#he keeps on getting horrific injuries and shrugging them off

[canigohomenoow]

I raise you Tim Drake getting recognized for all of the insane stuff he does at the skatepark

“ hey aren’t you that kid that set his own shoulder after he dislocated it when you fell off the half pipe”

“ aren’t you that kid that tried to do a backflip on your board and stuck it but then hit a rock and landed on your face”

“ hey didn’t you dare pork chop to ollie into the pool and that’s why he’s missing his front tooth?”

Tim is routinely recognised by Gothamites- never as Tim Drake, or Red Robin, or any of his other identities- but always by some hyperspecific thing he's done that none of his family knows about and only figures out due to some stranger going, "hey aren't you that guy who *insert Tim Drake shenanigan*?"

These range from funny ("hey, aren't you the dude who fell asleep on a rollercoaster once?" "Hey, you're the guy who's dating that popular conspiracy theorist youtuber, Bernard Dowd!") to concerning ("aren't you that art thief?" "You're the dude who blew up the apartments next to mine!")

[kiwi-queen-blog]

a potter not a black

characters: Regulus Black, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, James Potter, Peter Pettigrew

warnings / tags: angst, violence, emotional abuse, blood /injury, language, dark mark / death eater mention, black family drama

word count: 1,232

summery: Regulus has something important to tell Sirius, but their conversation doesn't go as planned.

"Sirius," Regulus attempted

"Sod off Regulus" Sirius shot back, continuing down the hallway.

"Sirius please," Regulus reached out an arm to his brother halting Sirius in his tracks and forcing him to look at Regulus.

"What do you want, Regulus?"

I need to speak with you, I need to... tell you something" he didn't know how to tell Sirius, he didn't know how to tell anyone.

"Say it then," Sirius clearly had no patience for his brother.

"Erm, I- I'm…” after opening and closing his mouth a few times he ended up saying, “I can't say it here."

How was he going to just say something like this out in the open the way Sirius was asking him to?

"Don't waste my time Regulus." Sirius sighed shrugging off Regulus' hand. Sirius was fed up with the black family's antics and his brother was no excuse.

"No! No, Sirius! Sirius, wait!”

But Sirius wasn't listening and Regulus didn't know how to make him listen. “Sirius, I'm a deatheater!"

Regulus clasped his hands over his mouth, his eyes wide with horror at what he'd just desperately blurted out and Sirius spun around on the spot. What had he just done?

"What?! You're a..." Sirius trailed off trying to comprehend what he had just been told. His thoughts were swirling through his head like a storm. How could Regulus do this, be one of them. He knew all the poor innocents were suffering because of those people, that group. Regulus was now one of them, those horrific people who only existed to cause harm.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck. Regulus was panicking; this was not how Sirius was supposed to find out. "Mum forced me to do it!” he exclaimed because he couldn't find something better to say. Then for some stupid reason he pulled up the left sleeve of his shirt showing Sirius the mark that was forced upon him. That soulless skull. Everything was happening so fast and the world seemed to be spinning around him. His thoughts meshed into one.

“Pull your sleeve down!” Sirius whisper-shouted at his younger brother taking a few steps toward him.

“Why did you get that bloody mark Regulus, and why are you telling me about it?”

“I didn't want to. I swear, mum forced me to. I didn't know what to do, I still don't. I need your help Sirius."

Regulus was lost, so incredibly lost. It was like he was at sea during a storm; the only thing keeping him afloat was the idea that Sirius would save him.

“How the fuck am I meant to help you? You're one of them now and why come to me after getting that stupid mark?” Sirius gestured to Regulus’ arm.

“I didn't come to you before because you never answered my letters. What are you trying to say, Sirius?” Regulus could tell that Sirius was trying to tell him something, something that was refusing to come out in direct sentences.

“I'm saying that… if there wasn't some part of you that wanted to get that thing then you wouldn't have gotten it, you would have found some way out, you would've left, like I did."

Regulus looked at Sirius. His fear quickly turned to disbelief and rage and sadness seemed to consume his thoughts. Is that really what Sirius thought of him?

“Are you serious? Do you genuinely think I wanted to be one of them?” Regulus throat was hoarse and he wanted to cry but what was worse was that he wanted to cry to his brother, not to himself.

“Sirius I couldnt fucking leave, I didnt have other people to talk to about this like you did, I didnt have somewhere to run away to.”

“You could've came to me, earlier before you got that!” he glared at Regulus’ forearm.

Regulus wasn't thinking anymore; he was reckless with dismay. Taking a few steps forward he slapped Sirius across the face. "Wake the fuck up! I couldn't come to you because you never talked to me, you still won't! I had no one except you, and you fucking left me!”

Regulus was shouting now. He didn’t care if he was overreacting or not acting like himself.

Sirius pushed Regulus back with his right hand, his left clutching his cheek. Regulus was hurt. He was drowning in that stormy sea without Sirius there to save him and at that point it didn't matter what he said or did. He just wanted to make Sirius hurt as much as he did.

“You're just like them, you know that," he chuckled. It was as if he had snapped like a twig. Sirius looked confused.

"Just like who?"

"Our dearest mother and father,” Regulus answered, knowing that Sirius hated being compared to his parents. He wanted to hit him where it hurt. Sirius just glared at Regulus.

“It's in your blood after all, it's in your name, Sirius Orion Black.” Regulus taunted. Sirius stepped forward punching Regulus square in the nose

“I'm nothing like them! I never will be!'' Sirius was angry, but at the same time tears threatened to spill from his eyes. He hated his parents and how they treated him. He hated being compared to them but it seemed to sting more coming from his brother that somehow when Regulus said it, it could be true.

"Oh, Mr Black, don't you hear me? you already are." the words stung like one of the many curses Walburga Black used on her sons.

Regulus didn't care if Sirius beat him beyond repair; he wanted to hurt Sirius not with actions but with words the way Sirius had hurt him.

“Don't call me that! I'm a Potter now, not a black!” Sirius yelled back.

As blood dripped from Regulus’ nose the sound of footsteps came into earshot and quickly got louder and soon Remus Lupin, James Potter & Peter Pettigrew came into the hallway full from dinner.

“Oh, hi Sirius!” Peter exclaimed joyfully, failing to understand the situation.

Without missing a beat Regulus responded to Sirius with, "You know what they say, once a black always a Black, and you Sirius Orion Black, well you're the spitting image of what being a part of the noble and most ancient house of Black is supposed to be,'' he spat making sure to use his full name, the name Sirius hated so much that he denied its existence.

At this Sirius ran toward Regulus ignoring his friends, striking Regulus in the stomach and as Regulus doubled over in pain still laughing to himself, James and Remus ran over to try and stop the two from hurting each other any further.

James slotted himself between them and Remus held Sirius back as he tried hitting Regulus again, throwing his fists aimlessly, quickly realizing that Remus was far too strong for him and alternatively allowing Remus' arms to enclose him silent tears falling down his face.

Sirius so desperately wanted to fall to his knees and cry; Regulus so desperately wanted his brother to save him, but neither would happen.

Instead whilst the hallway flooded with students who'd finished dinner and wanted to see what the shouting echoing down the hallways of the castle was all about, both Black brothers wiped their faces and with stoic expressions went to their own common rooms keeping the encounter they just had to themselves as much as they could.

notes: this isn’t my first post on tumblr but it was the first fic I ever wrote! I hope you liked it and if you did you should check out my other fics (my masterlist) (my ao3)

thank you to jaggysword_0926 on ao3 for beta reading this fic

[macravishedbymactavish]

Alex Keller x GN!Reader

3 instances when you took care of him, 1 instance when he took care of you.

Chapter TW for mention of minor injury, swearing, OC Keller family, hurt/comfort.

| Blog HQ | Jupiter Masterlist | Modern Warfare 2019 Masterlist |

Part I // Wounded

"What did you do this time?" Arms crossed over your chest lightly, eyebrow raised. Your boyfriend and his brother had been outside for the majority of the afternoon landscaping and upgrading the backyard.

Chuckling at you softly, he waved you off with one hand. Keeping the other hidden in the pocket of his jeans. "Nothing you need to worry about, it's fine".

Eyes locking with the younger male, "Ben. What did he do?"

Ben, Alex's younger brother by 3 years, stood silently. Wide eyes bouncing between the two of you. Silently debating who's side he should be taking. Which side offered him a longer life expectancy.

"It's going to sound way worse than it actually is. Like most injuries, they look and sound horrific, but in reality, they're not that bad." Ben offered, shrugging awkwardly as you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"Shut up" Alex whispered, elbowing him gently. Hissing as the fabric rubbed his hand the wrong way.

"You're bleeding." You stated plainly, "Ben looks guilty, and you're bleeding."

The three of you stood in a tense silence; you and Alex having an impromptu staring war as Ben glanced between you both.

"I think you should just tell them, at least get it cleaned up." He whispered, raising his hands in surrender when his brother glared at him from the corner of his eye.

Taking a couple steps forward, pressing your chest into his, you looked up. Fingers wrapping around his wrist and gently pulling. Raising an eyebrow at the small hiss when his hand became free. Exposing the bruised nail and large cut down his knuckle.

"How?!" You whispered, pulling him over to the bathroom to begin washing the area. Debating on whether or not it was worth a trip for stitches.

"Thesawcaughttheboardthewrongway." He mumbled, grimacing as you continued dabbing the wound with antiseptic. Muscles taut as he reminded himself not to pull his hand away.

Glancing up through your lashes, eyebrows raised. "Try that again, but slower."

"I was trying to cut a board, but it caught the saw the wrong way and flipped back and caught me. I'm fin-- ow fuck!" Hand pulled into his side, dripping antiseptic and blood onto the tile below. Earning an exasperated look from yourself, met with object horror and offense from him.

"Don't give me that look when you're trying to burn my hand off!" He argued, the stinging in his hand slowly eliciting a headache in the base of his skull.

"Don't be dumb then." You shrugged, reaching for his hand. Rolling your eyes when he pivoted to hide it further. "Don't be a baby."

"Don't torture me." He countered, a mischievous smirk taking over his features as he reached down into the tub. Feeling around for the tap.

"Nope." Ben laughed, now joining the two of you in the small room. All but tackling his brother into the tub. Hugging firmly around his middle, keeping his arms trapped to his sides.

"Get 'em!" The younger Keller laughed, allowing you to properly wash out the cut and get a close look at it.

"I'm no medic, but a bandaid and rest should do you just fine. I don't think we need to bring you in." You mumbled, poking at the skin around his hand. Nodding at Ben to let him go.

"Good thing you aren't, you're mean." Alex laughed, holding the limb out steady for you to place a bandaid over it. Wrapping you into a tight hug once it was secure. "But thank you."

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

Alex Keller Taglist: @glitterypirateduck @deadbranch @gcing-back-to-505

[wetcatspellcaster]

After the recent chapter I had to take a breather and re-read previous ones, where everything was (somewhat) fine.

The way Rose was disassociated because she could feel all the pain, but no fear. The way she was in and out of it. It felt like a very feverish nightmare. It's so painful to read how barely coherent Rose is through the torture, and still trying, trying to find a way out, or at least a reprieve. And the way I laughed at her lamenting on Bhaal's healers. It reminded me so much of the Mirror Universe of Star Trek, where medics were there only to revive enough, not heal.

Am I weird for reading how Orin tortures and still having that little voice say "hot" the way D!urge says to Astarion in the graveyard scene?

I love love love how you use the canon events and twist them just so to make it even more heart wrenching and nightmar-ish, because I always felt like it felt a little bit rushed, all the interactions and especially the aftermath. I love seeing the lingering result of what just happened, more details that were not there in the game.

But reading the torture Rose endured, and that Astarion had seen her after, I have a question. Had this happened in Pieces too? Was Rose kidnapped there too? Because if she was, then it makes Astarion's Ascension even more twisted. Like even in game, if Tav/Durge is his lover, Astarion is not convinced by anything beforehand not to go with the ritual. And if he had seen how horrific all those Chosen are, he could've wanted to Ascend to protect his lover. But he had also seen the injuries , the indignity, the hurt that was inflicted on someone he cares for, and that must sting so much. Oof, this a very interesting concept to think on, that I'm constantly dwelling on since I played the Durge.

Also, I can imagine there could be a fight. And with Rose in this condition... Well, I hope others will take care of it. And I wonder if Gortash is dead now.

I can imagine that Rose will shrug it off, at least pretending to do so, like she had done before, and I will be right there with everyone else enraged at her lack of self-preservation. Shower her with care, rest, and people who love her to make sure she knows she will never be alone. Poor Rose. The things she had survived, she will need years of therapy afterwards, beside the years it will take to sort her phobias. I want to hug her, but it will hurt right now, so I'll just stay here, crying over how strong she is, that she does not need to be that stoic herself that Threnn shaped her into, and I miss her goofiness when she loses that fear of being too emotional. I love her so much. I want her to be healed and as happy as possible.

Thank you for this chapter. I wish you to rest well after the con, and regain your energy with this blueberry cupcake I'm offering. Take care!

I will absolve everyone now, in this moment, like a priest: it is ok to find Orin the Red hot, in anything that I write. It is, in fact, intentional.

I will confirm, Rosalie didn't get kidnapped in Pieces! I sacrificed Grubb there (RIP to a real one), partly to keep my plot twists under wraps, partly so that Rosalie doesn't suffer more than Jesus Christ himself in any given universe, and partly bc I wanted to make one very silly joke about soup. But I do plan for the kidnapping to inflect Astarion's thoughts on Ascendency, perhaps not in the way people are expecting!!! There is something that was teased in Pieces that *is* canon.

And thank you, I'm glad that seeing consequences play out makes the fic interesting!!! In my Rosalie playthrough, she was never ever at risk bc she had a lot of plot armour (a very stressed save-scumming player). I realised early on, that if she sailed through Act 3 it wouldn't make for a very compelling read - lord knows I could see the 'Mary Sue' accusations coming from a mile off. So I thought I'd leverage her major flaws - her lack of self-preservation, her belief that she's more useful with a tadpoel than without one, and her complete lack of tact. Unfortunately, kidnapping is the perfect situation to hit a bunch of character beats for both Rosalie and Astarion, and the perfect place to start raising the issue of what advantages/disadvantages the tadpole provides her with... so I kind of had to do it to her :')

at least it's not a murder? I was thinking about killing her in an earlier outline :'))) at least it's not that right?

[crazylittlejester]

OOOH INTERESTING both of you have incredible thoughts, and i wanna share mine!! :) (sorry if this is incoherent)

I agree that Wars definitely in the moment struggles with seeing the others as heroes who are in control of themselves instead of soldiers under the same control/command as himself. I think he’s used to a certain element of structure that he definitely lacks here, and it’s hard for him to get out of that mentality. Seeing Wild do something that (im pretty sure…?) Legend had JUST told him not to do probably stressed Wars out REGARDLESS of the fact that Wild just put his life on the line. War i BRUTAL people die in HORRIFIC ways, and Warriors saw all of that first hand in a way none of the others have truly experienced. He knows war and death and violence in a way the others just dont

I think Wild may not DISLIKE Wars so much as view him as someone he should have been. I think every time he looks at him he feels this sort of resentment because if he hadn’t failed, would HE have been a decorated captain? Wars was harsh with him, unjustifiably so, but he came from a place of fear and genuine worry. I don’t think he’s mad so much as scared, especially when he saw first hand how hurt Twilight was, and I think Wild probably is aware of this deep deep down even if right now he thinks Wars is mad at him for being reckless. And I think Wild’s recklessness comes from a place of learned invulnerability. Like how when little kids don’t get hurt falling off something they shrug it off and keep going especially when the parents don’t rush in and coddle them, they learn to just walk it off (unless they’re seriously hurt, I’m talking about a bumped knee), and I think when Wild was relearning how to exist it became reinforced in his brain through trial and error that there really aren’t consequences for yeeting himself at shit and praying for the best. Like at the end of the day he just swallows down an apple or Mipha’s grace swoops in and saves him and he’s just go to go. I don’t think it’s fully clicked for him that injury can lead quickly to a permanent death, so he doesn’t see the issue

ALSO!!: The fact that he used stasis proves to me that he does actually think things through. It isn’t ALWAYS “go go go”, he thought about what could give him the advantage, he’s a fast thinker, and he went to give it his genuine best shot. He acted out of anger SURE, but he’s far from stupid and Warriors KNOWS that. He’s said before how much he admires Wild, he knows the kid isn’t an idiot. He just wants to get him to use his head a little more and take advice

Both of them are incredibly sweet, gentle people, and I love them both dearly, but at the end of the day they ARE Links and Links are never good with words /j

Wanted to share some thoughts, cause I NEED TO SHARE IT. (Though it might be quite obvious, yeah...)

So, the whole thing with Warriors acting more stern with Wild lately. One could think: "Why just Wild? Hyrule can be quite reckless sometimes, and Wind is THE BABY, so why not them too?"

Well, there's one thing that they don't have, but Wild sure does...luck of self-preservation.

Wars can trust that others, even IF they let emotions take over, would still try to avoid DYING.

WILD WILL NOT. This fella uses his FACE as a SHIELD for ANOTHER PERSON, when there's NO NEED FOR THIS, while being in his "right mind".

SO WHAT CAN YOU EXPECT OF HIM, WHEN HE LOOSES HIS MIND IN A STRESSFUL SITUATION?

Wars still gave him the benefit of the doubt for a while, but after this whole fiasco with Twi's injury - Wars just can not help it, he FEARS for Wild's well-being, because "Champ" himself DOES NOT (with his whole "failure of a hero" thing, I presume).

And how does one even adress it? I doubt Wars saw many people who didn't care about their life before, he was at war, usually people want TO SURVIVE there. He's on edge cause he sees a problem and has no idea how to aproach it.

I want to preface this by saying I have a severe inability to stay on topic but yeah let's talk about it.

So you touched on something me and Jesse have both touched on- that Wars' actions towards Wild come from a place of concern and fear. I think that this is true. Wild DOES lack self-preservation instincts, and Wars has to be afraid of losing him- of the young knight earning more scars. Wild can be an idiot sometimes, but Wars saw him lose his head and attack the shadow when it was just proved to be lethal more than they knew.

There's a difference of perspective between ours and the boys tho that is important and I think contributes to people judging wars for this. See, to Wars perspective, and all of the boys, they could die at any time. An injury could be fatal and they can't see the future. We however KNOW that Wild survives, because we know he goes on to tears of the kingdom. We know Jojo has said that he is reckless and will get himself hurt but always comes out of it. But Wars has watched a billion (<exaggeration) soldiers die and is terrified of it happening again. Whereas we watch the comic from the outside, knowing for certain Wild will make it, Wars is living out that reality harshly.

ANoThER thing I think people forget to account for is Wars is not just a captain, he's a soldier but also leader in an army. I'm not the best with phrasing sometimes so I'll try to say this well- people in the army don't always get to be nice. Oftentimes armies have very harsh environments in treatment towards soldiers because when it comes down to training and life and death there is no time for niceties or feelings. Wars was pushed into the most major promotion ever pretty much to be an army leader. If he's now in the mindset of viewing Wild as a fellow knight/soldier who is not a leader... angry words and facial expressions is pretty mild to be honest.

Wars is a really nice person for all he's gone through, but fighting in a war is a very different experience than a solo journey like the others had. I think it's time to acknowledge that he was forced into far more of a role than the pretty hero, but also an armies leader, and it takes a lot of work to be a nice person through all that. Wars is a nice person who has a ton of strength to be so kind after all he's been through and his actions towards Wild make sense considering his past with what journey he came from. Thank you for coming to my ted talk- no I'm not done.

If anything I said was in any way offensive let me know. I hope my words didn't somehow come across as harsh.

Although him (in a way) treating Wild as someone who is out of line is understandable given his past, it's still not excusable. Wild isn't a soldier and he's not the leader.

Now for Wild time I'm going totally of the rails let's go

Wild doesn't. Yeah ok Wild doesn't like Wars. I've made like. Fifteen thousand nine hundred and fifty two posts on this (<big exaggeration). Wild has not really... spoken to Wars throughout the Lu storyline, tho he did in some of Jojo's starting doodles. Wild has really only spoken to Wars since it all went down when mr. stubborn got injured. I think Wild has a lot of resentment towards Wars for being the knight he was supposed to- who succeeded. Wild has flat out ignored Wars a lot of the time and honestly I'd get pretty frustrated with that too.

Also I along with the other nine hundred people want Wars to trigger an army memory in Wild. For the angst.

Wars is wrong in how he's acting towards Wild and Wild is wrong in how he's treated Wars not as someone worthy of respect. It's hard to pinpoint what's going on in Wild's head but I DO know Wars thoughts- he's terrified for Wild's life and angry that he ignored him and fought the shadow.

But yeah you're right. Wild has no self preservation instincts and Wars can't rely on him to freaking stay alive. Thank you for sending me an ask and sharing your thoughts with me!!! You matter and I love hearing from you /gen <3

Also. Let's make this clear. I love Wars so much. So very much. He's literally a fairy godmother. No hating on him or Wild on my posts. Thank :D

[equestriagirl16]

Uzui & Wives💎 x Reader!Turned Demon~

*Lays this out neatly and ducks back under my burrow* Just a small lil prompt for these four. Gawd I love them sm, glad they’re getting more attention in fanfiction realm as they should. Hope you enjoy peoples.~ inspo:@lazysimp

(Oh and about the newest episode-

*screams and cries into oblivion*)

Warnings: none really, hurt & comfort perhaps

It wasn’t supposed to turn out this way. One of the most romantic and warm evenings of your life, morphed into a horrific nightmare.

You had been training under the retired hashira, Uzui Tengen, for quite a long time now. In that span of time you’ve not only gotten to know him, but also the three beautiful women he deemed his wives.

Your infatuation with them was hopelessly apparent from the start, and no one could blame you. They were all of course ridiculously attractive with varying personalities to match. Over time they even opened up their home to you, as the friendship you all once knew began to shift into something more.

You were hesitant as to not disturb the bond they already shared, but one night returning from a perilous mission. In the heat of the moment, finally seeing their faces, hearing their voices filled with worry and compassion. One confession, to your astonishment, sparked another.

After a quick smirk and a “Took you long enough.” from Uzui. Words turned into heated embraces before you even knew it. Arms curled securely around bodies, lips colliding one with another. You couldn’t keep track anymore, becoming drunk off the feeling. Pure intimacy like no other, all thanks to four of most gorgeous people you’ve ever known.

And so, on an evening you thought would end like any other, you were awestruck to come out having an entire group of partners who loved you just as you did them.

You couldn’t be happier.

All until now…

It was supposed to be a lovely evening. Flashy attire, delicious food, filled to the brim with laughter. An entire venue rented out by Uzui to celebrate that momentous occasion. Cleared out in an instant by an all too bold demon.

You acted quickly, protecting your lovers as all the instinct in your body shot off. Utilizing every ounce of training you were taught much to Uzui’s pride.

It was close, too close, but with one final breathe you annihilated the threat for good.

As you fell to your knees watching the monster fade away, Uzui, Hinatsuru, Suma, and Makio all ran to you assessing the damage.

Their dotting wasn’t unwelcome but you insisted you were fine. Until you felt it.

Earlier the demon had slashed you, but you shrugged it off as a minor injury. But your body..it started to feel hot and stiff as if something was awakening. With labored and wheezing breaths you clasped onto Uzui, shaking violently in a cold sweat.

Your heart felt like it was going to burst through your throat, even with your breathing form nothing could quell the discomfort turned agony.

“Y/N? Y/N what’s happened?!” Uzui exclaimed concerned, grabbing the attention of the girls.

“Are you hurt? Poor thing you’re shaking.” Hinatsuru said as softly as ever.

“Oh no! What if they’re injured really bad, they could be dying!” “Don’t say stuff like that! Damn demons, we should’ve helped when we had the chance.” Suma and Makio chimed in.

You couldn’t hold on any longer, the only thing grounding you was the voices of your lovers. You were desperate. Slipping. Falling. Something else was taking over you. The nails you dug into Uzui arms sharpened, as he winced. Your teeth did the same, as your mouth ran dry. Vision blurring. You were scared. You knew what was happening, and you knew it was already too late.

You shove Uzui and jump away from the group. Making a dash for the surrounding trees to hide yourself. Knees buckling again as the transformation continued. All they could hear were your cries and whines to fight it off. But after a moment…everything went silent.

“Y/N?” Hinatsuru spoke, being the first to walk to where you were.

She saw you crouched over…unmoving.

She came a bit closer, the ground under her feet creating a small noise alerting you.

In a second you turned your head, ravenous eyes and sharp pupils glowing in the moonlight. You growled lowly.

Hinatsuru gasped, but didn’t back down. She started to speak your name again but in a flash you tackled her to the ground.

She screamed out at the sudden force. The rest ran to her aid.

You snarled and roared, scratching and slashing at her as she struggled to hold you back. The sight of her blood only egging you on. You weren’t you anymore.

Swiftly Uzui shoved you off of her, as Suma and Makio dragged her back away from you.

With all his strength Uzui held you down. You thrashed and scratched at him like a wild animal. The girls looked on in horror, at a loss of what to do.

“You three, a stick now!” Uzui yelled back, snapping them out of their daze. Makio grabbed one from her side and tossed it to him.

He quickly shoved the piece of wood into your mouth. You screamed against the restriction. “Hey, Y/N look at me. Look at me!” Uzui tried to grab your attention while you were subdued. The girls ran over understanding his intentions.

“Me too! It’s us Y/N don’t you remember?” “Cmon you got to snap out of this!” Suma and Makio joined.

You continued to kick and squirm until you felt a presence above your head. Hinatsuru leaned down looking you in the eyes, you stared back deep down recognizing that soft glance.

She began to carefully caress you head, much to your surprise. As she continued, you became less sporadic focusing on her touch.

“Shhhhh, your alright Y/N. You’re ok. Just please.”

Hinatsuru grabbed both sides of your face rubbing your cheeks softly, tears pricking in the corners of her eyes.

“Please come back to us.” She whispered to you.

At that you felt something, as if a wave of calmness finally washed over you. In the midst of all the feral intensity you felt yourself come to, if only for a moment.

You could think, but any emotions you were able process were a mix between relief and anguish. You were different now, you let this happen, but they were still here for you. They stayed. All of them. They wanted to help you, be your refuge. Just like they always have. What were you supposed to do, what were you supposed to say?

You can’t say anything, you can’t speak. All that fell from your lips gazing on the people you cared for the most, was a long drawn out sob.

They all looked at you with pity, saddened this had happened feeling just as guilty. But all that mattered to them now was you, and letting you have this.

You continued to cry until your vision was fogged with tears. Hinatsuru continued to cradle your head as the Suma and Makio held onto each of your arms in a warm embrace. Uzui kept the stick firmly placed in your mouth but held your head gently as he did so.

After a moment your sobs became hiccups, and hiccups into small sniffles. You felt yourself become smaller in their holds, figuratively…and literally!

You shrunk down to almost a child like size, much to the shock of your partners. Uzui picked you up gently and held you close to his chest as you buried yourself in it. Finally relaxing.

“Y/N…what are we going to do?” Hinatsuru asked standing to her feet and patting your head.

“I haven’t got a clue. But I know this.” Uzui looked up at all three women. “We keep our little slayer safe, and love them no less. They put their lives on the line for us tonight, and that makes them the most respectable human being to ever walk this earth. We’ll figure this out together, but never forget that.”

“Of course.” Makio agreed with a smile. “I’ll love Y/N forever, even if they’re a demon or anything else!” Suma exclaimed right after.

Uzui smiled at the two, and then looked down back at you fast asleep. Hinatsuru held onto one of the arms he had you cradled in and spoke. “They’re still our Y/N, but is there really nothing we can do for them?”

“I think I know just who to ask.” Uzui replied smirking at his wife. Hinatsuru understood and smiled back, wrapping her arms fully around her husband’s and leaning on his shoulder.

Makio and Suma looked on with small pouts until Uzui gestured for them to come over. They dashed and almost tackled the man in their embrace. Each holding onto any part of your small frame gently as well. Looking at you lovingly and attentively.

Under the moonlight you all stood, content for a moment but concern and worry never leaving them. In your rest you couldn’t ponder much, but the love and warmth radiating from them was overwhelming. You just couldn’t help but feel as if you were in the best hands.

You regretted what happened to you, you always will. But protecting these four was more than worth it, and their love and care was all you could ever ask for. They’ll take care of you, as they always did when you had nowhere else to go. And with time, maybe even cure you. As long as you’re all together. That’s the most important thing.

[jb2856]

The Pain of Loss

(T.H.)Peter Parker X GN!Reader

Warnings: spoilers for NWH(sort of), angst, loss of family member, mentions of blood, big sad

A/N: Oh little me and my tortured little soul. I just saw NWH and I thought of my own little scene. Enjoy…?

It was a Friday night, it was only 5:00PM and already pitch black outside. There was the beating sound of rain outside, the frigid cold not doing a thing to help the circulating feel of despair in the air.

You had just gotten home, shaking off the rain and taking off your boots, when you heard it. Tapping, soft and weak on the window, you think it’s the one in your bedroom. Immediately you know who it is, shrugging off your coat, you place it on the hook and quickly make your way to your bedroom, you see his fingers just barely tapping your window, his head resting against the brick of the outside wall. You rush to open the window, and he practically falls to the floor. You quickly shit it behind him. He is wearing his suit, sans mask, covered in gashes, blood dripping, his face beaten. It has you gasping.

“Pete..”

You’d been watching the live cover of his fight, on the news. It had been playing everywhere. They said someone had died. You’d been worried sick your entire way home, only assuming the worst.

You’re rushing towards him, “Peter I was so worried.” Your hands are moving everywhere, checking his injuries. “Are you alright?” When your hands come away covered in blood, your heart starts to race.

He finally grunts out a quiet and pained. “Fine.”

Somethings off. You grab his face in your hands to make him look at you, his eyes are glassy. Tears are streaming down his distraught face. You had been too worried about his possible injuries to even notice his anguished face, or is muted sobs.

“Pete what’s going on?” You look back into his eyes, concerned. He glances away, not wanting to look at you. He’s shaking his head.

His words are stuttered, hardly spoken. “M..M..May... s..she…” he’s shaking his head again, rapidly.

You understand. You shake your head with him, silently telling him he doesn’t have to continue. Tears spring to your eyes. Tears for him, tears for the loss of a wonderful woman. Grabbing his bloodied head you bring his forehead to yours, and he starts to sob loudly. Wrapping his arms around you for comfort. You don’t move away, just wind your arms around him and squeeze as hard as you can.

He’s speaking brokenly, “she..shes…gone.” He’s breathing quickly, unable to catch a good breath. “What do I do…I…”

Your shushing him, “it’s gonna be okay Peter…” you’re crying with him, you don’t know if you even believe yourself.

After about an hour, his breathing slows and his are tears dried, hardened to his face. Exhausted from his fight…from his horrific loss, his limbs weak. You had guided his broken body back with your own, laying together on your bed as he fitfully slept, your hand gliding back and forth on his forehead and in his matted hair. She’s gone. You’re sure he blames himself, you also don’t know what happened really, just what the news showed of his fight, he would tell you in time.

You wished you could make it better, you wished Peter didn’t have so much responsibility, wished he didn’t carry so much weight on his shoulders. For now you do what you can to comfort him, waiting for when he wakes up.

When he does wake, his eyes slowly crack open, dried tears and blood caking them closed.

He blearily looks around, a moment of clarity in his eyes and expression, clouding over in only a moment when the memories come flooding back to him. You start to move, he grabs you tighter not wanting you to go.

“I’m just gonna go get the med kit, baby.” Reluctantly he’s releasing you from the tight grip of his arms, you remove yourself and head to your bathroom to grab the kit you always keep handy. When you walk back in you try to joke lightly, “I might have to become a nurse if you aren’t more careful.”

He huffs. A slight win.

“Sit up.” You say to him gently, helping him up. You wet some gauze and start to dab at his face, clearing the blood. “Are you hurt anywhere I can’t see?” He shakes his head slowly, that means most of the blood isn’t his. He’s also probably healed most of his minor injuries while he slept.

When you’re done checking him over you tell him to go get a shower, clean the blood that’s caked along his torso off. You told him you would clean his suit for him.

He went along with it, not really expressing anything. He’s hiding his pain behind his eyes. You know what this pain looks like. You know him.

——

After his shower he comes out of your bathroom, only clad in a pair of briefs you had put out for him. He slowly walks over to you, you’re sitting in the couch absentmindedly watching tv.

“Hi.” You say warmly…sadly, as he lowers his body to yours, his head resting in your lap. Your hands instantly go to his wet hair. You can feel his breaths start to quicken, uneven heaves of warmth hit your thighs. “It’s okay Peter.” Your say quietly, “it’s okay not to be okay.”

He grips you tighter. You don’t plan on letting go. Everyone has to fall apart sometimes. Something has just been ripped away from him, his soul fractured. His world will be changed forever. His future is uncertain, he isn’t sure where to go from here.

You plan to do everything you can to support him, you wanted to take some of his weight, help him carry it.

It hurts to see the most kind hearted and positive man in your arms, slowly shattering. It’s heartbreaking. You feel deeply for him.

You hear him stutter a whisper into your lap. “P…please…d..don’t…don’t ever leave…me.”

[thefanficmonster]

Partner

Ethan Winters (Resident Evil Biohazard) x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Spoilers for Resident Evil 8:Village, Swearing, Mentions of injury

Genre: Angsty Fluff, Comfort

Summary: Following the final battle in the Dimitrescu Castle, Ethan is surprised to stumble upon a person who witnessed the whole debacle, offering him a safe place to patch up his wounds and rest for a little while.

Requested by Anon. Hi dear! Thank you so much for your request! So sorry you’ve had to wait so long but here it finally is! Hope you come across it and enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

“That was...something else.“ Ethan Winters mutters to himself as he limps his way out of the Dimitrescu Castle which is now vacant in terms of residence - his doing. He killed Alcina Dimitrescu and her daughters, all arguably in self defense and with little guilt to follow. However, plenty of trauma’s definitely attached to him following the horrific events he had to go through and the things he had to see between the walls of those luxurious rooms hiding dark secrets of the vampires who took pleasure in torturing people, and wreaking havoc over the villagers who feared them.

“At least they won’t hurt anyone any longer.“ He tells himself, giving the monster of a structure one final look before he continues back towards the center of the village where he’s gonna rethink what he’s got to do next, gather his bearings, take a breath and keep going. He has no other option but to keep going, he won’t allow himself to quit no matter what danger he faces. In his mind, he’s convinced himself that he’s already seen the worst, it’s easier on him that way, it suppresses the fear he’d feel otherwise. The last thing he wants is to think what’s in store for him ahead, he’d rather focus on what’s up to him to do next.

“And we can’t thank you enough.“

The sudden presence of an unfamiliar voice startles him, causing him to whip out his gun and point it in the direction it came from. However, he quickly finds his deadly tight grip loosening ever so slightly because he realizes he’s pointing the barrel at a very human-looking and seemingly harmless person.

“Who are you? Who’s ‘we’?“ Ethan still refuses to let his guard down though, just cause it may not be a life or death situation, doesn’t mean this person won’t bring him trouble and Lord knows that’s the last thing he needs right now.

On instinct, the person takes a step back, “I speak on the behalf of all the remaining villagers. I mean, it was only a matter of time before we too became victims in the Dimitrescu Castle basement. I was next, actually, but the commotion you created allowed for me to escape. I owe you my life, foreigner.“ The speak hurriedly and in a hushed tone, as if the fear of their torturers overhearing them still lives within them despite the monsters being deceased.

“Glad I could help you.“ He nods curtly, remaining at the distance of seven feet between them, “My name’s Ethan Winters by the way.“

They give him the tiniest of smiles, “Y/N L/N, pleased to meet you.” Their gaze gives him a quick onceover, assessing the damage the horrors of the castle have inflicted on him. Their eyes widen in shock at the many bleeding wounds all over his body but what appears to rattle them most is the severe injury that’s causing his limp as well as the missing finger - a poorly wrapped would that has surprisingly not started getting infected yet. “Look, I know you don’t trust me, but I don’t trust you to take care of yourself either. I live in that windmill over there in the outskirts, come with me, I’ll help you with...well, with all that. You seem rather hopeless at medical care.”

While he could refuse their offer, he wouldn’t be able to deny the fact that they’re right - he knows the basics of first aid, but his injuries are far too gone for simple first aid, especially when taken into account that he doesn’t even have any supplies. How he’s not died from blood loss is a surprise to him as much as it is to them.

“What’s my guarantee you won’t turn on me?“ He finally asks after a decent amount of time contemplating it.

They shrug, “You have none. But, you have the guarantee that if I turn on you, you’ll be the one coming out of that altercation alive.” Their gaze sizes up the guns he’s got on him, emphasizing their point.

Suddenly, Ethan feels sorta ridiculous - after all, guns or no guns, he could probably take on them easily with just his knife. Regardless, no one can blame him for being cautious. “Fine.“ He mutters, “But please don’t turn on me, I’ve already had one hell of a day.“

Y/N nods, motioning for him to follow them, “I promise I won’t.”

                                                               *  *  *

“Wow, what a back-stabber! Some friends you have, Winters.“ Y/N comments as they set down a cup of tea on the small wooden table in front of the freshly patched up Ethan.

Turns out, he made the right move by trusting them - they used to be the village’s main nurse until it all went to hell and they went to hide in the shadows of their windmill where they, as evidenced, still are today. That being said, not only did they have all the necessary equipment to fix him up, but they also had the skills and knowledge needed to use that equipment.

“There are those friends who borrow money from you and never pay you back and there are those who shoot your wife randomly while you two are trying to have dinner. Two types of friends out there really.“ He sighs, his tired, a thousand yard stare following the path of the steam levitating from the cup that’s been placed in front of him. “I have no time to dwell on that right now though. My daughter is in grave danger and I have no idea where I should even start looking for her.“

Y/N sits down on a chair opposite his, “Well, you’ve already defeated one of the village Lords looking for Rose, process of elimination should reveal where she is - wherever she is, it has to be one of the Lords’ residence. Mother Miranda trusted Lady Dimitrescu most so it’s a wonder why she wasn’t there, but then again, Heisenberg’s factory is damn near impenetrable, one cannot enter unless he wants them to so she could have entrusted her precious cargo to him.”

“How do I get to that fucker?“ Ethan tightens his hand into a fist, squeezing so tightly his knuckles turn white. There’s so much within him, so much that’s happened to him, so much in such a short amount of time and he’s had no time to deal with any of it. He’s a volcano waiting to erupt, but he has to do so at the right time - in front of the right danger to show he’s not hopeless or weak as his opponent may think. “Where do I find him?“

“He’s in the outskirts too just on the other side of the village.“ They sigh, regretting every word they are saying since they know they are just feeding him information on how to get himself in the worst kind of danger he’s probably ever been in. “That key you have, it’s not complete to access his quarters yet. By the looks of it...“ they observe the key Ethan has placed on the table, “You can only get to Lord Donna Beneviento’s estate, and I wouldn’t suggest heading there before you heal at least a bit more. Her and her dolls are a real nightmare. Of course, I haven’t experienced it for myself, but the stories are enough to get an idea.“

“So you’re telling me I have to waste my time with the little fish before I can finally get to Rose? You know how long that’ll take? You know how long she’ll have to be at the mercy of a fucking lunatic until I can finally save her?!“ Ethan snaps, banging his fist against the table, bad idea considering his hand’s been just patched up. The impact sends a jolt of pain up his arm that makes him hiss.

“I get it, I understand, Ethan. But you are a lot less likely to get to your daughter if you’re dead, you know.“ Y/N cautiously explains, their eyes narrowing a bit as they wait for the pearl white bandages to soak crimson, sighing in relief when they don’t. “Speaking of how likely you may or may not be to get to her on time, I’d also have to mention your odds would be significantly higher if you were to receive help from someone else. You’d need someone to have your back throughout all the shit you’re about to go through, especially Heisenberg’s factory where two eyes are not enough to track each and every threat that might pounce at you.“

Calmer now, Ethan gives them a puzzled look, “What are you suggesting?“

“I’m suggesting - well, I’m offering you my partnership.“ They explain, watching his expression change to one of knowing and understanding. “Of course, you’d have to give up one of those guns and hand it down to me, but I think that’s a small price to pay in exchange for an extra pair of eyes and limbs to guard and help you.“

Ethan’s first instinct is to decline. He can’t afford to see another person dying around him or because of him, he wouldn’t be able to stand it. But then again, just like he had no guarantee they wouldn’t turn on him, he has none that they’ll die. Of course, he’ll do everything in his power to keep them and himself alive and they don’t seem like they are in it to half-ass it either. Quite the contrary, they seem perfectly determined and ready to face the same shit he’s about to.

“What do you get in return?“ He asks, his gaze suspiciously measuring each line on their face to gauge their true intentions. He’s a complete stranger to them, they’d have no reason to be this selfless for him, it’s obvious they are aiming at something bigger.

Y/N scoffs, leaning back in their chair with a small bitter smile on their face, their gaze resting on the tabletop and avoiding his, “You really wanna know? I want my revenge - revenge for what they did to this village, to me, to so many people I cared about and to those I didn’t even know. But...” they trail off, pausing to sigh out a heavy sigh before continuing, “But I also wanna redeem myself. I knew I should’ve done all in my power to stop them when their havoc was still on the rise, I knew I should’ve done more, but I didn’t. And now I’ll die trying.”

“You won’t die.“ He says sharply, barely a second after the last word left their lips, “I won’t allow it.“ He adds, taking a bit of the edge off his voice.

Their eyes come up to meet his, searching for what he means, “Does that mean...“

“It sure does, partner.“ Within the blink of an eye, his pistol is on the table, fully loaded and free for their taking, “You just give a green light and we’re off.“

Y/N lets out a sound between a laugh and a gasp as their hands quickly wrap around the gun, looking at it in disbelief before whispering a quick ‘thank you’. Ethan allows them to marvel at it for a bit longer but they don’t wait another second. “Get your ass up, Winters. We have monsters to kill.”

He needn’t be told twice

[fantasy2739]

Jamie Prompt: Nightmares during an overnight trip so one of the teammates or multiple hear and help him. OR they find old bruises/scars from his dad's abuse. Just want to see the effects of the abuse and the team seeing those effects/helping him.

Hahahaha angst my favourite.

Gonna be honest not sure I nailed this.

Enjoy!

They just won a match against Nottingham Forest. It was a brutal match. City Ground was filled with jeers and cheers from both sides. Probably inspired by the horrific loss at Wembley. Richard nearly got taken out by one of the Nottingham players, Dani had received a dubious yellow, Sam was covered in more scrapes and bruises than should be possible, and Jamie had gone full prick without even waiting for a signal. It was a shit match. Roy grumbled the whole way back to the hotel how they were probably going to have to flee in the dead of night. Jamie just feels like shit. They should be happy. They won. Jamie thinks it’s because maybe some of the insults got a bit too personal. Maybe because at half time after one of the players had shoved Jamie and called him a pussy, the whole team had shot him looks of concern. Jamie had ignored the looks, the pounding of his heart and tried to listen to Ted. Maybe because it was just a shit match. The point is Jamie feels like shit.

“Movie night?” Ted asks, lightly, like he wouldn’t mind if they said no. There were nods, murmurs of agreement, because none of them wanted to go out really. They all cram into a big room and settle in for a movie. The choice is given to Ted, who always seems to nail the film choice. He puts on My Neighbour Totoro, probably because it’s all cute and shit. Jamie’s got to admit, it’s pretty hard to stay angry watching some fluffy thing be stupidly cuddly and friendly. It’s just a nice movie. He’s a bit apart from everyone else, half curled onto a pillow he nabbed from his room. He’s dead sleepy. If he closes his eyes just a little, it’ll be fine.

It fucking isn’t.

Jamie’s had nightmares for years. They’re pretty fucking consistent actually. His fears haven’t really changed from childhood. The same man appears. The same insults. Injuries. Pain and memories swirl into one.

Years of experience have ingrained it in his mind and body to not be loud. The vulnerability that comes with sleep keeps his mind in a state of stress. He’s never been a heavy sleeper. Too wary of footsteps in the night. If he wakes the sleeping horror in his house he knows he’s in for worse. Apparently though, he moves, a lot. And whimpers. It’s pathetic really. He’s an adult. He shouldn’t be fucking like this. He’s always in motion anyway, so it occurring in his sleep doesn’t seem like a big deal. The odd twitch is probably ignored. The violent twisting, whimpers, and arms raised in defence are not.

He’s not sure how long he’s out but there’s hands on his shoulders as he almost bolts upright. He nearly takes Isaac out. Jamie’s breathing heavily. He wrenches himself from Isaac’s grip, hands on him too much to bare.

“You alright bruv?” Isaac asks, almost gentle. Jamie just nods, not trusting his voice to come out strong.

“The fuck you are.” Roy growls. Jamie can’t help the way his body tenses. Can’t stop the way his eyes flit around in panic.

“Jamie.” Someone says hesitantly. It’s Sam, crouching down next to him. “Are you sure you are alright?” Jamie’s eyes slowly make their way to Sam.

“Yeah, fine mate.” Jamie manages, glad he sounds tired rather than scared. “Just tired yeah.” That’s enough for some of the team who drift away slightly. But Sam stays crouching next to him. Isaac barely moves from his spot almost directly above Jamie. Roy slumps in a chair slightly away, most likely because of his knee. Dani has a frown marring his face, Zoreaux appears to be debating the benefits of crowding Jamie with the others, Richard cocking his head at him almost thoughtfully. Jan is fixing Jamie with a look reminiscent of an x-ray, while Bumbercatch is chewing on his lip in apprehension. Colin is sitting right behind Jamie, face almost carefully blank.

“You were making strange noises.” Jan says bluntly. There’s lots of way Jamie could reply. He could crack a sex joke, ease the awful tension. Brush it off as not important. Instead he shrugs.

“So?” He asks. He’s not a fan of the looks exchanged between his teammates.

“You sounded like you were… having a nightmare.” Sam says cautiously. Jamie scoffs like that’s complete bullshit. Like he didn’t just have exactly that. It’s stupid to act like this. But that childhood fear of pissing someone off remains forever present.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Colin asks softly. Jamie hates it. They’re treating him like one wrong word will make him shatter. He’s not fucking soft.

“I’m fine.” He insists. He’s getting really tired of the looks.

“It’s okay to have nightmares man.” Bumbercatch interjects. “It’s not like embarrassing.” Fuck no it is. It’s shitty, embarrassing, frustrating, and probably many other words.

“Talking about these things usually helps.” Sam offers quietly.

“Don’t worry amigo, we won’t judge you.” Dani says, Jamie just wishes he’d smile. Dani not smiling feels like a sign of the apocalypse.

“We’re here bruv.” Isaac adds.

“Was it the dickbag?” Roy asks with a low growl. It doesn’t exactly narrow it down. The Nottingham fans? The Nottingham players? His dad? Jamie shrugs again.

“I’m just gonna go to bed yeah.” He tells them, twisting away slightly. He almost trips getting to his feet, Zoreaux reaches to steady him. He flinches, hating himself slightly. He grabs his pillow and tries to leave again. Roy stands up to block him.

“Was it James?” He asks, voice lowering. Like it’s just him and Jamie in the room. “Look Jamie if you need to talk about what that dick did to you-.”

“I don’t.” Jamie says quickly. “I don’t need to talk about him.” There’s a tension in the room that you could cut with a knife.

“We didn’t talk after Wembley.” Roy says, clearly remembering how Jamie had just shut everyone off when anyone asked. “Let us fucking help you.”

“Is your father always terrible to you?” Jan asks bluntly. Jamie’s eyes shoot daggers at him.

“None of your fucking business.” He snarls. Internally he cringes, thinking it sounds too much like James. Jan merely raises an eyebrow.

“Jamie if he hurt you when you were younger then maybe you should talk about it.” Sam offers. Like bringing up the past is going to make things better. Like talking ever fucking helps. Jamie wants to scream.

“So he beat the shit out of me when I was a kid. So he was a useless fucking parent. ” Jamie snaps, tears prickling at his eyes. The open looks of horror on some of his teammates faces makes him cringe. He can’t stop though, can’t just leave it as is. “He’s my fucking problem.”

“Fucking hell Jamie, he shouldn’t have done that.” Roy growls. Richard grumbles something in French that Zoreaux nods in agreement with. It’s sounds angry and Jamie’s pretty sure he hears the name James muttered.

“It doesn’t matter.” Jamie insists.

“Of course it matters.” Sam replies. “You matter.” He probably shouldn’t scoff but Jamie can’t help it.

“Jamie, do we need to talk?” Roy asks, voice low. Jamie drops his pillow and flings his arms up.

“Fuck sake can’t we just drop it yeah? My dads a dick. We all know that.” He snaps. If the conversation continues he knows he’s going to cry. He’s going to sob like a little kid, fucking embarrassing. Roy steps closer, making Jamie shrink back. He wants to disappear into the ground. There’s nervous eyes all around.

“Let us help you amigo.” Dani says. “We are a team yes?” He offers Jamie a small smile. Jamie wishes he was yelling. Or that someone was angry, mad. Any fucking negative emotion. He knows how to deal with those. Instead everyone insists on huddling round him, offering support, caring about him.

His dad isn’t here but he can hear him calling him soft.

“It’s not�� I don’t…” Jamie struggles to find the words. The ones that won’t make him cry and get everyone to leave him alone. “I just want to go to bed.”

“No way bruv.” Isaac shakes his head. “Not until you talk to us.”

“It’ll just be quicker if you do.” Colin says with a shrug, his face soft as he looks at Jamie. Jamie shoves his hands into his hoodie and blinks hard. “Otherwise we’ll just hound you til you break and tell us anyway.” Jamie stares at his team, that are standing round him like they’re worried he’s going to break if they get too far away.

“We won’t judge you.” Zoreaux says. “We just want to help.” Jamie is weak. He’s weak to them caring, with sad eyes, horrid glances. He doesn’t deserve a team ready to catch him when he falls but he’s lucky. He takes a deep breath.

“I’ve had nightmares for years.” He mumbles. “Bout him. I don’t… I’m not gonna talk about what they’re like about.” The team is nodding in understanding. “I just get so scared. And it’s stupid. I fucking hate it. I hate it so much.” Jamie sniffles, Sam and Dani move closer, both offering comfort. Jamie moves slightly out of reach, dropping onto his pillow and pulling his legs to his chest. “I don’t wanna talk about him.” It’s said into his legs but he knows they hear him. He hears a horrible cracking sound as Roy sits next to him. An arm snakes it’s way around his shoulders, he can’t help but tense. He feels someone else sit on his other side.

“Puppy pile.” He hears Bumbercatch say and suddenly there’s nine grown men leaning on him as he’s pushed close to the floor. Jamie’s pretty sure Isaac is behind him playing pillow, Colin’s on his left shoulder. Sam is on his left leg and so is Dani. Bumbercatch is somehow across both legs. Roy is looming by his right shoulder. Zoreaux is half resting on Jamie, half on Roy. Richard has managed to curl up practically on Jamie’s stomach. Jan is somewhere around his knee.

“Fuck Richard, ease up a bit.” Jamie grumbles. “I can’t breathe.”

“No.” Richard says sweetly even as he adjusts a bit so that Jamie’s lungs can actually work.

“Bro you have really bony ankles.” Bumbercatch says.

“Fuck off.” Jamie mumbles. He twists slightly, leaning into the collar of Roy’s jacket. He feels safe in the pile of people. Jan complains that he is too much person to be forced into such a cramped position. Colin cracks a joke about being too much person to handle. They’re giggling a little, letting Jamie feel at ease.

The nightmares stay away for once.

[jaskiersvalley]

Weight of Feelings

Witchers had no emotions, that was a common fact in a world where everyone sagged under the weight of their feelings. Spines curved under the pressure of emotions, the more someone felt the harder they crumpled. Positive emotions helped ease the pressure but, given the state of the Continent, nobody could hide their misery. In a world of curved spines only Witchers walked fully upright, void of all emotions, untainted by the weight of feelings. The straightness of their spines was a privilege that set them apart, made them hated. Thankfully they were unable to feel anything in the face of hatred that was thrown in their direction, even being spat on and abused didn't curve their backs.

Jaskier was one of the fortunate, he had a small hump on his back but, by and large, he was unaffected by his emotions, happy and sheltered enough to be one of the less afflicted. He trailed after Geralt, feeling his victories and success for him, buoyed by his glory. All through it Geralt never changed. Even when they were chased from a village without pay, his back remained ramrod straight while Jaskier's hunched a little.

"Why don't I come with you for the winter?" Jaskier asked and Geralt stared flatly at him. It wasn't an outright refusal but silence wasn't explicit agreement. Undeterred, Jaskier pressed on. "I want to see the might of Kaer Morhen so I can better write about you. Give me the source of my inspirations."

"You'll be bored."

"Not when you're around. And your family. I bet they have some great stories."

"We're not some spectacle." If Jaskier hadn't known better, he would have accused Geralt of feeling annoyed. But his shoulders didn't come forward with the new weight of frustration so Jaskier would have been wrong.

He wheedled and pestered until Geralt grunted. When he turned to head to Kaer Morhen for winter, he didn't chase Jaskier away.

"We won't do anything different just because you are there," Geralt warned as they headed up the path. As odd as it sounded, Jaskier didn't expect them to be any different. He'd travelled with Geralt for years, knew what to expect. He wasn't going to be intimidated by Witchers and their perfect posture.

The first sign of something not being right was when they arrived and a stooped old man leaning heavily on two canes greeted them.

"Vesemir," Geralt said giving the man a squeeze to the shoulder. "Are the others back yet?"

"Eskel's a day behind you, Lambert three."

Merrily standing in front of Vesemir, Jaskier introduced himself. Maybe the old Witcher had suffered an injury while fighting and that was why he was so stooped. There had been a fair few fights Geralt had come out of that left Jaskier marvelling about his ability to heal.

"I will wait for Eskel," Geralt declared which made no sense.

Jaskier was given his own room and he made good use of it. Over the years he had come to terms with the fact Geralt couldn't feel, would never look at Jaskier with love, affection or anything of the like. It didn't stop him fantasising about running hands down a perfectly straight back, adoring the strong lines of it. Jaskier had enough love to give, he didn't need Geralt to return it.

Just as Vesemir predicted, Eskel arrived the next day, just as perfect as Geralt despite the scars. He looked to Geralt, eyes flashing wider but Jaskier assumed it was a learnt motion to try and seem more human. The small shake of head from Geralt suggested that they were doing some kind of strange Witcher communication and Jaskier shrugged. He didn't need to understand everything.

That night Jaskier was in his room, getting ready for bed when he heard voices from Geralt's room next door. The words were muffled and he had to press against the wall to hear better, curiosity winning out over respect of privacy.

"I'll do you first, I had a shit year."

Which was an interesting thing to hear, Jaskier didn't think Witchers had shit years, at least not in the traditional sense. Thinking about that, Jaskier almost missed Geralt's reply, "Since Jaskier I've had it better. Not that he knows."

"Well, Wolf, he's about to find out the truth."

There was a lit of rustling that Jaskier could barely hear before an audible gasp of pain was accompanied by a rattle of something being dropped.

"Breathe through it."

Cheeks heating, Jaskier didn't want to imagine what the two were doing. But if he was correct then he was going to have to give a very subtle talk about the many merits of lubricants and polite practices.

"Your turn," Geralt rumbled, voice strained.

Jaskier jumped away from the wall at the pained cry from Eskel and the sound of a body hitting the floor. Without thought he was rushing round, barely having the moment to grab the bottle of lube from the floor next to the bed. Brandishing it, he knocked and opened the door without thought.

"Oh." He was frozen in the doorway, jaw lax with shock. Eskel was on the floor, spine horrifically curved while Geralt was hunched as he stood over him. They were both shirtless, two similar corset-like contraptions on the floor next to them.

Familiar eyes stared at him and Jaskier knew that all the sadness and anger he had imagined over the years hadn't been made up after all. Geralt's back curved even more the longer Jaskier stared, forcing him to crane his neck to keep looking at him.

"The fuck?" Jaskier managed to grit out, lube all but forgotten in his hand. "What's going on?"

The short answer was that Witchers weren't as emotionless as everyone believed them to be. Instead, they had perfected the art of corsets that kept them straight for most of the year. In the winter, they could finally shed the contraptions and spent the months trying their best to uncurl enough that, come spring, they could cram themselves back into their corsets for another year on the Path.

Two days later Lambert arrived. He took one look at Jaskier and snarled a vicious "no" even as Geralt and Vesemir greeted him. Eskel was still in bed, unable to get up just yet, his spine too twisted to walk even with the support of a frame or crutches.

"It's okay," Vesemir tried to reassure but Lambert wasn't having any of it.

He stepped back, shaking his head. "I will not humiliate myself in front of a human."

"You can't spend all winter in your corset."

No matter how much they argued, Lambert refused, staying far from the others to make sure nobody could surprise him and take the frame holding him upright from him.

At least Jaskier didn't mind. He was far too busy trying to prove to Geralt that he didn't care for such a heavily curved spine. His lot in life was shit, the emotions he carried weighed a lot. Slowly, under his gentle care, Geralt's spine began to straighten. Jaskier was allowed in Eskel's room too, his songs and chatter helping him.

Lambert lasted two weeks before he sought Geralt out, glaring and Jaskier. With Geralt dragged away, Jaskier spent the night alone. But the next morning Lambert was at the table, as twisted as the rest of his family, eyes haunted.

Jaskier liked to think he helped the others with his presence. He kisser the twists of Geralt's spine, whispering soft sweetness in his ears, revelling in the way weight lifted off tired bones under his touch. Come spring, Jaskier bore witness to the agonising task of the Witchers wrestling themselves back into their corsets.

"After Deidre I had to sew extra supports into Eskel's one," Geralt had whispered one night. "You can still see the scars from where the bones snapped as he dropped, piercing his stomach and lungs."

Each Witcher needed the help of the three others to get into their garb. There were curses, yelps and lips bitten raw but once again there were three upright Witchers ready to head out on the Path. Emotionless, backs perfectly straight and faces void of anything other than blankness.

Returning to the world, Jaskier didn't say anything. He still kissed Geralt when he could, standing on his tiptoes to reach familiar warm lips. They made their way up another mountain, hoping to beat the others to the dragon. It all went so horribly tits up, Jaskier didn't even know what had happened. One minute he was trying to entice Geralt to a break on the coast, a little time to themselves. The next Geralt was hurling rage filled words at him, crushing his hopes. Somehow the worst was when Geralt turned away. Something pressed harshly on Jaskier's back, his shoulders hunched and he staggered under the weight as his spine twisted. It hurt, he cried out but Geralt didn't turn around.

Alone, twisted and in agony, Jaskier had no other option. He crawled down the mountain.

[beetlegoose01]

Frostbite (Casetello)

AN: do these two have a ship name? Caseytello? eh whatever it’s casey x donnie and they’re gay

special thanks to cal for reading this for me and saying i should post it <3

There were quite a lot of things Casey Jones loved. Hockey, pizza, riding his motorcycle, video games, beating the crap out of his opponents. Normal teenage stuff. Lately he had been doing the latter, ever since he and April officially joined the 'Unofficial Turtles Team' , helping alongside the teen mutants on patrol. Goofing off with Mikey and Raph were the highlights, but he couldn't deny spending extra time with April was also a benefit. Even if they barely got a single word out- too busy fighting off random mutants scattering the city, it was still nice.

But what wasn't nice, downright unpleasant about patrol...was Donatello. There was an unspoken, mutual loathing that the pair shared that even quick glances at each other led to glaring and arguing. Leaving them together in the same room was never a good idea. Casey hasn't understood why the purple genius was so hostile towards him at first. But the reasons became obvious the first time he caught him staring helplessly at April, fumbling his words and blushing profusely. Not that Casey didn't feel similarly, heck, that was the problem. Both were attracted to April. Obviously Casey had the upper hand, being human. A turtle and a human girl in a relationship was built for disaster.

But their hatred didn't stop there. It wasn't just about April.  Eventually, everything about Donatello annoyed him. His whiny voice, his love for using complicated words to sound superior, soon every little thing bugged him.

Things were easier if the two stayed as far apart as possible.

Of course, fate seemed to work in mysterious ways.

It was starting to get late, the moonlight illuminating the sky. The group stopped on a rooftop, perched by the edge. Leo halted them silently, then turned around.

"Why'd you stop, Fearless?" Raph asked.

"I think we should split up. We'll cover more ground. If you see any sign of trouble, use your T-Phones." said Leo.

"No way dudes!" Mikey squeaked. "I saw this scary movie last night where the team split up! And then..." He paused for dramatic effect. "They all got taken out one by one. Starting with the cute funny one!" He trembled, hiding behind Donnie, who rolled his eyes.

Raph smirked, always prepared for a sassy remark. "Which means, you'll be just fine since you're neither of those."

"Hey!"

"And you'll be in pairs." Leo crossed his arms. "I've got it all planned out. Raph and April. Mikey and me."

"Mikey and I." Donnie corrected under his breath. Casey fought the urge to whack the smart aleck turtle with his hockey stick.

Leo ignored him. "Donnie and Casey-"

Casey involuntary let out a loud groan. Just his luck.

Leo narrowed his blue eyes, unamused. "Something wrong, Jones?"

"Er..." His eyes darted to Donatello, who seemed stoic, but equally frustrated with this predicament. On one hand, he wanted to argue and beg to be with literally anyone else. On the other, he didn't want to deal with the leader in blue getting annoyed with him.  "Nah Leo, that's fine by me. Right, D?"

Donnie huffed. "Yeah, that's alright."

"I think this will be good for you both." April grinned.

"Of course, April." Donnie agreed.

"No problem at all." Casey smiled through gritted teeth. When she turned away, they both shared an equally menacing glare.

"I knew I could count on you two." April smiled softly, though even she didn't look entirely convinced.

This was going to be a long night.

~•~

Turns out, Casey had underestimated the scrawny (ugh, svelte) turtle. In what Donnie lacked in muscle, he gained with his speed, mobility and of course, his mind. It was practically impossible to keep up once Donatello had leaped from the first building, tumbling and landing with ease, while Casey was coughing his lungs out as he ran desperately after the brainy terrapin.

"Okay, now you're just showing off." He panted irritably, nearly collapsing once he finally caught up with him.

"Are you coming or not?" Donnie gave his trademark gap tooth grin as he turned, slowing down.

"I am! You're just moving too fast!" Casey complained. "I thought turtles were supposed to be slow! I didn't even have time to get my grappling hook."

Donnie shrugged, ending the conversation with one simple movement.

They walked side by side, neither wanting to say anything. They both knew it would only end in arguing.

"Can I just say-" Casey started.

"No, you can't."

"I didn't say anything!"

"Exactly."

"Listen, Gap Tooth, I don't like this either!" He flicked a stone off the roof with his shoe. "But we have to ..." He swallowed. "work together, right?"

Donnie said nothing. He looked deep in thought.

"Is it because of April? Because it's not my fault she...y'know likes me more."

At the mention of April, Donnie turned away, eyes flashed with hurt, which only filled Casey with that annoying feeling of guilt.

"It isn't about her."

"Alright." Silence. "Sorry, let's just-" He cleared his throat. "Let's just work together, we don't need to be friends. Just get through the mission. After that, we can go back to hating each other."

"That was...surprisingly mature, Jones. Glad we can agree on something." Donnie quipped. "And for once, you're right. This mission is more important than our petty squabbles. No matter how insufferable you may be."

"Now you're just making up words."

Donnie fought the urge to roll his eyes. "So, that's two more hours of this."

Casey scoffed, but couldn't help but chuckle. Quietly of course. Last thing he wanted was for Donnie to think he was actually amusing.

"So...deal?"

"Deal." Donnie said, then added: "Cave Mouth." Which made Casey shove him lightly.

For a brief moment, they seemed to share a mutual understanding. The silence that followed wasn't awkward or forced, it was comfortable. Well, as comfortable as they could possibly be.

Donnie paused, startled by something. Lifting his bō carefully, he tried to follow whatever the sound was.

"What the-" Casey raised an eyebrow.

"Shh!" He hissed. "Do you hear that?"

"No?" Casey scrunched his nose, listening closely. It sounded like a...buzzing noise? Like a fly or mosquito. Irritating, but not dangerous. "Chill Don, it's just a bug or something."

"No, listen!" The turtle looked frantic and alert.

The buzzing became louder. Then, it was followed by the sound of snapping wood. Deliberate and exact. Casey gulped, taking his own weapon.

A massive shadow flew over their heads and landed in front of them. Donnie yelped in surprise, stumbling forward.

"Ah, shell." He swore, lifting his head to face the hideous insectoid mutant with acid green eyes. Scumbug spread his deformed wings, antenayes raised, prepared to strike.

"Well, I was right. That definitely is a bug. Scumbug! Wicked! This'll be fun!" Casey sneered.

"Which makes no sense, considering stag beetles aren't even bugs! They're insects!" Donnie spun his staff like a propeller, hitting the mutant face on.

"Not the time!" Casey tackled Scumbug, who roared, jostling him aside like a ragdoll. He smacked the floor with a sickening thud, directly on his arm. He fought back a scream of agony.  "Do you- gah- seriously have to be such a know it all, all the time?" He looked at his arm, which currently looked seriously messed up.

Donnie looked affronted. "I am not a know it all!"

"Yes you are!" Another whack of his trusty hockey stick, followed by a knock to the ground, face first. He wiped his mouth from the metallic taste of blood.

"No I'm not!"

"Yes you- Donnie, look out!" Casey shrieked, sounding less manly than he intended.

Scumbug, now furious, had efficiently used his enemies' bickering to his advantage. Before he could turn around, a spider web twirled from its appendages binding Donatello to the ground, who kicked and struggled furiously.

The mutant now crouched over the captured turtle, prepared to strike with his signature acid spit.

"Hang on, D! Casey Jones is here to save the day! GOONGALA!" He bellowed, racing towards Scumbug and latching onto him like a demented parasite. It was hardly the most graceful of moves, but it distracted him briefly.

He raised his hockey stick, poking him hard in the eye in an attempt to gouge them. Eyes were sensitive- he remembered Splinter telling him that.

With the extra time, Donnie reached for his bō, ripping the web apart with the extended naginata blade.

Scumbug, now looking more disheveled and horrifically disfigured than normal, retreated blindly into the misty air.

"I didn't need your help." Donnie said bitterly.

"Aw, is that any way to say thank you?" Casey retorted. "I just saved your shell." He poked his plastron roughly. "I think I deserve a little appreciation for my heroism."

"I had it handled."

"Did you? Because you looked just about ready to be eaten by Scumbug."

Donatello scowled, moving closer. "And he got away. So your heroism didn't exactly work, did it?"

"Would you rather have acid stuck to your face?" Casey growled. "You'd look even freakier than you do now. Next time you're a little 'turtle in distress' don't expect me to come save your-"

"I didn't need saving." Their foreheads pressed together, any moment ready to face each other on.

Casey gritted his teeth. "Sure, whatever you say. I didn't help because I actually cared about you or anything."

"Then why did you?" Donnie snapped, pulling away. "You could have left me."

"Because I- you- argh!" Casey felt his temper rising. "Because I'm not a monster, alright? We're a team, and we help each other. That's the deal." He wiped his chapped lips again, the disgusting taste of blood still lingering. He winced, clutching his arm.

"I can patch you up at the lair." Donnie said softly. "It just looks sprained."

"Mm." Casey grumbled, still pissed. Stubbornness was taking over any injury he had. He'd rather have his arm stay at this awkward angle than admit he was hurt in front of his rival. "I'll just wrap it up at home. I'll be fine."

Donnie sighed, raising his palm to his face. "Don't be so stubborn, I can help you."

Casey didn't look convinced.

"To repay the favor?" His warm brown eyes looked surprisingly sincere. "You did help me, after all. I'd probably be toast if you didn't."

Casey snorted. "You got that right."

A beat. Donnie looked unsure, as if he wanted to say something else. But whatever it was, it was holding him back.

"So...we should go back to the lair then?" Casey suggested, easing the awkwardness.

"Huh? Yes, of course. Totally. " Donnie nodded. "Naturally."

"Alright then."

"Jones?"

Casey turned, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"I just wanted to say...thanks."

"Hey, no problem. But don't tell anyone I saved your ass."

"Deal."

~•~

Casey never expected to be sitting in Donnie's lab table, in between Timothy the blob-organ filled mutant and several bunsen burners, but life tended to be weird that way. He also didn’t expect to be pouting on said table like he was at some freaky doctor’s office. The rest of the team returned shortly after them, and seemed surprised that Donnie was actually willing to fix Casey's arm- and not begrudgingly.

Donnie returned with a first aid kit, setting it on the table. He hummed a familiar tune to himself, as if to fill the empty air of any more awkwardness.

"I've seen these before." Casey said, poking the bunsen burner tap, immediately then swatted away by Donatello. "At my school's science lab."

Donnie nodded, rolling up Casey's sleeve to examine his bare arm. Casey flinched, not comfortable with the random act of touching. "Hey don't!"

"Do you want your arm fixed or not?"

"...yeah."

"Then let me work my magic."

Casey frowned, staring at the bottle the turtle was holding. "Your magic looks like antibiotics and advil."

Donnie's lip twitched.

After his arm was treated somewhat, Donnie wrapped him up gently with a clean bandage. The slow movement made his heart race increase every time Donnie's fingertips brushed his arm, but he ignored it.

Don't be weird, Jones.

"That should be good. Don't put any pressure on it." said Donnie, passing him the advil. "And take this, it'll soothe the pain."

Casey pretended to look offended. "Here I thought you were gonna kiss it better."

Donnie rolled his eyes up to the ceiling. "Don't push it, Jones. We aren't there yet."

Casey laughed. "Yet. Thanks for fixin' my arm, D. You...aren't so bad, I guess. But let's go back to hating each other, alright?"

Donnie smirked. "Whatever you say."

[lokifantasies]

The Trial PART 1

Summary: The long awaited trial against Evan Nichols has started, and the foundation of the case against him has been laid out.

WARNING: GRAPHIC TORTURE AND SEXUAL ABUSE EXPLAINED.

Character(s): Loki, Thor, Jade, & Evan

Read the Mischievous Life series here!

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The trial is here. It's the day that your family has been waiting for since this whole nightmare started. Unfortunately, Loki and Jade are both adamant that you remain on bed rest for the sake of the growing baby, and you ultimately end up losing the argument when you try to force them to let you come. Loki assures you that he'll be by her side for the both of you – supporting her the entire time.

In the back of your mind, you know the stress of hearing and seeing the evidence would be too much for you, and no one wants to see anything happen to your baby. Thankfully, Thor also appears to support his niece and brother – sitting on Jade's right as Loki sits on her left.

"I don't wanna see him," Jade mutters – looking down to the floor when Evan walks into the courtroom with his parents.

The teenager looks like he's injured – his leg has a slight limp, and his eye is swollen and dark. However, the seventeen-year-old has a smug smile on his face – his ego being stroked when he sees the television cameras on him. He takes his seat in between his lawyers, and they group together to discuss something quietly. Loki, Thor, and Jade try their hardest to hear what they're saying, but they're speaking far too quietly.

"I don't understand how he could have a defense," Thor says to you and Loki. "How can anyone deny that he did what he did?"

You shrug. "I don't know, Uncle Thor. I just want this to be over with."

The prosecution begins their opening statement by laying out all the facts of the case and making it clear what Evan Nichols is being tried for. His charges are as follows:

- 1st degree aggravated kidnapping

- 1st degree sexual assault (with forcible penetration)

- 1st degree sodomy

- Conspiracy to commit a kidnapping

- Conspiracy to commit a felony

- Felony stalking

- Harassment

- Attempted murder

- False imprisonment

- Assault with a deadly weapon

The first few witnesses to testify are the first responders who saved Jade from the small space she was being held in.

"Could you please state your name for the court and how you became involved in this case?" the prosecutor, Mr. Jeff Bards, began to question the officer.

"Brian David Wilson. I'm an NYPD SWAT officer who responded to the 911 call to 4892 E Graves Road," the witness explains.

"What happened upon arriving at the address?"

The officer took a deep breath before speaking. "We, the SWAT team, forced our way inside the house, and we started searching. I began to hear some muffled pleas for help, and when I followed them, I came across the fake wall in the home's basement. After removing the fake wall, I discovered that there was a small crawl-space type room."

"Can you confirm what the photo on the screen is?" Mr. Bards asks – a photo of the tiny, dark space where Jade had been held showing up on the screen.

"Yes, that is the crawl-space," he confirms

"And where was Ms. Lokisdottir located?"

"She was located in the back corner of the crawl space. She came out from hiding when she saw me, and I pulled her out of the space," officer Wilson stops to take a deep breath and gather his thoughts – trying to push his feeling aside. "Afterward, I carried her out of the house and to the ambulance that was waiting outside."

There's silence as the officer exits the witness stand – looking towards Jade and Loki as he goes to take his seat in the rows. The other officers testify – stating similar things to what the first one did. Then, everyone hears the fateful words.

"The prosecution calls Jade Pandora Lokisdottir to the stand, please."

Loki and Thor wrap their arms around the shaking sixteen-year-old – remind her that they're right there, and if she needs to, just look at them and they'll help her.

"You can do this, my love," Loki says softly. "Just pretend you're having a conversation."

"Okay," Jade nervously breathes out.

Thor hugs his niece close before she stands up. "You are so strong, Jade...just like your parents. You got this."

Jade exhales and nods – trying to walk up to the witness stand without falling. On the way, she refuses to look at the defense's side of the courtroom – disgusted as to how anyone could defend Evan.

Oh well, everyone has a right to a defense.

For a moment, Jade looks towards Evan. A smirk appears on her face when she sees his injuries – wondering who she needs to thank for the revenge. Before Jade turns her attention away, Evan takes the chance to blow a kiss towards her – excited to watch the goddess relive the nightmare he put her through.

"Could you please state your name for the court?" the prosecutor asks – looking directly at Jade.

"Um," Jade's voice is soft against the microphone. "Jade...Pandora Lokis-Lokisdottir."

"And can you tell the court how you came to know the defendant?"

Jade takes a deep breath and exhales – looking towards Loki and Thor for support. "Ye-yes. Um, we met at the mall when my parents took me shopping before the school year started. That weekend, we went out on a date, and then we started dating."

"Were you and the defendant ever sexual?

"Not...really," Jade answers. "Um, we only ever had oral sex, but that's it. I wa-wasn't comfortable with ever going any further than that."

"So, there was never any consensual sexual intercourse?"

"No."

"How long were you and the defendant dating?"

"Four months."

"During that time, did the defendant act inappropriately towards you in any sort of way?"

Jade exhales. "Yes. The last night we hung out together, he tried to force himself on me, but he ran away and drove off when I yelled for my dad."

"Ms. Lokisdottir, can you walks us through the day of September 3rd?"

Jade shakes her head and exhales nervously – looking towards Loki and Thor for their support. This is the first time she's ever spoken about what happened to her, and hopefully, it'll be the last.

"I was...at school, and Evan told me he wanted to speak with me privately, so I followed him out into the parking lot to smoke marijuana and talk in his car. When we got to his car, though, he locked the doors, and he took off from the parking lot." Jade swallows hard before continuing. "Um...I begged for him to stop and turn around – just let me go back to school, and I wouldn't tell anyone. But he didn't. He kept driving – pulling a knife from under his driver's seat and holding it to my throat. I tried to do as he said – hoping that he'd let me go, but he never calmed down. When we arrived at his house, no one was home. H-he led me into the basement and pulled a dresser away from the wall. It was a secret room behind the wall, and he made me...uh...he made me take all of my clothes off, so I was completely nude. He put a collar around my neck, and he connected it to a bolt in the floor so that I couldn't move much. He left for, I guess a couple hours, and he left me in the dark room. I remember how cold it was. It was freezing...especially since I didn't have any clothes. When he came back, he started to...do things."

"Could you explain what things were done to you by the defendant?"

Jade's eyes begin to tear up – her breathing becoming staggered as she thinks about how to word the horrific abuse she had been put through. The looks of support from Loki and Thor, however, give her a strength that she didn't know she had.

"There was...a metal bar," Jade begins quietly – biting her bottom lip to keep her thoughts going. "He had a long lighter with him, and he started to heat the bar up. He was laughing when he pressed the hot metal to my thigh – smiling at me while I screamed in pain as my skin started to burn. There's still a burn scar on my left thigh. When the bar finally cooled down, he threw it to the side. He grabbed me by the chain leash and forced me down to my knees. With his other hand, he...took his penis out of his pants and pried by mouth open. He grabbed the back of my head and used my mouth to get himself off. No matter how much I cried, and begged, and pleaded, he didn't stop. He found it entertaining. It turned him on." Jade looks out to see Loki and Thor becoming angrier by the second, but they're trying their best to remain calm for Jade's sake – knowing that they need to be her support. "After he was...finished, he uh, forced me to lie on the dirty floor. I tried to keep my legs closed, but he punched me in the face, which caused me to jump. Before I could try to close my legs again, Evan had them spread, and he began to...force his mouth...on me. I felt his teeth bite me, and I knew I was bleeding, but it seemed to turn him on even more. H-h-he reached over and grabbed the metal rod again, and h...I'm sorry...can I just...a moment?"

"Take your time," the prosecutor assures Jade – maintaining a professional composure.

Jade exhales deeply – closing her eyes and trying to gather her courage to continue.

"H-he began to use the metal rod to...assault me. He shoved it inside me – giving me cuts and bruises. I was bleeding, but he continued to thrust it in and out of me until he was satisfied. I thought he would finally be done, and I thought he'd take me home, but then I felt him begin to...insert himself...his...penis...into me. I tried to kick him off, but he held my legs as tight as he could to stop me from moving. It...I'm pretty sure he was trying to cause me pain. Finally, I stopped fighting – wanting him to just hurry up and let me go. I tried to stop crying because I didn't want him to be anymore satisfied with himself, but when I felt his fingers start to go into...the other side, I started fighting again. He pulled me up by the chain, and he forced me to look into his eyes. I remember he said that I was now his slut, and he was going to break me until I learned to love it. After a couple of minutes...he...ejaculated into me, which later resulted in a pregnancy. Evan was still wanting more though, so he turned me over and held my face to the floor as he entered my backside. Again, ignoring my cries and screams for him to stop. I lost track of how many times he did this...I think I may have blacked out or something, or maybe my brain made me forget in order to protect me from the memory, but the next thing I remember was being alone, redressed, and I heard the police officers calling out for me."

"Thank you, Ms. Lokisdottir," the prosecutor says with a proud smile.

[bookishofalder]

Celebrity Swingers Club

Request: @bbarton -hi!! could i request adam driver x reader <3 they are dating and one night they go out or something and someone starts hitting on the reader aggressively and he gets very protective and jealous :)

A/N: Honestly the idea for this stemmed from a random and hilarious conversation I was having with my friend the other day. I wanted to keep this one light and silly, so I hope it makes you smile!  🥰

Warnings: Dash of SMUT, language. 

Adam was missing you today, even though he’d seen you mere hours ago, wrapped in his arms in bed at the hotel. And you were on set today as well, even. But this happened towards the end of filming, for a lot of actors. The inevitable mixture of melancholy, pride, restlessness and exhaustion. It was exacerbated by being on location, though he had to admit of all the locations he’d been to for a film, he had little to complain about here in Hawaii.

But nearing the end of filming meant that time became more constrained, and you and he saw less of one another. He supposed it was part of the honeymoon phase, after all, you’d only been married about 5 months before production started on this latest project.

Today, he just wanted to see you, even if just for a short while.

So when they called lunch, he was quick to depart the set and make a beeline for the cafe, where he had two orders of lunch preordered for pickup. He thanked the staff, having a brief conversation with the cafe crew about how much he had to bribe them for the recipe to his favourite meal (seriously, it was one of the best dishes he’d ever encountered, but they wouldn’t give it up!). With a laugh and a shrug of defeat, he said his goodbyes and started toward the makeup trailers.

He figured you’d be working with your assistant to tidy up from the morning, as many fake injuries were needed for the scenes they were filming. You complained that these left your workstations a disaster. But he knew you loved creating the wounds, a macabre alternative to the glamour or ‘regular’ looks you specialized in. It had been alarming the first time he’d walked in on you in the bedroom you shared at home to find you looking at horrifically graphic photos and making notes.

As he approached your trailer, your assistant, Bailey, was making her way hurriedly down the steps. Adam greeted her with a wide grin. “Hey Bailey, sneaking away?”

“Sneaking away is accurate, Carter is in there,” She replied, her lips set in a thin line, “Seriously, I know he means well, but he really is a bit much.”

Adam nodded in understanding, as he too found the young actor a little...obnoxious. And while Adam had no illusions to his idiosyncrasies and perpetual ‘asshole’ persona; he still made a point of not falling into conversation with Carter. It was tiring, as the kid would speak non-stop, jumping from topic to topic so quickly it gave his listeners whiplash, and when he’d finish, he’d merely take a breath and launch into another speech unless he was cut off.

But he was a good enough kid and a great actor. Someone that, professionally, Adam was happy to work with. Just like Bailey, however, he had his limits when it came to patience in dealing with Carter offset. And Adam knew his wife all too well, he knew you were in the trailer, abandoned by Bailey, being an absolute gem to the kid. Letting him talk your ear off while you no doubt worked to get your station fully tidied before being called to set after lunch for touch-ups.

“Well, I’d better go rescue her, I’ll see you later.” He sighed, and Bailey gave him a sympathetic, knowing smiling before running off.

You kept your trailer especially cool, which Adam had always appreciated. You said it was for your art, but he also knew you did it for him, as he always ran a lot warmer than most. Stepping inside, he first turned left toward the dining area and set the food boxes down on the table. When he glanced around and didn’t see you in the main room, he made his way to the door that led into the meeting room, which had a large sink that you used for cleaning off your palettes and brushes. The door was halfway cracked and as Adam stepped up, he heard Carter’s voice.

“Honestly, totally no big deal, (y/n). Married, single, divorced-whatever,” Adam was right at the door now, looking in he saw your back, shoulders rigid in a way that he knew meant you were uncomfortable, and pointedly washing off a palette with determined vigour. “You’re fit, and I’m an honest person, so I just wanted to put it out there. You could even ask Adam if you-“

Leaning against the door frame, Adam slid the pocket door the rest of the way open, his eyes focused on Carter. “Ask Adam what?” His voice low, he was trying to control his temper-he didn’t want to jump to conclusions.

Carter had broken off the moment he saw Adam in the doorway, mouth slightly open in surprise. “Oh, hey Adam!” He quickly rearranged his expression to a more pleasant one.

But when you spun around and Adam saw the genuine relief flush across your face, his heart rate increased. He crossed his arms, inwardly happy that he was still wearing only a t-shirt, his muscles flexing slightly.

“Ask me what, Carter.”

The kids’ eyes widened, “I was, well, I mean I was saying to (y/n)-“

Adam cut him off again, “My wife. You were saying to my wife.” Out of the corner of his eye, Adam could see you biting back a smile.

Carter stuttered, “Yes! Of course, I was saying-to your wife-that I’d be down for a, you know,” He shrugged, though his tense posture and wide eyes gave away how utterly not calm he was, “Some fun, Hollywood style, uh, fun.”

At this, Adam frowned with confusion, glancing between Carter and you, and you rolled your eyes, “He means sex. You know, like how all celebrities are here for a good time, so we can swap partners and have sex parties and all that fun stuff we do on weekends.”

Adam’s eyes snapped to Carter, who visibly paled. Gulping he watched as Adam stepped away from the door and into the room, his eyes narrowed. “You asked my wife to fuck? Are you kidding me?” Moving nearer to you, Adam pointed at the door, “Get the fuck out of here, stay the fuck away from my wife, and expect a call from my manager.”

Though his voice had been quiet, the message and severity of his words were all too clear to Carter, who uttered a quick apology before running out of the trailer at full speed. When the door slammed closed behind him, you burst out laughing, peals of giggles that brought a smile to Adam’s face despite his anger.

“Oh god, that poor kid actually thought we had like, celebrity swingers clubs,” You broke down in another fit of giggles, one hand clutching your stomach, and Adam couldn’t help but join in.

After a few minutes, he stepped closer to you and pulled you into his arms, where you rested your head on his chest, your arms snaking around his waist. It hadn’t been the first time he’d encountered someone unabashedly hitting on you, though this was the most unique proposition he thinks you'd been offered.

“That was the first time that one could interpret that I was included in the deal,” He considered aloud, causing you to laugh loudly again. “I’m not sure if I should be more, or less, offended.”

“Carter is a gullible fantasist. I’d put money down that someone told him there was a sex club he was missing out on.”

“If that’s the case,” Adam replied, pulling back slightly to look down at you, “Then whoever told him that is going to get a piece of my mind when I find out who they are. I fucking hate when men hit on you.”

Your gaze softened, a small hand reaching up to stroke his jaw in a soothing motion that always seemed to work on him. “I know, babe,” You whispered, your hand sliding from his jaw to grab the back of his neck, pulling him closer. With your mouth a breath away from his, you added, “I missed you today.” And then your lips pressed to his.

Without hesitation, Adam deepened the kiss, his blood rushing as your mouth opened for him and then he was licking into you, tasting you. A small moan escaped you as you pressed yourself against him, returning his fervour. One of the things he adored about you was the energy that you saved just for him. Every kiss, every touch, they were always fire, always intense and needy. You kissed him like it was the first time, every time, no matter how tired you might be, how hard you might have worked that day.

He broke the kiss, pressing his forehead to yours, each of you panting. “I love you, sweet girl.”

“Love you too, big.” You murmured, your lips wrapping seductively around the nickname you had for him. He smiled, reaching his hands up to cup your face, thumbs stroking the soft skin.

“I brought lunch, by the way.”

You pulled back further, leaning around him to look toward the dining table. Eyes lighting up upon seeing the take out containers that held your favourite meal, you glanced between Adam and the food a few times.

“Seeing you get all jealous worked me up,” Your words were thoughtful, brows furrowed in mock consideration, “I think we have time for a quickie before we ea-AH!”

You shrieked a giggle as Adam lifted you up, pressing his lips to yours before seating you on the table. He reached toward the door and quickly shut it, turning the lock, before looking back down at you.

With a dark look in his eyes, he stepped between your legs, hands gripping your shoulders gently, “Might need to leave a mark or two, remind everyone who you belong to.” And then his lips were on your collarbone, biting possessively before his tongue would lave out to soothe the mark. Your hands found his hair, fingers carding through the raven locks as you moaned in delight.

“All yours, big.” You sighed, and Adam smiled against the skin of your chest, his hands dropping to your hips so that he could ease your leggings off and bring your bodies together.

The food would go cold, but the trailer had a microwave. And really, neither of you were all that hungry at the moment, anyway.

Did you enjoy this story? Please consider reblogging or commenting to ease my inner turmoil as a writer. Likes are basically just a bookmark!

[lesetoilesfous]

Hii :3 I love reading your stories Lese? Is it alright if I call you Lese?? I saw that you were taking prompts and are very close to getting a bingo on that last row. Buried Alive for Anders maybe, whenever youre available ofc? Fenders??? :0 hshsjsjskjd

Hey, thank you so much!! I'm happy to be called Lese, I like Les or Kat, but anything works!!! Thank you so much for helping me try to get a bingo, I really hope you enjoy this one!!!

@badthingshappenbingo Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Prompt: Buried Alive

Pairing: Fenders

Characters: Fenris, Anders, Marian Hawke, Varric Tethras

Additional Tags: Graphic Depiction of Injury, Buried Alive, Panic Attack, Trauma Responses, Pre-Relationship, Past Flogging, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending

Word Count: 2,380

Rating: Mature

“I’ve got it, go! GO!” Anders’ voice bellowing is the last thing Fenris hears before the overwhelming thunder of the cavern collapsing around them drowns out everything else.

He feels as if his mind and his body are torn apart as he runs: his legs leaving his conscious control as they’re overtaken by sheer animal instinct to get away from the collapsing mountain, his mind and sweat-stinging eyes full of the image of Anders’ tall, broad body holding his staff over his shoulders and propping up enough of a threshold for his friends to escape. Fenris’ sweating, bloody feet skid on the sandy stone as he’s deafened by the roar, his breath coming in and out of his lungs in great heaves of fresh snow and broken glass. Ahead of him is the ocean: wide and blue and wrinkled, utterly untouched by the chaos on the beach. Varric skids into the sand beside him with Hawke’s hand on the back of his jacket, her bicep tense where she’s half-lifting the dwarf off the ground.

Fenris blinks, turning around, dizzy suddenly with breathlessness and adrenaline as every chemical pumping through his body flushes into his racing mind. He stumbles, and Hawke catches him, deftly, her blue eyes wide and over-alert the way they always are whenever they get into a situation they might not survive. Fenris has seen that expression on soldiers before, and doesn’t doubt she’s carried it with her since Lothering. He neither pulls away nor leans into her touch, and after a moment she drops her hand to rest on her thighs, bending almost double as she heaves in her breath.

Behind them there’s a hissing avalanche of sand, and great scabs of reeds come tumbling down onto the beach as the cavern crumbles. Fenris has seen the devastating effects of gaatlok before, but somehow his memory never fully prepares him for the imminent blast radius. Slowly, terribly slowly, Fenris’ heart starts to slow, and his breathing begins to return to normal. He becomes aware of the sweat drying on his neck, and the salty taste of the sea breeze in his mouth. His ears are still ringing with the thunder of the cavern collapse when he hears a snap.

The sound is sharp as a whip, even through the stormcloud of noise, and Fenris notices Hawke and Varric exchange a startled look out of the corner of his eye in the split second before he starts running. Fenris stumbles to a stop in front of the cave entrance: a mess of black and grey boulders stained with algae and riddled with tumorous molluscs. The stones have cracked open in places, revealing rich layers of red and orange and yellow. Fenris barely notices, he breathes, and coughs on the sand kicked up the collapse, and breathes again before shouting into the mess. “MAGE! MAGE! MAGE! IF YOU YET LIVE, ANSWER ME.”

Fenris stops, and hears his own voice snatched by the wind and away down the dunes. At Hawke’s heels, Dog is whining, frightened by Fenris’ uncharacteristic display of emotion. Hawke puts a hand on Fenris’ shoulders, and he shrugs her off and hates her a little when her mouth falls in a brief moue of sympathy that’s gone when he blinks. She climbs up the rocks a little, one boulder reaching halfway up her torso. “ANDERS! ANDERS, ARE YOU IN THERE?”

There’s an ominous rumble, and a skittering rain of gravel and sand tumbles down the boulders. Varric clears his throat. “Go easy on the yelling, you two. We don’t want to make it worse.”

Fenris turns to him, seized by a sudden, terrible blade of hope that skewers his heart and twists in it. “Varric. What do we do?”

Varric raises an eyebrow at him. “I grew up on the surface, remember? Your guess is as good as mine.”

Anger, sudden and red, floods behind Fenris’ eyes. “That’s not good enough!” His voice rings against the rocks, and Varric purses his lips. Hawke steps between them.

“Quietly, remember? Come on, if we start moving this lot now then -” She doesn’t finish. Doesn’t say, if he’s unconscious, he might have a chance. Doesn’t say, we could get him before he bleeds out. Doesn’t say, there’s no way we can stop him suffocating, now.

Fenris nods, more relieved than he wants to admit at finally having something to do. He starts grabbing rocks, randomly at first - until one boulder grinds down onto his hand and he has to bite his arm til it bleeds to stop himself from screaming. After that it’s slow, terrible work, one rock at a time, for hours, as the bright blue sky above them bleeds to gray to welcome a hot, muggy evening and black stinging bugs emerge from the dunes to nip curiously at their burning skin.

Fenris’ knuckles are aching, and his palms are chafed raw, scratched and bleeding by the time they get through. Hawke is little better, her knuckles scraped and bruised. Even Dog is covered in a thick layer of dust, and Varric has lain Bianca reverently beside a dune with his jacket and rolled up his sleeves, an expression of uncharacteristic severity on his face as he frowns at the boulders.

The first thing they find is his staff. Fenris knows it wasn’t important to him - had seen how easily Anders had dropped one staff for another, stolen from a former gangster or some other ne’er-do-well who had had the misfortune to attack them. But there’s still something terribly simple about the snapped, useless wood when they find a splintered shaft in the rubble. Fenris blinks, and sees Anders, wide shoulders braced by that staff as he held up the collapsing ceiling, hair thick with dust and rubble. He swallows against his dry throat, sore with rock dust, and keeps moving rubble.

The sky is bleeding red by the time they find him. Dog finds him first, yelping and then whining as she scrabbles at the dust. Fenris thinks, distant, numb in his shock and delayed grief, that Anders would be surprised to learn the hound cared. But then he’s there, his feet having moved him again, without thought, and he’s crouching to lift a great splintered boulder out of the way, and his toes touch soft hair and Fenris nearly cries out. As it is, he dumps the boulder and rushes forward.

Anders is pinned between a series of rocks. His eyes are open and his hand is purple and covered with cherry red blood. Blood seeps out between the boulders around him, and his nose and mouth are thick with it. His eyes are wide open and staring, and for an awful, awful heartbeat Fenris thinks he’s dead. But then the low, soft sound of murmuring reaches him over the constant sound of the sea. “Letmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeoutletmeout.”

Fenris drags on the lyrium sewn into his skin and for the first time in his known life finds himself thanking the Maker, or Andraste, or the Creators, for this hideous, agonising ability. He plunges his hands through the thick stone of the rock, and wraps his fingers around a horrifically mangled mass that he thinks is one of Anders’ shoulders, and pulls.

Anders screams - an awful, hoarse thing that breaks on the way out of his split lips. But he’s out, and in the dirt, and breathing, and Fenris doesn’t think before he pulls the man into his arms and holds him so tightly his arms hurt. Fenris’ tattoos are still glowing, star-bright in the growing dark, and his muscles feel locked in place as he buries his face in Anders’ shoulder and breathes in the stink of sweat and piss and blood. He doesn’t care. He holds Anders so hard he’s shivering. He can’t shake the idea that if he lets go, even a little, he’ll forget how to breathe.

After several long minutes, in which Fenris’ muscles become so tense they ache like a bruise, Anders comes back into himself, slumping into Fenris’ arms. The movement jostles his mangled shoulder, and he whimpers, and Fenris’ arms tighten around him, as if a simple embrace will stop the pain. When Anders starts to cry, softly, trembling into Fenris’ shoulder, Fenris realises that his own face is already wet with cold tears that he doesn’t remember crying. Above them, the sky is charcoal and midnight blue, and the first stars are climbing over the sea.

Hawke lights a campfire, and steps closer to touch Fenris’ shoulder. He doesn’t react, but she doesn’t let go until he turns to look at her. Her face is still streaked with dust, and her eyes are red, but there are no signs of tear tracks that he can see in the dark. Her strong jaw is tense when she says, firmly, “We need to deal with his injuries.” Her face softens, slightly, as she adds, “You can hold him again, after.”

Slowly, feeling as if he’s been petrified in place and is now trying to coax stone, Fenris stiffly uncurls his arms. Anders doesn’t do or say anything, though his breathing hitches at the movement of his mangled arm. Fenris pushes his dusty hair out of his face, trying to avoid a thick gash across his forehead. “Mage. We need to look at your injuries.”

Anders looks at him slowly, his brown eyes almost gold in the firelight. He nods, and Fenris moves his hand to gently begin the process of peeling his blood-encrusted coat away from his skin. Anders clenches his teeth, his jaw thick with stubble full of dust, and breathes in long, shaking breaths as Fenris moves the filthy leather. When he gets to the worst of it - a place where Anders’ coat and shirt are black with blood and concave as they’ve been pushed into his body, Fenris grits his teeth. “One - two -” Before he says three, Fenris rips the coat free, causing Anders to cry out and topple forward. Fenris catches him on his good shoulder, and behind Anders, Hawke and Varric’s faces go pale.

“Blood and ashes.” Varric murmurs, looking sick. Anders’ breath starts coming faster in short, shallow pants. Fenris rushes forward, brushing his cheek with his thumb, fingers curled around his ear.

“It’s alright. It’s alright. We’ve got you.”

It takes Hawke an hour to get the debris out of the torn, broken mess of Anders’ shoulder blade. When she’s done, there’s a thin sheen of sweat across her pale skin and she looks older than she has since Bethany joined the Wardens. The fire is low and red, but Varric keeps wandering off to fetch more driftwood. There’s a small pile of shattered stone and bone on the sand that Hawke buries almost immediately. Dog is lying down beside her master, sandy head on her great paws, whining occasionally when Anders huffs a soft sound of pain. Fenris is trying, hard, not to stare at the canvas of familiar scars exposed by their impromptu operation, glittering silver in the dark like a crosshatch tattooed across Anders’ freckled back.

The sea laps softly at the beach behind them, and around them the dunes hiss with the breeze. Hawke looks at Fenris, “That’s all I can do, for now. Hopefully his mana will be back tomorrow and he’ll be able to heal the rest.” She swallows, thickly. “I knew I should’ve brought Merrill.”

Between them, Anders is all but unconscious, lying on his front, naked down to his waist, skin covered in newly cleaned cuts and bruises. Fenris stares at him for a long moment, running his fingers through the other man’s hair. He thinks he’s trying to comb the dust out, but it’s not doing much and it’s more of a nervous habit than anything. He breaks the sighing silence between them. “It’s not your fault.”

Hawke says nothing, sitting back on the other side of the fire and staring at the shifting sea, gilded with silver by the moon. The fire licks gold and rubies across her skin. She bends her knees, and rests her elbows on them, pressing her forehead to her skin and breathing for several long moments. Fenris waits. He knows he won’t be sleeping much tonight, anyway. Eventually, Hawke turns her head to the side, still resting on the pillow of her forearms. “I didn’t know you were close.”

Fenris’ fingers pause in their combing of Anders’ hair. But after two heartbeats, the discomfort of not reminding himself that the man beside him is still alive is greater than compromising whatever bud of new life they’d been nurturing between them. He bites the inside of his cheek to try and wake himself up from the distant feeling of grief and shock. “It...has not been happening for long. But I think the feelings which led to it have been growing for some time.” A shadow of a smile touches the corner of his lips. “Perhaps it has been growing since the day we met.” Hawke snorts, and Fenris’ ghost of a smile grows into something honest when he looks at her, and more than a little self deprecating. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

Hawke shrugs, the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth softening as she looks at him. “Oh, I don’t know. Opposites attract.”

Fenris snorts, then, and Dog looks up with a hiccoughing huff to see what they’re coughing at. Fenris leans forward, feeling the heat of the fire licking up his sides as he scratches Dog’s soft head. She whines, and yawns, baring a series of black and yellow teeth. Fenris leans further, and digs his fingertips behind the warm velvet of her ears. Dog’s tail thumps softly against the sand. Fenris looks up when he feels Hawke watching him. Her blue eyes are like bottled lightning in the dark. “You’re a good man, Fenris.”

Fenris gives her a tight smile, trying to stifle the pain behind it, and sits back, moving to drag a blanket out of his pack and lay it lightly over Anders. Anders huffs, and sighs in his sleep, face creasing in pain when he moves onto his shoulder. Fenris cards his fingers through his hair until the wrinkles ease, before looking back up at Hawke and saying, honestly. “So is he.”

[musewrangler]

In honor of OT Week here’s a little one shot I wrote a while back. My favorite film is The Empire Strikes Back.

This story is entitled— Piett’s Promotion

(In my work, the Lady is sentient and Veers didn’t die on Hoth)

He lost track of how many hours he had spent on the bridge, ruthlessly clamping down on his emotions. He had hated the man, it was true. And had suffered at his hands. But he had not ever wished that death upon him. He could still hear Ozzel’s wet chokes and see his bulging eyes, mere feet from himself. That last, desperate gurgle as he turned toward Piett-- as though the Captain could do anything against the Force. The thud of his body---it sounded like someone had dropped a bag of meat on the deck.

Lord Vader on the holoscreen, dispassionately squeezing the life from the man and calmly informing Piett what he wanted done with the fleet.

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

So he went through the motions of being in command. Of taking reports. Checking duty rosters. Speaking to the morgue about the disposal of Ozzel’s body. Force . Writing to his family, because someone should.

Then---the asteroid field. His Lady, his fleet now, going to their destruction. And he had tried.

Three years he had worked with Vader and he had watched the obsession for finding Skywalker grow. Say what you would about Vader, and people did, he had seemed to genuinely care about Death Squadron, about the men and ships that served him faithfully. And he was being ordered to take that Squadron to their deaths, throw all that away, to find that damn ship.

So he had tried. He knew his life was forfeit. He went to Vader. His bridge crew clearly believed he would not return from that meeting. Veers had commed him as he walked to Vader’s quarters and begged him not to go. But he had to. For the sake of the men. For the sake of his Lady. And was told it was not an excuse. Vader was willing for the Lady, the pride of the fleet, his flagship, to be horrifically damaged, if not destroyed, in this obsessive quest.

The only moment in his entire career that Piett appreciated hearing from the Emperor happened just in time.

They had moved out of the asteroid field and Piett had an entirely new burden as damage reports flooded his datapad and alarms blared around the Lady’s bridge. So he did what he had to---he ordered repairs, he checked casualty reports, at one point, he personally had his hands in some of the Lady’s wiring, repairing damage to her bridge deflector shield.

And then…..

Avenger reported they had her.

Piett had served with Needa at one point. They weren’t quite friends, they hadn’t had time for that, but he liked the man and thought he was a good officer. And a good man.

So good that he felt he needed to shield his men from Vader’s unpredictable wrath. And for the second time in 48 hours, Piett had to stand by as another larynx was crushed and this time, Vader mocked his prey.

Apology accepted Captain Needa.

And all of Piett’s emotions must be silenced. Because he had his own men to think of. If he was to die, some other poor bastard would be Admiral. He would rather kill himself trying to save them than have Vader crush his throat.

At some point, and he genuinely couldn’t say when in the eternity he experienced, Captain Kelly had walked up to his side, carefully removed the datapad he found he’d been clenching in his hands, and quietly murmured, “Admiral, I have the bridge. Please sir, go and rest.”

Piett had stared at him a beat and then realized that he was being given a reprieve.

“You have the bridge, Captain,” he’d said in automatic tones that must have been his and then he was turning to walk as straight and confident as he could toward the blast doors.

First hurdle cleared, he made it to the turbolift where he allowed himself to lean against the wall for support.

There had been a time when he thought that Vader actually gave a damn about his men. That he was building something which Piett was proud to be part of. But this consuming obsession…..

His deck. He felt as though he was watching someone else as his boots moved slowly toward the Admiral’s quarters---his quarters.

Someone other than himself (perhaps Captain Kelly) had ordered his things transported here, and Ozzel’s removed. He could still smell the chemicals that the cleaning crew had used, to prepare it for their new admiral. He wondered if the smell would have faded by the time the next admiral was installed here. For he had no illusions. His death was coming swiftly in this mad chase for Skywalker.

One of his miniature trees was tipped over. In automatic response, he carefully righted it, scooping the dirt back in with his fingers. They were trembling.

Force. He needed a drink. He didn’t care if he was commed---he was going to die anyway, might as well add some liquid courage to face it.

He stumbled to the cabinet and found his liquor collection neatly put away. He found the strongest one he had--something from Dathomir--- and a glass, and poured it full, cursing the shaking in his hands as it spilled on the floor.

He stumbled to his sofa and sat, taking a long fiery drink, and then set the glass on the table, and managed to remove his hat and gloves. He unfastened the top of his duty jacket and found himself gazing at his very gleaming brand new Admiral bars.

Kriff it. He’d hated Ozzel but this had not been the way he wanted a promotion. Six hundred men had died today as a direct result of travelling through an asteroid field.

Dear family, I’m so sorry to write to you to inform you of the death of your son/father/brother. They were pulverized by a completely unnecessary asteroid trip because our commander has lost his kriffing mind over a Rebel pilot.

Piett took another long drink and poured another. As he made a good start on it, the lights of his quarters dipped into indigo.

He laugh/sobbed. “Yes lady, I am sad. That word…….doesn’t begin to cover what I’m feeling I’m afraid.”

Icey blue light--her color for fear. “Yes, literally afraid. I’m likely going to be dead soon….” He put the glass down again and buried his face in his hands.

The Lady. What would happen if he died next? Would Vader take care of her? Today’s actions didn’t seem to indicate that he would. Piett had to find a way to survive. Someone had to try and stand between Vader’s madness and this ship and crew.

The icey blue was flashing at him as he lifted his face and he realized that she was frightened at his words.

“I’m sorry….I’m sorry, Lady, I will do my best not to be. Lord Vader is….can you sense that he is not….right?”

Her regular lights flashed. <Yes>

He finished his glass and his head swam.

“Lady, if…..if…..I can’t, then you must take care of this crew. Do not let Lord Vader hurt you, do you understand?”

And that was dangerously close to treason, even in his rather intoxicated ears.

She flashed her lights and gave him indigo again.

“I’m sorry, Lady, but you need to be prepared, if I……” he reached for the bottle again, and suddenly strong hands were taking it from him, and he followed the hands with his eyes up to the deeply compassionate gaze of the General.

“Enough, Firmus.” He set the bottle somewhere out of sight and came around the sofa to kneel in front of Piett and begin undoing his duty jacket.

The Admiral’s swimming brain was struggling now, between the alcohol and the exhaustion of terror.

“Max. You’re in sickbay.” He raised a finger to point at him. “You will be in soooooo much trouble with Henley.”

“I discovered today, much to my shock,” Veers began, helping Piett shrug out of the jacket and reaching for his boots next, “that underneath multiple layers of baked on cynicism and appalling condescension, the Doctor might possibly have a heart. When he heard you were on a path to throw yourself between Vader and this crew, he let me go early. And your Lady got my attention a short while ago by blinding me with that white light she’s chosen for you.”

The General had finished wrestling off his boots and Piett noted the still pink and healing lines on his face from his injuries on Hoth.

“Now,” said Veers firmly. “I would say congratulations, but this is not the time and I’m so kriffing sorry that it happened this way, Firmus.”

“He was right next to me,” Piett whispered, and found himself irrationally angry that his hands were still shaking. “I need one more drink, Max, I’ve got to keep it together….”

“You do need one more drink, Admiral, but not alcohol.” The General rose and procured a glass of water which he came back and handed carefully to his friend. “That’s an order, drink it all. I found out how long you were on the bridge, and you are no doubt dehydrated. Drinking that much….” he looked back at the bottle, “damn when you go for it, you really do, don’t you? Dathomirian vodka? Yes, more water it is.”

Piett did not like the feeling of crumbling, but it was happening and he couldn’t make it stop. He tried anyway. “Techina---telechni---kriff, technically , I outrank you now, General Veers.”

He saw Max pause and glance at him with an eyebrow raised. “Well. Even plastered, trust you to know your military protocols by heart. That is true, Admiral .”

Piett flinched at the title. Veers relented, getting more water silently and snagging the duvet from the bed in the other room.

Don’t be comforting Max. I can’t. I will break utterly and I don’t think I have time for that.

Another glass of water was shoved into his hands and then his duvet was draped around his shoulders. Veers seated himself close to his friend.

“I know you pretty well now Firmus, would you agree?”

Piett just nodded, drinking the water, letting it slide down a throat that was feeling tighter by the moment.

Like Ozzel’s, like Needa’s.

“So I hope you can trust me enough to believe what I’m going to say.” Veers paused, considering. “A great deal of bantha poodo has occurred in the last several days. Hoth was a success in some ways. But I lost three walkers.”

“I’m sorry, Max I should have….”

“You should have nothing, Firmus. You haven’t had a single second to breathe until now and I know it. My point is, that our commander is…..not what we had hoped. But we both have men under our command and I know that you care about that. If what I overheard you telling the Lady is any indication…..you don’t expect to make it much longer.”

Piett shuddered involuntarily and in a rare move (he must look pathetic) Veers got an arm around him.

“I’m here to tell you, that you must . Keep your head down, follow orders, do your best as you always do, and hope that Lord Vader remembers that you are one of his most competent and loyal officers.”

And he would like to find some shreds of hope in that, he would, but….

“Did you…..” he cleared his throat and gave another attempt. “Did you hear about Needa?”

A pause. Veers sighed. “Yes. Kriff it. Were you there for that too?”

And the throat that was now unbearably tight wouldn’t work for him to make any words, and Piett leaned forward to hide his face in his hands as his shoulders shook.

Veers’ arm tightened around him.

“Get it out here, Firmus, it won’t help to try and bury that. I’ll be here as long as you need.”

You are in command now, Admiral Piett.

[btsqualityy]

Heaven Sent; Part 1

Jin x Reader

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: Minor character death (nothing explicit or descirbed though), grieving families 

Nothing felt necessarily different when you woke up this morning. You woke up in the same bed that you had been sleeping in for the past 6 years, in the same tiny house that you had fallen in love with years prior. You went through your shower routine as usual, and the same happened when you did your makeup and hair. You even struggled to wake your daughter Aera up this morning like you always did, because she loved to sleep in just like her daddy. By all accounts, it was a normal morning.

Except it wasn’t, because today was the day that you were burying your husband and Aera’s father.

“Mommy?” Aera called and you hummed in reply as you put the finishing touches on her ponytails. “Are you almost finished?”

“Just about,” you sighed heavily, grabbing two black ribbons and taking the time to tie each of them around the bases of the two ponytails that were in her hair. Once you were done, you picked Aera up and sat down on the edge of your bed, settling her in your lap.

“We need to have a serious talk really quick, ok Love?” You told her and she nodded her head. “You know how Daddy has passed away and how I explained it to you?”

“Yeah,” she mumbled softly.

“Well, today is going to be the last time that you see him for a long time,” you said and her face instantly bunched up. 

“Not even when I’m a big grown up?” She wondered and you shook your head sadly.

“No, not even then,” you replied as you reached up and brushed back the baby hairs that framed her face. “But I want you to know that it’s ok to be sad or cry if you want to, and that you don’t have to be strong for me or anyone else.”

“Are you going to cry Mommy?” Aera questioned and you smiled sadly, choosing not to lie to her.

“Yeah I am, because I’m sad,” you nodded.

“Ok,” she agreed easily and you hugged her tightly, your chest tightening at the thought of what was to come.

........................................................

The actual service wasn’t that bad, which is something that you had anticipated. It wasn’t until you watched Hae-il’s casket being lowered into the ground that you finally broke down, and it took both your father and Hae-il’s father to haul you away while Aera sat in your mother’s lap, sobbing into her chest. 

After everything was said and done, Hae-il’s parents held a small dinner back at their house and family and friends appeared to offer you their condolences.

“I’m so sorry Y/N-ah,” Yoongi whispered, holding his arms open and you immediately fell into them, hugging him firmly as you hooked your chin over his shoulder. You and Yoongi worked together at the same interior designing firm, and you had been at work with him when you had gotten the call that Hae-il had been involved in a horrific car accident. Yoongi, as well as Taehyung who was another of your coworkers, went with you to the hospital where you found out that Hae-il’s injuries were fatal. 

“How are you holding up?” Taehyung asked after giving you a quick hug as well, and you shrugged lamely.

“I’m barely holding it together and that’s only because of Aera,” you confessed, taking a second to glance across the room, where Hae-il’s mother Eun Ae was trying her hardest to get Aera to eat something. “This is so fucked up for her.”

“Hey, don’t leave yourself out of that,” Yoongi said softly. “You lost someone too.”

“I know but it’s different for her,” you sighed. “She’s so young, I don’t think she really understands even though I’ve explained it to her the best that I know how.”

“It’s gonna take time Y/N-ah,” Taehyung said and you just hummed in reply. Suddenly, you heard a loud squeal and you whipped your head to the side to see Aera sliding down off of Eun Ae’s lap and running across the room. Your eyes followed her to the front door and your eyes widened when you saw Kim Seokjin standing there. 

“Uncle Jin!” You heard Aera cheer, her squeals bouncing throughout the house as Jin picked her up and hugged her to his chest. 

“Guys, give me a sec,” you said and after receiving a nod from Taehyung and Yoongi, you turned and walked over to the door.

“How are you, little heart?” Jin asked Aera and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I’m sad,” she answered truthfully and you saw Jin sigh heavily before nodding his head and gently patting her back with one of his large hands. 

“That’s ok, because today is a sad day,” he told her. He then looked up and saw you walking towards him, and the same sad smile that had been on everyone else’s face whenever they talked to you today was now on his face as well.

“Hi Y/N,” he greeted you and you did your best to smile, leaning forward and giving him a quick one-armed hug. Jin and Hae-il had met in university, becoming close very quickly and remaining as such throughout the years. You had of course met Jin several times but with him living in Japan overseeing the chain of restaurant that his father owned, you and Hae-il rarely saw him over the last 3 or 4 years. He was Aera’s godfather though, and he loved her almost as much as you and Hae-il did. 

“Hey, I didn’t see you at the service,” you muttered and the sad smile on his face turned apologetic. 

“My flight was late so I only caught the tail end of it,” he explained. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. Besides, Hae-il knows how much you cared.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss Y/N,” he said, and it looked like tears were beginning to form in his eyes. However, he quickly recovered and continued. “You guys meant so much to Hae-il.”

“Thank you,” you nodded. “There’s food and stuff here, so feel free to help yourself.”

“Alright.”

“Aera, why don’t you come with me so that Uncle Jin can eat?” You suggested as you reached out for her but she shook her head and snuggled further into Jin’s suit jacket. 

“Wanna stay,” she muttered.

“It’s ok Y/N, I got her,” Jin told you and you raised an eyebrow.

“You sure?” You checked.

“It’s no problem. Besides, I missed my favorite girl,” he smiled, leaning down and kissing the top of Aera’s head. “Did you miss me, little heart?”

“Lots,” she whispered and Jin gave you a small nod as if to say “I told you so” before stepping around you and walking towards the kitchen. As you turned around to watch them, your mother walked up to you. 

“Are you hungry Y/N?” Chae-won asked and you shook your head. “I can make a plate for you if you want.”

“I’m not hungry Mom,” you replied. 

“You sure? I haven’t seen you eat anything today.”

“I’m fine,” you stated firmly and the tone of your voice showed your mom that you didn’t want to keep talking about it, so she let it go.

“Who was that man carrying Aera just now?” She wondered instead.

“That’s Kim Seokjin. He and Hae-il have been close since University and he’s Aera’s godfather,” you explained.

“That’s the uncle Jin that she’s always going on about then,” your mother chuckled. “He must be great with her, because he’s the first person that she’s let hold her today besides us and Hae-il’s parents.”

“He loves her,” you confirmed. A few seconds of silence passed between the two of you then before your mother sighed heavily, and you already knew what she was going to say.

“Y/N, I really wish you would reconsider our offer to let you and Aera move in with us for a while,” Chae-won said. 

“No.”

“You’ve never had to raise Aera alone before and it’s going to be a tough adjustment,” Chae-won continued. “You’re gonna need the support.”

“Maybe so, but I can’t and won’t rip Aera away from the only house that she’s ever grown up in,” you explained. “So much has changed so fast for her, and I don’t want to make any of this harder than it needs to be. Besides, that’s the first house that Hae-il and I bought together and you’re crazy if you think that I’m going to leave it now.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I was trying to-” your mother began to say but you didn’t stick around to hear the rest of her sentence, walking off as you felt the anger coursing through your body. You understood your mother’s intentions, but you also don’t think she understood exactly what it was that she was suggesting. Your house was the place that held the most memories of Hae-il and you would be damned if you were going to leave it now; not when you needed it the most.

........................................................

Once the dinner was over and everyone had left, you took Aera back home to get her ready for bed after the long day. You wanted to keep everything as normal for her as you possibly could, so giving her a bath and struggling to get her to brush her teeth the way that she should went on as they always had. 

“Mommy? I have a question,” Aera told you as you helped her into her bed, pulling her covers back and watching as she climbed inside before sitting on the edge next to her. 

“Yes?”

“Does Daddy love me?” She asked and your eyes widened. 

“Of course he does,” you nodded. “Why would you ask me that Aera?”

“Because he left us and it hurts,” she told you. “You said that if someone loves me, then they wouldn’t hurt me.” You sighed heavily, realizing that your previous attempts to instill some self-worth into your five year old were now backfiring horribly. 

“Well sometimes, people hurt us even though they don’t mean to or want to,” you began. “Daddy didn’t want to leave us and if he had been able to choose, he would’ve stayed.”

“Really?” Aera’s tone sounded doubtful as she asked.

“Really,” you confirmed, thinking for a few seconds before deciding to try a different tactic. “Do you remember what your name means?”

“It means love,” she chirped. “That’s why you call me Love and Uncle Jin calls me little heart.”

“That’s right baby,” you smiled. “Did you know that your daddy chose your name?”

“He did?” She whispered in awe.

“He did and do you wanna know why?” You asked and she nodded her head up and down rapidly.

“Why?”

“Because he loved you as soon as he knew you were in my tummy,” you revealed and her eyes widened.

“That was a long time ago,” she muttered.

“It was,” you chuckled. “So even though we can’t see Daddy anymore, he’s still sending you lots of love.”

“Ok,” she agreed, all of what you said seeming to make sense to her. “I miss Daddy, and his hugs.”

“That’s ok to miss him,” you assured her. “And how about anytime that you want to hug Daddy, you come hug me instead?”

“Really?”

“Really,” you confirmed and you didn’t have time to prepare yourself before she sat up and launched herself into your arms, wrapping her little arms around your neck. You hugged her back, making sure to squeeze her tightly the same way that Hae-il would. “I love you Aera.”

“I love you too Mommy,” she said as she let go of you.

“Alright, lay down and go to bed, ok?” You told her and she nodded, laying down and you pulled the covers over her. Once she shut her eyes, you leaned over and kissed her forehead before reaching over and turning on her nightlight. You then stood up from her bed, walking over to the door and shutting the light off. Making sure to leave the door slightly ajar so that you could hear her if she needed you, you made your way down the hallway and into your bedroom, the length of the day beginning to weigh down on your body.

By the time that you had showered and took your makeup off, you didn’t have the energy to do anything else but flop down onto your bed and pull the covers up and over your head. You felt yourself beginning to drift off and you happily welcomed it, until you smelt a familiar scent.

Your eyes popped open and then widened when you realized that Hae-il’s pillow was right in front of your face. You had been very careful to avoid it over the past week, not wanting to make things any harder for yourself. This time though, you allowed yourself to drag the pillow towards you, burying your face in the material and inhaling deeply.

“Damn it Hae,” you whimpered, the tears quickly welling up and spilling over onto your cheeks. “Why did you have to leave us?”