#they just. removed half the thing you could do with the eraser tool?? made this significantly harder than it wouldve taken otherwise

[thepandalion]

self portrait of me in syntax class

[intimaecys]

her  relationship  to  soccer  had  always  been  fraught  ,   a  thing  she  both  loved  and  despised.   in  the  early  days  ,   before  she  knew  who  she  really  was  ,   it  was  just  one  of  those  things  she  was  expected  to  do  ,   it  and  basketball.   she  was  smart  ,   but  not  devastatingly  so  ,   and  student  loans  could  only  do  so  much  to  pay  for  the  education  on  her  horizon.   when  she  was  left  questioning  herself  ,   throwing  herself  into  it  erased  all  of  her  doubts  and  her  troubles  ,   if  only  because  it  gave  her  something  new  to  fixate  on.   turns  out  ,   though  ,   that  she  wasn't  the  only  one.   she  kissed  a  girl  for  the  first  time  in  a  locker  room  after  one  of  their  games  in  high  school  ,   fumbled  her  way  through  sex  with  a  girl  for  the  first  time  there  too.   she  was  good  enough  ,   not  the  best  but  good  enough  ,   to  have  someone  pay  her  at  least  partially  to  go  to  school  for  it  and  complete  a  degree  on  the  side  ,   so  she  did.   and  when  she  did  ,   she  ended  up  face  to  face  with  mrs.  casper  instead.   their  relationship  was  equally  fraught   —   the  older  woman  must've  seen  something  her  that  she  didn't  ,   because  every  time  she  came  onto  the  pitch  ,   she  became  the  primary  target.   they  yelled  at  each  other  ,   they  exchanged  heated  glances  ,   oftentimes  joan  would  stare  at  her  ,   heaving  in  air  ,   like  a  predator  tracking  their  pray  from  across  the  savannah  ,   wondering  what  made  her  so  special.   leaning  back  from  the  bench  in  the  locker  room  ,   legs  spread  and  skin  still  coated  in  sweat  ,   joan  struggled  to  keep  wet  hair  tied  up  as  cherry  approached  her.   maybe  they  lit  something  beneath  one  another  ,   the  older  woman's  presence  alone  was  enough  to  get  her  to  try  and  push  harder  ,   for  reasons  she  didn't  fully  comprehend.   but  now  ,   when  her  eyes  rake  up  from  cherry's  abdomen  to  her  face  ,   trying  not  to  linger  on  her  breasts   —   she'd  done  so  many  ,   many  times  in  private  ,   perhaps  a  couple  times  in  public  when  she  was  too  tired  to  pay  attention   —   she  exhaled.   "   am  i  okay  ?   "   her  voice  was  a  little  snippy  ,   but  only  from  the  exertion.   eyes  half  -  lidded  stared  at  her  ,   every  breath  bringing  a  new  drop  of  sweat  rolling  along  her  exposed  abs.   dressed  only  in  her  sports  bra  and  a  short  pair  of  athletic  shorts  ,   at  least  as  she  started  to  remove  her  boots  and  socks  ,   she shook  her  head.   "   i  don't  get  it.   "   putting  the  shoes  and  socks  aside  ,   along  with  her  shin  pads  ,   when  she  finally  felt  the  strength  to  stand  she  did  so  ,   only  an  inch  or  so  away  from  cherry's  body.   still  soaked  in  sweat  ,   joan  quietly  blew  warm  air  against  the  older  woman's  face.   "   it's  like  you  like  watching  me  get  angry , why are you here ? did i fuck something else up ?   "   her  hands  clenched  a  couple  of  times.   normally  after  days  like  this  ,   she'd  have  to  go  blow  off  steam.   in  her  locker  ,   in  the  bag  she  intended  to  lug  back  to  her  apartment  was  one  such  tool  that  would  help  her.   all  it  would  take  was  one  call  to  one  desperate  girl  and  she  could  put  the  strap  to  good  use  ,   and  put  herself  to  sleep.   in  a  heightened  ,   drowsy  state  though  ,   her  eyes  lingered  a  little  more  on  cherry's  lips  ,   her  throat.   she'd  gotten  used  to  this  enough  by  now  ,   she  thought  ,   so  joan  slowly  walked�� past  her  ,   bumping  her  shoulder  ,   only  to  start  peeling  off the  soaked  bra  ,   back  to  her  coach.   "   i  gotta'  fucking shower.   "   

her career as a professor had begun as a lot of young athletes do, with little time for studies and a thirst to push herself to new limits in sports. she had been scouted from high school to college with not a lot of fuss, and soon the major leagues had come calling after she finished her first degree. at the time, school hadn't seem so important but an ill-fated hit to the temple by an angry opponent on the field had left her with a fractured temporal lobe and without the ability to hear very well in her left ear. the career that she'd wanted, had fought for tooth and nail, had vanished into smoke after that.

after rehabilitation, she'd been a shattered version of the girl she once knew, but wouldn't go down without a fight. cherry had found the resolve to carry on, to go back to school for her masters and then her doctorate. she'd been a therapist for some time before deciding that she wanted to teach. she hadn't even wanted to be a coach, really, until she found herself down on the field one afternoon, watching the girls play; an opening had slotted itself conveniently into her life shortly after that. she got the job based on her once-stunning-reputation and stardom, she knew that, but didn't complain. and she'd been coaching since then - seven years now - at the college level, and she was fairly happy. the girls came and went, some off to grander opportunities, and cherry had chaperoned them to the best of her ability. but sometimes, someone would come along and light a fire under your ass..

joan levy was one of those someone's. or rather, a spitfire of a person that cherry hadn't exactly seen eye to eye with since the beginning. they liked to push each others buttons certainly, though cherry did not want to dig into the reason why joan's cheeks looked so enticingly pretty when they were aflame with anger or frustration. she'd been here before - once - and had told herself that she'd never do it again. today, cherry had ran joan to the breaking point, pushing her again and again before, all to the see the gorgeous rise of a flush on her cheeks, before she ever let her rest. now, she'd come to find her in the nearly empty locker room, making sure that she hadn't pressed her charge too hard. "joan," cherry broke the silence, averting her eyes from the remaining girls who were changing nearby, instead staring at something just over joan's shoulder, angling her head to the right, away from the hearing aid that was visible in her left ear. "you did well today." the praise might not have been what the other wanted to hear, but it was given nonetheless. smiling at the now dressed girls as they headed out, it occurred to cherry then that joan and her were the only two people that cherry could see still here. "are you okay?" @intimaecys

[talatomaz]

crossing paths pt.ii | diana prince x lance!reader

a/n: reader has the powers of telekinesis. i’m not sure if I like how this went tbh but oh well

warnings: mentions of fighting

word count: 2.7k

masterlist | request list | request rules

pt.i | pt.ii

reader is sara & laurel’s younger sister who works with team flash. after her and cisco’s experiment goes sideways, she finds herself trapped on an unknown earth not unlike her own

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

Home Sweet Home.

Exiting the train station, you exhaled a deep breath and took in your surroundings. Most importantly, the huge sign that had “WELCOME TO CENTRAL CITY” scrawled across the board.

After the events of the day, you’d decided that the best course of action would be to make your way to this Earth’s Central City.

You’d figured they had to have a Star Labs which you knew would hold the necessary equipment you needed to fix the extrapolator or at least the communication function so you could contact Cisco.

Luckily, whilst on your journey, you’d managed to hack into the train’s wireless computer so you could then erase the museum’s security footage from your phone. The footage of your fight with the robbers was the last thing you needed getting out.

Hailing a cab, you made your way to Star Labs, having pocketed one of the maps that detailed the route to the facility from the train station.

In little over 20 minutes, you had arrived. Paying the driver with what little cash you had left, you craned your neck to look up at this Earth’s Star Labs.

It was different to the one back home. Yes, it was modelled fairly similarly but this had a more...robotic feeling and was definitely a lot darker than yours.

Though you supposed that was because this Star Labs seemed to be more full, several employees walking in and out of the building.

Whereas the Star Labs back home, whilst full of technology, was only home to Team Flash and no one else. The risk far too great for ordinary people to see what you were doing.

Entering the building, you quickly donned a white lab coat and went in search for the equipment you needed to fix the breach device.

Finding a secure room, you put on your mask and used your powers to open the door.

As you walked in, you let out a small gasp. The room was larger than you’d expected; filled to the brim with computers and screens all hooked up to one another. Making your way to one of the larger ones, you began writing a line of code. Then you took out the extrapolator, placing it on the table and grabbed some tools that were on the desk.

You started to mend the broken device, remaining careful and alert incase someone was going to catch you. You were about halfway through when you felt a familiar rush of air and found yourself in an unknown area.

Not unlike Star Labs, it was filled with computers and the like but also held training equipment in the far side of the room. Then you felt yourself tied to the back of a chair, staring up at a group of men.

You recognised most of them, except the one that could only be described as a half-man, half-cyborg hybrid.

“Oh fuck.” You murmured to yourself.

This was all you needed.

To be captured by none other than Batman, Superman and the Flash.

“Yes, indeed. Who are you?” Superman asked, his arms crossed over his chest.

You narrowed your brows, analysing each of their outfits. This Earth’s Superman outfit was different to the one back home. Batman, you’d never really met before so you couldn’t comment.

But the most interesting was the Flash’s outfit.

It appeared to be made up of metallic materials whereas Barry’s was made out of intense heat-resistant and abrasion resistant polymer and some other stuff that Cisco had explained to you that you didn’t take note of.

“More importantly, where are you from?”

You heard a familiar voice say behind you.

You turned your body, as best you could since you were confined to a chair, and felt your jaw drop at the female who stood before you.

Not only was she the woman you’d met earlier at the museum but she was freaking Wonder Woman!

“Holy shit. Cisco is going to be so jealous he didn’t come here.”

“Who’s Cisco? And where did you come from?”

Not giving you time to answer, the brunette continued, “I saw you earlier at the Metropolis museum. You told me about the criminals.”

“We tried to pull the security footage but it had mysteriously been erased.” The man you nicknamed Cyborg said. “Why were you at Star Labs?” He asked.

“You know. You gotta let a girl answer before you continue asking questions.” You joked.

“This isn’t a joke. Tell us who you are.” Batman spoke for the first time, his voice coming out hoarse and rough. Probably from a voice distorter.

“I will. As soon as you untie me.”

When the five of them stared at you, you sighed.

“Guess I’ll do it myself then.”

With a flick of your fingers, the ropes that bound you came loose and you stood to face the group.

They immediately went into fighting stances, ready to take you down if need be.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” you scoffed, “I’m not going to hurt you. I just don’t like being tied up. Unless we’re in the bedroom.” You teased, laughing to yourself.

“You’re a meta.” Wonder Woman commented.

Placing your hand in your pockets, you were about to reply when you felt that they were empty.

“Wait, where the hell is the extrapolator?”

“Oh, you mean this?” The Flash said, holding the device in his hand.

“Give that to me.” You ordered, charging your way to the speedster before Batman stood in your way.

“I don’t think so.”

“Barry, that is not something to play around with. Give me that.” You repeated.

“Wait, how do you know my name?” He paused, everyone’s eyes trained on you.

“It’s a long story. Now please, put down that device.” You sighed when he placed it on the table beside him.

When he put it on the surface, he must have accidentally pressed a button because Cisco’s body popped up like a hologram.

“What on Earth?” You heard Wonder Woman say.

“Y/N! Where the hell are you? Woah, is that Batman?!” Cisco’s voice crackled through the device as the hologram glitched.

“Cisco, the device broke. Can you track what Earth I’m on using the GPS?”

“I can try. But I need you to fix the small chip that’s in the extrapolator first.”

The Cisco hologram glitched out and faded away.

“Shit.” You murmured to yourself.

“What do you mean ‘what Earth’? Who are you?” Batman said.

Sighing, you spoke, “I’m not from this Earth.”

“You’re an alien?” Barry exclaimed.

“What? No! The only alien here is Clark.”

You gestured towards the Man of Steel.

“How do you know who I am? Did Lex send you?”

“Oh, please. As if I’d work with that idiot. Besides, I like his sister much better. As I was saying, I’m from an Earth called Earth Prime.”

Then you gave them all a brief explanation of the rebirth of the Universe and how you’d arrived here.

“Ever heard of Everett’s many-worlds theory? Simply put, this Earth is not the only Earth that exists. I come from a parallel Earth where I work with the Flash and several other heroes, including Supergirl and Batwoman. Though no one’s seen Kate in a while.”

Looking into each of their eyes, you could still see apprehension.

Facing Wonder Woman, you held out your wrist, “Use your lasso of truth and you’ll see I’m not lying.”

“How did you-”

She started before you interrupted her, “Do it and then I’ll explain.”

You watched as she removed the rope from her armour and wrapped one end around your wrist.

Your eyes widened as the rope started to glow a bright yellow, the material feeling warm against your skin.

“What I just said was true. And I know about all of you. Your parallel selves are my family and friends back home. And Wonder Woman-”

“You may call me Diana.” She interjected, flashing you a kind smile.

“And Diana,” you corrected, “you’re somewhat of a Legend where I come from. I visited Themyscira once, it was beautiful.”

“My home is hidden from Man’s world. How did you see it?”

“My sister, Sara, travels through time with her team and when I worked with her for a brief period, my friend, Zari, and I, took Helen of Troy to your island to save her. Anyways, you do exist on my Earth but no one really knows of you.”

Diana stared at you for a few moments, her intense glare making you weak in the knees, if you were being honest.

It was as if she was looking right into your soul.

Whatever she saw must have pleased her because her gaze faltered and she removed the lasso from you.

“She’s telling the truth, guys.”

“Thank you. Now I need to fix the extrapolator or I won’t be able to get home.”

“So that little thing can make anyone travel between worlds?” Cyborg asked.

“Yes, exactly.”

“It’s like one of those damned mother boxes that almost destroyed our world.” Bruce said harshly. “We can’t risk having that here. We need to destroy it.”

“Don’t even think about it.” You spat out, your hands clenched at your sides.

You narrowed your eyes, watching for any indication of movement from the vigilante.

The only warning you had was Bruce’s muscle tensing before he reached for the table that held the device.

In a quick motion, you used your powers to throw the former into a pile of boxes to break his fall.

The playboy rose to his feet and charged at you, ignoring the shouts of his team.

You blocked his punch and deflected his kick. Ducking when he swung his arm, you used all your strength to throw him over you.

He reached into his cape and you flung whatever he was about to hurl at you into the wall. He swiped at your legs, making you stumble to the ground. You picked yourself up and when he ran at you, once more, you used your powers of telekinesis to rise in the air above him.

You extended your hand in front of you and lifted him in the air to face you. He struggled within your hold before you both looked down at Diana who’d shouted.

“Enough! Y/N, put Bruce back on the ground.”

With a crash, Bruce fell to the floor whilst you gracefully landed upright on your feet.

“Bruce, this device isn’t as harmful as the mother boxes. And it is her only way home, we cannot destroy it.”

Diana said calmly as Bruce huffed and murmured a curse.

“Listen, Batboy. I will kick your ass again if you don’t shut up.” You said, meaning every word.

“I’m not trying to be hostile here but I only came here to prove my theory which I’ve clearly done so now I just want to repair the device and go home.”

Walking over to the table, you picked up the extrapolator and inspected it. Your heart dropped when you saw a crack in the chip.

You knew that there was no way to fix the locator.

“Y/N, is everything okay?”

Your voice not strong enough to answer, you shook your head. Clicking the communication button, you saw Cisco’s hologram appear again.

“Y/N, have you fixed the GPS chip yet? Y/N, what’s wrong?” Your friend asked in concern.

“The chip’s broken. Majorly so. I’m going to need to replace it but the only replica of the chip is-”

“Here.” Cisco finished. “Is there a Star Labs near you?”

“Yeah, I went there earlier to fix the damage but there wasn’t any chip. I checked.”

“Okay, I just need to create another extrapolator and then somehow come and get you.”

“Cisco, you know that can take weeks.” You sighed.

“Y/N, it’ll be fine. We’ve been stuck on other Earths before. Including with a telepathic gorilla. I doubt there’s any Earth worse than that.” He said, trying to inject some levity in the conversations.

“You’re right. Look, don’t tell the team. You and I both know that they’ll just worry and I don’t need them telling Sara or Dinah either because they’re too protective. Just lie and say that I was missing Laurel and decided to take a vacation.”

“You got it. Stay safe, y/n. And keep this extrapolator with you so I can speak to you.”

“You got it. Bye, Cisco.”

Once again, the hologram faded away and you hung your head.

Cisco was right.

It was not the first time this had happened and it certainly wouldn’t be the last. You were damned if you’d let this get you down.

Clearing your throat, you straightened and faced the group, having forgotten that they were there for the entire exchange.

“Guess I’m going to be in your hair for a little while longer.”

***

It had been 3 weeks since the day you’d arrived on this Earth.

Diana had kindly invited you to stay with her whilst you waited for Cisco to arrive. You remained in constant contact with the latter; he wanted to keep you updated on his progress.

You were still on rocky terms with Bruce, him not appreciating you beating him. He was stubborn and irritating but reminded you of Oliver in that regard.

You helped the Flash with his speed, giving him tips on how to manage it and retain his strength which you’d learned from having closely worked with Barry all these years.

You also got on fairly well with Superman and Cyborg and even met Aquaman who tried to hit on you the moment he saw you.

But out of everyone, you’d grown close to the Amazonian warrior. The first night you’d stayed with her, you found yourself talking to her all through the night until the sun had come up.

She had told you about her family back home and you told her about yours. You supposed it was easier to tell her than anyone else since she’d endured so much loss and pain and understood what it was like to be separated from her family.

“Y/N, you ready to go?”

Interrupted from your thoughts, you turned to face the beautiful brunette who had a soft smile painted on her face.

She had asked you to dinner a few days before, telling you she wanted to give you both a relaxing evening. You had graciously, and rather, immediately accepted the invitation.

The truth was that, over these past few weeks, you found yourself hoarding a crush on the Goddess.

You could have disregarded it as a schoolgirl crush but the last time you’d ever felt like this, was when you were with Thea. But that had ended amicably after she found love with Roy.

“Yeah, let’s go.”

After eating outdoors at a small bistro, the two of you strolled down the street. Then your heart skipped a beat when she slid her hand in yours.

Looking up at her, you saw a gleam in eyes as she smiled at you which you reciprocated. You basked in the feel of her hand against yours, her warmth spreading through you.

Then you both jumped when her phone started to trill in her pocket.

“Diana Prince.” She answered her phone, humming in response before disconnecting the call.

“That was Bruce. He needs us at Star Labs. Both of us.”

She answered when you opened your mouth to ask just that. Closing your mouth, you nodded and ducked with her into an alley so you could both fly to the building.

“What is it, Bruce?” Diana asked as the two of you walked into the facility.

“The mainframe’s been going crazy. It’s as if someone’s breaking in here but no one actually is.” Cyborg answered instead.

Running up to the screen, you noticed the flashing alarms on the screen.

“Well, at least you guys have better security than we do.”

Pulling up the schematics of the building, you furrowed your brows at the thermal energy reading.

Parting your lips, ready to voice your confusion, you jumped back when a breach opened up in front of you.

When it closed, it left two people in its wake.

Barry and Sara.

“Y/N, Cisco told us what happened. We’re here to take you home.”

Glancing behind you, your eyes fell on Diana whose eyes flickered between you and your friends.

“God, I’m going to kill Cisco.”

<- Part 1

[quillandink333]

Scarlet Carnations ~ Part I

BotW Link X Zelda ~ Detective AU

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.9k

WARNINGS: death, murder, loss, trauma, blood and gore, terrorism, organized crime, self-harm

Summary: Inspector Zelda Hyrule, assisted by the faithful Constable Link Fyori, is infamous for cracking the most confounding of cases in a town dominated by crime. Her latest assignment is to solve the murder of her own godmother, Impa Sheikah, the late CEO of Sheikah Tech. Incorporated, while staying under the radar of the dreaded Yiga organization.

Part I • Part II • Part III • Part IV • Part V • Part VI • Part VII • Epilogue • Masterlist

A deafening blast jolted me out of my slumber. I snapped upright.

As a member of law enforcement, I was painfully familiar with the sound of a gunshot, and that was exactly what I’d just heard.

I strained my ears with bated breath, trying to hear over my own thundering heartbeat.

Loud, frantic footsteps raced down creaky, wooden stairs. Then a terrified scream filled the halls of my childhood home.

I tore away the sheets and rushed to where the scream seemed to have come from. When I reached the parlour was when I stumbled upon the scene. There, right at the foot of my mother’s memorial, was my godmother’s cold, lifeless corpse. Kneeling beside her was her granddaughter, Paya, weeping into her open palms in shock.

Only a minute or two had passed since I’d awoken at the sound of gunfire. “Wait here,” I ordered, then made a break for the front entrance, the nearest and most instinctual escape route.

But when I threw the doors open, there wasn’t a soul to be found.

I returned to the parlour with my tail between my legs. Then my toe hit something heavy and metallic that clacked underfoot. When I looked down and saw what it was, I froze. With caution, I ever so slowly stepped away from the weapon.

“Great...” I muttered, seeing as now it would have my toe prints on it. But the longer I looked at it, I realized I’d seen this revolver somewhere before.

Then it hit me. It hit me like a two-ton train car.

I quickly made sure Paya’s head was turned. Then with terribly trembling hands, I did what I had to do and carefully tucked it away in my nightgown.

I’d feared the precinct wouldn’t allow me to participate in the investigation seeing as I’d been on the scene at the time of the crime. However, it seemed they trusted me enough to even appoint me as the lead investigator. Granted, I had done a lot to earn their trust over the past three years, but this was unheard of.

Nevertheless, I decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth. The next morning, at seven o’clock sharp, I returned to the scene of the crime equipped with all the necessary tools of my trade.

I looked out the window of the cramped police buggy at our destination in utter astoundment. There were already droves of officers there, awaiting the arrival of me and my partner. The sight of the place I’d once called home being chained off and hidden from the public like this was jarring, to say the least. Of all the strange crime scenes I’d seen, this was the strangest. I never could’ve imagined I’d be returning here, not to eat Auntie Impa’s delicious pork buns or to hear Auntie Purah talk about her latest technological endeavours, but for work. How could I have?

“Zelda! Good—good morning!” greeted a rather skittish Paya when she opened the door for us.

“Good morning, Paya.”

She nearly lost her smile when she noticed Constable Fyori standing beside me. “Please, come in.” She stepped aside, and he and I entered into the low-ceilinged yet stately vestibule, removing our shoes and leaving them by the door. “Can I get either of you anything? Some tea, maybe?”

My assistant opened his mouth, but I raised a hand, silencing him. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. We have important business to take care of.”

“Oh, yes, of course! Silly me,” she chortled. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

The first order of business was to examine the body. In most cases, a specialist would be needed to perform an autopsy, but unlike most inspectors, I had the forensic knowhow to take care of it myself. One might have said this was a side effect of my hobbies and my avid interest in all things related to science that I’d harboured since grade school. However, a full autopsy complete with the weighing of the body and the removal of the organs would come later. For now, it would suffice to determine two simple things: the time of death and the cause of death.

But before I could even get close to the body, I was stopped by my assistant, who grabbed me gently by the arm.

“You don’t have to do this,” he uttered in his typical, mousy tone. “I can call for someone else to come and take care of it for you.”

The look of real and profound concern seated deep in his aquamarine eyes pulled at my heartstrings. It had been a year, roughly, since he’d first begun working under me. He was always so worried for me, and I always felt terrible because of it. I unhooked his hand from my arm, putting on a warm smile. “I’ll be okay, Link.”

He looked at me as if to ask, “Are you sure?”

“Really, it’s fine. Don’t worry,” I insisted. “Thank you, though.” This finally got him to return my smile, albeit only briefly.

I already had a decent estimate of the time of death. The period we were looking at was between half ten at night, when the last person awake (which had just so happened to be me) had gone to bed, and three in the morning, when the gunshot had given me that rude awakening. Really I should have examined the body as soon as I’d discovered it. In most other cases I worked on, I even wished I’d been the first on the scene, before the stiff had yet to even go stiff. Of course, the one time I happened to be one of the first to discover a murder, it had to be like this.

And yet, until I knew who was responsible for this atrocity, grieving could wait.

Right off the bat, I could tell that this had been a homicide. This may have seemed obvious to someone like Paya, but as a detective, I’d had to forcefully train myself to assume nothing and question everything. Based on the characteristics of the hole running straight through her neck, however, I determined that the gun had been shot from too far a distance for it to have been suicidal. Auntie Impa’s arms simply weren’t long enough.

But for a death caused by hemorrhage from a severed jugular vein, there was a shockingly small amount of blood. The rush-woven mat beneath her was nearly spotless, and I knew from experience how difficult it was to get stains out of these mats. Even when I checked underneath the mat, there was still nothing. No blood, and no bullet.

With a final nod, I stood up and signalled the other officers to take the body away.

“Now, let’s see here...” I said to myself, scanning the area immediately surrounding the corpse before approaching my mother’s altar. But when I laid eyes on the damage it had sustained, I stumbled back.

Though she hadn’t been a follower of the same faith held by the Sheikahs, my mother’s memory had been enshrined here because, like myself, they’d been like a second family to her.

With all due caution, I picked up what remained of her photograph. The glass was shattered, and a bullet had completely erased her face.

If this wasn’t a sign of the Yiga organization, I didn’t have a clue what was. Who else would’ve borne such ill will toward Hilda Hyrule, the town’s beloved last mayor who’d been dead ever since the tragic “accident” at City Hall eighteen years prior? That massacre had been what had ushered in their age of power, and with no one left to stand in their way, they’d been terrorizing the city ever since.

Before I’d even had the chance to begin my analysis, I heard Paya’s timid footsteps shuffling up to me. “Zelda?” she whispered, obnoxiously tapping her finger on my shoulder. “Excuse me...”

I turned my head and forced a grin. “What is it?”

“Umh, I didn’t know he’d be accompanying you today.” I didn’t even have to follow her gaze to know who she was eyeing.

I suppressed a sigh. “Constable Fyori is my partner,” I reminded her politely. “I take him with me on all of my investigations.”

“Yes, I know, but...” Now her gaze was nervously flitting back and forth between me and Link. “I-I wasn’t prepared to see him again after so long. What if—what if he says something to me?”

“He won’t,” I huffed. “Now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh my, I’m so sorry,” she fretted. “I’ll get out of your hair.” I gave her a nod of the head in thanks, and she kindly stepped back and out of my space. But even after that, I could still feel her intense stare from across the room. I let out the sigh I’d been holding in. Sure, Paya was irritating, and I was going on maybe four or five hours of sleep at most, but there was no excuse for me to be irrational, especially since it would get me nowhere in my line of thinking. What I wouldn’t have done for a nice, hot cup of chamomile at that moment.

Based on the extreme angle of the bullet’s trajectory, one could tell at a glance where the shooter had to have been positioned. They’d have been standing above the altar with very little space between the two—definitely not enough for an entire person. Therefore the bullet that had taken the victim’s life had to have been a different one. This was backed up by the absence of any blood around the hole or anywhere else on the shrine. So why had I only heard one gunshot that night? And where in the world was the bullet responsible for Auntie Impa’s death if not on the scene of the crime?

After photographing the hole and scribbling my thoughts and observations down in my notebook, I began the procedure of extracting the bullet from the altar. This was a delicate task, one that I admittedly had a hard time trusting anyone else in the force with. Once I’d succeeded in retrieving the bullet, I determined it was of the same calibre as the one that had passed through the victim’s throat, meaning it was likely that it had been fired from the same gun. Unfortunately, all these facts corresponded with the weapon I’d found on the scene mere hours ago, two chambers of which were empty. There may have been no prints left on the trigger, but even so, I simply didn’t have it in me to run a striation comparison.

Standing up straight and taking a quick, deep breath, I turned to my assistant, who seemed to be investigating the mantelpiece. “Right, then, Fyori.” He turned his head as I approached him. “Anything to report?”

“No, madam,” he replied solemnly, avoiding my gaze and peering straight ahead over the top of my head.

“Is that so...?” I tapped the end of my pen against my chin habitually. “We seem to have a dreadfully diligent killer on our hands.” I gave the room another once-over from where I stood beside him. “You’ve been thorough in your search as always, I presume?”

“Of course.”

“And you found nothing? Not even a fingerprint?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

“Then let’s move on,” I sighed, turning toward the doorway leading out into one of the building’s many corridors. He followed, just a few paces behind me. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to check since we got here.”

“That’s strange...” muttered Auntie Purah as she jumped through the footage captured by the front entrance’s security camera. “Symin, did I miss something?”

The Sheikah estate’s security supervisor shook his head. “Not that I could see.”

“Let me check it again.”

But even when she rewound and skipped through it a second time, the only person to appear was still myself on my initial search for the killer. Link gave me a furtive glance. I smiled at him in reassurance.

“Perhaps the other cameras caught something,” I suggested. “It would make sense that the culprit wouldn’t want to simply waltz right in through the front door.”

Auntie Purah looked to Symin. “Well, there are three other cameras, but two of them are so far removed from the scene that I doubt they’d be of much help.”

“And the third?” I asked, reaching for my notebook and something to write with.

“That would be the courtyard camera.”

“Ah, perfect!” The courtyard was located at the very centre of the property and served as an intersection between the four main hallways. “That one’s bound to have caught something. Let’s see.”

But this, too, would turn out fruitless. Throughout the night, there wasn’t even the shadow of a clue as to the killer’s movements.

“This...” I gaped. “This is impossible.” I knew for a fact that this particular model of camera was designed for the very purpose of protecting its footage from being altered or obstructed. Could the killer have made themselves invisible somehow?

“I don’t believe it.” Auntie Purah shook her head creakily. “Our company takes great pride in the reliability of our security cameras!”

Enraged, the tiny, old lady tried to stand up from her seat. Then a loud crack resounded throughout the cramped surveillance office. She screamed.

“Miss Purah, please calm down,” urged the kindly Symin, placing a hand on her shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“Yes,” she seethed, adjusting her glasses. “Thank you.” I didn’t know the man as well as I did the rest of the family as he had become a part of it a few years after I’d left the nest. However, it seemed like he would make a fine successor to Auntie Impa’s role of keeping her elder sister’s enduring impulsivity in check.

“There’s no reason to worry, Auntie. This is no fault of yours or your company’s,” I said, hoping to ease her pain a little. She’d suffered a terrible loss, and it was taking a great toll on her. It was difficult to watch such a brilliant mind come undone because of something like this. But after hearing my words, she looked up at me with a wrinkly smile. “My partner and I will just have to do an even more thorough inspection of the property tomorrow.”

The ride back to the precinct wasn’t a pleasant one. By the end of the day, my own mind had deteriorated into a swirling whirlpool of confusion, resentment, and woe. The investigation so far had borne so little results, it was hard to imagine that tomorrow’s search would be that much more successful. Of course there was still so much more that needed to be looked into, but right now, I just couldn’t see this turning out well. I still hadn’t solved the mystery behind my mother’s death in eighteen long years. Why, in this case, would I prove to be any less of a failure?

I curled my fists against my legs, trying my hardest to forget about the empty feeling in my stomach. Despite this, I knew I didn’t have the energy to do much more rational thinking today, if any at all.

Then my colleague broke the silence. “She was important to you, wasn’t she?” he asked, but such a personal question was strangely out of character for him.

“Yes.” I smiled sorrowfully into my lap. “I never really thought of her as a mother figure,” I admitted, “but she did put a lot of time and effort into raising me, in my actual mother’s stead.”

“She must’ve been a wonderful person.”

This made me laugh, to both his and my surprise. “Well, she would often scold me and Paya with the strictest attitude you can imagine, but I suppose she always had our best interests at heart.”

The longer I thought about Auntie Impa, the more I mulled over who could possibly have wanted her dead. She had already been getting on in age. Had the perpetrator’s need to kill her really been that dire? The only time people ever went that far was when their victim’s life would’ve put them in danger somehow if they’d have allowed them to go on living. But then again, there was the Yiga organization. They went around committing murders a couple times every week for seemingly no reason other than to flaunt their power. Perhaps Auntie Impa really had been just another one of their prey. Even so, I couldn’t shake the suspicion that there was more to it than that.

“Don’t you think it’s strange?”

The constable cocked his head, but kept his eyes on the road.

But then I stopped myself. There was still no proof of the Yiga’s involvement, so there was no point in bringing it up now. “Well, all of it is quite strange, frankly,” I amended. “The lack of blood, the missing bullet...”

“Could the killer have moved the body from somewhere else, perhaps?” he tentatively suggested.

“Very good, Link. That’s exactly what I’ve been theorizing.” The tips of his ears flushed, and he seemed to shrink back into his seat a little. “Oh, but then...wouldn’t that make it more likely for the cameras to have caught something?”

“That is true,” he concurred. “And there’s still been no sign of the murder weapon?”

I swallowed hard. “No...” My eyes flickered down toward my briefcase. “None.”

[apoemaday]

To This Day

by Shane Koyczan

When I was a kid I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing I thought they were both pork chops and because my grandmother thought it was cute and because they were my favourite she let me keep doing it

not really a big deal

one day before I realized fat kids are not designed to climb trees I fell out of a tree and bruised the right side of my body

I didn’t want to tell my grandmother about it because I was afraid I’d get in trouble for playing somewhere that I shouldn’t have been

a few days later the gym teacher noticed the bruise and I got sent to the principal’s office from there I was sent to another small room with a really nice lady who asked me all kinds of questions about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie as far as I was concerned life was pretty good I told her “whenever I’m sad my grandmother gives me karate chops”

this led to a full scale investigation and I was removed from the house for three days until they finally decided to ask how I got the bruises

news of this silly little story quickly spread through the school and I earned my first nickname

pork chop

to this day I hate pork chops

I’m not the only kid who grew up this way surrounded by people who used to say that rhyme about sticks and stones as if broken bones hurt more than the names we got called and we got called them all so we grew up believing no one would ever fall in love with us that we’d be lonely forever that we’d never meet someone to make us feel like the sun was something they built for us in their tool shed so broken heart strings bled the blues as we tried to empty ourselves so we would feel nothing don’t tell me that hurts less than a broken bone that an ingrown life is something surgeons can cut away that there’s no way for it to metastasize

it does

she was eight years old our first day of grade three when she got called ugly we both got moved to the back of the class so we would stop get bombarded by spit balls but the school halls were a battleground where we found ourselves outnumbered day after wretched day we used to stay inside for recess because outside was worse outside we’d have to rehearse running away or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there in grade five they taped a sign to her desk that read beware of dog

to this day despite a loving husband she doesn’t think she’s beautiful because of a birthmark that takes up a little less than half of her face kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer that someone tried to erase but couldn’t quite get the job done and they’ll never understand that she’s raising two kids whose definition of beauty begins with the word mom because they see her heart before they see her skin that she’s only ever always been amazing

he was a broken branch grafted onto a different family tree adopted but not because his parents opted for a different destiny he was three when he became a mixed drink of one part left alone and two parts tragedy started therapy in 8th grade had a personality made up of tests and pills lived like the uphills were mountains and the downhills were cliffs four fifths suicidal a tidal wave of anti depressants and an adolescence of being called popper one part because of the pills and ninety nine parts because of the cruelty he tried to kill himself in grade ten when a kid who still had his mom and dad had the audacity to tell him “get over it” as if depression is something that can be remedied by any of the contents found in a first aid kit

to this day he is a stick on TNT lit from both ends could describe to you in detail the way the sky bends in the moments before it’s about to fall and despite an army of friends who all call him an inspiration he remains a conversation piece between people who can’t understand sometimes becoming drug free has less to do with addiction and more to do with sanity

we weren’t the only kids who grew up this way to this day kids are still being called names the classics were hey stupid hey spaz seems like each school has an arsenal of names getting updated every year and if a kid breaks in a school and no one around chooses to hear do they make a sound? are they just the background noise of a soundtrack stuck on repeat when people say things like kids can be cruel? every school was a big top circus tent and the pecking order went from acrobats to lion tamers from clowns to carnies all of these were miles ahead of who we were we were freaks lobster claw boys and bearded ladies oddities juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal but at night while the others slept we kept walking the tightrope it was practice and yeah some of us fell

but I want to tell them that all of this shit is just debris leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought we used to be and if you can’t see anything beautiful about yourself get a better mirror look a little closer stare a little longer because there’s something inside you that made you keep trying despite everyone who told you to quit you built a cast around your broken heart and signed it yourself you signed it “they were wrong” because maybe you didn’t belong to a group or a click maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth to show and tell but never told because how can you hold your ground if everyone around you wants to bury you beneath it you have to believe that they were wrong

they have to be wrong

why else would we still be here? we grew up learning to cheer on the underdog because we see ourselves in them we stem from a root planted in the belief that we are not what we were called we are not abandoned cars stalled out and sitting empty on a highway and if in some way we are don’t worry we only got out to walk and get gas we are graduating members from the class of fuck off we made it not the faded echoes of voices crying out names will never hurt me

of course they did

but our lives will only ever always continue to be a balancing act that has less to do with pain

[solesurvivorpaigeargot]

Okay but let’s talk about the opening of Fallout 4

And I’m not talking about the part where you gotta pantomime your way through a half-hour of BS at least before you’re actually allowed to step out into the world and get shite started [seriously Bethesda, if you’re gonna keep making openings like this, please include a ‘get to the point’ option and stop making modders do it for you. First time it’s interesting, second time it’s mind-numbing.] I’m talking about when you roll up on the museum and have to help out Preston and the gang-- and I’m just gonna rant for a few paragraphs here so here’s a read-more cut so I don’t clog up dashes too badly. 

Fallout 4 never gives you the chance to value human life. 

Fallout 3 had this issue as well, but it’s even more glaring in 4 because in 3 an order came down for your death. When you aren’t given a choice, what you’re doing can at least be penciled in as self-defense. 4 expects you to devalue raiders and treat them as unreasonable threats, to see them as a shooting gallery and nothing else... but there’s a serious problem with the framing.

You made me pantomime being a normal person for the first 30 min to hour of your experience, and now you’re telling me a normal person can just pick up a gun and start popping people with no moral issues. 

This is required to even get close enough to talk to Preston. He might take out all the raiders if you’re willing to wait 20 minutes, but when you put yourself into the role play head space of a character, what kind of person ducks behind the sandbags and waits for the dude with the laser to pick everyone off? And there is no force preventing you from simply running away, this is true-- but doing so simply removes your ability to interact with what is a core mechanic of the game a-la the minutemen and establishing settlements. So if you wanna keep the game experience intact, and follow along with the mission? Murder is required, without any time taken out to consider the value of human life or if that murder is justified, or if your character is capable of that kind of violence. 

To say I dislike this headspace in shooters, that whomever the denoted ‘bad’ group is are just okay to treat as squishy playthings, more so in shooters that try to integrate choice and morality, is a massive understatement. There are plenty of other things in the commonwealth that could threaten a group of settlers that aren’t people, and framing us as a normal person [PARTICULARLY IF YOU PLAY AS ‘NORA’ WHO WAS NOT A MILITARY MEMBER] who is just immediately ready for this is ASSUMPTIVE BULLSHIT. More so when you remember that if you played as ‘Nate’ this dissonance would be less-- it assumes a male audience who would choose the male protagonist, and his military service makes this opening a lot smoother. But when you don’t? It becomes batshit insane. Your average lawyer is not ready to just pick up a gun and wreck people, even when there are innocents on the line. 

So, if ya like, I’m gonna propose an ‘alternate’ idea for what this mission could have been that would have kept all the same elements. The raiders, the power armor, the deathclaw-- but not forced the player character directly into murder. 

Step 1: Finding Dogmeat. 

When we find Dogmeat, he appears to be just... wandering the gas station? And yeah, he’s in our path, but Mama Murphy appears to think that Dogmeat went and found you, so let’s take that a step further. Let’s say Dogmeat actually ran and found you-- that he spawns into the world when you get past the footbridge, and no matter where you go from there Dogmeat will find and bark at you. That no matter how you treat him, Dogmeat will try to lead you to Concord and ruin your stealth by running in circles around you and barking if you try to go the wrong way. That this pupper is trying to find someone to help his group, he found you. 

Step 2: The approach.

So say we follow Dogmeat, who leads us to where the raiders and Preston’s group are in standoff. And yeah, sure, we pass the main road where they’re all sandbagged up, but Dogmeat leads us around back to a rear entrance the raiders have not yet realized exists. Possibly a fire escape that has a ladder that could be released from above that was pulled up when Preston and co hunkered down. While, yes, the player could choose to engage the raiders at this point, deciding they’ve seen enough and take on the museum from the front? Going around, Dogmeat barking, and Mama appearing to let the ladder down because she probably knew you were coming gives you a non-violent in. Why haven’t the group left? There’s too many of them to just sneak out, Mama is old and slow, and Jun is nearly catatonic. No changes have to be made to the group to make that path out non-viable, it’s simply a way for you to get in, speak to Preston, and understand what the fuck we’re dealing with here without the one and only solution being kill everyone-- though the power armor is posited as something that might be helpful in a show of force to get the raiders to fuck the fuck off. 

Step 3: The Raiders.

Banditry is not something ‘bad people’ do. It is an act of desperation. The idea that all the raiders are just the most repugnant people on the planet, and there appears to be no fuckin’ end to them is the same flavor of bullshit that’s used in all that war on drugs propaganda 50′s politicians were so high on. The idea of ‘Oh, the raiders are just bad people, so it’s okay to shoot at them’ ignores that they are people. People with lives. People with motivations. People who had their own path that led to where they are and what they’re doing. And what motivates a person to this kind of violence?

Starvation, usually. And I’ll be the first to say I don’t make great decisions when I’m hungry, either, but let’s dig a little deeper on this. Let’s step into the role of the leader of a raider group for a few seconds, get into this head space, and think about what’s going down with Preston’s group. 

Imagine that I am a leader of a raider band. Let’s imagine that it started as me and a friend getting forced out of Diamond city, possibly given exile, because we couldn’t find work and decided to steal some food. The lack of work was no fault of our own; me and my friend may not have known the right people, or had the right skill sets, or been willing to take work that risked our lives as if we were worth nothing. Maybe we survived on good will for a while, but after so many hungry days got desperate, held up the Dugout for all the caps they had, or stole food from the general store, and tried to run with the take before we got caught. Whether we were caught, stripped of our gains, and then thrown out, or we got away-- we now have a place we can’t go anymore, and are at the mercy of the outside world. Are we bad? Are we bad because we were starving to death and desperate? Am I bad for coming up with a not great plan but at least trying to take action rather than just quietly dying in a gutter? I just wanted to eat. So now me and my friend are drifters, and we stick together because we’re all we got. And maybe we meet another drifter here, and another one there, and on some hungry night someone gets the idea that hey, if we all jump out from the side of the road and threaten a trader, maybe they’ll drop some of their stock without a fight?

We don’t want caps. We want food. We can’t spend the caps, and we don’t wanna get into a fight because none of us can get treatment-- we’re exiles and criminals. We don’t want blood, we want to eat.

So we threaten a trader, and that goes well-- we got supplies! But those supplies don’t erase our records. We still need to live, and this food is only gonna last so long. The traders know about us now, they talk-- even if we got money, who the hell would trust us? No one, that’s who. Even better, sounds like our little hold-up horned in on some other group’s territory that we didn’t even know about, and they ain’t happy with us. We all have guns, but none of us have ever killed anyone. None of us want to. We just wanted to eat.

So did the other group. They just wanted to eat, too, but they saw us horning in on their territory. Their take. Those supplies belonged to them. They have mouths to feed. More than us, probably. We stole from them, and all we wanted was to eat. 

Whatever happens next is desperate, and it’s a baptism in blood. It’s a process of alienation. While there may be a select few who are actually out of their gourd and enjoy the violence, the majority of people who engage in banditry are desperate and hungry. 

So what the hell does this have to do with the group holding up Preston’s group?

By all rights, Preston’s group does not have anything a gang of raiders wants. Even if they’re far enough along that caps have value to them again, able to do trade with their own network, injuries are expensive and often lead to permanent disability because these groups lack consistent access to medical supplies and knowledge, and fatalities means your crew is down an important and useful member. SO WHAT THE FUCK DO THEY WANT? 

In the canon encounter, what they want is nothing. They want to wipe out Preston’s group because the game said so [I think there’s a terminal entry about it later, like they’re getting paid or something, but no payment is worth getting wiped out the way they did, and you don’t run a group that big on blind arrogance alone. Gristle woulda been displaced by then. All the caps in the world aren’t worth your life; you can’t feed dead crew members, and greed is useless when you’re blacklisted from all the settlements with any sense of luxury] They exist to shoot at. But when we ascribe motivation to them, what the fuck do they want? 

The power armor. 

It’s a tool; something that would change the balance of power in the area, make other groups think twice and lower the chance of losses when trying to gain supplies. Screw wiping these morons out, there’s only five of them left-- hold them at stand-off for a day or so until someone breaks and asks to negotiate, make them drop everything they’ve got as the toll for getting out, and then the group steps in to take the prize. There’s no need for anyone to get shot, just gotta starve ‘em out a little and then let them run with their lives. 

Step 4: The Death Claw

So we have a stand-off situation that could... probably be pretty easily negotiated through without major loss of life. Your player character is a third party, after all. Opens up some non-lethal ways of doing things if you wanna convince Preston and co to give up all their stuff if it means getting out with their lives. Likewise, a high speech character could possibly go to Gristle and convince him that you’ve seen the power armor and it’s wrecked, no worth the effort he’s spending on bottling this crew up, and the men he’s probably already lost in the process. Or maybe a character with high intelligence could work with Sturges to sabotage the power armor, handing it over to the raiders knowing that in a day or two it’ll fall apart. All of these make for some interesting shades-of-gray choices...

Then the deathclaw shows up. In the middle of negotiation. Everyone gets forced up to the upper floor; no time to kill each other, there’s a giant murder machine prowling around the lobby and it is only a matter of time before it climbs up to the second floor and starts ripping out walls and doors to get at people.

This could have served to make the situation even more interesting-- if you’d gone aggro in the beginning and started killing raiders in the streets, you have less people to deal with a massive threat that could kill the fuck out of you. If you’d been in the middle of convincing the raiders to take a sabotaged set of power armor, you’d have to explain to them why the power armor isn’t gonna help you... or let Gristle take it and get murdered when it freezes up and leaves him stranded to get ripped out of the can and munched. Is that murder? How’s the player feel about that? Meanwhile, if you hadn’t killed anyone and were in the middle of negotiating a bloodless solution, you might have a chance of unifying everyone to take down the deathclaw-- possibly with a future bonus that Gristle and his crew wanna go straight and giving you the choice to set them up within your settlement system, or becoming yet another ‘civilized’ system that won’t work with them because they’re too far gone. 

...................... I may have to write another fic just to explore these ideas in a modified canon. 

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 63

Warnings: none

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

  With a late afternoon rain came a break in the oppressive humidity; a much cooler breeze appearing as the sun began to set.   The four oldest are already tucked into bed;  satisfied and content after daddy obliged every request for ‘just one more story’ and they were spoiled with seemingly endless cuddles, hugs, and kisses.  So relaxed and secure knowing that he’s under the same room that sleep came easily to all of them; worn out from not only the excitement of him showing up unexpectedly, but then spending every waking moment of the rest of the day vying for his attention. Constantly talking over one another, fighting over who go to sit on his shoulders when they showed him the animals, squabbling over who got to be beside him at dinner. It’s only been four days since they’d seen him at the airport, but it may as well have been a lifetime to them; ten minutes not nearly enough to erase the ache in their little hearts or the feeling of loneliness inside of them.

While not exactly a constant fixture in their lives at times because of the job and its unpredictability, he’d always been a hands-on father; starting right from the moment they found out there was a baby -or babies, in this twins’ case- on the way. Attentive and loving and even more protective than usual; determined to keep both her and the life inside of her as safe, secure, and healthy as possible. Feeling pride and wonder that he’d even been given the chance to be a father again; able to create life and nurture it when in all aspects, he should have died that day on the Sultana Kamal Bridge.  Every one of the pregnancies...everyone of the kids...serving as reminders of not only  just how lucky he’d gotten that  day, but that someone who’d made the mistakes and the bad decisions he’d had could still be worthy enough to be a dad once more.  And he’s always been determined to be the best one he can possibly be; wanting to not only right all previous wrongs, but to prove that he could be a better man -and husband and father- than his old man had tried to teach him to be.  Loving his children with every shred of his being and devoting himself to every aspect of their care and upbringing; even things as simple and mundane as  changing diapers or giving them bottles or at the very least bringing to her for a feed.

As the first three got older, he took on new challenges and changes to guide them and help shape them for their futures.   Whether it be something as profound as encouraging them to be compassionate and accepting and loving, or something as ‘normal’ as teaching them to surf and play soccer or even learning how to braid his little girl’s hair. No task too big or too small. Never complaining about being woken up in the middle of the night or hesitating when it comes to both showing affection and receiving it. And as corny and as sappy as it sounds, Esme realizes just how fortunate she really is; having someone that is willing to do it all without having to even be asked. She’s heard plenty of horror stories from the moms at school; tales of lazy and useless husbands that complain about even a half an hour spent for their children. Always able to brag about him and then able to go  home knowing how she ‘lucked out’. Somehow, even during the craziest and possibly scariest time of her, managing to find the best possible person -and partner- to have a family with.

She stands by the open door of the balcony that leads off the bedroom she’d been ‘assigned to’. Both watching and listening to him as he lays flat on his back on  a two person lounge chair with Addie on his chest; her tiny fists curled tightly around his index fingers as she alternates between raising her head and resting her chin against him.  Those  enormous dark eyes never leaving his face and  a happy -and completely genuine- smile taking over her face every time he talks to her; the corners of her eyes and the bridge of her nose crinkling. He changes when he’s with her. In the same way he had with all the others when they were babies.   This big, tough, strong man suddenly so gentle; his voice softer and calmer. Deeper, even. Enamored with her in the same way she is with him; his own eyes sparkling and crinkling and his own smile both testament to the fact that he finds her a complete wonder. Not quite believing that she really exists; questioning what he could have possibly done to deserve her.

He’s a wonder himself. So brave and fearless and capable of inflicting so much pain and suffering, yet possessing so much tenderness and love.  It would be so easy for him to be jaded and broken; to fall back into old habits and to become dependent on old, dangerous vices. But no matter how bad things get, no matter how difficult or impossible they seem, he puts all his time and effort into being a  good man. Into loving his wife and children with everything he has.

“What are you guys doing?” she asks, as she steps out onto the balcony, drawing her hoodie tight across her body.

Tyler tilts his head back and smiles up at her. “Nothing. Just hanging out. Talking.”

“I hope you’re not telling her gruesome stories.”

“I would never do that to my little peanut,” he declares, and runs a palm over Addie’s hair, hand settling on the back of her head. “Daddy would never do that to you. He saves that stuff for mommy.”

“Because mommy so wants to hear  your tales of killing people with garden tools. Look at the way she looks at you…” Esme leans over the back of the lounger and presses a kiss to his lips. “...like you’re got rainbows and glitter coming out of your ass or something. Already a daddy’s girl.”

“Nothing wrong with that. She knows who loves her the most. Who used to bring mommy tacos and ice cream and pop tarts at three in the morning when she was still in mommy’s tummy.”

“She definitely likes your voice. Not that I blame her; it’s a very nice voice.”

“She’s strong as hell already. Already holding her up on her own. None of the other ones did it that early. And she’s got a grip on her. Small and mighty. Like her momma. And you look just like your mom.”  he addresses Addie now, as he removes his fingers from her grip and lifts her higher onto his chest; lips resting briefly against her forehead. “Beautiful just like her. Daddy’s not going to complain that you didn’t get his genes.”

“How do you think I feel? The first four look just like you. It’s about time one of them took after me.  She does have your smile, though. Even her eyes and her nose wrinkle like yours do.”

“Yeah, but she’s all you. And that’s good,” he smiles up at her once more, as her hands slide over his shoulder and down his chest and she pecks the corner of his mouth. “It’s very good. She’s incredible. Just like you.”

“Are you hopped up on pain meds?” She teases.

“Not yet.  Why? I’m not allowed to be all sappy and shit with my wife?”

“You’re allowed,” she says, then sinks down beside him, accepting a short, sweet kiss before stretching out on her side. Chin resting on his good shoulder, one hand on his stomach and the other just above his head; fingers  gently combing through his hair. “She’s putting on weight. She’s going to graduate out of preemie clothes and diapers. Only took two and a half months.”

“She’s tiny. Like you.”

“I don’t understand how something that small can come from someone the size of you. None of the other kids were that small. Not even Tanner and he was sick. And Declan? Don’t even get me started on that kid. That was like giving birth to a toddler.”

“She’s always going to be tiny. I mean, you hit twelve and never grew again.”

“You know what, Tyler? Fuck you and your short jokes.”

“Don’t be bitter because you can’t get on the rides at the amusement park or reach things at the bottom of the washer.”

“You’re not very funny,” she grumbles, and presses a kiss to his chin. “Just because you’re absurdly tall and absurdly good looking. What a burden you have to live with every day. How do you manage? How do you carry such a heavy load all the time?”

“Heavy load? We’re talking about my dick?”

“You’re a pig,” she declares. “Don’t talk like that in front of my child. She doesn’t need to hear these things. Look at the way she smiles at you. You’re her favourite already. Not that I blame her; you’re my favourite too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. No one else comes close.”

He smiles, then turns his face into hers and kisses her. “We did good, yeah? With her?”

“We did. With all five of them. And at the risk of sounding conceited, we make some pretty damn good looking kids.”

“Some pretty amazing kids.”

“Well, they have an amazing dad, so…” she raises her head from his shoulder, regarding him intensely as she runs her fingers through his hair. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know,” Tyler admits. “I really don’t.”

“Are you going to tell me about it, or…”

“I don’t really want to.”

“I think you should. I think you NEED to talk about it. And I think deep down, you want to. You don’t have to shelter me, Tyler.  I married a mercenary; I went into things understanding the life and knowing the risks. You don’t have to hide stuff from me. You think you’d realize that by now.”

“I do. But YOU should realize that I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me from what? You? Because that’s bullshit and you know it. I’ve never once been afraid of you. Not in the slightest. And despite what you think, you’re not a burden. We went into this...marriage, having a family...expecting to help shoulder each other’s problems.  So stop trying to do it all on your own. You’re strong, but you’re not THAT strong.”

He sighs heavily, then drops a kiss on the top of Addie’s head

“What happened, Tyler? Because I know this goes way beyond someone just jumping you. What the hell went wrong?”

“I don’t know. It was fucked up right from the beginning. As soon as I got there. It was this old factory turned into student housing or some shit. I had these four guys to take out; four shots, that’s all I needed. They were across the street at some bar or restaurant or whatever. I was waiting for them to come out. It should have been so fucking simple.”

Esme rolls over onto her stomach, chin resting on his chest as she regards him; patiently waiting for him to continue. She doesn’t push; that will only cause him to shut down completely. Instead she bides her time. Watching his face as her fingers fidget with the chain around his neck.

“Things started going to shit. The street lights kept going on and off; just the two right in front of us. Then they went out completely. So I went to get the scope out of my bag, so I could see what the fuck I was doing.”  His eyes narrow and his brow furrows as he attempts to recall the details.  “And I don’t know I saw him or heard him but all of a sudden he was just there?”

“Who?”

“I don’t know. Just some guy. Big bastard. Wearing a black ski mask. It happened so fucking fast. I didn’t even get a chance to react. Nailed me right in the shoulder; like he knew where to get me. Where one of my weak spots is.”

“How would he know that?”

Tyler shrugs. “Nik there’s a mole. She said she’s looking into it, but I don’t know. She hasn’t said anything since.”

“What do you think”

“I think something’s fucked. He knew where to get me; knee, back, shoulder. He knew it and he took advantage of it.  I stand a fucking chance. That’s how quick he was. He was so fast, babe. He wasn’t fucking around.”

“And where did these come from?” She runs a hand along the enormous, painful to the touch bruises on his biceps; arm now out of the sling. At least for the evening. “Both arms? And that’s NOT from someone grabbing you.”

“It was his knees. He wanted to keep me still; so I couldn’t get to my holster or the rifle. Fucking kept grabbing me by the throat; trying to choke me out.  Kept asking me if I give up. I basically told him to go fuck himself. I wasn’t giving up. No way in hell. All I kept thinking about was you…” his voice cracks with emotion and tears well in his eyes. “...all I kept thinking about was you. About me getting a second chance and that I wasn’t done with it; I wasn’t ready to let that end. That I didn’t want to leave you or my kids. That I needed to survive. That YOU needed me to survive.”

“Tyler…” she presses a kiss to his cheek, then nestles her nose against his temple; eyes closed and her forehead against him, fingers still moving through his hair. “...it’s okay. Just breathe. That’s all you have to do. Just breathe.”

“I wasn’t going out like that. I wasn’t letting it end like that. I wasn’t letting US end. So I fought back. But I couldn’t get away. No matter what I did, it wasn’t good enough. He was so fucking strong, babe. Tall and big and heavy as fuck.”

“How did you get away?”

“I don’t know. There’s A LOT I don’t know. That I don’t remember. It’s all a big blur. It’s all there there and I know it’s all there but I can’t piece it together and none of it makes sense.”

“Well tell me what you do remember,” Esme encourages. “It doesn’t have to make sense. Just tell me whatever comes to you.”

“I know he drugged me. I remember that part.”

“Drugged you? What…?”

“He had a needle. I remember seeing it. I remember feeling it. Right there…” he lays a finger against the right side of his neck.  “...just jammed it in. It was cold; whatever was in it. It was cold and it burned.”

She heaves a long, shaky sigh; her own tears threatening. “If he wanted to kill you, why would he do that? Why…?”

“He didn’t want to kill me. He wanted to knock my ass out. He probably had a few buddies waiting to help get me out of there. I know that sounds crazy. It sounds fucked up even to me. But I know that’s what was going to happen; what Mahajan told them to do. And I don't know where they were going to take me. Somewhere in the city, out of it, I don’t know. But it wouldn’t have been good once they got me there.”

“I don’t even want what to think about it,” her voice trembles.

“They would’ve let you know. That I was still alive. And they would have made you sure you knew what they were doing to me. They would have sent you pictures or made me call you or mailed you pieces of me.”

“I don’t want to think about it,” she repeats, then promptly bursts into tears; one hand clutching the front of his shirt and the  other at his hair, face buried in his neck. “Please don’t. Don’t talk about it. Just stop.”

****

His shoulder throbs just with the simple act of laying his hand on Addie’s back to keep her secure. And he wraps his left arm around his wife’s trembling body, drawing her tightly into his side. Eyes closed and his chin resting on the top of her head; hand sliding up the back of her simple cotton t-shirt, knuckles repeatedly brushing up and down her spine. Not even attempting to hold his own tears back; feeling the moisture from hers settling on the side of his throat and his shoulder.

“I can’t think about it,” she whimpers. “I can’t. I can’t think about what they would have done to you.”

“It’s okay, baby. It doesn’t matter now. I’m here. It didn’t work. Whatever they had planned, I fucked it up. And I’m here and I’m not going anywhere.”

“They’re sick and twisted fucks!” she cries. “And they would have made sure I knew what they were doing to do you and I wouldn’t have been able to do a goddamn thing about it. I wouldn’t have been to help or get you out of there. I wouldn’t have been able to do a fucking thing for you.”

“It’s alright, Esme. You don’t have to worry about it. It didn’t work. I fucked up everything for them  and now I’m here with you and the kids. Where I should have been all along.”

“I don’t understand,” she raises her head to look at him. “How did they know where you were?”

Tyler shrugs.

“How did they get that close to you? Close enough to do all of this? How…?”

“I must have slipped up somehow. Maybe my brain is worse than we thought. Maybe I’m slowing down. Making mistakes Maybe…”

“You don’t make mistakes,” she argues. “I know you. I know how you work. I’ve SEEN you work, You don’t slip. You don’t fuck up. And you are as hell aren’t slowing down. You’re even better now than you were back in Dhaka. And that’s saying a lot because you were pretty fucking amazing even then.”

“Something happened. I made a mistake somewhere.”

“YOU didn’t do shit. This isn’t on you, Tyler. This is not your fault. Someone fucked up, but it wasn’t you. Who was watching you? Where were they?”

“Across the street. Keeping an eye on shit.”

“Across the street?! How the hell were they keeping an eye on you from across the goddamn street?! Whose idea was that? Yours?”

“I didn’t want anyone breathing down my neck. I can’t work like that. I’ve NEVER been able to work like that. And it’s not like I knew was going to happen. I didn’t want in there expecting some fuck not come in and choke me out and stab me with a fucking needle.”

“Okay...okay...calm down…” Her tone is gentle, his face in her hands. “...it’s alright. I’m not attacking you. Just take a break; everything’s fine. Addie’s asleep. And so she’s tiny and she’s so warm and I know you don’t want to scare her. Calm down, okay?”  She presses a kiss to his lips. “Just stay calm.”

“I didn’t mean it. I didn’t mean to snap at you. I’m sorry, I didn’t…”

“Who was supposed to be watching you?”

“Nathan. He had to take the four guys out when that fucking asshole came after me,”

“Calm…” she encourages, thumbs brushing over his lips. “...just stay calm. It’s okay. It's just you and me talking. No one else. No one’s judging you, Tyler.”

His eyes close, and he inhales deeply and exhales slowly. “Nathan,” he says, eyes opening and focusing on her. “Nathan was there; across the street. He took care of things. I don’t know what happened after that. Cops showed up, he took off. No one has seen or heard from him since.”

She frowns. “Nathan’s missing?”

“Missing. AWOL. I don’t fucking know. He’s gone. Cell and his SAT just go right to voicemail.”

“Could someone have gotten a hold of him? Could there have been someone else?”

“Why would they want him? What does holding him do? He’s a nobody to them. He means nothing to Mahajan. It’s me he wants. Taking Nathan does shit.”

“Well where could he be? Why would he just take off? That makes no sense.”

“Who the fuck knows. Maybe he’s dead. I have no idea. I just know he’s gone and no one knows where he is.”

“This is fucked up. Way more than we thought it was. We knew it wasn’t going to be easy. That Mahajan plays dirty and that he’d  just step it up as time went on. Now people are going missing? YOU almost went missing. What the hell is going on?”

“I don’t know, babe. I really don’t know.”

“You need to walk away. This ends here. Your part is this. It ends right here, right now. Walk away, Tyler.”

“I can’t. The job isn’t even close to being finished.”

“Fuck the job. It’s finished for you. Look at you! Look what they did to you! They knew where you were, they knew what spots to target. They fucking drugged you!  That alone could have killed you. Do you even know what he gave you?”

“Ketamine. I guess it’s a sedative of some kind.”

“Yeah, for horses! What the fuck? What’s next? If they get that close again, what happens?”

“They won’t get another chance.”

“You don’t know that. They’re not going to stop, Tyler. Do you really think they’re just going to walk away? They’re not going to give up. Not until they get you. He knows you’re here. Mahajan. He knows you’re in Mumbai. And soon your name and your picture are going to be everywhere and every goddamn gun in this city is going to be pointed at you. Is that what you want? You WANT there to be?”

“No,” he scowls. “That’s NOT what I want.”

“Then why are you doing this? Why won’t you just walk away? Why can’t you just let Anil and his people and Nik and hers handle this? Why are you doing this?”

“Because it’s MY family. Not theirs. Mine.”

“And your family wants you alive!” Esme retorts. “We don’t want you out there dying for us. We need you here. With us. So just tell Anil you’re walking away . That you HAVE to walk away. That you need to be with your family. Tell him.”

Tyler shakes his head. “I can’t, baby. I can’t do that.”

“You don’t need to do this. There’s other people who are more than capable of handling things. Walk away, Tyler. Before you can’t. Before it’s too late. Because if they go that close to you once, they’ll do it again. And this time it won’t be just one guy. It’ll be two. Or three. Or four. Or half a fucking dozen. Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“I am listening. You’re not listening to me.”

“This is a suicide mission. This is the kind shit you used to pull before we met. Don’t go back to that. Don’t go back to being him. He died a long time ago. You said it yourself; that he was long gone. You’re not the same person you were back then.  You have me and you have five little beings you helped make. That love you and need you in their lives.”

“I’m doing this for them. For he,” he nods down at Addie as she sleeps peacefully. “So she can grow up. So she can have a life.”

“A life without you. That’s what you’re saying, right? That you’re going to sacrifice yourself for her. For us.”

“We knew that going into this. That it would happen.”

“No. We thought it MIGHT happen. There’s a difference. And I’m asking you...NO...I’m telling you...walk away so you don’t have to make that choice. So it doesn’t come to that.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I am so sorry.”

“So what’s it? You’ve just decided that this is what’s going to happen? You just decided for yourself that you’re going to give up. You’re telling me that you’re okay with that. Dying for us.”

“I’ve already taken bullets for you. Trying to get you the fuck out of Dhaka. And I would take all of those bullets again. And then some. I would die for you in a heartbeat. For you, for my kids. No hesitation.”

“But you shouldn’t have to!” Esme argues. “And you don’t have to. Just walk away. Let other people handle this. Please. You have two choices and you’re making the wrong one. Why can’t you see that?”

“If I give myself up, he’ll leave you alone.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you? That that’s going to solve everything? Because it won’t. You offering yourself up like some kid of sacrificial fucking lamb is not the answer.”

“Hey...calm…” He reaches up and pushes a hand through her hair, tightly gripping the back of her head. “...you told me to stay calm for Addie. Now I need you to stay calm for her. She doesn’t need this. She's a baby. Just a baby.”

“Yeah, she is. She’s OUR baby. As in me and you. And she needs you. She needs her dad. They all do. And you’re sitting here telling me that you’re willing to offer yourself up. It’s bullshit and it’s insane and I want you to knock it the fuck off.”

“I said calm down!” He orders, then aggressively pulls her into him. Pressing a kiss to her forehead. “...just calm down. Please. Take it easy.”

“You are NOT doing this. I won’t let you. This is not what we talked about, This is not what we agreed on.”

“There’s no other choice.”

She shoves him away. “There’s always another choice! It doesn’t have to come down to this. You for us. It doesn’t need to be this way and you know it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do. I can’t just walk away. I can’t.”

“Promise me when you walk out that door two days from now that won’t just go and offer yourself up. You don’t need to do that. There’s other ways. There’s still fight left in you. I know right now you feel like there isn’t. I know you're doubting yourself. But I have faith in you and I know you can handle this. WITHOUT giving yourself up. Promise me you’ll fight back. That you’re not just quitting. That THAT will be the last resort.”

“If I have no other choice, I’ll do it.”

“But right now you HAVE other choices. You know that, right? You see that?”

Tyler nods.

“Because you don’t give up. You NEVER give up. You’re alive today because you didn’t. So don’t fucking start now. I mean we’re supposed to be having another baby. And I don’t know if you realize how these things work, but I kind of need you for that.”

“I could always just jerk off into a cup and you save it.”

“Okay, you know what? No. I’d rather the old fashion way, thank you. I kind of like having sex with you. It’s kinda fun.”

He smirks. “Kinda?”

“Okay, it’s a lot of fun, actually. I didn’t think  I had to say that. I thought the results spoke for themselves. We don’t have kids for nothing. And I’d say go for the sixth one right now, but you jumped the gun and you decided we were done and go the old…” she holds her hand up, mimicking a pair of scissors with her index and middle finger.

“Not my best decision, I admit.”

“You have this uncanny ability of changing your mind about this whole having another baby thing. How many times have we decided that we’re stopping only for you to turn around and want another one the second the baby came home?”

“It’s never been THAT soon.”

“Excuse me? How old were the twins when you decided that three wasn’t enough after all?”

“Yeah…” he gives  a small, almost sad smile. “...but that one didn’t work out, did it.”

“No.” She presses a kiss to his temple. “It didn’t. And I know it was hard on you. That you didn’t really get to grieve like I did. I’m sorry for that. That I wasn’t there for you in the way you were for me. I’m pretty fucking selfish, aren’t I.”

“No, you’re not. You needed me a lot more than I needed you. Just hard sometimes still. Thinking about it. It was a shitty fucking time. I didn’t think anything could hurt THAT bad.”

“Do you ever wonder? What it would have been?”

“Sometimes,” he admits, running a palm over Addie’s hair and then laying it gently on the top of her head; thumb repeatedly brushing against her ear. “Sometimes I’ll think about it; if it would have been a boy or a girl and what they would have looked like. Then I think maybe things really do happen to reason, no matter how bad they are. If we had had that baby. Declan wouldn’t be here. And maybe we would have stopped after and Addie wouldn’t be here. And I wouldn’t trade either of them for anything.”

“You’re beautiful,” she says, feeling him grin when she kisses the corner of his mouth. “You have the most beautiful mind and this most beautiful heart. And I know you hate me using that word when it comes to describing you. But it’s true; I can’t help it.”

“I’ll let it slide. I’ll let you have it.”

“I have to say, despite my initial reservations about having another one, you do do the whole ‘big, strong man with a tiny baby’ thing very well.”

“You find it sexy don’t you.”

“Very. I find you very sexy. But this…” she trails her fingertips over the myriad of bruises that take up nearly every inch of his neck. “...this is scary. I’ve seen you with a lot of injuries. I’ve even seen you in the worst possible shape. But this? This bothers me the most for some reason. And what’s going on here…” she turns his face away from her and tender fingers investigate the scar left behind from Farhad. “...what were they trying to do? That’s the worst spot. I don’t think it would take much to fuck things up in there.”

“They knew exactly what to target.”

“Any idea who it was?”

“One of the guys off the list. Number 18. Weird part about it? He worked for Asif during the whole Dhaka thing. Guess he was his  right hand man. Moved on to Mahajan when Nik put a couple bullets into Asif.”

“Now that’s fucked, Go from drug lord to the other? So much for loyalty. How’d you kill him?”

“Shot him. Under the chin. I don’t know how I managed. Last thing I remember was that fucking needle. That’s it. Everything else is a blur. Came to and there was a dead body on top of me. I don’t even know how long I was out for.”

“You called me. Some time before you passed you. You don’t remember that, either?”

Tyler shakes his head.

“It freaked me out. I could hear you breathing and it sounded like you were trying to say something. That wasn't a random pocket dial, was it.”

“No. It wasn’t. I don’t even know why I called. I don’t know if I was calling you for help or if I thought I was dying and I wanted to tell you that I loved you…” his voice wavers once again and tears return to his eyes. “...if I wanted your voice to be the last thing I heard. And I wish I did remember it. That I called.”

“It’s okay.” She places a series of kisses across his forehead, then down the bridge of his nose. “...it’s okay now. You’re here and that’s what matters. You made it out of there. You found a way.  You always do.”

“What if I don’t next time? What if it is two guys? Or three or four? Half a dozen? A dozen?”

“I shouldn’t have put that in your head. I’m sorry.” She brushes the tip of her nose against his temple. “That is the last thing you needed to hear. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

“I was thinking it long before you said it.”

“I know you want to stay on this. And I get it. I do…”  she runs her knuckles along his jaw, beard scraping her skin. “...I know you want to protect us. And I love you so much for that and I love that part of you so fiercely. You ALWAYS protect us. Everything you do, every decision you make, it’s always for us. But you can protect us without being out there. You know you can. I know you can.”

“How? If I don’t stop them, they’ll get to you. And the kids.”

“But if you’re here, you can stop them. And look at all the people that are here to help. Nik, all of Anil’s people. That’s a lot of fire power. And before you hand me that bullshit about how it’s up to you and only you to protect us, don’t even go there. Because you’re good, but not even you can stop them by yourself. You need help. So swallow your fucking pride and admit that. That you can’t do it alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’be some my guys and Nik’s people and…”

“You were alone the other night,” Esme points out. “What was Nathan going to do from across the street? That is not helping. That’s YOUR version of helping. If you’re here, under the same room as all these people, Mahajan and his cronies won’t stand a chance. We’re safer if you’re here. And I think you realize that.”

“It’s putting a bigger target on you and the kids,” he argues. “If they figure out I’m here, they’ll show up.”

“Isn’t that what we want? Them out in the open? Let them come here. With all these people? With you? They won’t get very far, will they At least tell me you’re listening and not blocking me out. Usually I can read your face, but right now I’m not so sure.”

“I’m not blocking you, babe. I’m listening.”

“It makes more sense for you to be here than it does for you to be out on the street where every goddamn gun will be pointed at you. If you’re here, there’s more control over the situation, right? You’d have the upper hand because you’d be familiar with the place and they wouldn’t. And you can’t tell me you wouldn’t feel better being with us. That you don’t WANT to be here.”

“I do,” Tyler assures her. “It’s the only place I do want to be.”

“Then just do it. Just tell Anil that’s how it’s going to be. Explain to him why it makes the most sense. Deep down, you know this is the right thing to do. You know it’s better for us...especially the kids...if you’re here.  And I know you can’ deny that it would be better for you, too. Mentally speaking.”

“Yeah,” he admits with a nod. “You’re right.”

“Stop being so stubborn,” Esme implores. “This is not the time for that. You know this is the best way to handle things. I know you do. But I also know you hate taking advice from other people and that everything you do has to be your idea.”

He smirks. “You really DO know me well.”

“I so do. I also know I’m the only one who can talk like this to you and not have you get defensive. It’s too dangerous, Tyler. Especially now that Mahajan knows you’re in Mumbai and he’s stepping things up. You can’t be out on the street and you know it. I know that makes you feel useless. And weak. That you’re second guessing and doubting yourself. And you need to knock that shit off. Because you are the stronger, bravest person I know. And you’re the only one I trust with my life. With our kids’ lives. And I need you here. And you need to be here.”

He sighs, then pushes her fingers through her hair, moving it away from her face and off her shoulder. “Why are you like this?”

“Like what? Insanely beautiful and phenomenally intelligent?”

“I was going to say a huge pain in my ass, but okay, I’ll give you those.”

“What are you so worried about? Mahajan’s people showing up?”

“I don’t exactly what them on the doorstep. I don’t want them where you are. Where the kids are.”

“How far could they get with all these people here? I practically can’t take a pee without someone with an AK following me to the bathroom. What do you think can happen when there’s that much firepower here?”

“That’s exactly it. Firepower. With my kids here.”

“I’m not worried about that. Half of Anil’s basement is a panic room. The kids and I will be fine.”

Tyler frowns.

“What?”

“Why the hell didn’t you mention that right off the hop? Why didn’t you tell me that an hour ago when we started talking about this?”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

He stares at her pointedly.

“I forgot,” Esme admits. “I’m sorry. I should have told  you about the panic basement.”

“I swear to God, for the last seven years, this is how our conversations have gone. We talk about something for an hour when it could have been solved in five minutes. You always leave out that one piece of information that could have saved us a lot fucking time.”

“I’m sorry…” she pouts dramatically, then places a line of kisses along his jaw, over his ear, and up onto his head. “...I know that annoys you. Do you still love me?”

“I do. But fuck, you’re a pain in my ass. No wonder I have gray hair and an ulcer.”

“You don’t have an ulcer.”

“Not yet. But when I get one, it’ll have your name on it.”

“I have a confession.”

He sighs. “Of course you do. What is it?”

“I annoy you on purpose. Because you’re so cute when you’re annoyed. You get the cutest look on your face. It’s adorable. I can’t help myself. I’m sorry. I like your face and all your expressions. You have a really nice face.”

He grins. “I’m starting to really question your taste in men.”

“Please! You know you’re ridiculously good looking. It’s okay to be a bit conceited. I can forgive you for that if you can forgive me for being annoying.”

“I don’t know. You’re pretty fucking annoying.”

She scowls, then bites down on his earlobe.

“Ow! Fuck sakes! What is wrong with you? I’m not hurt enough for you? Why you do me like that?”

“Because I know you like it. MY particular brand of pain. What are you going to do? Spank me?”

“You’d like that too much.”

“I would actually,” she says, and then shivers against him when his fingertips graze down her spine. Giggling and squirming against him when he grabs her ass and roughly squeezes  “That hurts!  What’s your issue?”

“You really want to know?”

Esme nods.

He removes his hand from her ass, then takes one of hers and places it on his crotch.

“Oh…” her eyes widen. “...that’s the only part of you that’s not hurt and IS working properly.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am definitely not. Because I missed you. And I’m not talking the sappy and corny shit about missing you and your quirks and all the stupid shit you do.  Right now, I really miss having sex with you.”

“If you had just admitted that an hour ago, we could have skipped over a whole lot of drama.”

“We said things that needed to be said   and talked about things we needed to talk about. And now, I think you need to use your mouth for something else. IF you’re up to it.”

“Oh, I’m up to it. THAT anyways. Anything else, you might have to do the work. Or the majority of it anyway.”

“You mean I get to be in charge?”

He frowns. “I never said that.”

“You’re such a control freak,” she says, then pecks his lips before sling off the lounge chair and carefully removing a sleeping Addie from his chest. “I’m going to go and put her in her bed. And when I get back, you better be in mind. Naked. Ready to go. I’m not fucking around. Well, I AM. Fucking that is, You know what I mean.”

He’s grinning as he watches her ass move as she walks away. “How much DID you miss me?”

“Not THAT much, Tyler. Forget about it. It’s not our anniversary yet.”

“Early anniversary present?” He suggests hopefully.

“You wish!” She scoffs, then disappears into the house.

[eukennedy]

⟨ LORENZO ZURZOLO. DEMIBOY. HE/THEY. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, KENNEDY MORETTI-KING is actually a descendent of A T H E N A. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-THREE year old MEDICAL STUDENT from MILAN, ITALY has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite BRILLIANT & SELFISH.

FULL NAME: kennedy moretty-king. NICKNAME(S): he prefers his full name, but gets ‘ken’, ‘kenny’ and ‘king’ often. AGE: twenty-three. BIRTHDAY: november 1st. GENDER: demiboy. PRONOUNS: he/they. ( mostly goes by he, but doesn’t care ) ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual. MAJOR: he’s currently in med school, but completed a bachelor’s of science in neuroscience. HEIGHT: 6′1". MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral evil. MBTI: ENTP HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin. TRAITS: ambitious, intelligent, disingenuous, judgmental, quick-witted, selfish, petty, passionate, outgoing, charming.

short bio blurb.

for your first few years of life, your cries are met with warm consoling arms, kisses over scraped knees and meals around the dinner table. as you grow older, the concept washes out of sight like a salty tide: slowly, then all at once. your parents draw the lines and your nannies color them in, and with time you realize you might in fact be the only kid in history who doesn’t resent them for it. not one bit.

a son of two brilliant surgeons ( your godly parent delivered you as a gift, but your real mother is not athena ), your life has been filled with ten-minute holidays and interrupted birthdays. as you grew to understand it, you discovered you hardly minded much. after all, you inherited your parents’ desire for medicine and excellence, and you aspire to be so busy one day, crave it, actually, so you fill your need for attention elsewhere and allot the rest of your time to achieving perfection. you’re in the stars and you know it; there’s no time to hold success against the people that drove you there.

though your family’s social circle shifted its orbit to the rich and powerful, they remain grounded as ever. for this, your ego is your best kept secret at home. mother and father would grill you for your narcissistic reputation, so you hide it when you’re back for the holidays behind big smiles and perfectly plated meals. they want you to be proud, not arrogant, but it’s not your fault: you just can’t help that you’re always right.  

if you fall, though, you fall far –- the morettis and the kings don’t throw money at problems.

they solve them.

your desire for greatness burns bright in your belly and your affinity for it has a habit of taking over the more tender parts of your heart. you’re not cruel, just destined, and nothing puts you on your toes faster than a threat, so you remove them. poll ten people and seven might think you brutal in your ambition, but all is fair in love, war and the pursuit of knowledge.

you’re focused but more romantic than what meets the eye.  while chocolates and flowers aren’t your forte, but loyalty and dedication are. there’s no better lover than one who has a habit of sinking its teeth into anything they love, and you’re a dog whose never given up a bone in his life.

your softer inner workings are there underneath and you’re not ashamed, not at all, they’ll bring you the other piece of the puzzle one day. someone to help you hold that trophy high above your head and someone to smile while they do. vulnerability doesn’t set you back; it propels you, but you’re still skating around how to equip it just right. you’re prone to using words like fire to mask your ego, and communication fizzles out by a stinging touch.

now, you turn your head toward the future. the snap of latex gloves and the slice of a scalpel. the desire to invent, to perform, to heal – anything along the way is a blip, a moment, but nothing that can’t be solved when you refuse to stop. your fate is in your hands.

background breakdown.

kennedy moretti-king is the son of two famous surgeons: dr. giada moretti-king ( mostly known as dr. moretti ) and dr. jason king. both have made several advancements in their fields, dr. moretti herself working on innovative tools to advance laparoscopic surgery as a general surgeon, and dr. king as a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon.

dr. jason moved to america to italy where he met giada and that’s also where they were gifted little kennedy here, so he was raised in milan for the most part, where both his parents work at grande ospedale metropolitano niguarda. 

while many others have struggled to find where a godly parent or a demigod child fits into their lives, their family was completely different. kennedy was an experiment of sorts, a gift from athena to one of the most intelligent human couples that couldn’t bear their own children. for that, athena has remained relatively removed from kennedy’s life, though he’s almost always been aware of her existence. athena remains quite happy with kennedy and his parents raising him as their own, and kenny knows giada as his mother, not athena. 

although his parents were absent more often than not due to their demanding work lives, kennedy knew from a young age that he wanted to follow in their footsteps. raised mostly by various nannies over the years, kennedy was bothered when he was younger when his parents didn’t make it to every recital; however, this was mostly erased as he grew old enough to understand their occupations.

it was love at first sight when kennedy visited the hospital. maybe not the bloody surgery part, but medicine in general, the intense need to know about the body. why it worked the way it did. he was absolutely fascinated. the time he did spend with his parents was used to soak up all the knowledge he could, and they never minded much. it gave them common ground to love the same thing.

the kings were glad to have one son that wanted to follow in their footsteps, and so even if there’s a large distance between them at times, kennedy has always had a fairly good relationship with his parents, even if that comes with immense pressure. his parents would’ve been equally as happy should he had wanted to pursue something else ( all they wanted was a happy and healthy child ) but kenny’s desire to pursue the same line of work was a welcome coincidence. they teach him everything they know, but they’re well aware it won’t be very long until he knows far more than they do.

due to his constant pursuit of knowledge, athena’s never quite bothered to interfere in his life but the threats that lurk outside the protected walls were the reason kennedy chose to pursue education within eonia’s campus.

it should also be said that his parents are extremely dope people, they both did a lot of pro bono work, charity work and partook in doctors without borders. they are Rich Rich and so is kennedy, but they very much wanted him to have a down-to-earth experience. it failed, in some ways, but while kennedy could be years ahead in his studies, it’s limited so he’s only about a year or so ahead of his peers. they wanted him to have a social life! and not be an emotionally stunted child genius! but alas, it did not entirely work out <3

personality breakdown.

to say he’s a perfectionist is an understatement. he simply refuses to go into a field and be the flop of the family, so his pursuit of knowledge is pretty unparalleled. he takes his studies seriously, and doesn’t really relate to the college life of skipping 8ams to nurse hangovers.

not that he doesn’t have them -– but we love a man that perseveres.

wish i had his confidence of just assuming everything’s going to go his way. his label means force or necessity, and that’s because kennedy has a way of making things working in his favor with pure force. ‘kennedy, aren’t you worried you’ll fail?’ ‘no.’ ‘how?i’ ‘because i won’t let myself. duh’

although he doesn’t have the softest personality due to the lack of being hugged as a child, kennedy, at his core, isn’t entirely evil. he’s capable of caring about people and does. he’s a passionate person, and that can translate to love and loyalty for the right people. he doesn’t half-ass anything, so when he commits it’s on.

still, the boy has quite an ego. for him to think something is good enough to commit to takes a bit. he’s got particular taste, never backs down from a fight, and almost annoyingly always thinks he’s right. his ambition can sometimes blind him to the point of selfishness at times, even if his heart is in the right place.

he’s got his good qualities, though! for someone he loves, he’s there. he’s quite dependent when he wants to be, and he’s smart as anything. if you need help getting out of a jam, his brain is basically hardwired to know how to land on his feet.

kennedy is very organized and put together. never catch a wrinkle, even on his plain t-shirts. he shows his love through helping: he’s more likely to help you clean your dorm or organize your study notes for your test than deliver a monologue on his love for you, but it counts! you just need to know what to look for.

a brat but sometimes a lovable brat.

wanted connections.

a best friend. kennedy grew up without serious parental figures ( not by choice, but they were busy rip ), so i’d love a childhood best friend with him that accepts him for his personality flaws. he would be hella ride or die for this person, which he isn’t for much of anyone else, so that means quite a bit! someone to keep him grounded, call him out on his bullshit, but not completely destroy his ego.

exes. honestly, kennedy can be quite the petty betch. i can envision a lot of ugly breakups in his past OR we can plot some exes on good terms! he’s not totally emotionally stunted, can be quite a good boyf when he wants to be, but also a complete nightmare too. any gender feel free !

hookups. self-explanatory. college life. the nature of their relationship will be entirely dependent on the muses and their dynamic, but kennedy isn’t always the nicest to his casual flings depending on their dynamic. some friends with benefits could work, though, for positive casual connections.

enemies. okay, look at this bratty bitch. there is no way he doesn’t have some, if not many, enemies. he has a temper and doesn’t like to be told no, so if you ever wanna verbally spat it out, feel free. he won’t swing, tho. those are surgeon’s hands, baby.  

hate-to-love friendship. someone dopey or complete unambitious that somehow kennedy still loves despite them being total opposites. he doesn’t get why they don’t do their assignments, or why they fall asleep drunk in the bathtub twice a week, but he really can’t deny that they amuse him and he cares about them.

anything else!

[nezasuyami]

@dokuhebi​​ cont. [x]

The procession that passes through dank corridors is silent and purposeful, allowed passage without question where any other group of shinobi would be halted in a heartbeat. This doesn’t mean that the nervous pretense of nothing untoward happening would be maintained on both sides, however; the one leading the small unit was much too cautious for that.

Masked figures flanking either side of the foremost cloaked shinobi, who was not particularly impressive in stature yet commanding in his presence, split off from the advance he spearheaded, through doors where guards were taking their breaks or resting between shifts. But his path is direct, leading him straight to the most highly guarded cell in the building

Orochimaru spares little time in expressing the desire for privacy in their greeting of him when he enters the room proper, and sure enough the last possible witnesses of this meeting hurry away from the caged viper with gazes averted. No doubt they were eager enough already to pass the baton of this particular watch onto those who are by now already accosted, and in a lapse of caution they too find themselves seized by uncompromising gloved hands before being ushered into the shadows.

They are alone now, right on time for Danzō to see the flickering of two yellow irises as they train more directly upon him, glinting like coins in the dark before their approaching figure is revealed by the fire of a single sconce that does very little to warm the prison’s inherent gloom.

The reasons Danzō had yet to put his seal upon the snake’s tongue were numerous enough to be uncertain, and that fact doesn’t sit well with him despite his aura of absolute calm. Still, it had proven to be a decision well made thus far, with Hiruzen seemingly none the wiser to what some of these rumoured experiments of Orochimaru’s were in aid of. He was also prudent enough not to assume that mere paralysis would stop one so stubborn and conniving from spilling his secrets some other way, if they felt they were being slighted or disrespected. 

But a simple act of trust placed in them? One that set them above all the others in ROOT? Apparently that was the only thing required to seal their trust in him, in turn. A dangerous balancing act, but worth the risk.

That his fool of a friend was too preoccupied with despair at his precious student's fall from grace, under his very own watch no less, and to a degree where he was blinded to what may lie in the undergrowth, was one thing to lessen his worries—not to mention immensely satisfying. That the righteous Sarutobi Hiruzen would fail to see what his very own neglect was doing over years, having once showered the young and impressionable serpent so carelessly with his praise and his pride, only to have that pride he’d overfed then starved turn around and bite him right back... 

The irony of that would be astounding to Danzō, were it not for the knowledge that he was staring into the ghost-like face of repeated history. 

A scorned student, the stifling of a rare genius, the arbitrary judgement of character, the double standards inherent in certain views of right and wrong... It was little wonder that things had turned out this way, given the foolish ideals that had been allowed to persist through the years. But he was all too glad to pick up the pieces in this instance, and reap the rewards. Only a fool would pass up the chance to have one with Orochimaru’s limitless genius and insatiable curiosity on his side, after all, and surely they too could see in him an opportunity to go against the grain that had been expected of them. The chance to delve into the darker necessities that protecting and furthering a society entailed.

Of course, he at least had some subtlety about it all, whereas subtlety was clearly a work in progress for them—a thought that sees his already stony visage intensifying a shade as he comes before bars gnawed by the onset of rust, his features darkening more than ought to be possible in this already pervasive gloom.

❝Easier yet would be not to have gotten caught,❞ he states simply, with none of his internal agitation bleeding into his voice, but certainly just enough frost to illustrate that he isn’t impressed by their sloppiness. The pride and delight they seemed to show in terrorising others was unbecoming, which was bad enough… but more than that, it was too obvious. As if they had tried to be caught.

A cry for attention, perhaps, but a cry that was very dangerous to him by proxy. And this, Danzō decides in this moment, was where Hiruzen had gone so terribly wrong.

Having plied Orochimaru with all they wanted at their loneliest and most in need of care, he was too careless to see what turning a blind eye would do. Too soft to put his foot down until it was too late. Too short-sighted in letting them think they were destined to be something much greater than a tool, in fostering an ego stretched to such brittleness that the first instance of being told ‘no’ had it crumbling to pieces. 

Within the serpent a certain entitlement had been nurtured by a fool that was only ever half-committed to nurturing them, and the Shimura could recognise how he too was playing with fire by involving himself more deeply at this stage... but he was quietly confident, nonetheless. Certain admonishment was needed at times, no doubt, to remind prodigious shinobi of their true place—but to finely balance that with praise and recognition where it was due, to paint oneself as a presence of unwavering reliability... Now that was the true art of sealing alliances, of having even the most rebellious individuals fall into a position of aiding him whether they intended it or not. It was an art he’d perfected.

Still, his remaining eye softens the barest touch, a gesture quite easy to miss depending on whether the viper is in the mental space to notice such things. Beneath the wrappings covering what was once his right eye, the hollowness of the empty socket is still a jarring sensation to him, and his depth perception askew enough that he has to take care not to visibly fumble when he gropes for the inside pocket of his cloak. By now, there was supposed to be a Sharingan in place of the unremarkable hazel eye he once possessed, but the toll on a body not born to wield such a leech on one’s physical resources had been too great a risk. 

Without Orochimaru, he wouldn’t be able to continue on this path, so the bitter would need to be balanced with the sweet in his dealings with them; for while Danzō had no shortage of pride, he did possess grace enough to admit when he needed help.

A key is produced from the void of his cloak, and his aim now falters less in finding the hole in the lock, his eye focused on doing so to reduce the apparent impact of his handicap.

❝That frightening look in your eyes certainly won’t help your case,❞ he adds, turning the key with no care spared for the noise it would make as the barrels grind and clunk into position—almost pointedly careless as he adds, ❝that is, if the guards happen to remember it.❞

They will no doubt understand his meaning here. Seldom did Danzō carry out any cloak and dagger dealings without a Yamanaka present to erase what needed to be erased, or tweak what needed to be tweaked. A trace of a smirk touches his perpetually downturned mouth then, as he returns a cool gaze back up at them—much cooler than theirs, which is molten in their fight or flight state.

❝Hiruzen, on the other hand... I think it best that he remembers whatever moment it was you two shared, don’t you?❞

The moment his reputation was forever stained. The type of stain that only smeared when one tried to scrub it away. 

Of course, nobody would ever say out loud that the sheer lack of resolve and clear bias towards his insubordinate student had knocked him down a few pegs in their estimation, but Danzō could tell people were beginning to think it. Were beginning to doubt that he had the mettle for his job after all.

For now, the shackles holding Orochimaru in place are left as they are, weighted around slender wrists, with Danzō opting to step into the cell having slid the door open with a series of shuddering clanks. He spares no time in removing the muzzle from them himself, his manner careful yet practical—another display of his trust. Then, as if by some silent command, a masked ROOT agent appears by the Shimura’s side in a puff of smoke before moving to stand by the viper’s. A henge is performed, resulting in a second Orochimaru, who then places the muzzle around their own mouth.

But the exchange isn’t quite finished yet. The final stage comes when Danzō touches the tips of his first two fingers to each of their chests, upon which rows of grass script wriggle down the man’s arms like dozens of centipedes before emblazoning the sternum of each Orochimaru—both real and fake—with a completed seal.

❝A misdirection seal, to swap chakra signatures between parties,❞ he explains, then produces further keys to unlock their shackles and affix them to the transformed agent instead. Now they are completely free, and from simple appearance down to chakra signature, the reconditioned guards would be even less the wiser. For now, at least.

❝Come. You will remain with me tonight.❞ He turns, but not before handing Orochimaru the key to their cell, should they wish to do the honours of locking it behind them. ❝There is much we must discuss, now that you’ve caused such a stir.❞

[luna-almighty-god]

Guardian Angel N°10 [The culmination of your mistakes. The mistake of your life]

This is chapter ten !

This story is obviously not canonical, please do not refer to it if you are looking for canonical information.

Have a good read!

===

First Chapter

Previous Chapter

===

The living room was poorly furnished, with only the most important pieces of furniture such as a sofa and a shelf full of books. The rest was empty and dusty, as if the place was not even worth maintaining. This was probably the case. After all, it was only a makeshift shelter, a place they would soon leave and flee to a safer place, before danger caught up with them again and forced them to do the same thing again.

Dream weighed down gently, gazing at the pages of his novel without being able to concentrate. Another night he didn't sleep, another night of biting anxiety, of detestable anguish.

“Worrying won't get you anywhere.” he heard abruptly.

He barely jumped, grumbling with discontent at this unwelcome coming. Though the term was a bit strong... he simply did not wish to see Cross at this moment.

“Go to bed.” the guardian told with exasperation.

But the monochrome ignored him to come and sit beside him, leaning nonchalantly against the backrest while darting his one valid eye on the prince of dreams.

“What's bothering you? he asked, although he already knew the answer.

- Nyx is long gone, but nothing has changed. How can you expect me not to worry about that?”

The swordsman looked up at the ceiling:

“Who knows?

- Don't be so phlegmatic! He's still your pupil, and my nephew! Shit, what if something had happened to him? What if the portal had been unstable? What if... What if he was erased from this reality? Oh my God, what if... God...”

He took his head in his hands, and took a sigh from Cross:

“Dream, I was there. I saw what was on the other side of the gate. Don't worry, he got to the other side safely.

- You can't go safely through the past, damn it Cross!”

And as each time the guard got up sharply, starting to walk a hundred paces, waving his arms excessively, his eyes dark, his teeth clenched:

“If something happened to him, I won't get over it! I promised myself that I would support him, that I would relieve him of a burden!

- Maybe he succeeded, but it just created another timeline, without touching ours.

- Maybe it did! But how do we know that? Damn it, you should have gone with him! You should have!!”

Cross looked up at the sky:

“Don't scream, you'll wake Lux. And then he...”

He got up, approached the guard gently to make him stop moving:

“...do you really think I could have left you when you were facing Dust and Killer? Dream ... the multiverse is completely corrupted ... ...you and I have lost our families, our friends... I've... I've already lost Epic. It's just you and Lux and Nyx. We're alone, completely alone... and if I hope Nyx is happy in another timeline, I can never bring myself to abandon my husband and daughter.”

He took him in his arms, hugging him gently:

“... Even if it means going down with our multiverse ... I want to be with my family to the end.”

Dream responded feverishly to his embrace, his soul clenched.

If only... If only he could have stopped Nightmare in time... if only he could have prevented all this... there wouldn't have been so much loss, so much suffering, so much regret. The multiverse had already begun its downfall the moment Ink had let himself be corrupted by the black apples, but now that Error was dead in turn...

There was only a storm of miscodes left. Codes that were nibbling away at the last remnants of their world. The question was whether they, or the bad guys, would finish them off first...

*** ***

Horror frowned, perplexed, as he let go of the meat that was grilling in the pan. He wanted to believe that Nyx was bad at cooking, but not knowing how to hold a knife ...

“Nyx, are you all right?”

His doubt was confirmed when he saw his comrade stretching slightly, but as always, he took back his impenetrable mask and that false smile that was beginning to unbear the cannibal:

“Yes, I'm all right! I'm just having a little trouble with the vegetables.

- If you held your knife differently too...”

Horror approached him and stole the kitchen tool to better position it in his palm:

“You see, it's like this...”

He paused, perceiving from the corner of his eye the slight grimace of his apprentice. This worried him even more as he began to guess what was going on. Increasingly annoyed, he released the knife and grabbed Nyx's hand frankly, wrenching a cry of surprise and pain from him. Before the drawer could free himself, Horror rolled up his sleeve, revealing a wrist in poor condition, wrapped in a half-untied bandage as if it had been done in haste.

“Wh- I'm dreaming! What the hell happened to you?”

Nyx came out quickly, too abruptly as he grimaced again, aggravating the pain in his wrist. He brought his hand against him and looked away, suddenly feverish. Too feverish.

“N-Nothing...”

His stuttering, weak voice set Horror on fire, and he had to take a deep breath to avoid anger and to stay in control of his actions. He didn't insist, at least not verbally, as he came and grabbed Nyx by the arm - the one that wasn't attached to the broken wrist - and suddenly teleported him to the bathroom.

If Nyx gave him a confused look, Horror didn't explain himself and simply forced him to sit on the edge of the bathtub. Then he turned to the cupboards and searched them thoroughly, only to come out of the bandages a few minutes later.

“You're out of luck ... the cannibal growled as he walked back to Nyx. You've stumbled upon the only castle where no inhabitant is gifted with healing magic.”

The drawer remained silent, simply watching him take his wrist more delicately to remove the half-open bandage.

“Did you put that bandage on yourself?" asked the cook.

- ... Yes, I did.

- ... Damn it. . . You're as bad at cooking as you are at caring. Worse than Killer.”

Nyx laughed, which made Horror smile. Finally, the black-boned skeleton regained some of his good humour, even if it wasn't that yet.

“What's up? Are you going to tell me how you got hurt?”

The cartoonist massaged the nape of his neck:

“You might laugh...

- Eh, why? I promise, I'm not laughing!

- Mm... I was on my bed and I wanted to draw. I leaned over to the bedside table to grab my notebook, but I slipped and smashed on the floor.”

There was a great silence before Horror, looking hallucinated, burst out laughing:

“Oh shit, are you serious? You're even more clumsy than I thought! You'd never think of breaking your wrist like that!”

Nyx had an embarrassed smile. Embarrassment that passed for shame to the cannibal, when in truth the one with the black bones felt guilty for lying like that. But he could never have confessed the truth to anyone...

*** ***

Nightmare stayed for a long time watching the files on his desk, but he left them there phlegmatically, realizing that he could not concentrate. How could he? Nyx's case preoccupied him, preoccupied him too much.

It was hard to admit, and to tell the truth he would probably never admit it to anyone, but the master of woes had become gently attached to the damned cartoonist. And yet, the Creator alone knew how much Nyx could bear it! Seriously ... he came out of nowhere, was not known to anyone, but seemed to know everything about everything, as if he had studied every monster on the multiverse! Well, Nightmare was probably exaggerating a bit, but to see that Nyx knew him - a bit too much - well when he knew nothing about himself was ... terribly frustrating.

Not to mention this barrier around Nyx, a kind of mask, a role that the artist was giving himself. As if he was hiding his true thoughts, his true purpose, behind all sorts of tricks, spells ...

Yes, there was magic. Nightmare wasn't stupid: by noticing that he didn't feel Nyx's emotions, he understood that Nyx was using a spell, a terribly powerful spell that exceeded the power of the nightmare master.

One more mystery about the skeleton with the grey scarf.

And if that's all it was... Nightmare was willing to believe that Nyx was more powerful than he let on. But... from there to blocking his mind?

For no matter how hard Nightmare tried, he had to face the fact that Nyx did not dream. Every living being had a dream bubble at bedtime. A bubble that Nightmare could see and control, a bubble in which a dream, a nightmare, or simply nothing was diffused.

But the Nyx bubble didn't exist. Nightmare searched for it every night, waiting for Nyx to go to sleep, but it was nowhere to be found.

As if Nyx did not sleep.

But it was impossible. Everyone was asleep, skeletons included.

But then... (Sighs) Didn't Nyx look exhausted all the time?

It was true that his black bones perfectly concealed his dark circles.

But ...

Nightmare growled.

He had to get to the bottom of it.

*** ***

[Looks at me]

Shut him up...

[I love you, my angel]

Shut him up!

[I'll always be here]

Wha....

[I'll always be there for y...]

SHUT UP! SHUT HIM UP!

Nyx opened his eyes, too quickly to relate to reality, too quickly for his vision to get used to the darkness.

[It was dark. All dark]

Terror made him speechless, he got up hastily, took his legs in the blanket, fell backwards and felt his shoulder crack against the ground.

[Black, still black]

He ignored the pain, ignored the burning, the inferno of his soul, to rise up with uncontrollable trembling, erratic breathing, white dots dancing before his eyes, a sign of his confused spirit being tormented again by darkness.

He threw himself on the bedside table, had great difficulty in lighting the lamp as his hands trembled.

He was suffocating.

[He needed it]

The sob escaped him in spite of himself.

[WHERE WAS HIS FUCKING BAG?!]

He turned his head towards the office, beamed there instantly.

Using his magic made him twist, made him even more unstable than he already was.

[An apple]

He felt more than he saw the crack on his soul, the crack that spread a little more over his poor inverted heart.

[WHERE WERE HIS APPLES?]

His fingers couldn't find anything. The pain grew stronger, as did the white flashes that kept dazzling him.

He spilled his bag on the ground, in a din that seemed far away, too far away.

Stormy flashes, flashes of memories.

[His birth, a mistake]

He threw himself to the ground, nervously rummaging among the spilled objects.

[Desperate Ink, to the point of accepting a black apple]

Lack of sleep is fatal to health. The mind starts playing with us, deluding us. What is the dream, what is the reality?

Nyx didn't know. He never knew.

[The years of torture and rejection]

[Fighting Continues]

[Plum]

[His Plum]

[His parents]

[ERROR!]

New Flash

And Ink, whose wards had now disappeared, reaped the joy of his son's distress:

“Ah... ahah ... Pathetic and miserable... so this is what you have inherited from me... ?”

The fracture sounded like a mirage, a distant sound. A distant sound but yet so close, too close, too violent.

Plum's neck had just been broken.

Then there was nothing but dust, and the frightened look of Nyx. His gaze turned grey, empty of all emotion.

If he had not been born, the conflict between Ink and Error would not have become so serious. Killer would not have left Nightmare for Color.

If he hadn't been born, his parents wouldn't have continued their unhealthy relationship thinking that they only had this left.

If he hadn't been born, Nightmare wouldn't have been desperate, not so desperate as to upset the already fragile balance of the multiverse by corrupting the majority of universes. He wouldn't have taken possession of Underlust, he wouldn't have killed all its inhabitants except Plum.

If he hadn't been born... Plum wouldn't have joined the Badlands by force. He wouldn't have gotten dragged into this, attached himself to it, died.

And the best irony in all this?

Plum didn't even love him. Never had. But then again... Nyx was the only form of tenderness in the castle. So Lust had fallen back on him.

But Nyx had never needed to read his feelings to know how much Plum disliked him.

For ... Nyx was the son of Nightmare, the master of nightmares. As well as Ink's son, the former guardian, the traitor.

Nyx was the mistake of a lifetime.

But if Plum didn't love him... Nyx had sincerely loved him. From the depths of his soul.

“You...” he stammered, still on the ground, watching unbelievingly as Plum's clothes fell to the ground.

Ink looked at him, leaned his foot a little harder against his skull:

“What, are you going to cry now? Do it Nyx, cry! That's all you're good for anyway. You're only good at sobbing on your own s...”

The Creator stepped back sharply, dodging in extremis the tentacle that had just sprung from the ground, which had failed to perforate his body. He shuddered at the sudden drop in temperature, took another step backwards, lowering his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed.

The magical concentration around Nyx made him yelp. An unhealthy, feverish, trembling magic that accompanied the bitter tears that rolled down the young skeleton's cheeks, his bitter tears that blurred his vision but did not hide his blinking pupils.

Red, grey, red, blue, red, grey, red, blue, red, red, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED, RED.

BLACK.

Nyx exploded:

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”

Ink petrified, his brush exploded against the ground. He screamed as his patella shattered, shattered cleanly by another tentacle. Falling one knee to the ground, the painter was suddenly propelled to the ceiling, spat out a sheaf of blood before being smashed against the floor.

Nyx was no longer in control, cowering over himself as he continued to scream, the negativity escaping him far too quickly to contain it.

His eyes turned red again. He looked at Ink with his red pupils, dangerous, threatening.

Another tentacle sprang up, grabbed the painter by the neck. But this time Ink had the presence of mind to teleport despite his weakness.

Nyx turned sharply, intercepted the punch with his arms. Ink, who thought he had him on his backside, growled loudly before he teleported his brush in his hand, spraying paint on his son.

The younger one hiccupped, suddenly finding his hands bound by chains, before Ink hit him with his handle, sending him crashing into the wall behind.

He was in the castle room, in another timeline, in another TIMELINE!

Nyx knew he was going to die.

He was out of apples, he was out of apples!

Ink was going to finish him off.

WHERE WERE HIS APPLES?!

But through his blurry vision, Nyx perceived this intrusive blue thread. This wire that he had never seen before, but whose owner he knew.

He found one. An apple. His last apple.

Error immobilized Ink, his livid face, as if he couldn't believe the spectacle he was watching, which he couldn't grasp as his little artist had turned in such a way.

He stuck his fangs in the black pulpit, sweeping away his last glimmers of lucidity, his mind finishing to twist when he felt the oppressive and foul embrace of anger, of resentment, materialize around his soul to tear it apart.

A cold sweat covered him, gravity grabbed him from all sides. He felt his body fall heavily, his skull hit the ground.

“Who are you, kid?”

Nyx didn't answer. Ink did it for him:

“A HORROR, A MISTAKE, THAT'S WHAT HE IS! THIS IS WHAT HE WILL BE FOREVER!”

Nyx groaned piteously, trying to regain his senses, to return to the present moment. But the memories were still playing out, Error's eyes were resting on him.

“I am Error, the Destroyer of UA.”

Nyx looked at him, half-conscious.

“I'm gonna get you out of this hellhole.”

Nyx blinked.

He looked up at the ceiling.

The silence was soft, terribly soft, after the inner screams of his subconscious.

He blew, clutched his tunic to the place of his soul.

His seizure was over... but for how much longer?

His energy completely drained, he turned his head softly, his pupils lingering on his things strewn about the floor.

Tears came, less painful than the previous ones. A form of fatality, of sinister acceptance.

[He ran out of apples.]

We knocked on his door with strength, drive, will. A noise that sounded like a terrible death knell for Nyx, who got up painfully and eagerly, hiding his objects under his bed with a clever turn of his foot. He dragged himself to the door, dressed in his impenetrable mask, with a smile that he knew to be increasingly false.

"Good evening, Nightmare," he greeted his host with a casual greeting.

The master of the house was not at all reluctant and entered the room without the slightest hesitation, sweeping it with his gaze before returning to Nyx:

“You're not asleep.”

An observation, not a question. The cartoonist laughed:

“That's right. But I was planning to go to bed soon.

- I'm not talking about now.”

The guest swallowed, didn't have the opportunity to answer that Nightmare's aura was more worrying, intimidating. For Nightmare was like that: he hated not understanding, that one thing escaped him:

“You're not sleeping. You don't sleep. Otherwise I would have seen it.”

Nyx tilted his head to the side, mimicking astonishment, then forced a laugh:

“It's true I don't sleep much, but when l-“

Nightmare's gaze grew harder and colder as he snapped his tongue:

“Don't take me for a stupid Nyx. I'm not able to feel your emotions, but I can still read people's eyes. And you lie like a little cheeky.”

Nyx felt faint. But he was lucky, this young skeleton. As lucky as a kid in a situation could be. Lucky that Nightmare showed up after his seizure. Lucky that he ate a black apple before confronting the master of misfortune. Lucky to be emotionally stable again, enough not to break down, not to reveal his weakness as he did in front of Horror.

His quiet smile of each day returned.

Nyx looked as confident as ever:

“Nightmare, I'm sorry if I'm upsetting you so much. But are you sure you're all right? Wouldn't your power fail when the baby comes?

- Wha...?

- Insomnia is adorable... but what energy he has! You and Killer must be exhausted, right? If you need help, I'm here, you know? I love the kid, I'm willing to babysit him for you once in a while!”

Nightmare blinked, not understanding how the discussion could have turned out this way. He was about to go back to the initial subject but Nyx cut him off again, leaving to retrieve his abandoned notebook on the bedside table:

“I could teach him to draw, he has a lot of potential! Look!”

The master of the house was slightly startled, surprised that the paper was put in front of his eyes. In spite of himself, he found himself looking at his son's scribbles. And even though it wasn't high art, he was quickly moved without even realizing it.

Nyx had a sweet laugh:

“Killer was talking about a new restaurant the other day... Why don't you go there tomorrow? I'll keep Insomnia with Dust!

- ... I'll ... Suppose we could do that, yes.”

Nyx walked him to the door with a smile:

"It'll be great! You're a couple, but you can't let up! Isn't there anything more beautiful than two lovers seducing each other every day? »

Nightmare got a little worse, not even realizing that he had reached the corridor. Nyx waved to him:

“We'll confirm all this tomorrow! Good night!”

He closed the door ... and Nightmare opened his eyes.

Seriously, though... Nyx managed to get him out?

Again?

He grunted, massaging the bridge of his nose, before turning his attention to the drawings he'd kept in his hand. Was Nyx right? Was he simply too exhausted after all? As much by his couple as by his child?

He grumbled. Nyx had turned the tables a little too easily... but it was true that Nightmare needed a break.

He turned around and went to his room, where Killer must have been waiting for him, sleeping soundly.

Yeah, well... tomorrow he was going out with his husband. Then he'd confront Nyx.

Anyway, there was no rush...

...isn't it?

===

Next Chapter

You can support me on my Utip or on my Ko-fi account !

===

Credits =

Dreamtale ->  Joku

Dust -> Ask DustTale

Error -> LoverOfPiggies

Ink -> Myebi

Killer -> Rahafwabas

Cross and Lux -> Jakei

Insomnia -> EnaPouyou

[childtraumaloss]

When I was a kid

I used to think that pork chops and karate chops were the same thing

I thought they were both pork chops

My grandmother thought it was cute

So she let me keep doing it

Because you know, they were my favorite

It wasn't a big deal

Until I was seven years old

And a bad fall caused me to bruise my upper arm and shoulder rather severely

I didn't wana tell my grandmother what happened

Because I was afraid I would get in trouble

Because I was playing somewhere I shouldn't have been

One day in gym class the teacher notices the bruise

And I was sent to the principals office

Not long after that I ended up in another small room

With a really nice lady who asked me all sorts of questions about my life at home

I saw no reason to lie

It was pretty good as fas as i was concerned

So I told her, whenever I'm sad my grandmother gives me karate chops

This lead to a full scale investigation

And I was removed from my grandparents house for three days

And then returned when they finally asked me how I got the bruises

News of this silly little story eventually spread through the school

And when the students finally caught wind of it

I earned my first name

Pork Chop

To this day I fucking hate pork chops

I'm not the only kid

Who grew up this way

Surrounded by people who used to say

That rhyme about sticks and stones

As if broken bones

Hurt more than the names we got called

And we got called them all

So we grew up believing no one

Would ever fall in love with us

That we'd be lonely forever

That we'd never meet someone

To make us feel like the sun

Was something they built for us

In their tool shed

So broken heart strings bled the blues

As we tried to empty ourselves

So we would feel nothing

Don't tell me that hurts less than a broken bone

That an ingrown life

Is something surgeons can cut away

That there's no way for it to metastasize

It does

She was eight years old

Our first day of grade three

When she got called ugly

We both got moved to the back of the class

So we would stop getting bombarded by spit balls

But the school halls were a battleground

We found ourselves outnumbered day after day

We used to stay inside for recess

Because outside was worse

Outside we'd have to rehearse running away

Or learn to stay still like statues giving no clues that we were there

In grade five they taped a sign to the front of her desk

That read

"Beware Of Dog"

To this day despite a loving husband

She doesn't think she's beautiful

Because of a birthmark

That takes up a little less than half of her face

Kids used to say she looks like a wrong answer

That someone tried to erase

But couldn't quite get the job done

And they'll never understand

That she's raising two kids

Whose definition of beauty

Begins with the word mom

Because they see her heart

Before they see her skin

Because she's only ever always been amazing

He

Was a broken branch

Grafted onto a different family tree

Adopted

But not because his parents opted for a different destiny

He was three when he became a mixed drink

Of one part left alone

And two parts tragedy

Started therapy in 8th grade

Had a personality made up of tests and pills

Lived like the uphills were mountains

And the downhills were cliffs

Four fifths suicidal

A tidal wave of anti depressants

And an adolescence of being called popper

One part because of the pills

And ninety nine parts because of the cruelty

He tried to kill himself in grade ten

When a kid who could still go home to mom and dad

Had the audacity to tell him "get over it"

As if depression is something that can be remedied

By any of the contents found in a first aid kit

To this day he is a stick of TNT lift from both ends

Could describe you in detail the way the sky bends

In the moments before it's about to fall

And despite an army of friends

Who all call him an inspiration

He remains a conversation piece between people

Who can't understand

That sometimes becoming drug free

Has less to do with addiction

And more to do with sanity

We weren't the only kids who grew up this way

To this day kids are still being called names

The classics were

"Hey stupid"

"Hey spaz"

Seems like every school has an arsenal of names

Getting updated every year

And if a kid breaks in a school

And no one around chooses to hear

Do they make a sound?

Are they just the background noise

Of a soundtrack stuck on repeat

When people say things like

Kids can be cruel?

Every school was a big top circus tent

And the pecking order went

From acrobats to lion tamers

From clowns to carnies

All of these were miles ahead of who we were

We were freaks

Lobster claw boys and bearded ladies

Oddities

Juggling depression and loneliness playing solitaire spin the bottle

Trying to kiss the wounded parts of ourselves and heal

But at night

While the others slept

We kept walking the tightrope

It was practice

And yeah

Some of us fell

But I wanna tell them

That all of this

Is just debris

Leftover when we finally decide to smash all the things we thought

We used to be

And if you can't see anything beautiful about yourself

Get a better mirror

Look a little closer

Stare a little longer

Because there's something inside you

That made you keep trying

Despite everyone who told you to quit

You built a cast around your broken heart

And signed it yourself

You signed it

"They were wrong"

Because maybe you didn't belong to a group or a click

Maybe they decided to pick you last for basketball or everything

Maybe you used to bring bruises and broken teeth

To show and tell but never told

Because how can you hold your ground

If everyone around you wants to better you beneath it

You have to believe that they were wrong

They have to be wrong

Why else we'd still be here?

We grew up learning to cheer on the underdog

Because we see ourselves in them

We stem from a root planted in the belief

That we are not what we were called

We are not abandoned cars stalled out and Sitting empty on some highway

And if in some way we are

Don't worry

We only got out to walk and get gas

We are graduating members from the class of

We made it

Not the faded echoes of voices crying out

Names will never hurt me

Of course

They did

But our lives will only ever always

Continue to be

A balancing act

That has less to do with pain

And more to do with beauty

- Shane Koyczan

[turktwostep]

𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙲𝙴𝙽𝚃 ; [ 𝙳𝙾𝙽'𝚃 𝚈𝙾𝚄 𝙶𝙴𝚃 𝙴𝚇𝙷𝙰𝚄𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙳 ? ]  𝚏𝚝. 𝚁𝚄𝙵𝚄𝚂 @radhalaus​​       𝚁𝙴𝙽𝙾 @getturked​​       𝚃𝚂𝙴𝙽𝙶 @qiianze​​       𝚁𝚄𝙳𝙴 @turkthis​​

licking his wounds like a dog for his master. hands are stained with crimson & bathwater shines red. he's careful with the man, both physically and emotionally. no questions, no talking. no words are shared between them even still. reno hadn't said anything other than a panicked intrigue of his physical state when he had found rufus in that dank basement. even as he carried him to the chopper. even as they were up above, hovering over civilization —- waiting. for what? an answer. any answer. rufus was unresponsive, reno had no other support; he had to continually glance over at him from where he was slumped over while also paying attention to the controls so that they didn't crash. it was a shit show and a half, but he had to stay strong despite not knowing what happened.

who could have done this? why? and the main question on his mind: where was tseng?

questions waited for answers that reno never in his life wanted to hear. he wanted to deny it, to scream in their faces —- the grunts who offered him a more eye-witness account upon reaching the ground. not tseng, he breathed out as if it would be his last exhale, it couldn't have been tseng.

oh, but he knew better.

after all, he had been the one to warn rufus in the beginning. he was the one who endured the president screaming in his face, dismissing him with venom in those pretty fangs of his. he never took a bite, but now reno was wishing he had. death would have been better than this gruesome reality. remembering the hints, the cryptic way tseng spoke of his life and his own future and shrugging it off with a kind smile when approached about it. reno knew better, but he didn't want to. still, he went to rufus each time he had a bad feeling.

he wondered, as nimble fingers wash away the blood caked on his skin, if perhaps rufus had been thinking about it too. all of those signs: ignored. reno wouldn't dare ask, but he wondered.

"rude went with him." reno speaks at last. it wasn't what he wanted to say, but it was the one thing at the forefront of his mind. "s'what they told me, at least." hard to believe, and the thought alone made him choke, but anything was possible now. tseng made that perfectly clear, and so he had to wonder if he and rude had been planning it all along.

oh.

that thought hurt him more than the act itself.

"wouldn't doubt if they had more eyes too, y'know. probably seen me escape with you." it's not what he wants to talk about, but the president's safety was his number one concern now. he was tseng now.

oh, that made him flinch away, grimacing at his own thought. no. he was nothing like tseng. tseng was a fucking traitor. all the honor and bullshit he spoke about all the time —- what honor is there in betrayal? no, he wasn't tseng. he was reno. but now his primary focus was making sure rufus was okay. making sure he would live, making sure he was safe. now until the day he died —- now until the end of time. he would be dammed if he let another thing happen to him. he would make it right. he would make all of it right. tseng be dammed.

then, there's a quiet noise. the first noise he's heard out of rufus since getting him into the tub. it's subtle, what he assumed was a gasp and then he pretends to ignore the tears brimming his eyes. oh, that certainly changed things. reno wanted to leave, not in general of course —- just the room. to give him the privacy he deserved, to grieve in silence.

he thinks back again. breaking down the door, walking down the creaking stairs, smelling nothing but mildew and blood —- turning on the light had been a bad idea. it was like opening the door to his worst nightmare. as if he had merely been dreaming —- he had seen this before, after all. this exact scene. this nightmare becoming a reality, and as he sped to the president, a piece of metal caught his attention. on the table in front of where he had been tied, a plethora of different bloodstained tools sat, but near them was a piece of jewelry. a ring, gold in color. expensive.

sentimental.

and without thinking, reno swipes it up and shoves it into his pocket.

now, back to the present, he fiddles with it in his pocket as his other hand reaches up again to clean the blood from rufus' hair. he begins to scrutinize a little harder now, eyes trailing along every inch of him until his hands are in view. ah, that's where he had seen it before... the matching rings. sentiment.

suddenly, he feels even worse for rufus, but he continues to remain stoic. strong. if only for rufus. if he could, he would erase tseng from his memory. he would go back in time and end his life before it even truly began —- why did tseng deserve life? why did he deserve to live and leave everything he ever knew in shambles? to destroy it all without a second thought. to hurt everyone who had ever loved him in any way; why?

"gods, fuck him." he doesn't mean to vocalize the thought. he doesn't want to do this, not now, not in front of rufus. so, he purses his lips and removes his hand from the pocket with that damn ring in it in order to pay more attention to the man in front of him. with both hands now, reno runs his fingers through hair, uncaring of the blood caking it and now his digits as a result of the action. "s'gonna be okay, boss." who knew the next statement spoken would create such sudden animosity: "i gotcha, don't worry."

rufus tenses at the words. muscles contract, fingers squeeze into fists. his gaze haunts reno —- it's full of something new, at least in relation to him. his eyes fill reno with such a fear, he has to distance himself the slightest bit. hatred. it's a fire in his eyes, a fire in his belly. he wants to scream, and for once, he decides: why not.

"did you know." it's less of a question, more of a statement. a demand.

dark brows nearly meet in the middle of his face, he's scrunching them so damn hard. reno says nothing in return. the look on his face alone should have been answer enough.

"did you know?" his voice is weak yet still full of such authority, reno feels a certain unease when he, yet again, doesn't answer. he's almost offended at the notion, but he has to keep in mind that rufus certainly isn't in his right mind. despite that knowledge, reno still keeps his mouth shut, right hand shoving back into his pocket to fiddle with that cursed piece of jewelry.

"reno. did. you. know." each statement punctuated with the same hatred in his eyes. he stares at reno. straight through his soul, as if he wants the man to hurt, to feel every ounce of everything he himself had been feeling. as if he wanted reno to suffer.

"no." he answers gently, despite his own anger rising behind his ribcage. the anger wasn't directed at rufus, it was tseng, and that damn hold he had over them both. it wasn't fair. how could he keep such a tight hold on them while also plotting to destroy them at the same time?

but there's a look on the president's face. a look that jabs a knife right between his ribs —- reno releases the smallest gasp. a sneer. features are screwed up into something terrible, something that makes reno feel so suddenly, alone.

"no?" the question is asked and venom seeps from those deadly teeth, that sharp tongue. he looked upon reno as if he were nothing more than an old toy, a machine that stopped functioning correctly a long time ago. perhaps rufus had just been sentimental, too much that he couldn't throw out the old and replace it with new. something better, something shiny. at least, that's how he looked at reno. what had actually been going through the president's head —- well, that was yet to be seen.

"i told you what i thought, sir. i had said that -." reno's interrupted by the sudden rise of rufus' hand from the red bath water.

"i know what you told me, reno. that isn't what i asked."

"what the fuck do you want me to say then?" he doesn't mean to snap back. he knows that rufus is in a vulnerable situation right now, made even more-so by the ring still settled in reno's pocket. he can't stop fidgeting with it. had they been engaged? he had never heard anything about it, but then again, the both of them were secretive men to a fault. they didn't announce much unless it had to do with all of them.

reno hated to think about that.

a betrayal in every sense of the word. no wonder he was so damn on-edge.

"i want you to tell me the fucking truth, reno." volume of voice rises and reno swallows hard. there's an attempt to swallow back every emotion fighting to rise to the surface before it explodes in a fit of rage. the last thing he wants to do is get into a screaming match with him. not now ... not ever.

"i'm gettin' y'out of the tub, mr president. i told ya i ain't know shit." reno reaches back to grab the towel hanging from the rack before offering a hand that rufus begrudgingly takes. after all, there's no way he could do it on his own. not yet, at least.

after draining the tub and turning on the shower head for a moment or two in order to rinse the remaining blood away, reno drapes the president's arm around his shoulder and lifts him out of the tub. with every hiss and pained noise from the man, there's a new rage rising in his stomach. sure, he was angry with tseng. he had been angry with tseng since understanding that he had been the one to cause all of this, but he never really got the chance to think about it. it was just a chaotic anger, an impulsive anger. now, hearing noises he never thought he would hear fall from the president's lips, reno suddenly feels the need for revenge.

and gods be dammed, he would get it.

but for now, his focus needed to be on rufus. even if the president didn't want him or his company, reno wouldn't give up on him. he wouldn't leave his side, even if he screamed and yelled and told him how much he hated him, reno would stay loyal and devoted, just as he promised all those years ago.

what the hell was a promise to rufus now? tseng broke that entirely, for anyone and everyone. this was something reno would have to deal with, going forward. was it fair? no, absolutely not. did he understand? to a degree. he wondered if he would be the same in the president's situation.

ah, a thought best saved for later. especially since it seemed as though rufus had more to say.

"reno." rufus speaks his name but it doesn't bring the red-head any joy as it usually did. instead, it's spoken again with absolute disdain that makes reno's stomach turn. if he weren't sitting in front of rufus, he probably would have been physically sick just from the way his name is spoken. "i'm going to ask you again, and you are going to tell me the truth."

he already wants to yell the answer despite rufus not even asking yet.

"did. you. know." sure, the words falling from rufus' mouth were calm enough, but the disgust behind every single one stung reno in a way he had never felt before. what the hell was he supposed to say? what was he supposed to do?

the two of them are on the bed. reno had dressed him in a light yet comfortable robe and if he were being honest, he was already starting to look like himself again despite the ordeal happening mere hours before. the scene is nice. it's comfortable, but the feel of it is anything but. the room is heavy with tension; reno can't stop fidgeting with that fucking piece of jewelry in his pocket. tseng did this. he ruined everything, and he would never forgive him.

"no," reno answers again, in his own calm tone, "and if i woulda known, i woulda told ya." he can't sit on the bed anymore. he can't just sit there as if they're two lovers engaging in simple conversation. no, they weren't lovers and this wasn't simple conversation. the possibility of lovers was thrown into the sewers, and that burned reno. again, a thought for another time ...

"you're a fucking liar. you never were good at lying." rufus attempts to stand, but he's wobbly —- unstable -— and falls right back down on the bed. despite the venom, reno nears him, an attempt to ask him what he wants, where he wants to go, but hands quickly grasp clothing and rufus is pulling reno down so that they're at eye level. against his better judgement, reno sits against the bed again and rufus releases the grip he had on his reno's shirt.

"i'm just as broken up over this as you are, mr president." alright, maybe that wasn't the right thing to say. there was no way in hell he was even on the same plane of hurt that rufus had been on. "why would i keep that away from you?"

"because you're a fucking turk, reno! that's what you do. that's what all of you slimy bastards do."

"are you kidding me?" reno's voice shakes as he speaks. it wavers and falls, and he can't help it. he doesn't want to show weakness in front of rufus, especially not now, but the accusatory statement nearly has him choking. "until now, every single one of us has been loyal to you —- as a matter of fact, if i remember correctly, you were the one who sided with the enemy at one point in time for your own selfish cause." he can't stop the words, as much as he wants to. all he wants to do is take his abuse, apologize for every accusation, tell rufus that he's right. even ask him what right he has to live? but he can't. in every other sense, reno can roll on his back and show his belly, except for when he's being accused of betraying not only rufus, but the rest of the turks as well.

no.

where the hell were they? if reno was the slimy bastard, why was he the one to patch rufus up and wash away the blood from his wounds? dress him as if he were incapable, and now ... sitting with him, his own mind spinning one-hundred miles a minute. "it fucking hurts me too, rufus. i trusted him, y'understand? i trusted him with my fucking life, just like you did. rude too. i—." he stops at his own mention of rude. oh, he hadn't thought about him since the initial realization and now his chest tightened. suddenly, he can't breathe. "rude went with him..." the words are a whisper, tone crushed by the overwhelming weight of despair.

pick yourself up, red. when in the presence of the president, your thoughts and feelings come last —- he's your concern now. always has been, if honesty is welcome.

but now it's too late to take back those words he flung back at rufus, his own venomous tongue playing a part. he's on the receiving end of the president's hungry stare —- and it wasn't the type of hunger reno was used to -— no, rufus wanted blood.

"if you didn't want your tongue, all you had to do was tell me." he says with a cool air about him, eyes still trained uncomfortably on reno. "speak to me like that again, and i will assure you go without."

all reno can offer is a nod; if he even chances opening his mouth, he might not be able to stop whatever comes forth. at least for the time being.

"now, i'm going to give you a choice here. you can tell me the truth and i'll give you a head-start to get out, or you continue lying and i kill you without a moment's hesitation the moment i learn the truth." he smiles a villain's smile, eyes still burning their way into reno's very soul.

"y'should already know my answer, boss. i ain't goin' no where cos i ain't done nothin'." he shrugs lazily. there's no more fight in him. the only thing he can say is that he never lied, he never hid it from rufus. hell, he never hid anything from rufus. the moment he felt something was even a little bit off with tseng, reno went to the president immediately to tell him that perhaps there should be some extra eyes on the director. but he didn't listen. oh, how he wanted to bring that up so bad. he wanted to throw that in his face, how the hell can you call me a liar when i was the one who came to you first? instead of heeding reno's warnings, rufus turned a blind eye. even yelled at him to shut up. how dare he even suggest such an idiotic notion.

'fine, fine!' he would say, with hands up in surrender. and he would say nothing more on the subject. it upset rufus so —- he wondered how bad it would kill him if reno's speculations ever came true ... well, now we have our answer, don't we?

"get out of my sight."

reno wants to argue, to tell him that he really shouldn't be alone, considering his current predicament, but the president's face is still so full of pure, unadulterated hatred, reno would honestly rather be anywhere else.

"get the fuck out of my sight, and don't you dare show your face until you're ready to tell me what i want to hear." he doesn't bother looking at reno as the words leave his mouth. only raises an arm to motion at the door, and like the good dog he is, reno obeys without argument.

"see ya never i guess, boss." and with that, rufus is alone once more. the silence, at first, is a relaxing embrace that he falls into without issue. but as time continues on, the silence twists into something damming, something despicable. how long has he been sitting there in his robe, allowing the silence to consume him?

and outside of his door, there's a certain redhead standing careful watch. his head is empty, his heart too. his body is numb and then he finally wonders if this is all perhaps a really fucked up dream or maybe it's some crazy ass training simulation. you know, to create some kind of action plan should the worst occur. but he shakes his head, a clipped chuckle falls from those pretty lips, "this ain't no dream," he says to himself, clapping his EMR against the side of his leg in slight anxiety, "so keep your head up, red."

[sebthesnipe]

Pencils

A prompt that myself and @gilby-the-geek-girl​ decided to do a ‘write this in your style’ involving Logicality roommates and Ticonderoga #2 Pencils

You can read her’s here.

Also check out her main AU that its based in on AO3 here.

If you’re interested here are some links to my work as well:

The Collection (My Oneshots)

My Dearest Procyon (My Multi-Chapter Magical!AU)

Other works by me

Now! Lets get this party started!!!!

Logan gave a small curse as another one of his pencils broke inside his cheap sharpener. He tilted the small plastic container to get a better look inside. Sure enough, a large piece of lead was stuck inside the small cone, pressing against the razor’s edge. He wouldn’t be able to resharpen his pencil until it was removed.

As he took the small pencil sharpener apart, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander. Perhaps, he could rearrange his budget to allow him to purchase some better writing utensils. Patton had already convinced him to spend some extra money on the ‘B2p’s. He had been right about them. The pens were 89% recycled water bottles, which was good for the environment, and they wrote very smoothly, which helped ease the pain that writing caused.

Carpal tunnel syndrome was far more unpleasant that Logan had expected it to be. Of course, he hadn’t expected to enjoy the tingling or numbness, but the sheer amount of pain it caused was staggering. The simple act of holding a pen longer than half an hour was something he could no longer do without the help of an anti inflammatory. His all night note taking sessions were now cut by more than half, and that was on a good night with a decent writing implement.

Surgery was possible, but it would pull him out of school for far too long, and cost more than he was willing to spend without the proper insurance. He was far too close to graduation and couldn’t afford the recovery time, mentally or financially. At least, not yet. For now, he would bide his time and push onwards towards his end goal.

He sighed as he pressed his pencil into the cleared sharpener and twisted. For now, he would make due. The pens Patton had recommended were more than satisfactory, but he only had a small budget for his supplies.

He removed the pencil and examined the now sharpened tip. The graphite was uneven, but pointed enough for his note taking, though the wood around it was rough and almost fuzz-like. It would smudge the graphite’s markings if he wasn’t careful. Luckily he was accustomed to such cheap craftsmanship and could make due with what he had.

He set the sharpener aside and took stock at the desk before him. Everything had its place. His box of untouched pencils sat perfectly parallel above his notebook, directly right of his lamp. His three subject college ruled spiral was open to a half written page, marked with a small blue tab indicating that it was on the topic of Mathematics (specifically Number Theory). Behind the blue tab, a number of tabs could be seen, neatly lined along the pages, each representing a different course. To the right of his spiral lay five sharpie brand highlights, each a different color, placed in a perfectly straight line. Every color had its purpose, just as every tab of his notebook did.

Logan could not compromise when it came to certain tools. He needed a brand of highlighter that would not bleed through his textbook pages or smudge his notes whether he wrote in pen or pencil. He needed pens that were a bit more pricey so as to ensure a smooth glide without bleeding or ink transfers. He needed index cards made of a decent caliber to avoid damage or creases. All of these things were important. Far more important than the way a pencil sharpened, or turned fuzzy or smudged when he tried to erase it.

There was no more room in the budget for any pencils better than the ones that he had and that was that. He would just have to live with the way the graphite would snap when he tried to underline something. He would have to deal with the way the lead would fall out of the faux wood, or the lines seemed muted unless he put more force behind it, which made his hands hurt even worse. It was all a sacrifice he must be willing to make. He couldn’t afford better.

He couldn’t help another small growl as he made a mistake on his graph and moved to erase it, the cheap eraser ripping through the paper. He stared at the spot for a long moment, willing himself to just leave it. It was just a small hole. He could work around it. He didn’t need to redo the entire page.

It was just a hole…

A tiny inconsequential hole…

Miniscule… infinitesimal….

UGH! Logan ripped the page from the spiral, crinkling it in his hands before tossing it into the bin next to him. Everything had its place! Everything was meant to be somewhere and a hole was not meant to be in the middle of his notes!

He pinched the bridge of his nose trying to push away the headache he could feel coming on just as his phone’s alarm began to sound. It seemed more time had passed than he had expected. Logan pushed to his feet, producing his phone and swiping away the alarm as he moved to pack up and head to his first class of the day.

……………………………………………………………………………………………

Logan pushed open the door to their shared dorm, dark locks falling into his eyes as they dripped water onto the mat beneath his feet. He was silent as he kicked the door shut and began to shed his outer layers.

It was late. Far later than it should have been. Logan did not like when things didn’t go according to schedule. His second class ran long, which meant he was late to lunch, which didn’t give him the sufficient amount of time to go to the library as he had planned without skipping his meal. Which made him feel a bit lethargic during his third and fourth class, causing him to forget his bag, which had him missing his train. Which meant he had to wait forty-five minutes for the next one. Then the rain started, which was not in the forecast; which meant Logan’s ten minute walk home had him soaked through completely.

It had not been a good day.

He took stock of the small apartment. Patton must have already gone to bed. The poor man had four a.m. classes. Most culinary students started earlier than the rest of the students. It was no wonder the man was so early to bed. Well, ever since Logan provided him with the optimal schedule for his ideal personal time to study/class ratio that is. It seemed to be working out for him, though Logan didn’t get to see him much anymore, which was surprisingly disappointing. The man was far too chipper, but he certainly knew how to make Logan smile.

Logan headed for his room and the attached bathroom, dropping his bag next to his desk and trying not to drip too much on the carpet. He needed to get out of his sodding clothes before he caught a cold.

Fifteen minutes, a hot shower and some dry clean clothes later and Logan felt like a new man. He checked the time. There were still a few hours before bed. It wasn’t as much as he had hoped, but he could still manage some studying.

He moved to his desk, pulling out his chair and sinking down, thankful the day was beginning to wind down. He pulled his bag closer and dug out his spiral, opening it to the page he had been working on earlier that morning and laying it out neatly exactly where it belonged. He reached for his pencil and…

He froze. His usual box of 12ct #2b cheap off-brand pencils were buried. His heart skipped a beat as he stared at what lay atop them. He couldn’t believe it. Atop those horrid, demonic, sorry-excuse for pencils lay a box of 24ct Dixon Ticonderoga premium wood #2 pencils with latex free erasers.

Logan took a moment to calm his excited heart. Before he knew it, he was reaching out with a shaky hand, collecting the box for examination. The clear plastic had been unopened, each stick perfectly preserved within the transparent packaging. Logan turned the object over in his hands, admiring its beauty as he caught sight of thick black words scrawled in sharpie on the back.

‘To Logan, From Patton. I saw these and thought of you. So, I bought them. It just felt ‘WRITE’! XD’

Logan couldn’t help but give a snort at the joke before fumbling to open the box. It almost felt like Christmas had come early as he pulled one of the pencils from its place among the others and set the box aside. He took a moment to examine the utensil in all its glory before reaching for his sharpener.

He inserted the blunted wood and twisted. Once. Twice. Thrice. He heard the sound of the graphite against metal and pulled the pencil out, bringing it to eye level for inspection.

The sharply pointed lead was smooth and crackless, forming a seamless cone with the sleek pale wood that surrounded it. It had glided so perfectly against the razor’s edge and now stood regal and polished before him. It was perhaps one of the most stunning sights he had ever laid his eyes on.

His chest tightened as his smile widened, moving to redraw the graph he had damaged earlier. He drew the lead across the paper gently, the line coming out smooth and dark. Just as it should be. He flipped the pencil in one quick and fluid motion and erased a small portion, the graphite coming off cleanly and without much force. It was satisfying and rejuvenating.

How could he have ever thought a day like this could be bad?! He had everything he ever wanted! Warm clothes, a perfectly tempered room, his desk organized exactly as it should be, and a friend who cared enough to-

Realization hit, ‘The World’s Best Pencil’ falling from his fingers and clattering to his desk (without so much as chipping the perfectly pointed tip) as he brought his hand to cover his mouth in shock.

His heart pounded against his ribs almost painfully. His other hand tangled in his still damp locks. This couldn’t be happening. He wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. Everything he did was purposefully calculated and scheduled. How could he… He wasn’t…. This wasn’t possible…. But the evidence was building against him.

Logan Sanders was falling in love with his best friend.

Taglist:

@nightashes

[mes-obsessions-89]

Hamilton/Jefferson Tickle Torture Fanfiction (pt. 2)

A/N: This is a requested revenge sequel of my first tickle fic, which can also be found in this Tumblr, DeviantArt, and FanFiction.net account.

A/N: This is purely a tickle torture fanfiction. If that's not your thing, move on.

Alexander couldn't -or maybe wouldn't- stop thinking about what Jefferson had done to him. He wanted to get back at him, but how? It's not like Jefferson would have his guard down at work or anything.

"I'm serious, Laurens; that's what happened," He explained to his friend, a light blush dusting his pale cheeks, "I know it sounds ridiculous."

"You're right," John chirped back, "It does." He heard Alex let out a sigh before he gave in. "But I believe you. Jefferson is a freak."

"So you'll help me?"

"I guess. What were you planning on?" The question was asked a bit nervously.

"...I think we need Laf. Jefferson won't trust either of us with anything."

Lafayette really wondered how he had gotten involved in this mess. He should have made a run for it when Alexander asked him for a "little favor". But he hadn't.

He knocked on the well-polished door of Jefferson's house, only to be greeted seconds later by the devil himself.

"Come on in," Thomas said warmly, allowing the Frenchman to enter. He had always been friendly to Lafayette, which made him feel a little bad about what he was there for.

"Merci. Ça va?" Laf tried to make a bit of small talk, hanging his coat on the wooden rack near the door.

"Not too great, actually. I laid out a plan to erase the company debt, but Hamilton can't admit when I have a good idea. He's fighting it tooth and nail," Thomas rambled on, as his favorite topic to complain about had come up, "And he'll get his way, like he always does."

Laf had zoned Thomas's bitching out after the first sentence. He waited for the garrulous man to take a breath so he could get a word in. "Sounds like you could use a massage?" He suggested, hoping his part in this mess would be over with soon.

Thomas took a moment and considered declining, but... "Ah, why not? You're a good friend."

Just like that they ended up Thomas's bedroom, with Lafayette rubbing the other man's back. He worked at the knots until he heard Thomas's breathing get more regular, at which he asked his half-asleep friend to roll over.

Thomas did so without much thought. Lafayette took the opportunity to climb off him, reaching for cuffs he knew Jefferson kept on all four corners of the bed. How he knew that... is a story for another time. He slid Thomas's left wrist into the cuff, glancing at his face to make sure he wasn't giving a "what the hell?" expression. To the Frenchman's relief, he wasn't. He took his time, working his way to each corner of the bed and restraining each of Jefferson's limbs. Thomas, still half asleep, either didn't notice or didn't care.

He noticed when he felt Laf climb off the bed. "Hey... what's going on?" He asked, looking up at his friend.

"I-I... je suis désolé," Lafayette said not so smoothly before exiting the room. Thomas had never been more confused. Was he being robbed? By Lafayette of all people?

He heard two sets of footsteps returning, and, to Thomas's utter dismay, neither of them belonged to Lafayette. "Hamilton, what are you doing?" He demanded immediately. "And why did you bring your boyfriend here?"

Alexander rolled his eyes, taking a seat on the side of the bed. He'd been looking forward to this. "Tsk. You're in no position for that kind of attitude, Jefferson," He smirked, quoting the line Jefferson had used against him. "We're just going to have some fun. Like we did in my office, remember?"

"We came to a deal that you didn't keep," Jefferson replied, trying to keep as much dignity as he could, given his current position. "And this has to be illegal on some level."

"What're you gonna do?" Alexander teased, "If you want to go report a tickle attack, I'll be happy to do the same."

John, who had remained silent, moved to sit opposite of Alexander, sitting between Thomas's shins. He was quick to remove Jefferson's socks before waiting for his best friend's cue.

"Hey, stop that!" Jefferson protested, though his limited ability to squirm proved useless in preventing it. Alexander began to unbutton the older man's shirt, smiling pleasantly.

"John, go ahead."

Upon hearing this, Laurens ran his fingers down one of Jefferson's feet, provoking a kick and a "Cut it out!" from the restrained man. John simply chuckled and started to wiggle his fingers against Jefferson's soles as Alex tormented his ribs, methodically poking and teasing.

"Y'know, Jefferson, I never thought you would be this ticklish..." Alex reveled in his enemy's laughter.

Jefferson struggled against the cuffs, but, of course, they were on too well. It was only made more humiliating by the fact that Thomas had been the one to put the cuffs on the bed. "H-Hahamilton!" He forced the name out of his mouth as giggles escaped. Alexander was gentler now, lightly dragging his fingers along his belly. John's tickling had slowed also to soft scratching on his heels.

"Yes, Jefferson?"

"Stop this!"

"Never. You've earned this." With that, Alexander dugs his hands into his victim's sides, drawing a laughing fit out of the older man.

Only a full minute later did Jefferson get a reprieve from the two. Alex stopped to push Thomas's hair away from his face, pulling his shirt further away from his torso right after. "You're right, Thomas, this is fun." He produced an electric toothbrush from his pocket, being sure to let the trapped man catch a glimpse. "I got this just for you. Don't worry; he's got one too," Alexander teased, gesturing slightly to his partner in crime.

"Hamilton, I swear. You've made your point. Just cut it out," Jefferson started, really trying not to beg. He knew he couldn't beg, not to Hamilton.

In response, Alexander only hit the tool's switch, breaking the room's silence with its buzzing. He brought it toward Jefferson's side threateningly, satisfied with the man's sudden attempt to break out. "Aren't you into this, Jefferson? I thought you would like it." He didn't give his hostage any time to argue before he pressed it against his torso, dragging it up and down his ribs.

Jefferson spazzed, pulling on his cuffs (damn his decision to go with the high quality ones) and squirming away from the attack as much as he could. He could feel his other assailant attack his feet with his own torture instrument soon after, pushing him further into the insanity he was pretty sure he was descending into.

Alex adjusted to better hold him down. He ran the toothbrush in a spiral shape, slowly closing in on his victim's navel. He worked silently now, enjoying Jefferson's laughter. He glanced down the bed at John, who was haphazardly inching his toothbrush over Jefferson's feet: the balls, then down to his soles and around his heel.

As he felt Hamilton dig the toothbrush into his belly button, he gasped for air and hit a breaking point. "Pl-lease, Hamil-ton, I won't gehehet in y-your wahahay!" He stuttered out, fighting his shortness of breath and fits of laughter.

"What was that? Please what?" Alex teased, moving the toothbrush back down to just below the waistband of his slacks.

"Stop this! Plehehease, Alex!"

John's assault on his feet stopped, as did Alexander's on his torso. "So you're going to stay out of my way and let me do my job?"

"Yes..." Thomas muttered, suddenly exhausted and extremely embarrassed.

"Hm." Alex huffed softly before bending down to blow a raspberry on Jefferson's firm belly, eliciting a sound which was comparable to a squeal. "And you're not going to tell anyone about this?"

"Never!"

"Then thank you for your help, John." Alex smiled pleasantly, uncuffing one of the man's ankles. "I can take it from here."

John quietly exited the room, happy he was excused from Thomas's potential rage when he was freed.

Alexander finished freeing Thomas from his bed. "Don't be too mad at Laf. He didn't know exactly what we were doing. And Laurens was just doing me a favor."

"Do you have nothing better to do on a Thursday night, Hamilton?" Jefferson's attitude had returned.

Alex simply shrugged. "Eliza and the kids are out at her father's." He then dismissed that subject, picking up his toothbrush and holding it up to Jefferson. "Don't make me do this again. Because I'd be happy to."

"Good to know you're a freak as well."

[desideratvms]

╰☆╮[ HARRY STYLES / ARETE / ANANKE / MUSE 30 ] / [ KENNEDY KING ] is a [ TWENTY-ONE ] year old [ NEUROSCIENCE ] major. [ HE ] is known for being [ HARDWORKING & BRILLIANT ] but [ STUBBORN & SELFISH ].  when i think of them, i imagine [ PITCH BLACK COFFEE, SLANTED KNOWING SMILES, EYES ROLLED BEHIND YOUR BACK ]. and even though they’re a proud HU student now, we all have our roots. theirs run back to them being a [ MHP ( AER ) ] graduate.  i asked around and it turns out they [ AREN’T ] an AOP student. in their interview, they managed to woo the admissions team by [ PRESENTING HIS PROTOTYPE OF A 3D PRINTED SPINAL DISK ]. i guess that’s all there is to know! unless… 

                          penned by: ☆  MOON , 24 , THEY/THEM , & EST

statistics:

FULL NAME: kennedy james king. NICKNAME(S): he prefers his full name, but gets ‘ken’, ‘kenny’ and ‘king’ often. AGE: twenty-two. BIRTHDAY: november 1st. GENDER: demiboy. PRONOUNS: he/they. ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: panromantic. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: pansexual. MAJOR: neuroscience ( pre - med ). HEIGHT: 6′1". MORAL ALIGNMENT: neutral evil. MBTI: ENTP HOGWARTS HOUSE: slytherin. TRAITS: ambitious, intelligent, disingenuous, judgmental, quick-witted, selfish, petty, passionate, outgoing, charming.

short bio blurb.

for your first few years of life, your cries are met with warm consoling arms, kisses over scraped knees and meals around the dinner table. as you grow older, the concept washes out of sight like a salty tide: slowly, then all at once. your parents draw the lines and your nannies color them in, and with time you realize you might in fact be the only kid in history who doesn’t resent them for it. not one bit.

a son of two brilliant surgeons, your life has been filled with ten-minute holidays and interrupted birthdays. as you grew to understand it, you discovered you hardly minded much. after all, you inherited your parents’ desire for medicine and excellence, and you aspire to be so busy one day, crave it, actually, so you fill your need for attention elsewhere and allot the rest of your time to achieving perfection. you’re in the stars and you know it; there’s no time to hold success against the people that drove you there.

though your family’s social circle shifted its orbit to the rich and powerful, they remain grounded as ever. for this, your ego is your best kept secret at home. mother and father would grill you for your narcissistic reputation, so you hide it when you’re back for the holidays behind big smiles and perfectly roasted turkeys. they want you to be proud, not arrogant, but it’s not your fault: you just can’t help that you’re always right.  

if you fall, though, you fall far –- the kings don’t throw money at problems.

they solve them.

your desire for greatness burns bright in your belly and your affinity for it has a habit of taking over the more tender parts of your heart. you’re not cruel, just destined, and nothing puts you on your toes faster than a threat, so you remove them. poll ten people and seven might think you brutal in your ambition, but all is fair in love, war and the pursuit of knowledge.

you’re focused but more romantic than what meets the eye.  while chocolates and flowers aren’t your forte, but loyalty and dedication are. there’s no better lover than one who has a habit of sinking its teeth into anything they love, and you’re a dog whose never given up a bone in his life.

your softer inner workings are there underneath and you’re not ashamed, not at all, they’ll bring you the other piece of the puzzle one day. someone to help you hold that trophy high above your head and someone to smile while they do. vulnerability doesn’t set you back; it propels you, but you’re still skating around how to equip it just right. you’re prone to using words like fire to mask your ego, and communication fizzles out by a stinging touch.

now, you turn your head toward the future. the snap of latex gloves and the slice of a scalpel. the desire to invent, to perform, to heal – anything along the way is a blip, a moment, but nothing that can’t be solved when you refuse to stop. your fate is in your hands.

background breakdown.

kennedy king is the son of two famous surgeons: dr. amanda peele-king ( mostly known as dr. peele ) and dr. jason king. both have made several advancements in their fields, dr. peele herself working on innovative tools to advance laparoscopic surgery as a general surgeon, and dr. king as a renowned cardiothoracic surgeon.

although his parents were absent more often than not due to their demanding work lives, kennedy knew from a young age that he wanted to follow in their footsteps. raised mostly by various nannies over the years, kennedy was bothered when he was younger when his parents didn’t make it to every recital; however, this was mostly erased as he grew old enough to understand their occupations.

it was love at first sight when kennedy visited the hospital. maybe not the bloody surgery part, but medicine in general, the intense need to know about the body. why it worked the way it did. he was absolutely fascinated. the time he did spend with his parents was used to soak up all the knowledge he could, and they never minded much. it gave them common ground to love the same thing, much unlike his older brother that didn’t have the same drive and passion for medicine the way he did.

the kings were glad to have one son that wanted to follow in their footsteps, and so even if there’s a large distance between them at times, kennedy has always had a fairly good relationship with his parents, even if that comes with immense pressure

personality breakdown.

to say he’s a perfectionist is an understatement. he simply refuses to go into a field and be the flop of the family, so his pursuit of knowledge is pretty unparalleled. he takes his studies seriously, and doesn’t really relate to the college life of skipping 8ams to nurse hangovers.

not that he doesn’t have them -– but we love a man that perseveres.

wish i had his confidence of just assuming everything’s going to go his way. his label means force or necessity, and that’s because kennedy has a way of making things working in his favor with pure force. ‘kennedy, aren’t you worried you’ll fail?’ ‘no.’ ‘how?i’ ‘because i won’t let myself. duh’

although he doesn’t have the softest personality due to the lack of being hugged as a child, kennedy, at his core, isn’t entirely evil. he’s capable of caring about people and does. he’s a passionate person, and that can translate to love and loyalty for the right people. he doesn’t half-ass anything, so when he commits it’s on.

still, the boy has quite an ego. for him to think something is good enough to commit to takes a bit. he’s got particular taste, never backs down from a fight, and almost annoyingly always thinks he’s right. his ambition can sometimes blind him to the point of selfishness at times, even if his heart is in the right place.

he’s got his good qualities, though! for someone he loves, he’s there. he’s quite dependent when he wants to be, and he’s smart as anything. if you need help getting out of a jam, his brain is basically hardwired to know how to land on his feet.

kennedy is very organized and put together. never catch a wrinkle, even on his plain t-shirts. he shows his love through helping: he’s more likely to help you clean your dorm or organize your study notes for your test than deliver a monologue on his love for you, but it counts! you just need to know what to look for.

a brat but sometimes a lovable brat.

wanted connections.

a best friend. kennedy grew up without serious parental figures, so i’d love a childhood best friend with him that accepts him for his serious personality flaws. he would be hella ride or die for this person, which he isn’t for much of anyone else, so that means quite a bit! someone to keep him grounded, call him out on his bullshit, but not completely destroy his ego.

exes. honestly, kennedy can be quite the petty man. i can envision a lot of ugly breakups in his past OR we can plot some exes on good terms! he’s not totally emotionally stunted, can be quite a good boyf when he wants to be, but also a complete nightmare too. any gender feel free to apply!

hookups. self-explanatory. college life. the nature of their relationship will be entirely dependent on the muses and their dynamic, but kennedy isn’t always the nicest to his casual flings depending on their dynamic. some friends with benefits could work, though, for positive casual connections.

enemies. okay, look at this bratty bitch. there is no way he doesn’t have some, if not many, enemies. he has a temper and doesn’t like to be told no, so if you ever wanna verbally spat it out, feel free. he won’t swing, tho. those are surgeon’s hands, baby.  

hate-to-love friendship. someone dopey or complete unambitious that somehow kennedy still loves despite them being total opposites. he doesn’t get why they don’t do their assignments, or why they fall asleep drunk in the bathtub twice a week, but he really can’t deny that they amuse him and he cares about them.

[in-arlathan]

Lessons Learned

Time period: 9:41 Dragon Characters: Female Lavellan, Sera, Dorian Chapter: 1/1, Length: 3,492 words Rating: PG-13

Summary: Sera was wounded in an attack by the darkspawn. Refusing to let Dorian heal her wounds, Lavellan steps into help her. As she patches her companion up, Lavellan tells Sera stories from the past, remembering her father’s legacy and her responsibility as Inquisitor.

A/N: I wanted this to be a short and cute piece about Sera and Lavellan getting to know each other, but it turned more into a Lavellan backstory exploration mid-way. Buuuttt I kind of like it. If been wanting to write more about my Elenara’s time with the Lavellan clan, so I’m glad this happened. I wish you a wonderful time reading this! <3

You can read this on AO3, too.

____

Even before she reaches the tent, she can hear Sera scream.

“Touch me and you'll be very sorry!” the young elf shrieks. “I don't need your help!”

“But you do,” the voice of Dorian insists. “Your arm needs proper treatment. With a quick healing spell ....”

“I said no,” Sera clarifies, sternly.

“I see the two of you are having a good time,” Elenara says as she enters the tent and takes a look around. The bedrolls are in shambles, except for the one that is occupied by Sera. One side of the tent was torn in half by a blade during the most recent fight, but someone has already patched it up. The stitches look like the job of an amateur, but they will do, at least for now.

“Inquisitor!” Sera yells. “Tell the Tevinter to go bother someone else.”

Dorian lets out an agitated huff, then turns to Elenara. “Maybe you can talk some sense into her,” he says. “If her wound is not treated quickly, she will catch an infection. The flesh will fester and…”

“I know,” she replies and places a hand on Dorian’s arm. “I’ve seen wounds like these before.”

“Then you know how dire her situation is,” Dorian says. “She is lucky the darkspawn didn’t give her the blight. But even something simple like the cut of blade can be fatal.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks!” Sera grumbles. “Thanks for reminding me how lucky I am to be alive. If we had people guard the camp, like I said, we could’ve fought them in no time.”

Elenara swallows, steeling herself against Sera’s wrath. As much as she hates to admit it, her companion is right. There should have been soldiers patrolling the perimeter. It was her, Elenara, who had chosen to not give the command.  She was under the impression that their recent conquest of Caer Bronach was enough to keep her troops safe, but she was wrong.

So very wrong.

While she and three of her companions were out scouting for any sign of Hawke and his mysterious contact with the Grey Wardens, a group of darkspawn had emerged. They had attacked the camp shortly after sunset when all of the soldiers were preparing for the night. Only a small number of scouts had been set for the nights watch, all of them killed by genlock archers. It was thanks to Dorian, Sera, and the Iron Bull that the camp was not erased from the face of the earth in its entirety. When the darkspawn had crept up the hill and murdered more and more scouts, they had taken command over the remaining soldiers to prevent them from panicking. With fire and iron and a cascade of arrows, the three of them had managed to cast back the tide of tainted creatures.

Their bravado saved them. Yet, most of the tents were torn down or shredded. Dozens of new requisitions were destroyed. Even some of the food supplies took serious damage. Now, the group will need to ration until new goods arrive from Caer Bronach.

There is a bright spot to this mess. Considering the number of darkspawn that attacked the camp, the damage to the people and the supplies could be a lot bigger. Still, Elenara hates herself for not expecting an attack in the first place.

“It’s no use to thinking about what could have been,” she says, not quite sure if she is talking to her companions or herself. “I’m just happy you’re alive and well. As for the wound,” she nods towards Sera, “I can take care of that, if you like.”

Sera’s brows furrow in a way that seldom means anything good. For a moment, Elenara expects the younger elf to jump up from her bedroll and through a temper tantrum. But instead, Sera simply lets her shoulders drop and sighs deeply.

“Alright, patch me up,” she says. “As long as you don’t use magic. Don’t want any of that frigging stuff near me.”

“Don’t worry, I have as much magical talent as a nest of nugs,” Elenara assures her with an encouraging smile. To Dorian, she adds. “Please bring me water, a bottle of alcohol – the strongest you can find – as well as threads and a needle. Oh, and also a clean piece of cloth, if you can find one in this mess. The lieutenant should know where to find these things.”

Dorian’s gaze flicks to Sera, then back to the Inquisitor. “Fine,” he breathes, finally giving up on forcing his magical help on Sera. “I’ll be back.”

“Thank you, Dorian.”

“You’re welcome.”

The Tevinter mage secures his staff behind his back and steps outside. The tent’s flaps rustle as they fall back into place.

Once they are alone, Elenara steps up to Sera’s bedroll and drops to her knees beside it. “Let me take a look,” she says softly and gestures towards Sera’s wound with one hand. Reluctantly, the younger elf lowers the old piece of cloth someone gave her to stop the bleeding and lets Elenara examine the cut on her right upper arm.

“It’s deep, but it looks like the blade didn’t hit the bone,” Lavellan explains. “I’ll sterilize the wound with alcohol and stitch you up. It’ll hurt for a while, but when you give yourself a little time to rest, everything should be back to normal soon.”

Sera gives her a quizzical look but is robbed of the chance to say something when Dorian returns.

He hands Elenara a small satchel containing various items including a waterskin, a bottle of Antivan brandy and a sewing kit. Miraculously, he also found a piece of cloth that was relatively clean.

The tools are far from ideal, but she will try her best regardless.

“You’re sure you can manage with that?”, Dorian asks, sounding skeptical. “Shouldn’t we send for a healer from a nearby village or something like that?”

Elenara shakes her head. “We’re too far out in open country,” she replies. “Even on horse, it would take a day to get back to Crestwood to get help. We cannot wait that long.”

Sera lets out a huff. “That’s reassuring.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve stitched up people under more adverse conditions.”

That gets both Sera’s and Dorian’s attention. “How so?” the younger elf asks, seizing Elenara up and down. “Thought you were a hunter or something before joining the Inquisition?”

Elenara removes her gloves and cleans her hands with a few drops of water from the skin. “That’s right,” she admits, then starts to imbue the cloth with the Antivan brandy. “This might hurt a bit,” she warns and presses the soaked cloth onto Sera’s wound.

The younger elf inhales sharply. “Andraste’s breeches!”, she hisses. “‘A bit’? That’s a frigging understatement.”

“You wouldn’t have to endure this if you’d just let me use magic on you,” Dorian points out, lips twisted in a disgruntled way.

“Your magic can go endure itself,” Sera spits, then comes up with more colorful swearwords as Elenara’s cleans her wound. “Holy shit-crap… Maker…”

Despite himself, Dorian laughs.

“Hold still,” Elenara says as gently as possible. “I’m almost done.”

She rubs the wound one more time, then tugs the cloth in her belt and reaches for the sewing kit. With the needle between her lips, she measures an arm’s length of yarn from the reel and yanks it off. It takes her two attempts to thread the needle, but then she is good to go. Out of practice already? she askes herself.

Before she gets to work, she grabs the bottle of brandy and holds it out to Sera.

“Here, have a sip and relax. What comes next won’t be very pleasant either.”

“Oh, great…” Sera moans. The young elf takes a giant gulp from the bottle and shakes from head to toe as the alcohol burns its way down her throat.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Dorian says. “Now that our young archer is in safe hands, I can go and find some other way to clean up the mess these darkspawn made.”

Elenara gives him a warm smile. “Thanks, Dorian. I appreciate that.”

He dismisses her gratitude with a casual wave of the hand and sly smile. “Don’t thank me yet. The night is still young, after all. If we don’t find the darkspawn nest, everything can go tits-up as our young friend here likes to call it,” he says.

“Well, it’ll be great, if it didn’t.”

“I agree,” he says, a soft glimmer in his eyes. “See you later, Inquisitor.”

And with that, he leaves.

She takes in a long breath, then turns to Sera once more. The young elf watches her intently, the corners of her mouth pointing downwards in an expression that got caught somewhere between anger and suspicion.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Sera says and rolls her eyes.

“I’ll do my best,” Elenara promises and leans forward. Ever so carefully, she punctures Sera’s skin with the needle and pulls the thread through. Fully focusing on her work, she doesn’t hear Sera hiss and swear under her breath as Elenara patches her up, stitch by stitch.

She is halfway through, when Sera looks at her once more and Elenara’s gaze flicks up to meet hers. Some of the anger has vanished from her companion’s face, she notices. It is a relief, truly. More than she likes to admit. There are days, in which Elenara half expects Sera to steal her breeches and pepper her body with arrows just for being “too elfy”.

“How did you learn to stitch up people like that?” Sera asks.

“Back with my clan,” Elenara explains. “Hunters cut themselves all the time. Sometimes they slip and fall, scraping themselves on a rock. Sometimes they run into bandits and have to fight them off. More often than not, they get cut by a knife or stabbed with an arrow, with no time to get back to camp. That is when a talent for needlework comes in handy.”

She waits for Sera to say something, but when her companion stays silent, she continues.

“Most of my practice didn’t come from patching up other hunters, though,” she admits and lifts her chin, so her companion can see the ragged scar that runs from Elenara’s left ear down her jawbone. “I was twelve when my father took me out on a hunt for the first time. He told me to set up traps in the forest and I did as he commanded, but I was not what you would call focused. My mind wandered around, thinking about this and that, no care in the world. I didn’t hear the bear coming for me until it was too late.”

Sera’s eyes go wide. “You fought with a bear? As a girl?”

“I was attacked by a bear,” Elenara corrects. “When I heard it charging, I sprang to my feet and turned around but I had no time to draw my bow. The bear jumped toward me and all I could do was dodge. Then I felt a sharp pang at my jaw and blood spilling over my chin and neck. The bear had hit me with one of its claws and cut my skin in half.”

“Ugh!” Sera exclaims. “Sounds nasty.”

“It was. I only survived because my father was close-by and took down the bear with three clean shots. I was still lying on the ground with blood gushing all over my clothes when he killed it.”

“He was quite the archer, your old man, then?”

“Yes, he was.”

“And he made you patch yourself up?” Sera asks, curious.

Elenara nods. “My father could have brought me back to camp for our keeper to take care of my injury, but he didn’t. Instead, he took me to a small creek in the woods where I could wash my face and told me to stitch the wound myself. So you may learn to take better care next time, he told me.”

Sera snorts. “How very kind of him.”

“He wasn’t wrong, though.”

“Yeah, how so?”

“My father wasn’t the best hunter in my clan because he was could shot a deer from twenty leagues away. He was the best because he had nothing but the deepest respect for all living things,” Elenara says as she goes back to work. “And while I sat by the creek and tried to stitch my own wound, he told that even predators such as bears had their place within the natural order of things. To him, it was obvious that, in my carelessness, I had posed a potential threat to the bear. Therefore, it was only natural for the beast to attack me. It wanted to fend me off to protect itself. I felt deeply ashamed of myself. I knew I had disappointed him. The only good thing to come of this was that I never trod lightly in the forest again, afterward.”

Elenara feels her cheeks color as she remembers the expression on her father’s face. Even after all these years, she still felt the pang of guilt that had hit her that day by the creek.

What would he think of his daughter now?

She had gotten an entire squad of Inquisition soldiers into trouble with her recklessness. And not only that, if her friends hadn’t been there to fight in her stead, the entire camp would’ve been wiped out. It was the bear attack all-over again. She, wandering around, lost in thought, too carried away to remember even the most basic dangers of this world.

Take better care next time, she hears him say.

Elenara makes the final stitch on Sera’s arm and ties the loose ends of the thread into a knot. “Done,” she announces and cleans the needle with a few more drops of water before putting it back into the sewing kit.

Sera leans forward and tries to examine her wound.

As a moment of silence falls between them, Elenara sits down cross-legged and reaches for the Antivan brandy once more. First, she smells at the bottle, then she takes a sip. The liquid tastes sickly sweet in her mouth and burns like fire, but it’s just what she needs right now. It had been years since she had thought about her father, let alone talked about him.

“And after that first one?”, Sera wants to know and points towards the scar on Elenara’s chin. “Did you patch up other people?”

“Oh, lots of people. Almost all of the hunters, to be exact,” Elenara tells her, setting the brandy aside to put her gloves back on. “I became quite proficient at it after a while. But I started by fixing old armor and clothing. I even sewed a dress once, just to get the hang of things.”

Sera snickers. “You didn’t!”

“Damn well I did,” Elenara says with a grin. “Fetched a decent price on the market in Ansburg, too. Anyway, learning to sew turned out to be pretty valuable. My hands became steadier and my focus increased. It showed in my hunting as well. Though I never reached my father’s level of perfection my father, I became a good enough hunter. I brought home food for my clan and sold some of my clothes in the human villages to help us out with solid coin. It was a good life. A simple life.”

“Hm,” Sera muses, blinking in surprise.

“What is it?”

“Maybe I was wrong about you,” she admits. “All the Dalish I met had were all snobby about the old history and legends and whatnot. ‘We are so much better than you, city elves are weak, over-through the shemlen overlords, you stupid muffs, all that rubbish. Nothing but blah blah blah. But you are not like that.”

“You know that I do honor the elven gods?” Elenara asks in careful tone.

“Yeah, you’re elfy, I get that,” Sera snaps. “But you don’t shove it up people’s arses. You treat everyone with respect and kindness, let them believe what they want to, even if’s nuts.”

Despite herself, Elenara chuckles. “I aim to please.”

Sera giggles. “Was that a hunting joke? Because aiming… haha, y’know…”

“Err…”

“Anyway,” Sera cuts her off. “Thanks for helping me. And for the chat. It’s nice to know your just a person like the rest of us. Your father sounds like a good person.”

“Yes, I enjoyed it, too,” Elenara admits.

She puts the cork back on the bottle of Antivan brandy and tugs it under her arm, together with the cloth and the sewing kit. The waterskin she leaves for Sera to drink.

“I leave you now,” she announces and gets to her feet. “You should get some rest. It’ll help the wound heal.”

“Sounds good to me,” the younger elf says, yawning. Elenara has no doubt that her companion will fall asleep in no time.

She gives Sera one last smile, then draws back the flaps and steps outside. The night air is cold and her breath rises as white mist from her nose and lips. Around her, the camp is still bustling with soldiers trying to get everything back to normal. None of her other companions is in sight. She suspects they have gone out to find the darkspawn nest, just like Dorian told her.

She hurries over to the requisitions table and places both the Antivan brandy and the sewing kit in one of the barrels the soldiers use for storage. The cloth with Sera’s blood, on the other hand, she simply tosses into the campfire and watches it burn in the flames. A part of her wishes for them to take the feeling of guilt and shame from her as well, to burn it away like a hot blade that cauterizes a wound, but when the cloth has turned to ash, she still feels miserable.

Her thoughts keep coming back to her father. In her memory, she hears him laugh at a joke one of the hunters made. She remembers him holding her tight after a terrible nightmare, singing songs and telling tales. When he died, it had hurt her deeply and although the wound was sealed, she knows that it will never fully heal. Elenara will carry the pain of his loss in her heart for the rest of her life. All she could do was to remember what he had taught her.

I will take better care next time, she thinks as she stares into the flames.

She wonders if things would be different if she had stayed with her clan, back in the Free Marches. Would she still hunt with them, searching for a moment of solitude in the woods whenever she got the chance? Or would she pack her things and leave for Ferelden to help seal the breach? Would she even care what happened in the south? She isn’t sure anymore. Her entire life had flipped upside down when she stepped out of the Fade. The days in which her only concerns had been sewing a dress for one of the children or setting up traps seemed so long ago.

Still, the Dalish had made her. Their stories and customs, their culture and lore are ingrained into her very being and the fact that she is one of them gives her a unique perspective on the matter of things. She might as well make use of it and try to move the world to a new place.

With time, she might create a world that would benefit everyone, not just humans. A world in which the Dalish no longer needed to run for their lives and no city elf was made to suffer in an alienage. She would do what everyone deemed impossible, and in doing so, she would put her father’s teachings to good use.

I hope you will be proud of me, then, she thinks and the pain subsides.

“Your Worship!”

It is the camp’s lieutenant, a short and sturdy human.

She turns to look at him.

“Yes?”

“Word from Seeker Pentaghast,” he tells her and salutes. “The scout says, she and the rest of your party have found the origin of the darkspawn in a cave to the south-east. Seeker Pentaghast wants to know if you care to join them.”

For a moment, Elenara ponders with the idea to send the scout back to tell Cassandra she is on her way. But then again… she still wears her armor, doesn’t she? All she needs is a new quiver full of arrows and a new set of healing potions.

“Sure,” she says and checks the fit of her gloves. She makes a mental note to talk to Harritt when she returns to Skyhold. The old smith must know where she can get the supplies to manufacture proper Dalish scouting armor. “These darkspawn will attack nobody ever again.”

With that, she straightens her shoulders, ready to face another fight.

It was time for her to become who she was always meant to be.