#tumul

[exlibrisarchive]

[randomwriteronline]

Tumul loves Tuyet.

She is his sister, agile and repentine - not frail, for water cannot break but only slither and crash; not cruel, for she only does what she must. There is no love for pain in her sharp movements, just like there isn't in his own heavy limbs.

They are twins: like Kopaka and Gali Mata. That is how their peers described them, that is how they describe themselves. They became Toa at the same time, trained at the same fortress, worked on the same missions, sparred with the same weapons. He can see what she can only guess, she can go where he can only imagine; the swiftness of her limbs perfectly compliments the bulk of his form.

She has never lied to him. Not even once.

Tuyet loves Tumul.

He is her brother, still and steady - not frail, for ice does not break nor melt if cold or thick enough; not cruel, for he only does what he must. There is no love for pain in his heavy limbs, just like there isn't in her own sharp movements.

They are twins: like Gali and Kopaka Mata. That is how their peers described them, that is how they describe themselves. They think the same way, talk in the same tone, enjoy the same silence, agree on the same plans, follow the same strategies. She can express what he only ponders, he can know what she can only suppose; the adaptability of his will perfectly compliments the inflexibility of her ideals.

She has never lied to him. Not even once.

She means it, when she promises she will use his power for the right cause, for the greater good, she means it, because he is dying and she was never good at healing (not that it would do much) and this is the only way she can save at least some part of him, she means it, because maybe it isn't the truth but it is right now, and because if she had had her way from the start her twin wouldn't be dying right now.

She means it, she always means it, and there is no need to use a Rode on her because it's the truth: she means it.

Tumul clutches the Nui Stone hard in his hands as he dies in her arms, to exhaust every drop of energy he has within it completely, to follow his twin sister in any way he can.

Tuyet returns alone, her twin brother seeping into her bones like failed cells absorbed in the womb. If she tightens her hand hard into a fist, she can feel a chill seep out of it.

[symmetricalscar]

Tumulation - Savage Blood Domain

[lesdeuxmuses]

Tumulation - Haunted Funeral Creations (HAmmerheart Records, 2023)

[ancientgoddessofegypt]

Astro Notes : Short N Sweet - The power lilith holds <3

Lilith in the 1st - Very strong personalities. Gifted in using the eyes to seduce others. Magnetic. Can fight the demons off of you so please be weary of getting to close if you don't want them to see what hides beneath the surface. There angelic, believe it or not. They're not here to see the world as you see it, they have a taboo personality, yes, but its also because they must learn how to live for themselves and not for anyone else.

Lilith in the 2nd - Cash cow. Can basically get any man to give them what they want. They have to be comfortable in getting under peoples skin, because they can trigger people with how they talk. Insensitive? Not exactly. Just doesn't budge and cares to be 'nice'.

Lilith in the 3rd - Creative freaks. Can use the mind in a million ways, but they still seek out one thing that works for them as they are very passionate people and whatever keeps their attention the most they'll go at it forever. They are use to the attention from people since primary school. So they like to hide a lot. They have a weird mind and they don't care to share it with too many people. If they ever considered writing, they could make some pretty interesting stuff. Sibling rivalries are a thing here.

Lilith in the 4th - Tumulous relationships with family & friends. It's because they're the outcast of the group. I mean, they know a lot and they can't stand for nothing but the truth. But sometimes the truth kills, even when they don't mean for it to be. Can be a hard knock life but they make it worth something. They're no angel, just the universe in the flesh. <3

Lilith in the 5th - Captivating presence. Lovely auras, and amazing bodies. Could be good at dancing. Could be a lil promiscuous. Could be a little dangerous. You never know. Secretive/private about their affairs.. But the stories they have I promise you its like reading a novel. Naturally sensual & can't get enough of them, even if you tried ;)

Lilith in the 6th - Goes hard for groups that aren't seen enough. Can have jealous coworkers or people who want to annoy them and get them out of character. Could also have sensual experiences with co workers. Demands compensation. Could be extremely well liked or hated no in between.

Lilith in the 7th - Spicy individuals. People love to hate them. Could have bisexual allegations from time to time. Most people like to be around them but despise them after a while. Sweet as a pie though, most people allow the rumors to get to them but usually these people are naturally sweet and empathetic. Popular loners.

Lilith in the 8th - Strong personalities. Capable of seeing beyond the veil. Has issues with society due to their daring nature but they do come out ready and swinging. Hypnotic presence. Can heal as much as they can poison, so be careful wit em ;)

Lilith in the 9th - Very beautiful spirits who are the epitome of being carefree. The universe takes them wherever their hearts want to go, and the journey is always something that last a life time. Being connected to someone with this placement could give you the feelings of something amazing. Always hold their hand tight because once their gone its over.

Lilith in the 10th - Dreamy auras. Have a knack for the public and the audience can feel their raw energy. Have haters from all area codes, this just makes them more confident. They know how to appease society well, and they can take on roles that others are too afraid to. This is great placement for lilith to be in.

Lilith in the 11th - Could had to fight to keep their self esteem in check. Due to being outcasted alot, they could of been the scapegoat for a lot of reasons that didn't pertain to them much. With time, they learn to accept that their energy isn't for anyone, and that their value is more than what you can define it. Helpful sweethearts who just wants to be around community that gets them.

Lilith in the 12th - The dream world is a nightmare. My apologies to y'all cause I'm suppose to start it off a little sweet. But this is placement of a witch/warlock. You guys have many gifts that go past the ordinary. And you more than likely come up with some ish down the line. There is a time where you will undergo a lot of spiritual refinement to keep your head going. Don't be afraid of what shows up, it might teach you something!

[megalony]

Exploding Emotions- Part 2

After getting a lovely request and so much feedback, I managed to do a follow up for this Evan Buckley imagine, I hope you will all like it, please let me know what you think.

Taglist: @justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyje @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz @dumb-fawkin-bitch @oliverstarksbae @gimatida @heart-35 @supernaturalstilinski @kyky9103 @wutheringhearts2275 @gay4hotmilfs @itshamleth @chaoticnosleepinfluencer @gs29 @wh0reforsmutstuff @mel-vaz @natashamea18 @chrisevansdaughter @alexandra848484 @deena-beena-weena @targaryenluvs @kpoplover-19 @marvelmenarebeautiful @gillybear17

@zoeybennett @mrspeacem1nusone @zephyrmonkey @estella-novella @eleventhdoctorsangel @kniselle @senjoritanana @shauna-carsley @dottierose @cfdhouse51 @darkfemme1 @rainechase45 @lolalolsstuff @jupiter1700 @ashdoctor @an-aliens-ghost @lunaroserites @houseoftwistedspirits @callsignwidow @winterreader-nowwriter @reneinii @bellsbomb @western-pyro

Evan Buckley Masterlist

Part 1

Summary: While out on a call, an accident gives (Y/n) flashbacks to the night her husband got trapped beneath the fire truck and what happened to her while he was stuck.

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Mr Buckley, please-"

"Off! Off, get off!"

When a blunder of 'fuck off' and 'leave me the fuck alone' spluttered past Evan's bloodied lips, everyone in the room was surprised. He had been stuttering through the simplest of words since they got him in the ambulance, but now he was riled up he wasn't quieting down. And his expletives had been loud and clear.

His arms thrashed at his sides and he fought off the hands trying to push him back down on the gurney.

All the team looked at one another, unsure what to do. They needed him off the gurney and onto the bed, but Evan wasn't making any of this easy. The more Evan thrashed around, the harder he would make it on his leg and the more pain he was going to give himself. Not to mention moving and disrupting his leg could cause damage to the split blood vessels and torn muscles and the bone that was splintered in multiple places.

"Let us get him on the bed." Bobby waved his hand towards Hen and Eddie while Chimney stood in the doorway with Maddie clinging to his arm.

It was going to be easier if the team transferred him onto the bed in the middle of the room. They weren't leaving until Evan was safely in an operating room and right now, he was in the trauma unit in the ER. He was getting a portable X-ray, his leg would be assessed and they would see what kind of surgery he needed and get him on monitors and most importantly, medication.

Hen and Eddie busied themselves carefully twisting Evan onto his right side so they could place a slip sheet beneath him but once he was rolled onto his back again, his hands were moving. He smacked Eddie in the shoulder with a surprising amount of force before he fisted Bobby's shirt in his hands.

"(Y/n). (Y/n)."

"Okay, let's sort you out first, kid, okay?" Bobby held his arms while Eddie and Hen pulled the sheet on the count of three.

Evan screamed. His voice crumbled and the sound pierced through the air when he was jostled onto the trauma bed and the gurney was shunned out of the way.

"I m-missed it." Evan's words came out as a whisper that no one else seemed to hear. His eyes rolled from left to right and briefly tilted to look at the back of his head. He couldn't get his thoughts in order, he could barely see and he felt like he was on a boat, rocking over tumulous waves in the ocean. Everything fizzled out for a few seconds.

All he knew was he had missed one of the most important moments of his life.

His girl was already here. She was already in the world and Evan hadn't set his sights on her yet. He hadn't held her in his arms, he hadn't kissed her or introduced himself. He hadn't promised her the world and told her how much he loved her and everything he would do for her to give her the best life and make sure she was loved every day of her life.

He didn't hold her when she was born, he didn't cut the cord or hear her first little cry. He wasn't one of the first things she saw when she opened her eyes. His daughter had probably been held by ten other people by now, all of them except for him. Nurses, midwives, (Y/n), Maddie. His sister had seen his daughter before him.

How was this right? How was any of this fair?

His senses came back to him in one big hit like the truck had collapsed on him all over again when someone tried to touch his leg. His left leg, the one that wasn't currently split open, automatically jerked and twitched from the pain that radiated throughout his whole nervous system that had been shot to pieces by now.

He did his best to sit up. He didn't want to be laid down because it was making him feel woozy and sick.

He felt a bit better when someone angled the bed up so he was at an angle. He was barely sitting upright and still felt mostly laid down, but it was better than nothing.

His upper lip curled and he huffed when someone started undoing the buttons on his shirt. What were they doing? Why were they stripping him down? His trouser leg had already been cut off near the bottom of his boxers to expose the full extent of his injuries. He gruffed and groaned when he was leant forward and his shirt was pulled off him completely.

But when cold stickers attached to his chest and wires clipped in place, he started to get uncomfy. The ECG machine beeped to life, showing his erratic heartbeat that was far too fast for his own good. And when a blood pressure cuff was slid onto his arm, Evan reeled his arms to his chest and closed his eyes.

The numbers were too high. He was getting more and more unsettled and he was going to crash if this carried on.

He barely felt the lady tapping the back of his hand and inserting a cannula into his vein.

"(Y/n)! I want- I want-" Evan paused for a moment when someone held his arm. Their touch was gentle, their hands soft and their presence so close that his pleading came to an abrupt stop.

He twisted to the left to see who it was, to see if it was his wife like he was been praying for.

It wasn't.

"…blood thinners now, and get a dose of morphine ready. Get the leg in place for a quick X-ray, and I want the anaesthesiologist in here now."

Most of the doctor's words reached Evan's ears, but he was more focused on dragging his arm away from the nurse at his side. He didn't want her help. He wanted (Y/n). He wanted his wife. He needed his daughter. He hadn't seen her yet, were they going to be cruel enough to make Evan wait to see his daughter? Was nine months not long enough?

A bubbling scream erupted from his lips and his body writhed when his right leg was moved. Their touch was tender and slow but Evan felt like his leg was hanging on by a single thread that was about to snap. He didn't like the foam blocks placed on either side of his leg to get a clear X-ray. He didn't like them moving the wires and straps around his fragmented skin to make the shot clearer.

And he hated the small, portable X-ray that was wheeled over his leg and felt like half of his body was stuck in a tanning machine.

All the surrounding bodies stepped back so pictures could be taken and every time his leg was adjusted, his split knuckles bashed into the bedframe and he screamed.

Maybe it would be better if they just chopped the leg off. He wouldn't be in agony if they simply knocked him out and took it off. He wouldn't have this pain, this suffering, this agonising wait.

All he cared about was seeing his girls, his leg be damned.

"I want my wife!" Blood and spit foamed past his lips and acidic tears stained his already bloodshot cheeks as his chest started to shudder up and down against the bed.

He moved his trembling hands to the ECG wires that felt like they had been superglued to his chest. He ripped them off without a second thought and tried to throw them away. He snagged the cannula from his wrist, not caring that even more blood was leaving his body and was going to drain him dry. He had to find his girls, wherever they were. They were too far away from him.

"Mr Buckley calm down. You need to let us help you."

"Buck no don't do that. Stop it!" There was an odd sense of authority in Hen's voice but it fell upon deaf ears.

"I want m-my wife!" His words screamed through the air and had everyone wincing and jerking away from him.

But when one of the doctors grabbed Evan's wrist and shoulder and tried to pin him to the bed, all Hell broke loose. A deafening roar left Evan's lips, his body jerked up from the bed and he thrust his arm up as harsh as he could until his elbow smashed into the doctor's nose.

The doctor stumbled back, knocking into the ECG machine before Eddie grabbed him, saving him from a harsh landing on the floor. Both his hands moved to cradle his nose that was splurting out blood and had officially been broken.

He ripped himself out of Eddie's steadying hands and stumbled to the back of the room. He couldn't help anymore. He coughed into his hands, anger and resentment in his eyes before he looked around the room.

"Someone get his damn wife in here before he kills the anaesthesiologist." With a shake of his head, the doctor headed out the room to get himself cleaned up and assessed by a colleague.

If Evan was going to start breaking bones until he had his wife in the room, then someone had to go and fetch her. They couldn't have him lunging for the anaesthesiologist who they would need to put him under ready for an operating room.

Bobby dragged his hand through his hair and twisted to look at the doorway while Hen and Eddie moved over to Evan. Hen busied herself holding Evan's hips down to the bed while Eddie grabbed his wrists, bracing one knee on the side of the bed so he could lean over Evan and pin him down as he struggled.

A round of "No!" and "Fuck off!" was spat at them, but neither of them listened.

"This is for your own good, if you want that leg then stop fighting us."

"Maddie, is (Y/n) in recovery now?" The pain in Bobby's eyes was evident. He didn't want his daughter to witness her husband in this state, it wouldn't be fair. She had been through an ordeal herself and she had only just had her baby. She would be exhausted and in pain and maybe on meds herself, she didn't need to be moving about she should be resting.

But Bobby knew his daughter. He knew she would be worrying, if not crying and screaming about not knowing the state of her husband. She would want to see Evan and right now, they needed her help.

When Maddie nodded, Bobby brushed the few tears out of his eyes. "Go bring her down here as fast as you can. She's the only one he'll listen to."

Maddie set off into a sprint, Chimney following one step behind her. They would comandeer a wheelchair and snatch (Y/n) from her hospital bed. She would willingly come down to the trauma unit with them once they hurriedly explained what was going on. They needed (Y/n) to calm Evan down because they would end up hurting him to sedate him if he continued to fight.

The remaining doctor and nurses looked at the X-ray images, conferring together in the corner of the room about the damage to the bone. They were all in agreement. They could save the leg if the blood vessels could be repaired and the nerves were in tact, and judging by the way his leg jerked and reacted to stimulant, he had a chance.

"Give me your hand for the IV." Hen turned around with a huff and pinned the right side of her chest and hip down into Evan's abdomen to try and keep him still and in place.

She tried to take his hand when Eddie let go of his wrist, but she couldn't get a good grasp when Evan started throwing his arm out at her. He wasn't opposed to elbowing, hitting and punching his colleagues if they were going to continue pinning him to the bed like this.

"Alright kid." Leaning over while Eddie had Evan's shoulders and left hand and Hen was practically laying on his waist, Bobby grabbed Evan's chin. It stopped him from trying to sit up and prevented him from writhing back and forth so much. "My daughter isn't coming in here with you lashing out at your own team and bleeding all over the place. So get that IV back in and stay put."

As much as Bobby wanted to be understanding, caring, compassionate, and be the father Evan had seemed to make him when they became family, he just couldn't. He couldn't give in to those feelings because they were making Bobby cry and giving in to Evan's lashing out wasn't going to help.

Bobby wouldn't let (Y/n) in here if Evan was lashing out because what if he hurt her by mistake? What if seeing him in a state like this pushed (Y/n) over the edge and sent her into shock? What if it upset her too much and she broke down?

If he wanted to see his wife, he had to calm down just a little and let them help him. (Y/n) wouldn't let Evan fight everyone in the room if she was here and they all knew it.

They were lucky he hadn't been restrained to the bed already for breaking a doctor's nose. Bobby was going to have to have a few conversations and do some pleading to make sure the doctor didn't sue or try and cause problems for Evan after this. But the doctor hadn't seemed vengeful, he seemed to understand that Evan was acting out of trauma and the worst agony of his life. This wasn't how he usually would be.

(Y/n) could hear evan before she set her sights on him.

Her hands were trembling, curled as tightly as possible around the arms of the wheelchair until her knuckles were close to popping through her skin.

The discomfort she felt and the agonising pain she had just been through with their daughter was nothing compared to the symphony her heart was creating from being apart from Evan. The agony she was in from not knowing if Evan was okay, from knowing he was in immense agony and there was nothing she could do about it.

Maybe now she could do something. She wanted to be there when he had been trapped. She had so desperately wanted to hold his hand and kiss his tears away and hold his hand through the mess. But she couldn't. Maybe now, she could calm him through the storm and then be there on the other side when he was out of surgery.

The sound of her husband's screams and tormented, gasping sobs called out to (Y/n) before they were down the hall in the trauma unit.

She pushed up onto trembling, heavy legs that felt like they were made of cement. Her knees tensed and tightened but hersocks glided against the floor as she shuffled towards Evan's room, using the wall as leverage to push herself faster. The dull cramps in her abdomen livened up as she moved, but she didn't care.

The sounds in trauma room three died down when (Y/n) appeared in the doorway. One arm secured around her waist, the other clinging to the doorframe. Hair askew and falling out the bun at the back of her head, eyes heavy, knees trembling and tears drenching her face once again.

Bobby's lips rolled together into a thin line that stopped him from bursting into tears then and there. He kept hold of Evan's shoulders but his eyes stayed focused on his daughter as she hurried into the room.

Both Hen and Eddie let go of Evan and backed away until they were stood at the far side of the room, allowing the doctor and two nurses to take their place so they could continue to assess him and get him ready. And Bobby finally let go of Evan and stepped back, resting one hand on his daughter's back as he leaned over to peck her temple.

As soon as Evan's sights set on (Y/n), a river of tears poured down his face and the ache in his heart overtook the throbbing trauma splitting apart in his leg.

Trembling set in all over his body and he finally stopped writhing against the bed as if all the worry, the tension and the pain had left his body. He didn't realise the nurse had confiscated his left hand so she could inject blood thinners and the morphine into his cannula.

Instead, Evan reached his right hand out towards (Y/n) as his lower lip wobbled and he started to sob.

A shudder ran down (Y/n)'s spine when she dared to look down at Evan's legs and her hand moved to cover her mouth. But it didn't stop a broken "Oh God," from leaving her lips.

It was worse than she expected. Seeing him being dragged free from that truck, he looked better than this. He looked like his leg was still attached and useable and able to be fixed. But seeing him right now, with the muscle split apart, the bone shattered into tiny fragments and all the blood soaked down his leg, (Y/n) felt sick.

Was his leg going to be saved? What would happen if Evan woke up with nothing below the knee? How would be cope? What would they do?

Shock had (Y/n) shaking and spasming, but she forced herself to look away from the tattered mess that was her husband's leg. Her hands reached out and she stood as close to the bed as possible, with her dad stood behind her, close by in case he had to step in.

Reaching her left hand out, (Y/n) shakily dragged her fingers through Evan's hair that was damp with smoke, sweat and surprisingly, blood. She raked her nails through the matted knots and leaned as close as possible while her right hand deadlocked around his left hand that was held out towards her.

"Oh baby," It hurt to crease forward but she didn't care, (Y/n) leaned over and smothered her lips against his temple. She could feel how flushed he was and he smelt of smoke and dirt and burnt rubber.

She inhaled all the different scents until all she could focus on was the scent of her strawberry shampoo that she bought multitudes of because she knew her husband used it every time he washed his hair. Her lips moved against his temple, whispering sweet nothings against his skin while he clenched her hand so tightly she wondered if he was going to break her hand.

Evan had gone oddly still on the bed, the only movement being the trembling that wouldn't stop, even with the high dose of morphine they gave him a few moments ago. After a few broken cries and hitched breaths, Evan turned his head to the right and burrowed his face into (Y/n)'s lower chest. He tried to take deep breaths, breathing into the shirt she wore which he recognised as one of his own along with his pair of joggers.

So that was what she had packed into the maternity bag she made in advance for when she went into labour.

"I- I'm so, s-so sorry-" He couldn't speak clearly for hiccupping and he let go of her hand in favour of binding his arm around her waist. He didn't want to hurt her, but he reeled her closer and smothered his face against her lower chest. His cries got worse when he nudged his nose against her stomach that now felt different.

Empty.

"The only thing you need to be sorry for, is hurting that doctor. You're gonna be okay, baby. It's okay."

She had been told why they were dragging her down to the trauma unit, although the moment Maddie said Evan needed her, (Y/n) was already up out of bed. She would have run all the way down here if her sister in law hadn't of practically heaved her into the wheelchair Chimney confiscated on the way up. They told her Evan was lashing out and he'd accidentally whacked one of his doctors.

They explained they were worried how they would sedate him in this state. No one had seen him so riled up and infuriated and broken before.

"I wasn't t-there… you had… had her alone." The more Evan thought about it, the worse he felt. He wanted to change time. He wanted to go back and put the universe back into place. He wanted to make everything better, have no mangled leg and have his daughter in his arms and the memory of her birth in his mind.

He knew for as long as he lived, he was never going to get over this. The ADHD part of his brain was going to hold this over him for the rest of his life. He was going to be infuriated for as long as he lived that the universe had broken him on the very night that he was supposed to welcome his first child into the world.

He tried to open his eyes, but looking at (Y/n)'s misshapen stomach only made him howl. And nuzzling his nose and lips against her soft bump where there was no longer a baby moving and kicking him made him hold her tighter.

He bound his arm around her back until he was beginning to hurt her and he buried his face into her abdomen until (Y/n) had to tilt her head back and take a deep breath to control her reaction. She didn't want him to know it hurt to hold her tight and she didn't want Evan to feel any worse. If holding her was going to calm a tiny part of him down then that was okay, (Y/n) would bear the uncomfortableness. She had been through much worse tonight, and the night was far from over.

"It's okay, shh." Tilting her head back down, (Y/n) kissed Evan's curls and moved her free hand to brush her thumb across his cheek. She glided her fingers around the side of his neck and slowly moved her thumb up and down his cheek and across his jaw while she pressed sloppy kisses to the top of his head.

"Is she o-okay?"

The tender tone in Evan's voice made (Y/n)'s heart soar, break and melt all at the same time.

She pulled back just a tiny bit so she could bend her knees and move down to Evan's height. Her fingers continued to card through his hair which seemed to be calming him down and keeping him in a soothed state. Her other hand cupped the side of his face and she pressed a chaste kiss to his wet, bloodied lips.

"She's perfect, a-and she's waiting for you." (Y/n) took a deep breath when she heard the door open and felt her dad's hand on her shoulder.

"They need to sedate him now and take him for surgery." Bobby kissed the top of (Y/n)'s head as he squeezed her shoulder. They had given Evan morphine, they had done an X-ray and they had managed to see his nerve endings and his blood vessels were somewhat in tact and could be saved.

He needed to go straight to an operating room so they could start patching him up. With Evan being so enraptured with (Y/n), the nurse had already managed to give him some more medicine through his IV to settle his heartbeat. And she was now prepping something to bring down his blood pressure so he would be stable for surgery.

"Baby, someone's here to prep you now."

A tiny, croaked whimper left Evan's lips and he tried to bury his face in her stomach again, but (Y/n) kept hold of his cheek and nudged her nose against his.

"It's okay, because you're gonna get that leg fixed, and when you wake up, I'll be right here holding your hand. And you can see your little girl, okay baby?"

(Y/n) figured the noise Evan let out was him agreeing with her. His eyes closed and his trembling simmered down for a moment when (Y/n) kissed his chapped lips, tasting the blood on her tongue when they parted. She leaned back up to her full height again which made her stomach feel a bit better. But having Evan tucking himself into her stomach like he was filling the void their daughter had left made her feel queasy.

He stayed compliant, left arm now wrapped around (Y/n) while his right hand was held in the nurse's frail grip so she could give him the medicines to settle his heartbeat and blood pressure.

The anaesthesiologist checked Evan's chart while the ECG clips were reattached to his chest, his leg was shifted and kept in place and the bed was lowered so he was flat on his back again.

"Okay Mr Buckley, once this is in your system, we'll get this mask on you and I'll need you to start counting for me. Don't worry, when you wake up, your lovely lady will still be right here with you." The newest doctor seemed calm and attentive with a charming smile that Evan couldn't see as he was still tucked up against his wife.

He must deal with troublesome patients a lot.

He fiddled with the medicine trolley and once a large dose was in Evan's system to work with the anaesthesia, he found the mask and got the tank turned on.

Evan whimpered again, trying his best to tuck himself into his wife, but no one was having it. He was compliant now, they could move him with ease without fearing a broken bone in retaliation.

"S'alright baby, I'll be here when you wake up." (Y/n) kissed his temple while Eddie gently rolled his shoulders back so he was laid on his back.

She began dragging her fingers through his hair in a soft, rhythmic motion and went back to holding Evan's hand so it wasn't bruising her waist anymore. She could feel tears drenching her face when Evan shuddered at the mask going over his lips. He didn't count like he had been asked, but he tried to mutter something which was as good as counting.

The shaking started to subside the more anaesthesia he inhaled until he was loosening his grip on (Y/n)'s hand. Softly drifting into a calm state of sleep, with the last thing he could make out being (Y/n)'s voice as she murmured "I love you." In his ear.

***

Opening her tired eyes, (Y/n) cast them about the room and soon felt herself waking up immediately when she heard Evan started to mumble.

It took some effort to push herself up from the small cot bed that had been laid out in the right corner of the room and (Y/n) felt her stomach crease and twinge when she pushed up to her feet. All she wanted to do was lay down and go to sleep, but she hadn't slept for over two days now.

As soon as Evan went into the operating theatre, (Y/n) thought that maybe she would get an hour or two of sleep, but her body decided against her. She couldn't sleep, her mind was too wired with the sound of Evan's cries and the mangled formation of his leg burned into her eyelids.

She hadn't been able to settle for fear of seeing Evan come out of that operation with only one leg. She wouldn't be able to piece her husband back together if he lost his leg. And (Y/n) didn't know what she would do if the operation didn't go well.

She had spent the hours cradling her daughter and crying while her parents tried in vain to comfort her and reassure her that everything would be okay.

When Evan's operation was finally over and they got him onto a ward in the recovery unit, (Y/n) made a small request. She was going to be discharged in the morning as long as her baby was feeding properly and all the checks were okay. (Y/n) asked if she could stay in Evan's room until she was discharged. She didn't care if that meant sleeping in a chair, just as long as she and their daughter could be in the same room as Evan so when he woke up, their family would be together.

Bobby and Athena had finally gone home for a few hours of sleep and would be back in the morning. Maddie had been in to see Evan, but he had been ninety percent asleep and high on morphine so he hadn't spoken a word. But she had been reassured her brother was okay and would be on the mend, so she and the team had all gone home with the promise that tomorrow afternoon, they would be back to see him.

Now though, now Evan seemed that he was finally coming out of the anaesthetic and (Y/n) was hoping he would finally wake up and be conscious enough to talk.

Shuffling across from the little cot bed, (Y/n) slowly heaved herself up to sit on the side of Evan's bed. She took his left hand in hers and entwined their fingers together while her right hand gently brushed across the side of his temple. She carded her fingers through his hair and peppered a few kisses to his cheek as he began to groan and twist his head from left to right.

It took a few minutes for him to properly come around. His fingers twitched in her grasp, his eyelids fluttered and little murmurs and noises left his chapped lips before he finally started to wake up.

"Evan, baby, are you with me?" Her fingers tangled through his hair when he opened his eyes and managed to focus his sights on her.

She leaned back to be out the way when Evan moved his free hand and shakily clutched the oxygen mask strapped over his mouth and nose. With one swift yank, he ripped it off his face and tossed it to the side.

"(Y/n)? I- did I…" He pressed his head back into the pillow and arched his chest up off the bed as he tried to draw in a deep breath.

Oh God, why did his mind feel like it had been beaten with a whisk? Why did his body feel like he was floating but with the absolution that any moment now someone was going to yank his chains and have him falling through the air to a harsh landing.

When his eyes opened again, Evan moved his right hand until his fingers were tracing over his thigh, but he couldn't find the will to move them any further past his knee.

Did he still have both his legs?

He could feel tears welling up in his eyes that were aching from the headache forming in his throbbing temple. But when he looked over at his wife, he found comfort in the tepid smile on her lips and the feel of her lips pressing against his cheek.

"Your leg's still there, baby, just with a few bolts and pins to keep the bone in place. You'll be up and walking in no time."

The relief was evident in Evan's features and he allowed a tear or two to slip down his features while he squeezed her hand. He tried to take a few deep breaths. He still had both legs. He would be able to walk soon. It might take some time, but he wasn't going to be learning how to walk with a prosthetic or crutches. He would be walking about soon. He would still be able to do his job.

"Talk to me baby, do you feel okay?"

"I feel high."

A quiet laugh rumbled past (Y/n)'s lips and she leaned down to kiss him, feeling elated when he squeezed her hand and leaned into her touch.

Feeling high was preferable to the pain he had been in last night. It was much more preferable than being in agony or feeling

uncomfortable or sick or drowsy or like he was having a bad reaction to the medication. If the morphine was making him feel high then it was doing its job and making sure he was comfortable and that's what they wanted.

"Good." Her lips formed a smile, but there was something hiding in her eyes that made Evan uneasy. He leaned into her touch, nuzzling his cheek into her palm, but when he saw the tears in her eyes, he felt his heart rate picking up. "Evan, I'm sorry baby. I'm so sorry I wasn't there, I tried-"

"You? Sweetheart it's me that should have been there."

He tried to sit up, but he didn't have the willpower or the core strength and he flopped back into the pillow with a groan. Until (Y/n) let go of his face to press the button beside the bed, tilting the bed up at an angle so he was sitting up rather than lying down.

Sorrow filled his eyes as his right hand moved out to skim his fingers across her stomach. Only a few days ago he had done that and felt kicking against his palm. He had kissed her stomach and told their baby that he couldn't wait to meet and hold them and kiss them.

Now it was all over and he hadn't been there for any of it. He had let (Y/n)) go through something so traumatic without him and he was never going to be able to rectify that.

"You needed me, you needed help, and I- I couldn't help you-"

(Y/n) wondered how things would have gone if she hadn't of been in labour last night. Would she have been able to go to the scene if she wasn't in labour? Would her mum have taken her down there and let her hold Evan's hand while the team got him out? Could she have calmed him down while he was stuck beneath that truck? Could she have calmed him and travelled in the ambulance with him and made some sort of difference when he arrived?

She wanted someone to have been holding his hand through that ordeal. None of the team had told him he would be okay, they didn't hold his hand or kneel beside him to let him know he wasn't alone. Bomber or not, they shouldn't have left Evan alone. (Y/n) was never going to let go of that and she would never forgive herself for being in the hospital when Evan needed her the most.

"I broke every promise I made you. I wasn't with you… you gave birth alone, I- I wanted to be there, to hold your hand, a-and hold her…" When tears started to fall down Evan's face, (Y/n) let go of his hand in favour of cupping his face and pressing a tender, wet kiss to his lips.

"Maddie kindly took your place," Her thumbs swiped beneath his eyes to dry away his tears. "We can't change what happened, baby, but you're gonna be there for so much more. Her first word, her first steps, when she falls and cries and laughs, you'll see it all."

No matter how badly they wanted to change what had happened, they couldn't. All they could do was make sure that nothing like this happened again, and they could move forward.

(Y/n) didn't dare broach the subject just yet about Evan's recovery. The doctor was going to have to explain that he would need another operation to remove the pins, and maybe a third if the bone needed setting again or if any complications arose. Physio was going to take some time and he wouldn't be at work for at least five months, maybe more.

But that would give Evan ample time to be with their daughter. He could hold her and cuddle her to his heart's content. He would be there for her first smile, her giggles, her moving and interacting with them. And in the years to come, he would see her first words and her first steps, he would be there for everything that was important. Missing the birth wasn't much in comparison to what he was going to witness in the future.

"She won't remember or hold it against you that you weren't there, you know. I'd rather you miss the birth and be there for the first word or her first day at school. You'll be there when it counts, that's what she will remember."

Tilting her head forward, (Y/n) pressed her temple down into Evan's chest, smiling against his skin when she felt him kiss the top of her head and weave his arm around to cup the back of her neck. She felt his fingers tangle into her hair and they stayed like that for a few moments until (Y/n) finally tilted her head to look up at him.

"Are you ready to meet her?"

The light that lit up Evan's eyes was one that made (Y/n)'s stomach flip and she felt him bristle against her as he looked around the room. He hadn't thought she would be here or anywhere nearby, but Evan's eyes locked on the small plastic cot he hadn't noticed before at the far side of the room.

His baby was here. His baby girl was sleeping soundly across the room, so close that he should have felt her presence already.

He had waited long enough.

He didn't realise he was shaking until (Y/n) glided her hand up and down his chest and pressed a soft, fluttering kiss against his cheek. She patted his chest and slowly stood up to move across to the cot, feeling Evan's eyes on her with every step she took.

(Y/n) brushed her cheek against her shoulder to try and stop herself from crying when she turned around and slowly perched back down on the side of the bed. Evan was still shaking and he didn't look certain that he would be able to hold their daughter without dropping her, but that wasn't going to stop him.

His arms moved out before he could think about any of it and his teeth sank into his bottom lip as he trembled, desperate for that little weight to be rested in his arms.

A quiet gasp left his lips when the newborn was placed in the crook of his left arm and the movement seemed to wake her up. He didn't mean to wake her when she had clearly been sound asleep, but he was mesmerised by those bright, wide eyes that stared up at him when she came around. Her hands had little mittens covering them so she didn't scratch her nose in her sleep and Evan reached out to remove one of them.

He wanted to see the difference in the size of their hands. All of her tiny fingers could barely curl around his thumb and when he brushed his index finger against her chubby cheek, she actually leaned into the touch.

"She's beautiful." He couldn't help the tears he shed when he looked down at his little girl in his arms.

It took Evan a moment to remove his finger from her tiny hand, but when he did, he carefully shifted his hand around so he was holding her sides, allowing him to lift her up. He held her close to kiss her cheek that felt warm and cosy against his skin, and he tugged the itchy, uncomfortable hospital gown out the way so he could lean his daughter against his chest.

He loved the feeling when she instantly nuzzled herself into his bare chest as if the warmth was reeling her in. He curled his large hand around the back of her head and glided his thumb over the small streaks of hair that felt as soft as silk against the rough pad of his thumb.

The way she smacked her lips against his chest felt like she was trying to give him a kiss and Evan reciprocated the touch by attaching his lips to the top of her warm head.

"We need a name, up to now the nurses are calling her baby Buckley." (Y/n) dragged the back of her hand gently across their daughter's head, nudging Evan's hand before she moved to rest her hand on his arm instead.

Their eyes locked for a few seconds while Evan remembered the little agreement they'd had. They had a list of four names they had agreed on, depending on whether they had a girl or a boy and whoever guessed the gender right got to pick the name. Evan guessed a girl.

"Do you think Lilah suits her?" He mused, not breaking his lips away from her head since his girl was nicely snugged into his chest.

For a brief moment, Evan let his eyes drag away from both his girls and he looked down at his right leg. He had a cast from his foot all the way up to the middle of his thigh. Great. For the next month, he wouldn't be walking without a struggle. It sent shivers up his spine, but he warded away the bad thoughts with the knowledge that he still had a leg and he could learn to walk properly again and he could build up his strength.

He wasn't starting from the beginning with a prosthetic and crutches, waiting to adapt.

"Lilah Buckley it is." (Y/n) murmured softly, leaning across so she could kiss Evan's neck while her hand moved to rest on his good thigh.

She watched him for a few more moments as he got Lilah comfortable on his chest and slowly reclined into the pillows, easing her back on his chest. He still hadn't stopped kissing her temple and the way he was leaning from left to right was slow and almost unnoticable, but it made her smile. She dragged her free hand up and down his arm, gliding her nail across his skin to cause goosebumps in her wake as her head tilted to one side and she grinned.

"You're not gonna put her down, are you?" (Y/n) had a feeling that for however long Evan was going to be in hospital, their daughter was going to remain in his arms.

If he couldn't get up and walk about or carry her, he would be sitting here. Evan would want to feed her, he would want to wind her and cuddle her and get her to sleep on his chest so he never had to put her down. It was going to be hard for anyone else to try and hold her when Evan seemed to want to attach her to his person twenty-four seven.

The way he grinned against their daughter's head confirmed (Y/n) was right, but she didn't mind. She could see the serenity in Evan's eyes and the calmness that was washing over his face. He wasn't bothered about the state of his legs, the pins attached to his bone that was covered in a cast. He couldn't be bothered to think about the nuisance this cast was going to be for the next few weeks.

Evan couldn't even work up the nerve to think about the struggle he had ahead of him. All he could think about was the sense of peace he had now that his daughter was in his arms.

"Never."

[shotmrmiller]

Inevitable (Ending 1 to Situationship)

Pairings: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x AFAB! Reader

TW: Major Character Death, blood, hurt/ little comfort, a g o n y

Simon closes his eyes in defeat. He had been dancing with death for too long, and it'd finally come to collect it's dues.

This particular mission had been long. He knew it would be. Price had debriefed him on it months before— since it would only be them two. They were the seniors of the task force. They've done a similar mission before, so it seemed only natural that they did it again.

But it didn't mean it hadn't been shit since they arrived.

Almost 9 months out in the freezing cold, MRE's every day, waiting for the chance to finally get their hands on vital information that would save millions.

It was a tiny town in Russia, Oymyakon. Home to about 500 people. Soldiers, mostly. The plan had been to wait for a large portion of the small militia to move cities— to another safe house in the nearby city of Khara-Tumul. What prolonged this mission was that while Ghost and Price knew they'd move, they didn't know when. And it had been imperative that the duo get out here not to miss this slim window.

To Simon, this had been a perfect way to not be distracted with the situation back home. With you.

You had been with him for years now, and he always loved going home to you. A warm flat, a home-cooked meal, and the love in your eyes every time he came back from a mission. But then something he hoped wouldn't happen, did. Simon's past chose to catch up with him now. Now, when he finally had something to look forward to in life.

One day, outside his door, was an envelope. He had felt a crushing pressure on his chest. The blood in his veins was cold, and his hands trembled as he picked up the envelope. He squeezed his eyes as he let out a shuddering breath— praying to whatever higher power that the enemies he has made throughout the years don't know about you. He practically rips open the package and his worst fear is confirmed. Photos of you and Simon out on a date. He even remembers the said date because you had been wearing the sexiest leather booties he'd ever seen. Simon had made you wear them as he fucked you into the mattress that night.

Which meant that Simon had to end it with you. He was about to go on a mission for an unprecedented amount of time and he would not be here to protect you. So a month before leaving, he treated you coldly. Harshly. A way he'd never dream of being with you. He would hear you crying in the bedroom and it was a knife to his heart, but to him, it seemed like it was the only way to keep you safe.

Then, a moment he'll never forget. He said that he didn't feel the same for you as he did before. Thought it best if you both went your separate ways and that it had to be within the next two weeks because he was selling the flat and moving away. That whatever of his you had, to give it to him. Any sleeping shirts, photos, and the bloody ring he promised himself you'd wear to your grave.

He was a witness to how you broke at his words. God. He, at that moment. wished his enemies just took him and be done with it. Relieve him of the agony he caused to himself by hurting you. You wailed, agonizingly loud, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and dripping from your chin to the floor for what seemed like hours.

Til your heartbreak turned to rage. You spit venom at him. That if he had another 'cunt' waiting for him somewhere. That if he ever even loved you. You always were his strong merciless woman with fire in your veins and smoke in your lungs. How hard it was to be him, sitting on the couch and blankly stare at the telly without rising to your jibes. To tell you the truth. That there has been no one before you and there won't be one after you. But he forced himself to ignore you as you shoved all of your belongings in your luggage before throwing him the engagement ring and slamming the door.

Gone.

After this, he lived up to his namesake. He was a ghost from your past life. As if he had never been there in the first place. You moved away, far away, and it was bittersweet for Simon because this way you could disappear, out of the limelight. Breathing. Alive.

And he kept an eye on you, from afar. Just to make sure you were safe.

It worked. Both fortunately and unfortunately. You moved on, it seemed. Not from him, which he is so grateful for, but your life went on in every other aspect. It went uninterrupted up until his deployment.

It was supposed to be a simple but long mission. Wait for them to clear out before cleaning house. But even with all the careful planning, and no fucking mistakes, it went tits up.

Somehow they missed one. One fucking enemy. Simon had been standing behind John and turned around after hearing the crunch of broken glass behind him.

One shot to Simon's shoulder, another to his stomach, and then another to the right side of his chest. Before Simon falls, John shoots the last man dead. He throws himself to his knees next to Simon, gloved hands on top of each other as he presses hard into the bullet hole bleeding the most— the one in his ribcage.

"Christ, Ghost. Stay with me, son. We'll get you out of here and patched up in no time, yeah?"

Simon can't hear anything past the rushing of blood in his ears and his own heartbeat, pumping out blood from his wounds with each pulse. Simon's losing too much blood, too fast, and he knows it.

Price is panicking, voice warbling on the radio calling for medevac, but the wait time is 45 minutes. Far too long. And Simon had beat the devil once, long ago. Everyone knows he can't be beaten twice. He opens his mouth and blood bubbles in it as he tries to speak.

"I'm not making it, Captain."

"The hell you're not, Simon, stay with me!"

Simon grabs John's wrist with the little strength he's got left and whispers out, "Captain. John. Please," before digging into the inside of his glove, and pulling out something before clasping it in John's hands and squeezing.

"Please."

John looks at his own hand and nods, eyes glassy with years before he sniffles, clears his throat, and tells Simon of how his daughter had just learned how to argue back when he wouldn't give her any more juice because she's had too much.

Simon is still gripping John's hand as he drops his head back in resignation —before he imagines the family he could've had with you. Pretty little girl with curly hair, your eyes, and all of your attitude. In another life, he thinks, he'd find you there too. In any life, he'd love you.

He wheezes an inhale once—wet, painful— and exhales, and then his chest stills. Hand gripping John's goes limp. John lets out an agonizing scream through his teeth before he presses the button on his radio so hard it cracks.

"All stations— this is Bravo. We got the intel...One KIA."

---

You're in your bed, toasty and warm, when there's a knock on your door. You sharply raise your head before turning to look at the clock.

8 a.m.

'Who in the hell is at my door at this hour?'

You begrudgingly throw the covers to the side, hand on the swell of your belly before rolling up from your side to sit on the edge of the bed, and step into your slippers. One hand underneath your 3rd trimester bump, you drag your feet towards the front door and open it.

A tall man with mutton chops and a black beanie is standing in front of you. He looks down at your heavily pregnant stomach and closes his eyes, softly shaking his head with a, 'Bloody fuckin' hell.'

Your face is contorting into confusion when he opens his mouth to say, "You must be Simon's fiancee."

Your heart starts to pound into your ribcage. You don't even try to refute his claim because you have an inkling of what this is about. 'Please god, no.'

"It is with deep regret that I am here to inform you of the untimely death of your fiance, Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley. He died on active duty, contributing his best to our cause. The reputation gained by your fiance is a fine one, and I hope the knowledge of this affords you pride and comfort during your sorrow. I extend my heartfelt sympathy to you."

Your throat is closing up, choking you as tears well in your eyes. Chest is on fire because you can't breathe and your chin is trembling with the struggle to not weep and fall on your knees. Taking a deep shuddering breath, you clench your teeth. You're livid. Whatever the fuck this is, it isn't good enough for your Simon.

Voice warbly and wet, you hiss, "I could've gotten a casualty letter from the bloody military if I wanted to hear you spew your shit," ending it with a sniffle.

"You're right. May I come in?"

Throwing the door open, you shuffle inside as John steps inside. You're about to sit down when you hear a "Let me.", before the chair you're about to sit on is pulled back. Holding the underside of your belly, you let out a huff as you drop your weight to the seat.

You turn to look at John and you see the clench in his jaw before he opens his mouth to try and speak but he cuts himself off with a clearing of his throat. He takes a second before swallowing and grips the back of one of your dinner table chairs before attempting to speak again.

"Simon was one of my best." Your eyes soften at how frail and shaky his voice sounds.

"He was always at my six. Said it was to be the eyes I didn't have at the back of my head. But I know he always had his facing an open area whenever I was turned around. He died for me. Had he been standing anywhere else other than behind me, he would still be here," and he breaks down, shaky sobs leaving him.

You slowly get up, hand to your lower back before moving to him and giving him an embrace as you wail into his shirt— mourning the loss of a loved one.

It seems like a long time before John taps your upper back and says, "Come. This cannot be good for the baby. You need some relaxing tea, eh?"

With hiccupping breaths, you pull away to look at him before nodding.

"Come. You're gonna make it for me. I wish to get to know what kind of extraordinary man you must be. Simon would not have given his life for less."

He gives a self-deprecating chuckle before he digs into his pockets, before holding his fist out, dog tags glinting under the light and a small white square between his thumb and index. That square has your address written in shorthand and it had a bloody streak over a part of it— the streak the shape of a finger, as if ripped out from someone's hand.

"His dog tags. As well as what Simon on his dying breath. He carried this with him, and by the state of how crumpled it is, he had it everywhere with him."

You take the chain, putting it around your neck— tags resting against your belly— before taking the paper. It's a photo of you. You're in a flower sundress, skin glowing under the rays of the sun with a blinding smile and rosy cheeks. You knew this photo. Simon always claimed it was his favorite. That he loved your smile here because He had made you smile like that.

Your tears are slipping from your eyes and dripping onto your pajamas before picking up the dog tags and pressing a kiss onto the cold metal, then letting them drop. Little baby Riley gives a swift kick to where the tags landed on your stomach.

@thychuvaluswife

[francescosatanassi]

UN MALEDETTO SELVAGGIO

Una storia che non conoscevo. Di fronte alle più alte cariche dello Stato cubano, oggi sono state tumulate presso l’altare dei rivoluzionari di L’Avana, le ceneri di Gino Donè, "El Italiano", come lo chiamavano i suoi compagni. Donè era nato in provincia di Treviso e aveva combattuto come partigiano nella Brigata Piave, ricevendo anche un encomio dal Gen. Alexander per aver salvato un gruppo di ufficiali inglesi nella laguna veneziana. Dopo la guerra cercò fortuna in Francia, Belgio, Germania, fino all'arrivo a Cuba. "Facevo il carpentiere - raccontò nel 2006 - ma avevo il sangue che mi bolliva, dentro ero ancora un maledetto partigiano.” In quel periodo, Fidel Castro era esiliato in Messico e stava arruolando giovani per liberare Cuba dalla dittatura di Batista. Venne a sapere di un italiano che aveva combattuto i fascisti e lo volle con sé come tenente del 3° plotone. Fu Gino a insegnare le tecniche della guerriglia a Che Guevara e assieme a lui, Fidel e Raul Castro, era tra gli 82 che, a bordo dell’imbarcazione Granma, sbarcarono ai piedi della Sierra Maestra. Con Aleida March, futura moglie del Che, organizzò, senza metterlo in atto, un piano per assaltare la sede del comando militare di Santa Clara. Ricercato dalla polizia, i compagni lo convinsero a rifugiarsi negli USA, dove si guadagnò da vivere come marinaio per 3 anni, prima di tornare in Italia. Al suo funerale parteciparono centinaia di persone, tra le quali i funzionari dell’ambasciata cubana con 4 corone di rose inviate in Italia da Fidel. "Mi hanno chiesto se fossi anarchico, comunista, rivoluzionario - raccontò l''unico europeo ad aver partecipato alla rivoluzione cubana - io sono soltanto un maledetto selvaggio. Però osservo il mondo e vedo che c'è sempre qualcuno più povero di me. E oggi, chi dà una mano ai proletari? Forse ci vorrebbero ancora uomini che decidono di essere fratelli."

[voluxpa]

-- TUMUL -- déesse des vents; silhouette féminine dont les traits sont voilées, tunique l’englobant de la tête au pied. souvent invoqué par les marins avant de prendre la mer afin de s'assurer de sa grâce pour des vents cléments. animal totem : l’albatros hurleur.

crédit icons : LUX, crédit idée : GAZAL. nb; cette déesse est une invention sortie d'une imagination fertile et incroyable. je ne peux que vous encourager à zieuter ses pl sur le serment de l'encre que je vous joins en commentaires.

[ambrenoir]

Antonietta Portulano era affetta da "delirio paranoide" che la rendeva pericolosa per sé e per gli altri.

Per tale motivo fu rinchiusa in una clinica psichiatrica nel 1919 e ne uscì da morta nel 1959 , vale a dire che vi restò per ben 40 anni!

Sembra essere la storia di tante persone con la mente vacillante, se non fosse che la signora in questione era la moglie dello scrittore Luigi Pirandello, insignito del premio Nobel per la letteratura nel 1934

Sul dramma della moglie il silenzio di Pirandello fu sempre totale. Nei primi tempi andava spesso a farle visita, ma ne usciva sconvolto per cui smise di andarvi, raccomandando , però , sempre ai 3 figli di andare a trovare la madre.

La sua mente si rifiutava di riconoscere in quella donna insana di mente la ragazza di che aveva sposato dietro consiglio di suo padre e che gli aveva dato ben tre figli.

Per tale motivo la sua fu una vita da fuggiasco:

fuggiva per l'Italia e per il mondo per motivi di lavoro, ma soprattutto fuggiva dalle nebbie della follia che avvolgevano la mente di Antonietta.

La tragedia di sua moglie lo rese uno degli uomini più tormentati della terra e solo la responsabilità dei figli gli impedì di fare il terribile gesto a cui spesso pensava.

Egli stesso non si riconosceva più e faceva fatica a trovare una posizione sociale, anche perché afflitto perennemente da problemi economici. E questo disagio lo riversava anche nelle sue opere, i cui personaggi riflettono, infatti, i tanti dubbi esistenziali che furono i suoi.

Dopo anni di sofferenze e di mal di vivere Pirandello il 10 dicembre del 1936, all'età di 69, morì per una polmonite.

Il regime fascista avrebbe voluto esequie di Stato, ma lo scrittore aveva lasciato precise volontà scritte sulla sua morte nelle quali diceva: " Sia lasciata passare in silenzio la mia morte. Né annunci, né partecipazioni. Non mi si vesta, mi si avvolga nudo in un lenzuolo e niente fiori sul letto e nessun cero acceso.

Carro d'infima classe, quello dei poveri e nessuno mi accompagni...

Bruciate e disperdete le mie ceneri, se questo non si può fare l'urna cineraria sia portata nella campagna di Girgenti. "

Il giorno del suo funerale, pertanto, davanti alla sua casa si vide un misero cavallo con attaccato un carro poverissimo dove fu depositata una bara altrettanto povera.

I pochi amici che erano andati a salutarlo rimasero al cancello guardandolo andar via.

Il grande scrittore parti' solo per il grande viaggio, fu cremato e le sue ceneri furono tumulate al Verano di Roma.

Solo nel 1947 lo scrittore Andrea Camilleri si attivo' perché le ceneri di Pirandello fossero seppellite nel giardino della villa di contrada Caos, dove egli era nato e dove egli voleva che fossero.

* * * * *

"Prima di giudicare la mia vita o il mio carattere, metti le mie scarpe e percorri il cammino che ho percorso io"...

Questo il profondo monito dello scrittore.

Tratto da pagina FB

[total-drama-brainrot]

oh did i forget to mention? duncan wins the comeback by accident blaineley style and this time chris forbids him from jumping out

this was also for the bit tbh

I can imagine Chris keeping Duncan on a child leash during the elimination ceremonies just to prevent him from jumping ship.

Duncan winning the Aftermayhem challenge is so funny to me, because he's thrown straight back into dangerous waters without a paddle into the Niagara Falls challenges; he'll either end up with his (tumulous) girlfriend, the girl who 'allegedly' has a crush on him, a crazy stalker or Heather (since it's established that Lindsay ends up with Tyler). Plus, he's tossed straight into the post-merge game, meaning he won't have the luxury of being divided by teams when the inevitable Gwuncan subplot plays out.

It would also mean that Gwen would've had to make the merge (since he isn't a 'boyfriend kisser' yet, it's understandable that her team wouldn't've voted her out). I wonder who would be eliminated in her place? (Cody? Sierra? Heather? Or would Team Amazon just have an amazing winning streak for all of the non-reward challenges?

There's a lot of potential here for both drama and some great shenanigans. Does he still ally himself with Alejandro? How soon does he get re-eliminated (re-re-eliminated?)?

[universe-in-the-void-in-the-cube]

My headcanon bio for 2P Denmark

Finally got him updated and fleshed out. This is my version of 2P Denmark. Take it or leave it. Also if anyone wants to RP this version of 2P Denmark let me know so I can follow them.

Character Profile: 2P Denmark (Christian Køhler)

Overview

Name: 2P Denmark

Full Name: Christian Køhler

Nickname(s): “Corruption King,” “Gritty Køhler”

Age: 25

Birthday: December 5

Species: Personification of Denmark

Nationality: Danish

Sex: Male

Gender: Cis

Preferred Pronouns: He/Him

Romantic Orientation: Heteroromantic

Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual

Religion: Agnostic

Occupation: CEO

Status: Active in Business and Politics

Fandom: Hetalia

Face Claim: Chris Hemsworth

Relationships

Parents: Unknown; his lineage is shrouded in mysteries that many speculate about.

Siblings: Unknown; separation from the familial ties has led to a complex view of loyalty.

Family: Unknown; he often likens his ambitions to a quest for familial approval.

Significant Others: Currently single, he’s often embroiled in tumultuous affairs that thrive on passion and betrayal.

Children: None; he views parenting as a distraction from his ambitions.

Closest Friends: A powerful network of henchmen, fellow moguls, and elite politicians; their bond is largely strategic rather than emotional.

Rivals: High-profile business rivals and political opponents keen on unveiling his less-than-ethical methods.

Enemies: Investigative journalists and activists dedicated to exposing corporate corruption.

Physical Traits

Eye Color: Deep blue-violet gray, capable of shifting from cold and calculating to warmly charismatic.

Hair Color: Tousled, platinum blonde, giving him an effortlessly stylish look.

Height: Approximately 6'2", statuesque and commanding.

Weight: 160 lbs; his build is athletic without excessive bulk, agile for his height.

Body Build: Athletic and robust, reflecting a lifestyle that balances physical activities with a demanding corporate schedule.

Notable Physical Traits: A sharp jawline and high cheekbones enhance his rugged handsomeness; he often wears sunglasses that complement his mysterious persona.

Phobias and Diseases

Phobias: Intense fear of losing control, manifesting in obsessive behaviors around meticulous planning.

Mental Illnesses: Struggles with imposter syndrome; this manifests particularly in high-stress situations where he fears exposure.

Physical Illnesses: None; his health is largely a reflection of his active lifestyle.

Diagnosis Method: His mental struggles are self-identified through moments of introspection exacerbated by competitive pressures.

Personality

Usual Mood/Expression: Exudes confidence, typically with a sly, knowing smirk.

Moral Alignment: Lawful Evil; operates within the facade of legality while exploiting loopholes for self-gain.

Myers-Briggs Profile: ENTP (Extraverted, Intuitive, Thinking, Perceiving), known for quick thinking, debating skills, and a love for innovation.

Enneagram Personality Type: Type 3 (The Achiever); psychology drives his insatiable ambition.

Four Temperaments: Choleric; he thrives on control and dominates social dynamics.

Astrological Sign: Sagittarius; embodies traits of adventurousness and blunt honesty.

Hogwarts House: Slytherin; his cunning and ambition are emblematic of this house.

Top Five Tropes: Anti-hero, Manipulator, Charming Rogue, Power-Hungry, Moral Ambiguity.

Five Prominent Traits:

Ambitious: Never satisfied and always pushing for more.

Charismatic: Easily captivates and influences those around him.

Cunning: Capable of devising elaborate schemes and unorthodox solutions.

Tenacious: Unyielding in pursuing goals, even against great odds.

Isolated: Lacks genuine connections despite being socially active.

Miscellaneous

Skills: Masterful at negotiation and strategic planning; a dynamo in public speaking and manipulation.

Hobbies: Enjoys networking and competitive sports, often as a means to solidify his influence; he finds solace in reading political thrillers that reflect his tumultuous lifestyle.

Element: Fire; symbolizes his passionate nature and fierce ambition.

Animal: Fox; symbolizes cunning and adaptability.

Plant: Oak Tree; represents strength and endurance in achieving long-term goals.

Further Traits: Thrives on competition; torn between his will to dominate and the yearning for genuine human connection.

Stat Profile

Compassion: 2/10

Empathy: 3/10

Creativity: 7/10

Mental Flexibility: 8/10

Passion/Motivation: 9/10

Education: 8/10

Stamina: 6/10

Physical Strength: 7/10

Battle Skill: 4/10

Initiative: 9/10

Restraint: 4/10

Agility: 6/10

Strategy: 9/10

Teamwork: 4/10

Intellectual Capacities

Musical-Rhythmic Intelligence: 3/10

Visual-Spatial Intelligence: 6/10

Verbal-Linguistic Intelligence: 8/10

Logical-Mathematical Intelligence: 8/10

Bodily-Kinesthetic Intelligence: 6/10

Interpersonal Intelligence: 7/10

Intrapersonal Intelligence: 5/10

Existential Intelligence: 4/10

Naturalistic Intelligence: 3/10

Background Narrative

Christian Køhler grew up under the looming expectations of a politically influential family in Denmark. The pressure to succeed intertwined with the childhood lessons taught by his ambitious parents, guiding him towards a life immersed in power dynamics. Observing political machinations and corporate dealings from an early age, he learned that relationships are tactical battlegrounds where charm is often more effective than honesty.

His ascent in the corporate world mirrored shades of betrayal and strategic alliances. Each victory was painted with ambition, but the price was personal connections that withered as ambition took precedence. While he thrives in the limelight, Christian carries a weight of isolation caused by his relentless chase for power.

Goals, Needs, and Motivations

Goals: Christian seeks to cement his legacy as a powerhouse in both corporate and political spheres. His unyielding pursuit of wealth is balanced by an aspiration to be remembered, not merely as a businessman but as a key player in shaping Denmark's future.

Needs: At his core, he longs for validation from peers and family, pushing him further into a cycle of ambition that often leaves him emotionally empty. The fear of being perceived as inadequate fuels his drive.

Motivations: Christian is propelled by a potent mixture of greed and the exhilaration of outsmarting rivals. The desire to prove himself, especially to critics and naysayers, is a persistent thorn at his side.

Internal and External Conflicts

Internal Conflicts: Despite his confident facade, Christian grapples with imposter syndrome. He often fears that his manipulation has left him exposed, questioning whether his tactics compromise his identity and legacy. The loneliness stemming from his treacherous methods dampens his victories.

External Conflicts: As he navigates the treacherous waters of high-stakes business and politics, Christian faces opposition from rivals determined to unearth his unethical practices. Investigative journalists and activists trail his movements, eager to dismantle his hard-fought empire. Larger societal movements seeking reform aim to challenge his methods, posing an imminent threat to his ambitions.

Relationships

Allies: He maintains a facade of camaraderie with fellow corporate magnates and politicians, yet the nature of these relationships is largely transactional. He knows how to manipulate these connections to his advantage while keeping them engaged in his schemes.

Rivals: Christian operates amidst a throng of adversaries who threaten his reputation and power. This rivalry drives him to greater heights while forcing him to be ever more cunning in his strategies.

Romantic Interests: His love life is chaotic, often filled with passionate entanglements that clash with his ambitions. He may be drawn to those who represent integrity, creating a dynamic tension that allows for rich conflict and exploration of moral boundaries.

Themes and Plot Ideas

Overall Theme: Power and Corruption - This theme explores the delicate balance between ambition and morality, questioning the emotional toll of seeking power and the authenticity of personal relationships amidst manipulation and competitiveness.

General Plot Ideas:

Corporate Takeover: Christian embarks on acquiring a rival company with ethical practices. However, a whistleblower threatens to destabilize his empire, forcing him to confront the chaos his ambitions have wrought.

Scandal Unfolds: With public scrutiny magnifying, Christian must adapt to keep control over his empire while facing the far-reaching implications of his corrupt dealings.

Political Ambition: While aiming for high office, Christian grapples with decisions that pit personal connections against his ruthless career, navigating the murky waters of sacrifice and ambition.

Romantic Plot Ideas:

Cat and Mouse: A determined journalist seeks to expose Christian's corruption, yet their encounters spark an unexpected attraction, leading to a tumultuous relationship underscored by seduction and truth.

A Rivalry Turns Romantic: Intense competition with a morally-driven rival ignites a magnetic tension that complicates the lines between ambition and heartfelt connection, pushing both characters to reconceptualize their values.

By portraying Christian Køhler with well-rounded complexity and depth, we delve into an exploration of ambition, manipulation, and the intricate dance between power and human connection.

[randomwriteronline]

In some of his few restless dreams, Whexie forgives him.

He forgives him for his betrayal.

He forgives him for his weakness.

He forgives him for his cowardice.

In some of his dreams, Nidhiki kills him. In some, he doesn't.

He doesn't know if Whexie really would forgive him for doing what he did - for almost selling the city to the Dark Hunters to save his own skin first and foremost: he likes to think he would, because he knows Lhikan won't.

Lhikan will never forgive him.

He will take this grudge to his grave, clinging to it as hard as he can.

Because they were brothers before they were Mangai, and Nidhiki abandoned him when Whexie was torn away from them.

Oh, what an actor his brother is.

He is the leader of the Toa Metru, protector of the City of Legends, as they call it with no shortage of mockery in the peninsula; as he surveys the Matoran his Hau shines golden like the twin suns, as splendid as the Great Spirit himself; he is stalwart and stoic, sure of himself, a steady guide like a burning torch through the dark.

But Nidhiki remembers the other him: the bright shadow hiding away behind a white Calix, quiet and fearful. The Toa so shaken by the loss of his brothers that he could not run away from even the worst fights, fixated on trying to save anybody he could.

They were a team, the three of them. They were brothers.

But Whexie left and never returned.

He left, with a worried smile and reassurances of coming back.

They knew they would not see him again after the first decade.

Lhikan mourned him. Each day, after living as though nothing could affect him, he locked himself in his small, squallid home, and grieved where none could find him.

Nidhiki decided he would not die, or go missing, or disappear without a trace or a warning, and betrayed the whole city along with him.

And for that, Lhikan will never forgive him.

Yet in his dreams Whexie forgives him, because Whexie was his brother, and he would have understood.

In some way, he might have understood.

Mahtse would have kept him around, sullying the air with the bitterness between them as he covered the whole thing with a layer of professionalism, like geological eras piled on one another.

Sutau would have refused to have nothing more to do with him: he would have sunk briars in his arm in the hopes he would have to live with a painful reminder of his mistake forevermore.

Naho would have stared him down appalled with her frighteningly bright eyes, and her silence would have stung through his armor.

Tuyet would have killed him. Consumed him without remorse, another worthwhile stepping stone for her design.

Pyea would have simply gazed into him, blankly, a little sadly.

Tumul would have watched the Dark Hunters tear him apart.

Mackari would have encased him in the Archives, for stasis was the closest thing to death he could sentence him to; he would have left him as the highest exhibition of punishment, his only way to get revenge for something none of them were guilty of.

And Eyini...

He preferred not to think of Eyini.

(Nidhiki had met Eliminator a few times - he had been eyed by him, heard his horrible gargling laugh, his insinuations that he could feel himself back on the hunt for him soon.)

(Nidhiki had wondered, each time, what the fear in his eyes would have looked like if he had stolen the air from his lungs, leaving only droplets of humidity to fill them mercilessly until he was left agonizingly drowning on land.)

(Nidhiki had wondered, each time, how it would have felt to lean down on the dying bastard and ask him if he could feel around his many limbs the liquid protodermis of the Ga-Metru canals - where the body of his youngest brother had been thrown to be discovered, lifeless, as he floated face down, in a desecration and insult to the Kaukau he bore.)

[eccentrickleptomaniac]

im sorry if im asking too much things at once i just rlly like your headcanons- is there a reason for your croatia being emotionless? i always found your croatia to be interesting

she's not emotionless, lol. she has flat affect + has difficulty expressing emotion otherwise but she does feel things. generally what causes her to seem like that is probably her (unspecified) mental issues? she has some problems that stem from when she was younger and her childhood in general. it wasn't bad but ykno, growing up during such a tumulous time + her early years were marked by war definitely left a mark on her. it shows in how cynical she is among other things.

also ism you sending in all these asks. in fact, i enjoy it a lot. thank you for letting me talk about my headcanons :-)

[kalevalakryze]

Guilt

Bo-Katan Week Day 6: Bo-Katan Kryze & The Armorer Pairing:Bo-Katan Kryze/The Armorer, Bo-Katan Kryze & Background Child of the Watch Characters: Bo-Katan Kryze, The Armorer, Axe Woves, Background Niteowl Characters, Background Children of the Watch Characters Warnings: Background Character Death, Canon Typical Violence, Injury Descriptions Notes: I was trying to write this for day 4, got sidetracked, and figured it could be nice for day 6?  Summary: “Lady Kryze-“ The young Mandalorian started, her arms wrapping around her abdomen, trying to keep pressure on the wounds Bo could not see. Her abdominal plate was gone, and her belt had been sliced, leaving her holster drooping low and tangling in the plates of armor at her thigh. The young woman hit the ground before Bo-Katan could catch her, though the woman did manage to catch her helmeted head before it could bounce off the floor. Settled on the ground with Xiti’s head in her lap, Bo-Katan spared one last look to what was left of Tumul. Getting to her feet wouldn’t have been too much of an issue, if she hadn’t needed too get an unconscious Xiti back up as well. It hurt like hell, but she’d had to use her injured arm to help get the woman up, before she could yank the woman close and force her body weight to rest mostly against her shoulders, before she started the trek back to the surface. Word Count: 4,246 AO3 Link: Here! Important COTW Original Character Mentioned:Here!

           There had been a tradition, a long time ago, that a Mandalorian would go on a hunt for their first Alamite after taking their creed. Their mentor would lead them through each step on tracking and felling the beast, and then would show them how to handle the remains in a way that would benefit the clan, and not disgrace the beast whose sentience neared the complex. 

           Even Satine had participated in the hunt, both her first, and Bo’s own once she was of age. It was as traditional as the Pog soup that often kept the redhead fueled for each day’s horrors. 

           When Bo enlisted with The Death Watch, many different traditions had been opened up to her, though the Alamite hunt stayed consistent, even when The Duchess Satine’s New Mandalorian’s saw away with it. When Bo-Katan had made it to Lieutenant, Pre had given her the ever important task of teaching the newer recruits how to handle their first hunt, where to hit, the best ways to avoid getting maimed, and the evolved tracking tactics they’d had to create as they picked up and moved locations often. Concordia didn’t have the Alamites, so they were often forced to sneak to Mandalore with help from the inside to ensure everyone had a piece of their ancient ways. 

           The Children of the Watch however, never had to deal with Alamites, living in seclusion as they repented against the actions of their predecessors and the lost ways of the ruling clans. They were hidden in the depths of Concordia where even Pre’s governance had not reached, and continued to survive that way, even after being forced from the entire Mandalore system when the purge turned their lives upside down. 

           Bo-Katan had helped lead dozens of expeditions into the ruins of the Imperial Base, and the ruins of Sundari as well, though each mission had been almost entirely staffed by her Niteowls than The Children of the Watch, who’d busied themselves with setting up camp, tending to those injured in the battle, including those hurt fighting the pirates, and handling some type of scavenging in the designated safe-zones for food and materials.

           It wasn’t too long, however, when the owls needed a rest, and Bo-Katan had pushed for volunteers from the other tribe, itching with their pent up energy to move again. It was supposed to be a simple mission, really. Bo-Katan, Tumul, and Xiti were just jumping onto the old trail that Axe and Koska had chased down with her the day prior. A small group of Alamities, five at most, with two deemed lame from warning shots by the hunters. 

           It should have been easy, but nothing ever worked out that well for Bo-Katan Kryze, who was the only person in the squad with any experience handling the beasts, the only one who could follow the tracks, and the one who should have remembered to brief her companions on the enemy before jumping in. The lack of sleep and over exuberance of energy and need to get the place clear may have had a part in her skipping over their safety, but she’d be sure to never forget it again.

           Bo-Katan had spotted the way the dirt above their heads had shifted, and the false root system had started to shift. She’d managed to get herself out of the way and raise her shield in time to block the heavy weapon that pushed her back. Over the beasts’ shoulder, she watched in a slowed down horror as not only did the two Mandalorian’s not move out of the way for the drop, Tumul hadn’t been able to protect himself from the claws and teeth that lashed out against the soft pieces of his armor. The third Alamite that dropped had zeroed in on Xiti, who’d at least been able to fight back, blaster fire ricocheting off the cavern walls as she tried to fight it back.

           The redhead shook her head back into focus, just in time to raise her opposite arm to block a set of sharp claws. Searing pain tore through her arm as three razor sharp claws ripped through her bicep, across her elbow, and through the open inch of her forearm, paint scraping away from her gauntlet as the claws glanced off the edge and retreated. Her hand twanged from it’s brace, the healing tendons and nerves reacting poorly to the feeling as well. 

           “Dank Farrik!” The woman growled, tucking her injured arm close before pushing her weight into her shield, unbalancing the beast long enough to force her injured arm to move. The pain was blinding, a dark fuzz glitching into her vision as she forced herself through it all, soon finding the sweet reward of the warmth of it’s blood seeping down her arm, and trying to avoid thinking about the wounds it was seeping into as well. Her fist pressed against it’s chin where her gauntlet’s blade burrowed into it’s throat, fingers bent much further than they should have been able to in the healing process, but certainly a problem for later Bo.

           Once the green eyes of the beast went dark, Bo-Katan used her boot to nudge it off her blade and to the ground, before she lowered her shield and yanked her Westar from its holster with a grunt. The smell of burnt fur, skin, and the iron twang of blood filled the air around her, her own burning hot plasma joining the disgusting aroma as she put four yellow bolts into the back of the feeding Alamite. It’s body slumped over what was left of Tumul, and she managed to force her attention to Xiti.

           Xiti was bleeding heavily from the abdomen, but she’d quickly found the pattern the Alamite attacked in, nearly dancing with the beast as she dodged, giving as good as she got, if the blood caking dirty fur were anything to go by. Bo managed to step in just in time, however, once it got it’s arms around her torso and forced her to drop her blaster. Another four shots to the back of the head, and the beast was going slack, letting Xiti break from its grasp before it dropped top the ground.

           “Lady Kryze-“ The young Mandalorian started, her arms wrapping around her abdomen, trying to keep pressure on the wounds Bo could not see. Her abdominal plate was gone, and her belt had been sliced, leaving her holster drooping low and tangling in the plates of armor at her thigh. 

           The young woman hit the ground before Bo-Katan could catch her, though the woman did manage to catch her helmeted head before it could bounce off the floor. Settled on the ground with Xiti’s head in her lap, Bo-Katan spared one last look to what was left of Tumul. 

           Getting to her feet wouldn’t have been too much of an issue, if she hadn’t needed too get an unconscious Xiti back up as well. It hurt like hell, but she’d had to use her injured arm to help get the woman up, before she could yank the woman close and force her body weight to rest mostly against her shoulders, before she started the trek back to the surface.

           It was grueling work, both physically and on her mind, knowing she’d left not only a corpse, but two other hostiles down there to do whatever with Tumul. But eventually, the light broke through the blood and dirt caked around her visor, and she was face to face with at least a dozen of Mandalorians on the other side, several of whom appeared to be ready to launch into the caves themselves. 

           “Bo-Katan,” Axe greeted, the first to notice their approach. His expression grew worried when he took in the sight. Xiti’s feet dragging as Bo-Katan struggled under the weight. Blood thick on both women’s armor, and the all too noticeable lack of a third. “Medics,” His voice was quiet at first, though in short order, he was stepping away from Koska and calling for them louder.

           Part of her hadn’t wanted to let Xiti go, when armored bodies started to try and take the young woman from her, though she was in no condition to fight, her own vision swaying from blood loss, warmth tingling in broken fingertips as the body was pulled away from her grasp, and her arm was able to return to it’s tucked position against her chest. 

           Axe caught her by the shoulders, her free hand grabbing onto his elbow to steady herself as she struggled to reign in her focus. “Tumul, two more ‘mites,” It was all she needed to say before his mission face came back on, and she was being passed off to another to keep her steady. 

           “Koska, Cina, on me, recovery and extermination!” He barked to the two Niteowls that had been geared up to go in for three already. With the efficiency she’d come to appreciate, the Niteowls were retreating back into the caves to recover the remains, and finish off the last two beasts keeping them from the sector.

           “Lady Kryze, come with me,” A smooth timber broke her from racing thoughts, bringing her focus back onto the woman Axe had handed her off to. The Armorer’s grip on her shoulders was firm, though not unkind, and while Bo could sense worry on the other woman, for one of her own was being carted away to the medtents, she still handled Bo-Katan with a calmness that even the Mand’alor could not summon.

           The Armorer led Bo-Katan away, finding the back ways to their recently shared quarters, keeping Bo-Katan out of sight from any who may be wandering the residential zones at this hour. The second they’d breached the flimsy wood of the door, and Akaan started to nuzzle at her hand in greeting, the redhead finally snapped. 

           “I should have given them pointers, I didn’t give them anything they needed, I just assumed-“ A dry laugh, as she shrugged off the sewer drake with a shake of her hand. The hand pressed against the drying blood on her armor shook along with the growing cold and the tingles that still ached along rebooked bones. “I should have never assumed, that was so-“

           The Armorer stayed silent as she started to move around the pacing Niteowl in their living room, which Bo-Katan paid no mind to as she wore a path into the prefabricated flooring. “Even the smallest indication that they hid up there,” Her hands flexed, and her face twisted up in a wince, her free hand grasping onto her wrist with her thumb pressing into the swollen and bruised skin of her hand beneath the glove. 

           “May I remove your helmet?” The Armorer asked at last, not phased in the slightest when the taller woman’s head snapped to look at her, almost as if Bo was just now remembering she was in the room. 

           “Yes, it’s fine, I got it,” The hand she raised to the lip of her helmet was lowered, both of The Armorer’s gloved hands moving to rest on either side of her helm before lifting it away with a soft hiss. 

           The Mand’alor was… messy was putting it easy. If it weren’t for her headband putting in overtime, her hair would be plastered to her sweat slick forehead. Her lips were chapped and bitten, and yellow-green eyes had a gloss to them, whether it was from pain, exhaustion, or from riling herself up, The Armorer had not been able to place immediately. 

           Either way, when she rested her gloved hand on the side of Bo’s cheek, the taller woman’s head dipped before she was leaning into the touch and quieting herself. 

           “This is not your failure, Lady Kryze,” The Armorer tried to placate the pacing Mand’alor, while attempting to take a closer look at her injury, the woman’s arm was held close enough to her chest that blood smeared against her chest plate. 

           “I should have known! If I would have-“ The Armorer cut her off once more, a firm hand grasping her shoulder and guiding her to the edge of their bed. “Sit,” The Mand’alor dropped into the bed at the command, finally taking a moment to breathe since the attack.

           The Armorer continued to move about the room to gather supplies, as Bo dug her elbow into her knee and dropped her head into her hand, her other leg bouncing against the floor to expel some of the nervous energy brought upon by adrenaline. 

           The Mand’alor startled when an ungloved hand touched her pauldron, her eyes zeroing in on the pale flesh that worked away the silver beskar with hawklike focus, even with the nebulous glaze that still coated eyes that shone more yellow than green. 

           Her body pitched forward, just until her overheated forehead met the cool beskar of The Armorer’s chest plate. The hand not focusing on carefully stripping away her pauldron and gauntlet, wrapped around her back, so her fingers could loop into the space between her flight suit and her back plate. 

           Bo-Katan stayed silent as her armor was removed, even biting back the hiss of pain from a careful hand peeling away the edge of her flight suit from the mark. With a thoughtful sound, The Armorer went to the medkit to slide the disposable clean gloves over her hands, before she started the careful process of deciphering torn skin from torn fabric, to cut away the fabric to give her more room to work. 

           Eventually, Bo did have to pick her head up so The Armorer could work. Slow, measured breaths kept her heart slow, even as The Armorer worked on patching her up with a delicacy one would not think a metal worker could obtain. Though, Bo knew the truth about the woman who bent steel to her desire. She knew the woman tended the flowers in the gardens, and often helped younglings even with trivial wounds like splinters and scraped knees, had even watched The Armorer help her nurse Akaan to health when they’d found him as a wounded foundling in his own right. 

           “I apologize,” Bo started, staring at the layering of white gauze over batch doused stitches. The Armorer stayed silent, so Bo-Katan pushed onwards. “Yes, I should have done more to ensure Tumul and Xiti were fully prepared, but it was entirely unbecoming of me to lose myself in a manner,” 

           There was a brief moment of fear, as the golden woman stepped aside, before exiting the room entirely. When the door was open, Akaan came bounding in, wings flapping as he pounced on the bed and made himself comfortable next to her. Dread settled in next, as she stared at the open door and tried to listen past the lizard’s snuffling against the sheets. Then, came the ice bucket of relief, as The Armorer pushed past the door once more, a canteen in one hand, and a plate with Uj cake, with a bowl of pog soup settled hazardously between the plate and her elbow.   

           The Armorer settled each plate on the nightstand she’d made, before her gaze turned to Bo-Katan’s lizard. “What did we say about you being on the bed?” She spoke, though the lizard simply blinked at her, before a forked tongue smacked against his own emerald eyeball. Bo reached to tug him into her lap, a small smile tugging at her lips as he got comfortable, and the shorter woman could finally take a seat beside her. 

           “Xiti will be alright, though she will not be in any fighting shape for quite some time,” The Armorer informed as she unscrewed the cap of the canteen and passed it to Bo-Katan, a sugary sweet smell wafting from the contents when she’d raised the container to smell it. 

           “I’ll take her duties on,” She promised immediately, it was her lack of teaching that had led to the losses, anyways. “And Tumul’s,” The liquid was smooth going down her throat, though her eyes narrowed at the imitation berry taste hit her tongue. “You drugged this,” She commented, without any true malice in her tone, or any thought as she took another drink. 

           “A sleep aid, yes, you need to heal, lady Kryze. As for their duties, it is best discussed once both Xiti and yourself have gotten rest.” The Armorer took the canteen back once Bo was finished, before turning her head and lifting her helmet enough to finish the rest of the ‘spiked’ drink. It wasn’t the first time either of them had done the same to each other, when both of their unhealthy habits took over. The proactive thinking would surely pay off, since Bo had no intention of resting at all, until she was certain Tumul’s body had been retrieved, 

           “You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and you haven’t been taking care of yourself while handling these expeditions, it was only a matter of time before problems arose. It is unfortunate that these were the results, but we will learn from them, and prevent future mistakes from being made,” She spoke as she stirred the still steaming bowl of soup. The herbs floating around was a signature of Axe’s cooking, which, while she was loathe to admit, was to die for. “That starts with food, rest, and a reset for the morning,” 

           When the spoon rose to her lips, Bo wasted no time in opening her mouth and allowing the warm broth to bite at her tastebuds, before the sweetness of Chando Pepper soothed it away. The edging feeling of unworthiness loomed overhead, though with each spoonful of soup that was shared between the two women (and the very excited sewer drake, who jostled The Armorer’s hand every few turns so he could lap up whatever dribbled off), the feeling would subside. She was certain it would always be there, looming like a storm on the horizon, but The Armorer made it just a bit more bearable to focus on the light while she had it. 

           Her eyelids were growing heavy by the time the Pog soup was gone. Her right arm, wrapped in secure bandages and her hand recasted, were a dull thrum in the back of her mind, in an almost comforting way, as her left hand trailed knuckles across her lizard’s dry scales. “Just a little more,” The Armorer’s voice was free of the barrier of the vocoder, though, even after all this time, and vows passed between them, the redhead did not raise her gaze to stare at features she knew by heart. Instead, she allowed the dense desert to be pressed past her open lips, chewing slowly to appreciate the sweet and spice packed into the cake. Even with bakers on world who kept the treat in near all Mandalorian homes, it was still a delicacy meant to be savored (no matter what Grogu said, he was a little gremlin, that she loved, she just could not process his ability to inhale food the way he did).

           Once their meal was finished, and their armor shed, with Bo-Katan’s empty promises to clean the blood from her armor later, and The Armorer cleaning it up for her, as the redhead curled into her side of the bed. The Armorer didn’t take long to clean up, before she soon joined her Riduur in bed, who immediately gravitated to her warmth and curled into her side. She even forced herself to remain tolerant of the lizard that soon sandwiched himself between them. 

                      Morning came with another bout of anxiety from the Mand’alor, found pacing the length of their living room, already cleaned and armored up for the day, a mug of caff clamped between two jittery palms. She was worrying her bottom lip, though when The Armorer’s bare frame came into view from her peripherals, she’d immediately righted herself. “Good morning,” The Mand’alor greeted, setting her mug down and smoothing her hands against her thigh plates as she approached the woman. 

           “Your hand is supposed to be in the brace, and your arm is meant to stay in the sling,” The woman pointed out as Bo’s hands rested on either side of strong hips. It wasn’t often she got to see even a sliver of the woman’s skin, so seeing her entirely naked in the morning was certainly a treat she would not waste. 

           “I didn’t want to wake you,” Bo explained, cheeks darkening at the admission that she had needed help to rebandage herself after her shower. She pressed on in her affections, chin resting on the dip of a soft shoulder, close to the scar that enunciated the sharp line of her collarbone all the way to the back of her shoulder blade. 

           The Armorer’s sighed through her nose with a huff, as her arms wrapped around the mildly clingy Mandalorian pressing into her. “Come, when we are ready ,we will go see Xiti,” It took more prodding, more soft kisses, and allowing the redhead to cling onto her for longer than she would have initially liked, but soon enough, Bo-Katan’s hand was back in the brace, her arm was rewrapped, and a sling kept her from pulling any (more) stitches. 

           The medtent was full of Mandalorians that had stopped by to check in on their vod’ika, as well as pay their respects to Tumul’s memory. The Mandalorian in the cot was as small as Bo-Katan remembered, though she seemed fuller of life than even the green plated warrior at her side. 

           “Lady Kryze,” Xiti spoke, dressed in nothing but her helm and a patched together flight suit, bandages wrapped tight around her torso, and her hand in a similar cast to Bo’s as well. Her spirits seemed high, despite the situation they’d found themselves in.

           “Xiti,” Bo’s head dipped as she stepped into the room, The Armorer stepping to the neatly stacked pile of armor in the corner to double check each piece, staying just in earshot, in case either her grown foundling, or her Mand’alor needed her. 

           “How are you feeling?” Both women questioned at the same time, the Child of the Watch’s laughter echoing from her vocoder. “I could be better, though I am eager to learn what I can to further prevent such a series of events,” She continued, as bo-Katan perched on the edge of the cot, hands folded in her lap. 

           “I can imagine so, though I would like to apologize for my failure to keep you informed on our enemy,” The redhead’s expression fell, however, she managed to pull herself away before she could delve any further into it. “I will not make that mistake ever again, and I will be ensuring everyone gets the same training on what we may face here as soon as I am able,” 

           The Armorer had lowered herself into an empty seat, one leg crossed over the other and a pauldron in her hand. “May I?” She questioned the bedridden Mandalorian, who nodded her head. Bo hadn’t known where she hid the chisel, and she was content to keep it a mystery for the time being. 

           “There is the issue of your duties, and ensuring they are distributed evenly across the tribes, Lady Kryze has offered to cover some, is there anyone else in particular that may have the experience to fill in until you are well?”

           “Perhaps Akdath, he has been assisting me in many of my duties when he is free, as well.” Xiti spoke after a moment’s consideration, glancing to The Armorer at the sound of the chisel breaking away pieces of beskar.             “We will speak with him to see if he can work it in his schedule, I spoke to Axe and Ragnar last night, they have offered to fill Tumul’s duties until one of the younger foundlings are prepared to learn the trade,”             The trio spent the rest of their visit in silence, aside from the sound of The Armorer chipping away at metal. When she had finished, she had risen from her seat and perched on the other side of the cot, opposite Bo-Katan, before she handed the pauldron to Xiti. Against smooth metal, four ‘eyes’ were carved into the metal, along with the markings of claws across the metal. The sigil of the Alamite, one earned that would bare her victory against a beast that would have bested her.            Xiti turned the pauldron around in her hands, thumb brushing over the carved metal. “I will clean it up, once we can venture to the forge, together.” The Armorer promised.            “A fitting sigil, The Alamite hunts used to be a tradition honored by our people for generations, once we have everyone up to par, we can see about settling back into them,” Bo promised. There would be no Alamite hunt where Tumul’s song was not sung, she would be sure of it.             “I’m looking forward to it, Lady Kryze,” Xiti said, fitting her pauldron onto her flight suit, despite the rest of her armor being set aside. It was an important thing, earning your mark, Bo hadn’t taken her own off for weeks after she painted the Niteowl into her own armor.             “Now, we are going to take care of Shriek-hawk foundlings, I believe it will be a two person job, while we acquaint ourselves with the foundlings,” The Armorer and Bo-Katan bid their goodbyes, before they headed to the deep caverns they’d changed to fit the three growing hawks. 

 Translations: dank farik - expletive vod'ika - little sibling

[michelangelob]

18 aprile 1504: muore Filippino Lippi a Firenze

Il 18 aprile del 1504, Filippino Lippi morì in quel di Firenze a soli 47 anni, lasciando incompiuta la Deposizione che stava dipingendo per la chiesa della Santissima Annunziata di Firenze. L’opera fu portata a termine dal Perugino mentre le spoglie del Filippino furono tumulate a ridosso della chiesa di San Michele Visdomini, proprio come ricorda la targa apposta in tempi assai…