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chrome-hearts-dress1 · 5 months ago

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Chrome Hearts Shirt: The Ultimate Guide to This Fashion Icon

The fashion industry is ablaze with enthusiasm for Chrome Hearts-shirts. These shirts, which are well-known for their cutting-edge styles and excellent craftsmanship, are now essential pieces in the closets of both celebrities and fashionistas. What, though, is so unique about a Chrome Hearts shirt? Let's explore the realm of chrome hearts and discover the charm of these recognizable objects.

Chrome Hearts' Past

John Bowman, Leonard Kamhout, and Richard Stark established Chrome Hearts in 1988. The brand was initially founded in Los Angeles as a leather motorcycle gear manufacturer. But it didn't take long for fashion enthusiasts to notice their distinctive patterns and superb craftsmanship. As time went on, Chrome Hearts' product line grew to encompass apparel, accessories, and jewelry, with their shirts becoming particularly popular.

The Allure of Shirts with Chrome Hearts

Why are Chrome Hearts t-shirts so damn cute? It comes down to a few essential elements:

Special Designs

The shirts from Chrome Hearts are renowned for their vivid and detailed designs. Everything from delicate logos to intricate images is available for everyone. Every item is unique and makes a statement in any outfit.

Celebrity Approvals

Chrome Hearts shirt have become increasingly fashionable after being noticed on celebrities including Bella Hadid, Drake, and Kanye West. It's difficult to resist wanting one for yourself when your favorite stars look so good in these shirts.

Material Quality

Chrome Hearts is dedicated to utilizing premium materials only. Because of this commitment to excellence, every shirt not only looks great but also feels plush and lasts a long time.

Stylish Designs for Chrome Hearts-Shirts

Chrome Hearts provides a diverse range of shirt designs to suit individual preferences. These are a handful of the most well-liked ones:

Visual Tees

The signature item on the Chrome Hearts shirt is a graphic. These shirts, which include intricate artwork and the brand's iconic symbols, are ideal for people who enjoy making a big impression.

Designs Focused on Logos

Those who want a more subtle appearance can choose shirts bearing Chrome Hearts' famous emblem. These pieces may be worn with any ensemble because of their understated yet fashionable styles.

Joint Works

Chrome Hearts frequently works with other companies and musicians to produce one-of-a-kind garments. These objects are in great demand and frequently end up in collectors' collections.

Components and Artistry

A Chrome Hearts shirt is of the highest caliber available. This is the reason why:

Superior Substances Employed

When it comes to materials, Chrome Hearts does not cut any corners. High-quality cotton is usually used to make their shirts, guaranteeing comfort and longevity.

Observation of Detail

Each Chrome Hearts-shirt is expertly made, paying close attention to every last detail. Every detail is considered, from the printing to the stitching.

Production Method

Modern production methods are used to assure consistency and quality in each and every Chrome Hearts-shirt.

How to Wear a Shirt with Chrome Hearts

Shirts with Chrome Hearts are very adaptable and have multiple styling options. Here are some suggestions:

Easy Looks

For an easygoing casual style, team a Chrome Hearts graphic tee with jeans and sneakers.

Combinations of Streetwear

Pair your Chrome Hearts shirt with cargo pants, a bomber jacket, and brand-new sneakers for a streetwear aesthetic.

High-Style Combinations

Wear a stylish blazer and fitted pants with a Chrome Hearts-shirt to complete the appearance. To finish the look, add a few eye-catching accessories.

Where can I get shirts with chrome hearts?

It can be difficult to locate a genuine Chrome Hearts-shirt. Here are a few trustworthy locations to look at:

The official stores for Chrome Hearts

Purchasing a Chrome Hearts-shirt directly from one of their official retailers is the best option. Authenticity and availability of the newest designs are ensured by this.

Internet-Based Shops

Chrome Hearts shirt are typically available from reputable online stores such as Farfetch and SSENSE. To avoid counterfeits, make sure you check the credentials of the seller.

Market for Resale

There is a large assortment of previously owned Chrome Hearts-shirts on websites such as Grailed and Depop. Even though there are some great bargains, it's important to watch out for phony goods.

Value and Price Range

Shirts with Chrome Hearts cost money. What you should know about their prices is as follows:

Average Cost Points

Depending on the design and rarity, a Chrome Hearts-shirt can cost anywhere from $300 and $800 on average.

Factors Influencing the Cost

Due to their scarcity and demand, limited edition items, collaborations, and older designs are typically more expensive.

Value of Investment

Chrome Hearts shirt are popular and of high quality, so they will keep their worth over time. Some people even value rare and limited-edition items.

Genuineness and Forgeries

The market for fake Chrome Hearts t-shirts is regrettably big. To make sure you're getting the real stuff, follow these steps:

How to Recognize Authentic Chrome Hearts-Shirts

Seek for finely crafted materials, accurate sewing, and distinct, clear printing. Replica jerseys will also feature precise tags and logos.

Typical Signs of Counterfeiting

Watch out for shirts with cheap prices, subpar materials, and inconsistent designs. Something is probably off if it feels that way.

Advice for Purchasing Genuine Items

When buying used goods, be sure the vendor is reliable and request a copy of the original invoice. If in doubt, speak with professionals or the brand directly.

Taking Care of Your Chrome Hearts Tee

Your Chrome Hearts shirt can last longer with proper maintenance. Here are some pointers:

Tips for Cleaning and Upkeep

Use mild detergents and wash your shirt in cool water. Before washing, turn it inside out to preserve the print.

Storage Suggestions

Keep your shirt somewhere dry and cool. In order to keep it from fading, hang it away from direct sunlight.

The Effect of Chrome Hearts on Culture

Chrome Hearts is a phenomenon in culture rather than just a brand.

impact on fashion

Numerous designers and streetwear fans have been impacted by the brand, which has developed styles that others have followed.

Being present in popular culture

Chrome Hearts shirt are a staple of pop culture, appearing in everything from music videos to motion pictures, cemented by their legendary status.

Partnerships with Other Brands

Chrome Hearts' reach has been increased, and new, innovative designs have been created through partnerships with labels such as Off-White and Matty Boy.

Celebrity Endorsements' Effects

The buzz that is generated when celebrities wear Chrome Hearts increases the product's demand and desirability.

Reviews & Testimonials from Customers

Regarding Chrome Hearts-shirts, what are people saying? Now let's investigate:

What Customers Are Saying

The distinctive designs and excellent quality of the Chrome Hearts-shirt have won over many customers. They frequently highlight the brand's longevity and unique flair.

Chrome Hearts Shirt Future

What is in store for shirts bearing the Chrome Hearts logo? Here are a few forecasts:

Future Patterns

As Chrome Hearts continues to push the frontiers of fashion, expect to see more creative designs and partnerships.

Forecasts for the Future of the Brand

Chrome Hearts is positioned to be a significant participant in the fashion industry for many years to come, thanks to its strong brand identification and devoted fan base.

Conclusion

Shirts with chrome hearts are more than just apparel; they make a statement. These shirts have earned their spot in the fashion industry with their distinctive designs, premium materials, and cultural relevance. A Chrome Hearts shirt is a great addition to any wardrobe, regardless of how long you've been a fan or how new you are to it.

FAQs

How can I determine the authenticity of my Chrome Hearts-shirt?

Seek out clear prints, well-stitched seams, and premium materials. Real shirts will include tags and logos that are accurate.

Are shirts with chrome hearts worth the money?

Yes, Chrome Hearts-shirts are worth the money and will keep their value over time because of their high quality and longevity.

Which sizes are available for the shirts with chrome hearts?

Typically, Chrome Hearts-shirts are available in sizes ranging from XS to XL. Verify availability with certain shops.

Are there any sales for Chrome Hearts-shirts?

Although Chrome Hearts-shirts are rarely on sale, you may be able to discover deals on previously used shirts from reliable resale websites.

How should my Chrome Hearts-shirt be dressed for various situations?

Wear them with jeans and sneakers for a laid-back vibe. Try pairing a bomber jacket with cargo pants for a streetwear look. Wear a blazer and fitted pants for a stylish appearance.

#Chrome Hearts Shirt

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cherryonigiri · 4 years ago

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nanami kento [evenings with you]

nanami kento x reader || cw: descriptions of blood/injuries, light angst

a/n: this is just self-indulgent writing for me but i'm v stressed about school rn and this is the result. just imagine that y/n is a bio/medical phd candidate lol.

Nanami can tell that you're stressed. Usually you savor the nights he's not on overtime, asking him about work and refusing to leave his side for most of the evening. He's used to you being attentive, so the fact that you've asked him the same question twice within the last ten minutes is already setting alarm bells ringing in his head. You're constantly fiddling with something, or flashing furtive glances towards the bedroom when you think he's not paying attention.

It only gets worse after dinner. You insist on washing up, something about how you want him to 'enjoy his night off.' Nanami compromises, silently grabbing a towel and drying the dishes. It's clear that your mind is elsewhere. Your hands scrub the porcelain on autopilot, and he can hear you muttering under your breath.

Every now and then you'll mutter a list of tasks under your breath. Nanami remembers you mentioning that things were hectic in lab. You're almost always still working when gets home from work, even when it's well past when you eat your dinner. It's clear that you've had a busy day-- the apartment is far more cluttered than it usually is. There are post-it and pieces of scrap paper stuck to every single surface, and a forgotten pile of folded laundry rests on the couch.

An intense burning sensation across your palm causes you cry out. "Shit!" You drop the knife you were washing in favor of cradling your already bleeding hand. Nanami is instantly by your side, firmly pressing the dishcloth against your cut. There is a worrying amount of red seeping into the fabric, so he silently ushers you to the bathroom.

It's a strange reversal of roles. He's used to being the one leaning leaning against the counter while you bandage his wounds. Instead, it's you who is perched on the marble surface, wincing as he dabs an antiseptic soaked cotton ball against your injury. "Sorry, I'm almost done," he says when you let out a loud hiss.

"It's fine," you reply, sheepishly looking away. "I should have been paying more attention."

Nanami chooses to only respond with a nonchalant hum, focusing on cleaning your palm. The two of you sit there in comfortable silence while he applies ointment to the cut, adding gauze once he's finished. It's only when he reaches for the bandages that he decides to ask. "What's stressing you out?"

Your eyes widen as you realize you've been caught. Nanami is rarely home early these days, especially since he's been mentoring Itadori on behalf of Gojo. (Not that you mind - in the few times you've met Itadori through video call with Nanami, the pink-haired student's sunny disposition has never failed to cheer you up.) When he'd texted you saying he'd be home by dinner, you'd jumped at the opportunity to spend some much needed time with him. You'd pulled out the stops, cooking something a little fancier, and intent on spending the earlier part of the evening cuddling with him. Secretly, you had planned to sneak out of bed after he'd fallen asleep (he always goes to bed early on days like these) and finish preparing for the gauntlet of meetings and presentations you had tomorrow. It was your fault for putting off the tasks, and you didn't want to let your own bad habits get in the way of some quality time with your boyfriend.

"It's nothing, I just have a lot on my plate tomorrow." You do your best to laugh it off, but quickly trail off once when you catch Nanami's deadpan expression. He's always been too good at seeing through your white lies. "I put off some work..." A raised eyebrow from him prompts you to continue, "And I was planning on doing it after you went to bed..." You can't help it when your face scrunches into a pout. After all, now your carefully-laid deception has been revealed.

When Nanami bursts into amused chuckles, you're momentarily surprised, but quickly go back to sulking. "Stop laughing at me Ken!" you whine, "I'm a--"

"Self-aware procrastinator," he finishes your sentence with an amused grin. "I know love, I know. I've seen you write far too many papers within 24-hours of a deadline to be surprised." He presses an affectionate kiss against your wrist.

You scowl at your boyfriend, snatching your bandaged hand away from his grasp. "I'm glad that my suffering is entertaining for at least one person." You stomp back to the bedroom in faux-anger, smiling when you hear Nanami's footsteps not far behind you.

When he steps into the bedroom Nanami drapes his frame over your shoulders, his warm torso nestled against your back. "It is one of your more...endearing traits," he murmurs into your ear before pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck. You can feel your cheeks and ears tingle at his words of affection.

"Sometimes you can be such a sweet talker," you mumble to yourself while you change into your pajamas. This week it's been an old Jujutsu tech hoodie and a pair of well-worn athletic shorts.

"Only for you," Nanami replies while he undoes the buttons of his outfit, chucking his tan pants and blue button up into the laundry basket in the corner. He dons a pair of sweatpants before returning your side to recapture you in another affectionate hug. It's a well kept secret of the Kento-Y/N household that Nanami Kento likes to lounge around shirtless in the privacy of his apartment. (You've been sworn to secrecy, but only because your boyfriend claims that Gojo and the students would have a field day teasing him if this information were to be made public amongst the jujutsu sorcerer community.)

Turning around, you wrap your arms around his waist, burying your nose against his torso and taking in his comforting scent. It's been so long since the two of you have had a moment to yourselves, and for once your hectic thoughts are silenced in favor of sharing a moment of calm bliss with Nanami. He hums in appreciation, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against your hips.

"Do you want to watch anything tonight?" you ask after a few seconds of silence.

"No," he replies. "I was actually planning on reading the briefing Ichiji just sent me. Gojo apparently has another scheme up his sleeve." You giggle when your boyfriend lets out a pained sigh. On more than one occasion, your boyfriend has ranted to you about Gojo's unorthodox approach to exorcism. "I swear that idiot shaves a year off my lifespan every time I go on a mission with him," Nanami complains. "He's taking away the years I could spend in Malaysia."

You hum thoughtfully before responding, "Then do you mind--"

Once again, Nanami already knows what you're going to say. "Just remember to bring your laptop charger, I know you have a thousand tabs open on your computer right now," he says while exiting to the living room. After a few moments you join him, overburdened laptop and charger in hand. You both take your usual spots in the living room, him resting comfortably in the center of the loveseat and you sitting on a floor cushion, nestled between his legs. Soon you've fallen into a groove, fingers steadily typing on the keyboard. The warmth of Nanami's presence next to you brings a sense of calm, giving you the grounding focus you need to finish off the last of your tasks.

As he thumbs through the printouts Ichiji gave him, Nanami can't help but let his eyes drift towards you every now and then. You look so adorable when you work. From the way your brow furrows whenever you reread a line, to the way you unconsciously chew on your lip when you scrutinize your draft for any errors. Every now and then he'll gently run his fingers through your hair, relishing the content sighs you let out in response.

It only takes about another hour before you're (finally) closing all your tabs (he still doesn't know why your laptop hasn't crashed yet). As you scroll through social media, your head begins to droop. Soon enough you've fallen asleep, breaths coming in soft and even puffs as you rest against his thigh. Smiling to himself, he puts down his papers and gently lifts your body from the floor. He's careful not to wake you as he slowly makes his way back to the bedroom.

Setting you on the bed, he tucks you under the blankets before lying beside you. The moonlight coming through your window softly illuminates your relaxed features, and he softly traces the outline of your face with his thumb. As he continues to caress your cheek, his eyes are drawn to the dark circles under your eyes. He rarely falls asleep after you these days - between his physically demanding occupation and the ever growing number of things you are responsible for at work- he's often the first to fall asleep from sheer exhaustion while you work well into the night. Not to mention that he's had to spend an increasing number of nights away from you, either on challenging missions or accompanying Gojo's students. And while he knows most of your stress comes from being a student, he can't help but feel guilty about all the additional distress his status as a jujutsu sorcerer has caused you.

When you started dating him, you insisted that Shoko teach you how to suture. He hates how much your stitches have improved since then. The neatness of your stitches is a constant reminder of how much you've endured because of him. When he hears you trying to muffle your sobs into a pillow, he swears he can feel his heart crack in his chest, hurting more than any kind of physical wound from battle. Those nights end with him holding you tightly to his bandaged chest, murmuring reassurances and affection into the crown of your head until you've calmed down enough to fall into a fitful sleep. Even when you're unconscious he'll still continue, words morphing into apologies for the sadness he's inflicted upon your shoulders.

Feeling his eyelids being to droop, Nanami presses one last kiss against your forehead before laying down. He wraps his arms around your waist, surrounding you with warmth, hoping that his presence will be enough to keep your nightmares away, at least for tonight. I love you, y/n is the last thought he has before he drifts away, ready to dream of a tropical sunset and a peaceful future with you by his side.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines

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jinmukangwrites · 3 years ago

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Whumptober 2021 - October 3 - "Who did this to you?"

Fandoms: Linked Universe

Ao3

Warnings: major injury, attempted murder, blood, near-death experiences

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Trouble comes with a smiling face; not that Wild knows that yet. All he sees is an eager young woman with kind eyes and a humble dress, offering to show him where he can get some wine to cook with tonight.

He and the rest of the heroes have been on the road for quite a while now, without a single town in sight. Nothing but various barns to cross their path. This is the first actual town they’ve seen in miles, even though it’s not a very big one. Yet, there is a small inn for weary travelers, and a marketplace near the front entrance of the town where farmers can sell their goods and towns-folk and gossip. The whole group of them are rather low on funds, but the market seemed like the perfect excuse to relax. Spend some money that they just barely have. Pretend to be normal people for just a few hours.

Just until sunset.

It was Wild, Twilight, Warriors, and Hyrule out in the market while the others were making deals with the innkeepers to get cheaper rooms and more beds. Wild wasn’t really sure what the others were wanting to find out in the market today, but Wild was on the hunt for quality ingredients for quality food that he couldn’t make while on the road. He planned on making a meal tonight fit enough for Zelda herself, and he needed wine to do it. Not to drink, of course not, but to soak into fine slices of meat to add extra flavoring. Nothing strong enough to get a man tipsy—and if he ends up with extra wine, he’ll put it in a flask and gift it to the Old Man. Hylia knows he deserves it.

But he couldn’t find anything even remotely related to wine in these small markets. Some stalls sell alcoholic jars of milk, but Wild honestly has never even heard of milk that could be alcoholic, let alone ever cooked with it. By the time the sun was starting to caress the horizon, frustration was bubbling in his belly because of this and all he could think about were those berries he saw on a tree a few days ago that looked perfect for making some of his own wine out of.

Twilight and Warriors were looking at a jewel-smith's stall, admiring the finely crafted trinkets and murmuring to themselves about the ones that would match her eyes, or impress that gentleman at the tavern, and Wild soon lost interest in both the stall and his love-sick companions. He had stood several feet off, leaning against a brick wall, eyeing the closest stalls to him and hoping for even a small sight of anything close to wine set up for sale.

And then he saw her. Trouble, despite him not knowing it. He didn’t even suspect it. Perhaps he’s gotten too used to the threats of other worlds, that he forgot the threats of his own.

She walked up to him, a swish to her brown dress that seemed to almost have a pink tint. Her hair was brown, done up in messy braids and a bun above her head. Wild assumed she was the daughter of a farmer who was selling crops from their farm, so he didn’t assess her too critically. Before he knew it, she was stopped a few feet from him, swaying her dress side to side between her thin fingers.

“Is there something you’re looking for, travelers?” she asked, her voice sweet like sugared honey. Beside him, Hyrule blushed a bit at the ears.

Wild wasn’t much in a good mood at the moment, but he decided that asking for help might be his only option at this point. “I’m looking for wine, or any kind of beverage like it made out of berries?”

The girl hummed, pressing her finger to her chin in thought. “The most popular beverage ‘round here is milk…” she said, and Wild’s shoulders slumped. But then she continued. “Though, I know a liquor shop further in town where they sell all kinds of drinks. I’ll show you the way, but it closes really soon.”

Hope surged in Wild’s chest. Perhaps he would be able to make a fancy meal tonight after all! Feeling in lighter spirits than he had all night, he told Hyrule to inform Twilight and Warriors that he would be going to the liquor shop. Wild barely noticed the slight hesitation on Hyrule’s face before he turned and did as he was asked. Wild should have noticed it. He should have thought more about how eager and smooth talking the girl was, should have been more in tune with his companion’s concerns, but he followed her out of the market anyway.

And now he’s here, laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood thanks to a hole in his stomach. The “liquor store” was nothing more than an abandoned shop several blocks away from the market, but he only found that out when he walked inside and saw the hastily put together lanterns to give the illusion of life, each one placed among dust and cobwebs. Before he could even turn back and question what was going on, the girl was sliding her arm around his side and heartlessly impaling him with a familiarly curved, sickle-like blade.

Her laugh was also familiar as his knees gave out and he crumpled to the floor, wheezing. Though not familiar in a way that he knew her name; he knew her kind.

“Wh-” he gasps, using one hand to clutch at the floor blanketed in bloody dust, and the other to press onto the wound in his stomach like he’s trying to keep everything in. “What-”

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here, hero,” the girl… Yiga chuckles, stepping over his crumpled body to squat by his head. “To tell the truth, I’m not sure either. I fell into a portal… and found myself in a whole new world. And I saw you, and your friends. I can’t tell you how long I’ve been waiting for the perfect moment to take you down. This is for Master Kohga-” Wild’s too weak to fight her off as she reaches for his body, searching his pockets and taking the only healing potions that he had. “-and for Calamity Ganon. I don’t care what happens to me now, as long as you die painfully and slowly, right here.”

Then, she stands up, takes his potions, and leaves, shutting the door behind her as she laughs into the night.

Stupid. Wild is so stupid. How did he not guess something like this would happen? Did he truly let his guard down so badly that he forgot to always be on the lookout for Yiga soldiers? Has he become so comfortable traveling between worlds that didn’t have rogue Sheikah that it didn’t matter for him to worry about them as much?

He’s going to bleed out and die here, all because he wanted some wine to cook with in a town that only sold fucking milk and he couldn’t bother to make sure the person he was following was actually someone with good intentions. He can already feel his vision swirling, and his entire body feels pathetically weak and cold. The pain is unbearable, bringing tears to his eyes.

He coughs up blood, and does his best to prepare himself for a failure’s death, as he’s too weak to even call for help; let alone try and save himself.

Stupid…

His vision swirls white, and then fades black, and he knows nothing more.

-o-o-o-o-

“Something’s wrong,” Twilight says, several minutes after Hyrule told him and Warriors that Wild had gone off with some farmer girl to find a liquor store.

“Something is wrong,” Twilight repeats when they ask a local villager for directions to the nearest liquor store, and they reply the only alcohol this town sells is the milk in the market.

Hyrule is quick to point out the direction he remembers seeing Wild and the girl go off in, and then they thankfully split up to cover more ground. The second there’s no one to see, Twilight changes into his wolf form, sniffing the air desperately for his kid. Wild’s scent is one that he will always remember, it’s stored and locked within his brain, right next to Mipha, Zelda, and all the kids at Ordon.

He finds Wild’s trail after a nerve wracking few moments, and then he’s dashing through dimly lit streets like his life depends on it.

The feeling of something being horribly wrong only gets stronger when he finds Wild’s scent leading inside a run down looking building with dim, flickering lanterns in the windows. Then, the reek of blood hits his nostrils at full force. He shifts back into his human form and bursts into the front door without a single care on what’s on the other side.

The stench of blood is stronger here, even for his human nose. But that doesn’t matter. What matters is that his eyes drop to the floor along with what feels like a stone in his stomach. Wild is at his feet, curled up like a child, red pooling around his terribly pale body.

“No-” Twilight drops down to his knees, already pulling out his spare red potion and gathering Wild into his arms. Wild makes a strangled groan through his throat, but his eyes are squeezed closed.

He’s alive though. The thought that he’s still alive is the only thing that gives Twilight enough strength to pull out the cork of his jar and shove the opening to Wild’s lips.

Wild chokes as the liquid enters his mouth, but Twilight doesn’t let up. It’s preferable to drink red potions, but when it comes to drastic situations like this, just getting it in the injured person's body is enough to save their lives. Wild coughs through the liquid and writhes in Twilight's arms, and it’s all Twilight can do to keep the bottle there and shakily whisper every comforting word that he knows. Eventually, color returns to Wild’s cheeks, and his eyes blink open blearily as his choking turns into instinctive swallows.

When the contents of the bottle is gone, Twilight lets the glass jar fall to the floor as he now uses his newly freed hand to check Wild’s wound.

It’s still nasty, and deep, but no longer life threatening. Another potion or some stitches and Wild will be as good as new. For the first time in what feels like years, Twilight allows himself to breath out a sigh of intense relief.

“Twi…?” Wild asks, voice incredibly small.

Twilight holds him just a little tighter, willing his heart to calm down. He’s almost… he’s come so close to almost losing-

“Who did this to you?” Twilight demands with a bite to his tone that he doesn’t mean to direct at Wild.

Wild doesn’t react to it though. He just closes his eyes and shakes his head. “It… doesn’t matter…” he replies in a whisper. Twilight feels anger swell in his stomach and he almost argues back, but Wild talks more despite how much it must still hurt. “Later,” he says. “’M hurt, wanna sleep. Deal with… it later.”

Twilight takes a deep breath, counts to five, then lets it out. He doesn’t feel any less upset. However, he keeps his voice level, deciding that arguing with Wild here will just upset the boy more than help him.

“Okay,” he agrees reluctantly. “I’m going to carry you, okay? I’m out of potions, but Wars or Hyrule should be nearby with some of their own. Then we can go get a well deserved sleep.”

Wild simply nods and relaxes into Twilight’s arms, breathing a sigh and closing his eyes. Twilight bites his lip, then resolves himself to hold one of his dearest friends close to his chest as he stands up. There’s blood everywhere, staining his hands, his tunic, his boots, his pants. But he got here in time. Wild will be okay.

That’s all that matters now. Once Wild has all his color back and his stomach no longer has a hole in it… then Twilight can make sure whoever did this regrets being born.

“I got you, kid,” he says, “I got you.”

#linked universe #wild linked universe #twilight linked universe #whumptober2021 #no.3 #who did this to you?#blood tw #injury tw #violence tw #fanfiction #jin writes

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imonthinice · 3 years ago

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The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 14/?

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name

Somehow! I decided that Y/N became more of an OC, I don't know how this happened, but I might release an AU just because I clearly can’t fanfiction Y/N lmao.

Warnings: Discussion of arrests, Mentions of alcoholism, Mentions of drug use, Mentions of Jason’s trauma, Mentions of relationships ending bad, Mentions of abuse (domestic), No beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

“Your friends... all got arrested?” he paused, “Do you remember this? At all?” he questioned.

“Do you expect me to remember any of this? I was black-out drunk, Jason,” she said, “There’s a lot of questions that need to be answered now, I know that.”

“You going to worry about this now and fix it?”

“I really don’t want to deal with it. My memory of the night is non-existent anyway.”

“Getting drunk does that to you.”

“You’d think I would know that by now,” she muttered under her breath.

He chose to ignore that statement because clearly, she wasn’t prepared for everyone to know of that part of her past yet. But that was neither here nor there.

“Do you have any notes that you need to write?” he asked, trying to ease the tension. Hoping it would clearly make her feel better if he changed the subject.

“No, I can read my own notes. I only printed them out for you, Jay.”

“Well that’s very sweet of you to do, baby.”

“Got to make up for my recklessness somehow, I guess,” she laughed, “It is what it is, I guess.”

“You should be more confident in the fact that you don’t need to make up for recklessness,” he paused, “Did I ever tell you about that time I dared Dick to tuck and roll out of the car?”

“Dick mentioned it.”

“I’m surprised he didn’t tell you that he made me do the same first, actually,” he laughed, “We were with dad, he was teaching me how to drive as one does, and when we stopped so dad could answer a phone call, Dick leant over to me and said, ‘During my demo, twenty bucks if you tuck and roll out of the car.’ and me, being a stupid teenager took the deal,” he laughed, “Dad was pissed at us two and refused to take Dick on my driving lessons after that.”

“Well that doesn’t explain why you made Dick tuck and roll out of the car,” she laughed.

“I’m getting to it! So the next time Dick was going to go for a drive with Dad, probably because he wanted to tell Dad about Barbara or something, I don’t know, I said, ‘To get your twenty bucks back, you tuck and roll out of the car this time.’ Dick, also being a stupid teenager, did it,” he laughed, “And that’s why dad never takes us on car rides now.”

“Have any of your other siblings tucked and rolled out of cars?”

“You say that like it’s a daily activity people just do.”

“Well, who’s to say your family is not one of those types of people?” she joked.

“Logic?”

“Logic? In the Wayne Manor? That’s rich.” she joked.

“Like you would know!” he retorted to her before grabbing her and yanking her onto his chest as he laid down on his bed.

“You’re dating a girl who flipped off the press twice, you cannot look at me and say your family possesses logical thinking.”

“That’s valid, I won’t dismiss that,” he laughed.

They let the news play in the background as they cuddled. Jason still had his stitches in and he said it was because Dick said, “You’ve been moving too much’ and the two of them laughed, knowing that that was likely going to be the outcome. They knew what they did, they knew it was worth it. Dick probably didn’t think it was worth it, if he even caught on,

Bruce had reamed Jason out for that, because Bruce did catch on. Bruce had to play the parenting role in this all, and he knew what Jason was like. He knew Jason likely wasn’t prepared for the escapade and journey they had took.

He was right. Jason wasn’t prepared for that, he didn’t have the necessary items for it. Y/N and Jason didn’t care about that at the time, so they didn’t even bother to realize. Kids will be kids, Bruce supposed, and he hoped for the best possible outcome out of this. He knew Jason wasn’t ready, he didn’t know if Y/N was ready, but he knew if what he was scared would happen actually happened, he’d support the two of them unconditionally.

But they would continue to do their own thing as time went on, and even at 3 in the morning, no one could stop them from doing what they wanted, what they needed.

That was the beauty of the chase they had done to get to this point, the drama, the love, the pain, it all got them to the point where they were side-by-side in his bed, naked. Obviously they were going to have sex eventually, they just didn’t expect it this early on, but they also seemed to be speed running the entire relationship to the good parts, where they knew each other like the back of their hands, just enjoying the quality time they got with each other.

Yes, it was soon. But it worked for them, and that’s what mattered to all of them. Not just Jason and Y/N, it mattered to his family that even if they were quickening their pace, they were happy and understanding of sometimes it just goes a little faster than one would expect. It doesn’t mean it’s bad or doomed to fail, it just means it’s clicking in a lot of ways others didn’t.

Jason had a dating rep he didn’t like to admit. He was known for being a womanizer, a playboy, someone that dads everywhere didn’t want their daughters to be with. He was given this through the fact that he did have women come in and out of his life. He didn’t want it to be this way, but that’s how it ended up being when some women, most women, would crack under the pressure of his life. He moved fast because he thought it made up for the craziness that was his life.

So, when he found out that Y/N didn’t like the press very much, he was ecstatic. He knew she didn’t know about what was being said about him everywhere, he knew she didn’t feel scared either, when she proved time and time again that she had a backbone to stand up against the press. Was she one-of-a-kind for this trait? No. Barbara also exhibited this with Dick and their relationship. But Jason had been so shit on by women he tried to date that Y/N was a nice change.

He didn’t want the press to be her new norm, that running from them would become her life, but he also didn’t know if that bothered her for a while, until he saw the articles. The ones calling her names and insulting her every feature, physical and character traits she had shown them. He knew that of course, with the games she had been playing, that they would insult her, and with the court case going on with her attacker, they were just more vicious.

That’s why he demanded she get into Dick’s car the morning after he found out about her drinking, not because he didn’t trust her or anything, but he knew with the ongoing case that she’d be bombarded worse than before. She realized this was his reasoning eventually, probably when she was in his arms.

Her dating streak had been better, but it still wasn't the best. She had a lot of secrets she felt like she needed to hide because of how they made her feel, but eventually she would come out with her stories, the assaults, the bad men, the way they used and used her and how she let it slide.

Being assaulted was something a lot of the population had to deal with and cope with, most likely never actually telling people of their assaults and just letting it simmer, deep, deep down in their brains. Wishing it would have just not happened.

She wanted to talk about it, but she had also healed so much from it with the help of Jason. Sure, he didn’t fix all the issues she had with exes, but the fact that he didn’t treat her the way the others did, sure as hell helped.

Writing and dance also helped her cope with a lot of the bad things that had happened to her. She figured if Jason went through bad things, he had an outlet too, because he did seem torn up, but not massively affected. Maybe he was good at hiding how he felt about it all, but maybe he had a way to deal with the trauma.

She knew his parents’ stories and how he was so young during so much of it, and he hoped, prayed even, that he had coped well with those events. But she had no control over most if not all of the events that transpired and how he handled dealing with them.

Both of their minds had a thing for wandering away from them at the worst yet best moments. When she got a call.

“Hello?” she questioned into the phone, when an automated voice returned.

“This is a prepaid call from Gotham County Jail. From inmate ‘Justine Wong’, to accept this call, please dial 1.”

She did.

“Thank you for your cooperation. All inmate calls are recorded. Your account balance is $40.50.”

“Y/N?” Justine asked.

“Hey, I’m here.”

“So, we have an issue,” she joked, “How much do you remember?”

“Nothing. I don’t remember anything.”

“I figured, fuck.”

“It seems issues follow me wherever I go, huh.”

“No, no. It’s our fault, myself, Kaitlin, Thomas, Christopher, we all dragged you out of the house and got you drinking. I barely even remember how it got to where it ended.”

“Well that... that isn’t ideal, Justine. Do you know when your court date is?” Y/N asked.

“I don’t even know if the guy is pressing charges, I hope he doesn’t.”

“You can say that again,” she joked.

“I’m sorry I dragged you into this mess, I took you to the bar that night.”

“You did, yeah.”

“I should have known better.”

“It’s... it’s not that you should have known better, man. It’s... it’s that a bunch of unfortunate circumstances lead us to this point,” she tried to say to comfort her friend. She did feel like it was Justine’s fault in a way, but she didn’t know if fighting with her over the phone while she was held in jail for bodily harm charges was the best idea.

“I feel like you’re mad at me,” Justine admitted.

“It’s not important, really. We can talk about it in anywhere from a couple months to a year, hoping you get lucky.”

“I think we all want to get lucky, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“I think we’re running out of time here, with the call.”

“We are.”

“Well, I love you, man. I’m sorry about all of this.”

“I love you too.”

Click. She paused for a second, with Jason sleeping next to her, she questioned a lot. Whether these friends were even worth it at the end of the day. She had changed so much since she last saw them, trying to cut clean of alcohol, drugs, partying. And trying to better herself,

But she knew all 3 of them were trying to do so too. They really had just ended up in a bad situation. It was 4:34am, and she was just lost in thought when Jason turned into her in his sleep. She smiled.

She played with his hair a bit while he slept, trying to just calm herself. He seemed sweaty, and clutched his bed sheets with one of his hands, She thought maybe he needed comfort right now, not her. She didn’t ever notice this behavior before these moments, and it concerned her.

He was a grown man having nightmares, she assumed, but she didn’t like it. He deserved to sleep peacefully throughout the night when he woke up in a cold sweat, clutching his sheets and having his hair stroked.

He didn’t question it and just laid on top of Y/N, and let her stroke his hair as he tried to go back to sleep. They didn’t say anything, either of them. It was just really early on a Thursday morning, and they were making the best of the situations they had been thrown in.

There wasn’t any tension between the two of them, but they knew they were a ticking time bomb, that eventually they would fight and the supposed ‘Honeymoon Phase’ would be over. They didn’t like that thought, that one day they might be at each other’s throats, forgetting that a problem in the relationship is them two versus the issue and not them vs. each other. Fighting with their s.o scared them.

Jason would fall asleep in her arms, slowly drifting away into unconsciousness. But he would exhibit the same behaviors as before. The fear in his face was palpable.

But Y/N was asleep this time, so when Jason woke, trying to scream, he slapped his hand over his mouth and cried, he didn’t want to wake her, but he also craved just telling her what had happened and how sleeping was so, so much harder for him than she thought.

People thought the nightmares had slowed, but he just got good at hiding them.

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ineloqueent · 4 years ago

Text

where the wildflowers grow

Gwilym Lee x Fem!Reader

synopsis: they say there lives a witch in the wildflower woods, but Gwilym has never believed the tales. until now.

warnings: use of medieval swords (no blood)

word count: 2.1k

see the moodboard here!

⭒

It’d been dark when he’d set out that morning, and though it was always dark on his mornings in the woods, this day had begun darker than usual.

He’d dressed by the flame of a single candle and sheathed his sword at his side, fastening the buckles of his boots with practiced hands, for this was routine.

Gwilym liked routine. He even liked his shifts in the Wildflower Woods, and while the other members of the royal guard drew straws to determine which unlucky bastard would be patrolling the woods that day, Gwilym always volunteered.

The woods were quiet, and an outlander might have thought that this silence was what the men feared, the dull buzz that began in one’s ears once exposed to soundlessness for an extended period of time, alone with the sound of one’s breath and the wealth of one’s thoughts, but the outlander would have been sorely mistaken.

The men did not fear silence; they feared what lived in the silence.

It was said that a witch lived in the Wildflower Woods, capable of a dark and terrible magic, magic which the king had long since outlawed, criminalised. There had been innumerable huntings and burnings when the legislation had passed, and to this day, every citizen of the kingdom could hear the cries of the men and women killed for crimes they had most likely not committed.

No exceptions had been made, and everyone deemed a witch had faced a terrible fate upon the courtyard pyre of the Castle Gaerwen.

No exceptions had been made, but one particular individual had slipped from the grasp of the king’s guard.

They called her Morgana, after the enchantress of Arthurian legend, and she was feared as equally as the woman of the legend. It was said her gaze was deadly, and that she could take any form she desired, turn water to liquid poison, revive both the dying and the already dead, and change the weather at will. No one had any power over her, for even the elements bowed to her magic, and so she had been deemed too much of a risk for the royal guard to capture.

And so, the royal guard now patrolled the Wildflower Woods morning and night, to ensure that the witch did not move to attack the good citizens of Daryn.

Gwilym had patrolled the woods for years now, and had neither seen nor heard any sign of a witch. Thus, as all logic demanded of him, he did not believe the tales. The other men called him foolish, shuddered at his naïveté, but Gwilym laughed merrily at their fears whenever he was given the chance. He did not believe the tales, and so he did not fear the woods. The woods were a solace, and in living the life that he did, with chases and fighting and travelling, it was nice to have some time to himself, in a place where the world was quiet.

His boots crunching on the gravel of the path which led out from the guards’ quarters and toward the outer wall of Castle Gaerwen, Gwilym nodded morning greetings to those arriving home from the night shift.

Women stood lined up to draw water from the wells in the courtyard, and a group of them giggled as Gwilym passed. He sighed inwardly. He did not encourage their attentions, and yet, they continued to behave in this manner whenever he was about.

Ignoring the chatter that followed him, Gwilym arrived at the outer gate.

“Morning,” he said to Mercher, his friendly acquaintance and the man whom Gwilym was to share the day’s shift with.

Mercher mumbled his own greeting, and Gwilym smiled.

“Nervous? It’s just the woods, you know.”

The other man grunted. “There’s more to those woods than you think, ffwl.”

“There is no witch in those woods, fy ffrind,” Gwilym countered good-humouredly.

“Perhaps you are right,” Mercher responded, as he tapped his fingers along the hilt of his sheathed sword, “but there are other things too.”

Gwilym raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Mmh. Venomous serpents larger than fully grown horses, boars with tusks longer than your forearm, spiders which will crawl into your eyes if you close them unawares.”

Gwilym’s eyes twinkled; he was amused. “Well then, Mercher,” he clapped his companion on the back and strode forward through the opening gate, “we should get going so that these creatures can have their breakfast.”

Mercher swallowed thickly, standing rooted to the spot. With a shake of his head, he hurried to catch up to Gwilym, who was still smiling to himself.

“By rights, we shouldn’t be allowed to risk our lives like this,” said Mercher.

Gwilym laughed. “You should have been a baker instead of a soldier! Courage, fy ffrind. It will get you far in life.”

⭒

As they were only two, Gwilym and Mercher were forced to split up in their duties. Gwilym appreciated the solace, but Mercher was fearful. The former repeated his advice of courage to the latter, and the two parted ways.

A deep mist hovered betwixt the trees this morn, and so it was difficult to see very far beyond one’s own hand, but it also afforded the woods a mysterious quality, one which only fuelled Gwilym’s lust for adventure; outwardly, he was grown, but at heart, he was still a child, and longed to live the stories of pirates and highwaymen that his mother had told him when he was little.

Gwilym was still searching for his purpose in existence, and though he had yet to find it, he was sure it involved adventure, something more than this little life he presently lived.

Almost as though the world around him were aware of his longing, a rustling arose from the surrounding shrubbery.

Gwilym’s hand flew to the sword at his side, his knees bent, prepared to run.

There was silence. Not even a bird cawed in the canopy overhead, no river water rushed, no wind was heard between the trees.

Something slithered in the undergrowth.

Slithered. It was very distinct.

Hyperbolic images of terrible, scaled bodies with large mouths bearing fearsome, pointy teeth dripping venom conjured themselves in Gwilym’s mind, and his heart kicked up its rhythm.

His eyes flitted about the bushes, the endless wildflowers which carpeted the forest floor and provided the wood with its name, but he could see nothing. It was still rather dark out, and the mist did his eyes no aid.

Then, suddenly, a great, scaly body launched itself from the undergrowth, and before Gwilym could react, tore its fangs down his calf.

He gave a cry of pain, and lashed out with his sword, but the venom must have been rapidly acting, because his vision had already turned blurry.

But with, quite literally, a stroke of luck, he struck the creature, and with a violent hiss, it retreated rapidly back from whence it had come.

Gwilym was left to his solace once more, but now he was panting, and nearly doubled over in trying to lean his weight against a tree.

He shouted for Mercher, once, twice, but no response came.

He was on his own.

Feeling as though he were going blind, Gwilym staggered forward at a pace that was rather quick, fuelled by desperation. Pain lanced through his leg and up toward his heart, and he knew that one must not allow venom to circulate once in the veins, but what else was he to do? Lay himself down to die?

No, for that would be a coward’s death, and Gwilym Lee was no coward.

A light flickered in the mist, between the trees.

Perhaps he was hallucinating. It was not unlikely.

But he held onto hope, and dragged his heavy feet forward until the light grew bigger, brighter.

The light came from a window, in a cottage built of heavy stones. Gwilym imagined the craftsmanship to be excellent, but he did not know for sure. His vision was beginning to grow dark around the edges.

At last, he happened upon the door. With a heavy arm, he knocked against the wood, and collapsed, just as the door swung open.

⭒

He could smell woodsmoke, and heather and all kinds of herbs.

His eyes were heavy, as though he had not slept for days, and a dull pain throbbed in his leg. But it was nothing of the agonising pain he had felt before.

There was a sound like the clinking of metal pots and pans, and someone was humming.

With tremendous effort, Gwilym rose to his elbows, and opened his eyes.

The light was low, but there were candles aplenty, and they flickered softly, in their places about the room— in teacups and saucers, upon plates and wooden carvings, standing proudly in window sills and atop shelves.

On the shelves, there were potted plants and what appeared to be bottled herbs, labeled with names both familiar and unfamiliar to Gwilym’s vocabulary.

His eyes wandered about his peculiar surroundings, before returning to where he lay— in some sort of bed that was really more of a cot, made of linen and crowded with sheepswool blankets and a stitched duvet.

Bless the kindness of strangers, he thought, until his gaze happened upon his host.

She locked eyes with him before he could turn away, and his breath caught, because the woman before him was enchantingly beautiful, and without a doubt the witch of the tales he had not believed.

A slow smile curved over her lips. “My stare is lethal, no?” she said, a thick Welsh accent carving her English words differently from the way Gwilym spoke his.

His first instinct was to laugh, and he almost did, before he thought better of it. There was no telling what this witch was capable of, and presently, he was utterly at her mercy.

But a question had occurred to him as well, and so he asked it.

“However did you guess that my English is better than my Welsh?”

That slow smile touched her pretty lips again. “Like you say, it was a guess.”

“Damn good guess,” Gwilym said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was impressed.

She laughed, a warm sound, and he felt oddly comforted by it. “Us gwrachod do have a talent for those sorts of things.”

“So it is true, then?” he spoke carefully. “You are the witch of the Wildflower Woods.”

“I am. Morgana, if you will.”

He fixed her with an inquisitive look. “Yes, but that is not your name, is it?”

She had been standing by a stove, but now, she wiped her hands on the apron that hung over her full skirt, and walked toward him. She perched in a rocking chair positioned by the cot and leaned back into it, folding her arms.

“No one has ever asked my name before.”

Her voice was quiet, low, and surely as enchanting, as lethal, as her stare. But he detected a loneliness beneath the words.

“Well,” Gwilym said, “I am asking you now, politely, if you will give it to me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There is much in a name, Gwilym.”

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, sitting up properly. “You know my name?”

She nodded. “A pretty name, no? But a bit long. I like Gwil better. Do people call you that?”

His heart felt strangely light at his name on her lips, even when it was shortened. “They do now,” he said, and thought that her eyes glittered. “And your name?”

She murmured it, and it sounded to him like the songs of old, a lilting melody with an alluring darkness humming beneath the surface.

He rolled the sound over his tongue, and felt a faint blush rise to his cheeks as he said it. Indeed, there was much in a name. An intimacy, too. Gwil did not often use the given names of his acquaintances.

“You healed my leg,” he remarked thoughtfully, shifting it from beneath the blankets.

“And purged y gwenwyn from your veins,” she added.

Her eyes were deep, and he felt himself sinking into her gaze as he met it.

He murmured, “You saved my life.”

“Ie,” she said. “That I did. A witch is not so bad, you see.”

Her smile was teasing, and he knew then that he had nothing to fear from the witch of the Wildflower Woods.

“And for that,” Gwil began, his eyes searching the room for his sword. It was resting just beside him, on the floor by the cot, and he drew it now, standing it upon its point on the stone floor and bowing his head briefly. “I am forever in your debt.”

She smiled, and Gwil feared that more than his honour was indebted to her.

His heart, for certain, was too.

#s&t celebrate #tina's writing #gwilym lee x reader #fic

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nomanwalksalone · 4 years ago

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DIY

by Alexander Freeling

Unless you’re a professional, practical work comes in two forms: the kind that needs doing and the kind it’s fun to attempt. How big each of these categories are, and what they contain, depends on your personality and preferences. I like to cook, so that’s a hobby; I have less appetite for decorating, so that’s work. I am faced with cutting my own hair at the moment, so that’s a disaster.

Economists sometimes define hobbies as inefficient work. In other words, if you could pay someone to do your gardening and thereby gain time or money, that’s an efficiency. And if, in spite of the efficiency, you’d rather do it yourself, that’s a hobby.

Aside from the fun or relaxation of doing something practical, there’s also the chance for insight. I’ve been repairing and adjusting clothes, largely by trial and error, for a while now. It started with losing a button and replacing it using one of those little kits you used to get in hotels. After that, a loose seam or a trouser hem. Good DIY demands patience with your imperfections and a desire to overcome them. But it also teaches you how things work: the way that a running stitch will undo itself the first chance it gets; how seams tug and twist the cloth if they’re not quite balanced.

The Italian designer Enzo Mari died last year. He was known for his Autoprogettazione system: a kind of self-assembly project that supplied the pieces and principles to create many possible designs. This is not the IKEA kind of DIY (where you’re locked in to making an identical product every time) and it’s not even IKEA hacking. As historian and curator Glenn Adamson wrote, “Mari wanted to put the means of production back where he thought they belonged: in the hands of the people. He therefore conceived a family of forms that could be made by anyone out of cheap lengths of pine and some nails, using the simplest of joints.”

Mari’s designs flowed from his politics. It’s sometimes summarized like this: he cared about design from the point of view of producers, not consumers. But he wanted everyone to be a producer. This means seeing workers as craftspeople, not interchangeable labor. But it also has practical wisdom: who really knows what makes a good table? Me, browsing a showroom, or the guy who builds tables? I’m going to fall for a thin veneer of quality every time. The carpenter never will. Mari once explained in an interview: “my values concern the quality of work. When I am asked what is the best thing I have done, I never think of the best form, but I can describe situations in which l have been content to work.”

For the amateur, the enemy of quality is impatience, for the professional it’s cost. But beyond the inevitably limitations of precision and skill, to be a hobbyist is to experience work as a kind of joyful diversion. This raises the question of whether professional work could, under the right conditions, also be joyful. Not easy, but then little of value is easy. But joyful in its difficulty. I think this is what Mari was getting at. The best designs, and the best products, are the ones that permit the best conditions for making them. Products whose limits equal the limits of our ingenuity.

#alexanderfreeling

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littlemessyjessi · 4 years ago

Text

“Chasing Jessi”: A Sirius Black Story: Plus Size OC: Chapter 7: Tinkerbell & The Lost Boy

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Sirius Black Imagine Turned Story

Re-Written and Edit of an old story of mine I had on Mibba that deserved some more love and attention, lol.

Sirius Black x Jess Scamander (OC, OFC, PLUS SIZE OC, PLUS SIZE OFC)

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

Sirius Black was lounging comfortably in his bunk. He hadn't even bothered to change out of the KISS shirt and black flannel pajama bottoms at this point. He was reading through a book that he'd borrowed from Jess. Contrary to popular belief... Sirius actually loved to read.

He’d rather die than admit that but he’d learned from an early age that it could easily provide an escape from his horrible daily life.

Again though, he’d rather die than admit and let someone see him doing it.

He was up rather early on a Sunday morning- something that used to be obscenely out of character before he played Quidditch. Now, it seemed that his biological clock was against him. However, it proved rather useful when wanting the shower to yourself or getting to breakfast while everyone was still in bed. He'd been to breakfast already and was currently just relaxing for he had been informed by a tired looking Lily Evans that Jess was not coming down for breakfast this morning. He had been slightly disappointed but guessed that it was because the two girls had been up late talking. He figured that girls did that just as much as boys did. Although, for Jess's sake he hoped not because James had nearly driven him mad last night by both talking about every detail of his and Lily's date and all but demanding the same from Sirius. Honestly, boys were just as bad as girls when it came to gossip.

If not worse. However, he supposed he could just try and read this ridiculous book of hers until she awoke. He had really just settled in and was beginning to immerse himself into this fantasy world when.... "Sirius!!!" His brows furrowed and he glanced over at Remus who was studying on the floor in front of his bunk but he only shrugged.

"Sirius! Ooof! Sorry! Sirius!" "What in the name of Merlin?" he pondered as he sat the book down and went to the door to see none other than his hyperactive girlfriend balancing a package on her hip and apologizing to a fourth year boy who went white as a ghost at the sight of her. "You're ...you're not supposed to be up here." the boy said. "Oh, I'm sorry." she said to him. "I'm just looking for Sirius. See, I have something I have to-" The boy was too shaken to speak. To be fair, she was still wearing her pajamas and he was a fourteen year old boy, most likely with a crush on her. And she was only wearing a big floppy yellow smiley face shirt and some rather short multi colored shorts. "Over here, love." Sirius smirk. She turned to face him with a relieved smile looking so odd with her floral cat ear headband and her big blue monster house shoes. "Thanks, anyway." she told the boy and gave him a one armed hug. Sirius almost snorted when the boy looked as if he may pass out. The poor boy probably didn't know whether he found her attractive, terrifying or strange....or all three. "What are you doing up here?" he asked her as she came to a stop in front of him, "And in your pajamas no less?" "I have something for you." she said simply but he smirked and she smacked him in the stomach, "Not that!" "Aw, and it's almost my birthday too." he moaned playfully and he opened the door and let her him. "Hello, Remus." she greeted the studious green eyed boy. "Oh, uh, hi Jess." he said a little surprised to see her there, especially in her pjs. "Remus, she beats me." Sirius wailed dramatically. "She wounds me." "If it's to your pride..." he said. "I suggest she do it some more. Your head is far too big as it is." Jess grinned in victory. Sirius gasped, "Moony, old boy, I can't believe it! Everyone's mistreating me and it's almost my birthday!" "Sirius, if you don't come sit down, then I'm going to open your present." she informed him smartly. "Present?" he asked. "What present?" "This one." she said tapping the lid of the green box. "You got me a present?" he asked curiously taking a seat on the bunk as the box lay between them. "No." she said. "Well, yes. I did. But this isn't it. This is from my mum and dad." "What?" he asked in disbelief. "From mum and dad." she repeated. "She sent a blasted howler as well. Damn near threatened my life if I opened it. So I'm guessing it's rather good and most likely involving food. Best open it sooner than later." Sirius' hands shook just a little as he pulled the box open and cringed as a howler floated out. It was that same familiar shape that he recognized as the ones Jess usually got. From previous experiences, he was expecting yelling but relaxed when he saw the letter transform and the dark wax sealed lips give him a smile. It began to speak in a soothing tone, "Hello, Dear. Happy Birthday! I do hope you have a good one this year and that you get this package in time. Jess mentioned that you had a particular liking for toffee and fudge so I do hope you like what's inside. She also mentioned that you loved music and so there is something extra special inside from my husband. He said that he wanted it to go someone who could appreciate her as he much as he did. I wasn't allowed to see so I'm trusting that it's appropriate and if it's it not, you'd best tell me so I can tan his hide! Everything is under the shrinking charm so all you need to do is use the Engorgio charm. If you have trouble with it, I would advise you to ask Lily rather than Jess. She means well but she tends to get terribly excited and...blow things up. We are so excited to see Jess making such lovely friends! She speaks very highly of you and bless your soul, you must be patient to deal with her antics! I do hope she isn't being too rough. Some of those pictures... Merlin, I feared she'd nearly kill you with that one on the broom. I've told her about that! Nevertheless, any friend of hers is a friend to us. Welcome to the family, sweet boy. Have a wonderful birthday, dear! May you have many more! P.S. Do not let my child con you out of your presents with her innocent face. I know that she 'seems' sweet but if you give in...you'll regret it. Trust me. Her father has been wrapped around her finger since she was six seconds old. " When the letter was finished it ripped itself up and turned to ash. Sirius was a little disappointed. It had been so nice...he had kind of wanted to keep it. He glanced up to find Remus looking at him curiously and Jess looking mildly offended. "She makes me sound like some kind of animal." she scoffed. "Well..." Remus smirked. "I'd say more reptilian. You do have a certain, what was it you called it Padfoot? Dragon lady...quality about you." "Remus Lupin!" she scolded him. "You are a booger head and I am not talking to you anymore!" "I have chocolate." he said lifting his brows at her and holding up a piece. "All is forgiven." she said racing over to join him. "So what did she get you?" she piped up from her spot with Remus on the floor. Sirius reached into the box to pull out a container and he smiled. "Toffee." he smiled. "Oooh!" she gushed and jumped on his bed. "That's mum homemade toffee! It's really good! She won a blue ribbons for it at the local Muggle fair!" He pulled another out and observed the white chunks with rainbow sprinkles. "Birthday cake fudge." he smiled as he read the label aloud. "It's really good." Jess nodded. "It tastes like white chocolate and cake batter. Mum makes it for Dad every year on his birthday. I bet she had to make two batches!" He pulled out a jar of something and for just a moment it made him think of firewhiskey but he smiled when he read the label. 'Sirius, dear, this is a new recipe I'm trying out. It's called Toffee Syrup. We like to put it in porridge, tea, pumpkin juice, coffee...come to think of it, anything really. I've added just a bit something special to this one. I'd love to hear what you think.' "Mum'll kill me for telling you this but it's really good you mix it with firewhiskey and put it over ice cream." Jess piped up and he lifted his brows at her. "And here I thought you were sweet and innocent." he commented. She laughed, "Sirius, we both know I'm far from either of those." He pulled out a black knitted hat. "Oh, Mum, doesn't want you to catch cold!" she wailed dramatically. "Don't cry on it." he teased. "But she stitched it with love, Sirius!" she wailed again. He resisted the urge to shove her off the bed when something caught his eye. A small black case and upon further inspection he realized that it was a guitar case. 'Engorgio.' he murmured and enlarged it before pulling the zipper open to reveal a beautiful black acoustic guitar. "Ophelia!" Jess squeaked. "What?" Sirius asked her. "It's Ophelia." she said. "It's Dad's guitar. He let me name her when I was a little girl." Sirius frowned, "Oh, maybe you should have it then." "Nah." she shook her head. "I'm rubbish at guitar. I'm a drums kind of girl...much to mum's dismay." She grinned wickedly and pretended to play the drums.

She never failed to make him laugh. He pulled it out and ran his hand over it before glancing into the case and seeing the matching strap and an envelope. He opened the envelope to reveal a small note and a silver chain with a matching guitar pick on the end. "Hello, Sirius. I hope you have a very Happy Birthday. Jess tells me that you love music along with many other things. She seems quite fond of you and speaks of you quite a lot. Which is considerably out of character for her. You have to understand that for the longest time when she wrote home...it was usually to tell us that Lily's eyebrows had grown back or that she'd was very close to finding redcap colony. Naturally, as her father, I was a little defensive about you at first. However, you seem like an alright lad and she seems to take a liking to you. Any man that will willingly let her braid rainbow colored yarn into their hair....well you're alright with me, kid. I hope you have a great birthday and you enjoy old Ophelia. P.S. If you press the guitar pick, you can record yourself. Comes in handy when you're working on songs. ' Sirius carefully sealed the letter back up and placed everything delicately back in the box. "Sirius?" Jess whispered. "You have really, really good parents." he said quietly. Remus quietly left the room, deciding it was best to give the two of them some time. "I know." she said softly. Sirius just nodded, still just slightly shaking until she placed her hand on his. "Maybe you can meet them sometime. You know, to properly welcome you to the family and all." she said. There was more to that statement than either of them were willing to talk about at that moment. Grey eyes caught green and they just stared for a moment. She decided to break the tension with some comedy. "Mum may be swayed by your charms but I will not being giving you your present from me until it's your actual birthday." she said. "You got me a present?" he questioned. "Yes, and I'm not telling so don't even try!" she scolded as she stuck her finger in his face. He smirked at her challenge as he carefully placed the box underneath his bed and grabbed her ankle. "Not even if I do...." he trailed off as he hovered above her neck. "This." She bit her lip when his lips caressed her skin. "No!" she cried out. "Don't use your tricks!" "How about here?" he asked kissing her nose. "Never." she whispered. "Alright." he said. "But I think I'll try one more." "I'll never surrender, Captain Hook!" she called out, grinning wickedly as she saw her book on his bed side table. "Now, now Tinkerbell. Let's not be rash." he teased. "Now give me some of that pixie dust." She erupted into a fit of giggles, "Sirius Black, Lord of the Cheeseballs!" He tickled her relentlessly, "Surrender!" "Never!" she said rolling out from underneath him and racing into the halls, "Lost Boys, unite! We have to defend ourselves against the terrible Captain Hook!" The muggleborns got it, thought it was weird, but go it. Everyone...just kind of wrote it off as Jess being Jess. And James Potter stood at the foot of stairs looking at his friend with an odd expression on his face. "What?" Sirius asked. James shook his head. "Nothing. It's just...you two are clearly into some weird things." he said. Sirius laughed and shoved his friend along into his room. The thing was...he didn't mind her little games. He loved them almost as much as he did her.

Chapter Six

Chapter Eight

Hello, loves! How do we feel about Sirius’ early bday present from Jess’ parents? How are we liking their relationship so far?

I’d love to what you think! Please feel free to hit up the ask box, blast the comment section or reblog with your thoughts and feelings! Next chappie coming soon!

All my love darlings!

Kenny

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Love, Kenny

#sirius black #sirius orion black #sirius black imagine #sirius black story #sirius black x ps #sirius black x plus size #plus size #ps #ps ofc #ps oc #plus size oc #plus size ofc #sirius black x oc #sirius black x reader #marauders #marauders era #marauders era sirius black #young sirius black

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eightysixed · 3 years ago

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happier than ever

You call me again, drunk in your Benz Drivin' home under the influence You scared me to death, but I'm wastin' my breath 'Cause you only listen to your fuckin' friends I don't relate to you I don't relate to you, no 'Cause I'd never treat me this shitty You made me hate this city

words: 3.2k plot: emma and tomo’s relationship, in a nutshell. trigger warnings: abuse, assault, drugs, cheating, violence, blood, suicidal ideation, nsfw

Five years is a lifetime when you’ve just begun your twenties. It’s half a decade of years so formative and important that you don’t really realize their importance until they have flown past.

Emma spent those years with Tomo.

[ SEPTEMBER 2014 ]

A twenty-one year old goes to an Outkast concert. She gets propositioned by a guy. Rough, pushy, handsy, it’s enough to make her feel suffocated, plan paths of escape or desperately look for a face in the crowd that could intervene. Then he comes in with his buddies and they all but rescue her. How ironic Emma thinks, years later. What a Disney-ified, damsel in distress moment to have and to meet by.

They spend the rest of the concert together, follow it up with an after hours at Los Coyotes, wolfing down soft shells in between food-spitting laughter. Emma, Tomo, and his two buddies. The energy is infectious, and she doesn’t want to say goodbye at the end of the night. It’s a feeling she has never felt before; those sparks in his eyes that are in hers too, the way he grounds and floors her. They exchange numbers and Emma’s face lights up as she’s getting off her Muni owl: it’s a text from him.

It doesn’t take long for his contact name to acquire an Emoji heart next to it, the girl who ridiculed these kinds of things in high school now finding herself enamoured, head-over-heels, and not caring for the criticisms of formerly cynical self.

[ OCTOBER ] A month later and she’s packed up and moved into his place, about as happy as she has ever been of late; everything in life falls into place with him, just makes sense.

[ NOVEMBER ] He gets エマ tattooed on his collarbone; her name in katakana. She gets 23, his lucky number.

They spend thanksgiving with her mom in Cupertino. Frankie hasn’t seen Emma this animated again in a long time, composes a poem about in her head as the green beans and pumpkin pie are passed around. Later of course, she pulls out the baby photos, much to Emma’s embarrassment and Tomo’s delight. “You were such a fat baby, Jesus,” Tomo laughs. “She looks like she ate baby Jesus,” her mother quips.

When her mom falls asleep, they sneak out and climb up Emma’s childhood treehouse armed with blankets. They gaze at a sliver of night sky through a gap in the roof as Emma tells him her childhood dreams of flying to space and inventing computers that could contact extraterrestrial life. They kiss, they make love, Emma ponders her stance on marriage being outdated and for chumps and losers next to a snoring Tomo.

[ FEBRUARY 2015 ] Their first Valentine’s day together they drop acid at Pier 39. An irate parent yells at them for making out on the merry-go-round in view of children; have they no shame.

She makes new friends, dozens, someone always at their place as Tomo plays them new tracks, smoke weed together, and watch the oil projector light show make shapes on the ceiling. They talk about the future, fame, and world domination.

They don’t discuss babies because neither of them care for that sort of shit — but they do talk about moving into a bigger place together, maybe getting a dog or two — the breed is subject of many arguments.

[ MARCH ] In peak puppy fever, Emma adopts a two year old rescue bulldog named Tito. It’s the first, tiny sign of a crack in their relationship, of dissent — she thinks she sees Tomo glare at the precious pup when he thinks she isn’t looking. But maybe she imagined it. He does shed and slobber uncontrollably after all, and her boyfriend happens to be a clean freak.

[ JULY ] That summer, Emma braves a plane once more to see Tomo play in Atlanta. His set is off the walls and for the first time, she is amazed to see just how many fans he has, how far this boyfriend of hers has come from making tracks in his living room. It’s just too bad she is fast asleep when he tiptoes out of their hotel room to meet one of said fans for a back-alley blowjob.

They roadtrip across the South to play some more venues and the pattern repeats itself in Louisiana, Texas, New Mexico. She wakes up in a cold sweat one night in Vegas, confused as to why he’s gone. “Out getting food. Got hungry.” The message hits her in a weird place, but she is tired, sleepy, and in a haze; Emma accepts, does not question. He even returns with some Taco Bell for her.

Timeskip — 3 years:

[ APRIL 2018 ]

Emma is on her hands and knees in a bathroom, vomit dripping off the toilet rim. She can’t remember how or why she got here, but she’s here. Everything seems to be swimming backwards. Eventually she is able to collect herself off the floor, splash water against her face and wall-to-wall stagger back out of the bathroom. It didn’t work, she’s purged the worst of it but still feeling funny. “Oh, Emma, there you are.” A man’s hands wrap around her. He says he’s friends with Tomo. Says he’ll take her to him. Fade to black.

Waking up with strange bruises should not become a norm, but it does. Emma dismisses it, goes to work, does her best.

Things with Tomo are a violent rollercoaster; some days are great, some days nondescript; and some days downright nightmarish. They fight, throw shit, break shit, yell at each other. Things almost border on the unacceptable as words turn into threats, threats turn to action. A hand around the throat; a body pinned to the wall — her body, of course. His weed grinder he threw that hit her in the head which he swore he’d meant to only toss at the wall. It never crosses a line into the unacceptable, though. That’s what Emma tells herself. He might push her down on the bed, sure, but a bed was soft. He might squeeze her throat in the heat of an argument, but never so much that she’s passing out. He doesn’t hit, kick, or punch her. That was what abusers did, not him.

She tells herself he can’t help it, his mother used to punish him and his father didn’t love him and now he lashes out the only way he knows how, on the only person he can. He didn’t grown up in as loving a home like she did. He had his reasons. It was okay. They were okay. And the makeup sex afterwards? The best ever.

[ MAY 2018 ] A month later and Emma is walking in on some girl riding Tomo’s dick like the world was ending, right there on their couch. On their goddamn couch they picked out together, hauled up the stairs with the delivery men. Somehow, the worst part about it all, Emma’s fucked up brain tells her, is that Tito is there to witness it. Her innocent, furry son, witnessing his ‘dad’ for all intents and purposes, cheating on his mom. A ridiculously thought but one she has nonetheless as she’s driving away, Tito next to her in the passenger seat. She goes to sleep at a friend’s and sobs the entire night.

Despite herself, she doesn’t break up with him; but the rift is a mile wide and constantly palpable. Tomo becomes relentlessly apologetic. Not only does he beg forgiveness, he does it live on-air at a radio station, on social media, Emma bombarded by strangers she doesn’t know writing her to take him back. Then he goes and uses her personal kryptonite pulls a Lloyd Dobler outside her work with a Cocorosie song she was absolutely weak for. She hates making a public scene but the sentimental part of her is melting at the gesture, the boombox, all of it. Emma stays. He’d been a shitbag, but he was her shitbag, with all his lovable and terrible qualities wrapped into one person, and she just had to take the shit with the good. Because there was no one else she’d rather be with, ripping side-stitches from too much laughter at four in the morning, tears in her eyes for a good reason this time, from one of his horrifying jokes.

He was hers and she was his, that’s just how it was to be. Well, as much as she could call him hers when he seemed to be everybody else’s in the process.

Emma does ridiculous, degrading, uncomfortable things in the name of love, and yet in the end she can’t hold on to the love she had for him in the beginning. Way back when they were going up on that ferris wheel at the pier and he looked at her like he had nothing but love in this world, for her. That was what hurt the most, because now the ferris wheel only went down.

There are threesomes, fivesomes, sixsomes, so many bodies in between hers and the one she loves, all in the name of exciting him, holding onto him, trying to be something for him that measured up to Enough. But none of it is enough. None of it makes him happy, nor did it make her happy. She gives him an inch and he takes a mile and then demands more, smiling with blood in his mouth. She breaks down and becomes something she doesn’t recognize in the mirror. Whether it was an act of revenge or desperation, or finally wanting to give him a taste of his own medicine, Emma sleeps with Corey, one of his best friends. She takes pictures, sends them to him “by accident”. She hates herself through it all, every moment of it, mostly for what he made her into. And yet, underneath all the layers of attempts at hurting him she was really just crawling on all fours, begging him to love her again, need her and want he the way he did in the beginning. Craving to get that first hit back, the one she had been on a residue high off of for four years, the one that now tasted metallic and rancid in her throat.

The worst part? Tomo doesn’t care. He texts her back, telling her to have fun, to send more pictures. She’s never felt this hollow, this empty, this non-entity of a being. The day of her high school graduation flashes in her mind, her dad telling her to never lose her identity, the core of what made her, her. Emma took that core and probably threw it into the Pacific. Somewher between Japan and California, it lies at the bottom of the ocean.

[ APRIL 2019 ]

Turns out, Emma could draw a line, and that line was becoming accessory to a drug deal. She knew Tomo sold on the side to make up for all the money going into the records, but it had always been a few pills here and there, nothing big. But this? Fentanyl, Xanax, bricks of coke and hash? It was a lot. It was too much.

He sells the drugs and her to go with it, and that’s the end right there. The package she delivers to the apartment he asks her to deliver it to turns into a hostage situation, and she leaves hours later, bruises and caked blood on her. She can’t go home, doesn’t want to. She wants to jump off the bridge she’s crossing from Oakland back to the city. Any bridge, any of them would do. She understands why people jump from the Golden Gate now, or maybe always had. She was there now, climbing the railings, she was ready. She wanted that plunge so badly, would be sad to leave one parent, but good to be reunited with the other. Maybe there she’d be happy, maybe there she’d find peace.

She calls Ben that night. She’s dry eyed and unemotional, but as soon as she gets the right words, verbalizes her situation, she’s sobbing again. Tomo is out of the city, across the country in Philly on tour. Now was the time, if there was any time for it. She’s not even done with the call when Ben is getting in his car to drive to her. It’s 6 hours from Ojai to San Francisco; he tells her he’ll be there in five. She never deserved a friend like him and never would, Emma thinks as she packs, hastily because somehow Tomo walking through the front door as a ‘surprise’ wouldn’t be out of the question. In the end, she can’t pack everything, has to leave so much behind, her records, books, knickknacks. Five years in this apartment and she’s leaving all of it behind, making a getaway in the middle of the night like some kind of burglar.

By three in the morning he’s here, and they get to packing her suitcases in the car, stacking them as best as they fit in his trunk and backseat, all of Tito’s things and then Tito on a bed in the seat in the back. Emma is in busy mode, stacking and packing everything as fast she can, still somewhere in the back of her mind thinking Tomo would appear at the last minute, and how with Ben here, things could get ugly. She doesn’t want them to get ugly. She loved him far too much to see him have to deal with Tomo, the only person in that specific firing line should be her and no one else.

They drive off. She only feels herself unclench an hour out of Daly City, somewhere in between the Bay and Southern California, where she can exhale. She’s still looking behind them constantly, wondering if every passing car could somehow be him. The saddest, most desperate part of all this that a part of her wants him to have followed. One last ditch attempt to get her back. An all out attempt, one where he would get on both knees and apologize, swear to never be this way again and follow through with it, because he was her person, he was her only person, there was nobody else in this world for her but him, but what do you do when you had to run from your person in the dead of night?

She pulls her raincoat tighter when they stop to get gas, a cold and windy middle of nowhere gas station. She’s not sure how she ends up embracing him, but they’re in it, and feeling someone’s arms around her, somebody that actually cares, who’d never hurt her, who was family, was her mom and his sister and everybody she loved rolled into one, feels like a reprieve. She feels like dirt for making him do this, making him worry, Emma was a piece of shit for that.

She says as much. He tells her to shut up, that she’s nothing like that and this was nothing that he wouldn’t have done for her on any night, any time at all. And maybe that, that was the night she fell in love with him a little bit, or realized she had always been, all along, but God likes to play Lucifer’s games with the little lives he watches over, and it wasn’t made to be, too late anyway since she’d left her heart in somebody else’s hands where it would stay. And he doesn’t need a mess like her anyway, just thinking of the name Catarina was enough. It had been five years but she still remembered the day like yesterday. How low he had been back then. How they would get high together and feel miserable together because at least they had that. They had Weetzie too, but she hadn’t experienced loss like they had, she sympathized but she’d never know what this particular slice of hell was like. But Ben and Emma knew. She knew it in that part of her ribs that met his, and she did not know what she would do if she didn’t have that, have Ben Abrams in her life.

[ MARCH 2021 ]

Fast forward two years, and the ex is in town. Here, in Los Angeles. That very ex you worked so hard to forget, to heal from, to act like he wasn’t there. And yet, reminders of him were constantly there, everywhere. She doesn’t tell her friends, doesn’t tell anybody he’s in town, just balks when his so called best friend turns up in her neighborhood. She nearly grabs Tito and runs the other way, but it had been too late for that and they have a forced, awkward catch-up. He’s oblivious to anything happening, had barely known about her and Tomo breaking up. Figures, Emma thought, that he would act like nothing happened at all.

He’s in town, and every day she goes to work dreading something happening. She thinks she sees him outside the tattoo parlor’s window, but it’s someone else entirely. She’s losing it again, losing sleep, falling prey to her nightmares. Has a boyfriend now but even that doesn’t help, if anything, he’s a guilty reminder of just how little progress she had made, because she couldn’t devote the time and attention somebody like that needed in her life. Not when all she could think about was him.

The worst part is that once he’s long gone again, back up north, she’s feeling that hollow feeling again. Feeling upset that he didn’t seek her out, didn’t come see her. Even though she knew what an unmitigated disaster that would’ve been, the horrible, rotten part of her wanted it. Of course it wanted it. Two years and her skin still itched for him like an addict longing to be in the throes of fullblown relapse. But he didn’t track her down, call, or text, and that was that. Her only run-in with him involves a party flyer papered on a wall, his name in big stylized letters as the headlining DJ at the club. She stares at that flyer for a little too long, it burns itself in her eye like she’d looked at the sun for too long. And then she does the worst thing she could probably do, go on instagram. Only to find he has a new girlfriend. A brunette with tattoos who looked fun and flirty and everything she had been all those years ago.

That was the last tip of the scale. She reactivates her Tinder, finds some half okay looking guy, makes plans to meet him that night. It’s terrifying, so terrifying going through with, but she gets sufficiently drunk, then high on top of that, and goes through with it. Thinking of another boy’s name the entire time, his face, his body, hands and all the rest. Twelve hours later she’s leaving his apartment, no longer the nun of two years she’d become and feeling shitty about that on top of everything else. It was probably time to go see Karen again she thinks, smoking a cigarette under the sun that melts her while waiting for her Uber home. Thanks friends, thanks family, I’ve made terrific process with all your help and am now back to square one. Thanks for everything.

Maybe in a decade’s time.

Maybe she’d be over it by then.

#billie eilish and her new album sponsored this para #literally billie wrote this song for emma i die #did i have his s.para tucked away for 2 whole years because i was too lazy to finish it? yup #emma #self para #self para: emma #npc: tomo slater

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teeddybeer · 3 years ago

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Teddy Bears: Everybody's Best Friends

Teddy bears a infant's nice buddy. Every toddler has a proper and deserves to be given a teddy endure. They are small, soft and huggable toys that bring consolation to each youngsters and adults. Everybody has one favorite teddy that they just can allow go of. These huggable soft toys were around for centuries and as they're cherished through youngsters there are numerous poems, memories and cartoons based totally on these. They are Winnie the Pooh, Goldilocks and the bears, etc.

They are filled with tender cotton and resemble the actual bears. Their gentle fur and cute look cause them to very huggable. They are a infant's comfort when the night is simply too darkish and frightening and even whilst the texture lonely and ignored. They make stunning gifts for humans of every age. Their manufacturers by no means exit of business. They're made up of a gentle fur like material and its special parts are stitched together with a very strong thread so that don't tear and the stuffing does not start coming out.

Those who are very fond of these make a massive collection of these. The massive ones can be used as chairs. You will discover may additionally women stuffing their rooms with these because of their love for those. They are given as provides on birthdays, Valentine's Day, Christmas, thanksgiving and numerous different activities. One may even present themselves one. They don't need any occasion to be bought and some nations even rejoice the teddy bear competition because of their love for these crammed toy bears.

While buying these the pleasant of the bears ought to be checked. Because the ones made from cheep quality fabric begin losing fur and the eyes and nose start falling off. Some sorts may additionally emerge as swallowing those and start choking.

Now those teddies can be custom designed and dressed as and when required. There are special clothing for them which might be being bought in the shop selling these toys. If you want to present them to the one that you love you can also get a message stitched on the garments worn through them. Customized ones have become an growing trend and manufacturers are generating those to fulfill the demands of the customers.

They also can be made at home. There are exceptional suggestions on a way to make these at the internet. You should purchase your very own cloth and sew one according to your style and liking. Budget is by no means a trouble while it comes to shopping for the sort of as they may be bought by means of every body and anybody.

Today there are numerous museums for teddy bears round the sector. If you are pressured approximately what you present you loved ones you may continually present them this kind of as one can by no means tire of collecting these.

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lettersofwrittencollective · 6 years ago

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Hold On

Author: @lettersofwrittencollective

Pairing: Thomas x Reader

Word Count: 6307

Warnings: None

Prompt: None

A/N: I was listening to the song, Hold On by Chord Overstreet and came up wit this... As always please feel free to give me your thoughts and opinions.

Masterlist || DOB Masterlist

You were running to the truck that Jorge had driven into a crowd of cranks. Brenda was shooting at some, trying to keep them from getting too close to the four of you. Frypan, Thomas and Newt had made it onto the truck, they’re longer legs able to get them there faster. They were calling you name, motioning for you to jump.

You jumped onto the truck and Jorge, thinking everyone was safe or trying to shake the Cranks, pressed on the gas. You were thrown off balance and would have fallen off hand it not been for Thomas and Newt grabbing onto each arm. Thomas tried to reach your jacket to tug you back in. Unfortunately, just as he was about to reach your jacket, Newt lost his grip on your arm. “Tommy!!” you screamed as you suddenly found yourself in a very precarious situation.

The arm that Newt had held was now behind you and you were trying to focus on holding onto Thomas with your other arm. There was a tug on your free arm and you turned to a crank had managed to latch onto you for just a moment before other cranks knocked him down. Immediately, you pulled the free hand as close to your body as you could manage when Thomas, in a burst of adrenaline, was able to pull you back into the truck.

When Thomas had pulled you into the truck, you collided with his chest and your arms were quick to wrap around his torso. He had tried to step back, to check you over and make sure you were ok but you had only tightened your grip on him and burrowed your face into his chest. Seeing how freaked out you were, Thomas had merely held you tighter and kissed your head before moving his hands to rub soothing circles across your back.

Once you had calmed down, he checked the arm that the crank had grabbed. Seeing nothing but bruising, the both of you let out a sigh of relief and you couldn’t help feeling foolish for having been so terrified for what ended up being no reason.

When you’d apologized to everyone- Newt, Frypan, Brenda and Jorge had reassured you that you were fine. Thomas had waited till they had all given you their reassurances before cupping your face in his hand and tilting your head up so he could kiss your forehead before he told you that you were allowed to freak out every once in a while, especially when cranks were involved.

Thomas had then spent the next few hours holding you in some way. Whether he had you pulled up against him in Jorge’s truck or holding your hand while you walked the outskirts of the Lost City. When you were in his arms, he would press kisses to your temple or your hair every few minutes, as you walked through the outskirts, he would tug you so that you were practically on his back, his grip tight on your hand.

You had been the one to notice the group of masked men following you, having pointed them out to Thomas as Newt came up, you were all taken aback by the sound of the machine gun firing into the crowd.

When the masked team had thrown both of you in the back of a van, Thomas had adjusted his body so that he was in front of you. It was both frustrating and adorable. You swore that he forgot that you’d been in the Glade with a bunch of boys for a while before he’d come up. You had gone toe to toe with all of them and were able to take care of yourself for the most part. So, when you had learned that Gally was in fact still alive, you found that you were incredibly grateful. The guy had been a right ass in the end but he was still your friend.

When the situation had calmed down, Thomas was the first one to notice that you were bleeding. Once he confirmed that it was your lower leg and not near your femoral, he’d picked you up so quickly it made you dizzy. He’d demanded that Gally and his new friends get you to a medic.

As the medic stitched you up, Thomas had had to go meet Lawrence. At first he argued against it but was convinced easily enough when you pointed out “Tommy, Lawrence may be our only way to get into WCKD.”

That had been just a few hours ago. Now, though, you were outside the walls of the Last City, sitting on the roof of Lawrence's house waiting for Thomas, Newt and Gally to come back. The three boys were trying to find a way to get into WCKD and based on the way Gally spoke of the place, you had a suspicion you knew exactly how he planned on getting into the WCKD building.

Not much later, Brenda took a seat next to you and the two of you sit in silence, watching the world around you. It’s Brenda that breaks the silence, “What do you think they’ll find?”

You wish she hadn’t asked that, you want to be naive to what the solutions likely to e but you’d been put in the Glade the month after Gally, when they were still sending boys and girls. He’d taken you under his wing so to speak and to pretend that you didn’t know was foolish. In fact, as soon as Brenda had asked, the suspicion itself suddenly became an indisputable fact in your mind.

“Gallys going to want to use Teresa to get us into WCKD.”

At the silence that followed, you turned to look at Brenda. The sight in front of you was almost comical. Her face had paled, her eyes had a deer in the headlights quality with how large they had gotten and her jaw had dropped.

You merely turned back to look at the wall before your eyes fell to the people traveling the alleyways below. Inside the walls were the rich, the ones that could afford the cure torn from innocent children and out here was a mix of people who wanted to save those very children and who would use them if given the chance.

“Wait! You’re being serious?!” she asked you after the initial shock wore off.

“Deadly. Especially because I’m pretty sure that Newt or Frypan would have told him of her betrayal. Teresa was always soft on Tommy. If they haven’t been able to get in before but Gally’s sure that he get them in now, he’s going to use Tommy to lure her out. She’ll be our ticket to Minho.”

“And you’re sure that everyone’s gonna be on board with this?”

You were confused and were about to ask what it was that she meant when Jorge came through the doors and called for the two of you. Getting up, you and Brenda followed Jorge down the stairs into a room that seems to be covered in papers and plans.

Frypans sitting in a chair to the side, Thomas is pacing near the wall and Gally and Newt are around a table. Your legs not too happy with you right now, so you lean against the wall, keeping most of your weight on your good leg while Brenda joins Newt and Gally at the table.

The atmosphere in the room is tense and suddenly Thomas is turning towards your group as he says “No. There’s gotta be another way.”

You watch as Gally drops the plans on the table in front of him, without actually turning to Thomas he asks “Like what? You’ve seen the building, she is our only way in.”

“You really think she’s gonna help us?’ Thomas challenged.

You have to work to hide the chuckle that wants to bubble up. Of course you were right about Gally wanting to use Teresa. “I doubt he’s planning to ask for her help Tommy,” you say from your place against the wall. Lifting the leg that had had a bullet in it, you stretch out the foot in front of you.

Thomas sees this and makes his way towards you when Brenda asked for clarity, pulling Thomas’ attention back to the matter at hand. “Am I missing something here? This is the same girl who betrayed us correct? Same dick?”

“I like her.” Gally says of the girl that had helped saved your life earlier, as he crosses his arm and looks at Thomas.

‘What’s going on?” she asks of Thomas and it’s in that moment that you realize what she had meant earlier.

Crossing your arms in front of you, you bring your left hand up to your lips as you try to make sense of the why. Teresa had destroyed everything when she had given you up to wicked. In your opinion there was no redemption for the girl.

The rooms silent as you watch them. Newt catches your eye and raises an eyebrow, silently asking if you’re okay. You don’t respond because you’re not exactly sure. That seems to set Newt off and he practically growls out across the table “What are you afraid your little girlfriends gonna get hurt?”

Thomas’ silence tells you what you need to know and you let out a cold scoff as you place your weight on both knees and bring your left hand down, “Of course it is. This has never been about rescuing Minho has it?”

Everyone turns to look at you and you continue to stare at Thomas who takes a step towards you, confusion on his face “Y/N- what are you talking about?”

Your eyes harden and you’re about to respond when Newt’s caught everyone off guard. ‘Teresa. She’s the only reason that Minho's even missing in the first place,” he’s stalking Thomas, forcing the brunette to step backwards until he’s practically pinned against a wall “now we finally have an opportunity to get him back and you don’t want to. What? Because of her?! Because deep down inside, you still care about her don’t you?”

Thomas’ eyes flick to you but you’d already schooled your features. All he sees is a cold, hard mask.

As Newt pulls Thomas’ attention back him, “Don’t look at her!” he calls, and you tighten the grip of your arms across your chest. This time, you’re trying to hold yourself together. The night that Thomas had run into the maze, after Minho and Alby, you had sat with Newt all night. The two of you deciding to follow this shuck if he made it back alive and he had. Thomas had always taken care of both you and Teresa and you hadn’t thought anything about it at first but as you guys planned the train car heist, the two of you had gotten closer and you had found that you were falling for the idiot.

You had known it the night that the two of you had laid on the shores of the beach just tracing the stars in the sky.

It had been a particularly brutal day as far as training and planning. You had argued with Tommy, Newt and Frypan about the best way to figure out which car Minho would be in. You had offered to go to the main station and keep an eye while they loaded the kids to try and make sure you got Minho’s car but none of the boys would hear about it. According to them, it was much too risky. You’d pointed out that the whole plan was risky and that you had no problems risking everything if it meant getting one of your brothers back.

Tommy had practically lost his mind and the two of you had argued back and forth. When he yelled at you about making reckless decisions the two of you had gone back and forth. Most of the group gave you a wide berth the rest of the day.

When everyone else had gone to bed, you had stayed out on the boat just watching the glistening stars overhead. Thomas had come to find you and after you both apologized to each other, he stayed with you.

“You know Y/N, I think that one’s Orion,” he said after a few minutes and traced the star for you.

“Now where’d you learn that?”

He’d simply shrugged as he sat next to you, “When you said you enjoyed them, I asked Jorge to show me. I know Newt and Frypan never learned them.. Figured you would like someone to talk to about ‘em.”

The two of you had stayed there the rest of the night and had taken turns pointing out stars and constellations that you knew.

You’re pulled from your thoughts as you hear Newt screaming at Thomas. “DON’T LIE TO ME!” he pushes the brunette against the wall itself, “DON’T. LIE. TO. ME!” Less than a second later, you watch as Newts demeanor change. He apologizes to everyone twice before leaving the room.

Everyone watches him leave for a moment, you included. You’re so caught up in the moment that you don’t realize that Thomas has made his way towards you until he’s calling your name Turning to him, you see the confusion on his face, he looks like he wants to reassure you but he’s not sure how and you want to tell him things are okay but instead you motion your head towards the doors Newt just exited, your voice is cold “You should go check on him Thomas.”

He flinches at the full use of his name. Y/N and Newt are the only ones that call him Tommy. In fact, he’s not sure when the last time you used his full name outside of the Glade was. He reaches his hand out towards her and feels his heart drop when she steps back.

“Y/N…” he begins but is quickly cut off.

“Go check on him Thomas and get over whatever hang up you have about using Teresa or I’ll kill you myself.” there’s no emotion in her voice, it’s flat and cold and as he looks at her, he can see the glassiness in her eyes. He tries calling her name again, much more softly this time and he watches her eyes flick behind him.

“Gally.” she calls as she walks past him and he turns to watch her. As she almost reaches him, she loses her footing, her bad leg unable to support her weight. He moves to help her when he sees Gally’s already got his arm around her waist but as soon as he touches her shoulder she shakes him off.

“You need to go check on Newt, Thomas.” she says without turning to him. A pained breath leaves her lips and she leans her head on Gallys bicep before sayin, “I need to go get this damned gauze changed and off my feet for a little. Mind helping a girl out, Gal?”

Thomas watches as Gallys eyes go from Y/N to him and back before the boy reluctantly nods his head and helps Y/N limp out of the room. Turning his head, he sees the rest of the group just looking at him, disappointment evident in their gazes. He clears his throat and walks out to check on Newt.

Finding his friend on the roof of Lawrences, house, he walks up slowly before stopping behind him. Newt turns to look at him, “Sorry about that, back there… I guess I can’t hide this anymore.” Thomas watches the black veins that indicated that his friend has been infected by the Flare.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked as he sank down by his friend.

“Didn’t think it would make any difference.” Newt looked at his arm and then out at the outskirts of the city, “All I know is that WCKD must have put me in that maze for a reason. And maybe it was literally just so they could tell the difference between immunes like you and people like me.”

“You know, we can still fix this Newt.”

Newt disagreed with him however. The goal was to get Minho out of WCKD, no matter what the cost.

The two friends sit in silence for a few minutes. Thomas is thinking back to the cold look on your face and the shuttered eyes he had never seen before. Clearing his throat, he asks his friend “Newt… Do you think that Y/N is -”

His friend laughs and pats him, hard, on the shoulder as he cuts him off, “Whatever the two of you are- you’re going to have to grovel for her forgiveness. I can’t remember the last time she called you Thomas outside of the Glade.”

“What do you mean ‘whatever we are’?” Thomas asked the other boy, the wording confusing him. When Newt merely gave him an expectant look, he continued, “Newt, she’s my best friend, I don’t know what I would do without her.”

“So, she’s just your friend?”

Thomas felt his cheeks flush and shook his head, “She’s so much more than that...”

“Does she know that?”

Thomas nods his head, “Of course she does! How could she not?! Whenever something happens, she’s the first one that I go to. Whenever I need help with a decision, she’s the one that I talk it through with.”

“Tommy, have you told her?”

At that, Thomas has to think about it for a minute and realizes that he doesn’t actually every remember telling Y/N what he thought of her. The two of them did so many things together, that he just assumed you knew what you meant to him.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been silent, but Newt squeezed his shoulder, “You two are a strange pair. You’ve been dancing around each other for months now. We’ve all seen the possibility of more than a friendship for a while now but the first time I’ve seen you show something physically romantic towards her was after the cranks almost took her the other day. Since then, you’ve been tripping over yourself to keep an eye on her. She doesn’t usually do well with that ya know?”

“Well why would that change?”

“Well, as we’ve already pointed out, she called you Thomas. Also- you’re out here with me still. If you were so sure of where you stood with her, you would have already gone in to check on her.” With that, Newt stood up from the ledge of the building and went inside.

Thomas sat on the edge of the building for a few more minutes before he realized that he needed to talk to you. Especially after the Teresa comment that Newt had made earlier, he needed to make sure that you knew that you were the best thing that had happened to him.

Getting up, he made his way inside. It took him having to find Gally to figure out you had been set up in a spare room and that was where you had last been seen. Gally refused to tell him where the room was, saying that he needed to leave you alone which only irritated Thomas who told the blonde to mind his own business.

He’d stormed out of the room and was able to get directions to your room from one of the other girls in the area. When he finally found your door, he knocked a couple times. When there was no response, he called your name. You sounded weak when you responded and it immediately worried him.

While he waited for you to open the door, there was a loud crashing sound and a thud. He immediately tried to open the door in front of him only to find that it was locked. Calling your name frantically, he pushed against the door. It wouldn’t budge and so he started to throw his weight against it.

Someone tried to grab his arm but he shrugged them off. “Thomas! What are you doing?!” Newt asked as he pulled the boy backwards.

Thomas continued to throw his weight against the door, as he answered Newt. “Y/N... There was a crash and a thud. I need to make sure she’s ok.” Suddenly the door broke open.

Rushing into the room, his eyes found you on the floor on the other side of the room. He ran to you and pulled you into his arm. Putting a hand to your chest, he found a very faint heartbeat.

“Y/N?!” he called, his voice panicky. “Newt go get someone!”

He watched Newt run out of the door and turned back to the girl in his arms. “Y/N…” he whispered as he tried to find your pulse. It was getting weaker and he wasn’t sure how that was possible “Y/N hold on, Newt’s getting help.”

He pulled you into his lap and held you tight. “Y/N - I need you... Please don’t leave me...” he whispered into her hair as he kissed her temple.

A pained whimper escaped her lips and he looked down to find her looking at him. There was a small smile on her lips and her breathing was shallow. “I’m so tired Tommy,” she whispered as she closed her eyes.

“No, no, no, Y/N, open your eyes!!” When he saw her eyes flutter open and then close, “Y/N… PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME!!” he screamed as he picked her up and cradled her to his chest before running out of the room. His only thought to get the girl in his arms to help. What felt like a lifetime later, he ran into Newt and a group of men and and a woman. The woman stepped forward and asked what had happened; Thomas shook his head, “I... I... I don’t know. I heard a crash and she was on the floor when I finally got in… She won’t open her eyes!”

The girl was saying something to the other two that had come in with her. She was speaking so fast that he wasn’t able to understand what was said. She looked at Thomas, “I need you to let her go.”

Suddenly, there were hands trying to pull you from him and Thomas pulled you tighter against him as he moved backwards.

“Thomas they’re trying to help...” he heard Newts voice, soft and reassuring in the haze of the rest of the room.

Looking at the people around him, he saw that someone had brought a gurney. He turned to look at Newt who nodded his head reassuringly, then he looked at the woman who had taken your vitals “Please… save her…” he begged, his voice broken.

The woman didn’t say a word, merely offered him a sad smile. He kissed Y/N’s forehead, and whispered “come back to me please...”

The med-jack then helped the men move Y/N from his arms to the gurney before they quickly made their way out of the room and down the hallway.

Following not too far behind them, Thomas watched as they took her into an enclosed room. Trying to follow, he was stopped by Gally.

“Greenie-“The blonde started to say, but was interrupted by Thomas shoving him backwards. Gally stood his ground and pushed back, “Greenie!”

“Get out of the way Gally.”

“You need to wait a minute and let them try to save her!”

Thomas’ stopped and looked at Gally. “What do you know?”

“Nothing concrete, I just have a suspicion.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Not really.”

At that, Thomas saw red and pushed Gally against the door behind him. Grabbing the boy’s shirt in his fists, he pulled him close. When he spoke, his voice was low, harsh and deadly, “What the hell is happening to her?!”

Gally didn’t seem fazed as he grabbed Thomas’ wrists and threw them off of him. Thomas watched a Gally’s eyes narrowed and he stood straighter. “Look Greenie, I’ve known Y/N a hell of a lot longer than you have!” he shoved against Thomas and Thomas was forced to take a step back. “I was the one that taught her how to build. When our friends were banished, or died because of some shuck headed idiot, she would sit with me, Newt and Minho to mourn them. That girl is our little sister.”

Gally continued to press Thomas, making him step even further backwards “So you’re not the only one that’s worried about her! I’m worried! Newts worried! Frypans worried. Guaranteed that Brenda and Jorge will be worried.” He then took his finger and stabbed Thomas in the chest with it, his voice dropping and becoming menacing, “What makes your shuck face so special?”

Thomas stopped letting Gally push him backwards and shoved the boy again, “Because I love her! You stupid shank! Now get out of my way or I swear, I’ll kill you.”

As he walked towards the door, he heard a commotion behind him. Turning, he saw that Frypan, Jorge and Brenda had joined them in the room. He turned away from them and saw one of the men that had helped the woman move you. He was in a different outfit, a grey shirt and pants with a white coat on top. It took Thomas a moment before he recognized the ensemble as that of a doctor. He was talking to Gally and a moment later, Gally was sprinting out of the room.

“Hey! What’s going on?” He asked the man as he walked towards him.

The man looked at Thomas but didn’t answer. Instead, he looked at the group gathered in the room with Thomas. “You’re all here for the girl?” At their nods, he sighed, “She an immune?”

Thomas felt his blood freeze at those words. Was it possible that WCKD had really mixed them up in a group like that? Thinking about Newt and Winston, he knew it was possible but he didn’t want to believe that Y/N wasn’t immune.

“She was in the maze with us.” Frypan answered. “But Winston wasn’t immune... The cranks got him…”

“Then I guess we can only wait and see.”

“What happened?” Thomas asked again, he felt like a broken record but he had to know what was going on with you.

“I’m waiting for Gally to come back with some bullets to be sure but, for now, I suggest you all take a seat, there’s no a whole lot we can do right now.” With that, he walked back into the room.

Thomas wanted to follow after the man, but if he was honest with himself, he was afraid of what he’d find. So, he settled for pacing in front of the doors while the others sank down onto the floor or into chairs.

Gally came into the room, a bag in his hand that looked like it weighed a ton. He didn’t pay any mind or attention to the group of boys around him and instead went straight to the door that Y/N was behind.

The world felt muted. He could hear the cars outside and the chattering slums but it was as if they were muffled by something.

When Gally came back out, the sun was out again, he looked pissed and his knuckles were red. Thomas made his way towards the irate blonde, he didn’t even have to ask before Gally spoke up, and “The bastards actually weaponized the flare.”

“Wait, what? How?”

“Hollowed tips to the bullets.” the blonde responded as he sank down, cracking his knuckles in front of him.

“Wait so is she gonna crank out?” Brenda asked and Thomas watched as Gally shook his head.

“I don’t think so. Usually, cranks have the black veins. She doesn’t have that. She’s on fire though and in pain. She keeps hallucinating that she’s in the maze...” He turns to look at Thomas “She keeps calling for you.”

Thomas swallows, he’s terrified that Gally is wrong and that she’s going to crank out, but he nods his head and asks if he can see her. Gally nods and motions for Thomas to go through the door.

When he opened the door, he saw you laying in a bed that had been stuck in the corner of the room. He stood there, frozen for a moment.

The sound of the gunshot that ended Winston's life made everyone freeze in place. He watched Teresa recover the fastest then Frypan, Minho and Newt. But Y/N stayed where she was. He walked up behind her and called her name but she made no acknowledgement that she heard him. As he reached her, he placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Y/N…” he said softly, “We need to keep moving.”

She stood still for a moment before turning to him, “Tommy - I don’t want to end up like those creatures either. Newts right, if Winston can get infected we should assume -”

“Y/n that’s not-”

“No Tommy, listen to me. It shouldn’t be possible based on that video but Winston just died Tommy. I need you to promise me, if they infect me and I can’t pull the trigger, I need you to do it.”

A whimper pulled him from his memory and he rushed over to the girl. When he neared her, he placed a hand to her chest, feeling for her heartbeat. It was there, slow but steady and he reached down to take her hand.

“Y/N- don’t let this take you. Please.. Please hold on. I promise I’ll make this right. I’m going to find a way to save you.”

Thomas sat in silence in that blasted room. He’d heard Gally arguing with Newt and Frypan but hadn’t bothered to try to figure out what it was. He merely sat there and held her hand. For the most part they left him in the room alone but they would come into the room to check on the girl.

Other people, ones he figured were medics would also come in to check her vitas. She was burning up and there was an occasional whimper that would leave her but she didn’t wake up. Thomas just held her hand. He would bring it to his lips occasionally, kissing her hand. “Please don’t leave me…” he would whisper every now and then. “Come back… I still need you.”

When the sun set again, Newt came knocking on the door. “We’ve gotta go.”

Thomas looked at you, “What if she cranks out Newt?” he whispered. He didn’t want to go but he also knew that he needed to. Getting Teresa meant not only getting to Minho but also getting a cure for you.

Newt merely walked into the room and placed a hand on his friends shoulder. “She won’t,” he said with such conviction that Thomas almost believed him.

Rubbing his eyes, Thomas gut up from the chair he had been in all day. He went and kissed your forehead. “Come back to me… I’m not strong enough to be without you.”

Getting up, he followed Newt out of the Lawrence’s place and back into the lost city. He had to focus on what Newt and Gally were saying. His mind kept wandering back to Y/N, she was in that bed, burning up and Teresa was working for the people that had caused it.

Leaving the train tunnels, the boys went through the old, empty platform that Gally led them through. He then walked through the small courtyard and joined the throngs of people moving throughout the city. He remembered Gally saying that Teresa would take the route that was the straightest to WCKD’s compound.

He pulled his hoodie over his head and tried to be as casual as possible. He wasn’t sure how far he was going to have to go but thankfully, he didn’t have to even cross the street before he saw her. They waited for the light on opposite ends of the intersection and he watched as she turned towards something. He began to worry that he was going to have to cross the street when suddenly Teresa’s eyes connected with his.

Watching the flash of recognition on her face, he turned away. Knowing that the girl would follow. He went back through the courtyard he had come out of and was thinking about Y/N. If Teresa hadn’t betrayed them she wouldn’t be in that bed right now fighting for her life. He picked up his pace, trying to get this over with so that he could go check on the girl.

“Thomas?” he heard Teresa call. A voice that had once soothed him now felt like acid across his skin. Looking over his shoulder, he made the turn into the station Gally had pushed him out of, making sure that she followed.

Once in the station, he moved into the shadows and watched Teresa search for him. His instinct was to yell at her, to find a way to hurt her the way she had hurt Y/N but he couldn’t frighten her off. They needed her for Minho. They needed her for Y/N.

So, stepping out of the shadows he pulled of his hood. She turned to him and said his name, as if it were a prayer falling from her lips.

“Hey Teresa.”

“You shouldn’t be here. If Jansen finds out you’re here..” she begins to say but he cuts her off.

“I’m not staying.” He walked towards her, “It’s just - uh.. I had to see you.” He stops in front of her and it takes everything in him not to reach out and choke the life out of her. Instead, he focuses on Y/N and when he speaks again, his voice is regretful, “I had to ask you something…”

Teresa says nothing, just looking at him. The look on her face is trusting, almost relieved to see him and he can’t help but hate her in that moment. “Do you regret it? What you did to us?”

Teresa, somehow, seems surprised by the question and says “Sometimes. But I did what I thought was right. I’d do it again.”

“Good.” He watches confusion flicker across her face as Gally comes up and throws a sack over her head. They lead Teresa through the tunnels and out of the Last City. Finally, they get back to Lawrence’s compound.

One of the doctors had told you that the boys were back. They set Teresa in one of the rooms downstairs. You made your way and heard Gally talking as you got closer, “Here’s how this is gonna go. We’re gonna ask you some questions and you’re gonna tell us exactly what you know.”

As you walked into the room, you saw Gally approaching Teresa as she appealed to Thomas. Gally slammed a chair down in front of Teresa. “Don’t look at him. Why you lookin at him?”

“She’s expecting him to save her.” you answer for the girl. Six heads whip in your direction and both Newt and Thomas rush towards you, making sure you’re ok. “I’m fine boys. Fevers broken and there’s no crank in sight,” you say as you push them away.

You turn your gaze upon Teresa, “We know you’ve got Minho in the building. So, you’re going to tell us where or so help me, I will find out if you’re immune or just lucky.”

She looks at you and you’re not sure if you look scary or if she feels bad about what she’s done but she turns back to Gally and gives him the information that he needs. As they’re talking, you feel a hand on your bicep.

Turning, you’re not surprised to see Thomas. You use your head to motion that the two of you should walk away from the group. You’re in a hallway and he’s looking at you like he’s afraid to touch you. Reaching out, you cup his face and tilt his head so you can look into his eyes, you can see the worry and the relief. “I’m fine Tommy,” you whisper to him reassuringly.

Moving his hand up, he cradles your smaller hand in his larger one. “You called me Tommy.” he says, his voice soft and filled with awe.

You chuckle softly. “Yes well, I heard you earlier. It’s kind of hard to stay mad at someone when they’re begging you to stay alive. Though you do need to find a way to make all of this right.”

Before you’ve realized it, he’s moved his free hand to the other side of your face and is pressing his lips against yours. It takes you by surprise for a moment and you can feel him pulling away from you. He looks like he’s unsure of himself suddenly and you realize that you hadn’t responded to his kiss.

Biting your lower lip, you bunch his shirt in your fists and pull him towards you. He eagerly meets you and kisses you passionately. You return the kiss with just as much vigor and the two of you only break apart when you feel like your lungs are going to explode. Leaning your forehead on his shoulder, you can’t help the chuckle that leaves your lips.

“What?”

“Just never thought you’d actually kiss me.”

He steps back from you and cups your face again. Looking into your eyes he says, “Y/N you are literally the best thing that has ever happened to me. If it weren’t for you, I don’t know where we would be. I swear to love you all my life.”

You smile at him and turn your head to kiss the inside of his palm before turning back to look at him, “Let’s go get Minho and go home.”

Masterlist || DOB Masterlist

Tag list: @stiles-o-dylan24 @nicole-lynne @lucifersnipnips

#Reader insert #thomas x reader #thomas tmr #the maze runner #thomas imagines #the maze runner imagines #tmr #my writing

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oh-its-souichi · 6 years ago

Text

Ultra violence

Part 1

Overhaul X Reader

Yo!

I’m breaking this up into multiple part because it’s long and... it’s angsty.

My first time writing Overhaul so I hope it ight.

Warnings: Violence, abusive relationship, drugging, angst, there’s probably hella grammar problems but it’s 0241 and yee I’m tired.

It was 0314 on a Thursday.

The weather outside (or from what you could see out of your barred window a few hours ago) was spectacular.

These little observations though, were utterly useless and to your life now.

Despite the longing, the ache you felt to feel the sunlight on your skin the sensation would never reach you, no matter what time it was you knew the numbers that were painted on the face of the clock held no value to you. There was nothing you needed to know the time for. Now that you thought about it the clock you were looking at now was the first you had seen in days.

Cautiously you flicked your eyes back to the black and white clock but stopped when you heard Overhaul clear his throat his golden eyes looking ephemerally into yours. Heeding his silent warning you returned your eyes back to their original position, scolding yourself mentally.

‘He’s right’ you said ‘None of that matters now. It’s my image. I need to focus’

As you had done for the past hour, you stood perfectly still behind your husband’s office chair.

Prose like an expensive doll, your porcelain outer layer had been composed by hands of excellence and elegance. There were no kinks in your design. Your long hair was curled carefully at the end turning the strands into a flowing waterfall that cascaded down your right shoulder, no hair out of place. Your body fit perfectly into long and tight black velvet dress that he had picked out for you, the golden decals along the neck line popping magnificently against the tone of your skin.

You looked perfect everything coolly calculated down to your posture which consisted of a few key stances Overhaul had drilled into your head.

Spine straight.

Ears off.

‘Do not listen in on my business. It’s none of your concern’

While gloved hands clasped behind your back.

Head bowed in reverence while your eyes looked endearingly at his right shoulders.

No direct eye contact.

‘You should look proud to let those around you know that you are superior to them, however’ he said smoothly bringing one gloved finger to your chin. ‘When you are in my presence you will lower your chin in reverence. If there are people in the room you will not look at them, only me. If they address you, you will not utter a single word until I give you permission to’ He said his eyes staring dangerously through you. You smiled adoringly despite the little bit of fear that demanded your attention. ‘Yes dear’

Most importantly, mask on.

‘It’s white to symbolize your pure, yes the color is easy to stain but now that I have you-’ his voice from a memory said snaking through your head as it always had. ‘You won’t have to worry yourself with stains, no filth will ever touch you again and that’s a promise.’ At this particular point you remember his fastening the straps of the mask around you. The feeling of his cool fingertips brushing against your cheeks made shivers crawl up and down your spin. He was your personal tormentor, the monster that wrought the end of you “normal life” taking you away from your whole family with the promise of providing them with anything they ever needed as long as you were alive. His reasons alluded you but you sold your life away in exchange for one of loneliness and pain but oh, how you loved it and him despite everything.

Perfection.

Not that anyone would dare utter a word but Overhaul’s “Business associate’s” while taking sneaky glances at you would ponder where Overhaul who had a monstrous quality even though he appeared so calm collected had dug up you, an absolute angel. As an outsider they saw you as stunningly gorgeous and basically leaked class out pore every pour even though they had never heard you speak or do so much as walk across the room.

You were perfect.

They had never seen you slip up

No one had.

As you stood you felt the muscles in your back burn, your feet aching from being crammed into heels all day and so badly you wanted to collapse into bed and sleep this nightmare but you didn’t quiver. Instead you focused your eyes on the hem of Overhaul’s suit jacket observing how the black stitching interlaced with each other. It wasn’t particularly fascinating but with the way your body ached and the spacey wooziness that plagued your head it was the only thing that seemed to keep you grounded at the moment.

As if he heard your silent pleadings he spoke lazily flicking his wrist to the door. “If that is all please escort yourselves out. My colleague Chrono will see you all out after that” At that all the suited and particularly scary looking men stood bowing respectfully to your husband before before walking out into the hallway, you bowed your head until it was just him and you left.

You straightened out your spine once again and took a shaky breathe in through your mask the sickening smell of disinfectant hitting your nostrils.”Y/N dear” he called not moving turning his head to look at you. “Please stand in front of me I want to see you.”

Mentally you groaned, doubting that you would be able the few step journey without throwing up or passing out but you did it anyway Covering up the pain and sickness you were feeling you smiled down at him “Yes dear”

Heeding to his call you readjusted your hands, intertwining them gracefully at the base of your stomach and walked until you stood before him, your body 5 inches from his desk. You raised your head resting your eyes on the tip of his nose, as he had taught you to do, carefully avoiding meeting his stunning golden eyes.

“I want you to go and bathe. The air is infected with their filth and I don’t want you getting sick.” He said calm hatred present in his voice. You nodded gratefully thinking if his “Business associates” knew he looked at them as if they were garbage but doubted it immediately, he was to charming. “I will” you said softly.

He hummed pleased at your response. He stayed silent for a few more seconds his eyes tracking up and down your body until they stopped seeming to be captivated by something in your hair. “I have never noticed the different tones of color in your hair. The sun brings them out nicely.” He said almost bored, making you blush regardless of his tone. “Oh thank you” you said resisting the stammer that had been demanding to be heard.

He liked to test you.To flatter you just to see you squirm underneath the pressure, his eyes watching you like a hawk .It had worked the first couple months after your marriage but you were seasoned and knew most of his tricks now.

“Anything for you” he sighed dusting off his desk “Since you missed your lunch dose due to the meeting you will be taking it before you get in the bath, I imagine you are feeling pretty ill now so they have been left on your kitchen sink. I will be in to check and make sure you took them but do not wait for me to begin cleaning.”

His words shocked you and suddenly all proper movement in your mouth was gone, causing you to fumble. ‘wait for him?’ you thought scanning your brain for anything you may have done wrong in the past year you had been together but came up with nothing.

You had been absolutely perfect.

Taking a breath you attempted to calm your nerves he never came into your room, the only contact you had with each other throughout the week is when he requested you to play dolly during a meeting or the two times a day he would bring you-your medication or when something was going wrong. Seeing as the two didn’t fit the occasion at all you sensed the latter.

“Is there a problem?” he said smoothly, arching one eyebrow. Snapping out of your thoughts you shook your head, regaining your composure. “No I apologies. May I be excused?” you said politely barely able to hold back the tremor in your voice. You were terrified on the inside. Overhaul had never laid a hand on you in ill temper but lingering in every word he spoke, in every glance he spared at you there was a ghost of a threat that haunted your head.

He was a terrifying force and you were completely vulnerable to it.

He had everything on you.

Past addresses, names of friends and families, what school you went to, your past jobs, everything. As you stood in front of him now he had your family tightly under his grasp, what he had done with them you didn’t know.

You were oblivious.

Helpless.

He was an impenetrable wall that you had nothing on, not even his real name or whatever this “Organization” he was running. You knew nothing.

At your question he nodded “Yes dear” he said watching you bow at his answer before walking gracefully out of the room, ignorant to the way your heart was slamming into your chest.

Once you were out of his immediate sight you exhaled nervously before making your way quickly down the hallway, being mindful of your posture, at this point you wanted to collapse. You head was pulsing with pain and you felt at any moment you would blow chunks all over the spotless cement floor. There was no margin for fault though. There were cameras all over and you knew Overhaul was watching you as you walked.

As you always did though you made it into your room with a sigh of relief. Slipping out of your heels, to the excitement of your feet, you warily walked across the plush carpet and into your lavish bathroom. As your eyes searched around the white and gold colored bathroom you noticed the was already full and steaming, enticing you in.

Before undressing your eyes darted around the bathroom then again out into your room to be sure there were no intruders, you had a habit of not noticing Mimic whenever he was in a room and you didn’t want to cause another incident. You didn’t want to think of that now. Numbly you tossed back the small cup of various pills you to this day had no idea what they were. Overhaul claimed they were for your “anxiety” but you weren’t so sure.

There were so many you had to take.

At the end of the day you couldn’t find it in you to mind. At least he was trying to help. You swallowing them dry walking lethargically to the tub, the twinge in your nerves beginning to settle.

Even if it was just for a moment you could relax and be yourself. It was exhausting trying to imitate perfection. Each day you woke up and left the confines of your room you felt another piece of the person you were fall away and die, being buried in the hallow graveyard that was your body. you had become a shell and nothing more.

Numbly you stripped off your clothes and slipped into the hot water, reveling in the way it stung your skin. The tenseness in your muscles disappeared and your could feel your eyes flutter close in complete bliss, lulling you to sleep. In your dreams your brain took you to your old family home where your mother was slaving over a stove concocting some sort of meat and vegetable dish. From where you were standing you couldn’t tell what it was but the smell was heavenly. It wafted into your nose deeming all of your other senses useless.

“Oh Y/N. Your here I didn’t expect to see you.” your mother said turning around her face in shock. “Hi mom” you smiled resisting the urge to run over and engulf her small body in a bone shattering hug. Behind you the recognizable footsteps of your little brother sounded behind you but before you could turn and see his face you felt your body begin to quake the pleasant image that surround you disappearing in a puff of smoke.

“Darling” you heard him say. You opened your eyes slowly fighting the heaviness of your lids. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, his mask completely off as his hand still resting on your shoulder, his golden eyes staring down at you void of any noticeable emotion. “Are you alright?” he asked. You looked at his hand shocked it was a rare occasion for him to touch you. For the two year you had been married the most he had ever laid his hands on you is when the two of you danced together at your wedding. You remembered it well his suited body was a few inches from yours his left gloved hand held onto your right while his right hand lay modestly on your lower back.

“Yes. I’m sorry” you said sitting up just enough to expose your collar bone and upper chest being mindful not to show any of your more private areas. “I must have dozed off the water feels nice.” you continued swirling your hand around in the water causing it to ripple lightly. He hummed lightly turning his attention to the way your fingers danced in between the waves then back to your lovely face. “You’re tired” he confirmed to himself noticing your hair was still dry. His eyes hardened as he looked you over again and again hoping that he wasn’t seeing things wrong. “Darling did you wash yourself?” he asked coolly but you could detect the distress in his voice. Uncomfortably you looked away from him in shame “No I didn’t yet I apologies.”

He stared down at you looking calm on the exterior but inside he was wrapped up in a violent storm. He had trusted you enough to come in and breath the same air as you without repercussion and this is what you do? Let the filth that those men exposed you to fester on your skin? From just being around you for the few seconds he could feel the sickness creeping up onto the suit he wore breaking past the thin strands of fabric that guarded the defenseless skin below.

His fingers reached into his pocket fishing out a little black face mask that he then wrapped around his face, taking a deep breath in. “I told you not to wait for me” he breathed snaking his gloved hand onto your face stroking your cheek with his thumb. You leaned into his touch ignoring the warning your conscience was telling you, screaming at you. The little voice seemed to become far away the more he touched you, goosebumps raising on your skin.

Suddenly you felt his hands grin onto the back of your head and violently slam your head under water. In shock your mouth opened in a gasp sucking in an unhealthy amount of water that rushed into your body stinging your throat and lungs. ‘What is he doing? What did I do?’ you thought about to raise your hand out of the water to claw at him but you stopped thinking of the place you had dreamed of. If you just let go as you had earlier you could be back with them, you could be free. Without hesitation you sucked in more water filling your lungs to the brim with water. You would have your freedom.

As the water flooded into your body you could feel your lungs tighten seeming to catch fire inside of you. You thought process began to fade and you could have swore you could hear your mothers voice echoing in your head. “It’s good to have you back” you heard her saw before collapsing into the blackness you had sought.

From above you Overhaul gripped the back of your back tightly his arm practically shaking from the pressure. His eyes glared down at your blurred form in revile his mind floated with thoughts of filth and sickness until he came back to reality noticing not once had you tried to fight him. It is completely normal for a human to thrash around when faced with the possibility of drowning but you didn’t.

You sat completely still taking whatever he did to you in strides. About to let a smile form underneath his mask at your obedience he stopped when he noticed your body shutter completely relaxing under his grip. His eyes widened realizing what was happening quickly he pulled you out of the water. Your head rolled languidly back hitting itself off of the the left side of the tub. “HM” he hummed grabbing the shampoo that sat to the right of him and began lathering it into your hair.

As he worked the soap into your hair he couldn’t help but look over you body over, falling deeper into the infatuation he had.

You were his angel.

His savior.

Before he was graced with your presence the world around him only crawled with filth, festering with disease and sickness. Everyone repulsed him. To even walk among the inhabitants of the city made him nauseous. On top of this The Boss had rejected his vision. There was no hope.

Until he met you.

You had been working in a small cafe that he walked by while on his way to take care of bigger and better things. He lazily gazed into the window your flowing H/C hair being the first thing to catch his eyes. Intrigued he paused looking over the rest of your features. You looked so clean, with signs of fatigue and exhaustion yes, but clean. Your skin was completely void of any visible blemish or scars. So beautiful yet so out of place.

For a few weeks he would casually stroll by soon learning your work schedule and your daily habits. He had Chrono look into your family as well as your quirk registry. To his delight you didn’t have one. No one on your mother’s side did. Something passed down in your gene’s forbade any quirk from developing in your body regardless of the filth that fathered you.

Your body was a sacred temple.

Your being a prophecy.

Winning you over was harder then he thought but he worked that all out in the end one way or another.

He looked down at your face lavishing in the way your plump red lips were slightly parted, your eyes closed peacefully and face soft. There was slight bruising on your cheek where is had hit the edge of the bath but he would take care of that later. Gently he cupped his hand and rinsed the shampoo out of your hair, the room silent around him.

#overhaul x reader #chisaki kai x reader #overhaul #chisaki kai #overhaul fanfiction #my hero academia #mha #mha overhaul #boku no hero academia #bnha #eight precepts of death #This is going to get more angsty #lord help me

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duraxxor · 5 years ago

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Prelude of Myotis Part 3 - Oscar the Geist

And so, Deathcleave and Benjamin materialized through the magi's portal with each geist coming into view as they formed an arrow-like formation. A force of habit that seemed common amongst their squad likely due to their orc master's command. The area that came into view was engulfed in darkness, dimly lit but the flickering fire within the palm of Lewinters' hand and the lichfire magics that expelled from the Death Knight. Moisture gave the area some sort of chilling sensation that most would only recognize if they were living and breathing, affecting not a single undead. But what would go noticed is the sensation of some sort of black magic that lingered about the place. A feeling that caused the Orc Knight to furrow his brows while clenching tusk to teeth. " Are you sure that Lord Daevara is alive and well? I don't know if you've noticed but there is something very off-putting about this place. " Dathuro was already reaching back for the hilt of his weapon in preparation of what could have very well been a trap all along. It wasn't until Lewinter's placed a boney hand upon his massive fist that he would pull himself together.

" I assure you, Master Daevara is here. And very much of the living world. . . However, I cannot help but feel that something is different about this place. I remember it being much more soothing than this. " Even the Forsaken with a halfway, stitched jaw was at unease as he too felt the magical current that emanated through this entire region. " Let us continue, we mustn't keep him waiting. " With Benjamin at the lead, Deathcleave and his band of geists followed with each and every step. Between the plate boot that clattered across the floors to the claw-like digits that drug into the stone work, their footwork rippled through the cavernous hallway. Stalactites and Stalagmites decorated the edges with an endless path that went on and on. Droplets of water occasionally splattered upon the floor, creating an orchestra of the natural environment. " We're here. " Lewinters' came to a pause as they found themselves at what appeared to be a door made of thick saronite along with a magical symbol branded upon it's epicenter.

The geists mumbled and chattered as they sensed that the presence had grown quite strong, curious as to if their master was just uneasy about it as they were. The Orc grunted lightly before nodding with his returning words. " How do we get in? There isn't exactly a knob or lever on it. " Despite the Death Knight's use of rune magic, he possessed little to no mastery of what other types of magic that could be used at his disposal.

Benji placed his hand against his jawline, assisting him as he began to speak once again, this time in an unknown language. “ Geschmack des Todes und im Blut atmen. " The language spoken was unknown to the Orc or his geists, but the words seem to possess an enchanted quality which caused this spiraling symbol to pulse in three beats, creating a crimson glow which triggered the door's mechanisms to unlock, opening slowly with the sound of an eerie creak in the process. Lewinters covered his mouth as he coughed up more ichor likely due to his condition, managing to keep himself standing with the support of his cane as he began to enter this crimson-lit territory. Heavy plating stepped into the solid floor while gazing upon lied within. The stench of dried blood filled th air as the magical presence was at it's peak, causing the orc's pets to shiver with anticipation. This room appeared to lack hardly any sort of décor aside from a single, throne chair forged of metals that was turned away from the door, a primary detail to the left side while the right side of the room was divided by the bars of a jail cell with some sort of cube-shaped device within that was clearly the source of this uneased presence.

" Ahhhh... Benjamin, you return and you brought friends. Excellent.~ " A familiar voice praised the Forsaken while causing the Orc's head to instantly turn to stare directly at the back of the chair with interrogative daggers within those lichfire orbs. " You have done well, now go and sit down. I will be tending to your needs really soon. But first, I have a little business I must conduct. " Gloved hands gesture to one fo the seats against the wall.

" Thank... H-you... " As the Forsaken hobbled over to the chair that he was given in the company of this orc and his lord, ichor dribbled upon the floor, resembling that of a blood trail from a hunter's fresh kill.

The orc growled softly, creating a metallic resonance deep within his own throat as the geists peered from around their behemoth of a master to see who he was staring at. " Stop playing games and show yourself if you are the real Daevara. " The knight demanded as he had clearly grown tired of what was pretty well a vague encounter.

" Dathuro... Deathcleave. " The pointing hand gestured, reforming into an open palm as he stated his name. But not even a single second would pass before the hand vanished out in thin air, causing the Orc to grunt once more as he felt cold steel against his throat. Every single geist screeched and howled in fear as this man appeared within the central link of their formation, causing them to fumble and scatter like cockroaches. A pair of lips uttered a familiar words across the orc's left shoulder blade. " Blood for Blood, and live to fight again. "

The phrase brought the orc's eyes to widen greatly as a sense of relief began to settle within his undying innards, dropping his own shoulders as his disbelief began to shatter. " Warlord Daevara, it really is you. . . " The death knight took a step forward once the dagger had been retracted from his throat, turning to face what he finally believed was his old ally. However, what he saw brought about even more of a surprise than before: A Duraxxor who was dressed into a leathery, unarmored bodysuit with blood-stained tangles that cascaded down his back while his face remained shielded from the forehead all the way to the bottom of his nostrils. " . . . I had heard that you perished a second time. What happened? "

The tempting devil sashayed passed his orcish ally with confidence, knowing full well that there was nothing to be ashamed of by the factors that had already passed for more than a year ago. " I know you are not one for long stories, Dathuro. But, long story short, I was resurrected by someone I wish for the two of you to meet at some point. There is a foe that I wish to erase of the face of Azeroth, which is why I need allies like you. This won't be just a simple battle, though. " His speech was brought to a pause as he took a seat upon his throne, bringing it to face the orc and his company. " But first, before we go into weaponry and blacksmithing, I must ask a favor of you and your geists. " Duraxxor crossed his left leg over his right as he placed both hands upon his lap.

The orc straightened his posture as the talks of battle and war were something he rejoiced internally about. However, when his minions were brought into this speech, one could see that the orc was puzzled to the point of staring directly at the squad of six. " What would you need of these geists aside from labor and brute force? "

The elven man chortled with the amusing expression that his friend possessed on the matter. " A queer request, I know. But I only need a single volunteer for an experiment I wish to work on really fast. All I need is for you to send one of your geists inside to make contact with the contents of that box within the cell. " Lewinters peered from beneath his hood as the mysterious box caught his own attention considering that even he had not been told of what was within. " What is it, Lord Daevara? " Dathuro questioned him, genuinely curious before extra questions began to exit his lips. " Is it a creature? Food? Will it kill my geist? "

Duraxxor's grin became as sharp as the crescent as the anticipation of said contents brought genuine wonder to both his allies and himself. " It is an alchemical material that is currently in the prototype stage. I need it to be tested on lesser undead who are not currently controlled by the Scourge or the Forsaken. I do not wish to leak this out into the world just yet. I would test it upon myself but. . . I honestly am not sure what the results will be. Death may be a possibility. If your geist was to perish, you know I would not let the sacrifice go unpaid, correct? "

The orc hummed deeply before turning to look towards his geists, curious as to which one of them would go through with such a thing willingly. " In situations such as these, my geists are a type of family to me. I will not force them to do what they do not wish to do. " Each geist tilted their head in their own direction before one of them came forward and began speaking that muffled language. " Mrrrmmmmmffflll! Mrrrmllmlll! Mrrr Mmmmrrrr Mllll! " Dathuro couldn't believe what he was seeing let alone hearing. The strangest geist of his group was willingly volunteering himself for this experiment. Waving his claws around as if the minion had something to prove. Perhaps prove that he possessed his own, personal courage? The two seemed to speak in this strange tongue with one another while even some of the other geists were attempting to voice their own thoughts on their wayward brother's choice.

" What in the bloody... *cough* hell are they saying? " Benjamin coughed up as Duraxxor twiddled his thumbs patiently as the so-called family conversed. Dathuro suddenly nodded, turning back towards Duraxxor with an intensity in his eyes. " You have a deal, Lord Daevara. Oscar is your's to use in this experiment of yours's. Let us hope that your results are achieved. " The geists created a cacophonous fit that almost sounded as if they were cheering for their Oscar in this moment.

" Excellent. " That word thundered within the chamber as the devil-grinned entity snapped his fingers, causing the nearby jail cell to open it's gates. " Step inside, Oscar. And show me your resolve. " As those the door opened, a crimson mist leaked out into the room that wasn't presence before. Despite their choice to go through with it, the eeriness brought hesitation to the group. Whether it was bravery or foolishness, Oscar the Geist began to crawl into the separated chamber, feeling the cell's atmosphere begin to close around him in a binding manner. " Open the box and make contact with the crystal inside. " Duraxxor gave the geist simple enough directly that were easy to distinguish.

" Crystal inside? Just what sort of object are you meddling with D- " Lewinters had began to question Daevara's plan but was swiftly interrupted as the cell door slammed shut and the geist proceeded to leap atop the box itself, following his instructions without a single care in the world. Claws began to dig into the metallic cube in an attempt to pry it open. Dathuro and the geists watched as little Oscar tore the lid off, revealing a shimmering glow that fluctuated with blues and golden sparks. " W-wait... Duraxxor! Is that Azeri- " Once again, Lewinters was cut off by that ichor-spitting cough of his.

" Not exactly. " Duraxxor whispered his answer to Lewinters as the shimmering light began to spew forth and transcend into something far more sinister. The blues shifted to their opposing scarlet hues whilst the golden radiance had become tainted by a blackened smog that quickly began to engulf Oscar, overtaking him as he fell off of the containment crate, convulsing wildly as he screeched out in grotesque agony. Limbs twisted and turned in ways that appeared somewhat fatal to those that still breathed. The cries of the creature were blood curdling and reminded the orc of what it sounded like when the swine of the old, orcish farmhouses were taken in to be slaughtered, gutted, and hung to dry. But the horrific image wasn't something like that, it appeared to be somewhat of a suicidal choice. Dathuro watched as the screeching Oscar was engulfed by this self-destructive magic. Every vein exposed on the geists undead corpse lit a fire, blazing him from the inside out. Physical pain was nothing compared to the corrosive feeling within the skull of this creature that instinctive caused this zombie to claw chunks of flesh and rags directly off of his face.

" Duraxxor! Make it stop! " Dathuro bellowed out in a demanding plea for this experiment to cease for the sake of Oscar. However, Dathuro's request was met with a silent raising of his hand to stay where he was. Even if he wanted to make it stop, there was no way to turn back now with how much of these malevolent force had burned itself into the geist. At this point, Oscar was turned over onto his stomach, merely twitched in a seizure-like state with nothing more than a muffled groan. It appeared that the energy had overtaken him and brought the geist’s unlife to a complete halt. Dathuro, along with everyone else, stared into the cell and watched as the geist began to cease all movements, not even a twitching muscle. And with it, anger began to settle upon his features. The other geists bowed their heads along with Lewinters in a form of grievance before the Orc made his decree of anger. " When you said it would risk what little remains of his life, I didn't expect you to make him suffer, you blood-sucking demon! "

For the first time, Duraxxor's maw twisted into a fang-filled snarl of anger that began to boil out with an erupting pressure from within his body as he was crudely insulted. " Progression never goes forward without making sacrifices, Deathcleave! You and I both know this better than anyone! If I were you, I would watch your tongue before I hang your corpse from the ceiling! " A sharp talon pointed directly at the Orc as Dura made a promise that Lewinters chose to stay out of.

Just as the orc was just about to pry his axe from his backside, a snarling fit began to echo from within the cell that brought everyone's attention once more. Movement began to take place as the geist's body began to twist and turn. The bandaged arms began to slap across the stonework while his flesh began to bubble out a blackened ooze that boiled with what appeared to be steam. Torn flesh began to stitch itself together in threads of crimson string. Muscle tissue began to swell and increase, appearing to double Oscar's size and figure. The slapping limbs began to slam across the floor with weight and strength both. The physique began to rise up as the snarling fit increased in volume until finally the creature that was Oscar reared himself backwards, releasing a bellowing roar which translated in the clearest vocabulary.

" Rrrrraaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiii will not... leave my master!! "

Dathuro watched as the little geist had somehow transformed into a one-eyed brute of onyx skin and a bloodthirsty oculus which matched the rows of teeth that salivated directly from a now exposed maw. The geists' eyes were staring widely at Oscar's size and power with great confusion. And while the other's appeared to be confused and awestruck, Duraxxor's devilish grin returned, rejoicing in the byproduct of his exploits. " It worked, Malakortana. . . once we figure out a means to stabilize and control this infused compound of Azerite, nothing will stand in our way. Neither the living, the undead, or even that infernal Light. "

TO BE CONTINUED. . .

[ Tagging for mentions: @sanguinesorceress]

#Project: Myotis #Duraxxor #Deathcleave #Benji #Oscar the Geist

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raendown · 5 years ago

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Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 3466 Chapter: 2/? Summary: Not all wars are fought on the battlefield. Some are fought at the conference table, with whispers in the shadows, or even in the bedroom.

In a world where the Senju and Uchiha traditional lands were too far apart to have ever made them enemies, Butsuma and Tajima are the ones who come together and sign a treaty of peace. Madara isn't happy to have his life signed away for him in a political marriage to strengthen the bond between their clans. He is even less happy to have Tobirama make assumptions of him from their very first night together. What follows from there is a journey of healing, of learning, and finding the places to belong in the places least expected.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

KO-FI and commission info in the header!

Chapter 2

The festivities after the wedding were, in a word, unique. As with the rest of this event they were a strange mish-mash of Uchiha and Senju traditions, emphasizing the alliance between their two clans. What kept most of Madara’s attention through all of it, however, was his new husband.

It was fascinating to watch him in comparison to others, a pillar of cool indifference sitting completely still in the face of the whirlwind that was Hashirama. The older man bounced around his brother like an excited puppy, appearing and disappearing as the evening wore on, popping up at random with a bright smile and new gossip to spout before wandering off again. Tobirama, in complete contrast, was a perfect example of poise where he sat on his cushion beside Madara. He greeted their guests with a rumbling baritone and carefully chosen words that walked a very fine line between polite and brusque.

From what Madara had overheard between the two Senju siblings Tobirama wasn’t as young as he originally thought. He was nineteen to Madara’s twenty-two, not nearly as large of a difference as the peace treaty talks had led him to believe. First impressions seemed to suggest that he was also more mature than his older brother and shared very few personality traits with him, a boon he was most grateful for.

As the revelries droned on Madara was introduced to the few other people who were ostensibly the most important in his new husband’s life. He met a vicious woman named Touka whom for a moment he felt should have been born in the Uchiha clan. A gaze as sharp and cold as hers would have been incredible with a Sharingan to bolster her power. Then her eyes fell on her cousin and she softened just the slightest bit, leaning down to coo mockingly over Tobirama and whisper teasing things in his ear like any sibling might. He also met Hashirama’s wife and understood immediately that they might never be close friends. Uzumaki Mito was a proud and fearsome woman who entered each room as if she were a queen, expecting all others to bow before her. She earned his grudging respect over the course of one conversation – as well as made him question what in the seven hells had inspired her to wed Hashirama, of all people.

It took almost three full hours before the two grooms saw fit to finally speak with one another in direct conversation for the very first time. Dinner had been cleared away long ago and Tobirama’s fingers lingered on the stem of his champagne glass like a lover’s touch. The alcohol was imported from a distant land, something Madara had never tasted, and he found that every sip he took made him feel strangely as though he were sipping bubbles. He was scrunching his nose at the sensation when he noticed the man beside him going still, red eyes flicking down to stare with intense interest at Madara’s sleeve.

“Is that silk from the Land of Water?” he asked. Madara raised an eyebrow, looking down at his arm.

“Yes, an old family heirloom,” he replied. It was an incredibly rare material and very expensive. This kimono had been in his clan’s treasury for generations, worn only by those of the head family, and it should have been an honor to carry on that tradition. It wasn’t something he thought would catch the eye of this man, although he couldn’t have said what made him think like that.

“The pattern is fascinating, especially the seal work in the stitching.” When Madara stared at blankly Tobirama tilted his head ever so slightly in question. “Did you not know it was there?”

“No, I knew it was there but how did you?”

Tobirama’s lips quirked ever so slightly. “I am a sensor. I’d thought the buzz on my senses was just from having this many chakra signatures so close together all at once. Then I realized it was coming from you; I can feel the latent power in your kimono. It’s fascinating.”

The look in his eyes said he would very much like to take the silk apart and study it to unravel all the many hidden secrets. Madara was torn between the urge to lean away in protection of his precious heirloom and the desire to let him do as he pleased. Few in his own clan were even aware of the protective seals built in to his garments, commissioned that way so many years ago the memory had been lost to time. To his knowledge Tobirama was the only person who had ever sensed that the seals were there, so subtle was their work. He was impressed to say the least.

“My brother tells me you’re not entirely a bumbling idiot.”

Being impressed gave way immediately to being flabbergasted as Madara’s jaw gaped open.

“I – what?”

“Hashirama tells me you are passably intelligent.”

“Uhh…” He realized the irony, of course, that he currently looked nothing more than a fool. He wasn’t really sure what he was supposed to say to that. “I am regarded as a rather skilled tactician I suppose.” It was the best response he could come up with yet he still wanted to slap a palm to his own face. That certainly hadn’t helped him sound intelligent.

Tobirama looked at him with a face entirely devoid of expression for so long he started to wonder if the man was suddenly regretting every life choice that had ever brought him to this moment, married to a complete idiot. Just as he was about to open his mouth and attempt to redeem himself Tobirama let out a contemplative hum, the corners of his mouth twitching again, and turned back to watching their guests. Madara blinked, unsure what that reaction was supposed to mean and unwilling to embarrass himself further by asking. He still wasn’t sure if that observation was meant as an insult or not.

The rest of the night passed with very little conversation between them. Hashirama flitted back and forth, chattering at the both of them with every pass he made by their table. Izuna showed up after a while and helped Madara feel a bit more comfortable by bringing up their last spar, mentioning that he thought he had finally figured out how to block that one strike of Madara’s he never seemed to be able to get away from. He noticed Tobirama watching them with interest out of the corner of his eye and realized he had no idea what the younger man’s skill level was like. Hashirama he had encountered on the battlefield once or twice. Tobirama was a mystery. He wondered if his husband would like to spar sometime. If nothing else if would be an excellent way to get to know each other, a traditional shinobi introduction.

Finally, after a few more hours which felt like days, it was time to leave. In yet another tradition that felt strange to him, the Senju guests insisted the newlyweds be escorted to their new home in a raucous procession that twisted through the streets behind them as they went. They were dropped off at their front door amid jeering whistles that he wasn’t sure if he should be offended by. Tobirama appeared to take it all in stride, barely even seeming to notice as they were waved in to their freshly built house by a pair of adolescents wiggling their eyebrows at them.

And then they were alone.

Madara looked closely at his surroundings in an attempt to distract himself from the man standing beside him. He’d given his opinions and requests for how their house should be built but this was the first he’d seen of it since, instead of helping the construction crews, he had spent the last year deliberately avoiding anything that reminded him of his impending nuptials. He supposed the full inspection should wait for the next day when he wasn’t quite as exhausted so for now he settled for an impression of good quality wood – probably built using Hashirama’s fabled Mokuton – and glimpses of tasteful furniture in the next room. He allowed those things to hold his interest and distract him until the two of them were standing side by side in a bedchamber on the second floor lit only by a single candle. Obviously someone had prepared for their arrival.

Both of them being clad in formal clothing meant that neither could undress themselves without assistance. Madara fought with his cheeks, trying not to blush and failing when Tobirama casually asked if Madara could help remove his clothing. He averted his eyes once the other was down to the last thin layer of his hadajuban and requested help in return. Tobirama looked amused by his bashfulness but said nothing.

His touch was gentle as he untied Madara’s obi and helped him shrug out of his many layers but it was also strangely invasive. Pale hands lingered more than necessary and with each layer he seemed to find an excuse for his fingers to brush against Madara’s skin. It was unnerving, keeping Madara on edge until finally he too was clad only in one thin layer of soft cotton gifted to him brand new for the occasion. He felt exposed even though he was technically still fully covered. When Tobirama reached for his last piece of clothing he leapt away as if he were being attacked, eyes widened and pulse racing.

“What are you doing?” he demanded. One side of Tobirama’s mouth lifted.

“Helping you undress?” he replied. Madara huffed.

“I think I’ve undressed enough, thank you! This is fine!”

“Still a bit too much clothing, don’t you think?” The pale man took slow steps toward him, an oddly predatory look on his face that made Madara feel almost as if he were being hunted. “I suppose I could work around them but why bother?”

Madara refused to back away because that showed weakness and he was not weak. He did lean away from the other man, though, unaware of the very harried look on his face.

“Work around them?” he repeated. “What on earth are you talking about? What do think we’re going to be doing, sparring?” He snorted almost in time with Tobirama.

“Sparring. If that’s the euphemism you’d like to use, then sure.” The younger man had stepped right up in to his personal space and seemed to loom over him with the strangest light in his eye. He was very good at looming, really making that height difference work for him. Madara frowned at his new husband.

“Euphemism? What would you call it then?” He was getting more and more off-balance by the second.

“Sex.”

Tobirama jerked as Madara’s suddenly flailing hand caught him under the jaw by accident. Madara stumbled backwards, no longer caring if it looked like a retreat or not as utter mortification flooded his system. The blush he had been working so hard at holding back broke free of his control to color his entire face a screaming shade of red.

“What!? Are you out of your mind? We’ve only just met!” He tried not to clutch his own bosom like some civilian milkmaid but it was harder than it should have been. His companion gave him an odd look.

“Yes and now we are married; this is what married couple do.” Tobirama spoke in such a matter-of-fact tone that Madara was left gaping. This man was insane!

“You expect me to have sex with a perfect stranger?” he demanded. “Just-just like that?” Tobirama looked genuinely confused at his reaction, narrowing his eyes and tilting his head in a considering manner. Something appeared to occur to him because both of his eyebrows slowly raised up towards his hairline.

“You’re a virgin!”

Madara scowled, the blush on his cheeks spreading down the back of his neck.

“Well you don’t have to sound so incredulous! Of course I’ve never- I was unmarried! Are you saying you’re not a virgin?” The very idea seemed-

“Not for years,” Tobirama stated in a casual manner, as if it should have been expected that he wouldn’t be. Madara gaped. He found himself almost personally offended that the one he was marrying was not a virgin, especially when the other was still a couple of years younger than him and never so much as betrothed before. At his incredulous look Tobirama appeared confused again. “It’s not such a big deal. There’s probably very few people my age who are virgins. Did you really hold out for marriage? What if your partner had no idea what they were doing?”

“I don’t know! We’d learn together or something! Seek advice!” Flustered, he was aware, was not a good look on him. He felt like an awkward bumbling idiot and he hated the feeling. Hated the man before him for bringing out those feelings.

“If you’re willing to learn I’m willing to teach,” Tobirama told him and it was as though a flip had been switched once again. Everything from his expression to his posture to the angle of his hips suddenly exuded sensuality. Madara’s mouth went dry even as he took another step back, not even realizing that he was clutching the edges of his clothing and holding them tightly closed as though he expected the other to force him.

Tobirama flipped back to scowling again at the motion, visibly offended. Madara did not care.

“You are a stranger to me!” he cried. “Intimacy should be between lovers, not just two people who happen to be in the same room together! So just you keep your hands to yourself! I am not some harlot willing to fall in to bed with a perfect stranger just because we signed some stupid piece of paper!” He only barely resisted the urge to stomp his foot.

“You signed that stupid piece of paper. I did not. You have only yourself to blame if you cannot hold up your end of any agreements that you chose to put your name on. Are you always this uptight, oh husband of mine? Should I expect a lifetime of this?”

“Expect whatever you want but expect to keep your hand off of me!”

“What I expect is for both of us to make an equal effort. Whether you like it or not – and it’s becoming rather obvious that you do not – we are married. You and I are the knot to tie our clans together and if that knot unravels then so does peace. So quit looking at me like I’ve come to steal your virtue and get your head out of your ass. You’re not some innocent maiden; you are a clan heir. And before you let that go to your head I will remind you that so am I!”

Madara looked at Tobirama and saw every dream of true love he’d ever had disappearing in to mist, ash scattering in the wind faster than he could grasp after the fading remnants. He couldn’t help thinking that he’d never met someone so different from himself in all the wrong ways. It wasn’t truly a fair thought since he didn’t actually know very much about this man yet but Madara had always been quick to judge people. He judged Tobirama now and found him lacking.

In the fading mist of his dreams he could almost see the shadow of his doomed future, married to a man he didn’t love, sniping and clawing at each other over every word. Grief settled quietly at the base of his spine, a knot of piteous hurt he refused to show. Instead he focused on the anger. How dare this perfect stranger try to speak down to him! How dare this man suggest that Madara was anything but dutiful! He’d gone through with it, hadn’t he? He had put his name on the paper and come to Konoha to allow a noose to be tied around his neck. To say he was not making an effort was incredibly insulting.

“Do not speak to me of peace!” Madara snarled. “I’ve lost three brothers to these stupid conflicts between the clans, I know what it is to want peace! ‘Making an effort’ as you call it has nothing to do with allowing a perfect stranger to touch me in ways he has not earned!”

“Earned? You make it sound like I’ve asked you to grace me with some favor that you find repugnant!” He looked bewildered and angry, insulted, and Madara could feel his own spiky personality bristling, throwing barbs before he had a chance to think them through.

“Maybe I find you repugnant!” he cried. “You’re a man! I’ve been married off to another man! No one took my wishes in to account in this. No one stopped to ask me if I was at all interested in such aberrant acts!”

He watched in confusion as Tobirama’s scowl melted away to return his face to the empty canvas much like the way it had been all night. In an instant that pale face was blank, his three red tattoos the only expression to be found. It was unnerving. Deep down a feeling in Madara’s gut told him that he had just said something in very poor taste, something he should apologize for.

He didn’t.

“I did not know you found such things so distasteful,” the younger man said, ice cracking in every word. “I will endeavor not to insult you further. Husband.”

With that he turned away and Madara watched in silence as his new spouse slid in between the sheets of their futon, facing away towards the far wall. The candle by the doorway flickered and danced, sending one weak flame of light spilling across the back of a white neck. His hair nearly blended in to the pillow he lay on and, despite the lax position he had arranged himself in, tension was still visible between his shoulders. In an obvious effort to put as much distance between them as possible he lay almost hugging the side of the futon and the petty parts of Madara noted that it wasn’t necessary in such a large bed but much appreciated. Clearly as the wronged party here he deserved to have the most space to be comfortable in.

He took one step towards the bed before remembering his hair. Between them they had taken off his clothing but he was still going to have to free his thick mane from the topknot that had miraculously survived the night without unravelling.

If he’d had help it would have been much easier. He deliberately did not think about the help that lay only a few feet away pretending to be asleep already. Instead he wrestled with the stubborn locks by himself until he had pulled the constraints apart and rescued his heirloom kanzashi from the carnage. It took some time to brush it all out; having it all twisted together for so long had given him some interesting kinks to work through.

By the time he sorted out his own head and was ready at last for sleep he had cooled down from their argument quite a bit. He was therefore calm enough to admit that most of his upset had come from sheer panic, from the feeling that he was not in charge of the situation and needing to regain that control. He had, perhaps, spoken a little too harshly and said some things he didn’t mean. Not that there was anything new about that. Izuna told him constantly that he needed to just breathe when he was angry. Madara never listened, despite the fact that he really should.

It was a right fine mess he’d made now. The very same day that he got married and already he had managed to anger his new life partner, possibly alienated him entirely. He would have to find a way to fix this or at least patch the damage done because Tobirama was disgustingly right about one thing at least. The two of them were a symbol of peace and if being a clan heir had taught him anything it was that symbols were important. A symbol gave the lower ranks something to look at, something to look up to. Should their partnership dissolve so easily it would be simple for others to assume that peace as a whole would do the same. It was imperative that they at least make this marriage appear to work.

When he finally laid his head on the pillow Madara wondered if he was up to this task. He was a man made for war, trained for little more since birth. What did he know of peace or how to make it? What did he know of marriage?

#rae writes #madatobi #madara #tobirama #fanfiction

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deputysamr00k · 6 years ago

Text

In which Yeeting a Flare at a Wolverine Ends up Being A Bad Idea Mostly

The first time Sam woke up at the Wolf’s Den she remembered thinking Tammy Barnes was a smart woman and everyone else she chose to interact with (Eli) needed to take a page out of Tammy’s very suspicious book. Sam wasn’t to be trusted. Not anymore, maybe not ever. She was reliable sure. Sam could admit she had some damn redeeming qualities, she wasn’t entirely self loathing. But at the end of the day even she knew her brain was a hellscape before the whole conditioning shit. But now? There were some thoughts in her head so disturbing she would never know whether or not they were actually hers.

Eli, almost thankfully, chose to ignore every single red flag Sam waved around in his face from the moment he laid eyes on her forward. Otherwise she would be bleeding out in the forest by herself with only a fat diabetic bear to care for her and not bleeding out on the cot Eli dumped her on so he could at the very least, stop the bleeding and stitch her up. A lucky gal indeed.

“I’ve seen you walk off almost impossible hits,” Eli grunted, “and yet it’s a fucking wolverine that takes you down? One you goaded by the way.”

“Kicking a girl while she’s down I see,” Sam flinched when Eli pressed down a little too hard. For all she pretended to be tough and indestructible she was still human, and liable to reckless behavior. So maybe she shouldn’t have shot a flare directly at a wolverine. Miraculously it was leaving her the hell alone before she decided death by wolverine was a fun way to go. Of course, she was wrong. Whoever said Sam Rook was smart needed to have a five second conversation with her.

“I wouldn’t have believed it if we hadn’t seen it on the security tape,” Eli muttered. Mostly he was pissed off. Sam was injured and for the moment was no longer useful to the resistance. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“That I could take it. Stupid wolverine—”

“Stupid you, Sam, you gave me a fucking heart attack when you didn’t get back up.”

“Aw,” Sam grinned at him. She lifted her head a bit to get a good look at him. He was staring intently at the work his hands were doing. She remembered this as well.

When she first woke up she was greeted with Eli’s face. With those pretty pretty eyes, brow furrowing in worry. She found the beard suited him well, something she usually wouldn’t care for. And when she finally got a look at him in action... christ almighty, she’d had better things to do but ogle at him using that bow of his. Now those incredibly focused eyes and precise hands were focused on her. She wanted to do something about it but she doubted Eli would reciprocate. She forgot the joke she was going to make. Something sinister that she knew would fire Eli up.

“You shouldn’t worry about me Palmer, I always come out on top.”

“Yeah when you’re opponent is dead on top isn’t always that far away. I quite like you when you’re alive and not dying.” There was tension in his voice that made her so incredibly curious. She wanted to poke and prod and pull, she could. It would be so easy, she used to do it all the time. A little smile here, a little touch there. A comment, a compliment, an innocuous conversation with someone who didn’t know she wanted anything from them. But the thought of manipulating Eli into revealing something important, something he’s not willing to share left a taste in her mouth so putrid she didn’t even want to think about it anymore.

She doesn’t know how Jakey wants her to kill Eli when he’s her biggest weakness. There’s a lot she’s willing to do for the man patching her up, she would rather Jacob killed her than hurt Eli.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sam grunted entirely unaffected. “Can’t save the county if I’m dead.”

“Is that what you think I’m saying when I ask you not die?” Eli asked incredulously. No, but Sam can’t handle the truth of what he’s asking of her. She doesn’t answer. “Sam—“

“You done?” She interrupted. Forced herself to sit up only to be stopped by the same two hands that fixed her up. He lets his grip on her loosen. Free’s up one of his hands to guide her head toward his own from beneath her chin. Forces her to have nowhere else to look but directly at him. His eyes searching for an answer Sam doesn’t want to give.

“Hey,” Eli said sternly soft, “look at me.”

It’s not order or a demand but a request. See what I have to offer. So she does. His eyes, as always, are gentle. Sam wonders what she has to do to get that same cold calculating stare she knows he’s capable of. It’s nothing like Tammy who makes her feel like a child all over again. Or Wheaty who wants to ask a million questions but doesn’t want to push her away. Excitement at every little thing she deems him worthy of knowing about her. It’s gentle. Like she’s a delicate little thing.

Eli Palmer looks at her like he already knows everything he needs to know and it scares her that he might.

“You are not a tool for me to use, you aren’t disposable. I want you alive Sam because I—“

God bless Sharky Boshaw. Who Sam forgot she brought along with her and left at the Wolf’s Den while she went out for a quick breather with the damn bear.

“Deputy? Dep! You alive in there? Heard ya got mauled by a wolverine again. Just wanted make sure you were fine. Can’t have the second half of this buddy cop movie dyin’ before the climax.”

“You’re not a cop,” Sam said plainly. She half wanted to kill him and half want to ignore him in favor of getting Eli back in her personal space. He’s the fire and she’s the moth.

Sam stood up with a grunt and limped over to where the door was locked. Moving her right leg exacerbated the wound across her abdomen but she’d be damn if she let it show too much. She pulled the door open and moved around to let Sharky in.

“Aww, dep. don’t ruin my fun,” Sharky teased. He didn’t move to help her only because he knows she won’t accept it and only make her injuries worse. For all he joked Sam knew he was really worried.

“I don’t want you going out and poking the bear while you’re injured,” Eli told her, “I’ll tie you to that bed and keep a guard if you even try to leave the den before being cleared.”

“Kinky!” Sharky crowed, “just how you like ‘em, dep.”

Sam’s face heated up at the comment and while she knew she couldn’t chase after Sharky lest Eli go through on his promise, she glared at his retreating self.

“Fuck off, Boshaw,” Sam called after him as Eli chuckled behind her. Guided her slowly back to the bed for her to rest.

“If you’re not here when I come back I’m taking a leaf out of Jacob’s book and sending a search party after you.”

Sam scrunched her nose in distaste the comparison. Eli was nothing like that little bitch.

“Don’t get your little boxer briefs in a bunch. I’ll be here.”

#eli palmer #deputy sam rook #deputy rook #far cry 5 #fc5 #eli palmer x deputy #eli palmer/deputy #female deputy #f!deputy #sam rook

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