#a colorless fighter

[a-colorless-fighter]

GUESS WHO JUST HIT 1K HITS ON A03?!

SERIOUSLY, TYSM!! HOW DO I ONLY HAVE TWO CHAPTERS OUT AND 1,000 PEOPLE ALREADY VEIWED IT?!

As a thank you, I decided to post the official cover art I designed! I was planning on posting both the cover art and the third chapter as a gift, but life and other projects got in the way so I had to put the fanfic on hold. I am still working

on it though! Aaaand, as you may have noticed, this is posted on the official ACF tumblr! I’ve been getting some comments of people saying they want to make some fanart/fan animations, I am absolutely flattered so I opened up a place to feature all fanart if someone wants to make some. Everyone has been so kind and supportive, thank you so much! It makes me want to work on it more!

A Colorless Fighter.

Only two months after the krang invasion, Leo gets amnesia and is kidnapped by the EPF. He is experimented on and forced to help capture other Yoki and even battle his own brothers. Leo slowly learns who he really is again and must find a way to escape.

Warning:

Please read the warnings on the writing and each chapter before reading. This fanfic does not hold back when it comes to some sensitive topics and will only get more soul-crushing the more chapters release. If you don’t like that, that’s fine, this isn’t for you and you are free to leave, respectfully. But Imma be here writing what I enjoy for people who also enjoy the same thing.

Again, thank you so much for all the love and attention! I plan to post more art and stuff related to my fic on this account, however, if you would like to check out some wholesome art or other artwork by me, you may check out my main tumblr, FoxFlamingo.

[mothhball]

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

 “Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

[suzukiblu]

we are so pleased with this Match

“Our house offers our youngest member, Kon-El of Earth,” she announces to Match, who’s still just staring past her at Kon. She can feel the stress and tension rolling off Kon; smell it in his pheromones and hear it in his pulse. Match’s own scent and pulse are no different. “A lover and a fighter, skilled in both abilities. Kon-El will see you given all that you deserve, most esteemed."

Kon makes a huffed sound through his teeth, embarrassment and arousal bleeding into the air, and Match’s colorless eyes flare. Kara keeps smiling.

They don’t know how this works, but she does.

[an-idyllic-novelist]

jack the ripper platonic headcanons with muichiro!fem!reader

warnings: spoilers from the manga, ooc

This is a collaboration project with @onecantsimply, I really had a lot of fun doing this piece with them. Seriously, check their content guys, it is amazing.

With that being said, enjoy these headcanons! :)

[First Name] [Last Name] was the second Valkyrie in recorded history to have been a human prior to their ascension into Valhalla. ‘Mist Hashira’ was the only thing they could remember who they were, and quite frankly she did not care either way. All she wanted to do was have an easy life and spend her days watching the clouds without being nagged by her sisters, especially Brunhilde. 

Then there was the incident at the council hall, which led to Zeus allowing Ragnarok to decide the fate of humanity: preservation or extinction. Brunhilde was ready to rebel against the gods and prevent Midgard’s destruction alongside the other Valkyries through the method of the Volundr, the wielding of a Divine Treasure. 

 [First Name] did not have a choice in the matter, even when she was assigned to work together with the most despicable serial killer in mankind’s history: Jack The Ripper. 

To create a weapon that will kill the gods, the weapon and its user must synchronize their emotions. That might sound easy, but it’s a lot harder to pull off when someone in the party, well, lacks any emotion whatsoever. When Jack had formally met his partner for the first time, he was a bit stunned to see the Valkyrie’s ‘canvas’. 

It did not exist. More specifically, it was colorless. Cloudy even. [First Name] was practically invisible to his right eye. When she looked at him, her own gaze half-lidded and dull. A blank face to match a blank canvas that should at least be brimming with fear at the mere mention of his name. Alas, his and Brunhilde’s efforts were in vain as the younger Valkyrie remained unfazed. Brunhilde shook her head in exasperation and left in a huff, more than likely to pair up the other champions with their respective Valkyries. 

Over the next few days, he quickly realized that [First Name] did not care what he did so long it never included her. And even if he did try to do something, she could stop him without trying. That was probably why he wasn’t too upset with the young lady’s rudeness towards him. She fascinated him. 

It became his goal to make her feel fear. The Mist Hashira, in contrast, wanted to make sure he did not die in Ragnarok. So, she put him through a ‘special training’ regimen to help increase his stamina, strength, and agility in no particular order. 

But Dear God, she showed no mercy towards a gentleman. Not even a speck of compassion when he was worn out in body and soul, barking at him for being an incredibly weak fighter in the roster as her sword clashed against his knives. She might have the appearance of a young lady, her strength was nothing to scoff at. 

Although there were times when he wanted to simply quit and rest his weary body, Jack knew he could not do that. He was the one who took up on Lady Brunhilde’s offer to fight in this competition. And as much it pained him to say it out loud…he has noticed the changes in his body. He had been a nimble fellow when he was alive, yet his speed between then and now was….well, the difference is unbelievable. Not to mention he was not as tired as he used to be when doing anything particularly strenuous or physical. 

He’s changed quite a bit this past month….including his Volundr. 

It had been a slow process of [First Name] warming up to him, but now he can with certainty that she has actually begun to enjoy nibbling on the sweets and drinking Darjeeling tea when the clock struck three in the afternoon. However, there is still the issue of performing the Divine Treasure ritual. 

He had many emotions, and she still had exhibited nothing else beyond annoyance when he corrected her table manners and the slight wonder of gazing up at the clouds. Truly, what was so interesting about spending hours laying around the tall grass of a floating island and doing nothing? 

When Jack tried it out himself, sitting on a large boulder that was conveniently settled right behind his Volundr, he actually managed to space out a bit. Him, a productive gentleman and an artist! In retrospect, it could even be called a miracle that he has been able to form a bond with [First Name].

It was not an instant connection like some of his fellow fighters, but he knows she has grown more comfortable around him, even while knowing what he had done as an assassin who wanted to see the color of fear in his victims. Pardon him, his targets. 

A  slow, platonic relationship? He’s fine with that, even though you are still a little rude. A gentleman must be patient, after all~.

He eventually dragged her away from the island and back to the Valkyrie compound, only getting a blank stare instead of a glare this time….but he’s not too sure if that’s actually an improvement or not. 

With the clock ticking down to the first round of Ragnarok, he and his Volundr spend the rest of their time trying to link their souls together. They eventually were able to agree on a single emotion that did the trick: betrayal. 

Jack felt betrayed that his mother had never loved him, instead seeing his very existence as a chain to connect herself to a playwright that abandoned her to marry nobility. [First Name] felt betrayed that the pantheons wanted to destroy humanity, even after you had supposedly died to save them from demons. 

That’s all Brunhilde would tell her just to make sure the ritual would be completed. Jerk. 

When the ritual activated, a bright green light surrounded the two of them before a kaleidoscope of fragmented memories entered Jack’s mind. By meticulously piecing them together like a puzzle, a tragic story unfurled before his eyes. [First Name] had lived a hard but happy life in the mountains with her twin brother Yuichiro after their parents died, but it all came crashing down when a demon destroyed everything. 

It was [First Name]’s rage towards demons that kept her moving forward, even when she had been pushed into a corner by Muzan’s commanding officer, the Upper Moon One ranked demon known as Kokushibo. Even when her memories had been buried again in the dark corners of her mind, not because of the shock, but because of Brunhilde’s machinations. 

She wanted another Valkyrie amongst the ranks, a soul who was powerful and yet malleable enough to twist to her own design. After all, what use is the soul of a Hashira if they’ve lost their fighting spirit and desired peace?

Ah…poor thing. To go past her limitations and become a Hashira within two months, to obtain the Demon Slayer Mark and single handedly kill an Upper Moon demon…all of that power, to die at such a young age. And just when she had begun to express herself more, exhibiting a compassionate, teasing persona towards her comrades. The one she’d liked the most was a young man named Tanjiro. 

Jack assumed that he, at least, had survived against Muzan in the final confrontation. 

Including learning the truth behind her memory loss, he was also able to discover what was his Volundr's ability in combat: anything that he can touch with his hands  would become a Divine Weapon. Even a small pebble can be lethal to a god. 

The given name of his Volundr is Muichiro. In the Japanese writing system known as kanji, the name meant ‘nothingness’  but ‘Mu’ could also be written as ‘infinity’. 

Upon the transformation being released, Jack’s opinion of [First Name] changed. Someone he’d believed to be a disrespectful, slightly spoiled brat, to a young lady who struggled on how to cope with her memory loss.

Right up until the fourth bout of Ragnarok, he made sure his Volundr was comfortable and fully relaxed with snacks or blankets for her to curl up under on the couch. 

[First Name] was quite confused with his behavior, but did nothing to stop it. She was, however, taken off guard when her partner confessed that he saw her as a surrogate child. If something went wrong in the match, he wanted her to commence the separation ritual as quickly as possible and get to safety. 

Thankfully the confusion did not cause any mishaps as she transformed into a pair of tailor-made leather gloves, synchronizing their hearts together as a single unit to fight against Heracles, the beloved Grecian God of Fortitude. 

(Jack did have to hold back a snicker when his Valkyrie asked if she could punch Heracles just once, really hard, because the spiel he gave about asking Zeus to spare humanity if his opponent ‘laid down his arms’ is really fucking stupid. If Heracles loved mortals so much, why not just fight with them as a representative of humanity?) 

As to be expected, the battle had been tough. Timing was everything in order for Jack’s plan to be executed perfectly. He defeated a god, and gave humanity an advantage they desperately needed in Ragnarok. 

So why was [First Name] happy that her partner had changed over the course of round four? She’d seen through his memories, the good and the bad, and she didn’t mind it. Now, all of a sudden, his heart seemed to be purer than before….more than willingly to change some parts of himself? It did not make sense. 

Neither was the hate that Jack received from the angered guests in the god’s stands. Heracles knew what he was getting himself into, so why all of the fuss? What part of a combat tournament that can end in total annihilation for either party did these idiots not understand? 

Quickly releasing the Divine Weapon ritual, the sword at her waist quickly unsheathed, creating a veil of mist that disintegrated the shower of stones flung at Jack into a pile of dust on the ground. But one attack did not faze the screaming spectators, who now resorted to using glass and garbage. 

Annoyed, [First Name] maneuvered her grip on the hilt and created a thick veil of fog around the arena. Originally it was supposed to provide some cover until the two of them made it pass the drawbridge to humanity’s side of the coliseum, but hearing the crowd become confused and panicked amidst the chaos was worth it. Served the idiots right. 

Jack also seemed happy that she had helped him…but why? More importantly, what was with the sudden change of heart? She bluntly asked him this question, though the only answer she received was it had been Heracles’ unconditional love that saved him.

 A stupid answer, but whatever. 

Upon arriving at the medical wing, [First Name] kicked the door open just when a group of winged nurses were coming back from their break. Quickly realizing they had a patient, they immediately guided the Valkyrie to an empty unit where they instructed her to lay Jack down and let them start working on him. 

[First Name] nodded, following the command before plopping down in a chair and staring off into space. Ah…she was  tired. Is it time for a nap now? 

Bonus Content:

After hearing that Jack will need to spend a night under observation before being released, [First Name] left the medical wing to go get cleaned up. 

Once she had taken a hot shower and changed into some spare clothes, the Mist Hashira decided to reward her human partner with a box of sweets from a high-end patisserie shop. Purchasing two boxes and some other items, she ventured down the corridor leading towards the medical wing when she was attacked from behind by a god. She hasn’t had an opportunity to draw her sword when her entire body was encased in a floating sphere of water. 

The thought that she may die again in Valhalla triggered a flood of emotions to encompass her body, followed by…memories? Ah….that’s right….this is the second time she’s  lost them. 

How annoying. 

Feeling her face burn, it took only a moment to realize that her Demon Slayer mark appeared again. Half a second to decapitate the god who had the guts to try and kill the Mist Hashira with the same trick Gyokko pulled when she said his art was shit. 

Wiping the god’s blood off with the hem of her shorts, she sheathed her sword and continued her trek towards the medical wing, teal sneakers squeaking across the marbled corridor. 

Blinking, she stopped walking and looked down at herself.  Ah…she was covered in blood and water. Should she go back to her room and change again? No, it should be fine. Water will dry out, and these clothes - a black, long-sleeved hoodie, shorts with teal suspenders, and kneepads - were all that she had right now besides that stifling Valkyrie uniform. 

Besides, Jack was an assassin. Seeing her like this shouldn’t be too much of a shock to him when she tells him that she recovered her memories, right? 

Spoiler alert: The Ripper almost fell out of his bed when she greeted him, his face white with fear and shock even when she handed him a big slice of apple pie on a paper plate. He wouldn’t have reacted in such a manner if he didn’t just wake up moments ago. 

Taglist:

@yellow-snark

@the-dumber-scaramouche

@recreationalfanfics

@radioactivesweet

@staticradiotv

@thatstrangesheep

@nixes-noxes

@thequietkid-moonie

@myrisan-melodies

@kiannas-stuff

@praisethesuuun​

@zodiacs-web

[e-dubbc11]

Bloodstains in the Snow

Photos are not mine. They are courtesy of Pinterest/Google.

Pairing: Billy Russo x F! Reader

Warnings: Violence, swear words (I think), little fluff.

Word Count: 1.5K-ish

Summary: After a late night job, Billy wanders through the snow, figuring out how he feels about you.

A/N: I wrote this pretty quick but I actually think it’s pretty good, maybe even one of the best things I’ve written. I love writing fluffy Billy but every once in awhile I really enjoy violent/unhinged/unapologetic Billy. But he’s still soft for the person he loves. I hope you like it and hope you all enjoy your holiday season! ♥️

As always, thank you for reading!  I appreciate it so much and comments, reblogs are welcome and encouraged. Don’t be shy to tell me your favorite part. 💕💕 💕

The late night city sounds were muffled by the heavy flakes of snow as they fluttered quickly to the ground. After the job was finished, he just wandered along the sidewalk looking down at what looked like a carpet of cotton beneath his feet.

His leather and black shearling coat collar pulled up to block the snow from touching the hot skin of his neck and his black beanie covered his ears to protect him from the savage wind that assaulted him from all directions.

He closed his eyes and remembered how much blood was spilled tonight.

He passed bar patrons that had ducked outside quickly for a few drags on their cigarettes before running back inside to get away from the bitter cold.

The scent of ash mixed with the fresh scent of the snow occupied his sense of smell even after he walked past that strip of bars. Stifled music coming from inside the bars was only clear when someone would open the door and muted again once the doors were closed.

Sometimes the desert overseas would get cold at night, but it would never get New York City winter cold. Blood looked brighter against the colorless shroud of snow than on top of the desert sands but spilled blood was spilled blood and it all came from the same source…evil.

Overseas, he spent some nights trying not to die and he flirted with death on more than one occasion. He had wondered if he would die never knowing what it’s like to be truly loved by someone and would he ever have what his best friend Frank had…a loving wife and kids.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war” and Billy Russo wouldn’t go down without fighting. He had done it his entire life…he was a survivor and a fighter. He fought for his life and for his country in wars at home and war overseas but he still didn’t know if he was worthy of love.

If he deserved love, then why did she leave him? Why did she abandon him? He was just a little boy. Did she love him at all? He didn’t know the answer to that and he would never know. Now, he wondered if anyone could love him for who he really is, even with all the things he has done.

Maybe you could be the one to love him.

The picturesque snow drifts were a perfect white under the glow of the city street lamps, his mind then flashed to ribbons of red running through the snow cradling the bodies of the would-be assassins. They had come for the state representative Billy and his team were protecting.

His last thoughts had been of you when he had the large arms of a mob boss wrapped tightly around his neck before Frank put a bullet in between his eyes.

Billy didn’t think twice about killing them all, no regard for any of their lives. He didn’t know if any of them had families or children and he didn’t care. All he knew was he had a job to do and he wanted to go home to you.

The goon had said something in Billy’s ear that caused his muscles to stiffen and his face to flush with rage. “You gotta real pretty girl, Russo. After we’re done with you, we’ll pay her a visit at your penthouse.”

They had threatened you.

It wouldn’t have bothered him if he wasn’t attached to you like he was. Billy was very much in love with you although he didn’t realize he was until your life was endangered.

What if they had taken you away from him? He couldn’t live with himself if that happened. Billy Russo didn’t lose fights and he would fight off the entire world just so he wouldn’t lose you.

The hollow cold stung his lungs as he inhaled the mid-winter air and let out a long exhale when he glanced down at the blood on his hands from the scum who’s throat he had just ripped out. Blood poured out quickly; it could not be contained. That man was now lying in the snow gasping for air he would never get. Billy saw nothing but red until they were all dead.

The rage burned like white hot fire in his veins as he sliced them all from groin to sternum, spilling their insides, disrupting the blanket of white underneath them and then it was over.

A devilish grin extended across Billy’s mouth, his doll-like eyes shined against the stark white snow as he watched their lives fade away forever into the cold; he enjoyed killing even though he knew he shouldn’t.

As he continued to walk against the powerful wind, his lips curled up into a slight smile. You were safe and warm back at his penthouse…probably sound asleep.

Billy didn’t want to think about it but he wondered what it would be like if he never got to sleep next to you again, or you reaching for his shirt collar in your sleep so you could nuzzle into the crook of his neck to keep your nose from getting cold.

When he had nightmares, you didn’t get scared. You were only scared for him and hoped you were doing enough to comfort him. It was more than anyone else had done for him and he welcomed it.

But what if he never got to hear you laugh or see your beautiful smile again? He was never going to give those up; he was never going to give YOU up. Billy started to walk faster into the large snowflakes falling quickly from the sky toward Anvil to get his car.

The walk to clear his head was done and he was ready to go home.

Finally, he was inside the car and out of the smothering cold, he looked at his hands as they grasped the steering wheel. Wind burned and blood stained, it was difficult to not look at them as he carefully drove home.

The snow-covered streets were nearly empty as the clock on the dashboard flashed 2 AM; he drove slowly, being extra careful not to slip and slide all over the road. Billy didn’t survive a night of mob bosses and thugs just to be taken out in a car accident.

When Billy arrived home, he inhaled sharply, unlocked the door and stepped inside. As he closed the door behind him, he exhaled forcefully and removed his boots.

The chill in his bones lingered until the hot water from the shower pelted against his skin, and the scent of your shampoo still hung inside the confines of the shower doors. It was silly but he loved to wash your hair and his mouth went tight with anger when he realized he didn’t get to do that for you tonight.

His tension eased however when he remembered that because you were safe, he would be able to do it the next time. It took a little effort but Billy removed the blood from his hands and from underneath his fingernails; they returned to their normal color and his long skilled fingers, along with the rest of his body, were no longer cold.

He could not wait to hold you.

The soft orange glow of the salt lamp illuminated your face just enough for Billy to see you were fast asleep. You stirred slightly when he pulled the blanket back and let a low whimper escape your lips as he carefully inched closer; he did not want to disturb your sleep.

You were wearing one of his old Marines t-shirts when he reached for you, his hands slipped under the blanket to touch your bare thigh, and your warm skin was soft from the lotion you applied earlier.

The tip of your nose touched the base of Billy’s neck and you wrapped your fingers around the collar of his shirt. The bristles of his beard brushed your shoulder as he pressed his lips against you.

He had never been more relieved to be home.

“I don’t deserve you, sweet girl. The things I’ve done…” He said in barely more than a whisper.

But he did. Billy did deserve to be loved, he was worthy of the love he craved and desired. He had to fight and kill to survive, to live; that didn’t make him a bad person. And now he had another reason to do what he does best…for love.

He did love you, he was sure of it now. “I love you.” Said Billy, softly against your ear.

And you loved him.

As long as there are men like that out there, Billy will always have a war to fight. He will make it his mission to destroy any evil that could take away the love he’s wanted his entire life.

As the snow continued to fall outside your window, the dreamlike picture below outshined the carnage shed outside on the streets tonight.

The tomb-like silence was music to his ears as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep while the blanket of white piled up high, cloaking the red stains left behind. “They won’t be missed.” He said to himself.

“Only the dead have seen the end of war.” -Plato

Tag List: @wheresthesunshinesblog @rafaelakelley @idaoftheburningmind @snowkestrel @fakehappy27 @music-indie-tv @fictional-hooman @kayhi808 @munsonownsmyass @gijos @celestialams @k-marzolf @nutmeg17 @rosaleenablack @vaguekayla @qu1etwolf @danzer8705 @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes

Others that might enjoy: @itwasthereaminuteago @fluffyprettykitty @jvanilly @imagine-a-fictional-boyfriend

If you’d like to be added (or removed from) my tag list(s) for the ever so handsome Billy Russo, just let me know and thank you again for reading! 💕💕💕 If I tagged you but you didn’t want to be, just let me know and I’ll never do it again.

[asneshiekhvoy]

➤ Emery or Corundite (Gray Sapphire and Ruby) • Hardness: 9 • Patrolling; blacksmith's apprentice in future.

Emery is the strongest fighter, all her life chasing Colorless Diamond's success.

[acourtofquestions]

Shoutout to the lovely @archerons-elain for inspiring this post thanks to their genius comments, shared theories, & fun fandom appreciation🥰

This started out with the note/theory of Elain & Aelin as an Anagram

(among other fandom theories I’ve started looking into for funsies while reading TOG & waiting for (what I’ve started calling😂) ACOTAR 5 & 1/2) as they are both great characters, that on first glance feel like such opposites… yet when I think about it… they actually feel more like a “what if” of similarities.

I think Elain is what Aelin would have been had she not lost her parents, kingdom, (& most crucial to this point) Aedion. — Vice-Versa— I think Aelin is what Elain might have been under the same circumstances, or if left without Nesta. The paralells between both young Aelin & Elain, and grown Elain & Aelin (while trapped in Celaena).

Though a character/person’s credit is to their own, and their are always pros & cons without “what if’s”; I do think without Nesta, Elain would be a drastically different character: Nesta was Elain’s shelter, her ever-fighter, her great love, her best friend. Nesta fought & fostered Elain to bloom; she gave Elain the chance to grow up, to know some semblance of safety, to have any ray of light among the gray dark winter, and the room to be that beautifully resilient demandingly bright light even amid gloom.

In contrast, sometimes I think of Elain’s upbringing like a potted plant: Created to be beautiful & seen; yet never its full nature or heard. Safe & surviving, but never alive & thriving. Seeing the whole world from a point of beauty; but always through glass. Safe from the storms but deprived of the rain, dosed with sunlight but never in all its unabashed rays. Never to know thorns but left defenseless without them, unable to recognize weeds yet always to grow upon false impositions. Rooted in place with such strength, yet tethered to that place; able to tone the brightest of blooms, but never the room to take full shape. — I always find it interesting that she loves the gardens & yet never entered the woods; I think it serves her character well, soft, overlooked, cultivated, pruned, beautiful, & earthen in home; but never wild, always grown, always made to bloom never to just be; and yet the places she loves most are that.

If put into Aelin’s position; if stolen from her sisters & home; or without her person & protector (Nesta) I imagine Elain would have been used & shaped like a tool, beautiful but without room to breathe. Never witnessing the truth of pure innocence & never knowing the undying ferociousness of love.

Meanwhile you have Aelin & Celaena.

Aelin of the wildfire; because she was wild like the flowers covering Terrasens emerald green & thrown at her feet in adoration, because she was abundantly unstoppable yet always caught before she could make her leaps (safe, but never soaring), because she was bright, free, & simultaneously a cloistered wild-thing signed up to be something before she learned to breathe; she was always the fire heart of a nation; but above all the costs & heavy crowns she was happy, she had something a family a home, a protector best friend fierce love to adore her as she did in Aedion; and she was learning, she would have been given the chance to grow & cultivate into more, to remember & know what it is to be so loved (As Elain knew without doubt). Instead, she was stolen. Aelin, who he even Aedion says he wishes he would’ve been taken with, while he may not have been able to save her from Arobynn, she would have grown up knowing more than just that; the loss of love, the empty colorless world forever in winter without flame; she may have never needed to be Celaena. She would have at least grown up period, instead of being frozen in time, burned alive again & again until there was nothing but ashes to forget or die with, forced to be a phoenix; rising over & over, but with a price. As they say “she became death, to escape it”; where she had been all things alive; she became cold as the river in which she drowned, foreign as the new land, gone with her world. She was shaped into a tool, a weapon, an assassin. Celaena survived, but at all costs; she paid every price for it (without even signing up).

— Then you have these key character points that survived in them both —

They both have similar core motivators/“dreams”:

They wish for peace, for a “normal” life (while this is general enough that it could be applied to many characters, there is a specificity to its value they carry far more; especially in what they are willing to give up to achieve it; and the mundanity they would take with it). They wish to run away from all the chaos of their world & just be in love (or even alone) & just be happy; (once again, while many may have this wish) the difference is they would (& have tried to) actually run away for it. Not many people carry that kind of bravery; fierce, wild, untamable joy.

They have the same line “in the sand”:

They have a line (even to their own dreams); best summed up as love & loyalty (they will be stubborn for) their people; and all that sweet idealism will burn if it is crossed. Let us not forget; Elain made the first true strike on Hybern (not some naive innocence; but painstakingly, heart-torn, brutal, filled with rage & vengeance, & a fierce sort of love that endures) much like Aelin’s many decisions shown to parallel. While, that love also does not easily blind them (let us not forget despite the many “oblivious” accusations Elain receives; she is called “the seer” for a reason ;)

… if anything it is that loyalty & love that makes their line so messy & misunderstood. On occasion it manages to seduce them; the sense of comfort, of defining one’s self as someone else’s, the ability to fall into it & no longer carry the weight of every decision upon your presence in the world; the loyalty to disappear within. — But even that; fiercely loyal as they are, their morals & love carry a torch too (though this can flicker more visibly in Aelin; remember I’m saying they are like versions; not identical, but twin souls).

For Aelin her love & loyalty begin and end with everything she has become because of her people (or lack thereof), her family, (her own being) was stolen from her; sometimes it makes her confuse morality & justice with the vengeance of survival becoming her only true consistently loyal ally. Or the times her loyalty becomes stubbornness (a trait often overlooked in Elain) but very clear in Aelin’s light of such similarity.

In Elain I think it is both best seen & misunderstood in her love for Nesta. Elain loved Nesta period. Even when Nesta could be cruel, she was loyal in that (not because Elain was naive to it; she just knew her sister; beyond the bristling thorns, and loved her enough not to care; Elain has never seemed to mind the thorns that accompany roses. She stubbornly does not garden with gloves). She was still loyal to loving her sister when she drew that line in the sand (that seemed to break it into misunderstanding) but it was because Nesta’s self-loathing was destroying them both; Elain loved her enough not to allow it out of fear of a fight; she would rather her sister hate her and survive, than play nice as she drowns herself in sorrow and alcohol. Just as Elain loved Feyre before the woods AND after; she may have made mistakes (love doesn’t fix all things; Nesta felt abandoned because something did change (however she did not leave Nesta; not in her heart; she loved her stubbornly & without reason). Elain has never been “perfect” as people pretend; honestly, it’s part of her beauty, the actual truth of it), but she loves her sisters (that is important; it’s not a fix, but it is a key). She was loyal to that; the way she loves (and stubborn in it). — Buying paints when they were poor (perhaps privileged, maybe ignorant) but still kind nonetheless. is something else there within them. And then there is that stubbornness (even when imperfect) Elain was stubborn in her love for their father; while it may have been given to her further than the others (fostered to begin with as opposed to forgotten or never given) she must have felt it; Nesta’s resentment, Feyre’s desperation, her fathers own heartbreak, the grief of her mother, the failure; and yet she remained adoring (possibly a fawn response) but also a stubborn loyalty determined to prove goodness true. Feyre reminds it, too; how strong it was to hope and be kind. There’s a poem like that, to remain soft among such cruel, sharp things. Elain has that piece (Aelin in contrast had it stolen) as I said, they are not the same). However, in that morality to love & loyalty…

… Aelin can be viewed similarly, loved Dorian & Chaol; long after they were “in love” (partially as she learned to reshape it; with Dorian becoming her friend, and Chaol & her learning to forgive their pasts). It’s messy though; as I mentioned, her loyalty does not leave easily. It’s why she keeps making promises to a love she knows she cannot be with. She didn’t know how to keep the love & have it change, how to hold many loyalties at once (she apologizes for that later too) for making it sound like she’d come back to Chaol. But she does stay loyal to both; the truth that she could not be with Chaol anymore, & the ring she wore for months after; because she meant it when she said it as much as she meant it when it ended. It reaches the greatest conflict for her when it snaps; when her “sister” is taken, & those loves & loyalties are all pinned against her; she falls into a habit, the practice of “justice” & the seduction of a loyal vengeance (that has kept her alive; even if at a high sometimes called “selfish” price; it is survival). — And in those aforementioned traits; Aelin often gets told she is stuck-up, privileged, ignorant, selfish (and maybe at times she is; though it never sums up a person) I would say the key lies in what she loves & appreciators, her will to live & be more than an existence, much like Elain.

They both however, try, continue, keep doing it when it comes to learning, giving, & building more than existences.

They have a similar gift trait:

They both have an ability to understand people, to “see more” (young Aelin fought the Valg king without even knowing it) & even see those shrouded in shadow (both literal & metaphorically speaking; Azriel & Rowan as primary examples). And with it carry an ability to reach out, to have kindness that endures (often Aelin’s ability to laugh, to smile, despite it all is mentioned; the way she cares for Evangeline & Fleetfoot as reminders of it) & Elain’s quote (once again) about having a different kind of strength; the ability to remain kind & hopeful among tragedy & hardship. They have an attention to detail; Elain notices what makes the man of shadow laugh, she gives him a truly thought out gift, she saw beyond the dark masks and facades enough to note & notice. Aelin saw Chaol, the guard beneath the mask, his favorite poem, his favorite meal, she remembered his birthday, she made the cake.

They have similar coping mechanisms:

They keep the fire burning, hope & heart in hearth. They disappear for a while, they go into their own world. They cling to the known, to the souls they remain loyal, to the familiar. They have their little moments of normalcy among their world to keep a grasp on sanity; both go to the earth, one to the gardens & one to the woods. Elain goes out in her best dresses onto to kneel in the dirt, to spend hours baking, or convincing moments of peace & celebration into existence. Aelin goes to the woods, to the grounds, to her other worlds of books, to the city, to the stores, to take time & take care & primp proper, to dance, to compose, to be a “normal” girl; neither princess nor assassin. As mentioned before, they both have the need to be more than existence and retain some normalcy within it.

They get viewed poorly for certain stereotypical “girlie traits”, or being called “selfish”, “dumb”, or “ignorant”:

The amount of hate I have read toward Celaena’s sass, love for fashion, appreciation of perfumes & nice things. For calling her selfish, temperamental, ignorant. Or Elain’s softness, kindness, warmth, gentleness, love to bake or garden or wear nice dresses. Calling her ignorant, naive, or just plain stupid… It saddens me… Everyone has a right to their opinion, there is argument and validity to it; however, I think a character can be a kick-ass assassin and also love pretty ballgowns without becoming “unfeminist”, I absolutely do not think Elain is a “damsel” or ditsy idiot. I think there is something lovely to representing all sorts of female characters for all sorts of people! I think the two of them carry over some traits and possibilities while being so different that they are a great reflection of that. They have a great deal of difference (obviously) and I quite appreciate both the crossover and uniqueness!

For all they are “alike” they are also different :-)

(As I aside ⬆️)

They both love pretty dresses & nice things.

They have a call to nature.

They are beautiful. And they use it as a weapon.

They are underestimated and carry a power in that.

They are women & can be “stereotypically feminine”. They they are bad-ass.

They know the power of sisterhood. They are loyal. They are compassionate. They are loving. They are stubborn as hell.

They notice details. They see more. They keep track. They carry wit. They do not fear the shadows.

They are bright. They have a levity even after living in the heavy. They are expected to be “one thing” (the “happy one” the “hope” the “chosen perfect” the “invisible”) and it can be exhausting. They can fade into backdrops, sometimes they need to hide, they aren’t fully seen. Yet, they are never becoming less. They have a right to the trauma they carry. They remain more than it, refuse to just be that. They long for domesticity, for freedom, for wild & peace. They have more than what meets the eye.

They were sweet children, protected, gentle, bright. They went through hell. One had a shelter in the storm. One had to become the storm. One kept everything, even so far as to not see the world to believe they kept it. One lost it all, and stopped believing in the world at all. One learned forgiveness, one learned vengeance. One knew love, one knew loss, they both grow to know each.

Where Elain was soft, Celaena grew sharp, learned she had to be.

Elain can bake, Aelin has a whole chapter dedicated to how she cannot. 😂 While Nesta is the dancer, not Elain, Aelin is (actually I think Aelin is a good blend of Nesta, Elain, and even some Feyre (though the latter contrasts match the extremes a little more interestingly)). While Elain’s face was a prize to be paraded Aelin’s was a secret to be masked (I know these are getting silly, I’m just listing😂). Aelin/Celaena seem more Extroverted or Ambiverted (as she rarely gets to pick for herself; I think her love for books & piano, time to eat her cake alone leans more toward the latter) Elain is more introverted (though I do think she also has lacked the ability to have room for presence). Their love stories have differed yet been VERY similar; both had love & lost it, both lost a dream in it, both ran out of time and fate; and while one had their mate and could not face it, the other was the opposite.

Where Celaena ran, Elain stayed. Where Aelin fought, Elain could not. Both have had to play many games, wear many faces to survive/exist in their societies.

Where Elain was allowed not to see Aelin had not choice, and where Elain was thrown into the world Aelin got to choose what part to play.

Without Nesta, without room to grow, Elain might’ve drowned, might’ve had to claw herself back up and back together until she grew thorns. With Aedion Aelin might’ve stayed sheltered, might’ve become more princess than warrior, might’ve gotten to grow up and be herself, become a diplomat, become a hearth instead of wildfire & hellfire.

I think she would’ve resented being quiet and tame. I wonder sometimes if Elain does; if she’s sick of being “the happy one”. Of being everyone else’s and having none of her left for herself. Of not getting choices, just getting thrown in and around. I wonder if Aelin is sick of the definition too of being too wild or too tame, of being the bright hope or tragic grief, of being used or things for other people, of knowing herself and yet not knowing.

And while Celaena’s story becomes Aelin’s and eventually (when I read it) has her full circle & end. Elain has yet to have her story told. I look forward to seeing it. And have enjoyed looking at these pieces… they are drastically different and drastically similar, I think it’s a cool what if to compare… so there’s a random ramble of little things about two characters I’ve really grown & continued to love.

[bubbleguppyyy]

Oh, Little Birdy.

Chapter 1

Dean x fem! reader, Past! Bucky x fem! reader

Story Synopsis: Being plagued by constant dreams of a man with beautiful green eyes who calls you Birdy can be very confusing if you don't remember ever meeting him. You want to understand these dreams all while trying to understand why you used to harbor feelings for a certain Winter Soldier who wants "nothing" to do with you.

----------

You really should’ve listened to Soldat when he told you to carry a compass because you had no idea where you were. 

It was damp out, and the roads were starting to become slick from the small mist of rain. Forests surrounded both sides of the narrow road that seemed to go on for miles and miles. You had been wandering it for about 5 miles now with no clue what direction you were going. No cars had passed by in a while and nothing but eerie silence filled your ears. 

None of this would have happened if you had completed your mission correctly. All you were supposed to do was shoot some politician from his second-story bedroom window. His house was in the middle of the woods in a state you couldn’t remember the name of. This was one of the easier jobs you had been given during your time with Hydra. No fighting or contact was involved. 

Everything had been fine, you were programmed to your soldier form and ready to take any order Hydra wanted to give you. You never felt anything in that form. It used to bother you until Hydra made sure that it didn’t. 

Your finger was on the trigger waiting for the order to execute. Next thing you know, you’re being attacked by someone. They were a good fighter, but you were better. The only person you weren’t better than, was Soldat. 

Right before you shot them, they threw some weird powder in your face. It made your eyes hurt and your throat tighten, spurring a coughing fit. You dropped your gun and ripped out your com that had some random Agent screaming Russian in your ear. You dropped to your knees, rubbing your face, trying to get the powder off.

When you finally felt like you could open your eyes, you felt an immense amount of emotions run through you. You gasped as large tears slid down your cheeks. You gripped your chest where your heart hurt. 

Your soldier form had been compromised. 

Everything seemed more vibrant, it wasn’t all just some colorless haze anymore. You could hear the crickets and the sound of the politician's dog barking in the distance. The leaves on the trees rustled with the wind and their light green color almost hurt your eyes. For the first time in a long time, you felt so alive. 

The moment you realized all this, you immediately abandoned your mission and ran as far away as you could. That brought you to the road you had currently been wandering. You kicked a pebble in frustration, shivering slightly from the breeze. 

You stopped walking at the sound of a car coming up fast from behind you. It was blaring music and as you turned around to see what it looked like, it came to a screeching halt a few feet away from you. You shielded your eyes from the headlights while trying to identify the song playing.

You tilted your head and squinted your eyes as two figures got out of the car. 

“You lost, sweetheart?”

The figure that spoke moved in front of the right car light, giving you a break from being temporarily blinded. His voice was deep and smooth. He was tall with broad shoulders and bowed legs that you found sort of endearing in a way. He had short brown hair sort of spiked up and green eyes that shone with mirth as he watched you size him up. 

“Easy there, we aren’t going to hurt you. We just want to make sure you’re okay. What’s your name?” The second figure spoke up when he saw how tense you were. He was taller than the other one with long shaggy brown hair and a kind smile. You gave him a tentative smile and relaxed your shoulders as you thought about what he asked.

The question shouldn’t have been as hard as it was but it had completely stumped you. You had no idea what your real name was. With Hydra, you were either called by your number or by your soldier title. 

You looked between the two as you spoke.

“I’m not sure what my real name is. I haven’t been called it in years. I would prefer that you didn’t call me by my other names since I am sort of escaping the people that called me that so, I guess you can just pick something.”

You watched as they gave each other a worried look, no doubt wondering why you were called something other than your given name. 

You shivered as they silently communicated with each other, hoping they wouldn’t notice. The one that had called you sweetheart seemed to catch it out of the corner of his eye and immediately shrugged off his large leather jacket, carefully approaching you with it. 

When he reached you, he slowly wrapped it around your frame. It engulfed you in a scent of motor oil, leather, and musky vanilla.

You couldn’t look away from his eyes. They were so green, so alive. Just like the leaves of the tall oak trees surrounding you. You felt tears coming on again. 

“How about we call you…. Birdy. Since you said you’re escaping.” He gave you a wink and half smirk, proud of the new name he picked for you. 

You shot a quizzical look at the other guy who looked equally confused as he gave you a shrug.

You turned back towards the man in front of you who looked eager to hear what you had to say about the new name. 

“I guess it does fit my current situation, I like it. Now that you have my name, what are yours?”

You giggled a little when the jacket guy seemed to puff his chest when you said you liked the name. He smiled wider when you laughed at his antics. He then cleared his throat and gestured to himself and the other guy.

“Our names are D-

The emergency alarm and the voice of Friday woke you up in a panicked state. Something about an immediate mission meeting happening. 

You had been so close. So close to understanding the meaning of all of these random dreams. So close to finding out who called you Birdy. 

You slid out of bed and threw on a zip-up hoodie over your crop top and shorts. You grabbed your go bag in case the mission was going to happen right after the meeting. 

Whatever was going on, you hoped it would distract you from the green eyes plaguing your mind.

[unknownstripes]

Meet the writer!

Hello! UnknownStripes here! Creator of ACF (A Colorless Fighter) on AO3

My personal blog is just “UnknownStripes” and the blog for my work is called “ACF chamber”

I made a persona for myself based on what I’ll be writing.

I wanted to give you guys a face to remember, something anonymous yet recognizable.

I use any/all pronouns, She/They/He/It/IDC

If you saw the announcement I made in AO3 + the ACF tumble page, you would know who James is, I ended up making him a persona too just for funsies.

And yes, the markings are based off Leo and Donnie, mainly because James relates to Donnie so much and I relate to Leo so much, so it just fits.

A Colorless fighter:

Only two months after the krang invasion, Leo gets amnesia and is kidnapped by the EPF. He is experimented on and forced to help capture other Yoki and even battle his own brothers. Leo slowly learns who he really is again and must find a way to escape.

[heartlessfujoshi]

a good feeling pt 4 (mikoizu)

Title: A Good Feeling Chapter 4 (of 5) Title: Three Becomes Two Fandom: K Project Pairing: MikoIzuTotsu (Mikoto Suoh x Izumo Kusanagi - Tatara Totsuka) & MikoIzu (Mikoto Suoh x Izumo Kusanag) Rating: General (Heavy Angst) Word Count: ~2,325

Summary: The Colorless King arrives.

A/N: Here’s my next offering for the @kresurrectionfest! Please note that the first part of this is taken directly from “Memory of Red’ Ch 15, as well as Ep 6 ‘Karma’. Please enjoy. 

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3

---

They had spent most of the day going over the plans for Anna’s birthday tomorrow, the atmosphere in HOMRA one of excitement and love for their little princess turning older. Izumo is standing at the bar, listening to Yata carry on about something he’s been thinking about, and hears what sounds like a balloon popping nearby. It happens again in quick succession, causing him to look at Yata, who has stopped talking and is staring right back at him. 

“What was that?” Yata asks, getting up off the barstool. “That isn’t what I think it was, was it, Izumo?” 

“No, it couldn’t be.” There’s a pit in his stomach, as he tries to recall what the sound had sounded like. There’s a very distinct sound that could make that noise, but it also could have been someone celebrating the Christmas holiday a little too early in the season, as it’s only 19 days away.

His phone begins to buzz, Izumo pulling it out to see that it’s his lover contacting him. “Hello?” He tries not to panic, something in his gut telling him that whatever noise he’s just heard, it might connect to the person on the other line. Because that person has a bad habit of finding himself in situations he can’t get out of as he is a terrible fighter. “What’s going on?” 

He hears a weak “Izumo” come through the speaker, the fear increasing as he can tell that Tatara is having difficulty. 

“Tatara?” He asks, trying to remain as calm as he can. “Did something happen? Hello??” 

Yata looks at him. “Did something happen?” 

“Yata, come with me!” He keeps the phone pressed to his ear after checking to see where Tatara’s location is. They’d all decided it would be wise to let each other know where they are, in case an emergency comes up. Whatever is happening justifies it as an emergency in his eyes. “Tatara!” He yells, racing towards a building that’s only a few stops away from where HOMRA is. 

“Izu?” Tatara’s voice is weak. “Can you hear me?” Tatara sighs. “I was blessed.” 

Izumo stops walking, Yata already racing up a long flight of stairs to get to the top of the building. “Tatara?” His eyes widen, as he struggles to stay calm, hating that he can tell that his lover is in pain. 

“Even now, I think that.” Tatara exhales another shaky breath. 

“You idiot!” He listens to Tatara coughing. “Hey! Tatara! Listen to me!” 

“Tell Anna, I don’t think I can wish her a happy birthday.” Another shuddering breath leaves his lover’s mouth, Izumo struggling as he begins to race up the stairs after Yata. “I wonder if he’ll be angry…” 

“Tatara! Just hang in there!” He yells at his lover, his feet moving as fast as he can, his heart in his throat. 

“Yeah, I’ll wait.” 

They burst out onto the rooftop, and he can see Tatara lying in a pool of his own blood, his chest taking the direct hit of the shots they had heard fired earlier. Yata rushes over to him, and lifts him up, blood trailing out from the corner of his mouth. 

“Tatara! Hey! What happened?!” Yata cries, holding him in his lap. 

Izumo is frozen. All he can see is his lover, staring up at him with life leaving his eyes. “The….colorless king…” Tatara barely gets the words out, coughing up blood as he struggles to stay conscious.

”Tatara! Was this another King that did this to you?!” Yata’s elevated anger is easy to hear, and Izumo has to put a stop to it before it gets out of control. 

“Yata, enough!” He looks at Tatara, who continues to keep his eyes on him. “Don’t make him speak!” 

Yata cradles his head, as Izumo stares, hating that his body isn’t allowing him to do anything. The fear is too real. “Don’t worry - we’ve called a doctor. We’ll have you fixed up in no time.” Yata tells him. 

“Don’t sweat it.” Izumo watches as Tatara lifts his hand, looking like he wants to touch him, but he isn’t close enough. He’s never close enough to him. “It’ll all work out…” He turns his head towards Yata. “I’m sorry.” 

Izumo feels his heart shatter into a million pieces as he knows that Tatara is gone. The wounds to his body had been too much. Looking down, he sees that stupid camera he’d just gotten laying nearby, and as he pushes the button to call Mikoto, he picks it up with his hand. 

“Sorry, Mikoto.” He swallows back his tears, as he hears Mikoto pick up the phone. “I have some bad news.” 

“Where are you?” Mikoto asks, his voice rough. Rough as his own, no doubt. This death hurts. 

“No, don’t move from there.” Izumo shakes his head, looking back over at Yata, who is still cradling Tatara’s body against his, sobbing profusely. “Please, don’t move. I’ll bring him there.” 

He looks at Yata, who can’t stop crying. He feels his pain, and then some. Most in the clan know of his relationship with both Mikoto and Tatara, but he understands that Tatara is a beacon of shining light to everyone in HOMRA. This death is going to be felt by all. 

Izumo picks up Tatara in his arms, much in the same way he had that first night when things changed between the two of them. Only back then, Tatara had been warm, and had rested his head against his shoulder as he tried not to jostle his bruised body too much. Now, he’s lifeless in his arms, and his body is growing cold. 

Yata opens the door for him, and he makes the trek up to the apartment upstairs, holding Tatara in his arms as tears slowly track down his face. He sees Anna is sitting with Mikoto, hating that his little Princess has to face death on her birthday. 

He lays Tatara down on the couch, not caring about the blood he knows is seeping onto the fabric now. Anna approaches him, and kisses his cheek. “Rest, Tatara.” She looks up at Mikoto, who gives a nod of his head. She leaves the room and goes to her bedroom, leaving the two lovers alone with their now deceased lover. 

“What. Happened.” Mikoto asks, pulling Izumo’s hand into his own as they both stare down at Tatara’s body. 

“I’m not sure.” He sees Yata had brought up the camera, and had set it down. “We might find answers on that.” He feels Mikoto squeezing his hand tight. “He said it was the Colorless King that shot him.” 

“What.” Mikoto’s red flares bright, the fire traveling up Izumo’s arm without doing any sort of damage to him. “A King did this?” 

“We need to investigate further.” Izumo shakes his head. “We can’t make that kind of claim without backing it up. We have to see if he was filming, Mikoto.” 

The pain against his hand disappears, as Mikoto drops it. His knees hit the floor, as he bows his head over Tatara’s broken body. “You asshole.” Mikoto grabs onto his bloodied shirt, and yanks it up, pulling his lover’s dead body into his arms. “You weren’t supposed to leave us.” 

Izumo’s tears begin again, as he witnesses his lover’s shared pain at the loss of their love. He puts his hand on Mikoto’s shoulder, squeezing it with his own hand. Mikoto puts his hand over Izumo’s, and holds it tight, the two of them at a complete loss. 

Mikoto reaches for Tatara’s earring, which he puts on his own ear, Izumo helping him stand back up, only to be pulled towards the bed. Before he can fall down on it, though, Mikoto puts his hands on Tatara and burns him. 

“No blood. No bone. No ash.” Izumo whispers, watching as his lover takes care of their lover, leaving no trace behind. It’s what they’ve always known would happen if one of them died. It’s their call. It’s how they leave this world. 

Falling onto the bed with Mikoto, he cries softly as Mikoto holds him, the two of them hugging each other for what feels like an eternity. Izumo is too scared to let go, as he knows Mikoto is having a difficult time right now with his powers, which have been getting erratic as of late. 

“Don’t worry, Izu.” Mikoto whispers into his ear, after shedding all of their clothes off of each other. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

“You’re lying.” He bites his lip, hating that he knows what he’s saying isn’t the truth. Mikoto is going to go away soon, and he can’t stop him. This is too much of a blow to their clan. Tatara is their heart. And now that their heart is gone, there’s nothing left to live for. Even he knows that. 

“Izu…” Mikoto distracts him with a kiss to his lips, before pulling him into a warm embrace. “He’s gone.” 

“I know.” He starts to cry again, clinging to Mikoto. “I hate how much I loved him.” 

“Me too.” 

They hold each other, laying naked under the covers. He feels Mikoto’s hands start to wander on his body, and part of him feels guilty that now he’s the only one that gets to feel this. He’s the only one that will get Mikoto’s love, when it should be shared with Tatara. Damn it. He starts to cry again, the guilt coming in waves now. 

Soft kisses touch his brow, then kiss away the tears falling on his cheeks. He half-sobs, half-moans as Mikoto starts to kiss him, caging his body with his own as he lays on top of him. Twenty-four hours ago, they’d been in this room with Tatara, having fun together in a sexual way. Those fleeting moments are gone forever. He only gets to feel Mikoto’s kisses now. No more kisses to share with Tatara. 

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you.” Mikoto murmurs, leaving more kisses on his face as the tears seem to have no end. “You shouldn’t have to have dealt with that alone.” 

“Yata was with me.” He whispers, his arms clinging to Mikoto’s neck as he holds onto him as tight as he can. “He shouldn’t have gone out. That stupid camera. He should have been here, helping to get things ready for Anna.” 

“What’s done is done.” Mikoto stares into his eyes, his breath hitching as he tries to calm down. “He’s gone, Izumo. But we’re here. He would want us to be like this. I know I’d want the two of you to find comfort in each other if I were in the one that died.” 

“Stop.” Izumo shakes his head. “I can’t. No, Mikoto. Don’t say things like that.” 

Mikoto moves off of him, Izumo covering himself with the blankets that had slipped off, feeling incredibly vulnerable. He smells cigarette smoke, and isn’t surprised when Mikoto puts a butt between his lips. Closing his eyes, he takes a drag and exhales through his nose. “I’m sorry.” Mikoto lays down next to him, smoking his own cigarette. “That was insensitive of me.” 

“Yes, it was.” Izumo takes a deep breath. “I can’t lose you too.” He looks into his eyes, then sees the glint of red on Tatara’s earring, which is now on Mikoto’s ear. “Don’t joke like that, Your Majesty.” 

“So formal.” The smirk on Mikoto’s face disappears as Izumo glares at him. “Sorry. Bad time for a joke.” 

“We’ll go and search tomorrow.” Izumo takes the smoke out of his mouth, exhaling a long plume above their heads. “Maybe this Colorless King left a trail.” 

“Or, we have a video of them.” Mikoto reminds him. 

“That’s true.” 

“We’ll find his killer, Izumo. We will avenge his death.” 

Izumo looks at Mikoto, and gives a firm nod of his head. “Yes, we will. Whatever it takes, justice will be served.” 

Mikoto takes the cigarette from his fingers, and stubs it out in his ashtray, then puts his arms around him. He anchors himself to Mikoto’s body, draping himself over him in such a way that isn’t sexual in nature, but shows that he cares deeply for his lover. “I love you, Izumo. I don’t tell you enough.” Mikoto murmurs against the top of his head, his arm squeezing him close. 

“We never said it enough.” He agrees, hating that he’s never going to get to hear Tatara laugh, or hear him playing a song. He won’t get to hear his sweet moans as they bring him to an intense orgasm. There won’t be any more late nights of the three of them talking, touching, tasting each other. No more ‘I love you’. 

“I’ll tell you as often as you’d like.” 

Looking up at Mikoto, he tries to smile, but the tears come back as he looks into his lover’s eyes. “Tell me all the time, Mikoto. Never stop telling me.” 

“I won’t, Izu.” Mikoto lifts him up, and presses a long, sweet kiss to his lips. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” He returns, and then sinks back down onto his chest, hugging close to him. 

Closing his eyes, all he can see is his lover dying, staring up at him with a look in his eyes that Izumo knows he will never forget. Why can’t you help me? But no, that isn’t what Tatara was thinking as he lay dying. No, his last thoughts were of his King, and how he doesn’t want him to be upset. Izumo sobs softly, hugging Mikoto close as he tries to erase the horrible sight from his eyes. Instead, he returns to what the three of them had done the night before, his heart resting easier as he knows that while Tatara may be gone physically from this realm, his spirit remains behind as he watches over them. 

“Our bond binds us from afar and yet we feel the warmth, and I wish it would last forever.”

[a-colorless-fighter]

IMPORTANT UPDATE (PLEASE READ)

Hello readers, I know you were hoping this update would be a third chapter, and are wondering why I last updated in a LOOONG time, so I'm here to explain that.

PLEASE READ ALL THE WAY, I KNOW IT'S LONG BUT IT'S A VERY IMPORTANT UPDATE!!!

TW: Discussion of real, life-threatening injuries and death

Over two months ago, I woke up to my dad frantically trying to call me and my mom with a text saying "CODE RED! EVERYONE PICK UP YOUR PHONES NOW! AND ANSWER MY PHONE CALL!"

My mom's phone was dead and my younger brother's phone wasn't working, so we called my dad back on my phone, put him on speaker, and braced ourselves for terrible news.

We were informed that my older brother, whom I will call James (Not his real name), had a 6-minute seizure and is currently in an ambulance being sent to the hospital.

6 minutes is classified as a severe seizure.

It happened out of nowhere, he was just playing soccer with his buddies when suddenly he got the worst headache ever to the point of crying. He walked over to my dad and then suddenly started seizing.

We found out he had a knot of veins in the center of his brain that bursted.

He had a brain bleed, they had a tube in the top of his head to drain some of the blood, and they had to take out part of his skull to allow the swelling to not cause any more brain damage from pressure.

I don't want to get into too much detail about the two months he was in the hospital, but it was the scariest thing I've gone through.

I was constantly worried he was going to die.

And even if he would be alive in the end, there is a high chance he wouldn't be the same.

The reason this connects to why I was unable to work on this fanfic is because my fanfic is about that topic, it's about a character (Leo) having a brain injury, and not being the same person anymore.

Even simply thinking about this project put me in a depressive state.

The good news is that James is alive, He is ok. And you guys do not need to worry about him at all.

We had a lot of miracles happen and I am more than happy to say that he is still the brother I knew before this happened. He has recovered remarkably fast and well since he is young and healthy.

He is EXTREMELY lucky to ONLY have a few vision problems and just be a little weaker on his left side, he is taking PT (Physical therapy) and luckily the doctors said he won't get any worse, whether or not he will fully heal, we don't know.

But I don't care I don't care that he has vision problems and is weaker on his left side,

HE IS FUCKING ALIVE!!!

and that's all I care about.

If this happened to him literally ANY other time, he would have been dead. if he was in his room alone, he would have been dead, if it was nighttime, he would have been dead. But luckily he was in an area where a lot of people were watching him, and there were people there to help carry him to a safe place to wait for an ambulance.

I've had a LOT of time to hang out with him and mentally recover from what happened.

And I've decided... I still want to continue this Fanfiction.

It doesn't pain me to work on this at all anymore because I know my brother is ok. If anything, this work can be used as a way to vent my emotions from the incident. I can't change the fact this happened, but I can try to look on the bright side of it. I mean- Having this experience will probably make my writing better, at least for Leo's brother's side of the story. I understand how they feel on such a deep level and want to keep writing this because it's a healthy way to vent emotions.

I do want to take a moment and thank you for all of your guys' support. I read EVERY SINGLE COMMENT and it makes me SO happy to read about what you think of my work. I cannot express how much it boosts my motivation and mood when I read a new comment. I have a LOT planned for this series and I want to continue it and make it better than before!

Also, IDK if anyone noticed, but NAME CHANGE! I'm going by "UnknownStripes" now on AO3, (which is actually a reference to future events in this series *wink *wink...)

ALSO! EXCITING NEWS! I have been re-writing the previous two chapters! I noticed a LOT of mistakes and parts that frustrated me, so I will be re-writing them. The same stuff will play out, it's just going to be written better with some dialogue changes, plot-hole fixes, AND CHANGE THE FUCKING WEAPONS THE EPF USE TO TRY TO CAPTURE THE TURTLES LIKE WTF WAS I THINKING?!!!!???? WHY THE HELL ARE THEY USING ACTUAL FUCKING BULLETS TO TRY TO CAPTURE DONNIE AND LEO WHEN THEY WANT THEM ALIVE?!! HOW THE FUCK DO DONNIE AND LEO JUST GET FUCKING SHOT AND THEN BRUSH IT OFF LIKE ITS NOTHING LIKE- BRO- AHHHHHVBSDBVOSNONCOIWBVONKSZNV!!!!! So yeah, I'll be fixing that. But having them use tranquilizer darts would affect how I wanted the scene to play out so I've been stuck on that, but I FINALLY FOUND A PLOT-HOLE FILLER!! WHOOOOOO!!! So you'll just have to wait and see!!! I'm actually almost done re-writing the first two chapters! I worked on it a LOT BEFORE the incident with James went down. I just have a few more things to edit and then they will be ready to post! As for the third chapter... I am about 1/3 done. Idk when I'll be able to post it but I will be working on it a lot in my free time! You guys deserve it for having to wait so long, but I also want it to be good, so I ain't gonna rush it.

ALSO! I am an artist, You may have noticed the cover art I made and added to the first chapter. I'm happy to announce that I will be adding MORE ARTWORK to the chapters to help with visualization, and to give my lovely readers something pleasant to look at. I will also be posting the artwork much earlier on the Official ACF Tumblr, along with extra sketches that aren't going to be used in the actual chapters. I also want to give more frequent updates there too, plus I am open to asking questions and doing polls! So if you want to see any of that, GO FOLLOW THE TUMBLR PAGE! (AKA THIS TUMPLE PAGE IF YOU ARE READING THE TUMBLR VERSION OF THIS UPDATE)

I'll make an announcement like this when I post the re-written first two chapters,

Love you all SM! <3

-UnknownStripes

A Colorless Fighter - Chapter 4 - UnknownStripes - Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018) [Archive of Our Own]

[brownie-gives-cats]

you making some funky little kitty cats here, very cool :)

And here's one for you! 62 - Common

Russetclover (she/he) is a medium-furred red smoke cat with very pale yellow eyes. Her fur is a cheery cinnamon shade that fades to white on her muzzle, chest and stomach. Some swirling false tabby markings make the fur on her neck and spine shimmer. He has a fluffy, round mane of fur around his neck and a round face with a somewhat flattened muzzle. He doesn’t have a tail, only a puff of fur like a starburst at the base of his spine. She has a rounded body shape with short legs ending in narrow paws. His yellow eyes are so pale, they appear colorless most of the time with only the golden flecks in his iris visible.

Russetclover is driven by her burning ambitions. Not for power or recognition, but to be the best nursery queen and teacher the Clan has ever known. Fiercely protective of any of the Clan’s youth, Russetclover is determined to provide an environment where every cat will grow into their best selves. He has learned to find a balance between being supportive and being overprotective, but takes it hard when a kit or apprentice he thought he had the trust of goes behind his back and doesn’t quite realize that his high hopes cause a different pressure all of its own. She isn’t a very good hunter or fighter, having poor balance due to her lack of tail and, after a sickness in her own youth stuck in her lungs, lacks stamina. Russetclover is distrustful of cats she doesn't know well and can be prickly and rude at first, but any cat that manages to stick with it despite her defensive rudeness can earn their way into her small circle of friends.

[dangermousie]

Finished ep 1. These are two ridiculously beautiful people but so far I have zero investment in the storyline or them.

Part of it is we are dropped in medias res but because it's clearly due to cuts and not the way they initially planned to tell it, I am not shown why I should care about any of the events or people - oh no imperial family got offed and ML's dad is hostage. OK, I don't know any of them, we get no clue how ML feels about any of them/this (is he worried about his father, does he have no feeling other than filial piety because he has issues with them) and there is nothing we know about any of them on their own.

Same for FL. OK, she's a general's daughter and wants her fam to rule the world. But just like with ML, all we get is competent, good fighter, and hot. We see absolutely nothing that makes them tick, or makes them human, or deep yearning or anything. It's early days but I so don't want it to turn into another Anle, pretty people great story on paper but utterly colorless and without real people in execution. To take something like My Journey to You, or Lost You Forever or Till the End of the Moon - I was already invested by the end of ep 1 and they felt like real people for me. Here, they are pretty, they are fun, they are poseable dolls.

Here's hoping it improves.

ETA: aaaa and then ep 2 hit and went psych!!!! It just got SO GOOOOOOOD!

[gripefroot]

Crooked Ways [3/22]

Guilt swelled up so harsh and hot in his throat that he didn’t simply lay her on the floor, which was far nicer than he would have done for anyone else. Instead he briskly patted her colorless cheeks, repeating her name over and over. Then he called her unkind things, hoping that she was faking to punish him and that her temper would rouse her. But she remained limp and Vegeta cursed every Earth deity he could think of. 

What was the human procedure for injuries? The extent of his experience were the senzu beans Kakarot and his friends used during battle. Bulma was no fighter, and he doubted she had any in the compound. 

He cursed again, tucking an arm beneath her knees to lift her, keeping an eye on the broken bone cradled between their bodies. 

Where was Dr. Briefs? Where was Panchy? 

Vegeta kicked off through the training pod door the moment it had opened enough to get himself and Bulma through. Into the sky, squinting at the over-bright yellow sun - why did Earth have to have such a stupidly bright sun? - as he flung out his senses to find the thin, wavering energies of…

There. 

Dr. Briefs and Panchy were lounging on a balcony. Dr. Briefs with a cigarette between his lips while he fussed with a screwdriver and some Earth technology, Panchy reclined in chair with sunglasses and one of those drinks with an umbrella. She saw him first as he hurtled downwards, lifting a hand to wave and screech out in her piercingly familiar voice, 

“Hello, Vegeta!”

He landed with a heavy thud, Bulma stirring in his arms at the jolt. 

“Your daughter had a fall,” he bit out. 

“Oh, dear!” Panchy’s hand flew up to cover her mouth. Dr. Briefs peered over his glasses, frowning. “Well, lay her down inside then. That’s a good boy. Yes, we’ll call a doctor right away…”

Her prattling followed him inside. Through the screen doors, into one of the family’s many living spaces. Blinking for his eyes to adjust back to dimness, he strode towards one of the couches. But when he got there, knees hitting the frame, he suddenly balked. 

They don’t care! The woman’s father didn’t even move. And her mother is telling me a story about her falling off a bike as a child. Am I supposed to leave her in their care? 

“So sweet of you to bring her here, Vegeta!” Panchy said, her scarlet fingernails digging into his arm with a smile. In response he only held Bulma tighter. 

“Her wrist is broken,” Vegeta said blandly. 

“Sure, sure! Not a problem. Run along now, we’ll take care of her.” 

He bristled before he could stop himself. Run along? Run along? If he still had his tail it would be whipping back and forth, warning the Earth woman of his darkening mood. Any Saiyan would fear him in that state - but she wasn’t a Saiyan. None of them were. And so Panchy merely gave a giggle as she patted his arm, unaware of the currents running through him. 

“You can stay by her side, of course. I know how much you care about our little girl.”

Care? 

Vegeta dropped Bulma on the couch, her body bouncing once before flopping out to lay still. 

“Goodbye,” he said to Panchy, and stalked out of the room with a slam of the door. 

How dare she? How dare she suggest such a thing? He didn’t care about Bulma. He didn’t care whether she lived or died. What did it matter to him? Even if it was his fault. Even if he had to find a new place to train. Even if…

The hallways of Capsule Corp. were dark with the approaching evening, purple-streaked and endless. Not that Vegeta needed the light. He was fine without it. Just like he was fine without Bulma, fine without her hospitality and her robots and her wry “Ever heard of salt?” and how her lips quirked just the right way when she was flirting. 

Blast it! Had she even pre-programmed the robots so that they’d work now? Or would he have to wait until she could set them up? 

She wasn’t even conscious and she still found ways to drive him mad.

If anything else, the robots were a reason to bite back the hope that she wouldn’t die after all. 

~

She didn’t die. Vegeta knew it the moment he heard her screaming his name. 

And not even in a good way. 

Hissing out in frustration, he lowered the hundred-pound weights to the ground as the hairs on the back of his neck rose at Bulma’s shouting. If his body hadn’t suddenly tensed tighter than a fist, he’d ignore her. She’d stop eventually. But he couldn’t focus on his training like this. 

It had been over a day since the incident. A doctor had been called (so he’d been told by a chatty Panchy at dinner the night before) and Bulma had been put to bed to rest. 

Vegeta grabbed a towel on his way out of the gym inside Capsule Corp (he wasn’t interested in the training pod until Bulma deemed the bots ready), wiping the sweat from his face with a few rough motions. Leaving it to hang over his shoulder, he didn’t knock before barging into Bulma’s room. 

“What?” he roared, loud enough to cut off her shouts. She was sitting up in her bed, arms crossed with one wrist in a splint with the sun from the windows blazing behind her head to make her scowl appear even darker and more dangerous. 

“You!” Bulma snapped back after a huge breath, likely to continue her screeching. “This is your fault!” 

“Did you wake up just to tell me that?”

“I didn’t get a chance before I passed out earlier!” 

“Go back to sleep then! I don’t want to hear it!” Truly, he didn’t. He didn’t need a reminder that she was right and he was wrong: it was his fault that her wrist was broken. If he hadn’t dropped her on purpose…

Well! If she hadn’t jumped on top of him in the first place! 

“I don’t see what the big deal is, anyway,” Vegeta continued, not giving her a chance to continue railing at him. Her eyes sparked dangerously, but he’d never been afraid of danger. “You’ll be fine in a few days.”

Bulma blinked. “A few days? Believe it or not, Mr. Super Alien, but humans take longer to heal than you! Try a few months, if I don’t need surgery, that is!”

“Months?” he blinked back. “Surgery?” 

“Now you feel guilty, don’t you?” A smile appeared on her face, tilted with sleek satisfaction. “Good. I need your help taking me to my doctor’s appointment this afternoon.” 

Without thinking, Vegeta had taken a few steps into Bulma’s bedroom. Easier to shout back at her that way. Or so he told himself, fists planted on his hips. “No,” he stated. “Use one of your car things.”

Fury lifted her chest again, nose wrinkled. “I can’t drive one-handed, you idiot!”

“I can’t drive either, in case you forgot,” Vegeta pointed out. “Have someone else drive you! This place is swarming with humans!” 

“The traffic is insane! It’ll take hours!” 

“How is that my problem?” He kept his feet squared apart. The stance reserved for enemies across a battlefield. Not that this blue-haired woman could even consider being worthy of his enemy. Nonetheless, he kept the pose. 

“Because,” Bulma enunciated through gritted teeth, “it’s your fault I’m injured in the first place.”

“I didn’t ask you to jump.” Vegeta leaned over her to make his point, only too-aware of the way her chin lifted to keep glaring right into his eyes. “You made a stupid choice, now live with it.” 

“Remember when you blew up the training pod?” 

His jaw clenched. “Yes.”

“And who helped you back to health then?” 

“I didn’t ask you to - ”

“It doesn’t hurt to be a decent person, you know.” With a sniff Bulma tilted her head away from him. “But fine. Keep acting like a villain. Keep making everyone hate you. Don’t be surprised when you’re left all alone at the end of the day, though, with no one watching your back.” 

Vegeta pondered the consequences of breaking her other wrist. He could do it with two fingers; curl them around her fragile bones and squeeze. Feel each crack through her delicate skin. 

Perhaps she sensed some of the danger rippling off of him, because in the ensuing silence he heard the faint beat of her heart stutter and surge, picking up its pace. Despite that, she didn’t look his way, pretending great interest in a bookshelf. 

She’d hit a good target, even if she’d been swinging wildly with her insults. Vegeta could only give a spat “Bah!” of pretend indifference before turning on his heel to stomp out of the room. He didn’t slam the door behind him, but he considered it, and he didn’t close it gently. Somewhere in the middle. Somewhere on the cusp of good and evil that he wasn’t ready to traverse much. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like the prickling guilt that wouldn’t leave him, and he didn’t like that all he could see was the disgusted hurt in Bulma’s posture when he’d refused to help. 

Menace. If she didn’t treat me like chattel I might have agreed. 

It was all he could think to bandage that sliver of his pride that she was right: it was his fault. Was he so far removed from much-forgotten princely duties that he’d rather injure someone more helpless than himself than take the extra seconds to see them safe? 

And it was pride, too, that drew him back into the gym to continue his training. Pride that he couldn’t apologize. Couldn’t admit he was wrong. 

Vegeta was finding that pride cooled and wavered when he had no one to kill. 

~

The television played one of the asinine shows that Bulma liked while he made sandwiches. Panchy’s hired chef had left a feast of a meal before leaving for the evening, but Vegeta had cleared those plates within minutes, filling the empty space in his gut. But not all the way. 

He was spreading mustard on a slice of bread when he realized no one was in the living room to watch the television. 

Of course he knew that. Vegeta slapped a few slices of cheese atop the mustard. He hadn’t sensed anyone there. He’d just been too busy to think about it. That finished sandwich went on a plate next to four others. He reached into the plastic bag for two more slices of bread. 

“Oh! I thought Bulma was in here.” 

Dr. Briefs, thank goodness. Not Panchy. 

“She’s not here,” Vegeta said without looking over at the old scientist in the doorway, feline in hand. 

“I would have thought she’d be back from her appointment by now,” Dr. Briefs said. 

She’s likely still pouting, Vegeta thought to himself unkindly. “I thought she had no way to get there,” he said aloud. 

“She walked to the clinic,” her father said in his usual absent tone. “I saw her crossing the lawn myself. Oh, well. She probably just took the long way home.” 

Vegeta’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing at the darkened windows where city lights made stars in the velvet sky. Long way home? From where, another continent? No way should it take her this long to - 

“How long has she been gone?” he asked, but he was alone. Exhaling in frustration, he dropped the knife on the counter, knowing he was about to do something he desperately didn’t want to. 

Or that he thought he didn’t want to.

The slide of the balcony door made a humming screech in the night. Three steps took him to the railing, knuckles gripping the bars while he stared out at the city. So many humans, their energy signatures negligible but enough to wriggle faintly in his ears. Enough to cover Bulma’s, and enough, in turn, to frustrate him into a growl. He’d have better luck going into the city. 

He’d never forgive her for this. 

Anger was a comfortable, familiar companion, and he kept it burning bright and hot as he soared noiselessly above and around buildings, avoiding the blush of streetlights or bright windows. Keeping to the shadows was a survival skill he’d had longer than he could remember, and the last thing he wanted was to be spotted. Every so often he’d pass a busy intersection and hear the drifting noises of chatter or laughter, prickling at his skin as a reminder of petty life. Wind trickled past his face, carrying an untold number of scents and rifling his hair, and - 

There. 

Vegeta skittered to a stop mid-air, whipping his head around with a resurgence of anger. He pelted through a blackened alley, following the low-pulse of energy down one street, then another, and finally to land heavily on the sidewalk twenty feet or so from the woman he was searching for. 

Bulma hadn’t been keeping to the shadows. In fact, she bathed in the flickering light of a lamppost, hunched on a metal bench and not looking his way even once, though his landing hadn’t been quiet. His fists clenched at his side. For some reason, he smelled salt. 

“Here to gloat?”

Her words carried to him with a breeze, a slash of weary snideness. 

“No,” Vegeta said. “I’m here to take you home.”

That was when she turned. Pale face framed by her gauche hair, bright eyes glossy and rimmed with red. His own anger was reflected back to him, but smudged and distant, as if looking through a foggy window. 

“Why would you do that?” Bulma asked. 

“Because,” he spluttered, visions of her effusive gratitude disappearing in a snap. “Because your father is worried about you!”

A lie. 

“Oh, please, I know you’re lying,” she said, waving her good hand in his direction. “Go away, Vegeta. The next bus will be here in a half-hour. I’ll get home eventually.” 

“You’re going home now.” 

Vegeta made it to her side in a handful of strides, boots tapping on the sidewalk. Each step of the way her eyes stayed on him, narrowing with the closing distance until he loomed above her and she was full-on glaring. For someone who had demanded he take her to the doctor, this wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. 

It was that moment that he realized the salt he smelled was her human tears. 

“You have better things to do than look after me,” Bulma said with a spark of her usual scalding temper. 

“Yes,” Vegeta agreed. “But I’m taking you home now. Will you stand or will I make you stand?” 

She sniffed. The glossiness in her eyes grew until they were twin jewels staring at him, belligerent and beautiful.

It’s because they’re blue, Vegeta dismissed his own admiration, crossing his arms to disguise any outward sign of vulnerability. I like blue. That’s all. 

“Why are you crying?” he snapped aloud. 

“Can’t a girl cry without being yelled at?” Bulma snapped back. “I deserve to cry! My wrist is broken and all my friends have abandoned me. No one cares about me! I can cry all day and - ”

He had no time for this. With a short huff of impatience, Vegeta leaned over to snatch Bulma off of the metal bench, one arm beneath her knees and the other holding her securely around the waist. He was already ten feet in the air before she started screaming. 

“A little warning next time!” 

The screech went into his ear and down his spine like a million needlepoints in his bones. Vegeta snarled at the sky. If he had one wish it would be that Bulma didn’t have the tonal qualities of a harpy from hell. It would be worth gathering up the Dragon Balls. 

At least that was her only protest. Buildings disappeared below them, the waning moon growing with their ascent. The air was colder up here. He shivered at the sudden warmth around his neck, the slight weight on his shoulder. 

Bulma had put her head on his shoulder. And her arm around his neck. 

How dare - 

Thick lashes spread over her cheeks, tiny wrinkles of worry softening over her face. He didn’t realize he was staring until a bird squawked near them, making him jolt to the side. He’d been flying the wrong direction. Quickly he corrected his course, the silver moonlight burning his left side as he made out the domed shapes of Capsule Corp in the distance.

It was the least he could do, Vegeta decided. To let her cling to him, if she really wanted. It didn’t mean anything. She was probably just scared of heights and thought that if something happened to him, her feeble strength might save her. If it had anything to do with him, it was likely distrust that he’d get her home in one piece. 

“Next time,” he said, not bothering to raise his voice - even her limited hearing should understand him within a few inches of each other. “I’ll take you. It’ll get you and your father off my back so I can focus on my training.”

Bulma didn’t respond. Vegeta glanced. 

The harpy had fallen asleep.

Tch. She just wants to be carried to bed. Spoiled wretch. His teeth gnashed together, muting the growl forming in his throat. Typical Bulma behavior. Whine and pout and screech to get her way. It was one of the things he disliked about her the most. She could act like a true princess sometimes, pampered and cosseted and crossing the line into pathetic. Like getting him to fly her home from the doctor. She’d managed to get his help in the end, manipulating him right where she profited the most. 

The innocence in her dozing face almost put him over the edge. That she could pretend…

She stirred in his arms, brows drawing together before relaxing, her cheek squished against his indigo training uniform before her lips parted, puffing out a soft, sweet breath. He descended slowly to the balcony outside her bedroom, landing so carefully that he didn’t make a single noise. 

Ridiculous, he thought savagely. Absolutely ridiculous.

Vegeta carried her to bed. 

[sketch-mer-6195]

Second Chance (Future!Leo x Kalani)

Author’s notes: These are all Consenting Adults ranging from mid 20′s to late 30′s. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT! This is a 21+ blog and I do intend to bring some NSFW content. 

Future!Leo is about 38, Kalani is 26. If you don’t like the age gap... tough noogies, I’m keeping it this way bwah ha ha! Now onward!

There it was, the technodrone destroyed; the city was safe. But at what cost? The last sign of Leo, in the portal Mikey was able to create to try and save his big brother. The scream of agony, the cackle of greed, and the wails of pain. It was all too fast and sudden. His room was still the same, but lifeless. Colorless in her eyes. Every square inch was him and it wasn't. It was suffocating her and Kalani couldn’t take it. She had made a small shrine in her new home with the rest of the Hamato clan. One with a picture of Leo. Her boyfriend. Her best friend. Champion. Brother. Hero. It weighed down on her heart and soul for her, a teenager who was once an up and coming Alchemist alongside Baron Draxum and close accomplice of Big Mama at the Nexus Hotel. Now a broken girl with her heart now gone forever in the prison dimension.

Grief and mourning lasted for a long time in the family. Donnie would have night terrors of that fateful day. Mikey screamed in pain as memories flooded his mind. Raph would have nights with no sleep, afraid of becoming that krang version of himself. Casey would only comfort them all to help them. Kalani, the most quiet of them, laid in her room curled up tight under her sheets to gain some sort of semblance. But it was fruitless as her quiet sobs would fall into loud wails of pain. Many nights, everyone came together in the main room. Blankets, pillows, fairy and christmas lights, heating lamps and blankets and mattresses laid out for everyone to sleep as a whole.

It took two months for Donnie to calm himself and finally start sleeping in his room. 5 months for Raph to finally start laying in his own bed. Mikey was an extra month before he finally went to his room. This left Kalani alone once again.

Her saving grace was her hero, now an old rat, Lou Jitsu, better known as Splinter. Many nights, he would keep his door open and a simple electric tea light alit giving her signs that she was always welcomed. A mattress was laid next to his raised bed. Blankets and a pillow from Leo's room always greeted her in warmth and comfort as she quietly cried herself to sleep while Splinter would pet her head and rub a soothing hand across her small shell to lull her to sleep. It wasn't until a year and a half later that she finally chose to start sleeping in her own room. Splinter always reminding her that her candle will always stay lit for her of she needs guidance and peace.

After that, everyone took on their roles. Raph was leader once again, Donnie was back working on his tech and inventions, and Mikey was still the silly one. But Kalani was offered, by her new family, to be their fourth crucial partner. Being the Face Man. The speed and precision that was needed for this team. Although she had no ninpo, she was a skilled fighter and knew how to work with the three brother's alongside with Casey. Naturally, she accepted and agreed to take up the role as "Face Man" to make Leo proud.

But that was all going to be put to the test.

Information from Cassandra showed that a new Foot Clan, working alongside the Purple Dragons and Baxter Stockboy all working together to try and release the Kraang once again from the prison dimension. They had learned through alchemy how to gain enough power to reopen a portal to get into the prison dimension so the Kraang can once again take over the world.

Sitting around the table with a map of the city and the warehouse where they were last seen, the Mad Dogs were formulating a plan to foil the Foot and Purple Dragons plan.

"We need to try and take down their alchemist. If we take them down, then we have a chance of keeping the prision dimension closed longer." Kalani explained as she began to look through her alchemy charts for a counter circle.

"But they also have the Dragons and Stockboy. I can guarantee that they have some sort of interdimensional gate that will help amplify their chances at opening the prison dimension. We can't rely solely on mystic powers." Donnie added as he swiped through his holoscreen from his gauntlet.

With a slight scoff fron Kalani, Raph glanced down at the Kappa before looking down at the coordinates. "We can't let this get to us, a'ight? We work as a team. Cassandra, April and Casey are going to be our infiltrators and give us our opening. Mikey, you and Donnie work on finding the main computer room and to take out anything that could be repurposed. I'll come in with smashibg out the enemies. And Kalani."

He emphasized, catching her attention with an unamused quirk of her brow.

"Keep your head in the game. You take out the Alchemist that they found. And no going lethal!" Raph added.

"Can I at least go semi-lethal?" She quipped.

"WH-WHAT?! NO!" Raph bellowed, earning a few chuckles from Mikey and a groan from Donnie.

It wasn’t long until they had agreed to the plan and began to leave the lair. Walking down the stairs and passing the train cars that were everyone’s bedroom, Kalani passed Leo's old room, the door closed and curtains drawn. Her pace slowed to a stop as she stared at his room. Her chest tight and a pang of grief sweeping over her like a sheet. 

A large hand gently laid on the small of her back, making her jump and turn to see Raph standing beside her. Her eyes had a glimmer of hope, something that he had seen several times before. One that made his own heart clench. But that had all but vanished as she saw who it was. That hope snuffed and her walls were back up once more.

"Listen, Kali. If yer not feelin' up for it, my brother's an' I can-"

"You can't do it without all of us, Raph. Besides, who else can be the faceman?" Kalani stated before she began to walk away and grab her blue sash.

Raph grabbed her hand, successfully ceasing her to move. His large thumb rubbing such soft circles that caused her to glance down at their hands. He lowered himself so he could look at her eyes that averted their gaze with his own. Kalani hated being seen vulnerable again, and with the anniversary of Leo's death it was her hardest time to get by or even be alone. Raph, knowing exactly what she was feeling, gently pulled her close to his plasteron and engulfed her in his strong arms. Her slender ones instinctively wrapped around his neck as he ran his hand up and down her back to comfort her.

"We care about ya, Kal. I care. Yer can't hide the pain. Raph ain't gonna let that happen again." He reassured her.

She let out a dry chuckle, allowing her fingers to gently stroke across the top of his head and rest on his shoulder. "I know. And I will never understand how you tolerate me and my tides of emotions."

It was Raph's turn to chuckle before pulling back and looking up at her. "Cause we were together for three years, Kal. Granted, it wasn't for us. But I still care for ya, as friends or as a couple. Yer part of the Hamato Clan, and that ain't changin' no time soon."

Smiling at one another, Raph stood up and kissed the crown of Kalani's head before escorting her to the Turtle Tank where Donnie and Mikey were already waiting for them. It was inevitable that Leo was gone, but Kalani knew that he would want her to continue with or without him. And now, sporting his blue bandana tied on her arm she took her seat in the tank and smirked at the brothers. It was time to kick some Foot Clan Ass.

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