t on her mind, the next it was all she could think of, and she had no choice but to do what she’d been conditioned to on hearing it said. She pushed her rear thrusters to full, leaning forward slightly and engaging the front calf thrusters to balance her out, so as to achieve the best speed she could- the system loved it when she did that, and so did she, as an overpowering wave of dopamine flooded her system as the reward drive kicked in for her compliance. Her flesh-body shook in response, but her true body, her gleaming body of steel, remained unwavering in its flight. 

She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but at some point in her flight she just knew what she was being sent out for. A few hundred kilometers away from the outpost at which she made her residence, 7 enemy mechs had been spotted making their way toward a crucial state power station. They were new mechs- analysis put the suits themselves at about a week old, so the pilots wouldn’t have much experience. Her unit could easily deal with them- 16 pilots with a few months’ worth of experience versus 7 with a couple of days? Walk in the park- the only real challenge was doing it cleanly enough for the reward drive to deem them worthy, but at this point even that was easy. 

About 15 minutes after her troop set out, they began to see the enemy mechs across the horizon. They were hulking things- 25 meters tall on average (about 5 meters taller than her), armour-piercing round emplacements on each shoulder, with laser arrays along the ribs of the machine. And that was only the armaments the mechs had that she could immediately see- for all she knew, there could be thousands of rocket pods stored in those four arms, there could be EMP generators hiding in that disfigured face, there could be blades that could cut through her sleek, metallic form like butter hiding in those legs. Those mechs were everything she’d been taught to hate, to fear, to want gone. 

For even a thousand infantry troops, dealing with just one of these would be suicide. For her mech troop? 10 minutes, maybe just 5. 

Mechs 1 through 7 began the assault, opening fire with rocket pods to slow down the bulkier four-armed monsters. They took several hits, clearly not expecting any opposition, the fools that they were. They snapped around, frantically shooting off AP rounds to try and slow down the oncoming storm, but not one shot met its mark, all being dodged by her unit, giving each a little hint of dopamine. God, the dopamine was incredible in piloting. Like nothing else in her life before the program, or what little she remembered of it, or during the program. Those techs couldn’t ever begin to understand how good it felt- she could take whatever “issues” they’d give her if it meant she’d get just a fraction of the euphoria she was going to experience over the course of the sortie. 

As the troop closed in, the enemy mechs grew increasingly desperate. They started firing off all-too-predictable laser arrays, each being swiftly dodged by all the mechs, and releasing some hidden rockets from a compartments in their arms, which she just knew were going to be there. She got another hit of dopamine from that- so fucking good- that was quickly cut short by the shared pain she felt over the comms relay, that was honestly more like a thought-sharing system, from several of the rockets finding their mark on number 5. 

 Hatred newly refueled, she boosted her thrusters into overdrive and sped over to the enemies, a cheetah running after a gazelle. She activated her elbow thrusters and drove her fist clean through one of the enemy mechs’ chestplate, grabbing the fusion reactor within and tearing it out, crushing the still-beating “heart” of the machine in her bare hands, and the dopamine was unlike anything else she’d experienced. A clean reactor kill always was- her system was flooded with pure satisfaction, and her flesh body shivered in reflexive response. The unresponsive shell of her kill keeled over, a deafening crash resounding across the barren wasteland as it hit the floor. 

 She noticed an enemy mech behind her through some optical data from mech 3, and span around on her left leg, whipping out her right with a thruster-boosted roundhouse kick that cleaved the foe in two with relative ease. Another rush of euphoria, slightly less satisfying than the last due to the damage she caused to her leg in the process of the manoeuvre, but still significant enough to make “her” body tense up in the cockpit. 

With the new injury to her leg, fighting at the front line was too much of a risk, even though it would net her so much more reward, so she reluctantly opted to retreat to the backline consisting still of mechs 1 through 7, now also with her mech E, to provide supporting fire for the front liners. They fought with grace and beauty, dodging the more unwieldy days-old mechs’ blows like flies dodging weak attempts at swatting, before countering with devestating punches and kicks that caved in heads, carved off limbs, detonated ammo reserves, each hit only adding to the sheer rush of dopamine they all felt. Her and the other 7’s fire was extremely helpful, provided much-needed openings on the mechs that were far more occupied prolonging their own survival than dealing with the far more apt attackers. 

After a couple more minutes of trading blows, only one enemy remained, its four-armed form glistening in the harsh sunlight like the angel of Death it so desperately wanted to be. Strangely, it didn’t attempt a retreat to save itself, or to fight back, or anything of the sort, it just fell to its knees, like it was accepting its fate. Strange. Why would it do tha- 

Suddenly, it clicked to her. It was overloading its fusion core. It’d result in a massive nuclear explosion destroying everything in a... 14 kilometer radius- just about leaving the power plant safe, thank God. Since she knew it, all the other pilots immediately did too thanks to the thought-sharing process. Everyone frantically turned away, boosting thrusters into overdrive to get as much distance between them and the explosion that was about to destroy everything near it- including them if they weren’t fast enough. 

After two minutes of flying, panic overtaking her and every other pilot in the troop, an all-encompassing blast rang out from the battlefield they were at minutes ago. They were pushed a good 50 meters back by the shockwave, all maintaining balance thanks to their experience with this sort of explosion. Their heads were searing from the sheer pain of the soundwave, everything within 14 kilometers of the mech was reduced to ruins, but at least they were alive.  

Pilot B ran a quick diagnostic check to ensure no major damage had been done to any of them- all that returned was E’s leg (the front panels of which had completely shattered with her second kill), some mild overheating in the backs of all of them except 1, 4, 9 and A which could weaken the armour if left unchecked, and several breached armour plates on 5’s front from the rocket salvo they endured. Still, she’d been on missions that had ended far worse for her troop. 

RECALL 

Again, she didn’t hear the command as much as it became her thoughts, and as soon as it did, she reflexively began flying back to the base. She allowed herself to blank out on the way- if there were no briefings she’d receive, no diagnostics to run, no enemies to fight, she didn’t need sit around in a boring flight back for however long it’d take. 

***** 

Some time passed- she wasn’t sure how much- and her home base came into view over the horizon, a gleaming silver compound contrasting against the blood-stained sand and bright blue sky. She slowed down to walking pace (still many times faster than her pace in her flesh-body) and walked through the bay doors, alongside the rest of her troop. They each slotted into their respective docking bays, and she felt the scaffolding swing onto her, holding her down for the extraction process. She wanted to fight it, needed to stay in her true body, had to stop them tearing her out, but it was useless fighting back, as several anti-mech infantry units were stationed on the various gantries that lined the room like capillaries, weapons trained on each of them, waiting only for the slightest deviation from procedure to open fire. Despite every joint in her body, every cell of her brain that still housed what little remained of her crying out to stop it, she allowed the scaffolding to lock around her. She allowed the piping to drain the OPH from the cockpit. She allowed the doors to be levered open. 

She allowed herself to be torn from her true body in a jolt of pure, unfiltered agony, as the neural ports disconnected from her spinal cord. 

Her brain took a while to recover from the overuse in the mech, and even longer to recover from the sheer shock of the disconnection, so when she next noticed that she still existed, she was being carried by a technician to the debriefing room. She twitched slightly, trying to run diagnostics to ensure she was unharmed- but that facility wasn’t available in her flesh-body. 

“Oh, you’re awake now,” came the voice of the man who was carrying her. She noted it was the same as her earlier assailant, the one who’d warned her about breaking anything- shit, she’d broken the leg, hadn’t she? She tensed up, expecting the technician to break out into a shout, but he laughed softly, almost affectionately. “While you’re here, I may as well just say well done on the mission before the briefing. You did really good, honestly- you took a quarter of them down yourself! That spin-kick was also really well done; I’m kinda shocked.” She relaxed, realising he wasn’t yet aware of the damage she’d done. She knew she was going to suffer when he found out, but that was in the future.  

The technician gently placed her down onto the ground, and she walked alongside him. Several times, she nearly fell over when she had to turn, expecting her thrusters to kick in when she willed them to, but they remained in the docking bay on her true body, not on... this body. They walked in comfortable silence, as she checked every corner, half expecting an enemy mech to ambush her around it, then catching herself and looking ahead, focused on where she was going. 

After a couple of minutes walking, they reached the briefing room, and they went in their separate entrances. The technician went into the main door of the room, into the conference room itself where the details of the mission would be relayed to the staff as a whole by the Base Director, the woman who ran the site. She went in through the back door of the room to behind the stage, alongside the other 15 pilots who were on the mission, catching a glimpse of a pale, unemotive face that wasn’t truly hers in the reflection of the stainless steel door. They were also there for the briefing, to pick up any details they’d missed during the mission, but couldn’t be allowed in the crowd, with their dead eyes and identical gaits being deemed too unsettling for the public to see. 

The booming, yet comforting voice of the site director came over the microphone urging the crowd to quiet down, an order they all quickly obeyed. She then continued; “As you may know, pilot unit B43C1 were deployed into the field a few hours ago. Our sensors picked up a strike team of Forcemesh mechs approaching Power Plant Delta- one of the most crucial plants here on Kadora, for those who make their residence somewhere else. Unit B43C1 was deployed to dispatch of them- if they made it to the plant and were allowed free reign, the consequences would have been disastrous.” 

The crowd murmured in shock- presumably some images of an example of the possible devestation were being displayed on the screen for the audience. There was no screen behind the stage- it would have cost very little to install one, but there was no need for the pilots to experience the briefing (“they’re not human anymore, they wouldn’t get the intricacies,” the Director had said on the topic)- but it didn’t take being shown to know what was being shown.  

“Fortunately, the brave pilots of Unit B43C1 arrived just in time to make quick work of the threat. We have here some footage captured from Mech E’s sensory array of the scene.” The crowd erupted into cheers- likely as her textbook reactor kill was shown on screen. God, that was incredible. “Incredible work from the mech, right?”  

“So, the gains of this mission have been discussed, but now we must talk of the costs. Mech 5’s chest was breached by a rocket salvo, so I’ll need technician section 5 on that tonight. All of the mechs except A, 9, 4 and 1 have had some overheating to their backs from that massive blast the final enemy released, so I’ll need the corresponding teams to check on those at some point in the coming week- it's not the most urgent, but it being done as soon as possible is needed for the continued defence of Kadora. Finally, mech E shattered a couple of the armour plates on its right leg, and the joints need checking too, so section E, you’re on that tonight.” 

She heard some commotion, presumably from section E, after that was announced, with the director chiding them for their childish response. “It’s got to be done, and it’s got to be done today. Sorry, you lot. With that, this meeting is adjourned. Glory to Stormcell!” 

A resounding chorus of the whole room echoing her cry of glory, then footfalls and idle chatter as the crowd filtered out of the room. As per procedure, the Lead Technician of each sector came to the backstage area to escort the pilots back to their assigned rest bays. Her escorter was red in the face, and grabbed her arm with a ferocity that nearly matched that of the rest of her troop. 

They walked in silence, with him almost dragging her along when she failed at rounding corners. When they eventually reached the resting bay block, though, he tugged her arm to drag her into the left turn to the technician dormitories instead of her rest bay. Fuck. She should’ve known this was coming. She should’ve just not broken her leg. It wasn’t necessarily going to hurt- her sensitivity to pain had been annihilated in the conditioning process, as had many other parts of her personality that she missed to varying degrees- but she wouldn’t be in a state in which she could pilot for days. 

As she was dragged into the technicians’ dormitory, she saw the technician who dragged her in- the same one who’d been interacting with her all day, she realised- raise his fist in a punch, and she tried to activate her close range jammers- but they were on her true body, not her flesh-form. As the punch landed, she fell to the floor, and everything went dark. 

***** 

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came to, but when she was she wasn’t in the grimy, dark dormitories but the unsettlingly clean medical bay, with its flourescent lighting and too-polished walls and floors. She saw a figure sitting on the side of the bed she’d been put on, not one she recognised but not one she viewed as a “stranger”, per se. 

“Sam, it’s awake. Get in here, you’re the one with the damage report,” came the voice of the figure. The voice was bored, like it’d been sitting there for hours and this was the first thing worth his time that had happened. Then, another figure came in. She couldn’t tell the difference between the two- their medical scrubs were identical. 

“Right, E, so you fell off a gantry apparently- side note, pilots seem to have horrible balance on days they damaged their mechs, but that’s just an observation- and ended up with a concussion, extreme bruising pretty much all over you, but luckily for you, no broken bones. Good on you, you ‘landed’ well.” She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding at that- at least she could get back to piloting fairly soon. 

 “You’re staying on rest for a day or 2 while you recover, but after that you should be good to go back in the field after that. Also, your technicians asked me to pass on a message to you when they found you- ‘be more careful, you braindead piece of shit.’ I’m sure they’re lovely people to be around. Anyway, that’s all, so… yeah.” 

He stood there in arkward silence for a few seconds, before he and the other figure walked out of the room, leaving only her, the hum of the lighting, and a reflection that wasn’t hers in the polished, shining ceiling. 

She could have gotten off worse, at least. 

[ask-nurse-curly]

..You remind me of him. It makes sense. You're another Curly. Why wouldn't you remind me of him? It just... hurts. I love knowing I can talk to you, but it hurts, too, when I look at your messages, and see only him. I'm trying not to. I'm trying to be better, for him, for you, and for me.)

I tried doing what I planned on doing. What I'd told you earlier. Taking longer shifts, eating less rations so that the others could have more - so that maybe, just maybe, they'd place less of the blame on me, because I'm quietly trying to fix it - sleeping less, too. Key word, tried. 

At least, for the sleeping part. The others held an 'intervention' for me for that - whatever the fuck that means - after the old man had to drag my ass out of the cockpit. Because I fell asleep trying to repair a panel on one of the controls, which had sparking electricity for weeks- and was still sparking electricity.

…A fucking panel! Open, ready to fry good ol' Captain Jimmy to bits! Ready to be served! How could I be so foolish as to let them see that weakness? Let them know that their captain, that at any moment, he could be ripe for the picking of the damn reaper?! Because he couldn't handle just a few days of no dreamland? 

..Anyway, it doesn't matter now. I took their advice. Slept a bit more. But from now on, that's never going to happen again. Not if I can do something about it.  SG

I'm sorry that my messages make it worse for you. I'd like to say that he would be telling you the same things I do, but I...have no way of knowing that, huh? I'd never...

...But I see the rest of the crew is on the same page. Good. Don't get fried, it's not...it wouldn't be worth it, believe me.

Jim, I'm sorry that I have to ask, but I do have to. I can't-- I wouldn't live with myself otherwise, if I had suspected-- not that I have reasons to suspect, not beyond you being him, but if I did suspect and said nothing again--

You and Anya. Tell me you...didn't do anything. To her.

[bonobonoyaatheart]

Punching bag? - Jeon Jungkook

Summary: You care and worry for Jungkook? In return, you feel like his emotional punching bag, despite of his intentions being different.

Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/comfort

Pairing: Jungkook x GN reader

"I am so done, Jungkook. Don't you understand? Have I been waiting for you all day just to receive cold and distant replies? Just to hear that I'm being irritating because I care for you? Do you think I'm your punching bag?" You were practically screaming at this point.

Jungkook turned away from you. He hated arguing with you. He was scared that fighting would only make things worse. What if he said things that hurt you even more? "Don't run away! Come here and talk to me, I need answers. Jungkook!!" You tried to grab his arm, but Jungkook avoided you as he headed to your shared bedroom.

Jungkook sighed as he collapsed onto the bed. The whole week had been incredibly stressful at work. He was slowly losing his mind with the workload. He knew he was wrong. He had to treat you better, but he was failing to act on these thoughts.

He heard you entering the room. He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. He heard you mumbling to yourself. "I hate all this. I don't understand why he's acting this way. He's clearly being a jerk. I don't deserve the way he's been treating me." You just pulled the blanket over your head and let yourself drift off to sleep.

A fear was slowly consuming Jungkook's mind. What if you left him? What if you were disappointed with him and started hating him beyond repair? He fell asleep with all these thoughts on his mind.

You were still awake, staring at the wall with your back facing Jungkook. You just couldn't fall asleep after the argument you had. You felt Jungkook moving too much in bed. You turned to find him curled up, and you were quickly alarmed. You sat up and called to him.

"Kook? Hey, are you asleep?" You heard his soft sobs. He was shivering. "Kook, wake up. I'm here." You looked at his tear-streaked face. He slowly opened his eyes, just to let more tears roll down. He suddenly clung to you. "I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry. Please don't go anywhere," he buried his head in your lap.

"It's ok, I'm here, Kook. Can you tell me what happened? Did you have a nightmare?" You caressed his soft hair. Yes, you were still mad from last night. But right now you had to put that aside and focus on him.

Jungkook looked at you with those glassy eyes and nodded. "I saw us arguing again, and I was being a coward and running away yet again. You were very angry, and you realized I'm not worth your love anymore, and you decided to break up and left me.” Some more tears rolled down his cheeks. ”Please forgive me, please, please don't go anywhere. I know I haven't done anything to deserve you. I was being a jerk. But I need you.”

You wiped his tears with your thumb and looked into his eyes. Fear was visible in his dark brown orbs. ”It's ok, Kookie, I'm gonna be here with you. I won't leave you ever. We can fix this, you know. I hope you understand how much I care for you. Your being distant only worries me more.”

”But I trust you, I know you get frustrated. But from now on, share your worries and frustrations with me instead of taking them out on me like you've been doing for the whole last week.”

”Yes, I am so sorry,” he said, snuggling into your chest. ”Please be here, I can't do without you.” You wrapped him securely in your arms. ”I'll be there for you, baby. We've both been through thick and thin, so everything will be fine. This is just a small thing that we can fix together.”

Jungkook breathed softly in your embrace, soon falling asleep. You were going to make this right. Your love was worth fighting for. You were worth fighting for. He was worth fighting for.

These small cracks in your relationship were just tiny rocks and stones on the road of your wonderful love life. Because at the end of the day, it was your love that was going to win.

[lady-amethyst18]

“We really should focus on fixing the heating and hot water,” Bruce said.

“With winter coming early this year, I agree,” said Cal.

But if only things were that easy.

Bruce began working on the heater, and as he was doing so, the others heard a clanking sound as something fell out of where Bruce was working. “What's that?” Cass asked curiously.

“Um... I think we might have a problem,” Haoyu said as he picked up the item.

“Let me see that,” Eis requested gently. He examined it before sighing. “Yup, he's right. I think this is beyond repair.”

“Now, hold on. I believe I can fix it,” Bruce said as he turned to see what it was. “What is it?”

“It's a gas valve,” Eis said. “They're really expensive to replace.”

“How expensive are we talking?” Fiona asked.

“A few hundred,” Cal said, as he knew even small parts could be expensive.

“Let me get in touch with my plumber friends and see if they can help us,” Eis said. “The freezing water will make repairs harder with it getting colder.”

Balan bit his lip; the bad news worried him. Iben and Emma gave him a comforting hug. Attilio saw this and felt sympathy for Balan, seeing the bad news affected him.

Eis finished the call and shook his head. “My buddies, unfortunately, can only schedule repairs here to a week from now,” he said.

“Along with getting a new gas valve, the labor will be expensive too,” Cal said. “Not sure what else we can do though.”

“Maybe I can repair the valve on my own,” Bruce said. “Shouldn't be too hard. And it won't cost a penny from me.”

“Bruce, I'm afraid it's impossible to fix a gas valve because if you did do that and it failed again, it would put everyone at risk,” Eis said.

“I don't want that to happen,” Balan said, the thought of his friends' lives being at risk horrifying him.

“Let me see it,” Bruce said. “I can fix it.”

“It's not possible,” Eis said as both men started to argue, which made Balan nervous. Emma noticed and held his hand to help him calm down.

Cal stepped up to be the mediator between the two men. “Bruce, I don't doubt you can fix many things, but Eis is right. It's best not to risk the gas valve getting damaged again or the repair failing.”

Leo and the other kids looked at each others. “Do you think we could raise the money in such little time?” Yuri asked.

“I doubt it,” Cass said, her voice soft. “With winter coming around, everyone will start holiday shopping soon.”

“She's right,” Leo said.

“Even if we did all sorts of odd jobs, like raking yards or dog walking?” Haoyu asked.

“Even with all that, we wouldn't be able to raise the money in time,” Emma said gently. “Maybe about half if we're lucky, but not the whole thing.”

“What about our previous idea?" Iben said. “We could all pitch in after work?”

“That wouldn't be a bad idea,” Lucy said. “Surely, if we can pool enough together, it'll be enough.”

“Why don't we count it up tomorrow and see?” Jose suggested.

Everyone left feeling a bit hopeful.

The next day, though, even with everyone pitching in what they could, it was far from allowing them to afford a plumbing bill. “Oh, dear,” Iben said. “I was hoping my suggestion would work.”

“It was a good suggestion, Iben,” Sana said comfortingly.

Attilio noticed the air began to feel chilly. “It's getting colder in here,” he said in worry.

“There's got to be another way,” Fiona said.

The kids looked at each other, thinking the same thing before looking more discouraged. They couldn't ask their parents to pitch in because of bills. And with Balan's poor reputation, who would believe them that the money was for a good cause unless they could prove it?

Emma looked up to see Balan, distraught at the thought of not getting the theater ready in time. She went and petted his hand. “Balan, my offer of you staying with me and my mom still stands, okay?” She said, squeezing his hand in comfort.

He looked at her and smiled sadly. “You kids and the others have hearts of gold,” he said before taking a deep breath. “Alright,” he continued, reluctantly agreeing. “If it comes down to that, then I'll accept that offer, but only then.”

She nodded understandingly while the others tried to come up with more ideas to do what they could before winter fully set in.

So here's the context

Winter is fast approaching. And the theater is far from prepared for it. The heat isn't going and the gas valve fell completely off. It's too dangerous for someone who is not a proffessional to do such a repair.

But of course, the gang tries to pull enough funds together to see if they can make it before the freeze. Sadly, that's not an option. The freeze is coming and time is running out. Will Balan and the others manage to get out of this together?

This is my Lonesome Maestro AU. When Balan's first show was a disaster, and everyone left him. He's become very lonely and sad due to no one being around. Until Leo and Emma showed up and try to change his life for the better.

[jasontoddenthusiastt]

BFTC isn’t really a case of terrible characterization for Jason so much as it was a terrible case of victim blaming. Like yeah, some of the things Jason did were a bit extreme compared to his “better” appearances, but that’s nothing new and pretty much true of many stories that aren’t utrh or lost days. The bad parts are are also definitely exaggerated by fans.

The story isn’t centered on Jason. Of course every other character’s description of Jason would be knee-jerk dismissive and misunderstanding, since (again) the intention was to make Jason out to be the cartoony bad guy villain. But if you look past the layers of grime they added, the bare bones of his characterization are not entirely incorrect. It’s a biased story in which their intended criticisms of Jason’s morals often fell short, so to compensate they deliberately cranked up his motivations to be more extreme and unrealistic (but one which, nonetheless got Jason’s overall thoughts and goals relatively consistent with stories that portrayed him accurately).

Yes, him shooting Damian was out of character, but granted we’re all in agreement that it was a true case of “bad writing decision”, I don’t think it’s hard to look past. The only other bit people probably complain about (which felt iffy at worst) was him being “a bit enthusiastic” at times in trying to convince Dick to become another lethal Batman (you can just as easily say Jason wouldn’t have been personally invested enough to have acted in the way he did). I don’t care though because he was probably doing it for shits and giggles, and it was funny watching him push their buttons on his spare time while being excellent at his job. Same old ‘none of them deny that he’s effective, they just can’t get behind the killing’ conflict.

Looking past the fact that Jason still had a valid point, the “he’s the bad guy” plot falls apart for other obvious reasons, which happen in the 3rd issue. It’s kind of hard to focus on how much of a bitch Jason’s being when the other characters are written in an infinitely more problematic way (which ends up happening in most “hate Jason” stories). Not only did they heavily imply Jason is a victim of SA, but the way Dick/the batfamily treats Jason about this is … horrible. Arguing that this was a case of character assassination for Bruce and Dick would be more realistic than using this story to claim Jason is a Bad Person™.

Even though Bruce does have a bad track record with his perspective on victims of SA.

Hey. Maybe listen to the living person begging you to turn it off.

Geez. I wonder why he never felt safe enough to confide in Bruce or any of the rest of them. Implying that enduring what he did made him “broken beyond repair”, that he needs to be “fixed”, and saying verbatim, “you are my greatest failure”, not “I failed you greatly”. Then deciding on behalf of Jason that a bunch of people who weren’t involved in what happened to him should all know about this so they can decide what should be done. And everyone agrees with this garbage. Unbelievable.

Aka, any sort of healing he may have tried to accomplish was ruined by you lot. When exactly am I supposed to see that Jason was evil all along.

The story collapses in on itself in the third issue because where Dick is supposed to be at his prime within the arc, he just sort of rambles about how Jason was a shitty victim and then awkwardly shifts to talking about personal growth and coming to accept his own heroic destiny.

I do resent this, but not because “Jason sucks here”. Jason’s “bad portrayal” pales in comparison to the problematic mindsets given to the other characters (namely Dick) which were framed as good-natured intentions and “tough love”. As for people who describe this as “vilifying Jason to prop up Dick” … I don’t really know what to make of that.

[cryingpariah]

“Please! You must know something!”

“There were articles published from the Reverie! You were there! Tell us what you know!”

“The princess can’t be dead! She just can’t be!”

“You can find her can’t you? Do something, we're begging you!”

Alabasta was breaking down and Jackie had no idea how to fix it. The country had effectively lost their entire royal line in one fell swoop and were now at the mercy of the World Government. While the king's death and his supposed killer were published on the front page, the fate of the crown princess hung in the air, its lingering akin to a smoky aftermath. None of the grieving citizens knew how right they were: Nefertari Vivi was alive and mostly well back on the WE NEWS dirigible. Of course no matter how much her bleeding heart twisted she couldn’t tell them the truth, not when a CP0 agent could be lurking around any corner. She didn’t want to lie to them but she didn’t have much of a choice.

She eventually managed to disentangle herself for the sea of limbs and salty tears and found herself at the doors of the royal palace. How many times had she been here? How many times had she talked to the late king, It didn’t feel like enough. She tried on his presence, on the feeling of an internal arrow pointing her towards him. It didn’t come.

“Jackie?” She snapped out of it only to be met with tense and gaunt faces.

“Head Guards Chaka and Pell. It’s a pleasure to see you again..though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

Chaka spoke first, his voice quiet and defeated. “Indeed. What news do you come bearing?”

Jackie took a deep breath. “First and foremost.” She sunk down to her knees and placed her palms to the floor.

“PLEASE ALLOW ME TO APOLOGIZE FOR THE FRONT PAGE PICTURE! IT SHOULDN'T HAVE MADE IT PAST FIRST PRINT! THIS ISSUE HAS BEEN ORDERED TO BE RECALLED DUE TO INSENSITIVITY AND I WILL PERSONALLY MAKE SURE EACH AND EVERY COPY IS SHREDDED!”

She had been beyond mad when she had first seen that edition. King Cobra sprawled on the ground like a bug had not so coincidentally sent out while she was gone and Jackie had raised holy hell to get recalled. A new, much more tasteful version was out within 12 hours. She felt herself get pushed to sit up from her position by a sadly smiling Pell.

“You have no need to apologize..but thank you.”

Pell pulled Jackie to her feet and the three began to walk to the ceremonial hall in silence. She could feel how they wanted to ask, lips parting and closing, but it never came. It made her stomach continue to twist.

The hall was giant and golden, a large photo of King Cobra watching over all of them. The room was barren, the funeral had been a couple of days prior after all. Only two people stood there now. Well, one person and one duck.

Karoo turned first, his bill sucking down on his straw as tears spilled endlessly from his eyes, Jackie had never seen a duck so dehydrated. Igaram..had also seen better days. His voice cracked from lack of use when he spoke.

“Here to - MA MA MAAA - pay your respects?”

“Yes, but please allow me to apologize for the photo-.”

“We know and we thank you. I’m sure the government was at your door as well over that page.”

But they weren't, they didn’t even seem to care about the issue. If anything they had lightly (and with a lot of political jargon) pressured them to keep it. Yet another secret she’d have to keep. The knot in her stomach twisted further.

As she walked up the podium to the casket she couldn’t help but think of the first time she had met the king. She had been sent off to Alabasta to snap some pictures of the aftermath of Former Warlord Sir Crocodile's defeat (and to unofficially help with some of the wreckage after she was done). While sorting through the images she was approached by a stranger thanking her for her help and how much quicker they’d get done with repairs with her easily moving and even sorting the rubble away. She had dismissively waved his praise off, claiming anyone in her position with two thumbs and a beating heart couldn’t ignore people who needed help. He had smiled at her so kindly in that moment, about to speak before Igaram had come bounding in after His Majesty. Jackie immediately began freaking out and apologize for her lack of formality when he chuckled and patted her head. His words from back then echoed in her ears.

“I cannot call myself a king right now, not truly. Right now I am a father and citizen of Alabasta who is thanking you. Nothing more.”

King Cobra was unlike any other king she had ever met. Warm, intelligent, kind and fun-loving. He would occasionally on her like royals did but never for news of dealings and scandal, only to get her opinion on things since she was practically the same age as his own daughter. It almost felt wrong to constantly use his title, he felt more like a friend than anything.

“The world is dull and quiet without you here Your Highness but it will not stay that way. Rest well.”

By the time she had reached the bottom of the stairs, Chaka had seemed to pull together the courage to say what he had wanted to earlier but she put up a hand to silence him quicker. She moved the same hand back and pressed a single finger to her lips. Their confused faces morphed into horror as a single area stopped before them revealing a baby Den Den Mushi sleeping peacefully.

“We have 3 minutes before it wakes up so we have to move quickly.”

“Wha- When did that-.” Jackie wordlessly turned the mollusk to the side to show off the World Government insignia. Just below it read the line ‘CP0’.

Chaka's face contorted with rage. “Does the government truly have no respect for-?!”

“Please. I understand your frustration but we don’t have much time.”

The three men (and one duck) nodded sagely.

“I managed to get back into Mary Geoise shortly after the Reverie and overhead CP0 agents speak of Princess Nefertari Vivi's disrespect towards the Celestial Dragons. There was apparently an incident involving Princess Shirahoshi and Saint Charlos that she intervened in.”

Igaram looked paler somehow. “Princess..”

“I do not understand their motives or the governments on the whole but whatever is being planned Alabasta seems to be closer to the chopping block than any of us would like. I advise that you exercise extreme caution and discretion at this time.”

Another round of nods. Jackie felt Karoo at her side, bill bumping against the buckle of her bottomless bag. She quickly reached into her bag and pulled out a wrapped hanker-chief.

“I also managed to collect this..”

Laid delicately inside the cloth were shattered pieces of gold and emerald. Her Highness's broken necklace. It hadn’t actually been broken at the Reverie but only after, moments before Jackie headed to Alabasta, stomped ferociously underfoot by its owner. Her Highness claimed they needed it more than she did now. Pell gently cupped the hanker-chief in his hands.

“This…was her favourite.”

Jackie had assumed so. Despite how cool and calm Her Highness had looked handing over the broken bits of gold she couldn’t disguise the flickers of sorrow in her eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure how one would begin to fix it but..”

She felt the light disappear when she spoke. No, not disappear but be hidden behind a large frame. Chaka had pulled her into a hug mid apology.

“You must stop apologizing. You have done no wrongs here.”

Jackie wanted to do a lot of things in that moment: yell that their princess was alive, push the man off for she felt to deceitful to accept the embrace, run as far away as she could from this melancholic room. She did none of those things of course, it wouldn’t be polite. She simply hugged back instead.

Hugs cannot last forever and Jackie had to (gently) push him off before sending the snail back to its hiding spot and them back to their previous positions as their last few seconds of spy-free time dwindled to nothing. Jackie made for a quick exit, prattling off about how she would love to have stayed longer but duty, as it always tends to do, calls to her.

“Sorry again for your loss, I hope the pain that Alabasta feels now eases soon.” She starts walking off, making sure to subtly make more noise and movement so the camera focuses on her. It was all going well, no one on top would be the wiser to her little off-camera q&a.

“Loss..not losses.”

Her shoe squeaked as she stop. She slowly turned and to her horror say Pell's eyes light with something far more dangerous than CP0 and the World Government combined: Hope. Jackie wouldn’t say it’s a bad thing to hope by any means but hoping in her…

“If-If you did know something about our princess, you would say it, wouldn’t you?”

Ah, how frustrating. Irrational as it was she was annoyed by this constant asking from people. Obviously she knows things but she, better than anyone else, can tell you only the foolhardy run their mouth like the rivers. The wise wait and whisper. She swallowed dryly before putting a (hopefully) comforting hand on Pell's shoulder and slipped a soft smile on her lips.

“If any new information comes to light, it will be published. The World Government won’t let any royals, let alone Her Highness, disappear.”

(Never mind the fact they absolutely already did, she just didn’t need any of her sass thrown back at her come time for her next trip to Marineford)

Pell nodded, looking away so Jackie wouldn’t see the tears fighting their way to the surface. She quickly said her goodbyes and began leaving. She wanted to sprint out but that’s generally considered both rude and suspicious so she walked until she took back to the skies.

Anyone she’s ever taken on an arrow ride say the novelty wear off quickly, there’s not much to do with just the endless sky and sea to keep you company but Jackie would disagree. She could easily occupy her time with reading or taking her lunch break or thinking. Today seemed to love presenting her with no real options as her stomach was wound too tightly to eat and her mind too jumbled to read. She instead took this well needed alone to feel like utter shit which while not productive was always cathartic.

Alabasta was breaking down and Jackie didn’t know how to fix it but even if just in this incredibly small (and risky) way, she could help.

[kissorkill16]

My Missing Son - Chapter 20

By JJ

Summary: What if Nicky was Mr. Peterson's son?

(Masterlist)

👇

Nicky couldn't tell how much time had passed, all he knew was that he was down in the basement for a long time.

When you're in a dark room with no windows, the fake windows don't count, you can't really tell time, nor can you tell if it's night or day.

He was so tired from crying, he ended up falling asleep with his teddy bear cuddling in his arms.

But when he woke up...

When Nicky woke up, he saw that the teddy bear was torn to pieces. All of its limbs and its head was ripped off, and all of the stuffing had been pulled out and thrown on different parts of the floor.

The only thing that brought him comfort in this room was now torn to shreds, not beyond repair, but it still hurt to see it like this.

Nicky began to cry again. His bloodshot eyes began to pour tears down his cheeks and he wiped them away with his hands.

Who did such a thing?

The only people down here were him and Aaron...

Aaron...

Did he do this? Was he mad? Had he overheard the conversation his father and Nicky had about Nicky being his real son?

Was this some sort of revenge?

But it wasn't Nicky's fault! He didn't ask to be that maniac's son! He didn't ask to be held prisoner like this!

Nicky wiped his eyes again, and then he looked down at the stuffing to see something small and dark sitting curled up in it.

He picked it up and saw that it was a...a camera.

A small spy camera.

That's when it all made sense.

Mr. Peterson must've sent him this anonymous birthday present. From the outside, it was just an ordinary teddy bear, but on the inside, Mr. Peterson was watching his every move!

Just like he had been, trying to find Aaron and Mya.

Suddenly, Nicky felt sick.

He was upset that Aaron destroyed the only thing that brought him comfort, and now he was even more uncomfortable with the fact that it was a tracking device Mr. Peterson gave to him!

Speaking of Mr. Peterson, he suddenly walked through the door with a tray of waffles.

"Good morning my dear.", he said, a wide, bright smile on his face.

Nicky just looked at him.

The man walked closer to his son, but stopped in his tracks when he saw the torn up stuffed animal he gave to Nicky.

He didn't ask what happened or how it happened. Maybe he already knew, and that's what Nicky was afraid of.

Mr. Peterson just sat down the tray next to Nicky, then leaned down to gently wipe his wet face.

"Oh don't cry, sweetheart. It's nothing I can't fix.", he said.

Nicky didn't know why, but he found something about this gesture strangely comforting.

He knew now about the camera Mr. Peterson hid inside that teddy bear, but before that, it was just a toy that he held closely to his chest whenever he was in distress.

Mr. Peterson cleaned up the toy and the stuffing off the floor, then he left the room.

A while later, Nicky heard a lot of loud yelling coming from the next room, and some banging noises soon after. It scared him to the bone, but he had nothing to comfort him.

While all of this was going on, at the Roth house, a certain woman was completely losing every strand of sanity she had.

"HE TOOK HIM! HE TOOK MY BABY!", Luanne screamed as she punched the kitchen wall over and over again. Jay was trying to pull her away from the wall.

"Lu, honey, please calm down!", he begged her. "We'll find him, I know it."

Luanne just broke down and fell to the floor, crying her eyes out as Jay gently wrapped her arms around her.

(Next part)

👇

(Previous part)

👇