#oh and legacy PANICS if you ever get any cracks | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yetanotheremptypage · 4 years ago

Text

no escaping your love #31: generations

(Read 1-30 here.)

#41. “Go back to sleep.” (TW: Blood, death in childbirth)

In the past year, Kate thought she had made quite remarkable progress in her fear of storms. While it had not gone away as quickly as she’d hoped it would, she was able to keep her wits about her more and more, and give into the panic less and less. Of course it was because she now knew why they petrified her so, but also because she had Anthony to hold her and soothe her and bring her back to the present moments, wherever they were. The greatest, steadiest anchor she could have ever asked for.

The night had started like any other. She and Anthony had dined together and then sat in the drawing room. She read her novel as he worked on some correspondence, until he’d grown restless and carried her upstairs. The baby had made her damn near insatiable when it came to her husband, so she was all too happy to oblige.

Daphne had told her about the dreams, how vivid and real and… erotic they were when she carried Amelia, and how they had returned with the child she now carried. Kate’s imagination in that regard hadn’t failed her before, so unlike Daphne, blushing furiously throughout the whole whispered conversation over tea, Kate waited almost eagerly for one such dream—though she knew it would pale in comparison to the real thing.

It stormed in her dream, and that one part of her that seemed almost aware she was dreaming told her it must be outside as well. That part faded away, suddenly, as she hurried down a corridor. Lighting split the sky and thunder boomed, but Kate did not stop. She continued, voices growing louder, until she finally reached a door. Without a second’s hesitation, she opened it.

No one saw her enter, or at least, no one reacted when she did. There were so many people, shuffling about, it was easy to slip in. All the faces were blurry, but it was easy to make out the figure lying still on the bed. Lightning cracked again and the figure—a woman—screamed, primal and terrible and loud enough to cover the thunder. A man next to her, his back to the door, leaned towards her, stroking her hair and saying words Kate couldn’t hear but yet she somehow knew he was speaking.

“One more, milady,” a man at the opposite end of the bed said, and Kate turned, suddenly realizing this was a birthing chamber. The sheets under the woman were soaked red, the smell invading every inch of the room. How long had it been like this?

“I can’t!” the woman sobbed, in a voice eerily similar to one Kate had heard before, but she couldn’t picture the face in her head. Another scream tore out of her mouth, but she bore down, and suddenly a baby’s cry filled the air and the woman collapsed back against the bed.

“A boy, milady!” the doctor called, passing the screaming, wiggling baby off to a midwife.

“You did it,” the other man said, and she knew that voice, too, but where from? Maybe if she just moved closer…

“I don’t…” the woman said, eyelids fluttering, but Kate froze in her tracks at the same moment she stopped speaking. That was her, on the bed; Anthony, beside her. “Anthony…”

“Kate? Kate?” he said, shaking her slightly as her eyes fluttered again, falling shut. “DOCTOR!” he roared, spinning around, but his eyes found Kate, dreaming Kate, and he stared. “Darling—”

The lighting struck and the window shattered. Kate, dreaming Kate, screamed as the thunder rolled in. Anthony turned back to the birthing Kate, the dying Kate, because she knew, suddenly, exactly what had just happened, what had happened to her mother and would happen to her, it was inevitable, isn’t that what Anthony believed, a cycle, no one able to live up to their parents’ legacy—

She bolted awake with a cry, her eyes adjusting the low light of the viscount’s rooms, Anthony a steady, sleeping anchor beside her. The rain beat down in a downpour, but there was no thunder, no lightning, no broken glass or blood soaked sheets. She pressed her hands to her stomach and found the same roundness that had been there for months now.

Never, in her entire life, had Kate so desperately wanted her mother.

“Kate?” Anthony said, shifting in the bed, eyes blinking open. “Are you alright? Is it the baby?” His movements were sluggish, even as his eyes became quickly alert. She shook her head, cupping his face with one hand as the other fisted in the sheets. Her heartbeat raced in her chest, so loud she was almost sure he could hear it, but he needed his sleep. She didn’t need to bother him with this just now.

“Go back to sleep.”

“What’s wrong?” he said, pulling her into his arms. And as much as she’d tried seconds ago to pretend it was fine, she couldn’t, and she cried into his chest, letting him run his fingers down her arm. “Kate, you’re scaring me.”

“I had a nightmare. About my mother. And me. And the baby.” He didn’t ask her to elaborate, but she did anyway. She could tell how he was trying to hide his reactions, let her speak without jumping to soothe him right back, but she still felt him tense as she discussed the vivid, horrifying details of watching herself die, of re-inhabiting that childlike persona she couldn’t even remember on her own anymore.

“Oh, my darling,” he whispered, kissing her head before tilting it up to look at him. “You know I wouldn’t, in a million years, let any of that happen.”

“You control death now, then?” He chuckled, darkly, and wrapped his arms tighter around her. “So many women die, Anthony.”

“I know. But you won’t.” She didn’t have the strength to fight him and squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the images her mind had conjured up in such frighteningly specific detail—Daphne hadn’t exaggerated in the slightest.

“I miss her. There’s so much I want to be able to ask her.” She swallowed, her throat and eyes beginning to burn with tears. “I love Mary, and your mother and Daphne, for speaking with me about their experiences. But everytime something new happens, I can’t help but wonder… Did beef set her off, too? Was she as ill as I was for those couple weeks? Did she carry low, like this? How did they pick my name? What advice would she have for me?”

Anthony didn’t say anything. She knew he had similar questions for his own father, and had had them since the night Hyacinth was born. She knew the terror he’d felt, all of eighteen and responsible for seven siblings and a mother who had nearly lost her own life that night. But she also knew that he knew how different it was for her. Mary was her mother in every way that mattered, but there was so much she didn’t know about Kate’s biological mother, what she had been like and how she would have raised Kate and any siblings she might’ve had, once upon a time.

“You are so strong, Kate,” he finally whispered. “And while I can’t answer any of your questions, I know that she is so unbelievably proud of you, and happy for us. And that may be all you are able to get from her, and it probably won’t ever be enough, but… but she is always with you. You taught me that, you know.”

She closed her eyes, letting the tears fall down her cheeks. Anthony kissed her head again, and before she knew it, she was asleep.

Months later, in the hours that Kate sat holding Edmund, both of them happy and whole and alive, she finally felt like she understood what Anthony meant that night in their bed. The room felt fuller than just her and Anthony and her son: there was a whisper in the air that spoke of generations upon generations of Bridgertons and Sharmas existing alongside them, within them, in their son. And, maybe just for today, it was enough.

#kanthony #kate x anthony #bridgerton #no escaping your love #my fics #my ships #tw blood #tw death

13 notes · View notes

kip-loric · 4 years ago

Text

Remember - Cagel

Uh, hi. This is my first time posting anything, including a fanfiction, so I hope it's good. This is my contribution to the Lorien Legacies fandom, with a Lorien Legacies Reborn ship. Cagel! I finished reading fugitive six and was in the mood and because... why not? Anyways, hope you guys like it, or at least don't hate it.

Caleb's P.O.V.

I open my eyes to see sunlight streaming into my room through my open curtains. My window is slightly cracked open, a damp breeze blowing in through the screen.

I’m on my back, my thick comforter covering my legs and bare torso. I sink slightly into the warm mattress, my pillow feeling like a cloud. I let my heavy eyelids close before forcing them open again.

Wait… I think slowly. Memories blurred by alcohol fill my mind as I notice a slight pressure on my chest and glance down. A pale arm is draped across me. My breath catches in my throat, I’m fully awake now. I angle my head to my left.

Bleached hair is splayed out next to me on my pillow. Holy shit. I whip my head back forward and stare at the ceiling. I can feel lean legs tangled up with mine. I swallow hard and I urge my brain to remember more of yesterday.

What happened? I ask myself.

A bottle of champagne and a few beers come to mind. Damn, how much did I drink? I squeeze my eyes shut and dredge up more from last night.

There was Taylor and Kopano. They were watching a movie, something with action and cars.

I smile a little at the memory. I don’t mind their relationship so much anymore and have even begun to feel happy for them. Soon after they had gotten together, my childish crush on Taylor had begun to fade.

Ran was there too, along with Isabela, who somehow snuck alcohol from the UN Peacekeepers. We met up in our dorm and hung out, putting on some music. There were cups passed out and we talked for a while.

But...what happened after that? I remember Taylor and Ran stumbling out the door, leaning on each other for support. They said they’ll see us tomorrow, and maybe something about sleeping? I guess I wasn’t paying attention to them. I was paying attention to someone else.

I blink open my eyes, focusing on the ceiling once again.

It happened weeks ago. I didn’t notice it at first, the way my gaze seemed to be drawn to my roommate. When he caught me looking at him and I turned away as quickly as I could, I realized something was off.

I couldn’t place my feelings for a while, and then I tried to deny them. I mean, all my previous attractions had been to girls. Sure, I had eyed male peers now and then, but had ignored those feelings, hiding them away. If my brothers found out…

Damn it, though, when he smiles at me, my family's acceptance is the farthest thing in my mind. It’s like the voices in my head turn into background noise and butterflies take over my stomach. I feel blood rush to my cheeks everytime he laughs and I can’t help but join in.

Nigel.

Even the name has a way of taking my breath away.

He had been the first person to really look out for me, and we quickly became close friends. We started a band together, snuck out of the base with our friends, and partied on the beach. The nice punk helped me open up and discover myself.

I take a deep breath and look out of the corner of my eyes. A face filled with piercings is only a few inches away from mine. I can feel my eyes widen and I shake my head to try and clear it.

Focus, Caleb, I think. What happened last night?

Let’s see… Kopano passed out on the couch after eating almost everything in the fridge. He was snoring louder than I’ve ever heard.

And, Isabela drank way too much and ended up puking? Yeah, that sounds right. She slumped down on the couch next to Kopano, propping her head up with a pillow and immediately falling asleep.

So, that just left Nigel and I. Damn. The memories become clearer and I strain my aching mind. Fuzzy images pop into my head of him and I on opposite sides of the kitchen. I had a glass clasped in my hands, and kept refilling it.

“Woah, mate,” he had said. He hadn’t had nearly as many drinks as the rest of us and his voice was clear. “Let’s tone it down a notch, yeah?” I had reluctantly set down the beverage while he walked up to me. I couldn’t keep my eyes off of his hips and the way they moved with each step.

“You alright?” Nigel asked. We had locked eyes and I dumbly nodded.

He has beautiful eyes, I think. And they're often filled with whatever he’s feeling. Compassion, mischief, kindness, sometimes confusion, and tons of other emotions all show themselves there. His eyes have to be my favorite part of him.

You're getting off track, I scold myself.

“C’mon,” he had said. “You look like ya could use some rest.” He had led me to my bedroom and sat on the edge of my bed with me. A shiver had traveled down my spine as he accidentally brushed his shoulder against mine.

“You gonna be okay, pal?” He asked me. And then…then I did something really stupid.

“Nooooo,” I whisper in my room, dragging a hand across my face as the rest of yesterday comes flooding into my mind.

“No,” I had told him, leaning closer to his handsome face. The alcohol had made me unnaturally brave and I had rested one of my hands on top of his. My worries had begun to melt into nothingness. “I won’t be okay if you leave.” I remember how my words slurred together.

His neck began to turn red and his Adam's apple bobbed up and down nervously. “Caleb…” he whispered, his eyes showing confusion and an odd nervousness. Oh, screw it, I had thought, like an idiot with too much to drink.

I had quickly leaned in the rest of the way and pressed my lips to his. I cupped his face with my hands and I closed my eyes as he made a surprised squeaking sound against my mouth.

No, I groan internally. Why, why, why? Why, you dumbass? I glare at the ceiling in my frustration. No matter how strongly I felt drawn to him, our friendship was more important, but I probably ruined it last night.

But then… I scrunch my eyebrows together in uncertainty.

I remember moving my mouth against his passionately while leaning into him, wanting us to be closer. He had planted a hand on my waist to steady us, then kissed me back. His lips were softer than I had imagined them to be as he tried to match my intensity.

He… kissed me back?

Eventually, I let him overpower me and take the lead. He had brushed his tongue piercing over my lips while running his fingers through my sandy blond hair. I had tried to urge on the brit with a small bite to his bottom lip, but the hand that was in my hair faltered instead.

I moved my hands away from his neck and cheeks, beginning to run them down the sides of his body. My right hand had snaked into his shirt and pressed against the small of his back.

I remember myself breaking our kiss, both of us out of breath and panting slightly. I had kissed his jawline and then his neck, earning a low growl from him.

“Oh god,” I mutter while pinching the bridge of my nose. My face gets hot from the embarrassment of intoxicated me, but I take a deep breath and continue my memory hunt.

I had nibbled and suckled the sensitive skin of his neck, making him let out light moans. I felt myself getting hard as I suddenly bit down on his skin and he gasped with surprise. I tugged up on his shirt, my way of telling him I wanted it off.

A deep sense of longing and want took over me and I crawled onto his lap, my face still buried in the crook of his neck. One of my hands had reached down towards the forming bulge in the front of his pants.

I need you. I need you. I need you. The words had chanted over and over again in my mind like a drunken mantra. Nigel gripped my wrist to stop my hand from moving any farther.

“Wait,” he muttered. His voice had seemed distant and fuzzy at the time. He gripped some of my hair and pulled my head back so I looked him in the eyes. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he kissed me softly.

And… my memories stop after that.

Wait, no! What happened!? My breathing falters as I think of the possibilities. I relax a little as I realize my pants are still on, but my heart continues to hammer against my chest. I wrack my brain, but come up with nothing more and finally bring myself to look at the person next to me.

It's definitely Nigel, no doubt about it. His breathing is slow and steady, making my eyelashes flutter with each exhale. He wears a thin tank top and a pair of sweatpants.

Should I wake him? I desperately want to know what happened, but he also looks so calm. I gaze at him, my heart beat settling. My initial panic is soon replaced with a flood of warmth in my chest.

“Nigel,” I whisper, reaching over and nudging his shoulder slightly. “Nigel.” He groans in his sleep, lips pursing together. I shake him a little and he moves his head closer to me.

I take in a sharp breath and his legs shift around, becoming more entangled with mine. His eyelids open slowly and when he sees me he smiles, a pleasant surprise on my part.

“Hi,” he says groggily.

“Good morning,” I whisper.

“Mm,” he replies, eyes half closed. “What’s the time?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I haven’t checked.” Nigel must hear the slight panic in my voice because his eyes open the rest of the way. He lifts his arm off of me and untangles our legs.

“Do you remember last night?” He asks me, starting to sit up. There’s worry in his words and his looks at me with concern and hopefulness.

“Uh, well, I- I remember some, but- uh,” I stutter, sitting up quickly and crossing my legs. “I mean, I- we didn’t have…? Or di- did we?” I rub one of my arms nervously and Nigel gives me a soft smile. “I can’t remember...”

“Nah,” he says quietly. “I stopped you from going too far. You were way too drunk and I couldn’t take you like that. Besides, I wasn’t sure if that’s what you would have wanted.”

I take a deep breath and return the smile. “Thank you.”

He nods, almost sadly, and glances down at the bed. “I’m… not sure if you want any of this.” He motions to the space where we were just sleeping next to each other.

“Oh.”

That’s all you have to say!? I think. Oh? Tell him how you feel! I look up at Nigel and my throat starts to close up. “I-” I blink rapidly a couple times as he looks at me expectantly. “I do. Want this, I mean.”

“Really?” He asks.

“If you do, then yeah.”

His signature smirk returns and he leans closer to me, giving me plenty of time to pull away or rethink my decision. I meet him halfway and our lips crash together. My senses are heightened compared to last night, and the kiss soon turns heated.

We fall back onto my bed, with Nigel on top. He seems much more confident than yesterday and his tongue finds its way into my mouth. He pins one of my arms next to my head and makes an approving noise in the back of his throat.

We kiss for what feels like an eternity, my imagination running wild. A loud knock on my door makes us both jump. We break the kiss and Nigel flings himself off of me.

“Uh,” I say, but Nigel has already caught his breath and strides to the door. He opens it and leans against the doorway.

“Oi, what’s up?” He asks. Lightly panting, I peer over his shoulder and see Isabela’s dark hair on the other side. I start panicking again as she sees me and I give her a small wave. She rolls her eyes and speaks to Nigel.

“Some of us are a little hungover, so if you could kindly shut your traps, that would be nice. Save it for another time? Or maybe put your legacy to good use.”

“Sorry, love,” Nigel tells her, not flustered at all. “We’ll be quiet.”

“Thank you,” she huffs and leaves us alone. Nigel shuts the door quietly behind her and walks back up to the bed. He sits on the edge and swings his legs over, nestling down into the covers and pillows.

He holds out one of his arms. “Cuddling?” I smile happily and let him wrap me in his arms. I nuzzle into his chest and breath in his scent, not wanting the moment to ever end.

“So, does this make you my boyfriend?” He asks after a minute, twirling a few strands of my hair through his fingers.

“I hope so,” I say.

He chuckles lightly and kisses the top of my head. “Good.”

#cagel #caleb crane #nigel barnaby #loric #lorien legacies reborn #lorien legacies #human garde #garde #generation one #fugative six

14 notes · View notes

evermorehaikyuu · 5 years ago

Text

~[Congratulations]~

Song: Congratulations from the Hamilton soundtrack

Word Count: 1799

Warnings: Cheating

A/N: I wanted angst. This has been in my drafts for the longest time and then inspiration flashed out of nowhere. For some reason, I was reminded of my own sister, that’s probably why I wrote this. Watch me do Kuguri next or something.

"The charge against me was a connection with one Oikawa Tooru for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime was an amorous connection to his wife for a considerable time with his knowing consent. I had fluent meetings with her, most of them at my own house. Mrs. Tsukishima, with our children, being absent on a visit to her father…"

Tsukishima Kei was staring at the pamphlet he had written. Why had he done this? Why was he so stupid as to believe that with a few words everything would be normal again? Everything he had done, everything he had worked for all came down to a single option: yes or no. And he didn’t say no.

All he could do was stay in his office in shame, knowing that once his wife came back from her respite, he would not bear to live any longer. Just to see the pain in her eyes--

The door to his office slammed open. There she was, the sister of the wife he held near and dear to his heart even though he broke hers, Y/N L/N.

“Y/N.” Tsukishima stood up to walk over to her and take her hand, but Y/N ripped her hand out of his grip. “Tsukishima. Congratulations.”

If he was scared of his wife’s reaction, he was even more terrified of Y/N’s ripostes. An intelligent woman with fidelity to her younger sisters and her sisters’ partners and the richest man in the city as her father, she was a force to be reckoned with. The first thought that came to his head was, I messed up. Horribly.

Y/N had a smile on her face, but it wasn’t the smile that you would give a friend. It was the smile that held so much rage behind it, it would be a miracle if she didn’t explode. “You have created a new kind of stupid, a damage you can never undo kind of stupid, an ‘open all the cages in the zoo’ kind of stupid.” She turned around to look at him, grinning maniacally before letting out a laugh that was terrifying to hear. “‘Truly, you didn’t think this through?’ kind of stupid.”

All he could do was not stare at her for fear that if he dared look into her eyes, she’d be Medusa and turn him into stone. Tsukishima looked down at the floor, a sheet of sweat starting to form on his forehead. He may have been taller, but at that point, he felt like the underdog, the shorter person.

Y/N strode over to him and stayed a foot away from him, crossing her arms. Usually, someone crossing their arms meant that they were taking a defensive stance. Not Y/N. It seemed as if she was taking an offense. “Let’s review.” She closed her eyes and put her hand on her forehead. “You took a rumor, a few, maybe two people knew and refuted an affair of which no one has accused you.”

The pamphlet was in Y/N’s sight and range, making her fire up and put more venom behind her words as she grabbed the object that destroyed Tsukishima completely. She shoved it into his arms and spit, “I begged you to take a break, you refused to.”

Her maniacal expression was back as she extended her arms as if asking for a hug. Tsukishima stared at the pamphlet in his hands before looking at her face for any contrition. There was none. She was more loyal to her sister than anyone else. “So scared of what your enemy will do to you.” She jammed her finger in his chest, making him take a step back. “But you’re the only enemy you ever seem to lose to.”

She was right. Tsukishima had always found a new enemy, a new rival to step on to get to the highest point in his life but there was always one enemy that he couldn’t defeat: himself. Y/N was standing by the window, looking outside as if waiting for someone or something. “You know why Kageyama can do what he wants?” She ripped the curtains closed and whipped around to glare at him. “He doesn’t dignify schoolyard taunts with a response!”

Kageyama was not the smartest man in the universe, according to Tsukishima. But he did know how to handle taunts and that was by ignoring them. Meanwhile, Tsukishima went through a whole process in order to ruin the person who dared sneer at him. It was exhausting and yet he never stopped.

Y/N laughed at his facial expression and walked behind him, staring at the back of his head. “So yeah, congratulations!”

Tsukishima’s head hung again as he tried to think of a reason why he had an affair. “Y/N…”

She cut him off again, determined to ruin him. “You’ve redefined your legacy! Congratulations!”

That’s when he snapped. He worked every single day and night to perfect his legacy to pass on to his children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. As intimidated as he was by Y/N, there was no way he would let her say something bad about something he had tried to do all of his life and destroyed people just to get it. He whipped around and snarled, “It was an act of political sacrifice!”

The look in Y/N’s eyes made him falter. He had not expected for this to happen, she had always seemed so tough but right now, her armor was down. “Sacrifice?” No, it wasn’t down. Something had happened to her and Tsukishima was careless enough to start her down that path.

Y/N slowly walked over to his desk and ran her finger along the table. “I languished in a loveless marriage in London, I lived only to read your letters.”

That came as a shock to him. Why would she marry someone she didn’t love? Then it clicked. She loved her sister more than anything and would do anything to keep her happy, something Tsukishima himself couldn’t do at all. “I look at you and think, ‘God, what have we done with our lives and what did it get us?’”

Oh. Tsukishima hesitated as the realization sank in. Y/N had been in love with him. She had been in love with him and yet, even then, she had decided to do something for her sister that she could never unravel. “That doesn’t wipe the tears or the years away but I’m back in the city and I’m here to stay.”

She got closer to him, looking up at him with a tender look in her eyes. If he hadn’t known better, Y/N would’ve kissed him. “You know what I’m here to do?”

“Y/N…” He tried to reach for her hand for the second time, but she strode backwards from him, glowering at him.

“I’m not here for you.” That’s what pained Tsukishima more than anything. Y/N had always been there for him. The letters they exchanged always had some sort of an inside joke or the start of a discussion and he thought that she would always be there for him, no matter what. Tsukishima had forgotten that her loyalty lay more with her family than for him.

Y/N turned to look at him, a new spark in her eyes. “I know my sister like I know my own mind, you will never find anyone as trusting or as kind. And a million years ago, she said to me--” Y/N hugged herself, as if to give herself the comfort no one had ever given her. “‘This one’s mine.’ So I stood by.” She rose to her full height again, anger laced in her words. “Do you know why?!”

Tsukishima had messed up horribly and he knew it. Now, as he faced a furious older sister, he tried to go back to the time where he could’ve said no. It was his fault. Every single time he hurt Y/N’s little sister, it wasn’t because of her or because of politics, it was because of him.

Y/N grabbed his wrist roughly, making him stop in his tracks. With tears in her eyes, she snapped, “I love my sister more than anything in this life! I will choose her happiness over mine every time! S/N is the best thing in this life!” Her fingernails were digging into his skin, hurting him. The physical pain was so much better than the emotional pain S/N was going through, he decided. He deserved it. “So never lose sight of the fact that you have been blessed with the best wife!”

She let go of him and he stared at her. What would’ve been different if Tsukishima had married Y/N instead of S/N? He reacted too slow and Y/N had grabbed his collar with both hands. Her tears were running freely down her face and they were not of sadness. They were of desperation, of guilt, but most of all, indignation. “Congratulations!”

Tsukishima had pulled himself away from her in a panic and his back hit the wall. Y/N didn’t go after him. “For the rest of your life, every sacrifice you make is for my sister, give her the best life!” She walked towards the door and looked at his petrified figure. “Congratulations!” She slammed the door shut on her way out.

What have I done? If Y/N was that pissed off with him, he couldn’t imagine the hurt in S/N’s eyes. It all hurt him more than he thought and he was clutching his chest as he slowly fell onto his knees. Panic started attacking him like bullets at the thought of confrontation. His eyes welled up with tears as he started gasping for air.

The door opened and he glanced at the person opening the door. It was his son. “Dad?”

Shit. If his son was here, that meant--

“Aito? Where are you? There you ar--” S/N, the wife he had promised to take care of for the rest of his life, the wife he had cared deeply for, the wife whose heart he had broken, saw him on the floor. If he was panicking before, hysteria was rising up as he saw her.

S/N only looked at him before saying, “Aito. Go play with your sister.” Aito left and S/N stared at the man she had previously loved. With coldness in her voice, she said, “This was a mistake. We were a mistake.”

She closed the door and somehow, that hurt more than Y/N slamming the door shut. Tsukishima let his tears fall, regretting everything.

He couldn’t fix it. He swore to love her and yet he couldn’t do that.

Everything was cracking.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu songfic #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader #tsukishima x y/n #tsukishima kei x y/n #haikyuu x hamilton #queued

86 notes · View notes

pinky-the-elephant-room · 5 years ago

Text

Auctum

AN: I swear my blog isn’t an All Might blog, I just love him a lot ok?

Warning: Explicit smut between All Might and Fem reader. Oral sex. Mutual pining and jealousy.

Prompt: Pro hero are auctioned off to lucky bidders for a date.

☆☆☆☆------------

Y/N nervously chewed and picked at the skin on her lips. She watched as the excited crescendo of crowd noises riveted in the festive atmosphere. Were they really about to do this? She spared a hesitant glance at the muscular hero besides her. All Might looked majestic, cool, and collected, everything that the symbol of peace represented. But Y/N knew better. She worked with him for decades, she could spot the beads of sweats and the way his fingers shook from sheer nerves.

“We can do this. This is for a good cause. Cheer up, All Might!” she weakly croaked. Well, that was just pathetic. All Might seemed to visibly shrink into himself. “Besides, this is for the underprivileged kids! They need your help.” Now that did the job because All Might stood up taller and clenched his fist.

“You’re right just like any villain. I can defeat any obstacles thrown my way.” he wholeheartedly cheered. Suddenly high-pitched screams erupted in the auditorium as swarming women noticed All Might standing there. “Except for maybe this.” He gulped.

Y/N felt bad, she really did. When the local youth charities asked for All Might’s participation, she thought that they would ask All Might to come in, sign a few autographs, and pose a few times as he donated a generous amount of yen. But NO.That wasn’t what they had in mind. What they had in mind was to auction All Might out for a date. So, here he was donating time to become an eligible bachelor and accompany a lovely lady on a date.

Y/N couldn’t help but joke. “Hey, maybe now you will have the time to finally date just like everyone else.”

However, it completely backfired on her as Y/N felt the fit of jealousy bubble in her. She waited years for All Might to notice her, year after year, day by day until all the hope had seeped out and left nothing but bitterness. Still her stubbornness couldn’t leave the one person who needed her support more than ever. Especially after her brother separated himself from All Might after delivering the grim foresight of his death. Yes, she was Sir Nighteye’s sister. Only a year younger with a quirk of psychometry, the ability to know the past and present of an individual by touch. Truly they were the two prodigy sidekicks that helped All Might create the dynasty and legacy he had today. Her nii-san would support All Might with strategies on the battlefield, while she did the heavy duty of managing Might tower and creating a trustworthy support system for All Might. Her duties even now were more managerial than battlefield related.

Even as her relationship with her nii-san deteriorated due to Y/N refusing to come work for him, she still continued to do her best in supporting All Might. All the while hoping and praying that the flame for All Might would finally breathe its’ last breath.

Y/N clenched her fist and forced herself to chuckle at her joke.

“Maybe I’ll participate too just so I can get the day for you to finish your paperwork.”

All Might sheepishly agreed and rubbed his neck. “I’ll do anything to escape this.”

An auction manager approached the two and directed All Might towards the auditorium as it was about to begin. Y/N watched as All Might walked away and made her way to the seating area like all other spectators. She hesitated when a volunteer handed her a number paddle but took it and sat near the corner of the stage. Y/N watched as dozens of pro heroes were auctioned away at hefty donations. Hell, even a wild wild pussycat member participated. Finally, the main event was revealed as everyone erupted into pandemonium when All Might stepped onto center stage in his hero garb. The auctioneer banged their gavel and requested everyone to settle down. Y/N watched in stupefied confusion as the fast rate of donations built from 100,000 yen to 340,000 yen. She even tried to raise her paddle a few times to be drowned out by the massive amount of people outbidding her.

“The bid to beat now is 450,000 yen. Anyone else? Going once- “the auctioneer called out before Y/N interrupted.

“500,000 yen!” Y/N yelled out as she stood up.

All Might swiveled his head towards the familiar voice and was stunned to see Y/N in her dignified pencil skirt and suit waving around her paddle.

Y/N felt her heart thud when she made eye contact with All Might, seeing the shock in his face she gave him a small smile. It took a minute, but he returned it before facing back to the audience.

However, just as she made the bid, she lost it quickly as others steadily started outbidding her. Y/N could only watch in a panic as the money started climbing higher and higher more than whatever was lying around in her bank account.

She watched in devastation as the final bid that won was “106,080,000.00 yen” from a pudgy older housewife who excitedly jumped up and down in celebration of her win. The auctioneer thanked everyone for their generous donations and stated the Pro heroes would shortly make their way to their intended dates.

Y/N got up from her seat and returned her paddle to go find All Might before he went on his date. He stood around in the back of the auditorium, talking to fellow pro heroes.

She apologized for the interruption with a bow and said, “sorry All Might I couldn’t rescue you but, in my defense, you don’t pay me enough.”

All Might waved his hands around frantically. “It’s fine I’m just happy that you even bothered to help. It probably won’t be that bad. She seems like a nice enough lady. Besides I heard she’s already married so she’s just a fan who wanted the opportunity to meet me.”

Y/N’s jealousy was replaced with amusement as she watched the mentioned boisterous older lady interrupt their conversation and whisk All Might away for their date.

“Right now?” All Might said as his gigantic self was dragged away by a woman half his size.

“No time like the present, All Might-sama.” the lady giggled.

She watched All Might be dragged out until she could no longer see them. Y/N sighed and checked the time. It was barely 6 PM, plenty of time for her to head back to Might tower and finish up any lingering work so she wouldn’t have to work during the weekends. Nobody spared her a glance as she left the auction and hailed a taxi back to Might tower.

Y/N stretched as her sore neck got the respite, she needed from hours of bending and pouring over mundane paperwork. She checked the time on her smartphone, and it displayed 11 PM in neon lights. She cracked her knuckles, getting immense satisfaction from the loud cracks. Just as she was about to get up and photocopy a case file, a knock on her office door interrupted.

“Come in!” she called out.

In came the emaciated form of All Might in a baggy shirt and jeans.

Y/N just stared at him in surprise not expecting him to visit Might Tower at this time especially after the no doubt exhausting date.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming here.” Toshinori gave a weak chuckle and a small bow of his head.

“Forgive me. I had to leave my date because I was running out of time. I left saying that I had a heroic emergency, but I can’t do any hero work in this form so I thought I would finally help you catch up on that paperwork.”

Y/N shook her head. “Any company helping with paperwork is welcome in my office. No need to apologize.”

She looked him over, examining him for exhaustion. “But are you sure you should be here? Maybe you should get some rest.”

“Iie, I’m fine just mentally exhausted from listening about different luxury brands of shoes.”

Y/N giggled, the mental image of All Might carrying shopping bags while the older woman shopped was mind boggling.

Y/N brought out the immediate files she needed his signature on and offered him a chair at her desk. The two of them continued their work in comfortable silence, talking occasionally about routine topics.

“Y/N, can I ask you a question?” Y/N hummed an affirmative under her breathe as she skimmed through files.

“W-why.. Why didn’t you leave with Sir Nighteye when you had the chance all those years ago?”

Y/N stunned out of her mind as she wasn’t expecting that question, put her file down and faced Toshinori.

Looking him straight in his cerulean, blue eyes she said, “because you were at the brink of death with no hope. I couldn’t leave you when you clearly needed support. Besides the argument was between you and nii-san, it didn’t involve me, so I wasn’t going to leave you behind.”

“Thank you for your support. These past years with my injury have taken a toll, but I’ve only made it this far because of your help. I really appreciate it Y/N-chan.”

Toshinori opened his mouth to say something more but hesitated and then continued to fuss with the paperwork in front of him. Y/N looked at him in confusion and waited for him to say more, but he continued to sign the various files in front of him.

“It’s not a problem. It’s my job as a sidekick.”

She shrugged, letting it go and figured if he had more to say then he would do so on his own time. The two of them tag teamed for a while, shifting around various paperwork getting more done in 2 hours than she had in weeks. Finally seeing the clock hit 1 AM, she decided to have mercy on All Might.

“I think this is a good dent on the pile of paperwork Might tower has. I’ll have to kidnap you one of these days and make you do this again,” Y/N said as she packed away the files in the cabinet. Just as she was getting ready to close for the night, Toshinori asked, “why did you really bid for me today?”

Y/N was lost for words, not expecting another question to leave her speechless. “O-oh, you know for fun? It’s not like I was expecting an actual date out of it.”

Toshinori sent her a small smile that gave her heart palpitations. “I wouldn’t have minded going on a date with you.”

Y/N stepped back hesitatingly. “Don’t say that to me. Don’t give me hope.”

“Hope for what?” He stepped closer towards her.

“I’ve wanted for so long and you’ve never…” Y/N couldn’t finish that sentence as she looked everywhere but at Toshinori.

“I have to go. I have an early morning tomorrow…. And I have to go- “she stepped around him in a hurry to be anywhere in this room, to be talking to anyone about anything except for this. Just as she was about to pass, an arm grabbed her and pulled Y/N back.

She almost stopped breathing due to the close proximity of her and Toshinori’s face. She could see the gauntness of his gentle face and the brilliant shine of his blue eyes. He brought a hand to softly brush against her cheek before pulling her in. Her breath hitched as finally their lips connected. They stood there just lip locking; eyes open not knowing what to do. Y/N finally getting over her shock, grabbed Toshinori by his shoulders and pulled him in closer. She closed her eyes as she slowly responded and savored the taste of him. Getting the reaction he sought, Toshinori grabbed her hips and tilted his head sideways to get the perfect angle. She granted him entry to her mouth and groaned in appreciation as he took his time to explore every inch. The two kissed for what seemed like hours, Y/N slowly moving backwards as she responded to his dance of licks and swirls with her tongue.

She eventually collided with the desk as Toshinori trapped her against it.

“All this time I thought there couldn’t be anything. But if I don’t try, then it’ll be a missed opportunity I regret for the rest of my life,” he said as he kissed her again.

Caging her body with his thin but tall frame, he grabbed her neck as he continued to plunge into her mouth and devouring her harder and faster. A need for oxygen left her lightheaded and she pulled away, that didn’t deter him from moving to her neck and leaving a trail of hot kisses. Finding a spot, he liked, he bit it gently before sucking deeply and leaving a mark on her body. Y/N panting harshly, couldn’t keep from squirming in place as the ministrations sent tingles straight down to her pussy. She could feel the wetness in between her thighs that was building up, and a particular harsh bite to her neck caused her walls to twitch. Y/N couldn’t stand it anymore, so she grabbed his hands and placed it on her center. She watched as his eyes widened knowing that he could feel the effect he had on her. Grabbing her thighs and hips he made her sit back on the table. Slowly, he rolled up her gray pencil skirt until he flipped it over on her stomach. Toshinori always wondered what she had under that skirt and now he was going to find out. She had on a plain, cream panty that he quickly discarded on the floor. He slowly circled her lips, feeling the moisture gush out of her. He groaned feeling her so turned on by him in a matter of minutes was doing wonders for his insecurities. Toshinori slowly inserted his pointer finger, letting her get used to its size before giving short thrusts. He added a second finger that he thrusted in tandem together. Y/N could barely keep herself together as she couldn’t believe what they were doing on her desk. Toshinori removed his fingers and tasted the fluids covering his fingers. The salty, tangy taste instead changed his mind to getting his appetite sated by her only.

Maneuvering her by grabbing her hips to his eye level, he laid his tongue flat as he caressed her pussy with it. Letting out a moan and feeling his eyes roll back, he held her tight as he made a meal out of her. Y/N underneath thrashed helplessly as she felt his warm tongue imitate what his dick could do. Sucking lightly at her clit, he inserted his finger back in as he set a languid pace. Y/N decided that she needed a just a bit more to reach her pleasure, hurriedly unbuttoning her blouse so that she could push her bra cups down. Feeling her vaginal walls constrict around his finger, she circled her nipples till they stood at attention before she rolled them in her hands. Toshinori licking up the last of moisture near her opening, lightly bit her clit which overwhelmed her as Y/N arched off the table. He continued to thrust helping her prolong her pleasure, he waited till she calmed before removing his fingers and holding her down tightly. Y/N looked at him in confusion in the haze of her pleasure as to why he was holding her down when she came already. She finally realized why when he dove his face back into her center and resumed eating her newly released fluids like a starving man. Y/N twitched uncontrollably as her vagina reacted to the extra stimulus, she tried to push him off, but he held her steady.

“Oh god, Toshi please stop. I’m begging,” she sobbed as her eyes watered from the intense pleasure. Nothing she did deterred him; her second orgasm engulfed the remnants of her first one as she spiraled out of control.

Y/N started seeing visions of a young Toshinori being introduced to an even younger Y/N. She saw him being enamored by her. She saw him watch her as she grew up, year after year, pining for a girl who was his sidekick’s sister. She saw how he had convinced himself to let her go to keep her safe, even more determined after his injury. But the older he got, the less convinced he was of his convictions. Y/N couldn’t help the tears as they came pouring down her face. She sobbed out the relief, knowing that he really did love her just like she did him.

Toshinori finished up, giving her final kitten licks before letting go of her hips. He straightened up to find Y/N just sobbing her heart out. Giving her kisses on her head, he tried to frantically calm her down.

“I’m sorry my quirk it activated while I was..-“

Toshinori shushed her with a quick kiss to her lips.

He asked as he interlocked their fingers together and pressed a kissed to it. “It’s ok what did you find out?”

“That we were both idiots yearning for each other,” she said as she hiccupped while trying to calm down.

“I guess I have a lot to make up for, don’t I?”

Y/N chuckled and agreed.

“Yes, but do you think you can start at my apartment? This desk isn’t that comfortable.”

Toshinori hopped off of her and they straightened their disheveled selves to look presentable before continuing their enjoyable night till the break of dawn in the comfort of Y/N’s bed.

296 notes · View notes

fishfingersandjellybabies · 5 years ago

Text

Legacies - dad!jason au

Characters: Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Jason Todd, Barbara Gordon Pairings: jaydick Summary: Dick was Batman now, and as a certain someone always said - Batman always needs a Robin. A/N: After All’s Fair by a few months/a year and before Worst Nightmare. Also ignore the a/n on Worst Nightmare/edit it to be talking about being Bruce’s Robin, not Dick’s. Damian is 13 in this. Can’t believe I haven’t updated this au in OVER a year, so if you only read this series from me, reminder I now have a Patreon and Ko-Fi if you like my work and would like to support me further or get stories written for you/commissions! I’d be forever grateful!

Other things for Nevolition’s Dad!Jason AU

“…This is weird.” Jason’s voice cracked through the communicator. It was a slow night, thankfully, and the two had been talking via comm. link for about an hour.

“What is?” Dick asked, shifting slightly to rearrange the cape across his shoulders.

“This.” Jason reiterated. Laughed breathily. “I’m sitting here flirting with the fucking Batman.”

Dick laughed too. Leaned back and stared up at the moon through the cloudy skies. “Don’t freak out too much when you remember you’re married to the Batman too.”

“Oh my god, I’m married to the fucking Batman.” Jason mimicked with fake shock. Dick kicked his feet against the brick of the building in glee. The cape, this legacy, was heavy. Too heavy, sometimes. But Jason sitting up and talking to him about mundane things like soups and shoestrings made it lighter. Made it bearable.

Dick let out a deep sigh. Listened as Jason plopped another folded shirt of their clean laundry into the basket.

“…Any word from Tim tonight?” Jason asked softly.

“Of course not. He still isn’t speaking to me.” Dick mumbled. He heard voices below him and leaned forward, making sure his cowl ears didn’t cast a shadow. It was a couple leaving a nearby bar. “Still thinks Bruce is alive, and I don’t think he’ll speak to me until I agree with him.”

“Kind of hard to agree with an idea that’s absolutely nuts.” Jason huffed. “It’s just his grief, Dick. Don’t take it personally.”

“I’m trying not to.” Dick promised. “At this point, I just want to know he’s okay.”

“Mentally or physically? Because you know my opinion on the former.”

“Both.” Dick stressed. “I mean, if he thinks Bruce is still alive then obviously he needs help mentally. But if he’s out there trying to fight criminals on his own, I’m afraid what could happen if he’s ever outnumbered.”

“Well, what’d Babs say?” Jason asked. “She know where he is?”

“Says he’s still in Gotham.” Dick murmured, swinging his legs wildly in front of him, in a kind of stretch. “Says he’s going by the name Red Robin now too.”

“Why? He didn’t want to be your Robin?” Jason asked. The dryer dinged in the background, and he heard Jason shift to go get the new load. “That’s kind of surprising, honestly.”

“I told him to his face that his theory about Bruce wasn’t real, and he needed to find a new way to cope. Probably not in the nicest way either.” Dick mumbled guiltily. “So of course he wants nothing to do with me.”

“Still…Robin has become a lot more independent to Batman in recent years.” Jason thought out loud. “Working with Batman isn’t exactly a necessary part of the job anymore.”

“That’s just what Babs said, not that she or Steph have talked to him about it.” He heard the dryer door slam. “Sorry for taking a patrol on laundry night. I know you hate that.”

“Eh, I hate it less these days.” Dick could practically see Jason shrug. “You’ve got a lot more important things on your plate right now then making sure Damian’s clean underwear is folded correctly.”

Dick snorted. “Well hopefully he’s making up for my absence.”

Jason paused. Then: “What do you mean?”

“I mean I hope he’s sitting there helping you, not sitting in his room on the computer.”

Another hesitation, then a chuckle. “Dick, did you forget he’s spending the night at Colin’s tonight?”

Dick frowned. “No he’s not.”

“Yes he is. That’s what he told me this morning.”

Dick’s gut began to churn. “I asked him what he was doing tonight before I left for the manor. He said nothing, because Colin’s out of town.”

Jason remained silent.

“Jason, is Damian not home?”

“Let me call him.” Jason said hurriedly. Dick checked the projection in his mask, making sure he didn’t miss a text from his son. A moment later, Jason exhaled nervously. “…It went straight to voicemail.”

“Don’t panic, Jay. Let me call Oracle.” He pushed the switch on the side of his cowl. “Babs?”

“Yes, Man Wonder?”

“Do you have a read on Damian? He appears to have tried to pull a fast one on Jay and I.”

“Ah, the joy of teenage rebellion. Just like all three of his dads.” Barbara hummed. She too seemed to switch communicator channels. “Batgirl, Black Bat and all other Bat-related friends and foes. Be on the lookout for a certain thirteen-year-old that we all know and love very dearly. He’s apparently lied to his dads and is gonna be in some deep shi-”

“Hang on, hang on.” A new voice drawled boredly across the line. “Don’t panic, I’m almost there.”

Dick blinked, and even Barbara seemed stunned into a momentary silence. Damian had a communicator, just like Jason did. One to call Dick, and Dick only. Not the open line. “…Damian, almost where?”

There was a thud behind him, and Dick immediately fell into attack mode. Pulled batarangs from his belt as he flipped backwards and twisted into a fighting stance.

And his weapons immediately slipped from his fingers, clattering to the rooftop.

Because it wasn’t an enemy. Oh no. At this moment, he’d have preferred an enemy. He’d prefer the Joker over who was standing in front of him.

Robin.

Damian dressed as Robin.

“No.” Was the first word out of Dick’s mouth, even as he took in the costume. It wasn’t thrown together, wasn’t a fake. He could see Alfred’s careful craftsmanship in the stitching of the red tunic, the thick green gloves. “Absolutely not.”

Damian grinned anyway, holding his bright yellow cape out and giving a single spin to show it off. “Cool, huh?”

“Opposite of cool.” Dick found himself already floating into the Batman voice. “Dames, we talked about this.”

Damian frowned. “No, you and Baba talked about this. I listened.” He crossed his arms. “Reluctantly.”

Dick bit his lip. “Babs. Get Penny-One on the line. Ask him why he allowed-”

“Alfred didn’t allow anything. He just made the uniform when we asked.” Damian cut off.

Dick tilted his head. “We?”

“Tim.” Damian said simply. “He and I talked about it. He helped me with the design. He passed the legacy of Robin on to me.”

Dick’s stomach dropped. This…explained a lot. Maybe. Explained the Red Robin part, at least. Maybe the radio silent part, and why Damian had an open line communicator too.

Damian seemed to see the confusion on Dick’s features. Uncrossed his arms and placed his hands on his hips. “I’d brought the idea up to him before, when you were thinking about taking over for…for Father.” He paused, seemed to swallow a lump in his throat. “And then you two fought, and he said he was leaving town. I asked him who was going to watch your back, and he stopped. He said he didn’t want to do it, that he couldn’t. Not with how things were right now. And I reminded him of what he always said.”

“And what did he always say?” Dick asked, hearing the bitterness in his own voice.

“That Batman needs a Robin.” Damian said firmly. “And in my opinion, that doesn’t change, even if the guy wearing the cowl does.”

“But not you.” Dick countered. His communicator beeped, reminding him of Jason on the other line. And great – that was going to go just swell. Hey honey, found our kid! Turns out he wants to fight crime! “Robin was never supposed to be you.”

“That’s what Tim said. And I asked him who else was going to do it?” Damian grinned again, overly pleased with himself. “He still wasn’t going for it exactly, so…”

“So?”

“So I told him if he didn’t help, I’d just go out on my own anyway.” Damian tilted his chin up. “He said that’d happen over his dead body, so he helped me design the suit and new weapons and everything, to make sure I was safe.”

“Well thank god for that.” Dick mumbled.

“And when it was all ready to go, he…he said he was proud of me. That there was no one else he’d rather take the title after him.” Damian’s cheeks seemed to redden a little bit at the memory of the praise. “He even went out with me the first few times so he knew I was ready.”

“You’ve gone on patrol already?!” Dick fumbled. He heard someone snort in amusement on the line. “Oh my…when? How many times?”

“Last month.” Damian countered. “Remember all those late nights at the Gotham Library with Nell for that project?”

“Oh my…” Dick sputtered, turning away. “Oh my freaking god…”

“Still got that husband on line two, Bats.” Barbara almost sang in his ear.

“So much for World’s Greatest Detective, eh, Didi?” Damian hummed with a laugh. “Don’t worry, I can pick up the slack on that.”

“You little…” Dick sighed, moving to run his hand through his hair, and remembering too late that he couldn’t. “Your baba’s going to kill me.”

“He’ll understand.” Damian tried, moving forward. “I’m…Didi, I’m not doing this to go against you or anything. I’m doing this to help. To help people, to protect the city you and Father love so much and…and to make sure you come home safe.”

Dick looked down at him.

“I won’t let the Court of Owls happen again, Didi. I won’t.” Damian whispered. “I won’t let someone hurt Stephie again, or Tim, or anyone else.”

Dick’s heart melted a little at that. And hurt, too. Goddamn, their son was so kind. So smart. So perfect.

He sighed, and reached out to reel Damian in, wrapping his arms tightly around his shoulders. Closed his eyes to hold back the tears, remembering when Bruce would hug him too, when they were Batman and Robin. And now, here, this…

“We’ll…have to talk to Baba about this. He’ll take a lot of convincing.” Damian looked up at him, smile threatening to crack his face in two. “Not that I’m saying yes, either, but…I understand.”

“…I’d have pointed out the hypocrisy of you saying no, if you didn’t.” Damian admitted.

“I have no doubt.” Dick laughed. “Again, I’m not saying yes, but…I suppose you can stay with me for tonight’s patrol.”

Impossibly, Damian’s grin got wider.

“A-hem.” Barbara reminded. “Husband – and dad – still on line two.”

Dick groaned as Damian stepped away from him with an awkward grin. Jason really was going to kill him.

He hit the button to switch frequencies. “Jay-”

“I swear to fuck, Dick, if someone’s already linked him to your Batman, I’m going to-”

“He’s with me!” Dick cut off, cringing in the immediate silence that followed. “He’s, uh, with me. On…this…rooftop.”

“…Why.” Jason demanded, though Dick already knew he was putting the pieces together. “Why is he on a rooftop with you.”

“Because…” Dick started. He stopped there, though, because how do you explain it? Even to someone who formerly wore the colors? “Well…apparently…he, uh…he approached Tim a little while ago and…I guess we raised him too well, so…”

“No. Absolutely not.” Jason all but screamed. “Tell him his little ass is not going to be Robin and he is fucking grounded until further notice.”

“Now, Jason-”

“Nope.” Jason countered. “Drag his ass home, right now. Or else you’re grounded too, you Bat fuck.”

If he was going to try and plead any more of his or Damian’s case, he didn’t get the chance before Jason disconnected the line. He sighed, dropping his head back.

“What’d he say?” Damian asked nervously. Dick was almost surprised he didn’t try to eavesdrop on the call.

“Exactly what I’m sure you’d think he’d say.” Dick droned. He looked back down at his boy. “He wants me to bring you home, stat.”

Damian pursed his lips and crossed his arms once more.

“But…” Damian perked. “He clearly needs some time to cool down.” Dick smiled. “Probably will take him a few hours.” In the moment of silence, as luck would have it: “And I think I hear sirens a few streets over.”

Damian slowly smiled as Oracle patched the police scanner into both their communicators.

“You ready, Robin?” Dick whispered. And even for all his fear and hesitancy about this partnership, he felt his chest fill with pride.

“I was born ready, Batman.” Damian promised.

“Last one there has to wash the Batmobile.” Dick teased. Damian laughed.

Batman and Robin jumped into the night – together again for the first time.

#jaydick #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #barbara gordon #dad!jason au

51 notes · View notes

asagi-s-garden · 5 years ago

Text

It’s time for Dumb Headcanons-

For whatever reason, Kara is the one to carry her and Lena’s first born child, she can’t just vanish for almost a year without saying anything though, I mean what kind of hero would do that?

So she makes a public announcement right after officially finding out that she’s pregnant that she’s “going away for a few months on a personal journey”

Now the thing is, Lena knows her wife, she knows her very well, and she knows that her watching from the sidelines as Alex and the others keep the city safe is going to be incredibly painfull for her, so she decides to take Kara on a vacation for the first few months of pregnancy

Once they get around the second trimester they’re going to have to go into seclusion in a special fortress that Clark and Kate built for her that’s like half Fortress Of Solitude and half Batcave that’s structured to both keep enemies out, and keep Kara in, because they know their girl as well as Lena does (Alex tunes in from skype from time to time to tell them what they’ve done wrong specifically because she knows how crafty Kara is and is just “mmm nope you see that little crack in that wall right there? Yeah she could get through that, I don’t know how, but she could”) Ofcourse freinds and family are welcome to visit because it’d just be cruel otherwise but anyway

Lena knows Kara, she knows that staying cooped up in one place for 5-6 months is going to be hell enough as it is, the full extent of her pregnancy would be a NIGHTMARE, but she also is a little afraid to stay in National City during the first 3-4 months because that would equally be disasterous on Kara’s mental health, seeing shit go down and not being able to help, so she decides to take them on vacation instead, to some of the most peacefull places on Earth, like the New Zealand countryside and a small town in Switzerland and a tiny island that she may possibly own, it seems like a solid plan to begin with, until....

Proof That Lena Luthor Is Supergirl

That’s the headline that starts popping up about four days after they leave and it’s just everywhere, conspiracy theories that Lena is Supergirl because she “vanished“ at the same time that Supergirl left

Kara thinks it’s hilarious, it’s the best laugh she’s had in a week and that’s saying something considering how much time she’s spent watching cute cat videos on the private jet

They have to cut their vacation short so Lena can go back to National City every few weeks, show her face for a few days, and then leave again

Everyone starts making it into an inside joke that they have to be very carefull not to share outside of The Circle of those in the know because otherwise something might slip, Brainy in particular thinks it’s bizarre that Kara just keeps getting more pregnant everytime she comes back and yet somehow no one has tried to pin Lena’s wife, who’s pregnant, as the superhero who has to mysteriously vanish for nine months (because against her better instincts Kara does mention at the press conference that she’ll be returning in June, wich is about nine months from when she announces her departure, somehow no one has picked up on it, until they start with the Lena theory and go “AND HER WIFE IS PREGNANT AND DUE IN JUNE, COINCIDENCE? I THINK NOT-” evidently they’ve decided that Lena is leaving because Kara is pregnant, wich isn’t wrong, but still somehow off)

By the time baby Kira Zor El Luthor is born (they made the conscious decision to break from the “L” tradition in Lena’s family only to end up with the “K” tradition in Kara’s completely by accident; their second born will be named Luka and Alex is going to headdesk so hard she bruises) half of National City has started to believe that Lena is Supergirl, somehow, and she and Kara- as Supergirl- have to actually appear together in public and shake hands with people to prove neither one is a hologram before anyone lets the theory die

Other less cohesive headcanons about this insanity-

-Kara insists that she take care of Kira when she wakes up in the middle of the night because to be 100% honest sleep is a luxury, not a necessity, for her- that’s not even being careless with herself, that’s just.... a legitimate fact... she doesn’t really HAVE to sleep very much as long as she’s under the yellow sun so why on earth should she deprive Lena of it???

Lena: Really, it’s ok, I’ve had a lifetime of being denied sleep so at this point I can actually function with out it :)

Kara: That.... that in absolutely no way makes me feel better...... also I have super hearing so I’ll hear her first anyway, there’s no need to wait for you to wake up..

Lena: Oh no that’s fine, I’m hypervigilant and paranoid so I’ll wake up as soon as she starts crying, no superpowers required! :)

Kara: That just makes me feel even worse?????? B-Besides I have a Kryptonian lullaby I can sing to her that works like a charm

Lena: Oh that’s so lovely, I have an old Irish lullaby my mother taught me right before she died that I can’t wait to sing to Kira as the literal only good thing that comes from my family legacy :)

Kara, near tears: ...Have I done something to you today????? ;_;

Lena: ...no?? why???

-The amount of food they go through during Kara’s pregnancy probably could have sustained a small country for atleast a month, it doesn’t seem to matter how much Lena thinks she’s stocking up ahead of time, it’s never enough and she inevitably always has to buy more the very next day, it takes the combined efforts of Barry and Kate to help keep things stocked so Lena isn’t having to constantly be leaving the Bat Fortress (it was the name Kate and Clark finally decided on and no one has the right to veto it no matter how much certain people want to) to restock, they start this Superhero Delivery Service as a Bros Being Bros type of thing, just freinds being freinds and loving their pregnant super freind so very much but after a week it turns into a ruthless competition of what, ultimately, is the better resource- speed or money, Barry has the Speed Force but Kate has every method of transportation imaginable and also drones and by the time Kira is born a rivalry has slowly simmered between them, the likes of wich goes right back to the type of “Who’s faster?” rivalry Barry has with the Supers, that probably won’t end even after they both die, Kara has mixed feelings about being the inadvertent catalyst for this but Nia thinks it’s the best thing that’s ever happened and she and Mary are placing bets

-Lena knows that Kryptonians don’t exactly have the same health issues to worry about that humans do but Kira is going to be atleast part human isn’t she? So Kara has to be willing to step up her health game wile she’s pregnant right??? Nice theory, no dice, Alex tried to warn her but Lena Luthor doesn’t lose and when she wants something she gets it................ unless that something is getting Kara to have a healthier diet, then there’s no force on any planet in any universe that can help

Lena: An apple

Kara: A dozen doughnuts

Lena: One apple

Kara: ...Sixteen doughnuts

Lena: *gently places an apple on the table*

Kara: ....*stares intensely at the box of doughnuts, unblinking*

Lena: ....What are you doing?

Kara: I wonder if I try hard enough if I can develop telekinesis

Lena: No-

-True panic is Lena taking care of Kira at the office wile Kara is off doing the superheroing for the first time in months (nanny? nope, not in this house, the child never leaves our sight, we die like moms) and Kira starts giggling and levitates out of her bassinet wile Lena is on a conference call so her investors are met with a frantic Lena keeping her voice astoundingly level and clear wile running around the office chasing her floating baby, they mostly just get glimpses of her jacket from time to time and, if they ask, are only met with “I have a child now” and absolutely no other explanation

-For the first time since being on Earth Kara is faced with the cosmic joke that is Earth’s gravity during her late months of pregnancy because everything is wobbly and waddly and holy RAO HOW IS IT SO HARD JUST TO GET OFF OF THE FLOOR!?!?! SHE COULD FLY TWO MONTHS AGO AND NOW IT’S A MAJOR STRUGGLE TO PULL HERSELF OFF OF THE COUCH WHAT THE FUCK!?

-Kate has managed to live through four years of having actual freinds who have started to reproduce and never once has she reacted with more than marginally more interested than what she had during Crisis when Kara tried to hand Jon to her, but in those four years all of those freinds have been straight, to be fair, and there’s something a little different about seeing other lesbians with babies that’s mildly more tolerable, first it was Alex and Kelley, then it was Kara and Lena, Sophie and Mary keep cooing over the babies and Kate doesn’t really get that........ until she’s visiting Kara and an alien attacks and Kara is just “hold my baby-” and flies out the window and Kate is Stuck with a sleeping four-month-old and no ability to get to a phone without waking Kira up so she’s just kind of frozen like that for the foreseeable future and when Kara comes back Kate is laying on the couch, Kira sleeping on her chest, looking incredibly relaxed

Kate: Oh you’re back, we’ve had a lovely time

Kara: Awwwwwwwww, see? You are good with babies <3

Kate: Mmmm still going to have to disagree on that but your’s is... not... bad...

Kara: Sooooooo you’ll babysit sometime? :3

Kate: Nope, this last half hour was enough thanks

Kara: Wait until Sophie hears you lasted an entire half hour ;)

Kate: Just hold off telling her for about fifteen years or so, I don’t think we’re ready to live in a world where I can tolerate this for an entire thirty minutes yet

Kara: lol ok

Years later when she eventually ends up taking after her cousin and having a couple of orphans with her name on them she insists to Sophie that it’s Kara’s fault because “that time she made me hold her kid for half an hour did something to me I just know it”, Kara pops in one day after hearing this and just goes “You’re welcome~” before flying off again

And finally-

Kara: Lena honey I think Kira is a little too young to be getting her first suit tailored...

Lena: But she’s already a year old...???

#supercorp #supergirl #kara danvers #kara zor el #lena luthor #kate kane #barry allen #clark kent #ficlet #headcanon #not!fic

36 notes · View notes

capricornus-rex · 5 years ago

Text

A Legacy Begun (5)

gif not mine. found and saved in pinterest

Chapter 5: The Child | Cal Kestis x Reader

Summary: After a long time of running and fighting, you and Cal decided to finally settle down after all these years to raise a family. However, it was never a life of peace whilst the shadow of the Empire looms over your heads.

Other prompt/s in play: Anon 1′s prompt, Anon 2‘s baby prompt + their follow-up prompt & fic idea

A/N: Don’t worry, no one died of sadness after giving birth.

Also posted in AO3

Tags: Scruffy! Cal Kestis, Daddy! Cal Kestis, Adult! Cal Kestis, Jedi Family, Jedi Offspring, Force-Sensitive Offspring, Settling Down, Rebel Alliance

Chapters: 1 – 2 – 3 | Previous: Part 4 | Next: Part 6 | Masterlist

5 of ?

The months flew by, it only felt like yesterday when you told the news and now you’re currently in the ninth month. Any day now, the baby would be due. But you haven’t felt the signs yet.

The feeling of not holding a lightsaber and seeing action for a while was perhaps the biggest adjustment you’ve ever made; recalling the years where you’ve kept yourself low from the Imperials’ radar and having to limit the times you held your saber, this was far different than that.

To pass the time, you and Cal often strolled together just to keep yourself active. The Mantis continued its travels from time to time, but it would always find itself home in Cerinda and would occasionally return to Bogano for old time’s sake. The two of you stopped by the stream that branched out of the lake, something about that part of the forest became like a magnet to the both of you. Even in your expectant state, you were still the same sprightly girl who would dip her toes into the cold water at any given chance.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. Beaming brightly and excitedly as you spoke, “I want to have our baby in this one planet that my master and I used to go to for a campaign.”

“Oh?” Cal propped his cheek against his fist, dreamily gazing at you while you pluck flowers by the shoreline and set them floating into the gentle current.

“The planet, Ilaro,” you craned your head to him. “It’s a neutral planet by the Outer Rim, but it’s very peaceful there. No Imperials, no fighting,”

He heard you sigh as you daydream about the planet in your mind. He kept smiling as he listened.

“If only you’ve seen it, Cal—oceans clear and bright blue like the sky that they almost conjoin, the city that Master and I went to was so extravagant yet quaint, much like Reema here but a bit bigger,” you trail off, and then smiled as the last, finishing thought entered your mind and turned to your husband. “And oh, I know the perfect place for us: by the hillside north of the city. There’s another town there, it’s small but I think it’ll do for us,”

He hummed in reply, enamored by your idea but mostly at your radiance. You couldn’t stay mad at him for only half-listening. You’re endeared by his droopy, dreamy eyes and the smile that still stood out even through his stubble that he personally kept to a certain thinness of his liking.

“What is it?” you giggled.

“You’re just so beautiful,” he cooed. “I just can’t help but stare even while you talk, I’m sorry.”

You caress his scruffy jaw, he willingly inches to you as he comes in for a kiss. You secretly chuckled when his stubble tickled you and you liked it when he did.

“I can’t stay mad, darling,”

That afternoon, you tended to the plants in the terrarium, shearing the weeds and other overgrowth that crowded the soil bed. It sooner became half a flower garden and a half a medicinal herb garden, you and Merrin shared sides of the terrarium respectively; Greez was cooking up some lunch while Cere continued her favorite pastime of splicing and hacking Imperial communications, but also found out about how to trace long-range frequencies as far as two to three parsecs.

“Have you ever thought if they’re a boy or a girl, [y/n]?”

“I have, but my mind changes every now and then—one day I’ll think it’s a boy, and then the next it’s a girl,” you chuckled. “Cal and I have been debating the same thing.”

“You’re at your ninth month, anyway. I’m sure it’ll come soon,”

“Yes, soon,” you trailed off echoing the Nightsister’s words.

Later, Cal came back with game that he had hunted in the forest’s inner meadows. One of Cerinda’s fauna that you’ve found a taste for was the Chorcap—a medium-sized, horned quadrupedal animal, it was slightly shorter than a Nerf in height and less hairy too, but it was stocky in build, making it prized for their meat. Merchants in Reema would buy for the horns, butchers would get portioned cuts, and Cal would haggle with those butchers for the portions.

“I’m back,” Cal chirped as he entered the ship. “Got some extra Chorcap on the road.”

“Oh finally! I thought this stew would never be done if it weren’t for you,” Greez grunted.

“Relax, Greez, here—the seasonings you asked for,”

Cal tossed a pouch to Greez to which the captain expertly caught with his bottom right arm and continued to stir the pot. He greeted you with a kiss on the cheek as you tended the little indoor garden and seated himself by the dining table.

“That smells good!” your husband exclaimed.

“Without these spices, my stew would be as bland as unfermented Merenzane Gold!”

From time to time, you’d conceal your expressions whenever your belly contracted. You’ve pretty much anticipated the baby’s due, but it was the pain that you tried to hide—not wanting to disturb everyone at your expense.

Minutes later, Greez called everybody for lunch, you helped in setting the table and serving out the helpings for each plate. The aroma of the stew wafted around the Mantis, making all the stomachs rumble, and come running towards the table. Lunch became more animated as conversations and topics volleyed here and there. You turned to BD-1 perched over the rim of the table between the lounge.

“Say, BD, do you still have the scan of the Binog?”

“What for?”

“Oh, you’ll see, hon,” you ended it with a smile.

After lunch and helping with the dishes, you retreated to the bedroom with BD-1 perched over your shoulder. You seated yourself by the workbench, producing spools of thread, buttons, filler cotton, and fabrics of different colors—all coming from the business district in Reema. You produced a holodisk and held it close to the droid

“Can you transfer the Binog’s hologram scan here, BD?”

“Wooo!” the little droid whirred out its splicer and connected itself to the holodisk’s port. Seconds later, the hologram of the great creature of Bogano flickered above the holodisk’s projector.

“Thank you, BD,” you rewarded the droid with head pats before starting with your work.

You drew patterns for each part of the animal and then sheared them piece by piece. Holding them together with pins, you started sewing the main body first—leaving an opening for the stuffing later—and then moved on to the legs and tail. Your slender fingers gracefully twisted, curled, and threaded with the stitches as you went on—pushing the needle and then pulling the thread—until it was starting to take shape. Glancing at the projection every once in a while to check if you’re getting the likeness correctly.

“Booo!”

“That’s right, BD, I’m making the Binog—though a smaller version, for the small one,” you cooed.

When the limbs and tail have joined the body and head, the next step was to sew in the fins that lined its spine all the way to the tail and its ears. You had the patterned fabrics at the ready, you just needed to stitch them. Cal walked in to the bedroom, finding you sitting back relaxed while sewing together a toy Binog.

“That’s actually pretty cute,” he beamed.

“Thank you, but it’s not finished yet,”

The finishing touches were the button eyes. A pair of solid black buttons were secured in an X-like stitch on its head. Two tiny white triangles were sewn along the mouth for its fangs that peeked out even with the actual creature’s mouth closed. Finally, BD-1 helped you stuff the toy with the cotton since his little claws could fit the openings you left for each body part.

“Thanks for your help, BD,” you sealed the filler openings and held it in your hand. “There we go!”

“That’s adorable,” your husband commented.

Even if it was never your intention to worry everybody—your husband, especially—you just couldn’t control the instance where your knees buckle and your muscles felt like tightening with a great force. As you struggled to stand up, everybody in the ship was alarmed by your cry of pain. All of a sudden, the swirling in your stomach started to tense up.

“The baby’s coming…!” you struggled to calmly breathe.

“Cere! Merrin!” Cal cried, scooping you up from your seat at the workbench and carefully settling you down on the bed.

“Whoa, whoa, what’s happening!?” Greez was infected with the same panic and alarm as the two ladies. The captain definitely heard your cries, he just didn’t think the baby was coming now.

Your ankles jerked as your toes curled tightly, your hand gripped the sheets as you tried to fight off the contraction pains. Cal ignored the hard grip that’s crumpling his sleeve as you broke down sobbing in pain.

“I know a place!” Cere exclaimed. “Captain, set a course to Polis Massa! Grid coordinates K-20, NOW!”

“It’s two parsecs away via jump to hyperspace!” Greez argued.

“Captain, just do it!” the woman snapped back.

“You’re gonna be okay, [y/n], do you hear me?” Cal’s voice cracked while squeezing back your free hand.

“[y/n], breathe,” Merrin calmly chanted, it became her mantra to you as the minutes went on.

The jump to lightspeed felt like an eternity as you battled the excruciating pain. Your body tossed and turned, finding a position where the cramping hurt less. Your legs thrashed, your vision blackened around the edges as you struggled to breathe in a slow pace—it only lessened the cramping to an extent but you don’t know for how long you could hold it.

Cere came barging in the bedroom.

“We’re near our destination. How is she holding up?”

“She’s trying to breathe calmly, I strongly object in using my magick on her,” the Nightsister reported.

“My head is burning!”

Cal pressed the back of his hand against your forehead, “She’s having a fever! How much farther until we reach Polis Massa?”

Before Cere could reply, the feedback of Greez’s microphone crackled through the speakers.

“Hold on, folks! It’s gonna be a bumpy ride!” the Lateron announced.

Cere sprang back to the cockpit, swerving and catching her balance as the ship rumbled. The turbulence didn’t help much, but you kept holding onto Cal’s hand.

“Cere, you didn’t tell me that we’re running into an asteroid field!”

“Because Polis Massa is on the asteroid field!”

“And this is a medical station we’re talking about!”

Greez steered closer to the largest asteroid until he found a cluster of silver infrastructures sticking out on the largest rock in the field. Cere had no further qualms about that, she turned and tapped the buttons and knobs on her communication station in the ship to send the urgent transmission.

“This is Jedi Cere Junda, we are in need of urgent medical assistance! A crew member has gone into labor and is about to give birth, please!”

“Transmission verified, you are allowed to dock. We’ll have a ward and medical droids ready for her,”

The medical droids stationed there were on full alert, a couple of the wardens came out of the building with a gurney prepared for you as they anticipated your arrival. The ship maneuvered and hovered carefully by the landing pad.

“We’re here,” Cal whispered to you, hoping to console you.

“Where are we?” you murmured.

“Polis Massa,” he scooped you up from the bed, carried you all the way out of the Mantis and then laying you down on the gurney waiting for you.

The female wardens briskly pushed your gurney towards the medical bay and then to the available ward that was ready for you. The human nurses cooed and whispered to you in comforting, melodic voices; coaxing you and telling you everything down to the littlest detail.

“We’re going to carry you to the next bed, alright?”

“Okay…” you replied, your eyes were too heavy to direct your vision to whichever nurse was speaking to you.

The nurses traded diagnoses with one another and then relayed them to the medical droids, reflecting your vital signs onto their computers and holographs.

“Vitals are fine, no remarkable findings,”

“Blood pressure is stable,”

The nurses helped you lift up your knees as a midwife droid hovered slowly towards you. The entire crew watched through the glass wall of your room, they all leaned against the opposite wall but it was your husband who eagerly stayed behind the glass.

“Is she going to be alright?” he asked the one nurse who exited your room.

“Yes, it’s good that you’ve brought her here on such short notice,”

“We were only two parsecs away from here,” Cere added.

The nurse had allowed Cal to enter the ward—for only one non-patient was permitted to accompany the patient—he sat by your side, close to your head. He stroked your hair as you take deep breaths before pushing.

Cal watched the red fill your cheeks as you tried to push, following the pace of the midwife droid that’s coaxing you. He ignored your screeching cries, he wiped away the tears that rolled away from your eyes as you breathed through clenched teeth, preparing for the next.

An infant cry filled the room, Cal’s head instantly turned to the end of the bed where the midwife droid held your newborn—he watched the droid clean the infant on the spot and swaddle it in a soft, white sheet. He stood up and held the tiniest human being he’s ever seen in his entire life. A tinge of orange strands adorned the little one’s head.

“It’s a girl,” he gasped.

He approached you with your daughter in his arms, he held her close to you so you may look at her crumpled, crying little face.

“Cassidy,” you whispered.

Cal heard you utter the name. You traded glances and he smiled. A teardrop glimmered at the edge of his eye.

“Cassidy.” He echoed. The baby’s tiny hand hooked around his finger and he could’ve sworn he felt his heart burst out of his ribs, “My little Cassidy.”

He held his baby daughter right in front of him. Dark, round, shining eyes blinked back at him as Cassidy’s stubby arms squirmed, lightly hitting his cheeks and jaw with smooth, soft hands.

“She has your eyes,” Cal choked.

“She has your hair,” you manage a chuckle.

“You did great, darling,” he sat down, level to you and planted a kiss on your forehead while the Mantis crew watched the little family have their greatest moment yet.

52 notes · View notes

hamletisgone · 4 years ago

Text

Prologue

So I started writing a novel. It’s a fantasy story called ‘A tale of rotten crowns’. It takes place in my own created world and follows a young woman with abstract visions that always come true after the king of the biggest kingdoms is assassinated. She finds herself a crew to take on the journey to said kingdom that is run by a tyran family and where a revolution is errupting following the king’s death.

Anyway, this is the prologue, let me know if you like it and if I should tag you, when I publish more of this novel.

Night had fallen upon the mighty castle and everyone had tucked themselves and their children into bed. But not the king himself, no. He sat in his ancient throne, sat on the silver and gold that were his pride and his joy and he held his head in his hands, held up the heavy crown and the inlaid jewels and diamonds who all sparkled while resting on his grey hair that fell down to his shoulders. There he said, all by himself, in the empty halls, with no one to pay him company.

Javaris was the name this king carried. He had been king for so long, for so many years that he couldn’t imagine a life where he was not, where no one bowed to him, where no one knelt at his feet. Unbearable, the thought of such a world. He couldn’t stomach it. A man like him, he was sure, belonged on a golden throne, worshipped and admired by everyone that crossed his path or even heard his name.

What a king he had been, he thought to himself as his eyes travelled to the banners hanging from the walls and the sign of his proud blood on them. Two crossed duel swords, coloured red from the blood of their fallen enemies, of those they had slaughtered and built their kingdom on. Oh, what a pride filled his chest when he looked onto the symbol his ancestors had fought so hard and so cruel for. He had kept their memories alive, he told himself as he leaned back in the silver throne, his hand brushing over the golden armrest. Every child in his kingdom, every living and breathing creature had read the stories of his great house, had sung the Melodies of their triumph, had learned the victory of the Suterell blood.

How long had it been ever since he had to defend his throne, his crown? Oh, it must have been so very long. The battle of Norgelart, he remembered as he searched for the answer to that question. It had been the nail in the coffin of an ancient war that his family had fought for so long, ever since he had been a young boy and had known the meaning of the powerful word war that his father and his oldest brother muttered so often around him, as if it was a secret they had to keep him safe from. He very much remembered it nonetheless, despite their hard attempts to keep him ignorant to the brutal world that lived outside their castle. The king shook his head. How they thought it would break the little boy to know of the clashing swords and sprouting revolutions and hateful enemies in their kingdom… How mistaken they were. Because that little boy, he grew up to be the strategically skilled war general to end the war that had taken hundred, if not thousands of lives, once and for all.

When did Javaris last wear his majestic amour? He had worn it for ten years after the war had come to an end, on the anniversary of the battle of Norgelart where the grand celebration, the enormous feast took place. But those years were far past the king by now. Did his golden amour even fit around his now fuller body anymore? In his glory and in his life time, there were no longer any battles to fight, no longer a throne he had to defend, no longer a sword he had to wield. All of his responsibility that remained, in his late years, where he ruled for nearly fifty years, all that his responsibility as a king fell to nowadays were diplomatic. If there was a need for violence as a solution, he simply sent one of his trusted generals to deal with the manner.

After all that he had done and fought for, he thought to himself that he deserved this peace, this luxury. He had beaten down two revolutions in his time, he had made the name of his family a pleasure to say for any child in this kingdom, he had given his family a legacy that seemed so indestructible.

If his ancestors were looking down on him, in this very moment… oh, how proud would they be of what he had forged in the fire they had lit for him and his many heirs and their heirs to come.

His admiration for his family history suddenly got disturbed by a cold wind hollowing through the empty halls and catching the king’s attention. What was this? What for a twisted joke was this? His eyes glanced around the halls, searching for whoever had interrupted him so very rudely. He didn’t want to be bothered, certainly not when he was thinking. Had he not maybe made it clear enough? But fair enough, he’d let the peasant who came to the halls speak, he’d give them a change to explain themselves.

“What is it?”, he grumbled as he heard steps moving towards him yet no answer was given, not a single sound was made. Only silence was what he received.

“I said…”, he repeated his words in an angry tone, “What is it?” How dare someone disobey him, how dare they not answer when their king was asking them a question. He should call for their head, he should butcher them himself, should stain his powerful sword, made out of the finest and strongest steel ever known to mankind, with their filthy blood and that only if he decided to be merciful. But everyone knew, every peasant that live under his crown knew… this king was not one for mercy. And whoever dared to disobey him, to displease him, would surely meet gruesome end.

“Who is there?”, the king demanded to know and turned his head into the direction he had heard the steps from, from his right side. No answer, no one in sight as well. There was no one here with him. No one had entered the halls, no one had come to see him, he thought to himself. He shook his head slowly. Maybe he was really getting old, maybe the many years on his shoulders were too much to carry. Maybe he had just imagined the sound, maybe he was so deprived of sleep and rest that his mind created a distraction to keep him awake, maybe it had been just a freak of his own senses. He decided that was that, he was just an old man. But little did he know that a sharp dagger held by terminated fingers creeped in the shadow where it was well hidden from the king’s eyes.

He shrugged his shoulders, to brush off whatever it was that he had heard in the shadows, whatever had caught his attention. He blamed the cold wind on an open window, or a crack in the door. What was there to worry about after all? He was the king, he was Javaris! There was not a single soul wondering this earth that could harm him. Oh, if he only knew how wrong he was…

When he turned his eyes back to the red carpet on the cold stone floor, a quiet creature creeped out of the darkness, slowly, like a hungry animal on its hunt approaching its delicious prey. One foot in front of the other, silently, a deadly killer in approach, with a dagger behind the back, hidden, yet so obvious, if he just looked close enough.

The cold wind grew out of all sudden. It blew through the empty halls and left the banners swinging on the empty walls. And with it there came a darkness, a slow and slithering darkness that crawled over the stone and the soft carpet and towards the throne, as if to corner the king, to leave him with no escape.

The king furrowed his brows at the wind’s breath right in his neck and the sound of the fabric flapping loudly back and forth in the growing breeze. He looked through the hall hectically. The flaming torches in their brackets began to flicker, throwing abstract shadows onto the ground before with one gigantic gust of wind, they all went out in the exact the same moment. Javaris held onto his armrest, eyes flashing back and forth in panic. What…? How was this possible? What was happening?

There out of all sudden, a warm hand pressed against his forehead, nails digging into the old wrinkles and with full forced, the hand ripped his head into the neck. His eyes found a dark shadow staring at him and he saw the flashing blade in its hand hovering right about his face. Two glowing eyes glanced down at him, in disgust. He could barely make anything else out in the darkness of the hall. A burning smell filled the king’s nose and now the eyes seemed on fire. Was this a demon? A child of the night? Could it be… A Tasvaikai, a member of the blooded order? Those bastards hate him more than anything!

Suddenly, his survival instincts took over his body and he tried to kick, to punch, to hit whatever had attacked him. But the creature slammed its foot onto his thigh extremely aggressive and the king screamed out in pain as the bone broke underneath the heel. Within a few seconds, the boot slammed down on his other thigh and crushed the bones as if it was nothing. The king had never felt so much pain flashing through his veins but the creature surely didn’t look finished with him. Javaris had to get away, he knew so. Had to escape before his throat would be cut with no hesitation. But no matter how hard the king struggled and tried so desperately to escape whoever held him in place, the shadow above him was too strong, too powerful.

“What… do you want?”, the king pleaded through gritted teeth, “Money, is that what you want?” If he could not break free from the creature’s grips, maybe he could buy his life, maybe he could persuade the creature to let him go, to let him survive another day.

But he was not given an answer to his question. No responds. The creature instead just stared him down, the dagger coming closer and closer to his face, the sharp edge dangerously near his throat.

“I can give you gold, I can make you the richest man alive, I can give you whatever you want!”, the king begged for his life, offering whatever he could think off to the creature, “I’ll turned you into lord, I’ll grant you a castle, I’ll find you a fair maid!” There was a motivation for every single soul in this world, there had to be something driving this insane shadow to this action and if the king found it, he could save his own life, which was so precious to him. This was not the way he wished to go, this was not how he had imagined his death! A man like him deserved to die on his own bed, he believed, with his family, a fine glass of wine and all he had achieved surrounding him, to be treated with dignity and not slaughtered like some poor pig!

But the creature, it did not believe the same. And it made its intend known. It did not speak another word, it simply moved its hand around the king’s neck and gripped his throat tightly, cutting off his air. It listened to him choke for air, watched him crawl at the hand and watched him cry out as the king felt the burning skin of the creature. What in the gods’ name was the creature?!

“Mer-mercy…”, he whispered under his breath as the air all vanished from his lungs and black dots appeared in front of his vision. His jaw dropped open as he gasped for air and his eyes rolled to the back of his head, his conscious slowly slipping away as he desperately tried to hold onto his own life.

No mercy was shown to the king. The creature had a plan and it would execute it at any cost. No cry, no begs, no offers could bring it off its course. The king was doomed, no matter how much he attempted to change his fate. His eyes met the creature’s and he saw the burning hatred within them but there was something else behind that, something he knew yet had long forgotten, something so familiar yet so strange. And then he saw it, within the fire raging in those eyes. “It’s you…”, he whispered with his last power and the creature smirked.

It pushed the king against the back of the throne, moving its hand from the king’s throat and without a second thought, without a moment of hesitation, it slammed the deadly dagger directly into the king’s heart with full force.

The king froze, his eyes dropping down to the dagger inside of his chest and he felt the pain moving through his body, yet reality had not settled in yet. He reached up with one hand, brushing over the knife as if he couldn’t believe it was real. But it very much was. The cold metal touched the tips of his fingers, confirming that this was not just a bad dream. He had been stabbed, right in the heart and death was now certain. Yet he did not understand it, did not understand what was happening.

He did when the creature moved the dagger up, piercing through the heart and damaging the king’s lungs. The king coughed, tasted his own blood filling up his mouth and it ran down his chin, dripped onto his white robe. He couldn’t move, could only feel the dagger in his chest and the firm hand on his shoulder holding him in place.

Javaris’ eyes met the creatures one last time and he knew why what had been done had been done before his heart beat for the last time and his lungs gave out and he sank back in his throne, eyes empty, all life gone from them.

The blood formed a growing stain on his robe, where the dagger had been pushed in. It kept dripping from his chin down onto his chest. Not the prettiest view on could possibly image but murders tended to be messy.

The creature pulled the knife from the king’s heart as if it was nothing and it wiped the red colour off blade on the robes without even a drop of hurry within its movement. The job had been done, the king was dead. The creature reached out and took the crown from the king’s hand. It took a moment to turn the beautiful piece in its dirty hands, smearing the blood over it unintentionally. It twisted the crown and thought that this… yes, it would do.

And so the shadow left, as it had come, in the darkness and without another noise. It took the cold wind, it took the king’s crown and it took the king’s life. And left him there, dead on his own throne with crushed bones and a hole in his chest, his robes ruined where he would be found when the sun rose up into the sky. And all help would be too late. And his children would weep. His advisors would fake their sorrow. His servants would carry his body to his grave where he would rest for all of eternity, where he would turn to earth from which he came, where he would be forgotten.

The king is dead.

Long live the new king.

16 notes · View notes

purplehairedwonder · 4 years ago

Text

Inside a Broken Dream Chapter 5

Fandom: One Piece Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Gen Words: 3617 Characters: Trafalgar Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Penguin, Jean Bart, Smoker, Tashigi Note: Story title comes from the Vertical Horizon song “Shackled.” Character and relationship tags reflect the current chapter. Obviously this is canon-divergent ;)

Warnings: There is an assault in this chapter. It’s not overtly sexual, but if that bothers you, avoid the italicized section.

Summary: Two years after Wano, peace on the Grand Line is fragile. Trafalgar Law and the Heart Pirates are doing their best to help maintain the peace, but when Doflamingo returns with Law in his sights, the balance of power entirely may shatter entirely.

Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Read also at AO3 / FF.N

Law was so startled by the revelation that he forgot his vulnerable position for a moment, eyes widening. Dying? He could have laughed, except—

“I’m going to fix it?” he echoed in disbelief, brain catching up with the other man’s words. “Why the hell would I do that?”

Doflamingo set his pistol down on the table—Law’s shoulders loosened at that—and reached down to grab Law by the collar and pull him upright in the chair he was bound to.

“For one thing,” he said directly into Law’s face as Law very carefully did not flinch. “It’s your fault.”

“Oh?” Law raised an eyebrow. “As happy as that would make me, when did I—”

“Dressrosa.”

Law blinked, momentarily confused, then recognition struck like lightning. “The Gamma Knife.” That was supposed to be a killing blow—and it would have been against anyone who couldn’t stitch their organs back together with strings. But Doflamingo had said that was merely first aid, not healing. It had been a patch job for the immediate damage to his organs but didn’t account for the—

“You have radiation poisoning,” Law realized. He hadn’t spent much time thinking about the long-term effects of the attack after developing it because he hadn’t considered that someone might survive for more than a few agonizing minutes. But it made sense. Interesting.

Doflamingo rose to his full height, forcing Law to look up at him. “The doctors at Impel Down discovered it not long after I arrived. My unique abilities have kept me alive longer than I had any reason to live.”

“But you’re almost out of time,” Law deduced. Radiation at the level Doflamingo had been exposed to from that attack should have killed him within days, if not hours. That he had lived for two years after the attack was downright miraculous. But even his impressive biology and the creative use of his Fruit couldn’t keep him alive indefinitely.

Doflamingo’s expression tightened, as if it pained him to concede, “Only the Ope Ope no Mi can cure me now.”

For a moment, Law was speechless as he processed what he’d just heard. Suddenly it made sense why Akainu had chosen now to sic Doflamingo on him; he didn’t have any more time to wait if he was going to play that card. But Doflamingo was, as ever, the Joker—a wild card.

And then Law laughed, hard enough that tears formed in his eyes. He knew the laughter was jagged with sharp, unhinged edges to it, but he couldn’t stop himself. It had taken an additional two years—fifteen years since that night—but Law had pulled the trigger after all.

Cora-san…

After several long moments, Law collected himself with no little effort, aware that Doflamingo’s veins were bulging in fury. But Law couldn’t bring himself to care. Doflamingo couldn’t maim the only surgeon in the world who could save him. And Law would need to use his abilities if he were to operate on the former Warlord, so the threat of another Seastone bullet was just that—a threat. Even the one in his shoulder would have had to come out eventually.

“Why,” Law asked, amusement still evident in his voice, “would I help you when I was the one to deal the blow in the first place?” Especially now that Doflamingo knew the truth about that night and Law’s revenge mission.

“For the sake of your crew.”

Law stilled, all traces of humor dissolving. “What?”

“I have two members of your crew in the brig,” Doflamingo reminded him. “How long do you think Penguin and Jean Bart would hold up under torture, Law?” He tapped his chin, feigning thoughtfulness. “I’d bet on Jean Bart outlasting the bird, being a former captain and slave. But maybe he’ll surprise me.”

Fury, now uninhibited by Seastone, uncurled in Law’s chest. “No,” he snarled.

“No?” Now Doflamingo’s tone had turned amused.

“They have nothing to do with this.”

“They have everything to do with this,” Doflamingo sneered. “The moment you made them yours, they became mine as well. Because you’ve been mine since you were ten years old, Law. You know what kind of Family we are.”

“You son of a bitch,” Law growled. “You leave them alone.” This is exactly what he’d been afraid of when he’d sent his crew to Zou while he went to Punk Hazard on his own.

“Why would I do that? I know better than to think I could torture you into compliance. I trained you too well for that.” Doflamingo licked his lips in anticipation. “But your crew? I know you never did for them what I did for you.”

Doflamingo was right; he’d never treated his crew the way Doflamingo had treated his Family—valued for their usefulness to the captain. It had taken Cora-san’s death for Law to realize it, but Doflamingo was everything Law didn’t want to be in a leader. The only Donquixote legacy Law wanted to pass on was that of Cora-san.

The thought of Penguin and Jean Bart subjected to the cruelty he knew Doflamingo capable of, Law forced to watch helplessly as they suffered because of him, made Law sick. It was his job as captain to protect his crew.

But he also knew the danger of healing Doflamingo, knew what the man could and would do once he was no longer suffering from the effects of radiation poisoning. Doflamingo couldn’t have much time left if he’d been willing to risk stealing a Marine ship and kidnapping Law in broad daylight. If they could just outlast him…

“And besides the two in the brig,” Doflamingo added, “the rest are sailing right into my arms as we speak.”

Law bit the inside of his cheek, thinking. Though his first instinct was panic, he forced his mind back to logic. Penguin and Jean Bart might be captive, but the rest of his crew was free. They would fight. And if the Straw Hats were also on the way, Doflamingo would be outmatched, even with a ship full of Marines under his control.

“I put my trust in my crew,” Law said finally. “And my allies.”

“Even against a Buster Call?” The retort was immediate, as if Law’s response had been expected. (It probably had been; Law had constantly felt steps behind Doflamingo ever since he’d known the man.)

Law went cold, memories of Flevance surfacing in his mind’s eye unbidden. The gunfire tearing through bodies like paper, the blood flowing like rivers, the heat of the fire that consumed the hospital and Lami, the moans of the dying children he should have been among, the weight of the corpses pressing in on him as he fled…

That hadn’t been a Buster Call, but it had been close enough.

He thought of Nico Robin and the haunted looks that she masked expertly from her crew but never could disguise from Law when he knew them from his own mirror.

He shook himself, trying to force the images from his mind. “What?”

Doflamingo smirked widely. “What do you think Akainu would do if I sent word that I’d lured both the Heart and Straw Hat crews to one place?” He slammed a hand down flat on the table, and Law started, despite himself. The memories had cracked his composure, and he knew Doflamingo had seen it. “It may not be his original plan, but do you think that man wouldn’t take the chance to wipe out the both of you at once?”

“You’d still be dying in that case,” Law countered, swallowing against the bile in his throat.

Doflamingo tilted his head. “Perhaps. But at least I’d be taking you and Straw Hat and your nakama with me.”

The words struck a familiar chord. Law had felt much the same when he’d made his plans for attacking Dressrosa; if he’d died, so be it—as long as Doflamingo’s death was assured in the process. And now their roles were reversed. The power of a man with nothing to lose could be a fearsome thing indeed.

“But it doesn’t have to come to that,” Doflamingo added.

“If I do the operation,” Law supplied flatly.

“It would make things simpler, would it not?”

Law’s eyes narrowed. “My crew will be unharmed.”

“As long as you play your part, they won’t be harmed,” Doflamingo confirmed with a creeping smile that made Law’s skin crawl.

“And the Straw Hats? They are my allies.”

“Don’t push it.”

Law’s hands were clenched so tightly in fists that when he forced himself to loosen them, he found bloody crescent-shaped wounds in his palms. He absently rubbed his hands on his jeans, leaving bloody streaks on his thighs. He could try to push the negotiation further, but knowing Luffy, he wouldn’t care about or stick to a deal Law had struck anyway.

“Fine,” Law decided finally, the words strained. “I will treat the radiation poisoning only.”

He would not be cornered into the other operation. Law didn’t mind dying to protect his nakama, but he wouldn’t unleash an eternally-young and powerful Doflamingo on them—or the world. And he knew his crew and allies wouldn’t accept him making that trade either. It was the one line he wasn’t willing to cross to protect them—at the end of the day, it wouldn’t protect them or anyone else he cared for anyway. He’d even risk the Buster Call for that one.

Doflamingo nodded. “Agreed.” He eyed Law. “But to make sure you don’t get any more smart ideas before we reach Herrenlos, you won’t be leaving my sight.”

Herrenlos. Of course, Law thought as he remembered. It was the name of an island the Donquixote Family kept as a secure outpost in the New World in case they ever needed to flee their current locale. He’d learned all the names and locations of the Family outposts across the four Blues and Grand Line as a child. Law hadn’t thought about any of them in years since Doflamingo had been openly ruling Dressrosa while Law plotted his revenge. He’d asked Tashigi to find out where they were going, and she’d done so.

“Fantastic,” Law muttered.

-----

The longer Law was away, the more Penguin’s worry gnawed at his insides. The three prisoners had been brought their usual scraps for dinner, and when Marines had come to escort them to the bathroom, he’d tried to find out Law’s status but had only gotten an elbow to the gut for his trouble. Once night had fallen and his captain—his friend—still hadn’t returned, Penguin turned restless and started pacing his cell. Though he’d washed his hands in the bathroom, he could still feel Law’s blood on them from removing the bullet, and, though it wasn’t the first time, he’d never get used to that feeling.

“Would you stop before you wear a hole in the floor?” Smoker snapped. “Not all of us can swim.”

Penguin paused and glared at the Vice Admiral. “Easy to say when it’s not your captain being held captive by a madman.”

“No, it’s my partner and my men,” Smoker retorted coldly.

Penguin stiffened. Smoker had been commanding this mission when Doflamingo had taken it over, leaving his men under the string man’s control. And the swordswoman who’d taken Law away was Smoker’s partner; he’d forgotten.

“Right,” he muttered, sliding down against the wall again and burying his face in his collar. He could only be so sympathetic when the man had been leading a mission to capture or kill his captain in the first place.

He knew Law was more than capable of taking care of himself—he was a freaking Emperor—but he also knew there was a long, nasty history between the two former Warlords. And that history had been haunting Law since before Penguin had met him when Law was 13.

Having known Law for as long as he had, Penguin had seen and heard Law’s nightmares, had more than once held him as he came awake with whimpers or shrieks, his body wracked with tremors. He’d seen the haunted look in Law’s eyes, emphasized by the darkening circles under his eyes, and Law’s growing insomnia as he feared sleep, succumbing only when his body gave out from exhaustion. Once the original four Hearts had taken to the sea in the Polar Tang, Penguin had watched as Law stared at the skies and constantly looked over his shoulder, always wary of a flash of pink.

Penguin had also kept a careful eye on his friend once he’d returned from Dressrosa. After Doflamingo’s fall, some of the weight had lifted from Law’s shoulders and some of the shadows had faded from his eyes, but Law had never told even him, Shachi, and Bepo everything that had happened on Dressrosa. More than once, he’d caught Law absently fingering the ugly scar on his arm and flinching at the sight of guns and knew whatever had happened wouldn’t leave him so easily.

Law kept his pain to himself, tried to avoid burdening his nakama no matter how much they wanted to help him carry it—and so to know that Law, no matter how strong he was now, was once more in that man’s hands made Penguin sick.

Sometime during the night—it was impossible to keep track of time in the brig except for the visits of the guards and the sounds of activity above them on deck—the brig door opened. Penguin sat up, hoping to see Law, but it was the swordswoman.

“Tashigi,” Smoker said in surprise.

She put a finger to her lips. “I don’t have much time. I’m supposed to be going to the kitchens, but I took a detour.”

“Where’s Law?” Penguin demanded.

“With Doflamingo.” Penguin’s stomach sank. “As far as I know, he’s unharmed,” Tashigi added quickly, glancing between Penguin and Jean Bart. “But Doflamingo wants to keep an eye on him until we arrive.”

“Arrive?” Jean Bart asked.

“Where are we going?” Smoker prodded.

“An island called Herrenlos.”

Penguin frowned. “What’s that?”

Tashigi shrugged. “I don’t know. But it seemed to mean something to Trafalgar.” She looked at Smoker. “We should arrive sometime tomorrow.”

Smoker nodded thoughtfully. Tashigi, meanwhile, looked between Penguin and Jean Bart.

“Your crew is not far behind us.” She sighed. “Same with the Straw Hats.”

Smoker groaned, but Penguin and Jean Bart perked up. Penguin knew his nakama would come for them, but that they had apparently called the Straw Hats for backup as well was excellent news.

“Do you know what Doflamingo is up to?” Jean Bart asked.

Tashigi shook her head. “He sends me outside the room any time he talks about anything important.”

“Talks with who?” Smoker asked, leaning forward. “Law?”

“Him. And he’s been making calls on the Den Den Mushi.”

Smoker frowned. “Who would he be calling after two years in Impel Down?”

“I don’t know. Old contacts?” Tashigi twitched. “I have to go. Be careful,” she said, turning from the cells and leaving the brig.

“You be careful,” Smoker called after her, sighing as the door clanged shut behind her.

Penguin exchanged looks with Jean Bart. It was good that Law was okay, but that still didn’t answer what Doflamingo wanted him for. He supposed they would find out tomorrow.

He really hoped his nakama would hurry.

-----

Though Law had never been to Herrenlos, he’d seen the maps and base schematics—though that had been nearly two decades earlier. Still, the name had stuck with him; with its name meaning abandoned, the island had sounded haunted to Law when he was a boy. As the Marine vessel pulled into the docks on the island the next afternoon, Law took in the island through the window of the captain’s quarters and thought his younger self had been on the right track.

A rocky outcropping loomed over the beach, which was rocky rather than sandy and was scattered with desert flora. Atop the outcrop was the base—a warehouse with living quarters, from what Law could remember. The base was well-suited to defense from an outside attack… like would be coming from the Heart and Straw Hat crews.

As Law watched, the Marines, some under the control of strings and some moving of their own accord, started unloading cargo from the ship. Whatever items would be useful for stocking up the base, Law assumed.

Law flinched when one large hand came from behind to rest on his right shoulder, the other stroking down the left side of his face, tracing his line of his cheek—a facsimile of tenderness and affection.

“Stop that,” Law snapped then hissed in pain when a finger found its way into the bullet wound on his shoulder. His knees nearly buckled as the finger pressed into the wound, sending a jolt of pain down to his toes and drawing fresh blood, but Doflamingo’s unrelenting grip on his shoulder kept him upright.

“It’s time to go,” Doflamingo murmured into Law’s ear, his breath wet and warm against Law’s skin.

“Fine,” Law said through clenched teeth, gathering himself and turning on his heel. His shackles clanked with his sudden movement. He didn’t look at Doflamingo.

Doflamingo chuckled but let go of his shoulder and followed him. Tashigi was standing outside the door when Law opened it. She glanced back at him in surprise, eyes briefly falling to his left shoulder and blanching, but she was forced to walk half a step behind Law as a guard. Law ignored her reaction and strode forward. Doflamingo followed his two captives.

Neither Law nor Doflamingo slept the night before. For several hours after their tense arrangement had been reached, Law remained tied to the chair, stewing silently, while Doflamingo sat at the desk and looked over papers and maps and scribbled notes. Law very carefully did not think about how much this felt like sitting shackled to the Heart seat in Dressrosa, powerless.

Some time after night had fallen, Law started when he felt the strings confining him to the chair fall away. He looked over at Doflamingo, who had shifted in the desk chair to face Law, and raised an eyebrow. Rather than respond, the other man pointed a finger, and Law was pulled to his feet as a single string wrapped around his shackles and tugged him forward.

Law grimaced but didn’t fight the movement. He didn’t think it was worth picking the battle—not yet. He came to a stop directly in front of Doflamingo, Law’s thighs nearly touching the larger man’s knees. For a long moment, Doflamingo scrutinized Law from behind his glasses. Then he reached one hand, almost tentatively, up to Law’s face. Law inhaled sharply as Doflamingo’s hand cupped his cheek and tried to push back against the touch, but the string was still wrapped around his shackles and kept his hands in front of him.

“W-what—”

The hand slid from Law’s cheek to the back of his neck and fingers lightly brushed through the hair on his nape. Goosebumps erupted under the touch, Law intimately aware that Doflamingo’s large hand could enclose around his throat at any moment. Logically, he knew it wouldn’t because Doflamingo needed him alive, but his body wasn’t reacting to logic.

The fingers suddenly tightened in Law’s hair, and Law’s breath hitched as Doflamingo pulled back, exposing Law’s neck. Law swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and Doflamingo slowly rose to his feet. He leaned over, as if to sniff Law’s exposed neck. Law’s heart hammered in his chest as his position became even more vulnerable.

Maybe he should have picked the battle after all.

“I always knew you’d grow up into something incredible, Law,” Doflamingo murmured.

“Funny,” Law replied, voice unsteady as he focused his gaze on the ceiling. “I didn’t expect to grow up at all.”

There was a huff of laughter against his neck, and Law suppressed a shudder. “I have always been good at cultivating potential.”

Law felt his irritation spike at that. “Yes, such great potential behind bars in Impel Down,” he retorted with a measure of satisfaction.

Doflamingo growled, predictable in his anger at any slight against the Family. The hand in Law’s hair tightened further then Law cried out as he felt a sharp sting in the meat of his left shoulder. His eyes flew wide, and he jerked back as far as he could with the string still attached to manacles. Breathing heavily, he looked down to see a bloody bite mark.

Furious, he glared at the other man. “What the fuck?”

“A reminder of just who you belong to,” Doflamingo simply replied, teeth bloodied as he smirked.

Law’s stomach turned. Doflamingo, seeming satisfied to have made his point, dropped the string from Law’s bindings. Law retreated to the chair at the table, moving only to clean up the wound when Doflamingo had thrown a towel in his direction.

When Law emerged on the deck, he was relieved to see Penguin and Jean Bart, as well as Smoker, standing by the gangplank, guarded by armed Marines.

“Captain!” Penguin called, relieved, as Law approached. His eyes narrowed as he saw the fresh wound on Law’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” Jean Bart asked, having noticed it as well.

Law nodded, refusing to give Doflamingo the satisfaction of acknowledging it. “Fine. You two?”

“We’re good,” Penguin said, and Jean Bart nodded in confirmation.

“As touching as this little reunion is,” Doflamingo drawled, “it’s time to go.”

The Marine guards jerked into motion and grabbed Penguin, Jean Bart, and Smoker, pushing them toward the gangplank. Law and Tashigi followed, with Doflamingo bringing up the rear.

#Caitlin's fic #One Piece fanfiction #One Piece fanfic #Trafalgar Law #Donquixote Doflamingo #Heart Pirates

3 notes · View notes

purplesurveys · 4 years ago

Text

1006

(found at xxbieberburnham)

“The rest of your life”

Are you independent or dependent? Dependent as all hell. I’ll put my foot down on very certain things, but most of the time I prefer hearing input or suggestions from people I trust. I definitely think it’s something I still have to work on because I know I’ll have to be mostly independent at some point.

If you could put your life into a category, where would it go? I feel like this would be easier to answer if you gave a list of categories. I don’t know what kind of insight you’re looking for.

How many animals do you have? I have two, but I call them pets.

Are you popular? Idk and I don’t care. All I know is I don’t actively seek to be so.

What time were you born? 9:11 in the evening.

Have you had any candy this week? Yeah, I had a gummy worm this morning. Mom bought a box of Halloween-themed sweets and there were cupcakes had gummy worms on them alongside marshmallows designed to look like a tombstone.

Are you more afraid of tornadoes or hurricanes? Hurricanes are terrifying, but I’m used to them. We don’t get tornadoes at all so I’ll not only be unprepared for those, but would definitely be more afraid of them too.

Do you like those nerd glasses? Sure, I still think they’re cute and look good on people but I never called them nerd glasses lol. Mine are kinda shaped like one.

Have you ever been in a fist fight? Nah, I’d be wiped out pretty fast.

What color is your house? A light shade of beige.

When was the last time you saw a rainbow? More than a year ago, I’m sure. It was during our ride back home from a journalism workshop, which if I remember correctly was all the way in Cavite. Goddamn we traveled a lot for those workshops.

Have you ever ate a crayon? I’ve never bitten off a piece but I’m not ruling out at least licking.

Ever rode in a helicopter? Nope. Would love to.

Do you like rabbits? Sure.

Do you like mushrooms? For the most part I don’t even think they taste like anything, so I never really had a problem with mushrooms.

“It’s like you step into the room and just press play”

What was the last movie you cried at? That Thing Called Tadhana. I had watched it five years ago after my first breakup; I got to go to Sagada shortly after that breakup, so that movie was actually very therapeutic for me at the time because it allowed me to release my feelings the way Mace did, also in Sagada. Now I’m stuck at home and can’t travel and that movie just hurt too much to finish.

What ice cream flavor best describes your personality? I don’t really...pair ice cream flavors with types of personalities.

Would you rather work for a small or large company? Large, because I feel like I’d be challenged more in those and thus learn more. Also it just looks nicer on resumés, if I’m being honest. Smaller companies are ok too but I prefer those that already have a rep for churning excellent results and having a good track record for workplace culture, like the company I’m currently working with.

Where's your favorite place to buy clothes? Ukays. I used to not like them, but my mom and sister did a great job reeling me in and making me see the appeal.

How many languages do you speak? Two.

What was the worst movie you've ever seen? Me Before You was such a waste of my time. Predictable, cheesy, and typical asshole-guy-softens-up-over-time-oh-and-just-as-you-start-to-root-for-him-we’re-gonna-kill-him-off. But idk, I was with friends who were into movies like those and I wanted to support them, so I went along to watch.

What video game have you played the most? Cumulatively, pretty sure it’s Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas.

What was your favorite TV show as a child? I was a Nickelodeon girl and Spongebob, Fairly OddParents, and My Life as a Teenage Robot were my top 3, with Jimmy Neutron closely trailing at #4. I loved Disney shows too but wasn’t really able to appreciate them as much until I got a little older and could understand their humor better.

What's your favorite sport? My answer won’t change - if it counts, pro wrestling. If it doesn’t, my next favorite is table tennis.

If you were given a brand new yacht, what would you name it? Nothing creative is coming to me at the moment.

Do you believe there’s life on other planets? Yes. Maybe not the ones in our solar system, but those out in the distant universe for sure.

What was the worst place you ever traveled to? Can’t say I’ve truly disliked a particular place we’ve been to. I will say that Chinese people have a...culture that I’m not used to, and I did not enjoy touring with a bunch of them during my cruise. They had buffet habits that I would consider unhygienic, they would sit at the same table my mom and I were eating at if there were available seats(??????? imagine if I just sat beside you at a diner while you’re having lunch?), and apparently it’s acceptable for them to actually look you in the eyes and point directly at you if they’re talking about you with other people. It was honestly a lot to put up with for six days, and the only reason I didn’t lose my temper was because my dad works in the ship and I didn’t want to cause him any trouble.

What is one thing you’re really bad at? Making art.

Do you believe in angels? No. I like referring to my grandpa as my guardian angel, but I don’t actually believe in angels.

Would you rather be a famous actor or musician? I know I’m awful at either, but I’d much rather act.

“where have you been all my life?”

If you could have invented one thing, what would it have been? It’d be cool to come up with something that ends up being widely popular and/or beneficial to society, but do it accidentally; like how popsicles came to be. Imagine building a legacy from your own oopsie lmao sounds like a pretty good deal to me.

What's your favorite exercise workout? I don’t do workouts.

What's your favorite thing to do? Wow, very straightforward. Hmm these days I’m slowly inching back to wrestling, so I’ve been watching compilations and documentaries and doing some catching-up here and there. Lately I’d say that’s my favorite thing to do, but that can always change.

What did you do for your 17th birthday? Gab and I went to Pinto and she brought me to Filio after. Then I got back home to see what Athenna had done to my room while I was out, which was to cover the floor with balloons and the walls with printed photos of Zayn Malik.

Does your local Wal Mart have benches in them to rest? First, we’ll need to have local Wal-Mart stores here.

Was your favorite stuffed animal really a teddy bear growing up? I never liked stuffed animals, so I didn’t even have a teddy bear.

If your house was haunted, what would you do? Not fuck with the ghosts/spirits.

Are you crazy in love currently? Not crazily, but in love.

Are you good at swimming? I can tread and do several strokes, but I also tend to panic so I think that eliminates the concept of me being a good swimmer.

What's worse: Slow internet or slow walkers? Slow internet. I can get around slow walkers; but unless I have mobile data, slow internet is out of my control for the most part.

What is the rudest thing a guy has ever done to you? I can’t pick between whistling at me, catcalling me, lunging at me, or flirtatiously harass me in front of his friends while I was minding my goddamn business carrying a goddamn box of cake at the mall. Yeah, not a very big fan of men.

Do you sleep with the sheets tucked in or out? Out.

What do you do to fall asleep faster? Put on a YouTube video and let autoplay take over.

Do you carry a bottle of water wherever you go? Yeah I used to, until I lost it.

Ae you afraid that one day you might get cancer? The fear of the possibility is there, but it’s not predominantly in our family history and so I’m more afraid of other issues I have a higher chance of getting, like high blood pressure.

“Letters to Juliet”

Are you a fast or slow walker? Fast if I’m running errands, slow-ish if I’m out for leisure.

Do you usually have to wear a belt with your pants? No.

Does it bother you when people's underwear hangs out? Kinda. Even more when their crack decides to show up too.

Are you usually the person to try new things with your hair? No, I am one of the last people in line when it comes to that.

When's your birthday? April 21st.

Do you own a bobble-head toy? Nopes.

What color was the towel you used to dry off with today after a shower? Turquoise.

Has anyone ever walked you home? I’ve had someone drive me home. Walking isn’t really applicable here.

Have you ever liked someone and they were taken? That’s never happened to me.

When was the last time you went fishing? In my past life, maybe.

True or false: You've read the book Lord of the Flies? False.

Have you heard of the band Yellowcard? Yes.

Have you ever seen the show Teen Wolf? I’ve seen an episode and oh my god it was so boring.

Do you have any quotes, lyrics etc on your walls? I used to until my mom took it down while I was in school. I made it myself, so it stung.

Are you a fan of Star Wars? No.

“Our parents never let us cross the street, but we did it anyway”

Has anyone ever told you that you have nice hair? Whenever it was actually nice, yeah. It was never my best feature though.

What brand of camera do you own? I have...an iPhone, if it counts, ha. My old DSLR was a Nikon.

Is there something you're not looking forward to? The next day. Having to go through rounds of anxiety is not enjoyable.

Have you ever read the book Thirteen Reasons Why? Have not read the book nor seen the show, but have read enough of the premise to know I am not a fan.

Do you wear white pants? Sure, I have a pair of white jeans that I absolutely love.

When was the last time you were really angry? Yesterday. My sister and I were ordering KFC from a food delivery app and no driver was taking it because drivers in that company are notoriously picky bitches about their destinations. They kept canceling our orders and at some point I had enough and proposed that we just get Pizza Hut, this time straight from the Pizza Hut website, which has always worked out for us before. So Pizza Hut confirms the order, calls me up and says the ETA, so far so good. Around 15 minutes later the doorbell rings and it’s...KFC? With our original orders? Apparently that stupid ass app took our order anyway after repeatedly canceling it, and I never got one fucking notification that our order was received. Tried to cancel Pizza Hut but they said they had already started making the pizzas, so in the end we had to pay for both meals. I had never been so angry.

Have you ever made a 3 pointer in a basketball game? Hah, of course not. I’ve barely made one of those free throws that are worth one point.

Do you think you look better with your hair up or down? I’ve gotten more compliments whenever it’s up, so that must look better on me even if I personally don’t necessarily agree.

Do you warm up before you hardcore exercise? I don’t exercise, but isn’t warming up recommended anyway?

Do you want a pair of Converse shoes? Not really; I suppose they’re alright. It’s not my favorite brand in the world, but I wouldn’t turn down a free pair either.

Are you more of a studs or hoops type of person when it comes to earrings? Hoooooooooops for days.

How many shirts do you have of your favorite band? Just one. I’m not a band shirt person.

Turn on the TV. What channel are you on? There’s no TV in this room.

Have you ever wore a tie before? Yeah, as a kid my mom sometimes made me wear neckties. They made me SO uncomfortable I was having internal breakdowns about being seen in public. I was 7 years old. Neckties to me were a boy thing and I felt 0% boy; and so it gave me such serious dysphoria. It’s like making a boy wear a pink tutu even if he’s already visibly distressed. Whenever I told my mom I felt uncomfortable, she would just tell me it “looks good.” Jesus Christ. Why did no one ever drag my mom to a parenting seminar? Did no one seriously see the signs???

What did you have for breakfast this morning? Garlic rice, bacon strips, and glazed ham.

“For the Krusty Krab”

Are you good at art? Of course not.

How many times have you read your favorite book? I don’t have one.

Name one thing that you really hate. Raisins, on their own and incorporated in a dish.

Have you ever tried walking on stilts? I haven’t.

Is there a war that you find interesting? Eh, not really. So many of historical accounts are bombarded with war narratives as it is, and I’ve just never really found disputes or tensions among countries to be the most interesting part about history. Plus women were mostly absent, and that makes it even more boring.

Would you rather live in the city or country? City.

Do you think $7 is too much for a movie ticket? Not always. $7 or ₱350 is actually pretty reasonable if you wanna see a movie at an upscale mall; people who watch movies in places like that shouldn’t be complaining about movie tickets that cost that much. But all movie theaters are the same anyway - pitch black, freezing, comfy chairs - so I just go to midscale malls where tickets would be like a hundred bucks cheaper since it’s gonna give me the same experience anyway.

Would you like to be a newscast person? For a long time I thought I wanted to be one because that’s what my entire family was rooting me to become. Eventually I realized reading from a teleprompter, interviewing guests, and asking questions to reporters is not a career I want.

Do you like word searches, coloring or crosswords better? Word searches, then coloring, then crosswords.

Close your eyes and press a random key on the keyboard. U.

How many William’s do you know? I don’t think I know anyone. It’s too foreign-sounding a name.

What time did you wake up this morning? I woke up at around 6 AM, but I fell back asleep immediately and woke up again around 30 minutes later.

Do you enjoy crutches? ...No? That seems a little insensitive for people who actually need them.

What's better: Snapple or Arizona tea? Arizona. It’s because I’ve never had the Snapple one, but tbh Arizona is already pretty delicious anyway.

Make a word out of the word: Dinosaur. Round.

“she said I love this song, I’ve heard it before”

When you were younger, did you play with legos? Yes. I was never a creative kid, but I liked playing with them anyway.

Do you like Trix cereal? It was only my absolute favorite cereal as a kid, no biggie.

Do you get nervous easily? Ugh, yes. My parents asked me to get water containers from our local water station last Saturday and I literally had to allot like two hours to brace myself and make a script in my head. I constantly rehearse shit nearly every time I have to go out of the house.

How long is your Facebook password? I’m not sharing that.

Do you like the movie Mean Girls? No, I didn’t find it funny the first time and that made me uninterested in giving it a second chance.

How do you want your wedding to be? Big, grand. Lots of friends, lots of food. Not Catholic/Christian.

Have you seen the movie or show Catfish? Nope.

Do you hate it when you arrive to something early? Not usually. Being early is my goal in most situations, unless I’m headed to like a party.

Have you ever been on Omegle? A few times as a teenager.

Are you still in love with one of your exes? Yes. It’s not going away for a while.

Do you think it's attractive when guys wear beanies? I don’t necessarily seek out men with beanies lol but I don’t think it looks bad on them either.

What's something that makes you feel shy in public? Unfamiliar situations.

Do you like the shows on MTV? No.

If you could go back and relive one day, what day? That last Friday I was in school before the lockdown happened. If I knew what the next eight months were going to look like, I would’ve stayed much longer in school, dragged my friends out to drink, blew my money on food, had more fun basically.

What's one word you hate to be called? Exhausting. Like being told I’m exhausting to be with. How does that not hurt?

#survey #surveys

6 notes · View notes

kiminicricket · 5 years ago

Text

Swords and Opals - Part 2

Oh hey there, back again for more? By all means, please read under the cut :)

Miss the first part? Read it here

Ethari ducked, and shifted on his feet, bringing his sword up to counter the next blow. The two swords met with a crash close to his face. Too close. Ethari swung around, trying to buy himself some space, but as he turned he noticed a long, white ponytail and paused. Pain exploded across his skull and his world blacked out.

Ethari came to with a pounding headache.

“Oh good you’re awake,” Tiadrin grinned wryly at him, placing a cool cloth on the side of his head. Ethari winced as it made contact, he was going to have a good sized lump there. “Sorry for clocking you like that, I thought you were paying attention.”

Ethari’s gaze darted around the training room, but found it empty. He slumped a little in relief. It wasn’t like he’d never noticed Runaan before. Everyone knew who he was. One of the most athletically gifted elves in the class, the assassins guild drooling over him already. But it was like Ethari had never noticed Runaan before. Since the altercation last week he was seeing him everywhere. He seemed strangely aware of his presence, every time they were in the same classroom, or training field. Ethari tried to focus, but found his gaze repeatedly being drawn back to the lithe elf.

Tiadrin was still looking at him expectantly so Ethari frowned at her. “I was. I got distracted.”

Tiadrin leaned in conspiratorially wagging her eyebrows. “Oh yeah? Anyone I know?”

Ethari blushed bright red and shoved her away, standing and retrieving his training sword. “It’s not like that.”

Tiadrin leaned on her training sword pretending to inspect her nails. “ok, not a talker, I can respect that.” She shot a knowing look over at him and winked.

Ethari shrugged helplessly. Truth be told, he didn’t really know why he was all of a sudden so intensely aware of Runaan, only that his heart went out to the boy.

“Have you made a decision about the trials?” Tiadrin asked as they left the training fields.

Ethari sighed. “No.”

Tiadrin hummed sympathetically. “Still don’t know what to pick?”

Ethari kicked the ground as they walked. Tiadrin had known her path since they were seven - the Dragon Guard. It was all she had talked about for a good two years. Ethari on the other hand, couldn’t seem to make up his mind. His parents had been assassins, and though he was strongly drawn to following in their footsteps, honouring their legacy, but his heart wasn’t entirely in it. The trials were coming up entirely too quickly for him to feel any sense of certainty about the future at all.

“Hey,” Tiadrin said, stopping and grabbing Ethari’s arm. “It isn’t dishonouring them to be who you are.”

Ethari knew this, kind of, he threw a grateful smile to his friend anyway.

The friends bid each other goodnight and retired to their personal chambers. Ethari headed over to his work space where he picked up the sword and his book on enchanting. Maybe he wouldn’t be getting much sleep tonight, but he was so close to cracking this, it was tantalising.

***

I just want to make sure he’s ok Ethari told himself as he was getting distracted once again in class the following week. He stared at the long white hair tied back in a simple ponytail as though it held all the answers he had ever wanted to know. As though sensing his gaze, Runaan shot him a glare and Ethari returned his gaze quickly to his own work, trying to focus on the reading, but finding it very difficult, his thoughts returning to Runaan’s situation.

Ethari had been through the same thing. His parents had gone one what turned out to be essentially a suicide mission. Sure they had made the enemy pay many more lives than they had sacrificed, and the Silvergrove honoured their brave sacrifice, but the hole in Ethari’s heart did not find much comfort in that. He wondered if some solidarity might be exactly what Runaan needed right now, but found himself hesitating to approach him again.

The teacher soon dismissed the class and Ethari watched with some unexpected jealousy as Runaan waved down and jogged to catch up with another elf. Lain, if his memory served him correctly. Ethari eyed the other elf, noting his broad shoulders and easy smile, to match the one that Runaan wore. It was amazing actually. If Ethari hadn’t seen Runaan in the library that day, he would have no idea how much he was hiding, how much he was hurting. He wondered if Lain knew, or if the stoic confidence that Runaan exuded had him fooled as well. He didn’t look particularly bright. Ethari frowned at the uncharitable thought.

“Whatcha scowling at?”

Ethari jumped when he felt an arm on his shoulder, he turned but it was just Tiadrin leaning against him. She sighed dreamily, gazing the same direction Ethari had just been.

“Dreamy right?”

The jealousy was back. “Not really.” He said, lying through his teeth.

Tiadrin raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe not to you, but as far as I’m concerned Lain is the most beautiful elf in the grove!” She swooned dramatically against Ethari. Ethari grinned and shoved her off, glancing over to the pair. Lain had not noticed them, but Runaan caught him looking. Again. Ethari dropped his gaze and nudged Tiadrin.

“Lets just go,” he muttered. The warning glare was back. Ethari could take a hint.

***

The weeks passed and Ethari often found himself looking in Runaan’s direction. It wasn’t hard to do. The boy moved with grace, and carried himself with confidence. His bright blue eyes and charming smile showing none of the turmoil that Ethari had glimpsed that day in the library.

Ethari realised he was staring again as Runaan let the arrow fly and turned to face him. Ethari stared for a moment, as the glare Runaan shot him was not a look of anger, so much as one of confusion. Ethari looked away first, taking up his own bow, and lining up the target in his sights. He took a deep breath and let the arrow fly. It was a good hit, but not a great one, not like Runaan had just done. Ethari glanced back over to the boy, but he was caught in a conversation with Tiadrin. Etharis heart dropped as he watched them anxiously. She laughed at whatever he had to say and punched him in the shoulder, earning a laugh of his own. They started to turn towards him but he swiftly returned his attention to the target, unwilling to look at the potential reasons that panic was filling him. He let the arrow fly half heartedly. It barely made it onto the target. Blushing he dropped the bow and turned away, allowing the next kid in line their turn. He turned and abruptly came face to face with Runaan. He felt himself going even redder. Had Runaan seen his pathetic archery? Nodding as he moved, Ethari started to move away.

“Ethari wait!” Tiadrin called, reaching for his arm.

Ethari turned back to face them, smiling brightly. Too brightly, he could feel it. He tried to turn it down, but could tell by the puzzled look on Tia’s face it wasn’t working. He couldn’t read Runaan at all.

“Oh, uh, hey whatsup?” He said, trying to move the moment along.

“I was just talking to Runaan about the trials next week, he and Lain need two more, and so do we!” She moved over beside him and swung an arm around his shoulders. “Isn’t this great?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, great! Perfect actually. What luck!” He dared a glance at Runaan, but the best he could make out was indifference.

“Well I have to… there’s a book I was gonna… See ya!” Cursing himself he turned and hurried away towards the library where he hoped to hide for the rest of his days.

It was not to be however, as Tiadrin followed shortly after, a triumphant look on her face.

“I figured you out.” She said.

Ethari looked up at her, bewildered, “What?”

“Why you’ve been acting so WEIRD lately!”

“Weird? I haven’t been-”

Tiadrin cut him off with a single, piercing look, which soon turned triumphant. She leaned in and whispered.

“You’ve got a crush on Runaan!” Her eyes shone with excitement and Ethari just stared at her. A crush? Was that what this was?

“No, I don’t think-”

“Oh hush, you might not know it, but I know a crush when I see one. This is even MORE perfect! You and Runaan, me and Lain out on an adventure for the trials! Just imagine how we will come back super bonded and maybe even with a couple of boyfriends!” She wiggled her eyebrows at him and practically danced out of the library as Ethari stood for a moment, staring after her, trying to reconcile her words with what he had been feeling over the last few weeks. The constant awareness, the wishing to be closer. The nervousness around Runaan.

Maybe it did fit. Maybe he did have a crush.

His heart sank. This was terrible! They were about to go on trials together! This could not happen, there was no way he would make it through an entire week with this newfound knowledge. He was sure to make an absolute fool of himself! So what if he had a crush?! It was Runaan. It wasn’t like that would ever be requited. He started after his friend. He had to fix this, and now, before the teams were made permanent.

“TIADRIN!”

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

Part 3

#ruthari #runari #tdp #the dragon prince #fanfic #runaan #ethari #tiadrin #lain #aaaaaahhhhhh #swords and opals

71 notes · View notes

nixalegos · 5 years ago

Note

Some would question the use and commodity of a Warlock as compared to other classes and the necessity of their legacy. Fel-magic and Demonology are outlawed in practice in most cities, if not by some cultures outwright. And some players tend to sideline the Warlock as compared to another Spellcaster. In your opinion and in the face of this depreciation, what do you feel Warlocks offer that make them a strong Class by comparison to others, both ICly and in Mechanics?

Oh warlocks. Will I ever tire of talking about this class? Probably not. So. First, lets get it out the way. YOU SHOULD NOT TRUST WARLOCKS. Full stop. No matter how charming. No matter how noble their intended goal. No matter how many monsters they slay. Villians they dispatch. Every. Single. Warlock is a little bit insane, and every single one of them have an insatiable hunger for knowledge, power, or worse. So why the hell are they even -allowed- within the heroes ranks?! Because the enemy LOVES having warlocks in their ranks. Because for every mad cultist, for every adoring worshiper of chaos or demons, or darkness, there is an equally driven, zealous scholar working day in, day out to outdo them in every arena. Warlocks are the magical equivalent of having a hacker on your businesses payroll. You know what they do is wrong, but you know without them, you’re more vulnerable to malicious attacks from without. You need them inside your tent, not outside poking holes in the tarp. You need them close for the few out there who aren’t playing on your team. You can bloody a mage. You can drive them into a corner. You can beat them into submission. You can’t do that to a warlock. A warlock who’s been bloodied is a warlock about to get serious. And it takes ALOT to get a warlock bloodied. (Thematically anyway) They’re unique studies into life and mana and self inflicted pain can leave them often as durable as those in plate by sheer force of will. (For about six seconds or until someones corruption procs) A priest can inflict pain. A warlock -feeds- off your pain. A member of the Illidari can use demonic rituals. An Illidari’s ritual is a cheap sand castle to a proper warlocks ritual. But they’re more then just durable magic cannons. They know how to play nice. Go on. Take the healthstone. It’s insurance. I don’t want to see you hurt, or burden the healer. (Don’t mind me standing behind you meatshield.) Let me rip open time and space to pull our -friend- here to quicken this foes dispatching! (Sooner it drops my damn off hand the better.) Use the gateway to avoid traps! (Better you’re in the fray first then me.) Let me scout for the hidden with a scrying eye! (And spot my prize too.) My demon can keep that enemy occupied while we cut down its allies! (It enjoys the look of anguish as it realizes its friends are dead and they were helpless.) The warrior will rise! Stay fast allies! (DID I SAY YOU COULD DIE?!) Warlocks bring -alot- of utility to a fight. Moreso then most realize. But they couple this -helpfulness- while also delivering truly HORRENDOUS damage upon their foes. Packs, nay, SWARMS of demons. Shadow magic stolen from the void that eats at flesh. Necromancy that infects the blood. Fire magic so dreadful it sears the soul as black and withered as the victims flesh. Is it any wonder so many warlocks are pleased as punch to help you? Eager and cheerful to ‘sell their services’ for any given task, even tasks they might not be so helpful in? Given a reason to crack their knuckles and use their soul damning, self pleasuring magics upon anyone or anything that gets in their way? They live for excuses. Excuses to be ruthless. Excuses to cut loose. Excuses for why they laugh and mock the dead as they drain whats left of their enemies souls to repair themselves enough to do it in the next room over, where guards quake at the sight of that smiling dark robed figure that’s just short of the scariest thing they’ve ever seen because they -forced- them into a state of panic and desperation. Warlocks should make any reasonable person nervous just being nearby. Because what would happen if they decided to -stop- playing nice?

21 notes · View notes

pastelgrungewrecker · 5 years ago

Text

Chain[gun] Reaction

Slim Pickens, well he does the right thing And he rides the bomb to hell Yeah, he rides the bomb to hell

He was young, young and full of promise and potential and all those words the recruiter used to soothe the raw wounds left behind by a yellow letter delivered to the front door of a once happy home.

Whirl, young and bright with eyes like sunshine and a crooked smile, signed his name and soul away in memory of his mother- who loved her son more than she ever loved her sky, even thought it was her sky that sealed her fate.

His father watched with dim and dead eyes as his only son, his bluebird boy, packed his bags and hugged him tight.

“I’ll be fine, Pop- don’t worry, I’ll come home, okay?”

He didn’t know, oh he didn’t know how his future would change with this decision- He had no idea the sound of gunfire and the burn of toxic words and liqour would become lullabies as he watched his unfamiliar claws pretend to be gentle.

And it was brutal, and it was cold. And it broke him and remade him and broke him again as he learned to bare his teeth first in a snarl and then in a manic smile he never knew he possessed. And with orders ringing in his ears and bitter apathy brewing in his heart he pushed and pulled and dragged himself over finish lines and end points that seemed to be farther and farther away from him- flagpoles moved once a month, once a week, once every other day.

If he only knew how he’d be betrayed by the system he served, if only he knew how his midday sunshine eyes would be broken and dimmed and warped from their almost childish dubloon wideness into the narrow slices of molten metal sighting down the barrel of a gun.

And his father gave weak smiles with honest joy as his son looked back over his shoulder as he walked with the graduating crowd; looking back with a lopsided grin like an angel with aircraft wings had done once upon a time so long ago and an artisan filigree heart broke when Whirl smiled.

If only the golden son had known he would set with a flash of fire and a comet’s trail.

And then his father couldn’t smile anymore.

Whirl stood solemn in front of the grave, not feeling the pats to his shoulder, the affectionate squeezes to his arm. He refused to look at the pity in officer’s eyes when he declined reenlistment, refused to see the worry in the eyes of his fellow Corps members when he fell silent for hours. Then days.

When he finally could hold his head up, his father’s shop looked back at him with dusty windows and a door that still creaked if it opened too wide. And so he began to repair- the building or himself, he couldn’t tell.

The feel of gold and silver and platinum between his fingers, the casual catch of his lower lip with his teeth in concentration, the gentle ticktockticktock of seconds and minutes and hours fluttering away like crows from a carcass; a rustle of dark feathers and bluegrey hair in a loose tail down his back.

They called him an artist, they called him a master. They lauded his new work, they cooed over cogs and wheels and carefully designed faces coated in a countdown to the end of days.

He wondered if he would outlive these creations, when his father didn’t outlive his own.

If he only knew he would not only outlive them, but outlive the memory of his father’s legacy as it was laid to rest.

The Dead End, for him, had it’s draws. Dens of debauchery masquerading as bars or ‘spas’ and any kind of company for the right price. Whirl, his hands curled in his pockets, often wondered to himself why the streetlights didn’t glow red like a warning like in all the old holovids his father used to watch from a gilded age.

It was a thrown bottle that let the Devil’s eye turn to him. A thrown bottle, a mocking laugh, the word “coward” slung coldly at him by a face he only half remembered...

And then his knuckles were coated in blood that wasn’t his own. Once again a sneer painted his face, shattered his crooked grin and darkened his sunshine eyes and he released the shirtcollar of his target to watch them hit the floor facedown with a wet sound like old meat on a butcher’s counter. He looked over his shoulder with his eyes on fire.

“Who’s fuckin’ next?”, he drawls out in a voice made rough by silence and mourning in equal measure; a raven’s hiss of Nevermore, a crow’s caw from the gallows.

Something in him gave up on kindness. Something inside of him broke down like clockparts in a housefire and his cogs ground themselves apart as he rebuilt with fistfights and binges, with questionable company of any and all kinds.

“You were an Aerial Corps prodigy.”, mused the Enforcer of the week, “You’d be... useful, to us.”

He spat on the Enforcer’s shoes, squinting through a busted cheek and grinning with a split lip, “Get fucked, fuzzman.”

“It would be wise to show a little respect.”

“Fuckin’ earn it then, pissrag.”

More bruises, more cracked bones and weakened joints. Nineteen and lost, twenty and cracked like church windowglass and he grunted in muted pain as he laid on his back in a bare cell for an overnight in solitary.

He ignored his father’s voice chiming in the back of his mind, asking him what his mother would think.

He ignored the memory of her laughter his mind called forth against his will.

The cell door opened; hours early, at hours questionable, and he turned his head and made a noise of confusion. The medic beside the Enforcer smiled with nothing behind it, empty as Whirl’s eyes had become, and nodded once.

“That’s the one.”

Whirl sat up slowly, curses and vindictive words dancing on his tongue before a heavy fist flashed across his face and slammed his head into the wall the bench-turned-bed was mounted against.

He wouldn’t wake up until he smelled antiseptic- and he’d wish beyond wishing he hadn’t woken up at all.

When he awoke, his vision blurred and swam and his arms burned like hellfire as the numbness in his face flickered like radio static. He tried to speak, to scream, but the medics around him simply frowned and shook their heads as they loosened the straps holding him down.

He was eased up into a sitting position, and told in flat tones he had ten minutes to gather himself and leave the operating theatre.

“Op-erat-ing?”, he rasped out, before he raised his hand to hold his throat; and he froze solid at what answered his movement.

Ragged and matte-dark, hard steel with a three-point claw on the end. Panic rolled over him in tidal waves and threatened to drag him under as he held his new arms out in front of himself and nearly screamed.

They had taken his hands.

He looked frantically around at the passive and disinterested faces around him before he caught his reflection and his raw voice howled out like a hurricane. A blank patch over one eye with heavily stitched lacerations leading out from underneath it. His chest shuddered and hiccuped, and he felt the covered eye burn like fire as the other leaked viscous red in a thin line.

“Do not worry. Once the removal injuries have healed, there will be no more pesky things such as tears or foolish bickering outbursts.”

Whirl looked up. The surgeon smiled as they pulled gloves soaked in blood off their hands. Their functioning, real hands.

“We have fixed you, Whirl- that is your name, correct? We have repaired all of the flaws in your character with science and scalpels.”

That smile unchanging as horror flooded the channels panic had work into Whirl’s soul.

“Once you are healed, of course; then, you will truly be a Model Citizen.”

Whirl flew at him with a snarl, those claws cinched around the surgeon’s throat and squeezed and squeezed and squeezed until the screaming stopped and the doctor’s hands dropped to hang at his sides. Limp, and twitching; and the surgeon gurgled as he was dropped.

Whirl looked up at his reflection one more time before security wardens burst into the room and grabbed fresh prosthetics; ignoring Whirl’s screams and howls as they dragged him out of that sanitized white light.

He was thrown out by three Enforcers, tossed out into the back lot among dumpsters of medical waste and they laughed as he struggled to push himself up to his knees. The sun was setting, his sun was setting, and the sluggish red tears from his remaining eye burned as they trickled free.

He’d learn, later, what was severed and taken. His means of expression burned away and sliced free of his mortal coil. Model Citizen. Emotionless wreck. They knew the way to cage a bird was clip his wings- but they didn’t have to take his ability to cry.

He staggered to his feet, his steps uneven and crooked as he tried to operate with only one half of his vision. He sobbed out for help, he reached out for aid and was met with disgusted looks and threats of further violence and those words chased him and chased him until he stumbled onto the streets that would take him home; take him back to safety and seclusion and softness and-

And fire. And brimstone. And nothing left but a burnt family photo and a pocketwatch from a destroyed desk.

One day, it would be found by a young boy with sunshine eyes. And he’d ask where it was from, and call it beautiful; and Whirl would smile weakly like his father once did to a smiling new pilot and be unable to find the words to explain what it was, what it meant.

Whirl sobbed; on his knees and broken in ways he had no way of knowing yet, he sobbed. He sobbed like a lost child, like a scared boy, like a pilot under fire. He sobbed like a mourning husband and a confused son.

His eye leaked viscous red; there was pressure, there was pain.

And then, there was nothing. There was blank days and a back alley apartment. There was a tiny sting and a heady flight. He was a pilot again, without needing a plane as he stared at nothing and bounced from job to job and came closer and closer to giving up.

And then They found him.

“Sounds like you wanna die.”

“Maybe I fuckin’ do- I don’ exactly look the fuckin’ picture of privileged livin’, do I?”, he snapped.

The man who sat down next to him; dressed in the green of militia’s and murder smiled through his laughter and clapped a hand on Whirl’s shoulder.

“Forty two percent chance you’ll get your wish, kid. And at the very least- you get out of this shithole and three square meals a day.”

“Yeah, and forced sobriety.”

“I don’t care how high you fly or how deep you sink in a bottle as long as you know which way to shoot.”

Whirl looked up, the patch over his scarred blank space slipping slightly, “...A’right, I’m interested.”

“Welcome to the Wreckers; lemme call my ride and we’ll get started.”

=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=+=

And now, years and bullet-shells and nightmares in the future, Whirl stands at a kitchen counter and chokes on air as his lungs seize and fall still. He smells it, that too-clean stench of medical tools and antiseptic and just washed floors and the light is too bright.

Ratchet swears, realizing he hadn’t changed clothes after a day spent teaching the new doctors dropped in his lap by the university (good kids, good hearts, but almost too gentle for the job) and he calls for Perceptor, he calls for Drift.

Whirl doubles over; he gasps and hiccups and screws his eye shut as newer, better, safer prosthetic hands cover ears that still ring like a battlefield song is playing on repeat.

He feels Perceptor’s cold hands on his shoulders, hears Drift call for the dining room light to be “Shut off dammit!” and he exhales a sob.

He opens his eye. There is pressure, there is pain, there’s a crimson dot on the floor like a scope’s laser sight.

He still, after everything, after healing, cannot cry.

#pastelwrites #humanformers #ptsd #empurata #whirl #crim is going to actively kick the living shit out of me for this

35 notes · View notes

margoshansons · 6 years ago

Text

The Killing Kind (11/?)

Part Eleven: 01. 02. 03. 04 .05. 06. 07. 08. 09.10.

Summary: Peter commits a grave mistake and Y/N finally comes clean about her past in hopes of taking down Mysterio.

Warning: Swearing. Angst.

Notes: Whooohooo! Things are getting started in here! I’m really stoked for this chapter.

“Let’s go get a drink” Quentin offered, throwing Peter off. His hand wrung the teen’s shoulder, but all Peter could focus on was the battered figure in the yellow dress at the edge of the Ferris wheel.

“I’ll uh, I’ll catch up with you” Peter offered, and Beck followed his eyes to the figure, smiling as he threw a knowing look at Peter. The teen flew over to the Ferris wheel, tucking the address of the bar into his suit before removing his goggles to take a closer look at Y/N.

“Please no,” Peter pleaded, lifting up the wrist to feel for a pulse. Her watch face was cracked and while she had a pulse, it was racing at several miles a minute. “Please, don’t be dead, don’t be dead, don’t be dead.”

She was breathing but knocked out cold. Peter cradled her in his arms, eyes not flinching from her scarred face. Blood was cracked and dried against her hairline, leaving an awful pattern across the right side of her face. Guilt and panic twisted in his chest. She had gotten hurt and it was his fault. He should’ve been there. He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve protected her.

She almost died and it was his fault.

Her features were set in an unfamiliar expression, something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her wear. She looked almost...at peace. Eyebrows free from their perpetual creasing, stress lines disappearing as she remained unconscious.

“We’ll take her back with us” Agent Hill interrupted his reverie. “Get her cleaned up, and then she’ll be back in the hotel in no time.”

Peter stood up, gingerly handing over his friend over to the Shield Agent. “Take care of her, please.” His voice broke at the word leaving his lips. All he could do was watch as Hill nodded, placing Y/N in the back of the car before retreating from the scene.

She was all he could think about when he went for that drink with Mysterio, casually sipping on the virgin drink he had ordered. Beck was congratulating him, telling him that they did a good job today. But all Peter could focus on was the fact that he had failed. He had failed to protect the city and he had failed to protect Y/N.

“What do you want Peter?” was all Beck asked.

That was all it took for the gates of his mind to open. He had been pushing his wants away for so long, would it be so bad if he took a break every once in a while? Would it really be the end of the world if he just left to Paris and continued with his plan? “I want to go to Paris with the girl I like,” Peter confessed, “And take her to the top of the Eiffel Tower and tell her how I feel. And...give her a kiss!”

Beck sent another playful expression toward the teen.

“Shut up man” Peter shoots back, a wide smile on his face growing at the fantasy. That’s all he wanted. Was it so much to ask for? The chance to be a normal kid? When the girl gives him back the glasses, he can almost hear Y/N scolding him for leaving such an important item around.

“Are--are those the EDITH glasses?” Beck asked, the same awe filling his voice. “They were just on the floor?” Great. So now Quentin is going to take over the scolding role instead.

After several attempts of trying on the glasses, Peter turns to Beck, seeing the same wide-eyed wonder in his eyes that Y/N had. The same curious look. He offers them to him. He refuses, but Peter is adamant, determined to tell him that he is the one that deserved to carry out Mr. Stark’s legacy. And somewhere in the back of his mind as Beck tries them on Tony reappears. They look too much alike. The same inquisitive gaze, the same face shape. Beck is Tony alive again, and Peter has already made his choice by the time he takes them off.

“EDITH grant control over to Quentin Beck.”

****

Her head was pounding. She struggled to push herself up on the couch, grasping her side.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay” Peter’s soft voice wove itself through her ears and panic filled her chest.

Y/N cast several looks over her shoulder, hoping to find the drone that was projecting this. Her hand went to her neck, expecting the shock collar to still be there. All that remained was bare skin, the faintest scar tracing her throat. She could still feel the electricity pulsing through her, the convulsions her body underwent. The barrel of the gun pointed directly at…

“Tell me something only you would know” She begged, tears threatening to escape her puffy eyes.

Peter moved back at the request, surprised at her hostile nature. “Um, okay, uh, your favorite flower is--”

“No” Y/N cut off, voice hoarse. “Something real. Something nobody else knows.”

The two sat there, silence between the pair, as her request hung in the air. Peter didn’t know. Y/N didn’t know. What if this was another illusion? What if her dad wanted to extract information out of her in some awful way?

“The night before I blipped” MJ interjected, making her presence known, “You told me your dad was the only person other than Tony Stark who you looked up to. And then when I came back, I knew five years had passed because you hated him more than anyone else.”

Y/N stood up shakily from the couch, facing her much taller friend before collapsing into her embrace. “You’re real” she whispered painfully, “You’re here.”

“Of course I am” MJ murmured, “I would never leave you alone.”

Y/N turned to the group surrounding her, Ned and Peter staring at the pair of friends. “We need to talk, all of us.”

She grasped Peter’s hand, ignoring whatever look MJ was wearing on her face at the moment, pulling them into an adjacent room. The three of them stood there in silence, watching Y/N for further cues.

She breathed in and out. Ready to admit to the past. Ready to admit to her fucked-up family and her father’s treachery. MJ took her hand in hers and Y/N smiled at the younger girl. Safety washed over her, and she was filled with newfound confidence.

“Mysterio is lying to you” She admitted, letting out a sigh, “There’s no multiverse, no elemental threat, he’s making the whole thing up.” Peter and Ned froze, looks jumping between MJ and Y/N, their nerves spiking.

“I know you’re Spiderman Peter,” MJ confirmed deadpan, “Hanging out with Y/N only proved it.”

“I’m not, uh, I’m not Spiderman.” Peter objected, determined to not let anyone else in on the secret.

“Yeah,” Ned defended, “Peter’s not Spiderman, there’s no way he’s that skilled”

“Oh-kay” Peter murmured, slightly insulted.

Y/N and MJ shared a doubtful look, amused by their attempts to keep the poorly hidden identity secret.

“So if you’re not Spiderman, then who webbed this down?” MJ asked, pulling one of Beck’s drones from behind her.

Y/N dropped her arms, her face widening in shock at the appearance of the small device. “How did you find this?”

MJ shrugged.

Y/N snatched the device from her friend, eagerly scanning the drone before finding the button she had been looking for. Pressing it, the hologram sprang to life. The storm elemental appeared, terrorizing the small air in front of them, her father jumping in at the last second to save whatever buildings he was going to destroy.

A smile crossed her face as an idea began to spiral in her brain, adrenaline pulsing through the girl’s veins, pain forgotten.

“I have an idea,” She replied, running up the marble stairs, the group narrowly falling behind her. Y/N opened the door to her room, tossing the drone on the bed and reaching for her laptop. She set it up on the hotel desk, plugging it into the wall.

“Peter, I need EDITH” She commanded, opening several programs needed to achieve what she’s reaching for.

“Wait” MJ interjected, stuttering, “so like, this, this is real? You guys aren’t joking?”

She began to twirl her hair as the anxious ticks she tried so hard to keep hidden decided to show themselves.

“Like Peter is actually Spiderman? You guys are being serious right now?”

Y/N nodded, trying to soothe the girl while she began to run the programs installed on her computer.

“What are you doing?” MJ asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

Ned moved forward, gazing at the programs she was using in awe. “You’re creating a virus” he announced, catching on.

Y/N smirked at Ned’s wide-eyed stare.

“Oh, that’s so cool” He continued. “You’re a genius.”

“Of course I am” Y/N agreed nonchalantly, “Peter, did you not hear me? I need EDITH to help find a weak point.”

Peter remained silent.

“Today Peter” Y/N hooked the drone up via Bluetooth to her computer and began coding around the complex software, looking for a weak spot. “Peter?”

She turned around, facing the reluctant hero, noticing his wringing hands, his nervous stare, his panicked eyes.

“Where’s EDITH?” She asked, afraid she already knew the answer.

Peter turned from panicked to apologetic, “I’m so sorry--I didn’t know, I gave it to Mysterio, thinking he was--”

Y/N stood up at the revelation, stalking slowly toward the shorter boy. “You gave it to him? Just like that? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

MJ and Ned slinked back at the sight of an angry Y/N, eyes blazing.

“He didn’t want to have it, and he just saved the city, so I didn’t think--”

“No that's exactly it Peter” Y/N burst, hands curled in fists, “You don't think! And now one of the most dangerous men in the world became ten times more dangerous because you don’t have any common sense!”

Her raised voice surprised even her, her father’s words ringing in her head.

You’re exactly like me.

Breath in five. Hold for six. Breath out seven.

She retreated back to the chair, turning back to the computer. “It’s a good thing I already downloaded EDITH’s software back on the bus.”

The anger faded slowly, but it faded.

“What do you mean?” Peter asked, his usually calm voice grating and irritating, especially after today’s events.

Y/N rolled her eyes, “While you were sleeping I used a recording of your voice to access EDITH, it really is quite easily hackable, especially for a Stark industries project. I was able to connect it to my computer, downloading her essential processes before we landed in Prague.”

Ned and MJ stared at her in confusion, unsure why their friend was so interested in downloading the AI.

Y/N shrugged, “What? I like cool software, plus I really wanted my own JARVIS.” She began to code, opening EDITH’s programs, “I was planning on using it to help me encode my own devices so I was untraceable, I even started it with my phone, but I guess this is a better use of my time.”

The group was speechless as she stood up from the chair, heading to her suitcase underneath her bed.

“Don’t worry Ned” She continued, grasping the small thumb drive in her hand, “You’re still the guy in the chair.”

She saw the shorter kid sigh in relief. She strode back, plugging the thumb drive into the computer, ready to download the virus onto the device. “I’m just the genius that’s going to save our asses.”

She continued to program while Peter disappeared to the room beside hers, no doubt grasping his suit. He returned with the black suit he wore earlier, and Y/N was getting close to finding the weak spot.

“What are you doing?” MJ asked, voicing Y/N’s own thoughts.

Peter began to strip, and Y/N had to resist the urge to look behind her. “I’m headed to Germany,” he admitted, “Someone has to warn Nick Fury and stop Beck before it’s too late.”

MJ turned back around, nodding in agreement.

“That doesn’t have to be you though” The words escaped her mouth before she could gain any control over them. She heard Peter freeze and turned around, gulping as she tried to ignore the physique of the boy before her. She pushed the fluttering of butterflies down and met his gaze.

“I can go. He won’t hurt me”

“You don’t know that.” Peter interrupted, pulling his suit over his legs.

Y/N stood up, moving closer to the teen. “Yes, I do. Have you not figured it out yet?” She asked softly, praying that he would never have to figure it out. Peter swallowed at her intense gaze, his chest heaving up and down as she moved closer.

“Mysterio is--”

“Hey, Y/N,” MJ interrupted, “What does this mean?”

Y/N moved back to the computer, EDITH’s code alerting them to another watcher. “It’s him. He knows you know”

When she turned back to face Peter, he was gone, the window of her room open.

Thanks for all your comments! I really appreciate them!

MASTERLIST

TAG LIST:

@21bruhs @maiabiovillage @spidey-holland7 @petersblake @queen-destenie@thewinchesterchronicles@filthydeatheaters@cutiepiemimi13@happylittlesuns @smolbeanfive @leilei-draws @olivia1112@avnngrs@suvikamahes98blr @broken-from-fandoms@your-pixels-are-showing@sarablog10 @santa-feigh @jade-mccartney @prettyylamee @badboysdoitbetter2

@isabellapotter15

@keanuuuuuureeeeeeevesssss

@kpop-wuver

@editsbyjenny

@radkryptonitepeanut @wonders-of-the-multiverse@kaylinfayezink@ppunderoos@weyheyavengers@thatsuperherosidekick@dasydni @jackiehollanderr@complete-trash-101 @thatwhitemutant @depressed-comics @spideyyypeter @ninaminaromina @nan-nie @dictatorfatimeh @sugaglory @misswritingintherain @liegbott @heyhargrove @ghost-brocolli @iamanerdnot @founding-fuck-bois @detroitbecomevenom @benhardyslut @amorisxx @voidstrugh @queen-fam @bellero @anxiouslymalicious @yourgirltaz

#peter parker x beck!reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker imagines #peter parker x reader #peter parker #spiderman imagine #spiderman x reader #spiderman ffh #spiderman far from home #peter parker fanfiction #spiderman ffh fanfic #spiderman fanfiction #peter parker fanfic #spiderman fanfic #the killing kind #the killing kind series

246 notes · View notes

juleswolverton-hyde · 5 years ago

Text

Dream Ashes (Yoongi x Reader)

Genre: Smut, Angst, FwB AU, HYYH AU

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: Allusions to self-harm, smoking, drinking and domestic abuse, toxic relationships, unrequited love, Top!/Dom!Yoongi, unprotected sex (ALWAYS do it safely, lads and lasses), (semi-)public sex (if sex on a rooftop counts), swearing/cussing

Summary: Not every night under each roof is pleasant, filled with arguments and the broken dreams of aspiring artists held back by parents either having no faith in their child’s talent or, if they acknowledge it at all, in a future pursuing a dream. A mixture of the two continues to kill the aspirations of the black sheep of the Min family, a delinquent deemed a pyromaniac by the ignorant eyes that solely know how to shallowly judge.

But there is a guardian angel with love who bears his burden gladly on lonely nights.

Even if it comes at the cost of her own heart.

Masterlist

Not every night under each roof is pleasant, filled with arguments and the broken dreams of aspiring artists held back by parents either having no faith in their child’s talent or, if they acknowledge it at all, in a future pursuing a dream. A mixture of the two continues to kill the aspirations of the black sheep of the Min family, a delinquent deemed a pyromaniac by the ignorant eyes that solely know how to shallowly judge. However, the open-minded individuals who can see beneath the tough exterior will be met by a musical genius who is forced time and again to give up the sole reason to live.

Music.

The piano.

‘I don’t have a dream. Besides, what’s the point in having one?’ Those words have become a steady statement to make whenever the conversation turns to what can be done after leaving behind six good friends and dropping out of high school. Whether any help is needed, in any regard, because a girl ran away from home herself is more than knowledgeable in how hard it can be to survive without anything to fall back on.

Though eventually a safe haven was offered freely by the actual leader of our little band of troublemakers guarded by a mistress of lies, another runaway living in a train yard outside of town.

Withal, tonight a new worrying addition is spoken after a habitual check-up text sent from Joon’s refurbished container after patching up Taehyung’s latest wounds inflicted by a raging drunk of a worthless father. The boy with the curious square smile stubbornly continues to hide the true cause of the physical and mental pain despite his fellow graffiti artist having hinted multiple times at wanting him to open up about the issue. Notwithstanding, it would seem the real cause of the harm will only be entrusted to the boys' confidante, the guardian angel helping tattooed aqua locks keep the rabble in line.

For as far as that is possible.

‘They take everything from the inside and throw it away.’

‘Who is they?’ Throat constricted by concern at this new detail, fingers stop combing through caramel locks finally fallen asleep after grunting through the medicinal care while precariously avoiding making eye contact with Monie.

‘Everybody.’

‘I don’t, I would never. Neither would Jungkook, Jimin, Taehyung, Hoseok, Namjoon and Seokjin.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘No, it’s not!’ No response, the last text remaining to be noted as read. ‘Yoongi?

‘Yoongi, answer me! You’re not gonna do anything stupid, you hear me?

‘Yoongi, please!’

Nothing.

Nothing at all.

‘Oh God.’ The exclamation comes out on a short breath, panic rapidly overtaking as thoughts refer to the past.

‘What?’ Namjoon looks up from designing a new piece of art to place somewhere on a bare city wall, an eyebrow curiously cocked.

‘I- I need to go.’ Gently, Tae is laid down on the mattress. Futilely, the unconscious boy tries to wrap arms around the upper legs to pin them where they are before moving away. They have to, because time has become precariously precious again. Hence, all that the sleeper gets is a quick platonic peck on the forehead. ‘Right now.’

‘What’s going on?’ The leader notices the distress, turning halfway on the worn seat and about to get up.

‘It’s Yoongi. He’s not responding anymore and I think I know why.’

Shredded paper, beautiful notes turned awry thanks to disregard by the public, compositions torn apart to be hauled through a shredder or be burned in the next fire leading to an arrest.

Scarlet.

Glistening metal.

More silver lines added to the ever-expanding canvas on pale thin limbs.

‘Honestly, why doesn’t he just come here? We’ve both said multiple times he should.’ Honey digits remove the simple beanie to run through blue short strands, defeated in the wager as to why the pianist remains on the flight instead of retreating to the home we have created.

Regardless of the severity weighing heavily on shoulders moving towards the door, a sympathetic smile can be managed to put Joon at least somewhat at ease. One person carrying the burden of Time is more than enough and if someone should be to blame for being too late, it should be the guardian angel. ‘Because he can’t see the point, the good it’ll do him. He doesn’t know he has a home.’

It should be me.

‘He’d rather see his dream burn than move in with us.’ A mutual deep sigh erases the only sign of comfort that can be given at the moment as a hand reaches towards the latch. ‘One of these days I’ll drag him here myself and just lock him in. It’ll be full house, but I’m sure we could figure something out.’

‘Good luck with that, Monie. I’d help, but I value my life. He’s a tiger. One that’s hopefully unharmed by the time I reach him.’ Because, once more, it are solely the black wings engraved into the back which know the truth while the rising bird is kept in the dark regardless of begging in silence for the last sliver of complete trust even telling of hardships they do not know about. ‘I’ll see you later.’

Gritting gravel surrounding neglected railways beneath open twilight gradually transforms into asphalt broken up by holes in the districts ruled by crime and smooth steady ways in good neighbourhoods forming the residence area of families of which the children will either become something akin to the grandness of a doctor or a nine-to-five, if not worse, office worker. And it is here the phone put into the pocket of the denim jacket buzzes, the screen lighting up thanks to a new message that is a blessing and a curse at the same time. ‘Not home. Ran away. Warehouse. Roof.’

‘When did you run?’ The answer might seem fairly obvious were it not for the memory of the first time created melodies were destroyed by the paper shredder and parents furiously yelled at the aspiring producer to actually go back to school and get a proper education.

A good life.

Meant for someone else.

Not for an artist.

These same bordeaux Puma sneakers stormed through the front door and up the stairs after mister Min opened up, about to ask who in their right mind came calling around midnight. Absolutely not giving a damn about the consequences and solely focused on reaching a familiar door hiding ignored hardship.

Truth be told, none of us ever has.

Because we live.

Young, wild and free.

Or so we will, after all of us have escaped the judgmental cage created by a society looking down on creative souls trying to make a change. To leave a worthy legacy meant for generations to look back on and learn from.

After feathers break free from the egg.

But more than a single care was given upon warily approaching the figure in the secret studio least of all serving its original purpose of a bedroom, crawled away from the door to hide in the corner while clutching anxiously at freshly bleeding cuts. The knife was put aside, undeniably used and cruelly lying on the ground beside us.

Instead of directly speaking, we merely sat across from each other in a heavy hush wherein confidence was regained by calmly waiting for dark eyes to make contact. Which they eventually did, trembling bloody palms removing the white headphones given as a collective birthday present together with Joon and Hobi. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘For what?’ Regardless of knowing what was meant, locks nevertheless tilted to the side in feigned wonder because any direct reference to the difficult situation would lock the oppressed musician up immediately.

And invite the cruel blade upon leaving.

‘For being so fucking worthless. For making you come all the way here, just to see this good-for-nothing criminal.’ Unjust cracks appeared evident in the barely composed raspy voice of salt-streaked tears. Crimson fingertips plucked at baggy clothes concealing the frame that had become ghastly thinner due to the stress placed upon young shoulders forced to see dreams burn over and over again.

As always, helpless heavy-weighing playfulness was resorted to in the quiet hope of brightening the mood enough to break through the impenetrable walls which are always built when Yoongi is put down. ‘Shut up.’

Colourless irises, the passion sucked out of them until all they knew was how to cry, looked up in a sharp sneer. Or so it wanted to be, but could not due to an inner voice constraining the harshest negativity which turned the expression grave rather than judgemental. ‘It’s true, Y/N. You know it is.’

‘No, it’s not.’

A shift of subject made it more than clear the current topic did no longer serve any purpose, completely disregarding the smeared headphones and fresh cuts. Curiously, it changed to inquire about the well-being of the equally, albeit not to the same degrees, abused boy with whom often arguments were started merely because of being followed. Followed by the one who looked up to him, the rebel who will one day fully make the right decision and flee from beneath this harming roof permanently. ‘How’s Tae?’

A resigned sigh gave into the shift reluctantly, a tiny sliver of gladness spreading warmth throughout the limbs grown cold at the miserable sight and calming a rapidly beating heart unable to not worry about the wounds. ‘Bruised ribs, split lip, a cut on his cheek and an ugly bruise beneath the left eye.’

‘Please tell me he’s crashing at Namjoon’s.’

‘He is, as always. Mended for as far as possible and asleep.’

‘Good.’ Absently, as if drifting off into the forcefully created crumbled world once more, Yoongi nodded while repeating the confirmation under sharp breath. ‘That’s good.’

‘You, on the other hand, aren’t doing so great.’ It could not be helped, the dark carmine droplets staining ashen sweatpants creating hideous murky brown stains could not be ignored. Ugly yet alluring ghosts tempting the eye into being looked at. ‘You could have come to the train yard.’

The subtle suggestion resulted in the habitual denial of all help, any former softness sharpened like a dagger and flowing from a snarling tongue. ‘I’m fine. Just go.’

‘Where’s the first-aid kit?’ It had always been part of the dynamic, ignoring what the composer said in favour of a better outcome or serve as the company that was wanted but the wish of had never been explicitly stated. Withal, the guardian angel would triumph once more due to the trump card of iron determination, speaking in a tone that would not let anything of the pain due to the confrontation with self-destruction filter through.

‘Go.’ Sullenness preceded, as per habit, the fierceness of the tiger beneath the skin. Stained fingers moulded into fists gripping at oversized clothes, trembling with rage but trying incredibly hard to contain it to not do something to regret in the second after rashness.

‘Where?’ The characteristic raised sarcastic eyebrow was not appreciated, still only so on very few occasions nowadays.

‘Just fucking go!’

The lashing out would have chased away any of the other guys, but not the girl merely scoffing at the show both minds knew was nothing except fakery. ‘Have it your way. I’ll look for it myself.’

As expected, it was stored away in the lower compartment of the bathroom sink adjacent to the small bedroom, thus leading to the swift return to a cherry-haired tiger meticulously observing every movement from a safe spot. Withal, without shrinking as if wanting to melt into the scenery. Instead, he stared on in wonder of the help coming to the rescue of both a friend and a precious bond.

‘Give me your arm.’ No response at first, even at the beckoning hand any other might mistake for being impatient yet was all but that. It was desperate, frightened to death by the flowing carmine. ‘Yoongi, arm.’

Despite not stating it outright, the mere act of putting it in the cross-legged lap calmly without grumbling said more than words could at the moment. Henceforth, a tense though comfortable hush descended while cleaning the wounds after disinfecting them, checking up on an expression continuously returning to stoicism with every hiss.

Notwithstanding, in spite of missing the change betraying bodily hurt that by no means outweighed the mental burden of both parties, there was a fascinated warmth in irises drained of life time and again as digits bandaged the visible part of the damage up.

‘There, that’s better.’ Glad hands put down the first-aid kit as the last freshly carved scar had been concealed by ivory linen, sighing in calming relief. All in all, it did not take long to patch the musician up but the pressure of time flowing away made the instance appear longer than it really had.

‘Why?’ Furrowed brows regarded the first step to physical healing, almost as if uncomprehending of how it would help. Of course, it would not aid mental stability but it did allow for the rescue of a soul who would have gone too soon.

‘Because we’re friends and I won’t let you fall. I’d never let you down.’ Trembling in hesitance, the palm of a barely recovered from the shock voice reached out to a pale cheek, the thumb languid in caressing the denied tears away. ‘You’re an incredible musician, Yoongi. No matter what anyone says or whether you believe me, it’s true. We, the guys and I, think so. No, we know so.’

‘You speak of them as if they’re my friends too.’ Had the genuine broken persona living beneath the skin of the rebel kicked out of school been unknown to the girl sitting across from him on the floor, the end would have happened right then and there. However, the opposite was the truth and thus the sneering tone was disregarded in favour of establishing at least a sliver of conviction of reality.

Something to believe in.

Something to hold on to.

‘They are. They disregard the fact you don’t contact them at all because, as I said, they know you’re going to make it big someday. They still continue to support you. None of them has forgotten about you.’ Lips pursed in careful contemplation, calculating the impact of each word which wanted to be said without angering the only temporarily subdued tiger. Eventually, such an argument was formed in good faith. ‘And you haven’t forgotten about them either because you wouldn’t have asked after Tae if you had.’

‘Still, you’re the only one here.’ A pale palm folded perfectly over the one on the salt-streaked cheek, the broken dreamer leaning gratefully into the touch with lashes fluttered shut and a voice as if drifting off into slumber. A blissful place away from cruel reality. Away from here. ‘You’ve always been.’

‘That’s not tr-’ The protest was cut short by an unexpected kiss, lips meeting in soft urgency. A whirlwind of emotions kicked up at the suddenness of the action, Reason and Fancy at war due to never having thought the tiger would do such a thing.

Nor expect to hear a new level of despair in the whisper temporarily breaking up the kiss, sounding strange as it was caught between genuine clarity and relieved sobbing begging to not be left behind. ‘It is. Only you love me.’

Thus, the truly vicious cycle began of coming to the rescue both mentally and physically only to end up in the sheets to fully calm down. See to it Yoongi can rest easy even while one heart falls deeper and deeper into chaotic love.

It has been for the past two years of denial.

But it cannot mean anything.

It should not.

Because, once it does, it becomes a passion.

A dream to pursue.

And that is forbidden and therefore it will shatter or be burned like music.

Until all there is left are merely ghosts.

The only type of changing the meetings of scared hearts have undergone is a shift in location after the rebel dared to run away again the day Jungkook almost ended it all on the edge of the highest skyscraper.

Barely in time could the youngest of the chaotic band be rescued, the man like an older brother pulling the maknae by the back of an ivory and rose checkered blouse and holding on to the boy until both had regained enough breath after spilling tears of frustrated relief. After all, Yoongi had sworn during the last meeting with the entire group beneath a nightly sparkling spring sky to be a support pillar because he knows what living while feeling useless is like, vouching to do so while Kook rested on his shoulder. Through the high-rising flickering amber flames of the fire pit, the two seemed content at last.

For a little while, everything was okay.

We would be fine.

Would be.

But tonight, on the roof of the abandoned warehouse in the harbour where on the lower floor stands a dusty brown piano, we are not. The damaged knuckles and chafed skin beneath sullen irises tells of barely escaping another arrest after being kicked out a bar again and drunkenly searching for a fight, the scent of cigarettes indicating music has been burned again because the pieces were not good enough.

They never are.

Not to society.

But, to the girl approaching a wild tiger, they are everything.

Though the producer is blind to see it.

‘Yoongi?’ No reaction to the greeting comes as the heavy door to the roof closes and bordeaux Puma sneakers pad with a heavy heart over the asphalt still warm due to the day’s heat. They come to a halt a mere step away from the brooding tiger. ‘You never answered me over text and make me come all the way out here to get a response.’

‘Does it matter?‘ Without so much as a sideways glance, entwined damaged slender fingers maintain a steady melancholic gaze over the dark quiet waters of the harbour. A mocking grin tugs at the corners of the mouth but does not form completely, essentially as joyless as the denied dreamer.

‘It does! It fucking does!’

For once, please believe me when I tell you that you’re not nothing.

‘To who, hm?’ At last, colourless irises grace a worried soul with a challenging look but at least attention is pulled enough to actually listen and not simply hear.

‘To the guys.’ A palm slaps against a rapid beating heart in a constricted chest as lips tremble and a cracking voice rises in volume. ‘To me.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘No, it’s not. We care, Yoongi, all of us.’ The last bit of distance is breached as a hand naturally folds over a frozen shoulder clad in a military green jacket, resting there without being violently shrugged off.

A sign of listening.

And thus the argument is pursued on a calmer and more steady yet equally urgent tone. ‘What about Jungkook? You promised to be his supporting pillar. Taehyung is over at Joon’s again, beaten up by his dad and you know it hurts you. Just as much as it hurts us.’

Upper arms are enveloped as briefly locked gazes break up, ashen strands hanging low in stubborn ignoring of the guardian angel crouching in front of them. ‘Us, Yoongi. The Bangtan Boys and me. Our family.’

‘I have no family. They were the first to destroy it all.’ Regardless of being unable to see it, lips are undoubtedly pursed in a fight to prevent new tears from falling. Woven digits tremble in barely suppressed crimson nicotine anger, vision blurring with tormenting memories of refusal.

‘But we build it up together, didn’t we? You know you aren’t-’

‘Shut up.’ An arm lashes out to undo any contact, the impact of the action causing a fall backwards. Nothing but agonizing exhaustion radiates off the snarl on the handsome face that has become loved as more than a mere friend.

Even while it extorts another for pleasure.

A means to forget.

It means nothing.

‘I’m tired of speaking. Tired of thinking. We both know where this goes anyway.’ Each sentence is accentuated by a firm demanding kiss sealing off any chance of protest after being roughly helped onto two unsteady feet, the tables turned as it now are the arms of somebody trying to help which are grabbed tightly.

Held dear and cherished in an incomprehensible manner.

But it is better than nothing.

‘We can’t keep doing this.’ Had this been pure desire, the shape pressing hotly against the thigh would have been appreciated in a whole different way. Interpreted in a manner not remotely close to the reality of us because it is not sensual wanton craving.

It is pent-up frustration coming to a boiling point.

Fruitless.

A wandering ghost.

A heap of ashes.

‘Shut up.’ The hands creating an abyss by pushing against a sturdy chest are given other purpose. Nevertheless, the meaning of the distance remains: foolishly to be able to be filled with sincerity.

One hand is placed on the hip and the other below, simulating a laughable imitation of actual craving as another kiss adds to the poor fancy. ‘Just do what you’re told for once.’

Lips connect once more in saltwater carrying broken wishes and all the dreams that cannot be because of emotions warring with ideals, the correct way of life stained by nicotine and the sharp yet sweet tang of cheap soju.

Trembling fingers envelop damaged cheeks as slender musically gifted hands tug at the edge of pants, beckoning them to lie down before undoing the belt fastening bleached ripped jeans only to be warmly welcomed again by the palms that only get to hold the face they love in this repeated loveless lovemaking. Knowing the impatience of the tiger, any restrictions to allowing the heated wantonness pressed against the thigh earlier have been removed before wiping away returned tears and lovingly caressing ashen brown locks.

Don’t get your hopes up. It won’t mean anything. It’s just a means of comfort.

Everything is familiar, a piece of the past tainted by crimson and smoke to cling to.

The warmth spreading throughout as separate souls effortlessly become one, unprotected in wordlessness and thus letting actions say all that tongues cannot.

The speed of snapping hips, uncaring about pleasure and merely wanting to fuck the pain away.

The agony of the tug on each tendon keeping the heart inherently belonging to the occasional groan breaking through heavy breaths whispering into the side of the neck.

The urban scent of cigarettes, ashes and blood.

The possessive iron-like grip on the waist, desperate to be grounded in the moment or simply an anchor into this world while the mind it belongs to tries to flee.

The chase after temporary oblivion together, though one soul remains a step behind to not frighten the other into love.

After all, it has no meaning.

None of this.

It is a ghost we keep.

Preventing us from finding happiness together.

The chance to hear three simple words spill at least once before or after a troubled mind finds brief peace in the arms of the woman he said, no, knows loves him. Nevertheless, Yoongi cannot return the affection.

Cruelly, the hope remains even while lying on the warm concrete, the heat seeping through dishevelled clothes covering the upper part of the body, and embracing the musical genius drifting somewhere in a pleasant ignorant limbo. The same state of being that lashes turned to a beautiful sparkling sky did not reach again and never will during these meetings. Still, it is not minded for this is a more meaningful type of contentment.

Simply lying here among the ashes.

But it cannot mean anything.

It should not.

Because, once it does, it becomes a passion.

A dream to pursue.

And that is forbidden and therefore it will shatter or be burned like music.

Until all there is left are merely ghosts.

#BTS #BTS smut #BTS x Reader #hyunglinenetwork #btswriterscollective #ksmutclub #Yoongi #SUGA #Min Yoongi #Agust D

90 notes · View notes