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certifiedskywalker · 5 months ago

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Three Weddings and Your Funeral (Part 2) - Daemon Targaryen

Anonymous asked: Hi certi, how are you ? I love all you're stories and most you do daemon targaryen characterization justice could you do second part to Three Weddings and Your Funeral - Daemon Targaryen ?

Before the Dance of Dragons, there was another waltz. You and Daemon Targaryen were always drifting in and out, always spinning about one another without moving at all. Your dance of stillness stretched across the continent; but you thought you ended that dance long ago…Daemon, as always, had other ideas.

Part One

A twig splintered beneath your foot with a sharp, ear-tingling snap. At the sound, you caught your loud, ragged breath in your throat, careful not to add insult to self-inflicted injury. You let your gaze fall to the split thing under your shoe and cursed it in the quiet of your mind before daring to look back up towards the abandoned fishing hut. The storm-toppled tree branch that split its planks would be a warning realized too late. When you did look, its foreshadowing was the furthest from your attention.

“I thought I taught you better,” Daemon chided, slinking out of the shadows cast by the hut. His dark armor and silver hair glinted in the moonlight. Under its glow, he was alive and rippling like the bay waves that lapped quietly at the shoreline. One step in the wrong direction and you would be overcome: dragged under and drowned in him. It didn’t help that his eyes moved like the tide too: wishing and washing up and down your frame. “You look well.”

You swallowed after a long moment, forcing the caught breath into your lungs. “Sneaking about King’s Landing in your shadow hardly constitutes a lesson.”

Daemon hummed, the sound light and affirming, tilted up like the start of a dear song; and there you were, being lulled into the warm ease of familiarity. No, nothing about being familiar with Daemon was warm or easy. It was sweltering and you had somehow forgotten about the heat. It returned to you then, and the memory stung with vengeance.

“What are you doing here?” Your voice did not waver with the question, which surprised you. Perhaps time weakened Daemon’s ability to drag you under.

“I could ask the same of you,” he countered. The closed-lip smirk etched onto his features was unmoved by your bravery. “You sent word.”

“And you listened, after all this time.” Daemon lingered in his spot in the sand before he stepped towards you, his expression becoming clearer and all the more taunting. It was as if he knew how you, just hours before, had clutched the parchment and traced his lettering. “Did you ever stop listening?”

Nettle-like memories again: endless, stinging flashes of tourneys and weddings spent at Daemon’s side. So many years spent biding by his beck and call like a hound eager to please. What did you have to show for your dedication? A single kiss, before being left entirely to fend for yourself. How you had loathed his silence then; but, with him stood just a pace away, you found yourself unwilling to give him the satisfaction of the truth.

So, you ignored him and asked again, this time through gritted teeth: “What are you doing here?”

Daemon cocked his head, his smirk widening ever-so-slightly, and stepped towards you until he was only an arm's length from you.

“Why?”

“Why did you come to meet me here?” His eyes were dark but not like the pitch night about you. The fire in him shone through as it always had, but it was dimmer than you remembered. At your last meeting, his gaze had been wild, spitting like coals needing air…needing you, however briefly. What had he blamed then?

“Impulse.”

With the word, memory stung Daemon too. His smirk melted into the lines on his face, some old and others new. Impulse made your hand twitch with an itch to reach up and be taken under his current. Then, you could learn those new lines and trace them as you had with his lettering.

You managed to still yourself, curling your fingers into tight fists. Daemon’s gaze flicked your hands before it settled on your face with a gripping cold. His scowl-stuck lips parted, sealed, then parted again, a hesitation that had you almost gleeful. At long last, you had knocked him off balance; though, he eventually found his words.

“You married,” he snapped, his tone icy and startling, and suddenly you were the one careening. He leaned in, his eyes searching yours for…what you were unsure. “Did you not think I heard?”

Your marriage into House Cox of Saltpans had been no great news, hardly news at all. It, like many a marriage, was strategic: safety from dancing dragons seemed a better bet in the far, underfed reaches of the Riverlands.

Saltpans was a quality choice in that regard, having been stymied long ago by men who called themselves River Kings and ruled the Bay of Crabs by boat before Aegon conquered by dragon. Left charterless, the town never sprawled into a city, and trade, while present, was limited to the sweet meat of pygmy crabs and seashell beads carved by those living nearer to the Trident. With such limitations, House Cox, as the town’s stewards, had few arms to provide to the war effort, an insufficiency that left it rather uninvolved in combat.

At most, what you heard of the Blacks and Greens was the distant roars of whichever Targaryen most recently claimed the ruins of Harrenhal. Though, it seemed that relative, personal peace had worn out. The wave of dread that accompanied that realization washed your mind clean enough to clarify the object of Daemon’s searching eyes. How could you?

“I am married,” you replied, your voice barely above a murmur, “as are you, thrice over.”

Daemon scoffed, letting his face turn down and to the side.

“Did you truly expect me to wait for you after all that happened?”

“Do not think me so foolish,” he snapped, his head lifting to meet your gaze. In his eyes then, you saw the Daemon so many feared, the worst of the man you had loved for so long.

“I knew you to be so foolish, or at least so cruel as to expect that of me.”

“Yes, so cruel,” he stepped towards you as he spoke, his boots sinking to the sand with such heated anger that you were surprised the grains did not turn to glass beneath him. “Cruel, yet I have kept my promise. You, your Lord, and these wretched reaches of the Riverlands have been spared dragon fire. Do you think that was by fate? By the Old fucking Gods?”

He was close enough to you then that his breath kissed the peaks of your face, just as it had so many years ago, on another beach, when he told you of his intentions with Rhaenyra. The aching depth of feeling then… It welled up inside you and spilled onto your lips. “Daemon-”

“It was me,” he finished, his nose nearly knocking yours as he leaned closer. “Nyke jāhor daor ivestragī ao zālagon, and you have not burned.”

Daemon smelled of dragon and sweat, and there was the swelter again. Perhaps it was that familiar heat that pushed you to take that one, drowning step, or maybe you were just exhausted by a dance you thought ended years ago. As if you were with Caraxes, you reached a careful hand up to test the heat of the air about his face. Your palm was immediately met with warmth and Daemon’s cheek as he pressed his face into your skin.

Your breath hitched at the feeling, but your thumb traced the peak of his cheekbone with a gentleness you feared you had lost when you lost Daemon. Comforted and angling for a different approach, you asked your first question again, gentler than before: “Is that what brought you here?”

Daemon merely closed his eyes and pressed his face harder in your touch. So, you asked another way: “Were you compelled by another impulse to tell me, again, that you have danced about me without my knowing? You have known where I was since my leaving you and, again, shielded me from the hard truth?”

“From war,” he murmured, the edge of his lips tickling your palm.

“The truth,” you asserted, and before he protested, you continued. “How?”

Daemon’s eyes fluttered open and it was as if you were children again, before weddings and feelings and knowing. “When I first took Harrenhal for Rhaenyra. I heard of your marriage from the Strong’s there and sent to have eyes on you.”

“By your own admittance, House Cox is removed from your war. There are no spies here in Saltpans.”

“Anyone can be bought,” Daemon answered, much too simply.

His features went startlingly grey as if remembering a time buried under the sea’s stone bottom, and his eyes fell past you, seeing through the sediment of time. Just like that, Daemon was far from you again. Within your grasp yet entirely out of reach; but there were no arms of another brilliant bride for him to run into. He was, for however long you could stretch this moment, only with you, and how right that felt.

Right, but you knew that, with all he had confessed, you should feel violated, exposed. You should be scathing and demanding an apology. No, you should be demanding that he leave. You and Daemon were married after all, not to each other. Never to each other.

That thought, as it always had, pulled you out from under the tide of him. “You did not answer my question.”

“I did,” he said, his voice alarmingly soft as his gaze flitted back to you. “I have protected y-”

“No, Daemon,” you interrupted, your hand falling from his face. He went rigid immediately, his posture straightening as if shocked by a stabbing blade. The heat of him lingered, but the comfort you had taken in it was gone. “Why are you here, after all this time and everything you have done? If you knew I was here for so long, why not come to me sooner?”

Daemon just stared at you, his sharp eyes and features unyielding. You drank in the sight of his steadfast expression, unsure of how long it would be before you saw it again and too sure that Daemon would leave without giving even a moment’s notice. It was then you saw his armor again, but this time, you saw past the shine of it. You saw the scorch marks, the scratches, each new, like the line in his face. A different sort of heat rushed like a wave against you, nearly knocking you over.

When you looked up at Daemon again, tears stinging in your eyes, he knew that you understood. “I’ve come to take Harrenhal for the last time.”

“The last time,” you echoed grimly, your tears falling freely.

“I wrote to you and then to Green’s own kinslayer,” he winced as if the word struck him before pivoting in his speech. “I am to face Aemond.”

Then, it was your eyes that searched Daemon’s. Your object: fear. When you found no trace, more tears streamed down your cheeks, but Daemon quickly raised a hand to wipe them away. Despite the tenderness of his touch, the pad of his thumb was rough against the apples of your cheeks. Had he ever been soft? You couldn’t recall a time he wasn’t all rough edges.

“He will have Vhagar,” you murmured as the tips of his fingers skimmed the edge of your lips.

“And I will have Caraxes.”

“Daemon, he is swift and fiery, but Vhagar is-”

“I know,” he interrupted, his hand cupping your face. His thumb rubbed against your cheek and, despite the shadowy loom of a stacked fight, Daemon smiled. “Do you remember our first meeting?”

All thoughts that consumed you were of your last meeting, your parting words a terrible echo in your skull…it will be your funeral. How could he be smiling?

“It was Viserys and Aemma’s wedding,” Daemon pressed on, “and you were waltzing with some hoary goat. Do you remember?”

You stared at Daemon, trying to place his smile and intent. Your funeral. You shook your head as you were unable to think of anything else but Daemon’s doom.

“Old fool kept leaning on you. Too frail maybe, or ripe with lust, I never did know which. All I knew is that I needed y- I needed to intervene,” Daemon cocked his head and leaned towards you. His breath fanned across your face as he asked in a whisper: “Do you remember how?”

The question had you drowning in him as if it were the first time. “You came in like the sea and washed me away into the rest of the waltz. You led,” you sniffled through a bitter smile, “rather poorly, I recall.”

“Yes, well, if you recall, I despise weddings. I never intended on enjoying myself, it jarred me.” Daemon brushed the tips of his fingers through your hair slowly, savoring the feel of those strands of you against his skin. “Though, I do like to think we have been dancing ever since then. Married in our own way, without the garish decor and ghoulish crowd.”

“Daemon-”

“So, if you find it in yourself, I would like to dance a touch longer.” He took a step back and let his hand slip from your face just to let it hang in the air between you. An offering you could not refuse.

The time for words having passed, you took Daemon’s hand and let him lead you until dawn broke at the edge of the Bay of Crabs. When the first rays of Sun kissed the sand, he let the hand holding yours fall while the other remained wrapped about your waist. He pulled you against him until you were sharing the same air, and you could not imagine a day to come where you did share the world with him.

“I cannot turn from you again,” you whispered, your lips brushing against Daemon’s as you spoke. His hand held you tighter.

“You will not have to,” he replied, before kissing you at last. There was no rush to his kiss, despite the distant cries of a battle-hungry Caraxes. There was only Daemon’s last, perhaps only, bit of softness; saved for you. Lips still locked, he spun you in the sand.

When you parted and opened your eyes, you saw, past Daemon’s shoulder, the shoreline castle seat of House Cox. Quickly, you refocused on the man before you, wishing you could drown in the pools of his eyes as you had done in the past, in those moments that stretched just long enough. All steps in our dance.

“I’ll go,” Daemon said, his tone gentle but his words an order. “Then, after a while, you will go.”

“What if I do not listen this time?”

Daemon let out a breath of a laugh, one heavy with knowing but sweet enough to make you hope. Perhaps you were the fool. “We both know that you will.” “Just this last time,” you murmured. “After this, you are to listen to me.”

“Of course, issa jorrāelagon,” Daemon leaned up and kissed your forehead. The swelter eased with the act and you felt your stomach twist. He took a step back and smiled. “Of course.”

Then, Daemon Targaryen kept his last promise to you: he turned away.

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pyrodolls · 1 year ago

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clean (sub zero, scorpion x reader)

warnings: self harm, slight angst to comfort

pairings: bi-han and kuai liang x gn reader (separate)

a/n: this is a bit self indulgent, i am now 10 months clean as of today. i usually don’t write kuai liang, but i thought he’d be one of the most comforting characters to have by your side. i hope this can provide some comfort to those struggling.

(please read the warning before you continue.)

bi-han walked into your bedroom and saw you looking down at your old wounds. they looked to be self-inflicted, as they were all faded straight lines covering your arms.

bi-han is no stranger to scars. as the grandmaster of the lin kuei, he has grown used to the injuries he gains in kombat.

but he was not aware you had scars of your own. especially self-inflicted ones.

“beloved?”

you quickly hid your arms as soon as you heard your boyfriend’s voice.

“good evening, bi-han. how are you?” you asked, pretending he saw nothing.

he went up to you and gently grabbed your arm, taking a closer look at your scars.

“what is this…?” he asked. he already knew the answer, but he hoped he was wrong.

you went quiet. there was an uncomfortable silence between you two, as the only sounds you could hear were his deep breaths and the wind blowing outside.

“a few months ago…” you took a deep breath, preparing for the worst. “i… wasn’t doing very well. so i resorted to the only thing i thought i deserved. i felt like such an idiot at the time. i was making so many mistakes, so i just decided to give myself a… punishment. i haven’t done it since, i swear-”

your boyfriend interrupted you by pulling you in for a hug. he knew you were most likely better now. but would hate for you to think he doesn’t care about your feelings.

“if you ever feel that way again, please let me know.” bi-han whispered, holding you tight. he never cared about someone like this before. and now that he’s had a taste of what it’s like to love, he doesn’t wish to part from it.

he has also never been in your shoes, so he wants to comfort you as best as he can. but he doesn’t exactly know how to comfort someone, so he hopes he can hold you in his arms and it’ll be enough.

you are enough. he just wants you to know that. even if he has to remind you over and over. even if he ever loses his temper and you get into a fight. he would still love you. he always will. bi-han cherishes you as one of the only people that truly make him happy, so he hopes what happened to you in the past won’t have to happen again.

kuai liang felt sick when he saw your scars. he hoped they were old. but whether they were old or new, he should let you know that if something was going on, he would be there for you.

he wanted to tell you that immediately.

“my love..?” kuai liang called out, trying to hold back tears. he tried not to cry, knowing this was about you, not him. but he couldn’t help but feel a wave of sadness wash over him at the thought of you hurting yourself. he cared about you so much, his biggest fear was losing you.

“yes? is there something wrong?” you asked.

upon seeing you, kuai liang immediately embraced you as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

“do you understand how much i love you? i will always be here for you. at your happiest and lowest. no matter what, i will always help you when there is something wrong. even if i cannot solve the problem, you know i will do whatever i can.” he whispered, as he looked you in your eyes, the ones that he loved very dearly.

“what is this about?” you asked nervously.

“i saw your injuries…” kuai liang mumbled.

his gaze fell down to your arms. there were so many scars littered across your skin. they were faded, but that doesn’t mean they were never there.

“i just…” kuai liang sighed. “…wanted to let you know that i am always here for you, if you ever feel that way again. i am so sorry that your emotions drove you to the point of self-harm. i am not judging, but i do not it to happen again. i’ll do everything i can to prevent it.”

you were better. you had no desire to harm yourself again. sometimes the thought pops into your head every now and then, but you refuse. even though you were better, you still appreciated kuai liang’s support and determination to prevent it from ever happening again.

“it’s been 10 months.” you mumbled, sitting down against the wall.

kuai liang gave you a ‘hm?’ sound, as he sat down next to you.

“today marks 10 months since i last did it. i’m 10 months clean, kuai liang.” you explained.

“i’m proud of you. let’s make sure that number doesn’t go down, okay?” he encouraged, patting your back as a sign of support.

“yeah.. i try. i always try.” you admitted, leaning your head on his shoulder.

“i know, my love. i know.” kuai liang smiled, giving you a kiss on the forehead. he truly was proud of you. you were so strong, and he admired your honesty throughout the conversation. he understood that your past was difficult, but he believed that someone’s past does not define who they are.

even though you have been through tragedy, your existence is not a tragedy.

kuai liang accepts you wholeheartedly, and he’ll always be there to support you.

#mortal kombat 1 x reader #mk x reader #mk1 x reader #mk1 bi han #bi han x reader #bi han x you #sub zero x reader #sub zero #mk1 kuai liang #kuai liang x reader #kuai liang x you #scorpion x reader #mortal kombat x reader

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tame-the-lion-writes · 2 months ago

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[legate!joshua graham x reader] what god hath joined together

This is reposted from my ao3!

[Joshua Graham] tags: religious imagery and symbolism, religious discussion, religion in a positive and respectful light

“Have you ever thought about it? That we aren’t married.”

“Slavery is marriage by Legion. And you are mine. Is that not enough?”

You shake your head as you sit upon his bed of furs – warm yet wrapped in the scent of gunpowder and smoke. The scent of him after many a battle – for which he was once praised – yet now finds disheartening. For though the title of Malpais Legate held prestige and power amongst the ranks of Caesar’s army, Caesar’s army was made of slaves, and the legate, too, was no exception.

And so, while your husband – no, master – makes his way toward you from across the room, you imagine the chains upon his skin. Wrought iron clinging to his wrists and ankles – perhaps a muzzle. For they exist, albeit as air – as the raw and undefeated power of Caesar. A man who picked and plundered the history of an old world, and forged an empire in the image of an idol.

“That is marriage under the law of a broken man,” you tell him, inching closer to the edge of the bed that you may take his face in your hands. “That is not marriage under God. There is a difference .”

He hisses in dismissal as he withdraws from your touch, but you can tell your inquiry lingers by the look in his eyes.

“As legatus, I do not know your god. Only the law of Caesar–”

You huff – a sharp exhale through your nose – and follow after him to reach for the bedside table. In it is a false bottom – a wooden panel to harbor a Bible that Joshua had long harbored in secrecy before you came. In the weeks before your arrival, he’d stolen seconds out of the night to skim through the yellowed pages. Back then, he didn’t know why – it was a past he’d decided best forgotten, and buried alongside the bodies he’d left rotting in their graves. But just as the Son of Man, the Word rose to roll the rock away, and burning light began to seep through every battle scar ever inflicted. Those wounds he cast upon others, and to himself.

He could deny God all he wanted, but timing was never a coincidence. Not in the grand scheme of Creation.

Case in point: you were a translator years ago. Worked with the Followers of the Apocalypse before being absorbed into the New Canaanite fold. What was once simply outreach work — teaching — became learning, and though you’d grown in religion before, now it wove its way through every vein. So when the tribe you’d lived with for months soon became your fellow captives under the scarlet red flags of the Legion, you didn’t blame God. You blamed men.

Blessed is free will, and cursed is what man does with it.

“‘Ye thought evil against me’,” you muttered to yourself then, “‘But God meant it unto good.’” And what can one do in their most desperate hour – when there is no way to act, and only plead – but believe?

In hindsight, you knew that it was God who sent you Joshua – for amidst the crying and soothing lies, he’d heard your prayer. Reminded him of a younger man, with hopes and dreams, and promised land. So he took you out of the pen, and purchased you like a sacrifice – from a temple taxed and forbidden, offerings sold like heresy.

It’s not as though the legate was warm, but you never expected him to be. No – at first, he merely spared you from the worst the Legion had to offer. You knew, for you heard the rumors, and the screams and sobbing in the night. The silence that followed, beaten to submission. Women reduced to cattle and children reduced to fodder.

By contrast, your “worst” was a hard, leather cot, and eating on the floor but never off of it. You were soon welcomed at the table, albeit for leftovers, and granted new clothes once the rags became threads. Small mercies, you understood, and took with careful hands. One at a time. A gradual gift of grace – for when you discovered the Bible, he did not execute you – bury you – blind you, as was his right.

He sat with you at the edge of his bed – took the book from your hands – and slipped it back into place as though nothing had ever happened.

In the days that followed, it became clear that God had made room in Joshua’s heart for more than bloodshed. You hummed hymns, and he would listen. You spoke scripture, and he would still. He would hardly confess his true thoughts on the matter, but there were nights when he’d tuck a blanket over your shoulders, and in your muddled state of half-consciousness, you’d hear the steady flip of a page. A murmur under his breath, and by firelight, salt and tears. Bittersweet, yet made you smile: his tent was your abode, and your abode was given to God. There would be no return for Joshua – only forward – to fill canyons of prodigal defiance. For your God was a jealous God, who sought to heal the empty with love.

Unconditional, but not accepting. Never enough, but what did it matter?

Come as you are, and –

– change .

“I want to get married,” you decide, pulling the Bible from its hiding place. “I want to do this right. As right as it can be, anyway–”

“Mea ocella. ”

Joshua stops you with a hand over yours, gentler this time.

“If you wish for a husband under covenant of God, do not seek me. I am a leader of war. Not a household, or in spirit.”

Your lips thin.

“Let me be your equal, as one flesh, under God. If not that mercy, at least tell me why.”

Joshua frowns – the expression aging his features by many a year. “I do not mean to insult you, or to refuse you as my equal. I mean to say that to bind you to me would only be another sin.” He lowers his voice– “‘Be ye not unequally yoked together with unbelievers: for what fellowship hath righteousness with unrighteousness? And what communion hath light with darkness?’”

This time, he cups your face in his hands. Rough and scarred and trembling as if amidst war.

“I wish to save you from the shackles that are mine. For though I cannot save you from the Legion, I can spare you the trouble of me.”

You stare back at him, a challenge in your eye – yet a soothing hush in the way you press your forehead to his.

“The trouble of the Malpais Legate, or of Joshua Graham? To which man do I speak now? ”

It’s subtle, but you see the way his jaw clenches. The next move is his, and you’ve offered yourself up on a plate. Willingly. No Legion auctions, no threat of the whip. Just you, him, and the Word still in your hand.

Slow, you place some space between the two of you. Undo the silk ribbon holding back your hair. Joshua – not the legate – bought it from the market on your birthday. The sweetest gift, small and unnoticed. What would it say of the Legion to have a soft legatus?

But he is soft, and ever softer — here and now — and allows himself to be so – as you take his hand and wrap it in the ribbon. His and yours, without a ring, but this would have to do.

“I,” you begin, glancing down at your entwined hands, then up to his blue eyes, “take thee, Joshua Graham, as my lawfully wedded husband. To have and to hold, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health. To love and to cherish…”

You trail off to give him room. Seconds, perhaps minutes in your nervousness, to undo the ribbon if he wished, and all ties that came with it.

Yet Joshua finishes for you:

“Till death do us part. According to God's holy ordinance. And thereto I pledge thee my faith ."

It is him that squeezes your hand – him that pulls you forward – and him that first presses a chaste kiss to your lips. His and yours, his and yours. You meld into one, allowing him to take you by the waist, and lower you back onto the bed.

“'And they twain shall be one flesh: so then they are no more twain, but one flesh,'” he whispers. Recitations. Remembrance. “'What therefore God hath joined together, let not man put asunder.'”

List of Biblical references and quotes (off the bat that I can remember): - Genesis 50:20 - Matthew 21 (Jesus flipping tables at the temple) - Luke 15 (prodigal son) - Exodus 34:14 - 2 Corinthians 6:14 - Mark 10:9 Also -- "mea ocella" means "my eyes/my sight" but is otherwise a term of endearment in Latin :)

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sonofthesaiyans · 3 months ago

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Happy Birthday Hange.....A Scout to the end and a true friend..... ⚔️ 💚 ⚔️

A salute to our birthday girl, the ultimate Scout and a gal who embodies the Wings of Freedom more than any other.....

Our beloved Hange Zoë. ❤️ 🎂 🥂

Sometimes I need a moment to remember just how much I love and appreciate Hange, who has been a unrelenting force in AOT and stands as one of the most noble gals you could ever hope to have by your side. Of all the people to sign on to the Scout Regiment, perhaps nobody believed in the cause as strongly as Hange did. In my book, if Sasha stands as the true heart of Attack on Titan, then Hange has earned her right to share that pedestal with her, for she is truly the heart and soul of the entire Regiment, and even with the entire world stacked against her she has never given up on herself or her people. Even in humanity's darkest hour, Hange was one of the few who refused to break.....For she truly believed there was a future worth fighting for in the unworthy world she was born in to. And there were few more deserving of a brighter future than her.

It's truly a bittersweet occasion. For her birthday should have been entirely hers, untainted by the saga that had come to do such a disservice to her in the final act. Instead, her birthday marks the day that the last good thing in Attack on Titan was stolen from us by Hajime Isayama.

Four years ago today......By this point the story had gone completely astray and nothing seemed to be held sacred anymore by Isayama, and thus we lost the last true guiding light in the story........One that not even the likes of Levi or Armin......And certainly not Mikasa.......could ever hope to compensate for. Indeed, even one chapter or episode without Hange pushing forward with us was a self-inflicted wound from which Attack on Titan never recovered.

And we all know Hange deserves so much more than that. The world and Hajime Isayama himself are completely unworthy of Hange Zoë....But Hange Zoë deserves the world and so much more.

Hange is so many things: Eccentric, unpredictable, extraordinarily energetic.......It seemed like nothing could stop this gal. She may have been a handful to those who knew her best......But she was also insightful, considerate, and uncommonly kind and humble. Hange could care less about fame or glory, her passion was knowledge, of both the Titans and the world beyond the Walls, and if not for her Paradis may have known no other world beyond Wall Maria......And the only thing greater than her pursuit of knowledge was her love and loyalty to those she served with.

We know so little about Hange's past or even her family......The Scout Regiment in effect was her family. And she went through so much to give them some chance to live, often without thanks and so often without the desired outcome. But Hange always valued the lives of her people, and in the end, she DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER....than what she got from those who betrayed her efforts. Who betrayed the meaning of what she thought for. None more so than from Isayama himself.......Hange was a true hero through and through, and the story should have honored that. ISAYAMA SHOULD HAVE HONORED THAT.......

Hange wasn't just the friend Levi Ackerman just could not get away from despite all their headbutting, she wasn't just Erwin's righthand woman and torch-bearer, she wasn't just a soldier.....Hange was a true friend to all of us. I think we all loved her dearly as one of our own.

So give your hearts to Hange, one of AOT's greatest, and the one who still richly deserves the future she fought so hard for. For she dedicated her heart and soul for the future of humanity.

Her courage, her determination, her humor, her love.....those are Hange's gifts. Hange is a gift to us all.....I only hope one day our birthday girl is repaid in full for everything she deserves. ❤️

Happy Birthday, Commander Hange. Your spirit stays with us, and you deserve so much better. Isayama certainly doesn't deserve someone so special as you.

There is no Attack on Titan without Hange Zoë.

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rockyp77mk3 · 21 days ago

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Right my side lost and your side won. I am trying to understand but I want to know what is the big difference between the Progressives and conservatives? Why do Progressives piss off conservatives so much? We only want equality and fairness.

Thank you for the question. These questions are deceptively simple but they require somewhat complicated answers. I will try.

Oh, I am not just a conservative. I am a Constitutional Conservative which means that the Constitution is considered the supreme law of the land. It is the guide against which all legislation, taxes, regulations, and issues are judged. It applies equally to all and is therefore a protection for all. It can only be changed by amendment and is not subject to any foreign law or restrictions even those promoted by the UN.

Since I like checklists I will try to answer your questions in some kind of order.

Problem solving. When presented with a problem Conservatives try to solve it using known facts and reason. Progressives tend to use spending and regulation. I have never witnessed a Progressive try to solve a problem (Or perceived problem) in any other way than raising taxes or sponsoring legislation that further truncates our individual rights.

Control. Progressives seem to love control, either being in control or being controlled in every aspect of life. They want to tell or be told what people can own, how far people can succeed in life, what people can think, what people can eat, what people can drive, and lets not forget what people should do with the very money they earn. In that last one Progressives are content to confiscate wealth through taxes for redistribution to their liking. Conservative just want to be left alone. We want to keep most of what we earn, we want to enjoy our enumerated rights unfettered by social pressure or governmental overreach. We would like government to literally get the Hell out of our lives.

Lack of tolerance. When a progressive gets an idea they believe it to be so good that it must be shared with (Inflicted upon) others even at the point of a governmental bayonet. Socialism for instance, also limiting 2ND Amendment rights, private property rights, etc. Conservatives don't care what you want to do as long as we are left alone to do what we want to do. If you don't like guns, fine, don't own one. If you want to be a socialist fine, get fifty of your closest friends and create a commune, I wish you luck. Do what ever you like, just leave me and my rights alone.

Happiness. Conservatives seem to be relatively happy. Progressives aren't happy unless they are angry or upset about a situation that either happened over 100 years ago or is an isolated incident, or is just something with which they don't agree. Progressives aren't always right but they are always certain. In that pseudo certitude they are willing to trample any and all rights. Individuals be damned the cause is all.

The US is always wrong. No matter the issue Progressives will unerringly take the side of anything that goes against the US. Progressives will support despots, terrorist groups, rouge nations, and criminal politicians as long as those support the inherent anti US sentiment of the hard left. Conservatives acknowledge that the US makes mistakes, sometimes hideous mistakes but at our core we are generally damn good. For example, if Kamala had won you won't see too many Conservatives wanting to leave the US. We are Americans and will stay and fight to the last.

Equality. Progressive want an equality of outcome. A guarantee that all people will have the same success. They call this "Equity". Conservatives believe that equality means that all people will have a fair chance at success. That hard work, effort, and inventiveness will pay off. You can't ensure outcomes only starting points.

There are more but you get the idea. By the way, Progressives don't piss us off all that much, we just don't want you in charge.

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alicerosejensen · 2 years ago

Text

Shades Of Cool

So here is the angst as promised. I have a lot of requests in messages and I will try to fulfill them, but now I want to write something sad. There was already a similar text, but it did not say exactly how the reader died.

Warning: mention of suicide; the reader has suicidal tendencies; longing with a bad end; Leon is hurt but holding on; Leon!Vendetta

(Depression is my profession, huh.)

Leon knew you had a failed attempt in the past. Everything has been documented for a long time and is in your medical file, the information of which Hannigan requested at the request of Leon when you first met him. Just to make sure you has nothing to do with Umbrella or other bioterrorists. Of course, you did not have any dark spots in your biography that would have made another chip on his heart if he knew that you were one of those who create bioweapons or have any dealings with them.

Except one.

“Suicide attempt…two years ago. Poisoned by sleeping pills. According to the medical records, she was barely resuscitated." Hannigan's voice came out with a sly grin as Leon's heart sank.

But why?

Leon did not ask you because he realized that he opened that page of your life about which you did not want to tell him yet and had every right to do so. However, you still remembered that sad look of his when he came to your house and hit his shoulder against the door frame. You never told him about it, but you suspected that he knew. You had a few cuts on your arms, but you lied to him that your cat left them for you as a child. Complete nonsense and Leon, holding your wrist in his hand, ran his thumb over deep footprints, looking intently at them.

"Never do that again" from his serious tone, everything inside turned upside down and, meeting with the blueness of his eyes, you lost all words and thoughts, feeling only shame in front of him. As if your problems are too small compared to his and how could you do such things with your body when he sees horrors literally every day? Goosebumps ran down your spine as Leon's lips touched each of your scars as he kissed them. “If something is bothering you, we can solve it differently”

But you didn't know how to decide otherwise. This is something that Leon should have understood before the irreparable happened. Leon was afraid to build relationships, and you didn't believe that someone could love you. Like it was impossible. But if Leon dared to let you get closer to him, to his heart broken into many parts, then you inflicted another knife wound on him.

Pictures of your meeting, communication, joint meetings, ringing laughter, everything revolves before his eyes as a bright kaleidoscope around one colorless event.

His indifferent face seems to show no emotion as he stands in front of the bed, peering down at your lifeless body sprawled on the clean sheets.

He didn't come home to you to find you dead.

But you're so tired of everything. Always not good enough. Never smart enough or pretty enough. There was always... there was always something missing. Eventually something started telling you to stop everything again.

Leon didn't need you. He preferred to while away his days in bars or in correspondence with Ada Wong, which he probably thought you knew nothing about. For everyone, you were too stupid and naive to notice clearly obviously, but you noticed ... you just didn't always show it. Maybe of course you took everything to heart, but even your family constantly inspired you that you were not as good as the rest. This was the reason for the first attempt. But love is short-lived, like a candle in the wind. So you went out like a candle, leaving behind only a dissolving haze. This sea of endless self-loathing covered you in endless waves, plunging you deeper and deeper into a dark abyss from which you no longer wanted to get out. At some point, you just realized that no one will even notice if you leave.

Suppressed by childhood fears, these deep wounds never healed. And the pain was too real, even though you somehow charmed Leon with your inner light and agreed to be with him, you were still alone with this pain.

There was so little good in your life that in the end even Leon turned out to be something negative that finally knocked you off your feet, made you drown, even though he remained your most beloved person. You were always very close to him and very far at the same time, because it was Leon who set the distance. The only woman he could let in without fear and looking back was not you at all.

And yet there was something that brought a smile to the face until the very end. Moments when Leon said that you belong to him and he is obliged to take care of you but in fact even he threw you away as an unnecessary thing.

You are so tired... Leon finally pushed you away after the death of his entire squad. He didn't need you anymore, no matter how hard you tried to help him, he just left without a word, taking the bag with his few things, leaving you in the middle of the room broken like a doll.

With slowly flowing tears on your cheeks, broken from the inside, and only when the door finally slammed shut behind him, you felt pain in your knees when you fell, hitting them on the floor. No word could describe how you felt when he left "us" behind. It hurt more than any betrayal, forcing you to roll onto his side of the bed and touch his nonexistent face. No one could help you forget him, and you were so tired of falling asleep thinking about him, unable to stop loving him. It was so cruel. You literally choked on your own howling and coughing, choking on tears.

He didn't even have anything to say to you. He just left when he saw fit, kicking you out of his life.

You thought pain was the worst feeling, but worse was the endless silence inside you that followed Leon's departure. Not even going to delve into the reason for the distance, as if out of spite, your whole family began to put pressure on you again, condemning you for a small mistake. As if a huge black cloud clouded whole life. You didn't want anything else. There were no tears, no sadness, no joy. You have always been worse than others. From early childhood. Even at your crappy job, you were considered worthless, which eventually led back to the only solution to the problem.

But even if you died, you would create unnecessary problems for your family with a funeral, and they certainly would not want to do this. The guilt was precisely because of this: the knowledge that someone would take the time to prepare your body for burial. But the upsides of your death seemed to far outweigh the few downsides when you were holding a full vial of sleeping pills in your hands.

That's why you corrected yourself. Cleaned up the house, had a nice chat with the upstairs neighbor while she complimented the dress you bought, thinking you were probably going on a date; made the bed with new linens, took a shower and put on light makeup before pouring a full glass of water and drinking sleeping pills one after the other until you emptied the whole vial and your poisoned body collapsed on the bed, staining the pillow with a thin line of blood running from under your nose and mouth.

However, even outwardly you did not look like a sleeper. The heartbeat gradually slowed down, and you plunged deeper and deeper into the dark bottom, from which there was no longer a single chance to get out. There was not even a farewell note, although you wanted to apologize to everyone for the fact that those around you spent so much time on you, but all their hopes were crushed. So death really was a deliverance from all problems.

You just finally solved all your problems in one single right way.

And Leon hated himself for leaving you for months without saying a word. However, something affected him in New York that he rushed to you as soon as the plane landed back, banging on the door of your small apartment to no avail.

This time he wasn't even drunk. Beaten, bruised, but completely sober and alive, unlike you. Because your heart hasn't beat in at least four hours, so your lips have taken on a bluish tint.

"Sweetheart, I know I acted like a fucking asshole but please let's talk. Open the door, I know you're home"

The comic of the whole situation was that the door was actually open, you deliberately did not close it so that in the morning your friend would find you.

"I love you... I was afraid that I might lose you too if I was by your side, but now I understand that I was an idiot! Please, let's talk, I don't want to lose you anymore."

Nothing.

Leon took a deep breath, resting his forehead on the door, trying to hear your steps or movements. Silence. But he knows that you are at home - he saw the open window. He knew that he acted like a son of a bitch, he knew that you had every right to hate him, and yet he wanted to return you.

Another series of knocks followed by no response. Leon accidentally put his hand on the door handle, and then with a click it opened, causing him to freeze in place in amazement. Leon pushed open the door into a dark hallway, and the dim light from the next room made him move further inside, shuddering slightly as the chill of the night ran down his spine.

"Sweetheart?" He slammed the window to a distinctive click, but you still did not respond to his voice.

Your phone was on the table, and next to it was an empty vial of some pills with an almost empty glass of water. Leon unlocked your phone by looking at the list of recent messages, but there was nothing interesting about them. However, taking a vial in his hand and reading the name on the label...

You definitely didn't have any sleep problems! A flash of insight, backed up by the knowledge that you've already had one failed attempt in the past, made Leon's heart sink and freeze as he entered the bedroom and saw your silhouette lying on the bed.

"Baby..." Leon quickly ran up to you, after a few seconds of silent stupor.

Leon turned your body towards him, feeling for a pulse, rubbing your shoulders. The sight of gore on your face for some reason raised a flash of accumulated negative feelings. Pressing your head to his chest, Leon flipped the lamp button to light up the bedroom a little and swallowed the bitter lump in his throat when he saw the lifeless pallor.

"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!"

You didn't hear. Leon scooped you into his arms, hugging you, whispering something in your head while he searched for the phone in his pocket. While the ambulance was coming, those minutes seemed to drag on forever. Any attempts to bring you to your senses, to at least open your eyes a little, were not blamed for success.

But it was unbearable when the doctors declared death in an unimaginably dry voice without even trying to do anything, despite his furious cries after your body was immersed in a black body bag. Leon just watched silently as the ambulance drove away and the police considered that death by suicide was not worth close attention. "Unrequited Love" would then be whispered among themselves as Leon read a copy of the autopsy report that Hannigan got for him, looking at him with a regretful look.

The following days passed in black despondency and alcohol. Leon would like to burn out all the feelings from his heart for you along with the endless guilt for leaving you. It feels like it's rotting from the inside. There is not the slightest desire to look at you dead, but he comes ... He comes and looks with an empty, otherworldly look at the same serene you. Already in a different dress, but still beautiful, albeit lifeless. he would like to make love to you now, hold you in his arms and luxuriate in bed. Count your moles, cover your back with light kisses and hug you. He would like anything now, but not to see you dead. His hand covered yours with his thumb, running over your knuckles as if remembering what it was like to hold your hand. Some looked at him in bewilderment, but Leon didn't care anymore. He gently stroked your face, trying to ignore the urge to smash everything around from the purest rage and despair that filled it.

But in the end, when all other senses recede, when the lid of your coffin closes forever, only a black, empty nothing remains inside Leon.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #reader #resident evil vendetta #resident evil fanfiction #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy angst #leon scott kennedy x reader #I cried when I wrote this #I want Leon to suffer #Death of a Reader

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blasphemous-lies-and-deceit · 6 months ago

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“I need a place to stay.”

Those were the first words Michael had uttered in hours. He had been sitting near-comatose in the corner of Jon's office ever since they'd both stumbled free from the Distortion's Halls, unmoving and unresponsive until now. Jon started in surprise, completely unprepared to hear those words come from Michael's mouth, sounding so hollow and tired. He completely understood the feeling.

"Right," he sighed in agreement, before he paused awkwardly. "I, ah...may also be short on...accommodations. I was, I was in hiding before the Circus kidnapped me, and now...I don't know."

Michael laughed, short and sharp and nothing like how he had sounded before. "Great," he groaned, shoving his tangled hair back and rubbing at his forehead with both hands. "That's great." He had a headache, Jon knew- Knew, a headache he'd been suffering from ever since he'd stepped through the Distortion's door so many years ago. Jon could almost feel it in his own head, aching and heavy, and cracked his neck to try to alleviate it. He was...quite stiff, he realized, and quickly pushed that thought from his mind.

"There's a cot in Document Storage," he offered weakly, and Michael stopped massaging his head to squint up at him irritably.

"I won't fit on that," he snapped sullenly. "I...fuck." He winced suddenly, flinching quite violently. "I shouldn't know that," Michael muttered to himself. "I shouldn't know- I think the Distortion has been spying on you."

"That...makes sense," Jon conceded. Who knew what else had eyes in the Archives watching him. The flash of horribly familiar paranoia made his stomach turn and skin crawl, sparking a desperate urge to be out of the Institute before he did something drastic. "I'm booking us a hotel room," he decided firmly. "And I'm expensing it to the Institute."

"That'll show them," Michael encouraged half-heartedly. Jon busied himself with making the arrangements, while also thinking about what other arrangements he needed to make. Michael had nothing but the clothes on his back and the trauma that his twisted counterpart had inflicted on him. Was he still tied to the Institute, after what had happened? God, was he now another Assistant Jon now had to look out for? He'd already gone through hell and been betrayed by one Archivist, how could he stand to work with Jon, if that was even what he wanted? Had he just gone from one torturous hell prison to another?

Jon couldn't fathom what he could do about that.

A round of calls and an awkward ride share later, Jon realized he'd been a bit too hasty in booking a room. "What do you mean, there's only one bed?" he demanded. The tired and harried-looking desk manager just gave him a blank look.

"That's all that's available tonight, I'm sorry," she said, completely insincerely. "You can try somewhere else, but at this time of night they'll probably all be booked."

"It's fine, Jon," Michael spoke up, hunched over the counter and head hanging low, hair spilling messily around his face. "Just take the room." Jon was so put off that he almost didn't notice that Michael had called him by name for the first time, because he sounded so profoundly and plainly miserable. He swallowed down his reservations and confirmed their reservation for the room instead.

The room was, as expected, small, and did contain only one bed. Michael sat on it listlessly, eyes unfocused and drifting away. "I, uh, I'd like to use the shower first," Jon said lamely, and received only a nod of acknowledgement. Michael's behavior, or lack thereof, was concerning, but so were so many other things, like the Unknowing, and finding answers to his millions of questions, and the heavy layer of lotion all over him.

Jon fought to remain calm as he showered, he really did. He should be enjoying the feeling of warm water running over him, cleaning his skin, but the layered-on oils were difficult to wash off, even with the tiny bar of soap the hotel provided. Choking back the noises trying to claw out of his throat, Jon scrubbed harder, making his skin burn and chafe, his muscles protesting the harsh movements. But it was working, his skin was free of that awful heavy sensation, and it almost felt good, after so much cooling softness. God, he never wanted to feel the touch of lotion against his skin ever again.

"Michael?" he called as he left the bathroom, shivering in the cold air, shoulders exposed by the towel he had wrapped around his chest. "Shower's free, if you'd like-"

He stopped when he found that the room seemed alarmingly empty. Jon's knees nearly gave out in surprise, stumbling into the doorframe as his eyes flew around the room. He breath caught in relief when he caught sight of Michael, crammed in the small space between the wall and the single bed, limbs sticking out jarringly, face hidden in a pillow clutched in his arms.

"Michael?" Jon asked as gently as he could. "Are you...what's wrong?"

"Walls," Michael gasped, muffled by the pillows. "They're too- it was...I don't know where- I can't, I can't, it's too big, there's nowhere I can, I can't-"

He sounded so panicked, so desperate and terrified. Jon hesitated, then stepped forward and crouched next to him, careful of the drape of the towel around his body. Bracing himself and pushing down his own awkwardness, he reached out and took one of Michael's dangling hands in his own uninjured one. It didn't feel the way it had before, or the way that...that Sasha had described it in her statement. It was a perfectly ordinary hand, slightly cold and a bit thin, but utterly normal and human. Just like the rest of Michael.

Michael had tensed sharply when he took his hand, but quickly deflated, turning his head free of the pillow to look towards Jon with red-rimmed eyes. "Your hands-" he stopped to swallow thickly. "They're not...they didn't lotion those?"

"No," Jon confirmed, nearly choking on a very inappropriate chuckle. "No, they didn't, I don't think they were going to...use them." God, that was awful, it was absurd, but he couldn't stop the strained laughter that kept breaking loose from his chest, unstoppable and inappropriate. A single tear slipped down his cheek before he roughly swiped it away with his free hand. He shouldn't be laughing, he shouldn't be caught up in his own horror when Michael had gone through far worse than him, and for much longer. But he couldn't stop.

Michael was watching him with eyes that were unfathomably deep, like they could swallow him whole. Jon wondered, near hysterically, if one could get lost in the eyes of the former Distortion, or whatever Michael was now. But he was not a threat, he reminded himself as Michael unfurled from his tight crouch and crept closer to him. All of that rage and betrayal was nowhere to be seen, for now. He wondered where it had gone.

Keeping hold of his hand, Michael stretched his other arm out and slung it over Jon's shoulders, pulling him in until they were both crumpled together, like two fallen walls of a demolished building. He sighed, and it stirred in the drying strands of Jon's hair. "What are we going to do now, Archivist?" he asked, hollow and empty again. His abrupt turn of terrified energy seemed to have dissipated for now, gone along with Jon's own panic. Which was the intention of his pathetic attempt at comfort, just not quite like this.

"You can call me Jon," Jon answered, unable to stop himself from leaning into Michael's side. Michael was leaning just as heavily on him, his long tangled curls draping over his bare shoulder, and he didn't hate it. "Please don't call me Archivist anymore."

Michael sighed again, harsh and painful. "I'll try," he whispered. "Its still in my head, it still wants to-" he cut himself off, which Jon was grateful for. "No. No. You're Jon. You've done me no wrong. You heard my story. You...you know now."

"I do." Like Martin, like...like Sasha, he knew Michael now, Knew him, had his statement on tape and seared into his mind and heart. He didn't understand what that meant, not yet, not fully, but it meant...something. "I...I'm sorry. About everything."

"Yeah." Michael's hand flexed in his, then settled. "So am I, Archi- Jon. Jon. I'm sorry."

They were such small words, but meant so much. They could be lies, but after hearing his statement, after seeing him fall apart, Jon didn't believe they were. Michael was no longer the Distortion, he had no reason to lie. Jon had to learn to trust, somehow, and who better to start with than someone who had been so betrayed? Michael pressed his head down, resting his cheek on top of Jon's head, and Jon closed his eyes, leaning into Michael's warmth. What else was there to do?

#the magnus archives #tma fic #michael shelley #jonathan sims #jon sims #jonmichael #finally dipping my toes into jonmichael #rebelwriting

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seramilla · 5 months ago

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I was so excited I don’t think I actually finished the sentence in my first ask. Ignore that.

Please can I have more SeraMille adopted daughter Vaggie?!?!?

Idk if this is a new au but this is immaculate. Gimme.

You don’t have to include it but can you imagine

“she was my daughter first!”

“How was she your daughter you weren’t even there?”

Amazingly this works no matter who is saying what.

Carmilla and Sera just stand there dumbstruck for a few moments after Vaggie exits, looking for all the world like fluffed up, crumpled cats who'd been startled by a loud noise. Then, after the fog of confusion has lifted, they both stand there looking at each other, pointing their fingers and/or claws in accusation and bewilderment.

"YOU KNOW VAGGIE?!" both women shout in unison. Then a pause, followed by a "HOW? WHEN? WHY?" They both need to stop reading each other's minds.

After calming down with a few deep breaths, Sera asks in a more measured voice, "How do you know Vaggie?!"

"I'm her mentor!" Carmilla shouts, finding it a little more difficult to understand how the High Seraphim of Heaven knows a former Exorcist in the first place. Especially this one in particular. "Who do you think supplied the Hotel with holy arms? I'm her benefactor now! How do you know her?!"

Sera stands in silence for a minute, then finally admits, "I...I met her during my annual audit of the Exorcist barracks. She was so...private and small. Always off by herself, not training with the others. I wanted to make sure she was okay, and we started talking every year. She started coming out of her shell after that, but I didn't see her again until the Morningstar's daughter showed up at my doorstep!"

Carmilla doesn't seem satisfied with that answer. What business does the High Seraphim of Heaven have mingling with the Exorcists in the first place? Sera had told Carmilla she hadn't wanted anything to do with Adam's (now Lute's) army since the first man fell. But it seems like some of Sera's actions from those times are coming back to haunt her.

And then Vaggie walking right into the room just as Sera had been so thoroughly sucking Carmilla's face...Carmilla wonders if her ego will ever recover from this. How had she not noticed the other angel coming toward her office? She's usually much more aware of her surroundings than this! She's getting slow on the uptake.

"Just so we're clear," Carmilla starts, shooting the Seraphim a glare that's full of more heat than Sera had been expecting, "I am her mentor now. Whatever Adam and Lute did to her, I am the one who's spent the last several months trying to undo all that damage they inflicted on her psyche. I taught her how to fight against her own kind. I'm the one she has sought guidance from. I do not need you interfering and bringing back traumatic memories of that time for her. I love you, but please, if you would...keep your distance from Vaggie."

Sera is absolutely gobsmacked. Her lower jaw literally hangs open at Carmilla's words, unable to believe that the overlord is really asking this of her.

"What...what are you talking about? You don't have any claim to that girl! Who do you think protected her and the other Exorcists in Heaven?! If not for me, Adam may have done so much worse to her, long ago. You know how he treated any soldiers that he deemed weak! I saved her! She was my ward, first!"

Carmilla moves away from Sera. She wants to say so much in response, but what good comes from arguing right now? She hadn't wanted to fight with the Seraphim today. She'd thought they'd moved past so many of their misgivings about each other, but apparently...there is still a lot of baggage there. They will have to deal with it, eventually, if they intend to move forward in this little secret relationship of theirs. But right now...

Vaggie needs comfort. Carmilla needs to find her, explain everything, and make sure she is all right. So instead of arguing, Carmilla turns on her heels, heading for the door to her office. When Sera tries to stop her, Carmilla shoots her a glance. One that beseeches Haven't you caused enough damage today? Sera looks so...meek and disarmed by that glare of hers.

Sera pulls back, and doesn't say anything. Instead, she simply looks at Carmilla in disappointment, opens a portal, and then makes her way back to Heaven, where Carmilla thinks she belongs right now.

It doesn't take long for Carmilla to find Vaggie. Anytime the fallen angel is distressed, her first and primary source of comfort is Charlie, so Carmilla makes her way to the hotel, not ready for the stares from the patrons, or to have to start answering questions for why an overlord is there. Not many in Hell know Carmilla is one of Charlie's greatest allies now, given how fond Carmilla has become of Vaggie.

Her alliances and power are tedious, and her strength lies more in what her enemies don't know, rather than what they do. Vaggie can defend herself just fine, but Carmilla doesn't want to draw any unnecessary attention to the angel, if she can help it.

Carmilla manages to dodge a few patrons in the lobby. Thankfully, most of Charlie's lessons have concluded for the long weekend ahead, so it's not difficult for the overlord to sneak by. She's light on her feet, so making her way up the stairs only manages to alert Alastor, who's been watching her carefully through his shadows. He won't harm her or alert anyone to her presence, though. He knows better than that, with Lucifer around.

Vaggie had confided to Carmilla that she loves the library. She'd spent a lot of time in there after Charlie found her, using it as a sanctuary and an opportunity to learn about her new home here in Hell. That's where Carmilla ultimately finds her, bent over on the floor crying, as Charlie kneels beside her, patting her back and stroking her hair.

Charlie doesn't say anything to the overlord when she notices her...just sort of glares up at her with that same disappointment that Sera had given her before she fucked off back to Heaven. Carmilla decides right then and there that she absolutely despises that look. She's getting it from all sides today!

That's when Vaggie notices Carmilla, too. She looks like she might protest Carmilla's presence here, but Charlie gives the angel a quick peck on her cheek, saying "It's all right, sweetie, I'll be right outside," before shooting Carmilla that fucking disappointed glare again, and leaving to give the two their privacy in the library.

"What do you want, Carmilla?" Vaggie asks, voice all nasally and congested from crying. Vaggie wipes a string of stray snot from her nose. She's trying to hide her face, not quite successfully, hoping that Carmilla won't see her in such a state. Carmilla can't help that sudden sinking feeling of her heart falling into her guts. It's awful. She wants to throw up.

"I wanted to check on you. Make sure you're okay. Vaggie...I'm so sorry you had to witness such a sight. I didn't...I didn't mean for you to see that."

"See what?" Vaggie's tone is a little mocking at this point. She seems done with any explanations Carmilla might give, but still demands answers from her, anyway. "See my mo--mentor fucking kissing an angel?! And Sera of all people?! My first mentor? What the fuck were you thinking, Carmilla?!"

Carmilla's own anger and frustration starts to flare, just a little. Just enough to feel the heat creep up the back of her neck and into her face. She knows Vaggie is confused, but she doesn't have to talk to her like that. She doesn't have the right...

"I was thinking that I love that angel, Vaggie. Which you might know, had you bothered to ask me instead of running away. Mine and Sera's relationship is tenuous, but it goes back much farther than you think. It's complicated. I had no idea of your history with her. If I had, I would have explained myself sooner."

"How can you love her?" Vaggie asks, completely dumbfounded by this revelation from the overlord. She stands up, finally facing Carmilla on her own terms. "Didn't you know she betrayed me and Charlie? She let Adam and his fucking army lay waste to our old hotel! She's sold her fucking soul to Heaven! What is there left to love?!"

"Stop it," Carmilla barks, claws fisting together so tightly, they almost pierce the skin of her palms. Vaggie doesn't know...can't possibly know the history she and the High Seraphim share. Can't possibly comprehend all the invisible strings and power plays at work in Heaven that had forced Sera's hand when it came to Adam. Maybe someday Vaggie will...Carmilla needs to have that conversation with her. Someday. But right now, she's too frazzled.

Every word that Vaggie utters about her lover is like an angelic weapon directly speared through her own heart. Every single one is like a sleight against her personally, in ways Vaggie can't possibly understand. Carmilla's heart is wrenched open like a raw, infected thing. Vaggie can't know all the ways in which her words are physically, emotionally painful. So Carmilla goes easy on her...she doesn't need to know all the details right now. She can still protect Vaggie from that...for a while.

Carmilla moves toward Vaggie, noticing how the little angel flinches and almost pulls back from her, before Carmilla places her hand on Vaggie's cheek. She wipes away the salt and moisture from the stray tears that continue to fall from Vaggie's eye. Her huge claw makes the fallen angel look so small. Vaggie looks up at her then, beseeching Carmilla for answers; desperately seeking realness from one of the few people who bothered to care about her and Charlie down here.

"There is so much I want to tell you," Carmilla explains, but that's as far as that explanation gets. "I will tell you. I promise. You have my word. But for now, just know that Sera's control in Heaven isn't absolute. She and I have a complicated history. But I...I can't help my feelings for her. I'm very sorry you had to find out about it this way. But please...if you can trust me...I won't keep something like that from you again."

Vaggie still doesn't seem to find this explanation adequate, but she nods. She looks off into the middle distance, past Carmilla's shoulder, still visibly frustrated, but her face going softer now.

"...You promise?"

"I promise, mija."

Carmilla pulls Vaggie in for a tight hug, just then. Carmilla is worried Vaggie might pull away, but the fallen angel doesn't.

She actually hugs Carmilla tighter. Carmilla allows herself to let out the relieved, quiet sigh she'd been holding in the last several minutes, and lets her body go slack, as Vaggie buries her face deeper in Carmilla's front.

Thank fuck, Carmilla thinks, that her adopted daughter doesn't hate her.

#hazbin hotel #carmilla carmine #sera hazbin hotel #seramilla #vaggie #charlie morningstar #alastor hazbin hotel #ask #fan theories #vaggie hazbin hotel #mentors together au

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peakyltd · 1 year ago

Text

New Endings - Part 2

Part 2 | Tommy x Reader |

A/N: Thank you so much for the love on part 1! I decided to turn this into a little series. So I think at least 2 to 3 chapters will follow after this one. I hope you’ll like it!

Warnings: Mentions of domestic violence/abuse, injuries (both not inflicted by Tommy), anxiety, panic

Word count: 4.8k

MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART

"I heard you met with (Y/N).” Polly confidently strided into Tommy’s office, closing the door behind her. Tommy looked up at her before redirecting his attention to the papers in front of him, a soft sigh leaving his mouth, slightly annoyed by Polly’s sudden presence. “Good morning Pol, I didn’t hear you knock.”

Polly rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk, her brown eyes surveying her nephew. “How was she?” Tommy scribbled down a few notes. “She was well.”

“Do you think it was a good idea?” She questioned as she lit a cigarette. “I mean, she’s engaged after all.”

“It was.” Tommy’s face remained emotionless as he looked up at his aunt. Polly took a drag of her cigarette. “Oh Thomas, please.” She blew the smoke out the side of her mouth. “It was for you, yeah. I don’t think it was for her. Didn’t you damage her enough?”

Tommy’s jaw clenched, her words had more impact on him than he realized. “If she didn’t want to come, she wouldn’t be there.” He simply stated while putting his fountain pen down on his desk.

“Right and what’s exactly the reason that you send two of our men to watch her husband? You’re doing the exact same thing as years ago.” Polly argued, remembering the countless arguments between them in the past.

Tommy took a sip of his whiskey before he leaned back in his chair. “Because I want to know who he is.” A mocking laugh left Polly’s lips. “ It’s been years, Tommy. Let her go, for god’s sake.”

“He’s hurting her, Pol. You should’ve seen her, you wouldn’t recognize her by the way she acted.” Tommy tried to explain, recalling her anxious behavior and the way she flinched at his movements. Polly held his gaze before she spoke up. “I hope you’re not saying this to have a reason to get him out of her life.”

“Pol I-” He sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes for a second. “No. If she was happy I would’ve let her go. But she’s not.” She took another drag of her cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly. “And what do you have so far?”

Tommy opened the drawer from his desk and took out a paper, attached was a picture of (Y/N)’s fiancé. As he handed it to Polly, he started to answer her question.

“David Wright, 35. Grew up in London. Has an exporting license in car parts as well and apparently has some history with different kinds of criminality.” He steepled his fingers. “Last two things could be the reason why they’re here.”

Polly read the paper thoroughly while finishing her cigarette. “She has a type.” She concluded as she put the paper back on his desk. “And all this information is correct?”

“There are some things that didn’t add up.” Tommy commented as he put the document back in his drawer. “I’ll find out what it is.”

“And what about (Y/N)?” Polly asked him, knowing her nephew’s answer. “She needs to get out of there.” Tommy answered while looking at his aunt, expecting contradiction.

“And what if she doesn’t want your help?” She raised her eyebrows. “Then I’ll have to accept it.” He sighed as he took another sip of his whiskey. Those words sounded so easy but Polly knew that someone had to move heaven and earth for him to simply let it go.

The feeling of exhaustion took over him once he arrived home. He was welcomed by Frances who kindly took his jacket and informed him that Charlie had been well today and had spend his day at John’s house to play with his cousins, although she heard from the nanny that he had asked for his dad multiple times.

Guilt accompanied exhaustion as he thought of many broken promises and the little time he spent with his son. He checked his pocket watch but it was late, Charlie was already sleeping. “Can you tell him that I’ll be home early tomorrow so we can see the horses?”

Frances nodded. “Of course Mr. Shelby.” Tommy thanked her and made his way to his office. “Oh Mr. Shelby, there was an invitation delivered for you this afternoon.” She told him as she handed him the envelope. “Thank you, Frances.”

He entered his office and closed the door behind him, putting the invitation on the side table close to the sofa. He took off his suit jacket and vest before putting a few more woodblocks in the fireplace. While he poured himself a whiskey, a soft knock was heard on the door. “Yes.”

The door opened as Frances set a few steps into his office. “I’m sorry for bothering you Mr. Shelby but I was wondering if I could get you dinner?” Tommy shook his head. “No.” He spoke while making his way to his desk.

Frances nodded, hesitantly turning to leave the room. “You’re done for today Frances, take some time off.” Tommy called out to her as he sat down in his chair. “Yes, Mr. Shelby. Thank you.”

As soon as the door closed, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath. He wouldn’t mind catching up on some sleep but he had to finish the last documents for one of the factories.

The warmth of the fire and the whiskeys he already had during the day made him feel drowsy. He was fighting against the weariness until his eyelids became too heavy and he doze off into a slumber.

Tommy felt a faint touch on his arm, not sure if it was actually there or if he was dreaming. In the distance he could hear a voice but it was too soft to recognize it. The touch on his arm turned into a firm one until he became aware that someone was squeezing his arm. He abruptly woke up from his slumber, startled by the sudden touch.

He quickly sat up, his heart racing and his breath fast. Ready to fight.

Only to find Charlie next to his chair. The boy looked at him with big eyes, frightened by his dad’s reaction as he held his plush horse tighter to his body.

“Charlie...” Tommy breathed out while he tried to calm himself. “Sorry, daddy.” Charlie apologized as he watched Tommy, his dad’s unexpected reaction was new to him. “No.. No it’s okay.” He turned his chair to face the little boy. “Why are you awake?” He asked while he looked for his pocket watch.

“I can’t sleep.” Charlie explained softly. “You...” Tommy trailed off. “What time is it.” He mumbled to himself as patted his trouser pockets, wondering if he left the watch there. When he didn’t feel anything familiar, he looked around the office. His eyes fell on his vest, which he hung on the back of the sofa. He got up as he focused his attention back to Charlie. “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a bad dream.” The little boy confessed as he looked up at Tommy, hoping to find some kind of affection from his father. “You did? What happened?” Tommy asked him as he lift the boy with ease, Charlie’s arms found their way around Tommy’s neck as he hugged him tightly. “A monster ran after me, trough the house.” Charlie mumbled as Tommy rubbed his back gently.

“Monsters don’t exist Charlie. Everything is alright.” He explained while he sat down on the sofa, his arms protectively around his son. “He had eaten you.” The boy added as he got comfortable in his father’s lap. “But I’m still here, right?”

“Yes.” Charlie nodded. “Sometimes, Charlie, your brain makes up weird and scary things but it’s not real.” Tommy explained further to him. “They’re not under my bed?” He wondered, not believing his father’s words right away. “They’re not.”

“Will you look before I go to sleep?” He looked up at Tommy, who nodded in response. “I will and I will make sure you sleep well, yeah?” Charlie nodded, finally able to relax in his dad’s arms.

Tommy listened to the crackling fire, recovering from the sudden interruption of his slumber. The shock that went trough his body had him still shaken up.

“Did you have a bad dream too?” His son’s voice got him out of his thoughts. Tommy took a deep breath, trying to make it as easy as possible for both of them. “Yes.” The boy became curious by his answer. “Did you dream about a monster too?”

“Sort of, yeah.” Tommy answered. “Your eyes were weird when you woke up.” Charlie stated as he earned a soft chuckle from Tommy. “They were?” Trying to make it seem like it wasn’t a big deal. "Yes. I thought you didn’t see me.”

“I think I was surprised by your sudden visit.”

Charlie leaned his head against Tommy’s chest, accepting his dad’s answers. Tommy stroked his hair gently as he took the pocket watch out of his vest. 3:30 AM. He had been sleeping for hours and he hadn’t even touched the documents.

“Daddy?” Charlie mumbled softly. “Hm?” Tommy hummed, wondering what the following question would be. “Who is (Y/N)?”

Tommy frowned as he looked down at his son. “Where did you get that name from?” The little boy looked up at him. “Uncle John said you were still heels... something with heels for (Y/N). He said that to uncle Arthur today.”

Tommy sighed, mentally cursing John. It was a miracle how his brother always seemed to know the exact ways to get under his skin. “Uncle John talks too much. You shouldn’t believe everything he says.”

“But he also tells a lot of funny jokes.” Charlie countered, loving the jokes his uncle told him. “Everything he tells is a joke.” Tommy answered as he got up while holding Charlie. “Now let’s get you to bed, eh? It’s too late for you to be awake.” He explained as they exited the office and made their way upstairs.

“Are you heels for (Y/N)?” The little boy in his arms asked curiously. “That’s enough questions for tonight, don’t you think?” Tommy sighed as they entered Charlie’s bedroom.

It had been days since he had seen her and she walked out of his life once again. He had tried to call and thought about sending a letter to her house but knew that she would be in trouble if David would find it before she did. Besides that she probably had already traveled back home.

There was no time to think about her now as another meeting was scheduled. He parked his car in front of the Midland hotel and got out. Rain poured down on him as if the clouds knew how he felt deep inside. He walked up the stairs, trying to shift his mind to the plans he was ready to discuss.

Before he was able to reach the door, a woman came out of the building. Her shoulders were slumped, eyes wide and frantically searching for any kind of safety. Dark circles were visible under her eyes, despite the attempt to cover them up with make up.

"(Y/N)." Tommy stopped her, almost taken back by the state she was in. Her eyes fell on his frame, fueling her anxiety even more. "No. I-I have to go Tommy, please." She almost begged him as she moved away from him.

He looked around to see if someone was coming after her. “Where are you going?” He calmly asked, hoping that she wouldn’t push him away. “Home.” Her attention shifted to the door as it opened, gulping harshly.

A man came out of the building and made his way down the stairs. She let out a sigh as she realized it was not the person she had expected.

The rain still poured down from the sky, soaking both (Y/N) and Tommy. The pattering sound of the droplets hitting the streets surrounded them. He carefully stepped closer to her and put his hand gently on her arm, assuring her that he meant well. As he looked at her, he noticed the bruises in her neck. “Is he inside?”

She stepped away from him once again, knowing that if David would see them together, hell would break loose. "Yes.” Her eyes kept scanning the street, hoping to find something or someone who could help her. “But don't you dare to do anything to him." She warned as she focused her eyes back on Tommy, knowing his reputation very well.

His heart hurt at the sight in front of him, at what she had become. "Come." He nodded his head in the direction of his car. "No." She gave him a dismissive wave of her hands. "I’ll give you a way out."

Her coat became heavy from the rain and her hands started trembling. She wasn't sure if it was from the cold water or the fear of the consequences her actions would bring her. Tommy reached out for her hand, showing her that he was genuine.

David would be furious, she didn’t want to know what would follow for her if she got into accepted Tommy’s offer but right now he was the only one that could actually offer a way out, or at least he said so. Regardless of his apologies a few nights ago at The Garrison, she still didn’t know what to think of him.

Her wettened hair stuck to her face and the rain dripped from her chin. Her eyes were focused on the wet concrete stairs as her thoughts worked overtime. Tommy kept an eye on the door, in case her fiancé decided to look for her. (Y/N) shifted on her feet as she looked up, her gaze finding his.

"Where?" She asked him, still doubting on what to do. "Somewhere safe."

She looked around to see if anyone was listening before turning back to Tommy. "Watery Lane?" She asked him carefully. "I know he won't find me there."

"I’ll drive you there." He reached out for her hand again, to help her down the stairs. Nodding her head, she did not dare to take his hand. With one last glance to the door behind her, she walked down the stairs to his car. Tommy followed, opening the door for her so she could get in before getting in himself.

The car ride was silent. (Y/N) listened to the gentle taps of the water hitting the glass. She watched the rain drops escaping each other as they ran down the window, feeling like she was doing the same thing.

As they entered Small Heath, she noticed the familiar buildings and not long after, the car stopped in front of the house that she knew too well. When they both set foot into her new residence and the door was safely locked, she let out a sigh of relief. One she didn't know she was holding back.

"Let me get your coat." Tommy offered while he gently slipped it off her shoulders, getting a better look at her neck and arms. More bruises made themselves present. She turned around and caught him looking at the marks. Embarrassed by his gaze, she quickly pulled the sleeves from her dress down to her wrists.

His eyes met her guilty looking ones. "What did he do to you?" He asked her as he hung her coat on the back of a chair and moved it closer to the fireplace, in hopes that the warmth would let it dry quicker. She looked down at the floor, preferring to avoid his question. "He wasn't too happy that I left the house."

"The night we met?" He questioned her, his eyes scanning her body. He got a nod in response. "Did he find out that you were with me?" Tommy wondered as he took off his own coat and cap who were both soaked as well. His dark hair stuck to his forehead and his suit jacket was slightly damp. "I don't know."

"You don't know or yes?" He asked, turning around to face her again. "Yes." She quietly conceded, the cold and nerves made her body tremble. Tommy looked at her, trying to find the right words.

"Come." He spoke up. "Lets get you warmed up at the fireplace, eh?" He gently placed his hand on her lower back and directed her to the sofa. (Y/N) sat down, the heat of the fire gave her a pleasant feeling. Tommy handed her a blanket which she gladly accepted.

“I’ll see if Ada left a spare dress here.” Tommy told her, about to make his way upstairs. “You don’t have to, mine will dry. It’s not as soaked as my coat.” She explained as she wrapped the blanket around her body, feeling like she was already bothering him enough.

“You’ll get sick.” He declared while he turned back to her. “No, it’s okay.” She leaned her back against the sofa. The blanket captured her body in a warm embrace, stopping the warmth from escaping and helping her body to relax.

Tommy went to the small kitchen and got a bottle of whiskey out of one of the cupboards. He filled two glasses and put one in front of her on the sidetable. “This’ll warm you up.”

He sat down in the armchair as he saw her puzzled look. “I don’t have gin or tonic here.” She shook her head. “Oh no, don’t worry. I just- I-.” She didn’t dare to tell him she wasn’t a fan of whiskey, afraid that she came across as ungrateful.

“Would you like something else?” Tommy questioned after taking a sip of his whiskey. “No really, it’s okay.” She assured him but he had gotten up already. “Tea?”

(Y/N) fumbled with her dress, feeling like a burden for such a small thing. "If it's no bother." She watched him walk to the kitchen again, his low voice reaching her ears. “It’s not.”

While they both waited for the tea to finish, (Y/N) took the time to look around. Not much had changed since the last time she was here, except for a few added photo frames and some new decorations here and there. It still had the same cosy feeling, a place that earned the title home.

Lost in thoughts about the past she didn’t notice Tommy putting the cup of tea in front of her until he spoke up. “It’s not as gold as The Garrison, eh?” She turned to face him. “Oh.. No it’s not.” She smiled slightly, taking the cup from the table. “Thank you.”

“It’s still hot.” He warned before sitting back down in the chair. (Y/N) nodded in response. He eyed her from the spot he was sitting in, wondering what was going on in her mind. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He questioned as he watched her eyes focusing on the cup in her hands.

“Tell you what?” She mumbled while she tried to avoid his eyes. “That he hits you.” He recalled the events of the night in the pub.

“He doesn’t necessarily hit me.” She knew there was no point in denying after he had seen her bruises but it was easier to deny than to acknowledge it. Tommy lifted his shoulder in a half shrug. “Hurt, then.”

“Because I hadn’t seen you in years. I couldn’t just suddenly tell you everything that’s going in my life after such a long period of time.” Her eyes finally met his, unsure of what to do. Tommy took a sip of his whiskey. “For how long?”

She shrugged, not having a clear moment in time when David had started to treat her badly. “He treated me well when we got together but it got worse gradually.” She looked down at her cup again. “I think it started after a year and a half.”

Tommy nodded, he turned his attention to the fire and watched the flames dance in front of him. He couldn’t believe she had been going trough this for years already.

The sudden silence made her feel uncomfortable, not knowing how to handle Tommy’s reaction. Or the lack of it. “I often think that it’s because he’s stressed out from work.”

He turned his head to look at her again, his intoxicating blue eyes boring into hers. “With all due respect (Y/N) but no good man would hurt a woman. No matter the circumstances.” Her eyes wandered back to her cup of tea. “Maybe.”

He noticed how she still tried to come up with any kind of excuse for her fiancé’s abuse. Even after many years of enduring the mistreatment. It was something he couldn’t comprehend. He sighed softly. “What kind of work does he do?”

“He has an export license for car parts in Europe.” (Y/N) answered before she took a sip of her tea. The warm liquid warmed her body and made her feel at ease for a bit. “And besides that?”

“I-I don’t know. He doesn’t tell me.” She stammered, not wanting to elaborate on the that topic. Besides, she realized she was talking to Tommy. “I guess you already know?”

“I found some things, yes. Didn’t know London was the place you would call home.” He teased as he looked at her. His facial expression neutral as usual but still trying to lighten up her mood, even it was just for a moment. Her lips turned into a small smile and he could swear he saw a little glint in her eyes.

“I didn’t know either.” She confessed as she watched the corner of his lips turn up in the slightest bit.

The mentioning of the place she had called home for a few years now made her think of the moment she entered Birmingham again, a week ago. She knew there was a possibility that she would run in one of the Shelby’s but she hadn’t expect that it would actually happen. And now she was sitting here, in a familiar place, across from someone she swore she never wanted see again.

She let the events of the day replay trough her head once again. The screaming of David, the sudden shift of behavior in the lobby of the hotel and the way he threatened her when nobody was looking. She was able to escape him while he was busy with playing the nice guy to one of his business partners, it felt like her prayers had been answered.

With no plan she just ran out, hoping to come up with something while fleeing to wherever. Until she bumped into Tommy, who simply offered her a way out. But was it really that simple? She didn’t want to drag Tommy with her into her problems, he had enough himself.

She couldn’t burden him with that, being very aware what David could be capable of. On the other hand, she knew she was safe as long as she stayed with Tommy and the area’s where he had the upper hand. But she knew this wouldn’t end well and she didn’t want to be instigator of that.

She moved to the edge of the sofa and put her cup back on the small table. “I think this is a bad idea.” She stated, her hands trembled slightly from the nerves that were playing up again. Tommy looked at her and noticed her face had turned pale. “What is?”

“This. I have to go back home.” The calmth she had felt minutes ago, turned in to panic. “Why the sudden change?” Tommy put his glass down while keeping an eye on her. “David is up to no good and I don’t want to drag you into this.” (Y/N) got up and hung her blanket over the back of the couch.

“I think I’ve had worse than David.” His eyes followed her movements. “You don’t know him, Tommy.” Tears were brimming in her eyes due to the frustration and fear that was building up inside her. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not forcing you to stay, if you want to go, then go.” He got up and moved over to her. “But I promised you a way out and I keep that promise.” He gently grabbed her hand, his thumb moving over the back.

She looked up at him and gulped. It felt so good and familiar as he held her hand, it made her think of the past. A past without worries. She knew what he said was genuine but at the same time it was suffocating her.

Her widened eyes were staring into Tommy’s as a few tears slid down her cheeks. “I can’t.” She whispered as she felt the gentle grip on her hand loosen. Very aware of what his next move could be, she stepped back, ready to take a blow.

It didn’t come.

“Come here.” His voice was soft as he carefully pulled her into a hug. One she had needed for such a long time. Her arms wrapped around his waist, fingers gripping onto his suit jacket. Her head leaned against his chest while silent tears fell down her cheeks. His hand rubbed softly over her back.

“Why are you doing this?” She whispered trough her quiet sobs. His other hand gently stroked her hair. “You’d do the same for me.”

Silence fell over them as they held each other. She wanted to let go but she couldn’t, his warm embrace made her feel safe. The safest she had been for a long time. She felt herself calming down as she listened to the beating of his heart and his peaceful breathing.

He felt her arms leaving his waist, knowing it was his cue to let go of her. “I don’t know what to do.” Her voice was soft. The make up that had tried to cover up her tiredness had faded due to the rain and her salty tears.

“Any decision I’ll make will be a bad one.” She took a shakily breath as more tears threatened to fall. “I don’t even know where to sleep.”

Tommy moved over to the couch and took the blanket she had placed on the back before. “You can stay here. Use my old bedroom.” (Y/N) watched him as she shook her head slightly. “But what about-”

“Everyone is out. We’re only using the kitchen when we’re at the betting shop.” He interrupted her while he walked back to her, handing her the blanket. “Finish your tea first, yeah?”

She took the blanket without thinking, nodding her head. She felt so exhausted and her racing mind wasn’t helping her. She wiped the tears from her cheeks as she decided to sit back down on the sofa. Tommy sat in the same chair across from her, refilling his glass with the amber colored liquid.

“If I may be so bold (Y/N)...” Tommy leaned back as he took a cigarette from his pocket, rubbing it between his lips before lightning it. He took a drag, blowing out the smoke after. “I know that you’ve made a decision already.”

(Y/N) looked at him. “What do you mean?” She observed Tommy who took a sip of his drink. “You made a decision when you left the hotel. The moment you walked out of the door.”

She knew he was right. Lost for words or any rebuttal, she just took her cup from the table and drank her tea quietly.

“You need some rest and the only place you can get that right now, is here. Think about it.” He took another sip of his whiskey before standing up and making his way to the kitchen. “I’ll check if you’ll have everything you need.” Tommy calmly explained before he climbed the steps to the first floor.

(Y/N) finished her tea. Surrendering herself to the decision she had made, still not knowing if she did the right thing. She let her head rest against the back of the sofa and closed her eyes, feeling drained from today and every other day.

Not much later footsteps could be heard on the wooden stairs again as Tommy made his way back down. (Y/N) sat up, her body tensed up from the sound. “I left one of Ada’s old dresses on my bed and I’ll make sure to get you dinner.”

She nodded, feeling overwhelmed by everything he did for her. He strolled over to the chair he was previously sitting in, leaning on the back of it.

“Are you going home?” She wondered as Tommy checked his pocket watch. He broke his promise to be home early, to go see the horses with Charlie. He could add it on the list of all the other promises he broke. Once he arrived home, his nanny would’ve probably put him to bed already. A soft sigh fell of his lips. “Yes.”

He stood up straight and looked at her. “There’ll be men watching the house. If anything is wrong-”

“I’ll tell them.” She interrupted him, remembering it all too well. Tommy nodded. “Right.” He took his coat and pulled it over his suit, the fabric was still damp. “I’ll be back in an hour with dinner.” He announced as he walked to the door.

“Tommy?” (Y/N)’s voice made him turn around. “Hm?”

“Thank you.”

#Tommy Shelby one shot #Tommy shelby series #Tommy Shelby fanfic #Tommy Shelby x reader #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders one shot #tommy shelby imagine

322 notes · View notes

shadowofahope · 9 months ago

Text

Love Revocation

Pairing: ImperialGuard!JungHoseok x Princess!Reader

Premise: Only your brothers would be willing to step in and try to change your future. But history isn't easy to overcome, even if it is all but forgotten.

Word count: 3.5K

Author's note: I've been watching a lot of historical k-dramas and c-dramas lately, and I can say it's an addiction at this point! If you have any favourites feel free to share! I'd love to watch your recommendations as well as talk about any mutual ones we love!

masterlist

One foot infront of the other, the crisp air of the afternoon breeze through your robes and hair, the light chatter of people in the market; it all gave you a bittersweet taste of Deja vu. Times like these felt right, but you had the feeling that nothing looked as it should. It could be the small taste of freedom mixed with the claustrophobic fear being chained somewhere. However, where the other end of the chain was you didn’t know. Or you did once, but it was lost with the rest of your memories from all those years ago.

You stopped trying to remember after the first two season changes, then you accepted your circumstances and adjusted yourself to where you were.

Arms full, you smile gracefully at the passing merchants and village people, the ones bowing at you when recognization transpired. You all but skip down the back path heading towards the palace again.

You promised mother you’d finish her painting of the place father asked for her hand today. You had beeen working on it for her birthday, but you were too excited to wait. So it may have been promised 2 weeks earlier then her day.

However, a shroud voice catches your attention before you make it to the next corner. You stop in your tracks to listen. If living in the palace taught you anything it was ‘to always know the concerns of your people’, were fathers exact words. In otherwords you took it as a sign that it was ok, in most situations to eavesdrop… at least a little.

“She is being forced to marry the oldest son of the emperor and empress. Her bloodline will muddy just as theirs already is.” A sinik male voice mocked.

“What do you mean by that?” You heard your brothers fiance ask. She was a headstrong woman. Not only that but she was radiant. The type of woman your brother deserved.

“Everyone knows the young lady is unfavoured by the gods. So if you bear a child with him your children will be inflicted with the same inability.” This time a female voice chimed in. Just as distasteful as the males.

“The princess is kind, witty, social, politically intelligent, well read, impactful, understanding and unworldly beautiful. Our children will be blessed to have her as their aunt.” Tayla lists, you smile to yourself. She didn’t have to defend your honour so seriosuly, but you silently thanked her none the less.

“You have your doubts. There is no way you do not feel some worry about tarnishing your family name. Its reputation will be dragged through the land if your children fail to develope as she has. They will be cursed as she is.”

Anyone talking about your family members however, you just couldn’t let it slide so easily.

“My brothers children will develop into the strongest blood line of these past 1000 years, we are in no need of your concern.” You step in, rounding the corner of the building. Your voice and demeanour remain calm, a smile on your lips as your mother had taught you when it came to political arguments. Remaing calm when the opposing side could not, as strategy she had learned in her youth.

What others said about you didn’t really bother you anymore. As a young child you always felt the sting of their harsh words. Like they were hoping you’d choke on them. But it had the opposite affect. It only drove you to try harder, to learn the ways of the palace. To push yourself past the limits that this life had given you.

“My lady!” Many courteous greetings are followed by formal bows. “Wha-what are you doing here?”

“I was out for a walk through the village to get a few supplies.” Holding up the items in your hands, you sidle up to your future sister in law. Taking a step between her and the small circle of ill intended pupils.

“We didn’t mean anything by it. We were just worried she hadn’t thought it through. Or raised concerns” One of the young males spoke quickly. You stifle a scoff, but continue to maintain your composure.

“I’m sure you are.” You eye him carefully, if you weren’t mistaken he was one of the many candidates who wanted Tayla’s hand in marriage. “However as I am not my mother and fathers birth daughter, you’ll be happy to know my genes will die with me.”

“You are not the child of the Emporer and Empress?” The small crowd gasps in unison. You could laugh at how comical their faces became.

Even so, amongst the mumbling in front of you there is a faint call from behind you, you turn to her.

“Mother and Father saved me when I was young. Knowing I could not cultivate nor could remember where I had come from or how I ended up where they found me, they showed compassion and mercy upon taking me in and raising me with their children.” You explain to her alone. “I am blessed beyond measure. And your children will hold the greatest of titles. ”

--------

A few days had past since your unexpenctant, informal announcement of your lineage. A very important matter had taken your attention, so you had all but forgotten already. You hear frantic footsteps approach your room. You brace your mind for the inevitable impact that would be your brothers. Your hand doesn’t still as it continues to write on the parchment of your lessons from today. Your doors burst wide open, not bothering to look up at them.

“Are you really planning to take the tether serum?” Your youngest brother demands breathlessly.

“You’re here earlier then I expected, I am almost surprised.” You smile to yourself. If you had placed money on them discovering your plans, it would not have been until at least a week had past.

“Don’t make light of this.” Your eldest brother scolds from the rear, coming up behind your younger brother, closing the doors to conceal your conversation.

“Why would you make such a thing?” Taehyung's bewilderment is something you had became accustomed to. He somehow always seemed shocked by your actions. Considering how long you had been in the family now, you would have thought he had understood you at least a little.

You let out a deep sigh, the air from your lungs feels cold as it leaves your body into the warm air.

“I want to be of use to mother and father in the end. Is that so outrageous as to incur your unmistakable wrath?” You choose your words carefully, not wanting to sadden them with todays ongoings but at the same time you know Seokjin’s fiance has already informed him of the other day.

“We both understand greatly how indebted you feel towards them, but to tether your lifeline to them as someone still young is unheard of.” Seokjin reasons, still standing in the middle of the room, you can see his robes out of your peripheral. Taehyung sits down in the place next to you, trying to get your attention.

“Elder brother is right. If they both pass then so shall you, your soul cannot be separated. You shall serve them into death and upon new life.” His tone turning sorrowful.

This time you look up at him, then towards your elder.

“My dear brothers, It’s no secret that no one would marry me before and now with my birth being admitted, I have somehow lost whatever leverage I may have had.”

“That’s not true.” You see the hurt in the youngers eyes, but what you've said is true. You all know it. You give him a sad smile, letting your hand drop the brush, and placing it over his on the table.

“I cannot cultivate. I have no sense of magic or any prowess. My soul has been deemed weak and now people know that I am not the Emperor and Empress' true daughter.” You direct your smile towards Seokjin. “I have been preparing myself for this outcome since we were young. Please, if you cannot understand me then at least accept that this is your sisters wish.”

--------

“The last time the two of you bowed this deeply to us was when you were young children and you and our son had broken a priceless family heirloom while you were training in the halls.” The Emperors longest friend muses from his seat. Him and his wife had known your parents since they were young, they were as close as family. Including their son, who happened to be the same age as you. So all four of you had grown up together.

“Uncle. Auntie. We are here to request an inordinate favour from you. One we know may be impossible for you to agree to, but we must ask this of you.” Seokjin’s whole body is tense. Everything he can do to save you from tethering yourself is hanging on this outcome.

“What is it?” Your aunt is more curious then worried by their request. Seeing them kneel before them was a shock bigger then they had ever expected.

Your brothers sit up straight.

“Our sister. As you know she is unable to cultivate. She has no skill in combat. Many have deemed her unworthy to bear our family name.” Seokjin’s voice comes out strong, but his hands are trembling slightly. “However, as you also know. Our sister is competent in the kitchen, and with chores of the home. She is patient and nurturing when she takes care of the palaces many children. She has beautiful skills in the way of art and embroidery. She is generous beyond measure and courteous to others. She deserves to have a future.”

“We both agree. She is a diamond amongst pebbles. But what brings this tone of concern?” Uncle is concerned.

“Our sister has decided to take the tether serum and serve our parents.” Taehyung explains. “We do not know if you have heard the word circling about our sister not being of our blood. But we are here to confirm it. Our parents took her in when I was newly born, she is all I’ve known to be an older sister.”

“We are aware of the talk. We were also there the day your parents found the young lady.” The Uncle assures. “You do not need to worry about our thoughts towards the princess.”

“I am curious to this favour. What do you wish to ask for?” Auntie pushes.

“Our sister wishes to tether herself for she believes no one will marry her.” Seokjin explains. They bow again in unison, as if they had practiced their movements and speech before appearing. “We ask of you to please propose a marriage contract to the Emporer and Empress between our sister and your son.”

Taehyung cuts in quickly before they can be dismissed.“We know he is your only son, but we beg of you. She respects your son and you, uncle and auntie. There are many things she may be useful for.”

“Useful? She is enough as she is. We know that very well.” Uncle states, making eye contact with his wife. The look of understanding flashing between the two, unseen by the young princes.

“Just as we know our son. He has felt feelings of affection for the young lady for quite some time. You might not know this but she was the reason he decided he wanted to join the guard.” The older woman conceals her giggle behind her hand. “I had never seen such a rambunctious boy turn so serious.”

“He knew?” They both shoot up in surprise. Their friend had never mentioned having any knowledge of your sisters situation. But then again, they had never spoken of this either.

“Yes. Our son was adamant that he would protect the princess. We could not sway his mind. Though we did not try to. We have never looked down on her because of her situation. She has become a well rounded beautiful woman, our son would be blessed to take her as his wife.” The Lord nods,

“Does that mean you will agree?” They feel giddy. They could save you.

The older couple share a fond smile.

“There is something our son has been drawn to since he was a young boy. We believe your sister is the key to his happiness.”

--------

“Hoseok, what are you doing here?” You beam, controlling your feet to not skip your way over to him. A lady never skips…at least not in front of others.

“Princess” He greets you with a bow and warm smile as he always does. “I was summoned by the Emperor and Empress. Why have you come?”

“I was requested by Uncle and Auntie to meet them here.” You explain. “What is going on? Do you think its about Mothers birthday feast tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure, but we should not keep them waiting. Let us go in.” He opens the doors and waits for you to enter first.

You hurry in, smiles directed at your parents then your uncle and aunt.

A large round table adorned with vast plates of food, both your fathers sat near the far end laughing and chatting away, raising a drink to eachother. Your mothers seated next to their husbands also tremendously cheerful.

You share a quick glance before bowing.

“Emperor. Empress.” He greets first.

“Uncle. Auntie.” You greet directly after.

“Children! Come in! Have a seat.” You father cheers happily. Your aunt waves a hand over to you for you to sit next to her.

You bound over to sit next to your aunt. Which just so happens to be next to Hoseok as well.

“We are celebrating this evening.” Your mother informs, her attention on him.

“What are we celebrating Empress?” Formality laced in his words. It made you smile, even if he was like another son to your parents he highly respected them.

“Lord and Lady Jung, have come to us with a proposal contract and we have agreed.” The Emporer boisterously exclaims.

“I’m sorry, Father and Mother I fear I do not comprehend.” You express, eye brows coming to meet in a frown.

You see a flash of something cross Hoseoks face, but you stay focused on your looking between your parents.

Your Aunt grabs both your hands, placing them in the space between you and forcing you to face her.

“The Emporer and emperess have accepted our proposal for our son and you to be wed.” She cheers brightly, hands giving yours a light squeeze.

“I’m to marry-?” You look back at him. Scared to see panic or disgust or even rage on his dazzling features. But there isn’t any sign of darkening. Only red tinted ears give away any emotions he’s feeling. That in itself leaves you astonished adn shaken.

Words of wedding ceremonies are abrupt in your ears. The pattern of the bedding for your marriage suite.

“But, Uncle, auntie. I’m not worthy of marrying your son.” You say it like it is a definite fact, interrupting their excited remarks.

“Nonsense!” Your father bellows, a bright smile never leaving his face, he places his arm around his long term friend, who shares an equally blinding smile. “You two shall be wed! It is a beautiful idea, one I wish we had thought of sooner.”

The laughter from the elders erupts once again, leaving you shell shocked. Remaining quiet you can’t bring yourself to look at anyone, opting to stare at the oak table in front of you. How did these events happen? You had just made the choice to…

A sinking feeling hits you all at once. Your brothers. They were the only ones that knew of your plans, other then the physician you had asked the tether serum about. They would be the ones to try to stop you.

You’d deal with them after this dinner. You’d confront them and talk to Hoseok about his rejecting the marriage proposal.

You just had to sit nicely until then.

--------

“What did you do?!” You stormed into the study room the next day, you knew your brothers had hidden themselves away. They always resided in the same place to try to escape you when they had done something they knew you would be unhappy with. You had been followed by Hoseok on your way there when you mentioned you were confronting your brothers, upon meeting him that morning.

“Sister. This is a study room. Please refrain from raising your voice.” Your oldest mock scolding you, book in hand.

“Then answer me. I know it was the two of you that have provoked the marriage idea.” You were pulling back your seething temper, but it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Princess~” Hoseok calls calmly from behind you. You could feel him close behind you, not touching but close enough that you felt like you could breathe.

“What all of our parents decide to do we do not hold any influence over. You know as well as anyone.” Seokjin scoffs. The audacity he had to play ignorant at this moment was appalling.

“We may have brought up the idea of a union.” Taehyung supplies from the far end of the room.

“Why would you do this?” Exasperation seeps out of you. There was no point in hiding your displeasure or annoyance at these two. “You know I wish to be tethered.”

“Tethered?” Hoseok speaks again. “Who were you to be tethered to?”

“Mother and Father.” You state, angry eyes set on your brothers, but also not wishing to elaborate. This isn’t how you wanted him to find out. You were all childhood friends, you wanted to tell him yourself when he had time away from his duties in the guard.

“She believes no one shall love her because she is unable to cultivate. She believes she is not worth dotting on.” Your elder brother chimes in, closing his book and sauntering over to you. “But that’s not true. Is it Hoseok?“

“No. It’s not.” Your childhood friends voice is stern, you had never heard it like this before, at least not targeted at you. It sends a shiver down your spine. “Is this why you wanted me to talk my parents out of this marriage?”

“I wanted to be tethered to mother and father because I wish to serve them for eternity.” Your jaw tense. Your core feeling as it had turned into stone.

“Look at me.” You have never heard his voice so cold and low, not even when he was at work. Something in you makes it impossible to deny him, so you do as he orders. You can see the fire behind his eyes, before your allow the flames to consume you you look towards the chilled marble ground. You hear muffled voices of your brother behind you but you can’t react. You feel warm fingers gently push your chin up ever so gently, forcing you to make eye contact. “Princess. Y/n. Is that really why?”

Your voice catches in your throat. A cough threatening to scratch its way out of you. “I am not like others. I cannot contribute to a high class home as I should. I’m…. broken.”

You had never felt so weak as you did in that moment, not since the days yo uhad been found. You could never lie to him. Not once.

He studies your face, searching for something. “Is it the worst to be betrothed to me?”

“What?” His question catches you off guard. You blink at him in confusion. Of course, you knew he would be angry at your decision, or at the very least angry with you for not trusting in him to discuss it.

“I can understand if you wish not to be wed to me because you do not think I’m adequate.” His voice soft like the look in his eyes. Soothing your anger towards your brothers in a instant, your only focus on him and the sad smile on his lips.

“That is ridiculous. I would not want it to be promised to any one else in this entire kingdom.” Why do you feel breathless?

“Good.” His hand slips away from your skin. For a mere second, you miss the contact before realizing what you said. Your face burns with embarrassment, your eyes scrunching closed at how idiotic you sounded to yourself. Had you lost your mind? “Then I will discuss with our parents for the ceremony to be held as soon as possible.”

The shock brings you back out of your inner reprimanding. But before you can formulate words he’s bowing to your brothers and then you and he’s gone.

“W-what just happened?” Your mind struggles to catch up.

Hearing your brothers snicker at you doesn’t’ help, you’re still frozen in place. Frozen staring at the now closed doors that Hoseok, your childhood friend, had left through.

Seokjins full laugh fills the room. “Looks like you’ll be a little bride faster than I will be a groom.”

masterlist

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angelstate · 1 year ago

Text

“Devotion And Death”

Genre: Angst. No comfort.

Pairing: Simon Riley x Sargeant!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Warning: Suicidal ideation, Mention of Death, Religious symbolism. (is not used in regards to dictate reader's or character's religion in the story but with the intent of a more dramatic and poetic narration)

Synopsis: “Devotion to loving causes souls to grieve, even the one's who haven't died yet. Devotion and Death walk side by side in the heart of those who have been hurt by lost.”

disclaimer: this is not the finished product, I'm attempting to finish it soon but i thought it would be nice share what I've written so far! xx

“Death catches up to everyone.”

Simon could feel your stare on him, hear your tears hit the floor, breaking the silence of the ambient in a heart wrecking way that made his entire soul twist in pain.

He took a deep breath at this, it was the middle of the battlefield, it was the middle of a horrible war and there you were. Crying silently, the now wet soil in front of your feet being the only other proof that your tears were falling.

Simon couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't grip his rifle any tighter than he already was. It was like he was stucked in time, not being able to react to the sight infront of him.

he saw the way your hands shook in each side of your tired body, the way you couldn't stop blinking repeatedly to try and get rid of the wet liquid falling from your eyes like an open faucet.

Oh, how he hated the sight before him...

You looked so unbelievably lost, like a child searching for it's parents on the amusement park, so many things that were beautiful becoming terrifying before your eyes. The night sky feeling like monster ready to creep up on you and swallow you whole.

You were as conflicted as he was, as dumbfounded, as tired, as wrecked...as lost.

It felt like a betrayal to be in the middle of this place, bullets decorating the floor, perforations on the few standing walls around you made by said discarded bullets.

It was nothing like home and yet, the only person you needed to feel like at home seemed to be...not anything close to a safe place.

"Are you alright, Sarg?" Simon asked with his usual cold tone, not being able to put an ounce of emotion for your so obvious need of comfort

You nodded once but then stood there, like a kid who had a nightmare, waiting to be noticed, to be called, to be coddled, cuddled, to be lulled to sleep.

Sometimes you wished you had never become a soldier, that you had stayed in college, made friends, got a normal job...got a life where the closest you were to war was what you saw on TV...Too far away to go into the battlefield, too safe to ever see a gun.

You shuffled in your place, not facing him anymore, your side profile only visible for him in the darkness drowning your bodies, the wetness of your cheeks noticeable by the moonlight shinning on your face.

Simon didn't knew how to comfort you, didn't knew how to dry your tears, feed your soul, ease your mind, put you to sleep..he didn't knew anything at all and it was as traumatizing as reliving the inflicted wounds of his childhood. He felt as if he was hurting his younger self in you, how much you resembled that poor boy...he saw himself on you.

He saw the purity of your soul being ripped away from your chest the same way his had been ripped away from him.

Your hand moved to rest on your gun hostler, the cold metal icing your warm skin and suddenly, the palpable opportunity to...to do something about the misery felt tempting and yet so out of touch.

Complicated, conflicted, lost.

Simon noticed the weapon now at your reach, and for the first time since you met years ago as rookies, he didn't trust you with a gun...

Such a different reason now on his mind, the scenarios running through his head, sending chills down his spine as he took one unstable step closer to you before stopping...

"Resting is important for a successful mission" he began to speak, his tone nonchalant but his feelings felt heavy on his chest. Like something was wrong.

“Death catches up to your loved ones.”

Nothing felt right after that night, nothing felt right after seeing you so close to the end.

Nothing felt right after seeing how you were ready to do it infront of him

Simon felt broken, like a partner grieving their lover's death, staring at an empty casket because their body were not to be moved from where it fell that cold winter night.

It would be a crime to touch your cold body, to move you from where you were finally put to rest.

It would be a crime to grieve anywhere else than where you decided to go.

It would be a crime to wipe the dry blood from the floor, it would be a crime to use a old cloth to wipe away remains of his lover.

Simon could smell the rotten meat, the fresh blood. Feel your heartbeat fade in his arms, your skin grow cold. See your soul leave your body, the light on your doe eyes dimming till it disappeared.

Simon could only grip tighter your deceased body, smearing himself with the red liquid that leaked from you, painting the soil in which you rested.

Simon had never wished more to be buried alive once again beside a rotting body.

He had never craved more to hear your voice ringing in his ear, feel the heat of your skin in the middle of a summer night.

He had never craved more to be in an argument with you, alive and kicking. Blood flowing inside your body and not out of you to the wet soil.

Feeding the roots hiding under the first layer of dirt, providing the trees with nutrients to blossom in the spring in all their glory.

Simon wanted your screams, your complains, your warmth, your touch....He wanted you alive.

Why was it so hard for the people he loved to stay alive?

He wondered if peace was an option, if leaving the military was the remedy for the grief. If using the same gun that took your life, a ticket to paradise. If drowning in the scent you left on the bed a solution for the night terrors.

He wondered if there was anything in this world, anything he could do...to forget about the pain, to Emancipate the grieve from his chest.

Simon felt like a haunted house, full of the ghosts of his loved ones, each one of them crowding one room on his heart till it burned in pain.

Was it pain all he had left?

Maybe he was overthinking, maybe he was just running laps around the terrifying idea of ever losing you. Would he ever lose you? Would he allow himself to live after losing you?

Grief was a weird feeling, specially when the person being grieved wasn't dead.

“Death catches up to You.”

"You looked different after that night" Simon thought everytime his eyes fell on you, his heart becoming a desperate void, craving to be filled with your love one more time

You looked tired after that night, at times light flashed through you, dying before anyone could set the fire alive again.

Simon smelled the cigarettes, the alcohol, the sadness, the death in you.

He saw how you were tearing yourself apart, he saw the bruises. He saw the cigarette burns in your arms.

And it hurt him, he saw himself in you, he saw the life being ripped away from you, he saw the tiredness he hid behind stoicism and rudeness showing on full display on you.

It was as if he was looking at the inside of his bruised self in you.

It was heart wrecking to feel grief and love towards a dead soul, trapped in a living body.

He noticed the way your trays full of food were thrown into the garbage, the way you repelled warmth, conversations, connection.

What sort of spell you were trapped in? He didn't knew, was it God punishing you from past lives? He wished it wasn't. Was it suicidal ideations? He prayed not.

He hated the sight of guns in your hands since that night, your finger pressed on the trigger pulling ropes after ropes of panic out of his wrecked heart.

Your eyes lingered in the guns for longer, your finger pressed with more pressure than supposed to on the trigger whenever the barrel was facing you, as if you put to much pressure and shoot yourself would be seen as a mistake.

The team knew you better than that, you were sure of it, they had been your family for years, they had hugged, cried, smiled, laughed along side with you.

They must have noticed the recklessness you used now. Simon had noticed.

Simon had loved you for long enough to notice when you stood differently, when your scent changed with the seasons, when your body language changed with illness.

He knew...he knew.

“Don't do anything reckless” Simon said, tugging your vest down, not trying to adjust it but shaking your body into consciousness again.

He wanted you alive.

Another mission, another chance to die.

You nodded at his words, tired eyes falling on him for just a second before you looked away, hands grabbing your rifle with uneasiness.

Death was a louring creature, and Simon could see it creeping up from behind you like in that night. taking a peek at your tired body, seeing your clock of life ticking more slowly

The night sky of that horrifying night had given clues, had screamed in your faces that it was near.

Death was near

Screams that fell into deaf ears, Devotion never allows death to speak, fearing it's bad news, fearing a loved one was the next to be buried.

“I like you alive, Sargeant” Simon finished speaking with this phrase, his tone cold yet a familiar fondness dripping from the words.

You nodded again, a tired smile on your lips that dissolved like an ice on boiling water.

Getting into the helicopter, getting off from it, scurrying like sewer rats around enemy territory, into the battlefield once again.

This time not with him by your side.

Simon didn't trust you with your life.

You moved around, the sun hitting your skin, overheating your body as you walked slowly, fearing to be heard by enemies.

All you had to do was enter a building, gather Intel and leave.

It was easy, it had been done multiple times by everyone....but something felt off.

You walked alongside your teammates, guiding each other with security, with confidence, you could smell the gunpowder on the alley you were slowly walking through

every step you took made your heart clench, heartbeats loud and quick on your chest, accelerated by adrenaline and anxiety.

getting closer to the building, your team separated for better ground coverage, leaving you crawling your way into the building, gun tucked into your vest.

It was now time to act, to do your job the way you were supposed to because you had to come home, you had to crawl your way back into Simon's arms.

It was an obligation at this point, to make it back alive even when you were supposed to die.

It was devotion to love him in the bed death made for you to lay in...

You had always found interesting how Simon could love you so much and yet persistently run away from feelings.

How he could cradle your face in his hands when you fell asleep in the mess hall while you were in the middle of eating after a mission. Too tired to swallow, too tired to guide yourself to bed.

How he wouldn't wake you up, but wait until the two of you were the only ones left to grab you into his arms and slowly guiding your sleeping body to your bed.

But how in the next morning he would disappear from your sight, becoming the Ghost he was in the battlefield, sneaking around the base without leaving a trace or hint or where he was for days. Until somehow he reappeared, acting like nothing happened.

Simon, always so interestingly mysterious and undeniably hard to understand. He struck your life in a way no one had before, left a mark in all the right corners of your heart that no matter, you couldn't escape him.

He was the definition of a sadistical love, tauntingly painful yet extremely addicting to the receiving end, you. The only one sallowing the pain, your tears and blood being drank by him like it was heaven liquified for his consumption.

the overwhelming feeling of anxiety sat heavily on your chest, maybe it was your instincts telling you something was wrong, begging you to turn around and abandon the mission, it didn't matter to the high moral compass that guided your steps silently across the room.

was it better to die in sacrifice for the betterment of your peers than to do so by your own hand? was it the enemy's merciless weaponry kinder than your own gun?

if Simon was by your side he would have the answer, he would mutter a set of words in such a threatening tone that the worry behind them could not be perceived, he would push you through the mission with a bruising grasp and force you to live to tell the tale of another horrible mission for the hope of a better future you doubt would be even achieved before you perished.

But, Simon wasn't here.

so your knees didn't quit being an unstable support for your weight, the ticking clock that marked your death slowing down as your heartbeat began to accelerate like an uncontrollable force.

with fear clawing at walls of your soul you began to move slowly towards the door, boots softly tapping against the wooden floor, every screech sending waves of panic, the thought of being heard by one of the enemies enough to have blood flowing through your brain in a way that made you dizzy.

but you pushed through the feelings of sheer panic, moving swiftly around the room. opening the door slowly and observing the empty hallway, no sign of people around nor any sort of weapon.

it looked unsettlingly normal in between the chaos of scattered bullets and debris of destroyed buildings on the street.

"please" you muttered quietly a plea of forgiveness, hoping that God would absolve every wrong doing, every death under your belt, every mumbled put curse and every bain use of his name.

you exhaled after a few seconds of holding in your breath, walking outside of the room into the corridor, the wooden floor creaking under your boots but that didn't stop you from moving.

mind somehow clear of the fear, moral driven by the need to complete your duty motivating your limbs to push through the dread stuck in between the creases of your body.

unaware of the danger, unconscious of death knocking on the door the led to your soul and heartbeat.

May God forgive you for your sins, may the angels guide your soul into heaven, may holy mary pray for your the redemption of your hollow devotion.

May every deity able to destine a good afterlife be in your favor.

Because mercy is one way street not many people are allowed to walk on.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #tf 141 #cod x reader #simon ghost x reader #fanfic #cod mw2 #angst #simon riley #call of duty

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nuttyhatter · 5 months ago

Text

The one where Sutekh is a good boy...

Ok, look, this makes abso-fucking-lutely no sense. Like, at all. But still, I'm writing it.

I don't know what/who Sutekh was in previous Doctor Who seasons, but going by what I just saw (and I already watched Empire of Death), I want Sutekh to be Doctor's multiversal dog.

I don't know why, but that's what my mind chose to stay with.

I think about Sutekh traveling on the TARDIS and watching the whole universe and time with the Doctor and meeting, if only as an espectator, all those who traveled with the Doctor.

Warning: Liberal use of curse words.

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

Imagine Sutekh watching the Doctor risk their own life time and time again to save other people.

Imagine how he could have reacted to the Doctor meeting Ruby, someone who was so ordinary, yet along with her mother had touched so many people's lives. Imagine Sutekh watching them risking it all to get to the goblings and save a baby they met maybe an hour ago, only to end up singing in front of the gobling king.

And then the Doctor freaking out and going to save Ruby.

And then this dog-looking entity finds the mistery of Ruby and starts to get curious about a person, someone who is alive and is not the Doctor.

And Ruby stars traveling with the Doctor (and with him) on TARDIS, and one day, they get to the babies.

And Sutekh never saw much sense in life when everything in the end would be the same, but then he watched the Doctor and Ruby meet all this babies who shouldn't be babies anymore, who shouldn't be living there, pretty much by themselves, terrified of some strange being who lives in the lower part of the ship. Babies who were deemed mistakes, who were supposed to be abandoned, whose lives should ended years ago, who shouldn't even had come into existence.

And the Doctor and Ruby again do their best to save them because even if every other person decided that those kids weren't important, weren't good enough, weren't worth it, they both cared.

And you know what? That weird baby monster (whose origin Sutekh decided to pointedly ignore) with the power to inflict fear even in the Doctor by growling at the right frequence was kind of interesting... I mean, it wouldn't live forever, and Sutekh would make sure of that, but maybe, just maybe a little more time to see what thosee spacial-babies got up to...

Sutekh didn't appreciate Master showing up and causing a ruckus by stealing all music. He didn't get why the Doctor and Ruby cared so much either. It was just music, some noise all put together in some semblance of order and repeated time and time again.

He wasn't expecting the fucking End of Times because there was no music and humans decided to collectively fuck shit up-

And how was it that he still couldn't bring his Empire into existence with this crazy assholes at the proverbial wheel of this world? You take away music and they destroy the planet? Give the world back to the dinosaurs, that's what he says! (But not the cats, NEVER the cats, they already have too much of an ego for his liking...)

Anyways, that's when they go back and try to re-insert music in the world. Ruby plays the piano. She is... not bad.

He was actually not-hating it (he wasn't liking it, he doesn't do "like") when Master decides to show up and interrupt by trying to still the music from Ruby.

Things get really insane from there (but what else is new?) and Master is about to kill Ruby (which doesn't bother him at all, of course) when a Christmas carol starts coming out of that too strange but somehow still perfectly, reasonably ordinary girl. What...?

John Lennon and Paul McCarthy found the chord that expelled Master from this plain of existence. That doesn't surprise Sutekh at all, they were geniuses after all... Not that he knew anything about the Beat- that band he knew nothing at all about.

The Doctor stepped on a mine. The Doctor. Stepped. On a fucking MINE!

Centuries, maybe eons across the galaxy and the time lord goes into a war zone without looking and steps on a mine. Of course they do. Go throw your life away after battling the literal embodiment of death! See who cares!

The tube was a corpse. He didn't know how. He didn't want to know either.

There was a girl then, and even Sutekh knew that a girl of that age in that place was every kind of wrong. That soldier who came looking for her was exasperating. Couldn't she see that they were a bit busy right now trying not to explode?

Right, the Doctor is a time lord, he would make some interesting fireworks all over the planet... And the TARDIS. The TARDIS he was currently on. Shit.

Alright, the soldier had an idea that perhaps may work and- Where the fuck did that came from?! Who did this?! WHO-?!

Ruby was dying and that idiotic ambulance wouldn't do shit to help and the Doctor was still on the mine and WHY was that girl still here?!

The mine would activate eventually regardless of what the Doctor did and those two soldiers could not hack the system to make it help Ruby or the Doctor and the girl was talking with an hologram of his late father and watching photos and everything was wrong. Wrong, wrong. WRONG!

Ruby was still on the floor and didn't seem to be breathing and the Doctor was talking and... what did he mean? He didn't understand? The system? The ambulances? The war and the-?

THEY WERE A BUNCH OF FUCKING IDIOTS!!

This "soldiers" had been going to die at the hands of stupid robots thinking that they were at war with some kind of hostile alien race that probably was not even real and they were getting hi-Ruby and the Doctor killed!

And they had the gal to doubt the Doctor when he was basically spelling it out to them!

And did that guy really just confess his love to the other soldier? Now? Really?!

The hologram was the actual father of the girl yet. Sort of. Somehow. Somewhere. Sutekh didn't know. He didn't know either how the Doctor managed to convince it (him? Who cares!) to hack the system to help them, but they managed and-

The ambulances were attacking them. Great. Why not?

And the Doctor was still standing on the mine. Sure, whatever. Then-

Go, you weird hologram who definitely shouldn't be so sentient and have so much capacity for decision-making!!!!!

He released a great sigh when they left that planet (finally!). Ruby was alive, the Doctor hadn't exploded and Sutekh was on his spot over the TARDIS.

See? This was a clear show of the reasons life was simply ridiculous and way too chaotic.

Death was the final answer... Or not so final if the hologram of the girl's dad was anything to go by. Sutekh had never cared too much about what the living thought happened with them after death, he already knew... or thought he knew...

Nop. Not today. There had been more than enough stress already.

Sutekh then decided to rest. He got himself comfortable over the TARDIS and laid his head over his crossed paws, slowly falling asleep.

He suddenly opened his eyes, unable to decide if he should hit his own head repeatedly against TARDIS' roof or simply throw himself into the void and disappear along with his own sheer stupidity.

The woman in the ambulance. The ambulance. It was his, one of the multiple copies he made to plant across the universe. It was all him. His fault. He nearly killed Ruby and the Doctor. He...

Doesn't care. That's pretty much what he's trying to do, anyways. So what?

He settled back to rest and tried to sleep. It wasn't as comfortable as before.

Every person in this planet is so annoying, Sutekh cannot even begin to describe it. They were being eaten by slugs. Fucking. Slugs.

And those things ate over half the population before these idiots realised.

No, allow him to correct himself: Those things had had a feast with over half the population by the time Ruby and the Doctor stumbled across this planet and decided to try and save this stupid, ungrateful shits.

The girl couldn't walk. Sutekh gave up. This was more than what he was able to tolerate. It was just too much.

Then that boy appeared and wasn't a complete dumbass. So maybe Ruby and the Doctor's efforts weren't completely wasted... Not that it was worth anything, anyways. Everyone dies in the end.

The dots were behind the attack of the slugs. Honestly, couldn't they swith sides and help the dots instead? They were nice and easy to carry and could play music. How many of the fuckers in this planet could do that, huh?

He felt it, the moment the other boy's heart stopped beating. Then the girl met with Ruby and the Doctor by the river and said something about him going back to save others.

Lies.

Sutekh didn't want her on TARDIS. She wasn't worth it, she wasn't worthy and she... she could be dangerous for Ruby and for the Doctor. He needed to do something before-

Those people were speaking, saying something in response to the Doctor's (too generous) offer to come with him and-

MOTHERFUCKING RACIST BITCHES!!!!

Go and keep your stupid planet, and stupid forest and slugs. Without WIFI. Do you know where you can find WIFI? In TARDIS, that's where!

Sutekh's mood was definitely awful by the time he heard the screaming Doctor.

He didn't get it. Why did they care so much? This people didn't deserve their care.

But nevertheless, the Doctor yelled himself hoarse and cried in despair.

Ruby hugged him.

Sutekh felt a very uncomfortable knot in his chest.

They were visiting the past-Earth so Ruby and the Doctor could have their "Bridgerton experience". That didn't mean much to Sutekh since all knowing and ever present entities didn't care about such trivialities as human entertainment.

(Also, Penelophe deserved better.)

The Doctor met some random guy who invited him to go outside... And wasn't that a bit foward for this time?

There was a space ship. Random-guy was a bounty hunter and thought that the Doctor was from some shape-shifting alien race that killed people and took their places in a twisted play that had no point in Sutekh's opinion.

Also, the guy called himself Rogue. Took the name from DND. Huh...

Doctor, you don't keep flirting with the dude who is threatening to kill you, that's not how it work!

Why did it work?!

And why is he on TARDIS? He is not Ruby, he is not the Doctor either. He is not an anomaly, he is not interesting. Why is he on TARDIS?

Why would the Doctor want this guy to come with them? He's another of the thousands of bounty hunters that roam the Universe with the sole purpose of earning money. And ok, that wasn't bad, per se. But it wasn't funny either... Not that he'd been having fun watching the Doctor and Ruby.

Oh, right, the shifter was still on the party with all those people... AND RUBY.

Fuck! Doctor, what are you waiting for?! That girl can be a real trouble magnet!

With some luck, she is still with that other boring girl.

The Doctor and Rogue were dancing and making a scandal of themselves, trying to attract the shifter. The Doctor also looked very... content, not like they did with Ruby but...

Maybe there was something to this Rogue- guy after all, if he could make the Doctor so happy with only a short dance.

He seems a bit rusty in the acting department though, the Doctor was carrying the whole show over his own shoulders and-

Wait, is Rogue kneeling? He is! He did! And he has a ring too!! And-

*cough cough*

Not that Sutekh cared. He doesn't give a damn about some fake marriage proposal of some fake gay couple.

Nevertheless, he is willing to allow Rogue on TARDIS after such and improvisation. He is gracious like that.

There were more shifters. And they liked the Doctor, they wanted to replace him too (as if they ever could...)

The shifters got to Ruby. They got to his the girl.

Now the shifters were celebrating a fake wedding with fake-Ruby as the bride.

The Doctor and Rogue got the shifters trapped into the portal and were about to send them away when fake-Ruby started a last ditch attempt to save herself by saying she was the real Ruby, but that couldn't be, for the mannerisms and even the scent of fake-Ruby was like that of the shifters Sutekh had encountered throughout his life.

Then the shifter that attacked Ruby appeared. Fake-Ruby was no fake and she was now trapped in the portal with the other shifters. She'd be sent to a desolate nightmare dimension with those creatures and she'd be on her own, if the Doctor didn't do something, anything. But there was nothing to do now, or the shifters would escape and break havoc.

Ruby was crying, all the while reassuring the Doctor, saying that it was ok.

It fucking wasn't.

Rogue asked the Doctor if they could give up a friend for the world. The Doctor said they couldn't and Sutekh... Sutekh thought he might understand.

Then Rogue kissed the Doctor. He took the detonator from their hand. The Doctor was crying and Rogue looked so fucking sorry.

Was he going to sacrifice Ruby? If he dared to...

Rogue jumped toward Ruby and pushed her out of the still inactive portal.

He threw the flowers at the Doctor.

'Find me'. That was all the bounty hunter said before activating the portal and falling with the shifters into some remote part of the Universe.

The Doctor kept trying to act as if everything was fine. As if they were fine. They weren't and they had no reason to.

Sutekh had been bringing death to this Universe since the Beginning and he knew loss, if only by watching it in others. People needed to mourn. This wasn't right.

But Ruby was there and she cut straight through the Doctor's bullshit.

They hugged and cried.

Sutekh, at the end, didn't dislike the bounty hunter. And Rogue had saved Ruby. He did it for the Doctor, didn't he? At least, that was all Sutekh could assume.

Why though? Why give it all for the happiness of someone you just met?

Perhaps Rogue was an anomaly too, after all.

An anomaly that was lost in some knot of the immense tapestry that were time and space. Imposble to track.

At least, impossible when you are not a death-deity with the ability to sense every living being in the Universe.

As things were, Sutekh was and could. So, he'd guide TARDIS. A little deviation from its intended course to the place were he had tracked the bounty hunter.

Then, Sutekh would add him to his collection of Oddities.

(And if it made a certain Doctor happy, so what?)

The hardest part was convincing TARDIS of cooperating with him instead of the Doctor for once. But she complied once he told her about his plan.

The TARDIS was stuck in a death-world while Ruby and the Doctor went out to find some piece of metal to fix the (very much not at all broken) TARDIS.

They were attacked by one of the shifters, but the creature was swiftly dealt with. It was also easily recognised.

The search for metal quickly changed to a search for Rogue.

They found him hiding away, dirty and hungry, in quite the deplorable state. But, and this Sutekh knew, Rogue was very much alive. The man was strong and had a good survival instincts.

Rogue was disbelieving, half convinced the Doctor and Ruby were the shifters. The Doctor reasoned that the only way for the shifter to replace them was by killing them. For that they had to be there and if they were there, there was no way the shifters got close enough to attack them and succeed. A bit of a twisted logic, if you ask Sutekh, but Rogue seemed to take it. The man was exhausted and probably desparate, so...

In their way back to TARDIS, they found the rest of the shifters.

On the upside, Rogue was sure now that Ruby and the Doctor were real. On the downside, angry and violent shifters.

But Ruby, the little marvel, had put on her earrings.

Sutekh had never seen such a graceful and impecable display of violence. He may take a look into MMA tournaments some time in the future... For research purposes, of course. He couldn't care less about these mortal petty activities.

They reached TARDIS, with a couple of the remaining shifter on their tail.

That's when they realised they had forgotten to look for a piece of metal.

It didn't matter, TARDIS wasn't broken. The Doctor surely would make another attempt at restarting TARDIS and she would function just fine. Except that she didn't.

Sutekh questioned her about it. He suppressed the urge to face-palmed, hard, when she explained that she didn't want to trick her creator, so she broke herself. It was just a minor thing, really, but now she truly needed a piece of metal.

The shifters were back now, banging at the door, the wood quickly cracking under the relentless assault.

The three passengers were frantic, looking for some metal chunk that'd work to fix TARDIS.

Sutekh was mad. At TARDIS for being so reckless, but also at himself for unknowingly asking such a thing of her.

But he wasn't just angry. There was and awful ball of something twisting in his stomach when he thought about TARDIS hurting herself at his request. About Ruby, the Doctor and Rogue, in danger because of his carelessness. It was the same feeling that had assaulted him a while back when they were leaving that war-zone of a planet and he realised the ambulance had been one of his creations. He felt bad, but he didn't understood why he cared. He felt... was this guilt? He didn't like it. He didn't.

Ruby screeched in fear when a big chunck of the door flew past her head, the shifters still banging at it.

The sound brought Sutekh back to reality.

Metal, they needed metal. A big piece, the Doctor had said. Something around the size of a human fist, something like...

Sutekh quickly undid his own collar and maneuvered one of its rings out. He put it inside one of TARDIS' compartments and she let it fall at the Doctor's feet. They used it to fix TARDIS and leave the planet.

Ten minutes after their departure and a heartfelt embrace from Rogue and Doctor (coupled with a Ruby Sunday patented hug for Rogue as a thanks for saving her), Sutekh could finally breath again.

Only for his own brain to halt when he realised a tiny, little detail about the previous ordeal. Not only had he guided TARDIS to Rogue and plotted with her to find and rescue him, but he had also helped Ruby, the Doctor and Rogue to fix TARDIS. This time, he hadn't been just a witness of the events. He had helped.

He had helped.

And with a pitiful whine, Sutekh covered his head with both paws and tried to sleep his shame and confusion away.

TARDIS laughed at him. The fucker.

Things pretty much fell into a rutine after that. Or as close to a rutine as it could be with the Doctor.

Rogue and the Doctor grew closer by the day while Ruby tried to (not-so-subtly) get them into different date-like situations. Sutekh learned about the new concept of "ships" and "shiping". It has noting to do with sailig, but it is a bit interesting. Only a little bit.

And of course, the trio fell into uncountable dangerous situations.

Sometimes they got themselves out of troubles all on their own. But there were times when they didn't. Those times, Sutekh teamed up with TARDIS to rescue their Oddities. (Usually Sutekh wouldn't share, but TARDIS was a very valuable ally and he also appreciated her input and their conversations. Sutekh ignored TARDIS when she threw in the word "friandship".)

And so, there was the time the space-pirates tried to feed them to the intergalactic kraken and the TARDIS teleported "on her own" to a spot conveniently located below them before they fell into the mouth of the crearure.

Or that time when those huge quimera-like creatures were about to get them, and the rocks over the cliff they were under fell all over the monsters.

Or that time when the key-card of that guard "slipped" out of his pocket and fell just into Ruby's reach so she could get the three of them out of their cells.

All in all, it wasn't bad. Sutekh had his spot over TARDIS and his little Anomalies lived and went on adventures and helped people around the galaxy. All the while unaware of the strange and unlikely being who reluctantly (not really, but shhh...) got them out of the most difficult troubles (it'a pronounced "taking care of them", but he is not ready to say it yet).

Then, one day, the three of them were cornered by a group of dream sucking, mosquito-lizard beings. They suck you dry and leave you as a shell of your former self. Most end their own existence after that.

There was no rocks to throw, no void to jump into, no door to be magically opened. So he did the one think he knew how to do best: He blew his sand.

Immediately the disgusting creatures turned to asshes. The trio ran away, back to TARDIS, ancient artifact they were retrieving in hand.

The Doctor set course back to the mother planet of the ugly rock they were in. Ruby and Rogue decided to call it a day and go to sleep.

Around an hour later, the Doctor started talking. It wasn't weird, not even uncommon, for the Doctor to chat with TARDIS.

Except...

'Sutekh,' he called.

The dog-like deity debated with himself for long seconds. Should he keep hiding? The Doctor clearly knew he was there, but maybe-

The Doctor started looking for something in one of the inside pockets of his jacket.

'I wasn't sure where I had seen this before,' they started saying, showing of the ring Sutekh had taken off his collar so the Doctor could fix TARDIS. 'But I knew I had and it gave some very unusal lectures when scanned by TARDIS'. The Doctor was smiling at noting in particular, speaking loud enough to be heard in the room, but not too much, in order to allow the rest of TARDIS' small crew thir due rest. 'And today, with that sand...' The Doctor didn't continue, chuckling and denying with his head instead, as if amused at some ridiculous story someone was telling him.

'Show yourself, please' they asked then, quietly, carefully, as if speaking to a scared child.

Sutekh should have been very offended. Instead, he materialized in front of the Doctor, using a smaller version of his usual form. The Doctor was actually taller than him now.

The time lord sat on the floor in such a way it was Sutekh now the one towering over them.

'So...,' the Doctor started. 'Care to explain yourself?' They sounded curious. Not angry, scared or resentful. Just curious, as if discovering the embodiment of death in your time maching was an every day thing.

'I hid,' Sutekh chose to start with. 'When you intended to throw me into the void, I got to TARDIS. I've been hiding here since then.'

'And weren't you planning your revenge? A way to make all life end and create your own desolate galaxy?' The tone was playful, but there was wariness underneath it all.

Sutekh didn't answer. He wasn't sure why, but the idea of confessing his previous plans was somehow worse than being discovered in TARDIS.

He had just enough time to realize he refered to his own plans as a thing from the past, when the Doctor spoke again.

'What's changed?'

Sutekh wasn't sure what the Doctor had seen in him during the few seconds he stayed silent, but he sounded less uncertain and more exited.

And he didn't know why, but that was a good thing.

'I belive...' he said, thinking over his answer. 'I belive, it was me.'

That realisation was as terrifying as it was exhilarating. And Sutekh had no idea what to do with it.

The Doctor stood up then, swiftly and gracefuly, as he always did. He walked to the controls of TARDIS, then looked at him with a broad smile.

'Then?, they asked. 'Where should we go next?'

Sutekh couldn't help but return the smile.

He was unsure, painfully so, and for the first time in his very long life. There was still a lot of bad blood between them, and even if Ruby didn't know who he was, Rogue was sure going to know something about him.

But looking at the smiling, lonely and too fogiving Doctor in front of him, with the bipping sounds of TARDIS in the backround, Sutekh decided that it was ok.

They had time to dealt with it all.

#doctor who #15th doctor #ruby sunday #rogue doctor who #sutekh #sutekh was only bored #goodish sutekh #and sarcastic #he also curses a lot

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