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plutoswritingplanet · 1 year ago

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Moon River (Hoyt Volker x Reader)

a/n: listen....that's how romance looks like, okay? don't drink kids

Warnings: it's a Far Cry 3 fanfiction for crying out loud, Canon-Typical Everything. No Smut, just, kinda Soft(?) Hoyt Volker.

Summary: When your boss goes a little too hard on the alcohol, you're about to suffer the consequences. Or so you think.

Anger and alcohol don't mix well with Hoyt Volker.

And since Jason Bordy has arrived at the Rook Island, Hoyt's anger management has gotten worse and worse every day. Which was unfortunate for you, as his secretary/fucktoy/assistant, because as soon as the man felt anything even vaguely reminiscent of annoyance, he reached for the bottle. That usually ended with your ability to walk being stripped away from you for the next couple of days. The relationship developed between the both of you was a strange one, deffinitely not a usual sight to the habitants of the Island.

His reasoning for "hiring" you was rather simple. He was running an empire, after all, a unique sort of company. And any respectable businessman needed to have a pretty thing on his arm, to look over more mundane tasks, and bring him coffee. Or, in some cases, to vent his frustrations to, in the only way he knew how to. Your salary has been simple as well. He allowed you to live and keep some sort of a resemblance of human life, which, on this particular island, was more than a woman could ever hope to achieve. And, despite everything that has happened to you, despite this horrid place, that smelled of fear and death, and many bodily fluids, he kept you safe. Obviously, it was a stark contrast from the life you led back home, if you could even remember what it tasted like. But beggars can't be choosers, and as you compiled a list of medical supplies that needed to be ordered for his men, you couldn't help but think of how much could've happened to you, but didn't.

Of course, you couldn't completely relax into your squeaky chair, because despite this relatively cozy agreement you have been roped into, Hoyt Volker was a dangerous man. Unpredictable and violent, the scars on your body a testament of his short temper. Your arms littered with cigarette burns, one of his favorite ways of showing affection. A long line across your thigh, from when you've spoken out of turn. And of course, the bullet wound on your right arm, when you stepped over an invisible line and asked him a question about his past.

Still, here you were. Late in the evening, adding bandages to the list, while a cup of cold coffee stared at you from your desk. Thank Heavens for caffeine. He wouldn't let you partake in any other form of substance abuse. his reasoning was simple, he needed his assistant to be always sharp and ready. Really, you suspected it was just another way for him to fuck with you.

Today's been quiet at least.

He hasn't sauntered down to your "office" with any weird requests. The whole day passed with him locked in his own room, which stayed eerily quiet. You waited, always on edge, for him to yell for you, to drag you wherever he needed you to be. But, as hours passed, and you continued to do your job, no call came. Small blessings, you supposed.

That is, until midnight has passed, and your thoughts have slowly begun to drag you to bed. You needed sleep, despite your devotion to the "company" and the insane ammounts of coffee you've drank throughout the day, you were still human, and the single cot tucked against the wall of your room called to you every time you dared to rest your eyes. Slowly, you place the papers on the edge of the desk, take a sip from your cup and move to stand, quietly, so the creaking of the chair doesn't alert the dragon locked inside his lair. It was a ritual you've adapted over the weeks, months, years of working for the man. Of living for him, and thanks to him.

In retrospect, you concluded, that night you did everything right. Your chair moved without a sound, you didn't bang anything on the desk, you didn't even breathe too loud. Which is why, you theorized, that maybe your boss (owner) had developed some sort of super hearing abilities, because just as your bottom lifted from the chair, the door to your room busted open.

You swallowed a scream of surprise, as none other than the man, the myth, the menace stood in your doorway. His figure slanted forward, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his slender hand. You can feel him watching you, his dark eyes scanning the room, your body, as he sways in place. Finally, after what feels like forever, he turns around without a word, and walks back to his office.

For a moment you stay where you are, dumbfounded, legs cramping from the uncomfortable, half-seated position he has caught you in. Then, you debate, whether walking after him would be a good idea. He hasn't called after you, and honestly, you didn't see any indignation, that he wanted you to follow. Then again, it wouldn't be the first time he expected you to know his thoughts, wouldn't be the first time you get punished for not reading him like an open book. So, mustering all the courage in your body, you straighten up, knees cracking as you stand.

He always does this shit when you're exhausted.

Always finds you, on the verge of passing out. Or maybe, you're just perpetually tired, and the fault is yours. It most likely is. Even if it isn't, it's always your fault. You try not to pry too much on those thoughts. Bitterness hasn't been particularly helpful in your current position. You have to be good, always, otherwise he might think keeping a secretary is boring, or, even worse, troublesome. You can't be troublesome, you can't be a burden. You're not ready to die, yet.

Your rising panic is interrupted, rather rudely, by the sound of loud shuffling. Something is being dragged across the floor, coming closer and closer. Finally, he walks in, his body barely managing to stay upright. His other hand is clasped tightly onto the backrest of his leather office chair. He drags the furniture into your room, placing it right in the middle. Then, after standing still for a couple of seconds, presumably to regain his footing, he plops himself in the chair, sinking into it immediately, as if his bones were made of cotton.

You're left there, standing, as the man lifts the bottle of liquor to his lips and takes a long drag. You can see the liquid spilling all over his face, dripping down his chin and neck, just to be greedily soaked up by the red material of his shirt. While he's busy with himself, you wonder absentmindedly, what he would do if you just, walked over and licked all that liquor off his skin.

Your thoughts surprise you, not only because you're not used fo fantasizing about your keeper in such a way, but mostly because of how bold you appear in your daydreams. You could never do that, not ever. He'd kill you on the spot. If there was anything Hoyt Volker hated with real passion, it was insubordination. There were lines you just wouldn't dare to cross, not after the last attempt left you with a bullet wound dangerously close to your vital organs.

And as it turns out, there would be some lines you'd have to trample over, as the man lets go of his already empty bottle. It clangs to the floor and falls right beside the chair. You fight the urge to gather it up from it's spot and dispose of it into a trashcan. Old habits die hard, and before the pirates took your life away, you'd never be caught with such a mess.

Then, you nearly jump in your spot, because the man, who you assumed was passed out in his chair, raises his hand. Golden rings reflect the dim light from your desk lamp, as his palm motions for you to come closer. It's not an angry swipe, nor an impatient one, so your bones relax slightly, as you wobble forward on weak knees.

You sincerely doubt, in his current state, he'd be able to pounce on you, would probably hurt himself more than you. There's a small voice in your head that hopes he'd just die of intoxication, or trip and smash his head on the floor. Those thoughts are squashed quickly with a sudden and damning realization. If he dies, there's no one here that could protect you. So, you move, until you're just outside of his reach.

Hoyt's head lulls backwards, as his eyes land on you, hidden under heavy eyelids. In this light, you're not afraid to think he looks like shit. The lines on his face are accentuated, and his cheeks look even more sunken than usual, which is a horrific sight. He hasn't been shaving for quite some time, it would seem. There is a cast of dark hair poking through his skin all around his lips.

- Do you need anything? - you ask, voice barely above whisper, but still too loud to your ears in this silent room.

Hoyt watches you, his arm still slightly extended. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you take notice of the slight blush that has settled onto his tan skin, making his sunken features a bit more bearable.

If he wasn't a monster, he'd look handsome.

- Dance - his voice startles you more than you're comfortable with admitting.

You can barely understand him, between the slurred tone and the roughness coating his words. Your face must reflect that confusion, because his eyebrows immediately scrunch together.

- Daaance - he repeats, louder, waving his hand in front of you, his body sliding slightly in the chair.

You raise your hands in immediate defeat.

- Okay, okay Boss - you mutter, before bracing yourself for impact, because there was a question you had to ask. - There is no music, Boss - you cringe in preparation of an outburst.

It never comes, thankfully. Hoyt seems to be on another plane of existence with the amount of liquor he's been drinking. Your lucky day indeed.

- Fucking... - his entire face scrunches up, as if saying anything at all is causing him physical pain. - Fucking think...of it. Use that... - his hand dances in the air, as he points to the vague are where your head is - Use it.

If you weren't scared for your life, you'd find that hilarious. Drunk people usually made you laugh, but this? Your big and scary boss, who deals with death and torture on the daily, and likes it... Reduced to a bumbling idiot. And right in front of you, at that. Maybe there was a God.

But, his request still rings true, and your mind tries to focus on some song you remember hearing in a strip club years ago. From another life. Your movements are a little stiff, as you sway your hips, touching your body in a way, you hope, he finds pleasant. A strip tease usually works for him, and it wouldn't be the first time he's ordered you to put on a show for him. Good, you know how to do that.

Immediately, when you start to move, the man in the chair shakes his head. Okay, apparently you've missed. His whole body becomes animated, feet kicking and sliding on the tiled floor like an impatient toddler trapped in a stroller.

- No no no no - he reaches up to push his sweaty hair back from his forehead, you can see him scratch his skin along the way - Not like - his lips purse - thaaaat...

To your surprise, you can feel a tinge of irritation rising in your gut. Again with the fucking mind reading. Your life would be so much easier if he would just communicate with you. You realize having an expectation such as this, about a murderer, torturer, human trafficker and a lot more, is borderline insane, but still, a woman can dream.

You surpress the urge to run, as he suddenly shifts his body weight and slumps forwards. He stays like that for a long while, his head down between his legs, and for a second you entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, the fucker has finally passed out. Your hopes are short-lived however, because as suddenly as he changed his position, his head snaps back up, dark eyes fixated on you.

He swallows thickly, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down under his thin skin.

His expression is serious, the dark circles around his chocolate eyes give his face an almost ghastly look. But, to your general discomfort, you realize he's trying to form a thought through the alcoholic haze. It's not good if he's thinking. You prefer him boneless and mindless, and preferably far away from you.

- Dance like... - you catch onto the change of his tone almost immediately, but for the life of you, you can't quite place this new expression.

Dare you say, he looks almost wistful? No, you wouldn't dare call it that. You're not dealing with a lovesick puppy after all, and the worst thing you could ever do, while in the presence of Hoyt Volker, whatever his state may be, is letting your guard down. So you don't. Your arms come up to encircle your waist, as if holding your own body would stop you from shattering on his command.

- Dance like I'm not here.

A pin drops somewhere in the room, as his words register in your brain. Like he's not there? Can you even remember how to move your body like that, so carelesly, so happy?

There's an obvious strain in his body, as he pushes himself back against the chair, his head lulling back. His eyes stay trained on you however, and with a sigh, he watches your body sway. It's awkward at first, your movements clumsy and uncertain, but you continue to move in your own rythmn. What was the last song you heard before your life got destroyed? You try to remember, to envision yourself back at home, standing in the kitchen with a wooden spatula in your hand.

You'd be cooking spaghetti, or some bastardized version of it, the whole kitchen filled with the smell of tomato sauce and spices. God, you missed that smell, and the taste of good, home cooked food. Or, taste of any food, for that matter, because the sorry excuse of meals they've been giving you here could barely pass as edible. What music would be playing, you wonder, as you let yourself slide around the room, twirling in place. You liked old timey tunes, something that would be easy to work to, to dance to. Something, with music that would rise and fall, smooth and light, like your steps on the tiled floor.

You can almost feel the sun pouring through the window, the buzzing of insects and the sound of birds singing outside. Is this the insanity of Rook Island finally settling in? Have you finally gone mad with the fever, with all the pain and fear? Perhaps. Maybe this is only the first step towards oblivion.

You sneak a look towards the man. He hasn't moved from his position, head lulling from one side to the other, as his eyes follow you through the room. You can see his hands, tightened around his knees, where his blunt fingernails dig into the thick material of his jeans. Then, as if pushed by something, he slumps forwards. The chair creaks as he does, and in surprise you loose your momentum for a split second, before regaining your rythmn. He says nothing, but you can hear his voice mixing with the buzzing of the electricity all throughout the base.

He's humming, you realize with a mixture of feelings you can't quite place.

It takes you a while to recognize the tune, as his voice is broken by the thickness of his drunken state. Then, it hits you like a ton of bricks. Motherfucker is humming Moon River. Has he seen the Breakfast at Tiffany's? In your mind's eye you can almost imagine him, splayed out on a couch, with a glass of burbon in his hand and the face of Aubrey Hepburn on the TV screen. The thought brings a small giggle to your lips, and as you spin in place again, you swear you can see a ghost of a smile on the man's lips.

Again, you allow yourself to get lost in the fantasy, in the smell of fresh pasta and the low humming coming from the man. You miss your past life, you always will. The comfort of freedom, of being allowed to decide for yourself. You missed going to sleep and not having to worry, if you'll be able to see the sun rise. Of hoping, deep down, that you won't.

The tears pricking at the edges of your eyes are the first thing that startles you. Your dance stops, as your hand migrates up wipe your eyes. Stupid, stupid, so stupid. You can't allow yourself to become sentimental now. You have to survive, as long as it takes to find a way out of here.

The second thing that startles you, is the sudden hot weight, that hangs around your back. Your bones lock in place, heart thrumming wildly against your chest.

Hoyt buries his face in the crook of your neck, his slender arms encircling your body in a vice like grip. Your breathing nearly stops, as you feel his chest brush against your back. He smells strongly of cologne, sweat and alcohol, and he's hot, almost unnaturally so.

Then, he starts to move, and your mind scrambles for any other instance of a behavior such as this. It's no use however. Never in your life on the Island, has Hoyt Volker gotten so close to you without finding some way to hurt you.

His breath huffs strands of your hair to the front of your face, as he mutters something quickly into your skin, his lips moving across the juncture between your neck and your shoulder. Phrases leave him in hushed whispers, in a language you don't understand but can recognize. Afrikaans. Did all the alcohol and drugs finally scramble his brains? Did he finally go completely insane?

He might as well, because as you swayed in place, trying to accommodate the sudden weight of his body, Hoyt's hands start to roam your figure. Blunt nails dig into any flesh they can find, raking over your thighs, squeezing your hips, before finally settling on playing with your breasts, weighing them in his hands. Then, with a sigh, which you can only describe as content, his arms fully encircle you, pulling you impossibly close.

- What the fuck? - the question slips from your lips despite your best efforts at stopping it.

He doesn't say anything, his voice going back to the low hum from before, as he starts to sway in place to the tune of the song, shared between the two of you in a whisper.

He stays like that for a while. You're not sure how much time has passed but soon, the humming starts to become more and more jagged, his voice rough. And before you know it, his whole body weight pushes you towards the desk, where with an annoyed sigh you realize, he has fallen asleep.

He always does shit like that, when you're exhausted, you think. The distance between your room and his bed suddenly becoming a dawning problem, one, you'd have to deal with sooner rather than later.

#hoyt volker #hoyt volker x reader #far cry 3 #far cry 3 x reader #my writing #i just think he's a pathetic little baby and i want to squeeze him in my hands like a gummy bear okay?

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thepotatofrog · 4 months ago

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Reading the shit I wrote aged 12/13 is such an interesting experience because no did not have the most poetic and developed writing style but I had all the imagination of a reading-obsessed daydreamy autistic child and that imagination went to some dark places

The notebook’s like

story about a kid falling over in a race and being helped by a friend. yay

story about the unexplained disappearance of narrators older siblings, both on their thirteenth birthdays, reveals at the end that the narrator turns thirteen tomorrow

prose about how you don’t know how much you love someone until they’re not there any more, describing bleeding wounds scarring your heart, which made everyone in creative writing club very worried about me but which was actually just me being dramatic about my cousins moving further away

half a page about invisible mutant guinea pigs. i cannot remember what prompted this

67 pages about the last genetically engineered superhuman and the teenage spy who tracks her down, only to realise she’s sentenced her to experimentation torture and death in a government lab (which is also keeping lots of cloned kids in cells for similar purposes). Featuring violent concussions, chase scenes with sprained ankles, cutting tracking/drugging devices out of each other’s flesh with a pocket knife, and some more torture (I know we’ve trained you to withstand this but what if instead of hurting you we hurt your friend in front of you)

Cute little poem about the magical things in the world around us

A short story that I cried rereading about a very small child who doesn’t know she’s dying

Quite a lot of a cliché-packed fantasy story that begins with the sword-princess protagonist’s family being killed off one by one in mysterious circumstances, starting with the youngest brother falling out of a window game of thrones style (i had not watched game of thrones)

An equally clichéd boarding school story with no actual plot other than extremely unethical recruitment practices and a dead twin sister

Harry Potter fanfiction

#ramblings #writing things #I highly recommend spending formative school years in a creative writing club #i will talk more about any of these if anyone asks

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sadnesslaughs · 2 months ago

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You're known by many names, but they all point to one trait you’ve held all these years: your enemies have never seen you bleed. Your secret? A pinch of illusion magic that hides all the scars and wounds, allowing you to intimidate your foes, even on your last legs.

(A response to a writing prompt)

This was it, the final bluff. I didn’t know what I expected death to feel like. Maybe a tad more painful? If anything, I was numb to the whole affair, like I was falling for my own illusion. Guess I was good enough to fool myself, part of me still believing my wounds weren’t that bad, even as I felt a cool breeze flowing through the gap in my stomach. I was getting this weird buzzing in my ear, too. Guess my senses were falling apart as well.

“Impossible.” He screeched, pointing past me. I lazily rolled my neck, seeing what he was pointing at. His attack had split the tree behind me, cutting it in two, while I remained standing. “That had to have hit you. I know it connected. I even hit the tree, so how are you still standing?”

I slowly shrugged. “Built different.” I mumbled, feeling a sharp sting as my mana waned. I was in my reserves now, using the last of my energy to keep myself upright, while also maintaining the illusion. Once my mana emptied, I would drop dead. Which meant I needed to get him to submit before that happened.

He swiped his hand through the air, and I fully expected to get pierced again. Only he stayed his hand, confused. “Why aren’t you dodging? I’m going to attack again.”

“Go ahead.” I said, pointing to my midsection. “Best of three?” I swallowed down a mouthful of blood, trying to show no weakness. “Do it.” I taunted, forcing myself to take a step forward.

He stepped back. “This is insane. I connected? Unless the rumors are true.” There it was, a seed of doubt. “You should fear me. I’ve taken down opponents far stronger than yourself. You saw what I can do and-“

“And I’m still standing.” I interrupted, crossing my arms and forcing a smirk. “Why do this? You’re a talented kid. No need to throw your life away.” Kid was stretching it. He was about twenty-two, but to someone who had lived a hundred years, that felt like talking to a three-year-old sometimes.

He looked at his palm, a glowing green star spinning in the centre, its pointed edges looking like they would separate my head from my shoulders if he threw it. He crushed the star in his fist, lowering his hand. “The magic academy didn’t think so. Said there was no room for such destruction.”

“Hah.”

“ARE YOU MOCKING ME?” the red-haired boy fumed, gritting his teeth at the perceived insult. I shook my head, watching his freckled face soften when I made the gesture.

“They told me something similar. Not with destruction magic, though.” How funny, to think my end would come from someone that had a similar start to myself. Guess Karma really existed. I went to laugh again, and nothing came out, unable to push past the blood in my throat. I coughed up the invisible droplets, clearing my passageway. “You don’t have to destroy everything. Use that incredible power to help people. That’s how you become strong. Not that I would know anything about strength.”

The boy’s face softened, stepping closer. “You’re incredibly strong. You took my attack like it was nothing.” As he neared me, his foot hit an invisible puddle, causing him to jump back, realizing what he had stepped into.

I lowered the illusion and saw him gag, which wasn’t a good sign. If the destructive mage was gagging at the sight of my body. It couldn’t have been good. I didn’t dare to look down and see what remained of me. My mana doing its best to hold everything together until it ran out, like thin stitches that were dissolving with each second. “There’s no room for illusion magic in an academy. Illusion magic is for con artists and thieves. Which will you end up being?”

I repeated grand sage Marii’s words, as my vision blurred. The hot sting of tears clouding my sight. I hope that old prick lived long enough to see the hero I became. Who needs strength when you’re a lowly con artist?

The mage stepped closer, looking more conflicted than ever. He had wanted to kill me only moments ago, and now that the heat of battle had faded, he was being rational. “I’m sorry. I can’t do anything to stop this.”

“Its fine. Can I ask a favor?” I asked, feeling my legs buckle. He caught me before I dropped, lowering me slowly to the ground.

“What is it?”

“Its kind of two favors, actually. Stop going around trying to prove yourself. Help people. As childish as it sounds, be a hero. Get your revenge on them by being better than them. Secondly, can you find someone for me? Her names-“

“Jezebel.” A voice whispered, followed by that ear shattering buzzing sound. A flock of ladybugs circled us before joining together, shifting into a robed figure, who took a spot behind me.

“Jezebel. How did you know?” I asked, amazed the mage had guessed her name.

“I didn’t say anything?” The mage bounced up, pointing his palm at the white cloaked figure. The figure rolled her eyes, pulling off her hood.

“Easy. I’m not as kind as he is.” She chimed before crouching at my side, clicking her tongue. “Your kidneys aren’t meant to be that high up. Where did your other lung go?” She said, talking to herself.

I could only see a blur of silver hair in front of me as she placed her hands on what was left of my stomach, pouring energy into it. While she worked, the boy circled her, trying to decide what he should do.

“Stop wasting your energy with that annoying pacing. Sit down.” She hissed. I heard him drop beside her before letting out a loud squeal. “Oh, shush, you’ve got plenty of mana stored away. I’m only taking half of it. It will come back after a few meals. I’m going to need all the energy I can get to put him back together.”

“Why are you here, darling?” I muttered, letting myself relax. If Jezebel was here, I could rest. Either I died by her side, or she patched me up.

“I could see that attack from the academy. How could I not be concerned? When the ladybugs in your pockets stopped communicating with me, I knew you needed my help. Honestly, I had to pause my classes because of this. I have a lot of disappointed students now.”

“Sorry.”

“Apologize over dinner. Just focus on getting some rest.” As my body healed, she held my hand, playing with my wedding ring. “You always have to play the hero, don’t you?” She sighed before releasing my hand, focusing again on my body. “And where do you think you’re going, mister?”

“I…” The boy had tried to squirm away, only for her to catch his shirt. “I thought I should leave you two alone.”

“Oh, no you don’t. You’re going to apologize to everyone you’ve scared with your attacks. The town thought they were being invaded by a flock of dragons. Once you’ve done that, you’re enrolling in my class. I’m not letting you out of my sight until you’ve learnt to control your power.”

“Hah.” I weakly laughed. Even with blurred vision, I could tell she was giving me a rather pointed look, snapping her face towards mine.

“Is something funny?” I hated that tone. Why did she have to use her teaching voice on me? I was already in pain. “Don’t think you’re getting off lightly. You’re going to be helping me out until I can trust you to go for a walk without nearly getting blown apart. I also plan on teaching you how to dodge. Since you seem incapable of doing that.” She said, giving a cute laugh after that dodging comment. Something about it must have tickled her funny bone.

“Alright.” I said, resting my head on her shoulder, allowing myself to relax. After a second, she embraced me, holding me to her side while she finished her healing.

#short stories #writing #writing prompt #story #writer

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skyasma · 2 years ago

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I keep seeing that little clip of Dong Eun walking past Do Young, completely treating him as invisible while he is focused with his 100% attention on her.

All Dong-Do shippers are just amused by this clip. :-D

IDK what but I see something else here, instead of him being enchanted. He was triggered, baffled by how she was not able to see him. He who clearly stands out in the herd of ordinary common men. The entire game place has nothing but some old ordinary men wearing bland dull clothes. While he is in his high-end business suites, probably smelling like a million bucks wearing some luxurious perfume. He for sure is not someone who can go unnoticed in that particular group. It kind of kills him, that she hasn't even made eye contact with him. Her purposely being oblivious to his presence intrigues him ruthlessly.

Dang! Dong Eun, girl!! You leave him restless by doing nothing. Power move.

She did nothing, just plainly ignored him when he is amongst the extremely regular people. He would hate to blend in that group and she treated him as if he is not there at all until he approached her first and sat at the same table. Even then she kept her calm still. His slight grins and chuckles at her unpredictable replies did not waver her a little. She just remained unbothered, not a single thing about him unsettled her.

That must be so disturbing for him, no wonder she kept creeping into his thoughts. He is that person who moves with a bunch of guys surrounding him even on some simple site visits. People who would stay beside him to follow his orders, and his power can force a huge TV channel to respect his wife. And this simple, regular woman sitting here eating a samgak kimbap as if nothing is more important than that. Ugh! The tension he must have felt within...

I STILL DO NOT SHIP THEM TOGETHER.

She comes with huge emotional baggage and needs tons of healing once she succeeds. There are several simple things that trigger her trauma. Right now, she keeps her wounds untreated, to stay reminded of the atrocities.

She has kept her healing on hold for way too long. Even if Do Young pursues her, for her he would be 'Ex husband of that witch/bitch'. She should not have anything in her life that would remind her of her bullies. It'd hinder her healing in all the wrong ways possible. For the same reason, I don't even want that Doctor kid to be with her. He himself is struggling with his own issues and has to come over his fears and scars. Dude! Put your oxygen mask on first.

She should find someone if she really has to, someone like our sweet boy 'extraordinary' Lee Jun Ho. No drama that comes with him, just an accepting, loving, and caring green flag guy.

#The Glory #Netflix The Glory #Song Hye Kyo #Jung Sung Il #Lee Do Hyun #Kang Tae Oh #extraordinary attorney woo

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tourettesdog · 2 years ago

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DP x DC prompt where Danny is a young adult living in Gotham.

He's 24 and has been Ghost King since turning 18. Danny has been estranged from his parents ever since he destroyed their portal. It was his first act as king.

Danny shares an apartment with Sam and Tucker. Sam works with nonprofits in the city, while Tucker gets involved in WE with his genius programming skills.

Danny makes ice sculptures and sells them around Gotham for fun. He sometimes helps out with crime when he thinks he can do it quietly, but otherwise Danny lets Batman and the police handle it. He has enough work to do in the Ghost Zone as it is.

In his free time Danny likes to explore the Ghost Zone. He’s long-since given up dreams of exploring space. Danny can always fly to space if he wants to, but being able to rip open a portal to the Infinite Realms offers even more exploration opportunities than his child self could have dreamed of.

It’s during one of these explorations into the Ghost Zone that Danny finds a teenager sitting on a floating island. Danny rushes over to investigate, noticing that the kid looks very much alive, but as he draws near the kid’s arm turns invisible and he begins to panic.

Danny quickly realizes he’s faced with another halfa. The kid is a wreck. He looks barely older than Danny was when he died-- hell, he even looks like him with his black hair (with a shock of white) and blue eyes. It’s like looking into a mirror for Danny, and he immediately decides to take the kid under his wing.

It’s slow going at first. The kid, Jason, doesn’t remember much of his life, let alone his death. He’s scared and confused, with far too many questions. It takes Danny showing him his human form for Jason to trust Danny enough to go with him.

Danny takes Jason back to the apartment and introduces him to Sam and Tucker. They don’t pester him for answers, and instead jump at the chance to answer any questions Jason has. They help him understand his situation and learn about his new powers.

Over the next year, Jason becomes their kid. The trio homeschool him, with some help from several of the ghosts in in the GZ. They offer to help Jason figure out who he was, but he asks them not to. All Jason can remember of his death is that it was very violent and he’s hesitant to fill those memories in.

If Jason ever remembers more than that, he doesn’t tell them.

Jason’s a handful, but he’s their handful. He spends a lot of his time in the Ghost Zone (annoying Danny’s ghost friends, his adopted aunts and uncles) while they’re at work. Whenever Dani’s in town, the two are a force to be reckoned with.

Danny spends a lot of time visiting WE to annoy Tucker. He also becomes somewhat well known around town for his little ice sculptures. More than once, Danny finds himself in the accidental company of Bruce Wayne.

Bruce is curious about the strange young man. He has a lot of scars, and Bruce can’t make heads or tails of the strange ice he sells. He starts talking to him-- Danny-- to try and figure out if he’s a meta and/or potentially dangerous.

What Bruce figures out instead is that the kid is surprisingly quick-witted and funny. He’s also apparently a dad, raising a kid with his partners. Bruce still suspects that Danny might secretly be a meta, but he develops a pleasant rapport with him. They commiserate together about raising kids over coffee. Two unlikely friends.

Danny never mention’s Jason’s name. He has about a hundred nicknames for the kid and often calls him Magpie (partly due to his black and white hair, and partly due to his habit of bringing home random shit from the Ghost Zone). He’s very wary of using the kid’s real name around Gotham, in any case. They try to keep a low profile where Jason is concerned.

Bruce also never mentions Jason. His loss is still too much of a gaping wound and he doesn’t want to unload that on his young friend, let alone wallow in those memories.

One day Danny is wandering Gotham with Jason in tow, running some errands. They stop by WE to drop something off for Tucker and he spots Bruce. Danny decides it’s about time he introduced his kid to the man.

Time seems to stop when Jason and Bruce lock eyes.

#dp x dc #dp x dc prompt #danny phantom #dp #prompt #dpxdc #dogposts #ficlet #dp fanfic #everlasting trio #dogprompts

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nyxsoot · 4 years ago

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↳ OF HOME & HEART |

[ summary · you and your lover have come to odds on the battlefield ]

[ pairing · c!technoblade x reader ]

[ word count · 1.5k ]

[ extras · some angst in the time of the pogtopia vs manberg war - contains flashbacks ♥ ]

You had a choice to make and you knew it would break you.

With the thick plumes of smoke touched by the Withers scourging the L’Manberg skies, your lungs burned and eyes stung with unshed tears. Aching arm outstretched, the violent delights of your lover reared their ugly head as you tilted his chin upwards with the flat of your blade.

“Come home with me,” he said, elegant hands stained with dark soot and blood.

Dwelling on the choices that lead you here somehow you wouldn’t change a thing.

You had been the one that held Pogtopia together, the glue between Wil and Tommy; exile had not been kind to either of them deep in the heart of their ravine base. Sly in your rebellion, you had kept close to Schlatt and Tubbo back in Manberg, avidly renouncing old alliances and everything they stood for. He had believed you too, that horrible man, inviting you to stay under his watchful eye in the city. Despite his faith, it seemed Schlatt didn’t want to risk losing you.

In the dead of night under the guise of invisibility potions and a starless sky you slipped through the cracks, peeling back the carpet in your cottage and slinking under the city to make your escape. Invisibility was your superpower. Yes, it came from a bottle the majority of the time, but the ability to stand in a room and hear everything unfiltered without anyone so much as batting an eye was crucial. Your arrows in the Battle of the Lake came in handy, a rain from above with no actual source, but it was your information that was truly valuable.

Stepping into the ravine, your skin began to shift from gone to translucent until it became entirely opaque under the lanterns in the damp cave system. Tracing your fingertips along the stone walls, they bumped occasionally over a button or two, the beginning of what seemed to be a collection by Wilbur. You didn’t question it.

“Y/N.” Wilbur smiled at you, clutching your bicep in one hand and shoulder in the other in some sort of half-hug, a show of comradery if nothing else. “Tell me what news have you brought from L’Manberg.”

And so, you did. Relaying plans, gossip, and rumours, the whispers of others not brave enough to leave themselves or those trapped by nefarious forces. Nodding in quiet contemplation, Wilbur sat in pure silence listening, the quietest the ravine had been since they’d cleared out the mobs.

“It’s getting bad, Wil,” you said, fidgeting with the fabric of his coat, a familiar texture that you missed in Manberg.

He grimaced. ”I can only imagine.”

“And speaking of bad,” you stood up, eyeing his chest with concerned eyes, “Let me see your wound.”

The scowl etched on his face deepened and he nodded once more. Peeling off his torn shirt, you knelt down to examine the scar tissue, eyebrows knitted in pure focus. Here you were yet again, piecing together the broken bits of these war-torn boys as easily as sewing up a flag or tapestry. If you couldn’t mend their souls, you could be the seams holding their skin shut, the buffer between the boys, because that’s what they were.

As you leaned over him to examine the exit wound, a near silent step disrupting your train of thought. In one sleek movement, you were blocking Wilbur’s entire body with your own, crossbow primed in front of you. Your target stood in dirty slacks and an open collared shirt, sleeves rolled up the forearms, soil under his fingernails. His face was frustratingly bemused as his arms raised in faux surrender, hands long and calloused, elegant and obviously used. You were unmoving despite Wilbur’s shuffling to put his shirt on, rising to your side in a too relaxed manner.

“Surely you know The Blade.”

Yes, you had heard of ‘The Blade’ in all his anarchist glory. Said warrior tilted his head down in greeting, peering up through his lashes as he kept your gaze. Huffing, you lowered your crossbow, nodding curtly.

Oh, how far Techno had come from humble potato farmer to full-blown terrorist. In the time between your meeting and his betrayal – all of their betrayals – you had grown to become begrudging comrades in the revolution against Schlatt and his tyranny. Perhaps everything had come to a head when he murdered Tubbo at the festival. Tommy had been ready to fistfight Technoblade in the dark corner if the ravine and you hadn’t let him. You had rolled up your sleeves, removed your rings, and beckoned the piglin hybrid to fight.

Wrapped hands met his chest and face in fast succession, ears ringing deaf to the jeering of your peers, only filled with the blunt pounding of pure violence. A final swift kick to his ribcage ended the fight, caught in his hands as he flipped you onto your back, your dominant hand pinned over your head, leg caught by the thigh.

You could have flipped him if you wanted, brought your head up to collide with his concaving his skull. You didn’t. Struggling under him for a moment, you yielded in your stillness, eyes boring into his, burning brighter than the hanging lanterns above. Pulling himself up, Technoblade held his hand out as an offering. Chest heaving and body quaking, the ravine became vertical once more. His hands were rough, fingertips ghosting over your palm as you disconnected. Tongue darting over chapped lips, you cleared your throat, Wilbur hoisting you out of the pit with a grin that scared you.

Slipping into the darkness, you found respite in the potato farm cultivated by the anarchist, massaging the aching pain out of your limbs. Hearing him before you saw him, a surge of blind rage overtook you and you had him pinned this time against the stone wall.

“He’s just a child,” you hissed, eyes narrowed as he seemed all too complacent under you. “You might be on our side, but they’re both kids and they come first. If I even get a hint that you’re going to hurt either of them again- “

“What, bunny? What could you ever do to hurt me?”

Grip moving roughly to the back of his neck, your lips moved together in a second battle far more intense than the first. You supposed that had been the start of it.

“You want me to come home? With you?” Your voice was hoarse, almost wavering. “This is my home and look what you’ve done to it!”

Technoblade barked out a laugh, bitter and completely amused. “Wilbur did this, Y/N! He was the one who blew it all up, I’m just finishing the job.”

Everything felt numb – heavy. Sword falling to your side, the sword he had made for you, you swallowed back the acid and tears, gut twisting with grief. In the eye of the hurricane the chaos surrounding you seemed irrelevant; the shrieking of your friends, the clashing of their weapons, all fell on deaf ears once more. It was just you and him. A tender moment passed between you as he reached up to cup your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. Come home.

Moving painfully slow, you began to sheath your sword. How bad would life be with Technoblade? How bad could life be with all of the riches and potions you could ask for, the seclusion of being fugitives. Building a life wouldn’t be so bad, and nothing like this would happen again surely. Retirement beckoned you – he beckoned you.

“Y/N!”

Whipping your head around, you saw Tommy and Tubbo pinned under his shield, the final Wither closing in and the Badlands soldiers not doing anything to get them out.

“You knew who my priority was from the beginning, Technoblade,” You said, voice catching in your throat, tears streaking through the ash built up on your face. “Come with me. I forgive you, everyone else will, just come with me.”

A moment of silence permeated the space between them only broken by the cries of your boys. “Bunny, you know I can’t do that.”

A watery smile took over your face. “Then don’t come back.”

Turning on your heel, you sprinted away before he could grab your shoulder, pick you up and carry you away – before he could change your mind. The Wither was low you could see that; no longer under the guise of invisibility, you charged the monster, driving your blade through its centre. It dissipated into ash underneath you, staining your skin and clothes with thick black soot. Picking the boys up from the ground, you positioned them behind you just as you had many times before with them and with Wil, priming yourself to protect them against Dream and all the other anarchists.

You may have made your choice, but so did he and you both knew he would regret it.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt x you #technoblade x reader #techno x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt angst #angst #dsmp wilbur #dsmp tommy #dsmp tubbo #technoblade #nyxsoot

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going-dead · 4 years ago

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Lightning Scars and Listening Ears

Phic phight prompt by @datawyrms : Danny Phantom's jumpsuit is hiding a secret he'd rather not reveal to anyone. (feel free to be metaphorical if you want.) l

Team Human: @currentlylurking

Most citizens of Amity Park often forgot that Phantom wasn’t human. Sure he would fly through the skies, turn invisible, and shoot ectoplasm at the ghosts who would attack the city on a daily basis, but the way he acted when not saving the city always seemed so alive. That’s where the problem lied though. The ghost kid wasn’t alive, a fact that Amity Park never actually thought much about.

Phantom was playing around with some kids in the park when it all happened. It wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the boy play with the younger citizens of the city, under their parents supervision most of the time. Seeing him give them piggyback rides and playing tag was actually a common sight when there were no ghosts to fight. Phantom had six different kids hanging off of his arms and legs, apparently trying to tackle him and get him to fall down. The group of parents laughed at the sight as the teenage hero fell to the ground admitting his defeat in a dramatic flourish. “Ahh you got me! Foul villains, you will regret this!” He laughed as he lunged at the closest kid and launched a tickle attack. Childish squeels rang out as the uncaptured children ran trying to avoid being tickled. The little girl in his arms was finally released from her attacker when she turned on Phantom and started to tickle him back. His laughter attracted the other kids who scattered and they joined the counter attack.

“I yield I yield!” He flailed his arms as a dozen little hands tickled any spot they could reach. The kids slowly let up their assault leaving the teen gasping for breath.

One of the children, the girl who started the attack on Phantom, pulled on his arm. “Mr. Phantom? What’s that did you get a owie?” She asked pointing to his neck where part of his jumpsuit wrinkled down revealing a few red raised streaks maring his skin.

Phantom froze eyes jumping over to the adults just a few feet over who had stopped their conversation to try to see what the young girl was asking about. He quickly pulled the collar of his suit back into place. He gave the girl and the other kids surrounding him a pained smile. “Yeah I did get an owie. Don’t worry though I’m fine, doesn’t even hurt anymore.” Suddenly blue frost escaped his lips, the adults sitting nearby never saw him more relieved to have a ghost show up than in that moment. He gave quick goodbyes to the kids before shooting off to find the day's threat to the city.

All the adults gathered waved over their respective kids. While they trusted Phantom to get rid of the threat it was always smart to stay inside during a ghost attack. A loud boom sounded in the direction where Phantom flew off, shaking the ground. They all gave each other uncertain looks. “My house is closest we can take shelter there.” One of the men said leading everyone away.

After a block of running the group was almost to shelter when the ghost fight moved over their heads. The adults grabbed onto the children doing their best to shield them from the flying debris. They held the kids against their chests as they watched the sky in horror. They didn’t recognize the attacking ghost, but it was certainly doing a number on Phantom. The rest of the battle lasted at most a minute when Phantom managed to suck up the ghost into his thermos before he seemed to wobble in the sky and falling to the ground creating a small crater where he landed.

The man who was leading the group passed off the kid he was holding to the man next to him. “David what are you-?”

“Brian just hold her.” He ran over to the fallen teen and picked him up in a fireman's carry and rushed the rest of the way to his house.

Once he arrived he kicked open the door and placed the teen onto the couch in his living room. He looked down trying to assess the situation. Phantom’s jumpsuit was torn in numerous places exposing spots of his arms, neck, and chest that had splatterings of green ectoplasm across the exposed flesh. He started taking the rest of the jumpsuit off of the teen wanting to make sure there were no hidden injuries underneath. Behind him he could hear his husband and the other parents come through the door. “Get me a wet rag and some warm water!” He yelled behind him.

Once he was handed the items he started working on cleaning up the cuts and wiping off the ectoplasm. He silently thanked any higher being out there that he took a first aid class a few years back. The wounds actually seemed less severe than what David initially thought, that or the kid had some seriously advanced healing. One of the parents led the kids upstairs while the rest of them crowded around David and Phantom.

Once Phantom was as patched up as he could be David finally sat back and actually took a full look at the boy. His breath caught in his throat as he examined the body infront of him. In the end all he could get out was.“Oh my god. He’s- he’s dead.”

“What the hell do you mean? Of course he’s not, I can clearly see him breathing right now.” One of the parents protested.

David shook his head. “No.” He went to run his hands down his face before spotting the blood- no the ectoplasm covering them and settled for grabbing onto his husband for support. “No, I mean he’s a ghost.”

“Well yeah he’s a ghost it’s not like that’s news now is it?” Brian said running his hand up and down his husband's back.

“You guys don’t get it.” David pulled back. “Think! Look!” He ran his hand through his hair, staining it green. “Look at him.” He pointed at the teen’s unconscious body. There were lightning shaped scars running all over the boy’s body, from the base of his neck trailing all the way down to his ankles. Those weren’t the only scars marring his body though, small scars were scattered all over his body, there was a rather large one on his abdomen in the same spot where he was hit the other week fighting off a ghost who was attacking the high school. The gathered adults looked back at Phantom’s face. As he slept he almost looked like a normal teenager, there were small bags under his eyes, his closed eyes hid the toxic green color, and the glow surrounding him was almost nonexistent.

Three things seemed to dawn on the parents all at once.

1: Phantom at some point had died

2: He died young, at most he was just out of middle school when it happened.

3: From the looks of it he didn’t die in his sleep but painfully. They all silently hoped that at least it wasn’t drawn out.

As they all looked at each other they couldn’t help but think of their own children who were just upstairs. Did Phantom have a family? Did his parents miss their little boy? Do they know that Phantom was their son? Even worse, the boy had a jumpsuit on when he died, was his parents the cause of his premature death?

Of course if Phantom was conscious, didn’t have to worry about the whole identity thing, and could read their minds the boy would quickly put their minds to rest responding; yes, no he sees them daily, god no, and sorta it really was more of a case of teenage stupidity than his parents fault though.

Two of those issues though were quickly resolved as two white rings shocked the group out of their grief for a boy they hardly knew. The rings traveled across the boy’s body replacing bare skin with street clothes and white hair with black. Everyone looked at Phantom(?) confused, the boy in front of them was very unghost-like and the scratch on his face that was previously bleeding green now had a red where the scab was forming.

“What the fu- wait isn’t that the Fenton kid, Danny I think?” David asked looking back at the other parents who were in the same amount of shock that he was. Actually he was positive it was him, his older sister Jazz used to babysit their daughter and he would sometimes come along. If someone was going to respond they were cut off as the boy in front of them started to stir and open his eyes. He sat up almost falling off the couch in his panic, thankfully David was quick enough to catch him. “Woah there Danny, be careful you took a pretty bad beating out there. Hell I’m surprised you’re already awake to be honest kid.”

Danny gave him a thankful smile as he steadied himself. He froze once he caught a glimpse of his hair, his eyes shot down to his clothes. He looked back up and noticed the group of adults in front of him. “Now before you jump to any conclusions there’s a very reasonable explanation for this, or there will be just give me a few minutes.” “Wait so does this mean you’re not dead?” Brian asked.

“Brian you can’t just ask that! What if it’s a sensitive subject?” David scolded his husband then looked over at Danny. “Sorry about him.”

Danny looked over to the men who for some reason had hope in their eyes. “What? It’s fine. I mean I guess no- well yes- no- sorta- it’s complicated.”

As Danny looked at the numerous questioning eyes he sighed. It’s not like he could convince them that it was a trick of the light or something. And he did owe them since they patched him up better than he would have been able to at home in his bedroom. But before he could start he turned to David. “I’ll tell you guys everything but first um… is that my ectoplasm in your hair and on your hands? Because if so you probably should wash that off, prolonged exposure isn’t harmful per say but you could start to glow or something if you don’t wash it off soon.”

David looked down to his hands, apparently just now remembering he was still covered in the boy’s ectoplasm and rushed to the bathroom to wash it off. He’d worry about why the sight of his own blood- ectoplasm didn’t phase Danny at all later.

Once David returned, now free of ectoplasm, Danny sat down and started from the beginning. At one point in the story he must have started to cry because he was handed a tissue box, which he accepted with a thanks. By the end he wasn’t the only one with tears in his eyes, one of the adults had to go into the kitchen to compose themselves. Danny didn’t really understand why though, sure he sort of half died, but he didn’t see why it would affect any of them. “Hey! It’s fine, I’m fine it’s not a big deal! I mean it’s not like it only happened to me. Vlad went through it too like 20 years ago.” Danny seized up after he said that. “Don’t tell him you know about him though! Me not telling anyone about him is the only reason he’s not trying to fully kill me when we fight. That and he has a weird obsession with my mom and me.”

David paused at that. “So you’re telling us that not only did you go through a highly traumatic situation at a young age, but the only adult that even knows about it has tried to kill you multiple times?”

“I mean I guess but Jazz, my sister, knows about it too and she’s older than me and my friends.”

“Danny she’s also still a kid, an older one sure, but she is not an adult. Even if you didn’t go to your parents, was there no one else you could have talked to about it with? A therapist maybe?” David asked.

Danny laughed. “Ah no, Jazz tried having me go to the school therapist but she turned out to be a ghost who wanted to try to cause as much pain as possible. She even almost killed Jazz in front of the whole school.”

“Dear god.” David sighed. “All right, we will all keep your secret on one condition.” Danny cringed and looked down at his lap, of course there was a catch. He just hoped it wasn’t anything too bad like letting them run a bunch of experiments on him whenever they wanted to. His ghost injuries were bad enough to hide from others, he didn’t need to have to explain away needle marks or something. “You’ll see Brian once a week for therapy sessions. He’s a licensed psychiatrist.”

“Wait what?” Danny looked up confused.

“Oh don’t worry I won’t charge you of course since we are forcing you to do this, and obviously you can choose the day of the week. I usually don't work fridays or the weekends but if those are the only days that work I’m sure we can rearrange some of our family time to make room for you.” Brian smiled. “Now it’s getting pretty late isn’t it? I’m sure it’s about time everyone here starts to head home now hmm? Of course if you aren’t feeling well enough Danny I can call your parent’s up and just let them know you’ll be staying here. I’ll just tell them you were injured in a ghost fight, not exactly lying now is it?”

“Um no I’m fine enough to walk home thank you though.” Danny said. Everyone started saying their goodbyes and calling the children down to get them ready to leave. Danny was the last one left, he was almost out the door when he was stopped by David handing him a piece of paper.

“Here are our numbers, I also wrote down where Brian’s office is, you can set up your appointment over text. As well as our address, you can stop by or call us for any reason Danny and I mean it okay, any.”

Danny looked down at the paper and pocketed it with a nod. As he left he felt almost lighter for some reason. Maybe having adults who knew and didn’t want to kill him but actually wanted to help him wasn’t so bad after all.

#Danny phantom #phic phight 21 #Phic Phight #dead writes #My fic

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hanibalistic · 4 years ago

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#507A9E | HWANG HYUNJIN.

genre | fluff, high school au, faint mutual pining, implied rich kid au

word count | 2190

warning | fighting, mentions of injuries

tag | @fluffyskzclub

note | i miss hyunjin pt.2 // maybe a universe?

the first thing that popped into your head when you saw students running toward the school courtyard, whispering and chanting about a fight that had broken out, was that the person better not be hyunjin.

you knew hyunjin ever since middle school but you two only recently introduced yourselves to each other when your homeroom teacher made it your responsibility, as the class president, to keep track of him—both his poor grades and his even poorer conduct.

you two never had to chance to speak to each other before the beginning of your tutoring sessions. surely, even if you had the chance to talk to him, you would not have taken it with his rebellious reputation contrasting so stronger your clean-slate one. most of your encounters were of you frowning and sneering at him whenever you saw him get taken away to the principal's office, or when he and his friends create a ruckus during school assemblies.

your poor impression of him stayed long even after you began tutoring him in the corner of the school library, afraid that you would be seen together. he was always late, sometimes with a hazy attitude and sometimes with bruises and cuts on his face. he was always late to the sessions, but he was also always present.

on his third failed calculus test hyunjin came around.

you never knew why but he suddenly did a 360-degree turn and he came around. he started to pay attention in class and he paid attention to you, he did his homework and the additional questions you assigned him, he jotted down notes and read them during his free time. with the third failed test, he decided he would work hard for some reason.

he was still late to the tutoring sessions, though.

but! with his newfound motivation, you, too, came around and began seeing him in a much friendlier light. you greeted him in the halls, you talked to him outside of the library and about topics other than academics (like his adorable puppy kkami, who you adore more than hyunjin, not that adore the boy or anything), you two moved from the corner to the main study center of the library, and you learned to treat his wounds whenever he has them.

hyunjin became a good friend of yours, and he only listened to you, which you realized after a friend mentioned it to you. you thought it was preposterous, but the thought of it made your stomach flutter with faint romantic delight anyway, the knot in your throat refusing to admit out loud that you might just find him the smallest bit attractive.

like when he would smile confidently at his practice test as he hands it to you, only for it to turn into a cute frown when he watches you add cross after cross on his answers. or when he would arch one brow at you in acknowledgment, a boyish smirk playing on his lips, after you accidentally catch his eyes in the classroom during a long lecture. or when his solid, pressuring gaze lays itself on you as you tend to his wounds outside in the school garden, his eyes holding the gentlest of affection as he looks to you as the only person to have ever existed on this earth.

no, you are not attracted to him. not at all.

"excuse me–i'm sorry, excuse me!" you said as you pushed yourself through the overly excited crowd.

once you made your way to the front, your jaw clenched and your brows furrowed. there hyunjin was, hands clutching a poor student's wrinkled collar, and the scar under his eye reopened. it was him who got in a fight! you did not know why you hoped for an alternative.

there was a glint in hyunjin's eyes—something akin to happiness, a thrilling excitement, perhaps, like the freeing of his soul being trashed into the depths of his easy insults and clenched fists. there was no anger in him, not an ounce. you knew what his anger looked like when it was directed to another, and this was not it.

this was free will. he was fighting because his body could and he yearned for the temporary excitement of it.

you felt your heart sink a little. out of everything that could make his face light up like this, fighting people has to take the crown? you wanted hyunjin to be happy but not with such a method! you also don't want to completely strip the entertainment away from him either!

if you wanted him to stop, the best way would be to find something else that can make him feel as excited as he does now, but what could it be?

"hwang hyunjin!" you hollered when you saw him throw a punch at the other student, your thoughts vanishing immediately.

stomping forward, you grabbed onto the back of his shirt and yanked him behind you. you pushed the other student away, glaring at him to run away before you turned to hyunjin. you tilted your head then, looking at him carefully, then you walked toward him.

"oh, come on, [name]," he whined, preparing to move around you. "don't ruin the fun!"

"hyunjin–hyunjin, look at me," you said, putting your hands on his shoulders and stopping him from side-stepping you. when he focused on you, his eyes turning soft, you smiled. "stop."

he stayed silent for a second before he sneered. he tried to shove you aside. "move away–"

"hyunjin," you sighed, feeling the longing for movement in his body. "do you understand you did something bad."

"if you are trying to talk me out of fighting–"

"you understand," you interrupted him, "that you did something bad."

you could hear voices in the background criticizing you. you were unsure of what, exactly. it was either of you stopping the fight or of you assuming you could stop the fight by talking. you ignored the background noises and focused on hyunjin, looking at him expectantly. you just needed him to tell you he understands.

"jesus, yes! now move away–"

"great. then i'm so sorry about this."

hyunjin was about to side-step you again, adding force into his hands as he pushed you aside to search for the kid who ran off, but you removed your grip on him and took a step back to get into position. his confusion worked in your favor when you anchored your weight on your feet, and with a strong swing, you punched him square in the face, knocking him down.

you grimaced at the pain that reverberates through your knuckles, while hyunjin laid on the floor with his face covered by his hands.

"what the fuck!" he yelled into his hands, his head pressed against the grass field with a pained look.

you scoffed at him as you rubbed your hands together. you felt worried for a second, but then it cooled down when you came to terms that he has got to have experienced worse. it was not the impact of the punch that made him dramatize his reaction (although, surely it did hurt his pretty face) but the unpredictableness of the punch that did so.

he would be fine. he always was.

you looked around you, glaring at everyone who came looking for a show, and you waited for them to disperse before you return your attention to hyunjin.

"come on, let's go to the nurse's office," you said as you moved closer to him, knelt, and took his hands from his face.

not a single stain of your punch. it was all just the invisible pain and his tendency to exaggerate.

"you look fine."

"i'm not fine!" he retorted with a whiny shout, snatching his hands away from yours and sitting up. he placed his hand on one propped-up knee and turned to you, annoyed. "you punched me!"

"talking clearly wasn't doing the job, so i did what i had to do!"

"punching me is what you had to do? not call a teacher or something?" he exclaimed incredulously, eyes widening at you in disbelief.

you closed your mouth. you had not wanted to get him in trouble so you resulted in dealing with it on your own. he has a week-long clean streak of not messing with the teacher, you wanted to keep it that way. even though you failed to consider if anybody present would snitch on him, or you, or maybe even the both of you.

"yes...?" you squeaked as you ducked your head, then you slightly eyed up, grimacing at him apologetically. "i didn't want to get you in trouble."

hyunjin watched you through the silk of his long black hair. he took in your words; the way you said it so bashfully, and how you shrunk under the thought of you making a mistake on his behalf. he understood that it was ultimately your good intentions looking out for his own good. your contrasting naivety shone into his eyes, and he wanted to cradle your face in his hands and be gentle with you.

heaving a sigh, he leaned on his hand that supported his torso up. licking his lower lip, he shared a knowing look with you and asked, "you know how to throw a punch."

you scowled lightly then, playing with your fingers as you sat on the grass field. "yeah, my mom had me learn how to fight ever since i was young."

"that makes sense. self-defense is good."

"yeah," you breathed out a laugh, "a little more than that."

"hmm?"

"my mother has a very odd job."

hyunjin smiled questioningly but he didn't ask. he merely took a look behind you at the grand structure of the school he stumbled upon after his parent's death and he nodded in acceptance.

he was never supposed to enter an elite school like this, where every student seems to have some dark family secrets down their sleeves. dark secrets not as in family feuds and estrangements (although those were certainly present as well) but dark secrets as in blood money and corrupt authorities.

rich people problems, but make it guns and roses.

he would not be surprised if your family had some weird history hidden in the closet. what he was wondering about was how you got stuck in a normal middle school with him.

"is your nose okay?" you asked timidly, facing forward at him.

your expression made him recall the time he found you wiping tears from your eyes at the library, glaring at his failed calculus test as if it had been your own, and he realized that you did care and you weren’t doing this because you were asked to.

it made him remember how most things he has done—studying, paying attention, staring at you, not getting into trouble—have been for you.

he just could not control his habits sometimes and he hoped you wouldn’t get too upset with him today for missing the tutoring session.

hyunjin hummed. it was fine, the pain subsided long ago, but he would be damned to not take your concern to an advantage. pouting quickly, he twisted his torso and let himself fall on your lap. he could feel you panic above him and he giggled lowly to himself, his eyes closed.

"i feel dizzy, you might have given me a concussion," he said.

you gasped a little, then you denied, "no way, that can't be possible."

"don't invalidate my concussion," hyunjin said. "it is what i feel."

you sucked in a breath.

there is no point treading through that territory with him, there is no point treading through that territory with anyone.

sensing your silence, hyunjin dared to open one eye to peek up at you. you were staring down at him, eyes ablaze with curiosity as you waited for him to speak.

the sunlight fell like gold sand and split when it reached your head, casting sparks over you. almost a spitting image of an angel, if he knew what an angel looked like.

your innocence was as gentle as his mother once was, and your determination a faint recall of his father's brightness. but your face was entirely your own; your eyes, nose, cheeks, lips. a kind face, a calm face, a face of someone he has come to fall catastrophically in love with.

hyunjin felt his eyes waver, he felt the warm watery dust his in eyes waver like flashes of lights seeping through gaps of leaves on a tree. his fingers itched to reach up to your face, to cradle you, to be kind to you, but he pressed them to his sides and only allowed himself a smile at your direction.

"i'm going to rest my face," he said.

you frowned, but the guilt of punching him asked you to stay with him, so you nodded. "okay."

hyunjin relaxed on the ground. his eyes were closed, but if they weren't, you would have seen—the thrill in his eyes of being able to be with you, the excitement of being close to you.

it would not be something akin to happiness, it would be happiness.

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yaku-soba · 4 years ago

Text

i’ve seen this film before (this is an old story)

༶•┈┈ oikawa tooru x gn!reader | angst

༶•┈┈ general m.list

tags/warnings: angst (with an okay ending), swear words, oikawa doesn’t become a pro, kinda college au, author was listening to the folklore album and also mother mother while writing this, i think that’s warning enough

word count: 1.48k

a/n: this was originally supposed to be some sort of prose poetry for my poetry sideblog but it didn’t work out so </3 also, trying out a somewhat new writing style hehe :3

“someone has to leave first. this is a very old story. there is no other version of this story.”

― richard siken, war of the foxes

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

it goes like this: you fight over something small (it's never just something small), and after a while with whom the fault lies doesn't matter anymore (a double-edged sword: the fighting and the screaming and the shouting and the mocking).

it goes like this: radio silence, no missed calls, no unopened texts. oikawa, a character study: lover becomes roommate becomes a shadow you see slipping out the door if you wake up early enough. take-out ordered for one, a bed too large and cold. blankets that swamp you.

it ends like this: you cave first (you always cave first). oikawa is too proud to apologize and you are too tired and it is easier to brush all the broken pieces of each other under the rug (it's old, you don't remember where it came from, only that it's the colour of mold and smells like mothballs, despite your best efforts) and pretend the we are fucked up, we are fucking this up away. you hate the way this story ends, there is no other ending to this story.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

"tooru," you say, and the click of the door as he shuts it behind him rings like a gunshot. "do you know what day it is?"

oikawa is breathtaking, as always. "no," he says, casting his eyes to the moldy rug at your feet and then away, off to the side, "what day is it?" oikawa is breathtaking, and as always, he's a bad liar.

you smile, make no effort to pull it to your eyes. "it's pasta day," you answer, and it's as hollow as the ring-pop he gave you as a promise when you were younger (when you had thought you were in love; when you were in love).

he nods. "thanks for cooking dinner." he chucks off his shoes and socks in an act of practiced nonchalance.

there is no pasta day.

"welcome home," you tell him belatedly. he hums, says nothing in return.

(stilted conversation: the second stage of a terminal relationship.)

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

once, you were young and in love.

it's been proven: youth and love makes one foolish.

the story, or the prologue - it goes like this: you meet oikawa at an impressionable age (the boy next door, the golden boy, the boy the coaches eye in a game, the boy all the girls talk about, the boy). he proceeds to make quite an impression on you (a burn from sparklers on a beach at a festival, a failed ollie that left a scar on your knee, bruised wrists from volleyball, the - invisible, but you know it’s there, just as oikawa knows - stitch over the exit wound in your chest). you grow up beside him and along the way, convince yourself that sticking with him is a natural progression (cherry blossoms bloom for only two weeks).

you and oikawa, him and you. it has always been the two of you. this story is very old, this story always ends the same way.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you’re fucked up. you and oikawa, him and you - somewhere, along the way, you’d gotten fucked up. you don’t know who fucked it up first, it doesn’t matter anymore. (nothing matters but the brush of oikawa’s lips on your lips and the delicate flutter of his lashes and the rent that you cannot afford without a roommate).

oikawa is waiting on the couch when you come home (you came home later than usual - you’d seen him talking to a girl who had batted her lashes at him prettily the way he used to do to you). you shut the door behind you like a judge’s hammer, you slip out of your shoes and socks like water through earnest, cupped palms.

“late night?” he asks (no welcome home).

“yeah,” you reply (no i’m home). “i wanted to finish more of my project.”

oikawa hums, looks at you from beneath those damned lashes. “that essay?” he shifts, lifts his feet from the moldy-looking rug to sit cross-legged.

“yeah,” you say again. (you’d submitted the essay a month ago. you’re working on a presentation due in a week now).

“i ordered pizza,” oikawa says after a pause, “it should be arriving soon.”

you nod, step over the genkan and into the one-bedroom apartment. “thanks,” you tell him, “i’ll be right out.”

the bell rings while you’re changing into loungewear. you step out of the room just in time to see oikawa take the pizza out of the delivery girl’s hands - the same girl you’d seen touch his arm and smile (there is no home).

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa’s working part-time at a local diner that keeps long hours. you’re working on a degree.

here’s the thing: he could probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of his own if he’s smart about his money.

here’s the thing: you can’t.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“someone has to leave first,” wakatoshi tells you over lunch, “richard siken said so.”

“who?” there’s a tear right down the middle of your carrot-heart.

“someone who left first, or someone who was left. does it really matter?”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa with his long lashes and bedhead. oikawa’s sleepy smile in the mornings (you remember more than you know), the exact dip of his smile, the map you have of the lines of his palms.

the point is: oikawa staying out and not coming home (you stopped counting after the first month, but your heart still knows), waking up to a cold bed because oikawa started leaving earlier (to go the gym, he says). hesitancy in hands where there once was security, the subtle fall of a satellite out of orbit, the gradual fall out of the childhood familiarity of being young and in love. the point is -

the point is always oikawa.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

oikawa gets a new, better, actual job. he’s a volleyball coach at a high school, now.

you find out almost a month later, through takahiro and issei.

“oikawa’s confident they’ll make it to nationals this year,” issei says conversationally, sawing into his steak, “says his kids are promising.”

“what?” (you’ve seen this film before.)

“you know,” takahiro says, “the volleyball kids he’s coaching.” you did not know.

“ah,” you say anyway, fingers slipping around the fork in your hands and grasping onto the far edge of a cliff, “how could i forget.”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

you finish your degree. you get a (relatively) stable job at a nearby design office.

here’s the thing: they pay you well for a fresh graduate. here’s the thing: you can probably afford a one-bedroom apartment of your own if you’re smart about your money.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

“i’m moving out,” you say the moment oikawa opens the door, “thank you for everything.” (despite everything, you mean it. he’s taught you so many things.)

he smiles (it looks the same as what you imagine you’d smiled like the day of your first anniversary). “okay,” he says, and you think that that’s that.

“i’m sorry,” he says after a moment.

“yeah,” you say, “i am too.”

“thank you,” he continues, eyes almost the same shade as the day he’d brought you on a picnic, “i’ll always love you, you know that, right?”

you do (you feel the same, it is not the same love as when you had been fourteen and sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and nineteen, but it is still love).

“me too,” you say because there is nothing else to say, “you’re important to me. you’ll always be important to me.” it’s true: he was your first kiss and your first love and your first best friend and the first person you’re leaving first.

oikawa smiles, and disappears into the bathroom.

you stare at the ugly rug at your feet.

“is this okay?” you ask the broken pieces of you and him (curled around the jagged edges of each other, thorn to petal, bruise to open wound), “this is an okay ending, right?”

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

here’s the point: oikawa as the boy you loved, oikawa as your youth, oikawa as a part of the past you will always hold close but not be held behind by.

a study in relationships: someone will always leave first, it is a very old story.

introspection and a universal truth: youth and love makes one foolish, being foolish is not always a bad thing.

the point is: someone will always leave first, sometimes people fall out of love, sometimes familiarity is not enough to hold them together.

an old story, another universal truth: someone will always leave first, it is not always a bad ending.

»»————- ————- ————- ¤ ————- ————- ————-««

as always, likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated!! :D do drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my general taglist :”)

p.s if you liked this, it would Be Cool if you leave me an ask / scream in the reblog tags because it would satisfy my need for validation 💔💔

#oikawa tooru x reader #haikyuu x reader #haikyuucreations #oikawa tooru #haikyuu!!#kyouka writes

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echo-of-sounds · 4 years ago

Text

bfrb

Headcanons of Aizawa, Toshi, and Gang Orca helping their partner who struggles with body-focused repetitive behavior.

Warnings: trichotillomania, excoriation, formication, and what they entail (hair pulling, scratching yourself, some obsessive thoughts), one mention of sex, self-harm-like behavior, intrusive thoughts, blood, and wounds. (Most of these are quite tame. I’m putting them here just in case some people are bothered by/sensitive to them.)

Aizawa Shouta

Aizawa’s very quick to notice the signs: the way you run your nails down your cheek, seeking, not scratching, or along your arm, looking for coarse hairs to pull, or how you rub and rub and rub your shoulder, trying to get rid of something invisible, or inch and grate and slowly wear your skin thin. He brings it to your attention every time. Your hand always snaps away, tucking under your thigh to keep it still. And then it returns. He mentions it again. You sit on it. Then it returns, time and time again.

He finds an easy, immediate answer by putting a pair of winter gloves on you. It isn’t a long-term solution, but for right now, you can sit beside him wearing knitted gloves. For long-term help, he’s gonna need your help. It’s difficult for someone on the outside to understand the urges, reasons, and thoughts. You being open about why, triggers, and anything else you can think of will help. You don’t have to pour your heart out. He just wants to know how to help.

If being alone increases the risk of pulling, spend the night with him at the dorms. Anytime he walks by the bedroom door and sees you zoned out, he says your name, bringing you back to the present, not obsessing in front of the mirror. Those times when you make it an entire seven days without pulling from your scalp but then one day, you tune back in from a trance and realize you tweaked five hairs.

Shame and hate flood your chest. You were stupid, an idiot for doing it again. You knew you shouldn’t. Yet you just do. And you don’t know why. When Shouta finds you staring at yourself, seemingly about to purposefully hurt yourself, he pulls you away from your reflection. Despite his words sounding quite clunky, they are consoling. He reminds you that no one’s perfect, people fumble, and it doesn’t take away what you’ve already done. You made it an entire week. You can make it more.

Intrusive thoughts that haunt you for hours, leaving you immobilized on the couch scare him. He won’t say that. It’ll make it worse. But he struggles to help you when everything that’s troubling you is mental. He can’t see it. He can’t shove them out the door. He tries his hardest to distract you. He’ll drag you out for a walk in the park and actually carry on a conversation for once to keep your brain occupied. He’ll do puzzles, online shopping, or hardcore sex if you need it because if you’re focused solely on the pleasure, then you can’t focus on the horrible thoughts.

Though Shouta isn’t the most proficient at gift-giving, he keeps his eyes and ears open to anything that could help. Hizashi plays with a lot of fidget toys. Maybe you’d like one. Or maybe some silly putty? A kid was playing with it on the train and he thought it might benefit you. Or a cross stitch kit you could fiddle with while watching TV? If your hands are kept busy, then they’re less likely to drift to your scalp or arm.

Yagi Toshinori

Toshinori sees how you dig at yourself. He doesn’t know if it’s purposeful self-harm, mindless fidgeting, self-injurious stimming, or something else. And because he’s so worried, he doesn’t know how to bring it up without him feeling like he’s judging or shaming you. He just wants you to be and feel safe.

The scratching ruins your body. The inside of your thighs is marked and raw. The back of your neck is sore to the tiniest touch. And your chest is bumpy and you want no one to see it, let alone touch it. You all but mutilated your body. It just makes you feel worse. You promise yourself to not do it again, but then three days later, you’re tearing at your forearms and thighs all over again.

Toshi sweetly says your name, interrupting your digging, and guides you to the bathroom to help clean you up. He applies lotion to every scratch. Then he checks you over. It’s possible you dug enough to draw blood without realizing it. You brush that off until fingers meet the back of your thigh, pulling away wet and red from where nails gouged open, and your heart sinks at all the wounds you created.

Even if he assures you he isn’t blaming or criticizing, you still feel it. You feel disgusting in your own body- by your own body. It’s horrid. But just like for every other stressful thing, Toshi promises and comforts you. He knows it’s difficult to control, to explain, and you hate yourself for doing it, so he never asks for more than you can give. He simply cleans the blood, bandages you up, and lays down with you for a nap.

Sooner rather than later, Toshi falls into a nighttime routine with you. Every night, as you’re getting ready for bed, he hugs you, examining your most scratch-prone areas with his hands. If he feels anything concerning, he’ll look at them, seeing if they need antibiotic cream, ointment, bandages, or anything else. He just wants to make sure you’re properly taken care of. And if you have trouble doing it alone, he’s more than willing to assist.

At any stressful event or when you’re just relaxing on the couch, he holds your hand. He knows most of the time, it’s mindless. You slip into some sort of scratching trance and before you know it, cuts are bleeding in your neck. If he’s beside you, his subconscious is always watching out. It’s also watching out for any sort of textiles you might enjoy. Instead of constantly rubbing your cheek, you could try brushing a makeup brush over your skin, still able to feel some sensations without hurting yourself.

Gang Orca

Kugo has his eyes out everywhere for your triggers. Are you tired or too stressed over a report? He suggests laying down for a nap to let your body rest. There’s no shame in taking a break from something troubling you, especially if it’s going to trigger any scratch, which would just make you feel even worse. When you begin itching and adjusting your shirt, unable to sit comfortably, he recommends taking a bath. You shouldn’t have to fight with clothing and dry, prickly skin- you can simply lay back and relax in hot, bubble filled water.

He’s incredibly attentive, even when you think you’re out of his sight and hearing. He’ll be in the office while you’re in the living room, and he’ll call your name, reminding you to stop picking your nails. He can hear the little picking noises from three rooms away.

The intrusive thoughts that flash horrible images every time you blink, that causes you to take a too-hot shower, that tricks you into thinking something’s invading your body, and you end up digging into your forearm until there’s blood everywhere. Kugo quickly steps in, securing your hands, tying them up if necessary for the time being. He never means to treat you like an animal, but he needs to clean and bandage the wound, or else there’s a risk of infection, and he can’t do that if you keep clawing yourself. He keeps reassuring as calmly as he can while holding your bloody arm that there’s nothing there. You’re safe and sound and clean.

After, he’ll sit with you in the bath. You can lie on his chest as he delicately runs soap all over your body, washing away the creepy-crawlies. Or he can softly rub lotion over you. Or wrap you in a plush blanket. Whatever sensation you need, he’ll provide.

But the physical aftermath is ugly. You don’t want anyone to touch the scabs lining your forearm, almost scared they’ll get infected. It’s lumpy, gross, and just plain ugly. Yet, no matter how many times you push his hand away, Kugo still gently strokes your arm. Your body is your body, scars, scabs, and all. And just like how you’ve never recoiled from his non-human body, he never recoils from your less than perfect parts.

Anything you want to experiment with, Kugo will be right beside you. Want to try coating your hand in Elmer’s glue then picking it off as a substitute? He’ll apply it. Want to see if running floss through your teeth and between your fingers helps the urges? He’ll try it with you. You can laugh at his attempts to floss his odd teeth. If it doesn’t work, at least he got to see you smile.

#aizawa shouta #aizawa x reader #all might #all might x reader #yagi toshinori #toshinori x reader #gang orca #gang orca x reader #kugo sakamata #kugo x reader #bnha x reader #bnha #tw self harm #tw blood #tw intrusive thoughts #tw trichotillomania #tw excoriation

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damselofblueroses · 3 years ago

Text

The Children of Paradise

Summary: Set three years after the Rumbling, a young captain of Paradise Island, Anna Doukaina suddenly learned that her husband alive during the Paradisian Revolution.

Chapter Summary: After one month that Anna spent in the Doukaina's (Levi's Tea Shop) she was more than ready to explode. One day she decided to visit the Library and she had to face a couple of realities which she had no idea. This chapter contains a temporary health issue, if you can be negatively triggered by fainting, becoming numb or the loss of conscious please do not continue :)

Warnings: MANGA SPOILERS AND ESPECIALLY CHAPTER 139, Descriptions of Depression and Grief, Mentions of Death, Emotional Hurt. Progress of the fiction contains nsfw / Smut, minors please do not.

Note: The idea of Paradisian Revolution and the transformation of Historia Reiss are the offspring of my imagination, I would like to think about how would Levi’s aftermath of the Rumbling be in my head after I read chapter 139 :)

Word Count: 6.5k

Chapter Two: the Ouroboros

“Mrs. Ackerman?” I heard the voice of little kid, Sofia and turned to the source of voice. She was jumping to me by holding a bunch of daisies and dandelions. “Paul told me to give you these flowers.”

I kneeled down to blond girl who was always so lovely, her brown eyes were shining, and her checks were flushing with pink. I patted her head then gave her a piece of chocolate.

“Thank you very much, Sofia. When you and Paul visit me again?”

“We will come in the afternoon, Mrs. Ackerman.” she danced around me. “Gabi and Falco said that they will take us from school today and we can assist them in order to run the café.”

“You are a good girl, you know that.” I smiled. She could be my child. “But do you remember what I asked? Do not call me Mrs. Ackerman, I prefer to be called as Anna but if you want to call me with a surname, call me as Doukaina.”

“I cannot do that!” her eyes instantly became wider, stopped leaping around me like a cannibal. “We are told that we always have to call you by Mr. Ackerman’s name.”

“Who told you this?” I could feel my hands automatically turned into fists.

“Mr. Ackerman.” she was too naïve. “He is very serious, and also Paul strongly advises me to not cause Mr. Ackerman’s anger.”

“Yeah.” I murmured to little girl. “He is a short-tempered man. Anyway, Sofia, call me Anna whenever you will feel more relaxed, okey?”

Her face was telling me that she never would dare to go against Mr. Ackerman’s orders, but I did not say anything on the issue. Instead, I talked with her nonchalantly, made her more excited for the afternoon we were going to share then accompanied her till her house where was two apartments away from Doukaina’s.

Yes.

That bastard dared to name his fucking café after my name.

After leaving Sofia to her house, I came back to the café and tethering my teeth to the name. I was storming to the upstairs.

In the last one month, which I spent by refusing to talk with that motherfucker instead of expressing my thoughts on divorce and grunting a lot, I had a first-handed report on how much that bastard continued on his life without me.

I was in everywhere and nowhere.

The café had been under the Rules of Doukaina that Onyankopon had a civilized conversation with me after that bastard literally seized me in his home. He explained the rules while he was hoping that it would be a catalyser for me to calm down, nope, but I just listened to him without showing an expression. Basically, the rules included what I would like or not, and Captain Ackerman decided to run his own business by accepting my tastes as the standards.

His strategy works very well, Onyankopon shamelessly says.

What the heck I was, his strategy? His experimental rat?

I was fuming after that conversation, but I could manage to hold my anger and pain inside of me. Instead, I remained silent, ignored him when he came back to home, I refused to have dinner with him, I rejected every kind of proposes from him.

After Onyankopon, Gabi and Falco came to me.

Their visits were always hard because of two reasons.

Falco was a sweetheart; I could not refuse his kindness and Gabi had no idea on giving up even if when the occasion called for it. And trust me, my mental and emotional situations definitely called for silence, but Gabi did not get any signals. She told me a lot of stories on a vast range, starting from how horrible Mr. Ackerman was to how much he had been getting through.

Their visits always rip a brick off my invisible wall against him.

When I stayed by myself, and I generally chose to be alone, I realized the real reason of my presence here. It was the most painful part, I could not leave but it was not because of Levi had captured me against my will, I could not find the power of leaving him even though I have already refused even wishing a good day to him.

I cannot leave him, if I will set my foot on my way back to Paradise, I know that I cannot survive this time.

Everything I said, everything I had been doing did not mean a single thing. I was aware of my love to him, although I was broken into pieces because of him.

In this one month, every day I could see his face. Grumpy, unhappy, full of scars, deeply wounded, not like Captain Levi Ackerman who I knew in the past.

But, to my dismay I always loved Levi Ackerman, not the humanity’s strongest, not that legendary and reluctant hero.

I loved that fucking surly, petulant, grouchy, peeved, easily pissed off, clean freak, bossy, dominant and bad-mouthed Levi Ackerman who was always on my side. I loved that shorty who was reliable, extremely strong, capable of many things, careful, kind when the occasion calls for it and very clever.

He was my partner on the battlefield, my friend in the Headquarters, my lover in our tiny place.

Bearing witness of our separated 3 years did not help me to keep my anger against him, however, I had been trained by someone who was famous to hold grudges and has a small piece of forgiveness in the heart.

I was not only Levi’s but also Levi’s sculpture. He craved me with his heart and mind during the years of my training and beyond. Even our marriage bed was a training field.

Oh Jesus, when I remembered that night, a sudden flush attacked to my face, I could feel the heat on my cheeks.

I vividly remember Levi’s voice when he was praising me for being the best one for him although I was inexperienced till that night.

Can you stop remembering unnecessary memories?!

No.

I grunted to my useless brain and moved out of my tiny room. Levi gave me a room in his place when I refused to be in the same area with him. What a gentleman!

He knows you cannot afford a house, and he would kill someone instead of letting go to a hotel. He wants to keep you in front of his eyes, you were absent for a long time, Onyankopon said to me. He always believes he never see you again but all of a sudden you appeared.

If he wanted to keep me with him, why he did not come to fetch me after war, I asked to Onyankopon. He half smiled to me and told me this is a question to be asked to Levi himself. Only he could give me an answer, Onyankopon did not want to interfere our personal lives at this level.

Well, I guessed he interfered a lot but still I did not force him to tell me.

Levi’s flat was the second floor of his café, so I came down of the stairs in order to get fresh air. Levi was working behind Doukaina’s counter, he was dealing with bunch of customers whose I was getting familiar with some of them. When they saw me, they greeted me with their heads, I reciprocated by denying Levi’s strong presence. His eyes were piercing my back, I could feel it, but I refused to take a look back, I grab my coat and bag, then I stepped out of Doukaina’s.

He named his fucking café after me, how should I feel about this? Proud? No fucking way, every time I looked at this name, I lost my nuts.

He managed to be happy without me but living with my shadow. How could I forgive this?

I took a deep breath and started to walk on the street. My foot knew the way, the direction. I was heading to the library. To be honest, I was really so bored because of sitting on my back, it was not something I was familiar with. I had to keep myself busy, and I had to figure a way out in order to be back to Paradise.

With or without Levi.

After one month, observing him without talking, taught me that I could not be that cold-hearted bitch even if I desperately wanted to be. I could not tear him off his life, there was no possible option to try. He built a life for himself, Gabi and Falco, and Onyankopon.

How could I be so heartless taking them into our hell again?

They sacrificed a lot.

Sometimes I looked at Levi and I saw a middle-aged man who spent his life on battlefields, who lost everyone dear to him. His scars telling me how bad he hurt, sometimes he had been making a low-pitched grunt because of pain caused by his leg. He kept working on, but I could easily tell how much physical pain he was in. Falco secretly told me he was seeing a doctor, however there was no treatment to cure his wounded muscles.

And his eye.

I could not forget about his gleamy, metallic grey eyes and piercing look he could give with them. Now, he lost one of them, all the scars on his face, I bet my life on he felt like he was a beast.

Well, he was always a beast but a handsome beast.

Now, I could bet even my life on he felt like cannot be loved because he was no longer the humanity’s strongest, he was no longer Captain Levi Ackerman.

He was only Levi from Doukaina’s, the owner of a little tea shop, a semi-quasi father for a Marleyan kiddo gang.

How can you explain that to Armin? He believes you are trying to persuade Levi to comeback.

I have zero fucks to give the Revolution.

I was in a really darker mood when I reached to the library. The familiar scent of books got my senses immediately and eased my temper.

“Hello, Ms.” I heard the lady at the desk. “How can I help you?”

“Hello. I want to renew my membership to library.” I took my old card out of my purse. “Actually, I was a member, but it has been too long, so I do not know if I have to get a new card.”

“Let me see.” she reached to my membership card, and she gasped. “Miss Doukaina? Is that you?”

“Um, yeah?” I was confused because of her reaction. “Is that something wrong?”

“No!” she yelled and realized where we were and pressed her hand into her mouth. “I am sorry, but we have heard a lot about you. The headmaster will be extremely happy to see you again!”

“Is Angelo still here?” I proclaimed. “Really?”

“Yes, he did not retire yet.” she beamed. “Let me call him, or do you prefer to visit him by yourself?”

“I can go to his office.” I grinned like a Cheshire cat for this unexpected piece of news. “If you allow me, of course.”

“Be my guest.” she looked like I was a very good present and she definitely looked like she wanted to tell me something. I raised one of my eyebrows to push her, she could not hold it back anymore. “Forgive my boldness but I really admire your works!”

“Thank you.” I was surprised but I had to admit that I liked her boldness. I always liked to hear someone liked the works of my brain, it really meant a lot after killing titans and people like an endless string. I did not wish to be praised because of being a good fighter but hearing a praise because of being a good student or librarian was something else. “I am glad to hear that, I did not know they still have my work.”

“Your books are highly demanded both from colleges and individuals.” she smiled like a freak. I easily recognized the pattern of being a fan of someone, her face reminded me my face when I was trained by Levi. I know these shiny eyes, this excitement, this admiration. “I never think I could see you in person.”

“Maria,” another teenager appeared from the door behind of desk. “Headmaster calls for yo- Oh. I am sorry I did not see you Ms.”

“Fred,” she exhaled. “Do you know who is she? She is Miss Anna Doukaina!”

“What?” the young boy’s face went into blank he was literally frozen. “Who?”

“Anna Doukaina!” Maria repeated. “She came back!”

“A-An-,” Fred shuttered. “You must be kidding me; everyone knows she lives in Paradise!”

“Well, you are right.” I interrupted. “I am currently visiting Marley since there is no restriction on visiting people.”

“Yeah. You. Anna. Wow. Doukaina. You are right.” Fred’s eyes became widest, for a second, I thought he could manage to gauge them out only by looking at me. “Wow. Anna Doukaina is here.”

“What Fred means,” Maria stood up by giving her colleague criticizing look. “We do not expect to see you in Marley again after the speculations.”

“Speculations?” I cocked my eyebrow again. “What kind of speculations if I may ask?”

“Well, your husband lives in Marley without you, right? Both of you are famous names, he was a hero amongst people, you were named as a genius and people talks.” She at least managed to seem as embarrassed, but I could see the curiosity burned in her eyes. “You got your degree from Academia while your husband opened a café in the capital, but no one saw you guys together. Everyone believed that you guys divorced, after you went back to Paradise, most of us thought that you would not be back.”

“Holy shit.” I could not hold it. “I did not know we were a material for gossip.”

“You were topic number 1, actually.” Fred spilled the beans. “Especially when you refused to see Mr. Ackerman, a lot of husbands were condemning you.”

“What?”

“When you refused to see Mr. Ackerman,” Fred repeated himself like he was talking something quite natural. “A lo-

“Could you give me a moment, please?” I raised my hand.

“Are you okey?” Maria reached to me with a genuine worry.

“I am fine, thank you.” I replied but I could feel the panic attacks on the way, my breathing was becoming heavier, and my heart was pounding too fast. Bad combination.

“Fetch me a glass of water.” I heard another voice while the room is really starting to spin around me. “Quickly!”

A voice that was familiar to give orders.

A voice that was extremely grumpy but always managed to give me thrills.

The room was becoming darker, I knew that I was losing my sight and conscious for the first time in the last 5 years. Strong, muscled arms held me between their protection, before I fainted, I knew who was holding me.

Levi.

Levi Ackerman, an hour ago

“Oi, brat!” I looked at Falco, he was breathing too fast, and his face was totally red when he made an entrance to Doukaina’s. And his shoes are dirty, fucking hell. “What happened?”

“Mrs. Ackerman!” he yelled. “She is going to the library!”

“Shit.” I hissed between my teeth. Fucking woman. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, Gabi saw her on the road. Does she know these people’s thoughts on her?”

“Of course not.” I untied my apron and throw it to Falco. “You are on charge, handle the rest.”

I did not waste a second, rushed to the road. I was definitely fuming, she did not know a single thing about the gossips on our not-so-well relationship, but for a while we were a quite popular topic for every living creature of Marley.

She does not know the curses of patriarchal system of Marleyan society about her, she does not know they label her as the cold-hearted bitch of Paradise.

She had been acting as a tough nut but there was a very fragile little girl inside of her heart, I knew it very well. If she were going to learn those gossips, she would be broken deeply. Even though, she has been ignoring me, I was aware of her true feelings, she did never want to be apart from me.

That’s why she could not forgive me, but she stayed with me.

I never want her to get caught up my mess, and I knew she would fight for me for her dear life, so I thought the only way was leave her to believe that I was dead. It would be better if she were not around me, but the only way to make it possible was building a barrier between us. There was no need for her to learn how many days I spent just missing her, just longing for her, hating myself so bad for letting her to go.

Yet, even with my rightful excuses and reasons, I deeply acknowledged the dire need of apologizing her over and over, begging for her forgiveness which I barely contained inside of myself.

Not seeing her around me was a hell of journey.

But seeing her around me was the worst scenario one could imagine, and I was being caught in really horrible situations since I was a boy in Underground.

She was my devoted girl, in terms of Hange’s very obvious language. She dedicated all of her to me with an incredible fidelity. When we were tying the bow, before the ceremony, before she vowed as my wedded wife, she was already the bone of my bone, the blood of my blood.

“Fucking hell.” I buzzed at my goddamn leg while I was walking to the library. It was making me slower, I hated being unable to do what I want as physically.

If I could have my body and strength as usual, the only thing I would do was taking her into my arms and having her over and over again like a fucking ouroboros.

I cursed behind my mouth and tried to walk faster. I had to catch that idiot before she was getting in touch with those poisonous vipers. However, I had to admit that what made me obnoxious more than I supposed to be not only those vipers, but also my unconscious contribution to that fucking cauldron of gossip. While I was keeping myself as invisible from her eyes when she was having an education here, I did not think of the things people could figure it out. They learned about Paradise, they learned about us, they talked about us, and everything was combined with each other.

In the end, she was labelled as an ungrateful bitch, and I was upgraded to faithful husband. I could not fix anything since I was bloody busy on hiding but hearing those comments about her fed me with pain.

She can be anything but being an ungrateful one? Do not make me laugh.

When I reached to destination, I quickly prayed for anything which could help me. I dearly hoped for she was not having any undesirable piece of information; I directly went into the entrance.

Godfuckingdamnit, she heard.

That was the first thing came to my mind when I saw her posture. Her shoulders were fallen down, her hands were shaking, and her face was nothing but full of agony. There were a couple around her, a boy and girl, they were trying to ask her if she was okey or not.

Do you think she is okey, you motherfuckers?

“Fetch me a glass of water!” I howled to them and attempted to catch Anna. “Quickly!”

Her body replied to my body immediately, fucking hell, her tensed muscled became a little bit softer when I grasped her between my arms. She was getting numb; her knees were twisting.

We had been here before.

Last time she fainted on me; we were butchering a bunch of titans.

I wonder if she carries the ODM scars still on her waist…

Is there anyone sees those little strings after me?

What the fuck I am thinking?

“Do not fucking dare to faint on me again.” I grunted but I held her as tight as I could dare of. She belongs to me, she is my bloody wife, damnit. “Keep calm and take deep breathes.”

“I am not going to faint.” she whispered, her voice was really weak, but I could hear her in every situation. Holy shit, I heard her voice when she fallen into a shitshow of titans and covered by her own blood during the clash of battlefield sounds!

We shared too many things.

“Yes, last time you said you were not going to faint, I had to carry you back to headquarters.”

“You were happy, weren’t you?” she mumbled. “I gave you the change of touching my body.”

“Hella, if I wanted to touch you, I would do before you found yourself between a titan sandwich.”

“Only in your dreams.” she said but her voice was getting weakest. I knew she was going to faint before the water, she closed her eyes, her hand dropped to the ground then the boy turned from the corner.

“Where did you get the water?” I yelled. “From Paradise?”

“I am sorry, Mr. Ackerman.” he shuttered. “There is a line in front of automatons.”

“Put that glass.” I turned to the girl. “I have only two questions to both of you. What did you say to her, and do you have something like cologne?”

“I have cologne!” the boy rushed to the back of counter desk. He left his colleague to my definitely dreadful gaze, what a companion, the girl started to slightly shake. I just looked at her by cocking my eyebrow.

“What did you say to her?”

“We did not sa-

“She fainted, let’s give up on acting and tell me what she learned from you enough to make her to lose her conscious. Before I am going to get angry.”

“She told her about the gossips.” I heard the boy’s little squeaks. “She left you, didn’t she?”

“As I thought.” I mumbled and stood up by carrying Anna’s body. “How much you told her? Tell me the whole story.”

“I swear I just talked about the speculations!” the girl angrily looked at the boy. “He told about Mrs. Ackerman’s refusal to see and its impacts on communi-

“How much you said?” I walked into the bench. “How much?”

“Just refusal!” he really screamed; his face was completely whitened. “I did not tell anything about her nickname, cold-hearted bitch!”

“If you will use that nickname again, you will not have a tongue to speak again.” I pressed on every letter of the sentence. “Tell this to everyone you know, if I hear a single word against my wife, you can be sure of I am capable of slicing living creatures like you can slice a bread.”

“O-okey!”

“Now, hold the door for us.” I turned to the main doors and walked out of the building by carrying Anna.

Carrying Anna?

What?

Anna Doukaina, after 4 hours

I woke up with a terrible headache.

Let me rephrase. I woke up because of a terrible headache.

“Here.” I heard a grumpy voice and a hand without two fingers came into my sight. “Swallow.”

I tried to move but his hand pressed me on the soft layer, a bed I guess, again.

“Feel free to lie down there. You have to rest according to the orders of doctor, so no sudden movements but you will spend a day here.”

Why a doctor came to see me?

My mind was foggy, slow to recall the last memories I had, however while I was having the pills that Levi gave me, I remembered the very last moments before I lost my conscious.

I was fainted.

Okey.

I was fainted on Levi.

Damnit.

I was fainted on Levi after I asked him if he was happy with me or not.

Godfuckingdamnit.

My mind corporate with me in the worst way I could imagine of. Those words of two receptionist, labelling me as an ungrateful wife, careless woman who did not consider her beloved one reminded me everything.

“I cannot open my eyes.” I lied to him. I know Levi is here and I am sure he did not leave me for a second, he waited me to open my eyes. I do not want to see him. “But I am pretty well, so you can go back to work.”

“I do not want to.” he plainly answered. “I will stay, and I know you can open your eyes if you want. But I respect your decision to keep them closed. I am not someone who is worth to look.”

“What?” I fell on his bloody trap and immediately looked at him.

“Oi.” he smirked. Smirk? “It is good to see you are awake.”

“How many minutes I was unconscious?” I asked but I could feel all the heat of embarrassment as I hopelessly tried to change the subject. This is why I hate being with Levi, I become a stupid, lovesick girl!

“Almost 4 hours passed after you fainted on me.” he seemed nonchalant as he informed me; my chin was dropped. 4 hours?! “I have to say, I am impressed. The last time you were fainted for almost half an hour.”

“It was not the last time.” I could not catch what I said, then I pressed my hand onto my mouth, but it was fucking too late. Levi’s eyebrows furrowed and he gazed at me while he was trying to figure what I meant.

“I will not force you to tell me,” he murmured, and he took my hand off my mouth. You are damn close, Ackerman! “But I really appreciate if you can share when you were fainted after that incident.”

“When I heard about the explosion.” I replied. I was too tired of being hiding from Levi. “I thought you were dead.”

Levi did not answer to me, instead of words, he was using his goddamn eyes. I always believed his eyes could see my heart and soul, even the deeps that I did not know anything about.

“Were you,” he cleared his throat after looking at me for a while. “Upset?”

“Ha?” I inhaled while my mind just left the building. “I thought you were dead; I was not upset. I wanted to die but I had to wait for you to be back to me. What would happen if you appeared in our home and could not find me? That was the only thought kept me alive.”

“How much you heard about explosion?” his voice was cracked. Full of fear. Anxiety.

“I knew that monkey exploded himself. No one told me in detail, no fucking one tell me that you are alive. I guess, they think I am nothing to you even though I carry your name.”

“I wanted them to shut their mouth about me.” Levi was a sweet talker as always. “I did not want my situation keeping you back from living your life as fully.”

“And what does it mean?” I managed to lift my upper body by gaining strength from my elbows. “Do you know how many days I spent mourning for you? Do you know how it was, believing that you were dead because of a monkey, because of Commander Smith, because of our goddamn world’s cruelty? An I had to continue on that way until the end!”

I could not control myself anymore, it was too much, overwhelming and suffocating. I just wanted to scream everything I have been holding inside out off my chest. I was definitely not in my best physical condition, and I really preferred to have this conversation in a situation which I would be at my best self-confidence time, but no. It was too late for that.

“Do you know how much I cried? Have you ever thought about me even for little while you are exactly aware of my devotion to you? How could you decide leaving me behind, in a total darkness by yourself? Not because once I was your wife, I was your comrade and you left me with the feelings like how you felt after Commander Erwin passed out.”

“Look at me!” he literally grunted towards me. “I am not the guy you have been knowing in the past anymore, I cannot give anything to you, unless you are fine with a small tea shop where is full of tea leaves, two Marleyan kids and a retired soldier’s company. And me, as wrecked, wounded to death, like a scumbag. How could I comeback to home like nothing happened to me, and face with you when you just having a change of living a normal life after war?”

This was the longest speech Levi gave to me till now, and we had almost half of our lives together.

“Do you think I could take you out of my mind even for a bloody second after I woke up in a fucking, dirty and cold barn? You were the last thought of me when that motherfucker exploded my cart, you were fucking crying and lamenting for me, you lost your smile, I knew that you could not overcome my death although the promises we gave to each other, I cold-heartly killed my subordinates before the explosion after they became fucking titans, but I cannot deal with the idea of you being dead. You are the only one I cannot sacrifice of. Do not act like you were alone in pain, I carried that burden, you have no idea how much I missed you, you were carved into my eyelids, I did not spend a fucking minute as not dreaming of you.”

“You should have let me know.” I gritted my teeth. To be honest, I was impressed by his honesty. Levi was always honest; however, he had never been vocal about his own feelings, I knew for once he loved me, but I had never ever heard those three words, eight letters. “There is nothing left to be said by you, you cannot find an excuse for your choice.”

“I do not try to find an excuse.” Levi said. “I explained how I felt to you until you appeared in front of my door, for a long time I strongly believed that you were a ghost.”

“What do you expect?” I hissed at him. “Do you think I can easily forget your misbehaviour? I know you like knowing the back of my hand, you always choose the way that makes you less regretful and you chose to leave me behind.”

“I did.” he inhaled. “And that was the best choice to make. I could not drag you into my shit.”

“How could you do that?” I asked but all my anger left me. I suddenly started to feel like I was empty, there was nothing but pain. “How could you, Levi? I was your wife.”

“You are my wife.” he grabbed my hand. Did he really believe that he could change our hiatus? My emotions were remained untouched, maybe he could be right on his mindset, maybe he really thought about me and tried his best in order to keep me out of his personal hell, however it did not help me to overcome all the sleepless nights I had. I pulled my hand back out of his fingers. I was searching for this hand during the long nights he caused, and there was no guarantee he would not leave me again. If he would decide on leaving me behind was the best thing to do, he would do it immediately. He would not ask my opinion, he would leave me alone with only my thoughts, my memories of him and he would let me to eat myself alive. I could almost taste the bitterness on my tongue, I could not let his poor reprimands to break my walls while my wavering feelings of abandonment conquered me.

Rain hitting the windowpane above, not a playful and soft type of rain. That was cruel rain that beating the life out of city. Suitable for us.

“You are my wife, Anna.” he repeated himself. “Should I remind it to you, goddamn, I can happily do it.”

His face transformed into something I have ever seen in his features. His Aegean eyes turned into a stormy sea in a second, burning with unnamed desires which I was also feeling in the deeps of my heart. Determination conquered his fucking handsome face, and there was fear. Self-hatred. Regret. But much to my dismay, there was a dire need of teaching me a lesson that set his soul on fire.

I have been knowing this face of Levi. I have been there before.

I knew when he got me and he knew he did.

In a blink of an eye, before I could take any position to defend myself, he grabbed my wrists and pulled me to his arms. He was fucking strong for a man who lost his strength! I quickly realized the potential danger I was in. If he would touch me, I knew that my heart did not spend even a second to betray my mind. That would be the nail in my coffin.

Even though the haziness of my mind slowed my reactions, I covered my face with my hands.

“Do not fucking dare.” I dropped my voice tone as I was informed on, I looked more intimating when I threat someone with lower tone. I did not tone down my wording, there was no place to be gentler with words, I was going to use my curses and I had quite a vocabulary. “If you lay even a finger on me, that’s going to be only way makes you regretful.”

“Maybe.” he did not try to take my hands off my face, and he literally locked me in his embrace. “I assume so.”

“If you do,” I struggled to get rid of his arms around me. “Why don’t you use your brain and let me go? For a better life?”

“So smart.” he huffed once in laughter. What the fuck? The tension of the room changed into something I really did not want even to think of naming it. “I do not have intention to let you go. Never again, brat.”

“Levi, I swear on everything you can believe, if you do not le-

“What will you do?” he interrupted me. “According to you, I already fucked the things up and you told me you will never give me your forgiveness. What makes a difference between not being forgiven for a sin or for two sins?”

“This is the shittiest logic I have ever heard, and I was in Military Police for a while.” I forgot to press my hands onto my face due to his unexpected, unpleasant, and twisted thought about forgiveness. “I do not know where you learned about sins, asking for forgiveness or literally remission, but I think you lost couple of important points.”

What I missed was while I was lecturing him on forgiveness, I let my hands down and I had been sitting on Levi Ackerman’s thighs.

More importantly, he was definitely not the type of man who miss a chance to perform what he aimed for.

He caught my hands immediately and he pressed his lips into mine.

When I felt his velvety lips on my mouth after fucking years, that sensation made me numb in a nanosecond. My logic just left the room, left me with my dire need for Levi. His hands. His lips. His love. Everything about him, I just need Levi, Godfuckingdamnit he always affected me like anaesthesia.

He kissed me and it made me felt like I was breathing again.

I could feel he loosened his tight grip around my wrists by the fact that I was definitely not fighting with him, on the contrary, I was responding to him in the way he wanted. I knew that I was going to be extremely ashamed of what the heck I was doing right now, but even the sorrowness eating me every day refused taking the control of my body back, I felt like my flesh gained an independent character who was begging to my soul for keeping the things as they were happening right now.

Levi was kissing me. His goddamn lips made me feel like I was alive.

The Ouroboros that living inside of me started to comeback into life. With every move Levi made, I could feel Ouroboros biting itself inside of me by releasing the poison.

“No.” I broke the kiss and pressed my hands to his shoulders in order to keep him away from me. He was heavily breathing, his beautiful face became pinkish while his lips shading with darker red, and his eyes, goddamn, his eyes were burning with passion.

He looked like a god, and I hated him for his level of good-looking to my bits.

I was burning too but my fire was caused by different reasons except one, the reciprocated hunger for each other was remained same between Levi and me, to my dismay I strongly felt it. However, the anger was growing in me was for both of us. To him, for his fucking departure and leaving me by myself and his shitty excuses, building a life without me, living a life in the shadows, and running away from me. The list never ends. To myself, for loving him as much as the first day I realized how much I devoted my heart to him and never manage to overcome my love for him even though I had to.

“I love you.” he said. “You fucking know, I spent my life by loving you, brat.”

Maybe there was an earthquake.

Maybe there were bombs exploding all over Marley or Paradise.

Maybe there was a chain of natural disasters which happening right now.

But I could not understand even if I would be brutally killed in this very moment.

He finally said that he loved me.

“If you say no, I will not do anything.” he murmured. “Just tell me.”

I stared at him, how could he be a total moron and did not see how I was amazed by his long-awaited confession? Inside of me, I was screaming, swearing, crying, laughing, and cursing at full speed but I was frozen in reality.

Let me introduce Levi Ackerman to you.

A blockhead, humanity’s strongest and my Ouroboros literally and figuratively eating me alive.

My Levi.

“May I continue to kiss you?”

#levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman fic #levi #levi ackerman headcanons #levi fluff #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #captain levi #levi heichou #aot fanfiction #levi aot #snk #levi attack on titan #attack on titan levi #attack on titan #attack on titan fanfiction #levi ackerman oneshot #shingeki no kyojin

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bananaink · 5 years ago

Photo

I’m alive! :D With some imprint AU stuff :D

And I even wrote something for it you can read under the cut! If you don’t want to read it, here is the gist of it: After Izuku and Shigaraki fought and left both hurt, Kurogiri brought Izuku to AFO, where he gifted Izuku with his healing quirk. Also, I tried writing from AFOs perspective, which is so horribly hard and weird but very intriguing...

So, be warned if you read it! It’s not happy and has a description of an injury!

This was... unexpected. Not entirely a surprise but still... unexpected.

Keeping his hand over the small, bloody chest, All For One listens to the rattling breath in those ruined lungs. The boy couldn’t be much older than... when had he picked him up again? He can’t remember his age. Or where he had plucked him from. Just remembered the soft call of a quirk, interesting and promising enough to pique his interest, sitting in a vessel as young and mendable as he had needed it.

A gurgle, a spluttered cough and that small raw chest twitches under his palm. All For One gently lifts the boy in his arms, tipping his head back. Blood trickles out of his mouth and just a second later the body tries desperately to suck in another breath.

With his other hand not feeling for the heartbeat, All For One lets his fingertips wander over the raw flesh on his cheek, prods at the jaw bone peeking through and listens to the sounds coming from that throat. The boy isn’t conscious, of course not. Tomura has done a number on him this time and when Kurogiri had carried the dying child over, pristine suit covered in blood and voice stiffly hiding how regretful he was over it, the boy had just lost the last hold on his awareness.

All For One may had no more eyes to see with, but he didn’t need to when Kurogiri had gently handed Izuku over, one hand lingering a second too long on the curls for it to be anything but unsettled and ever so humbly informed him about the fight. He didn’t need to see how Kurogiri cared for the two boys and why he had brought Izuku to All For One instead of just disposing him somewhere. Kurogiri never neglected Tomura, followed his duties as the caregiver to a T so the chosen one could be groomed into the final chess piece - but he also never truly hid how much he’d rather have Izuku as his only ward. Until now it had never posed as a problem and Kurogiri wasn’t so dumb as to let his own feelings override his Senseis wishes. But All For One still has Izuku in his arms, not his pupil sulking somewhere.

Tomura had refused to go to his Sensei and explain himself as to why he had mortally wounded his little brother he had proclaimed to love so dearly. So Kurogiri had assumed that position, jumped at the chance to get the barely alive body to him. He informed All For One about the skill and ingenuity it had taken for Izuku to survive and almost even win the fight. How he had turned the tables for the first time, how he had learned from his observations, tried to apply and utilize them. A first try, a first real counterpunch, strong enough to force Tomura into almost killing his dear, little brother.

All For One had gotten the feeling Kurogiri had tried to upsell the child, slowly succumbing to his wounds and entirely inflicted because of his own decisions. In all these short years, Izuku had been nothing but invisible. A good distraction for the impatient Tomura, a useful little tool for the doctor, an asset for Kurogiri and his net of rumors. And when he had tripped All For Ones senses, tickling his focus for a second with one of his stupid stunts, he had made sure to duck and cover immediately. Izuku had been a quiet child until now, unassuming and harmless, the perfect antipole to a boiling Tomura, full of rage and possibility under his skin.

But to hear that a mere little prank had escalated into this...

All For One is surprised to feel a little bit of remorse about Izukus inevitable death. He never actually thought to get attached to the boy. He was supposed to be a plaything for Tomura, distract him while he himself slowly set his plans in motion. But now he finds himself looking down on the child, breath slowly losing strength and each heartbeat coming later than the one before.

He twitches when the small hand, limply resting on his own touches his exposed wrist and is surprised to feel a small, wild quirk reaching out to him. He can feel his oldest, his strongest and most guarded quirk peeking around the mass of other ones he had layered over it. The child reaches and reaches and All For One – ever the curious one – lets him touch his quirk. It's warm and inviting before it quickly turns into a vice, desperately gripping and clawing at All For One.

It’s as if a connection opened up between them, a small freeway directly into his softest part.

A call for help, fear flooding him and pain striking his insides, agitating old wounds...

It’s the first time in years he can feel his skin break out in goosebumps.

He gently pries the foreign quirk away from his own and is surprised again when it latches on to another one on the way, rousing All For Ones echolocation awake and dousing him in information. It takes longer to get the quirk away from that one and he finds himself swatting the reaching quirk away. Watches how another breath doesn’t get enough air into the frail body and the quirk flutters, losing its grip.

He remembers why he had been fascinated with this quirk in the first place. Not only had it felt so so similar to his original one, on its own useless and pointless but born to be a complementary piece... Only to be disappointed when it wasn’t even strong enough to be used in a Nomu. Maybe he had just used it wrong? Thought about it like glue, like a puzzle piece with endless connecting possibilities like his own. But maybe it was more of a... starter. Even as he is thinking that, the quirk snags the one for levitation and he feels himself floating for a second before shutting it off. It is fascinating how agile and fast the quirk jumps around in his body, touching and clawing at quirks that long lost their individuality and almost disrupts his own carefully crafted unity.

Despite its owner dying - a body with a heartbeat more dead than alive - All For One can still feel the quirk pawing at him, weakly prying at All For Ones defenses and flickering out like a struggling ember in a frozen fire.

So, All For One decides.

Reaching inside of him, he tugs forward a quirk, he had found and needed almost over a decade ago. It had once been strong, unpredictably wayward and hard to control, but after years of constant activity and the inevitable replacements piling over it, adding to its purpose and slowly suffocating it, it had lost its unmanageable streak.

He had meant to throw it away anyway, so what harm could it do to gift it to a body on the verge of death. Maybe even see if the healing was still as strong as it once was.

To activate All For One, tugging the quirk out and forcing it out of his fingertips resting on the bloody chest is something so natural to him that he doesn’t even think about it. Instead he feels the little flickering quirk latch onto him, almost ripping the new quirk out of his body and stuffing it inside Izuku without any assistance from All For One. The healing quirk immediately settles in the center of his chest and pours over the heart and lungs, scratches over bones and muscles. All For One tilts his head, listens and feels for it, how it buzzes like a little furnace with too much heat.

The boy spasms with a strong, sudden heartbeat and a gasp follows before the kid lays still again. All For One cradles the boy to his chest, immersed in the way the gifted quirk seems to rampage through the new body, eager to work on its own after years of being a link in a chain. He can feel the heat under his palm, the little shudders running up and down the flesh. And when he is very, very quiet, he can even hear the tissue repairing itself.

It takes a while for Izuku to reach a point where he has a steady heartbeat without a hitch, can breathe without a wet cough and stops bleeding outside of his body. And when he does, All For One can feel Izukus little fluttery quirk reaching out out out again, prodding at All For Ones barricades, trying to squeeze through the gaps and snag another quirk. Touch it. Activate it. Feel it.

He grasps it with his own and doesn’t let it go further. It wiggles in his hold, fearless.

A greedy little thing and he feels like a parent snagging hands away from the cookie jar when he squeezes it warningly, pulling, until it almost leaves its owner.

The kids eyes flutter and he chokes on nothing, pain lazing his features, body arching like a bowstring - and All For One lets it go. It retreats, scolded and intimidated and falls in place right beside the new quirk as if they had shared one body since the beginning. Izuku sags against him, major injuries taken care of but exhausted after such a deep change, breathing hard and sweat glazing his skin. Still unconscious.

Raking his hand through that wild hair, All For One leans back and checks his own body and if those little grabby hands had disrupted his carefully constructed quirk-creation. Then he reassesses his own healing capabilities and finds them satisfyingly sufficient. No immediate drawbacks and another healing quirk perfectly replaced the submitted one. Every other one falling perfectly into place. Machines around and inside of him keep on whirring, keeping him alive and he has lost not one piece of his own comfort. Oh, how far he has left death behind aready...

The boy stirs in his arms but doesn’t wake up. All For One lets his fingertips wander over the new scar on the boy's face, feels its texture and form. Can’t stop himself from laying his own hand over the shape and, again, notes how small the child is, how young, how frail...

Involuntary whines, high pitched and terrified, climb out of Izukus throat and an unexpected urge to sooth the child surprises the century old being. A faded wish for company, a dusty memory of a family and All For One hugs the child to his chest. He doesn’t rock him, doesn’t try to scare the nightmare away or ease the fear. Because the world is cruel and cold and a nightmare. All the phrases that come to mind of how everything is fine, you’re fine, nothing can hurt you, are lies. And All For One may be a monster, a killer, a curse to some and an abomination to others. But he is not a liar.

So, he does nothing when the boy wakes up in a fit of panic. He does nothing when he asks where he is, what happened, am I dead, did I die? He does nothing when the confusion and desperation turns into fear. And tears, into hyperventilation. He can feel the child slowly spiraling into a panic attack and does nothing but hold him.

But he listens. To the painful sobs and cries leaking out of him, the garbled nonsense his lips form that not even a death-scare can take away. Until they fade into terrified whimpers. Into painful sounding heaving. To exhausted hollowness.

All For One listens to all of it until Kurogiri comes and takes the child away.

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kookie-doughs · 4 years ago

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Y/N L/N AND THE HALFBLOODS

Percy Jackson X Reader -Y/N L/N met Percy Jackson and everything was now ruined.

CHAPTER 9: Percy Forces Me To Join A Quest

The next morning, Percy moved to cabin three. Luke was the only one I could hang out with from my cabin. He was also the one who took care of my wounds after the thing happened. Nobody mentioned the hellhound, but I got the feeling they were all talking about it behind my back. The attack had scared everybody. It sent two messages: one, that I managed to command a hellhound; and two, I came with the son of Poseidon. They all assume I would be as great as Percy. The other campers steered clear of me as much as possible. Only Luke struck around. Yes, even Percy started ignoring me. I figured it had something to do with water and stuffs. Cabin eleven was too nervous to have sword class with him after what happened in the woods, so he had one-on-one with Luke. I usually sit in to watch them in hopes of Percy talking to me again. But nada. "You're going to need all the training you can get," Luke promised, as they were working with swords and flaming torches. "Now let's try that viper-beheading strike again. Fifty more repetitions." Annabeth still taught Percy and I Greek but on different times I had mine in the mornings. Even Clarisse kept her distance, though her venomous looks made it clear she wanted to kill me. I wished she would just yell or punch me or something. I'd rather get into fights every day than be ignored. I stayed with Luke most of my time. We'd gotten close that talking about gods wasn't such a touchy subject. He also told me stuffs about himself, like how he got his scar and small stuffs. I was still in bed in cabin eleven. My body told me it was morning, but it was dark outside, and thunder rolled across the hills. A storm was brewing. I hadn't dreamed that. It was so early that most of the campers were still asleep. "Good morning?" I saw Luke standing near the door. "Eh... good enough I guess." I said sitting on my bed. "It's really boring since I don't do anything." "Not sure if I'm bringing you good news or bad," He smiled taking the seat beside me. "But Mr. D wants to see you." "Really? Will I finally get to do something fun?" "I feel like I should be offended." He gasped dramatically. "Why? Am I not fun?" I laughed, "Pretty much yeah." "Ouch. Anyways, I'd better let him tell you what's up." "Walk with me?" I asked with an UwU face. "I would, but commitment and all that." He joked. "Aight then. I'll get ready, wait for me outside." "I said I won't!" "Geez don't need to be in a hurry. I won't take long." I got dressed and went out to see him with an exaggerated frown. "You better walk fast. I'll leave as soon as you get there." For days, I'd been half expecting a summons to the Big House. Now that Percy was declared a son of Poseidon, one of the Big Three gods who weren't supposed to have kids, I figured it was a crime for him just to be alive. They're probably suspicious of me now as well with Percy and I's relation. The other gods had probably been debating the best way to punish me for existing, and now Mr. D was ready to deliver their verdict. "So... with Percy being a big three material. What would that make me?" "Well, putting aside the fact that you suck, you drown at every body of water that's at least a foot deep, you don't smell like a half-blood. I'd say you're... one of the big three's. Maybe Zeus's." "Har har. I'm just really worried you know? With Percy getting claimed as Poseidon's... and I came with him. And water just loves me so much. I'd assume I'm somewhere along the lines of Zeus and... Zeus. Is there someone stronger than Zeus?" "Depends on who you asked." "If I asked Zeus he'd definitely answer Zeus." I heard a loud thunder echoed. "Someone's brave." Luke laughed. Over Long Island Sound, the sky looked like ink soup coming to a boil. A hazy curtain of rain was coming in our direction. I asked Luke if we needed an umbrella. "No," he said. "It never rains here unless we want it to." "So my kiss under the rain fantasy is a no?" "If it has to be here... probably." I pointed at the storm. "What the heck is that, then?" "Bad news. But don't worry, it'll pass by us." I realized he was right. In the week I'd been here, it had never even been overcast. The few rain clouds I'd seen had skirted right around the edges of the valley. But this storm... this one was huge. At the volleyball pit, the kids from Apollo's cabin were playing a morning game against the satyrs. Dionysus's twins were walking around in the strawberry fields, making the plants grow. Everybody was going about their normal business, but they looked tense. They kept their eyes on the storm. When Luke saw the front porch of the Big House. "Whatever they say. Don't choose the option where you'll die." "Half a promise. Depends on the other option." "Well I'll give you an easier promise. Don't die." "Not really easier but okay."

After he ruffled my hair, I walked up to the front porch of the Big House. Dionysus sat at the pinochle table in his tiger-striped Hawaiian shirt with his Diet Coke, just as he had on my first day. Chiron sat across the table in his fake wheelchair. They were playing against invisible opponents--two sets of cards hovering in the air. "Y/N!" Grover greeted. "Well, well," Mr. D said without looking up. "Our little celebrity finally got his request." I turned to see Percy who was looking at me and then moved away. I waited for him to greet... "Come closer, both of you," Mr. D said. "And don't expect me to kowtow to you, mortal, just because old Barnacle-Beard is your father." A net of lightning flashed across the clouds. Thunder shook the windows of the house. "Blah, blah, blah," Dionysus said. Chiron feigned interest in his pinochle cards. Grover cowered by the railing, his hooves clopping back and forth. "If I had my way," Dionysus said, "I would cause your molecules to erupt in flames. We'd sweep up the ashes and be done with a lot of trouble. But Chiron seems to feel this would be against my mission at this cursed camp: to keep you little brats safe from harm." "Spontaneous combustion is a form of harm, Mr. D," Chiron put in. "Nonsense," Dionysus said. "Boy wouldn't feel a thing. Nevertheless, I've agreed to restrain myself I'm thinking of turning you into a dolphin instead, sending you back to your father." "Mr. D—" Chiron warned. "Oh, all right," Dionysus relented. "There's one more option. But it's deadly foolishness." Dionysus rose, and the invisible players' cards dropped to the table. "I'm off to Olympus for the emergency meeting. If the boy is still here when I get back, I'll turn him into an Atlantic bottlenose. Do you understand? And Perseus Jackson, if you're at all smart, you'll see that's a much more sensible choice than what Chiron feels you must do." Dionysus picked up a playing card, twisted it, and it became a plastic rectangle. A credit card? No. A security pass. He snapped his fingers. The air seemed to fold and bend around him. He became a hologram, then a wind, then he was gone, leaving only the smell of fresh-pressed grapes lingering behind. Chiron smiled at me, but he looked tired and strained. "Sit, Percy, please. You too Y/N and Grover." We did. Grover sat between us. Chiron laid his cards on the table, a winning hand he hadn't gotten to use. "Tell me, Percy," he said. "What did you make of the hellhound?" "It scared me," I said. "If Y/N hadn't told it to stand down, I'd be dead." I saw Percy turn to my direction, which made me roll my eyes. "You'll meet worse, Percy. Far worse, before you're done." "Done... with what?" "Your quest, of course. Will you accept it?" I glanced at Grover, who was crossing his fingers. "Um, sir," I said, "you haven't told me what it is yet." Chiron grimaced. "Well, that's the hard part, the details." Thunder rumbled across the valley. The storm clouds had now reached the edge of the beach. As far as I could see, the sky and the sea were boiling together. "Poseidon and Zeus," Percy said. "They're fighting over something valuable... something that was stolen, aren't they?". Chiron and Grover exchanged looks. Chiron sat forward in his wheelchair. "How did you know that?" "The weather since Christmas has been weird, like the sea and the sky are fighting. Then I talked to Annabeth, and she'd overheard something about a theft. And... I've also been having these dreams." "I knew it," Grover said. "Hush, satyr," Chiron ordered. "But it is his quest!" Grover's eyes were bright with excitement. "It must be!" "Only the Oracle can determine." Chiron stroked his bristly beard. "Nevertheless, Percy, you are correct. Your father and Zeus are having their worst quarrel in centuries. They are fighting over something valuable that was stolen. To be precise: a lightning bolt." I laughed. "A what?" "Do not take this lightly," Chiron warned. "I'm not talking about some tinfoil-covered zigzag you'd see in a second-grade play. I'm talking about a two-foot-long cylinder of high-grade celestial bronze, capped on both ends with god-level explosives." "Oh." "Zeus's master bolt," Chiron said, getting worked up now. "The symbol of his power, from which all other lightning bolts are patterned. The first weapon made by the Cyclopes for the war against the Titans, the bolt that sheered the top off Mount Etna and hurled Kronos from his throne; the master bolt, which packs enough power to make mortal hydrogen bombs look like firecrackers." "And it's missing?" "Stolen," Chiron said. "By who?" "By whom," Chiron corrected. Once a teacher, always a teacher. "By you." "At least"—Chiron held up a hand—"that's what Zeus thinks. During the winter solstice, at the last council of the gods, Zeus and Poseidon had an argument. The usual nonsense: 'Mother Rhea always liked you best', 'Air disasters are more spectacular than sea disasters,' et cetera. Afterward, Zeus realized his master bolt was missing, taken from the throne room under his very nose. He immediately blamed Poseidon. Now, a god cannot usurp another god's symbol of power directly—that is forbidden by the most ancient of divine laws. But Zeus believes your father convinced a human hero to take it." "But I didn't—" "Patience and listen, child," Chiron said. "Zeus has good reason to be suspicious. The forges of the Cyclopes are under the ocean, which gives Poseidon some influence over the makers of his brother's lightning. Zeus believes Poseidon has taken the master bolt, and is now secretly having the Cyclopes build an arsenal of illegal copies, which might be used to topple Zeus from his throne. The only thing Zeus wasn't sure about was which hero Poseidon used to steal the bolt. Now Poseidon has openly claimed you as his son. You were in New York over the winter holidays. You could easily have snuck into Olympus. Zeus believes he has found his thief." "But I've never even been to Olympus! Zeus is crazy!" Chiron and Grover glanced nervously at the sky. The clouds didn't seem to be parting around us, as Luke had promised. They were rolling straight over our valley, sealing us in like a coffin lid. "Er, Percy...?" Grover said. "We don't use the c-word to describe the Lord of the Sky." "Perhaps paranoid," Chiron suggested. "Then again, Poseidon has tried to unseat Zeus before. I believe that was question thirty-eight on your final exam...." He looked at Percy. Chiron was waiting for an answer. "Something about a golden net?" He answered. "Poseidon and Hera and a few other gods... they, like, trapped Zeus and wouldn't let him out until he promised to be a better ruler, right?" "Correct," Chiron said. "And Zeus has never trusted Poseidon since. Of course, Poseidon denies stealing the master bolt. He took great offense at the accusation. The two have been arguing back and forth for months, threatening war. And now, you've come along—the proverbial last straw." "But I'm just a kid!" "Percy," Grover cut in, "if you were Zeus, and you already thought your brother was plotting to overthrow you, then your brother suddenly admitted he had broken the sacred oath he took after World War II, that he's fathered a new mortal hero who might be used as a weapon against you.... Wouldn't that put a twist in your toga?" "But I didn't do anything. Poseidon—my dad—he didn't really have this master bolt stolen, did he?" Chiron sighed. "Most thinking observers would agree that thievery is not Poseidon's style. But the Sea God is too proud to try convincing Zeus of that. Zeus has demanded that Poseidon return the bolt by the summer solstice. That's June twenty-first, ten days from now. Poseidon wants an apology for being called a thief by the same date. I hoped that diplomacy might prevail, that Hera or Demeter or Hestia would make the two brothers see sense. But your arrival has inflamed Zeus's temper. Now neither god will back down. Unless someone intervenes, unless the master bolt is found and returned to Zeus before the solstice, there will be war. And do you know what a full-fledged war would look like, Percy?" "Bad?" "Imagine the world in chaos. Nature at war with itself. Olympians forced to choose sides between Zeus and Poseidon. Destruction. Carnage. Millions dead. Western civilization turned into a battleground so big it will make the Trojan War look like a water-balloon fight." "Bad," I repeated. "And you, Percy Jackson, would be the first to feel Zeus's wrath." It started to rain. Volleyball players stopped their game and stared in stunned silence at the sky. I had brought this storm to Half-Blood Hill. Zeus was punishing the whole camp because of Percy. I was furious. "So he has to find the stupid bolt," I said. "And return it to Zeus." "What better peace offering," Chiron said, "than to have the son of Poseidon return Zeus's property?" "If Poseidon doesn't have it, where is the thing?" "I believe I know." Chiron's expression was grim. "Part of a prophecy I had years ago... well, some of the lines make sense to me, now. But before I can say more, you must officially take up the quest. You must seek the counsel of the Oracle." "Why can't you tell me where the bolt is beforehand?" "Because if I did, you would be too afraid to accept the challenge." "Good reason." "You agree then?" He looked at Grover, who nodded encouragingly. Easy for him. He wasn't the one Zeus wanted to kill. Percy then turned to me, "All right," he said. "But, I'll go when Y/N comes with." "Woah there! I am not going anywhere." I hissed. You ignore me for days and now you want me to die with you now? "Why do I have to go with you?" "Percy---" "I don't want to leave without her." He looked down. I felt guilty about turning him down. Which was stupid since he's the one at fault. I gave a sigh, I hope Luke won't get mad at me. "It's better than you being turned into a dolphin." I mumbled. "I'll go." "Then it's time you consulted the Oracle," Chiron said. "Go upstairs, Percy Jackson, to the attic. When you come back down, assuming you're still sane, we will talk more." Before Percy came up he took my arm and pulled me in a hug. "I wanted you there, so we could save our parents together. After this quest, you me your mom and dad and my mom, will stay together." I hugged him back and nodded. "Thank you." Four flights up, the stairs ended under a green trapdoor. Percy pulled the cord. The door swung down, and a wooden ladder clattered into place. After he went up. Chiron turned to me. "Hmm? Something to say?" I asked in a hopefully not rude tone. "I've had enough of people staring at me thinking, I summoned that hellhound." "Y/N, I assure you I don't think you'd do that. I am just confused as to why it followed your command." "Did you maybe forget to tell us something? I really can't seem to find out who you are." "Well... I don't think I forgot to mention anything. Maybe the fact that water hates me, I've never been on a plane, and I am low-key kinda scared of the dark depending on the situation." "Water hates you?" Grover asked. "First time swimming, beach, I was 5. I drowned at a supposedly 3 feet deep water. I haven't been near any bodies of water ever since. Until I met Percy, I drowned at the beach again. If I wasn't mistaken I was few meters away from the water and it pulled me and I almost drowned." "It would seem, Poseidon hates you. Why would he?" "My parents must've realized that fish god hates me and didn't take chances on the others." I could tell Chiron wanted to continue but Percy came down, "Well?" Chiron asked. He slumped into a chair at the pinochle table. I could see he wasn't happy. "Are you okay?" I asked him. He looked at me warily and nodded. "She said I would retrieve what was stolen." Grover sat forward, chewing excitedly on the remains of a Diet Coke can. "That's great!" "What did the Oracle say exactly?" Chiron pressed. "This is important." "She . .. she said I would go west and face a god who had turned. I would retrieve what was stolen and see it safely returned." "I knew it," Grover said... Chiron didn't look satisfied. "Anything else?" "No," He said. "That's about it." I took a hold of Percy's hand. And he gave me a look that said, 'I'll tell you later.' "Very well, Percy. But know this: the Oracle's words often have double meanings. Don't dwell on them too much. The truth is not always clear until events come to pass." "Okay," I said, anxious to change topics. "So where do we go? Who's this god in the west?" "Ah, think, Percy," Chiron said. "If Zeus and Poseidon weaken each other in a war, who stands to gain?" "Somebody else who wants to take over?" he guessed. "Yes, quite. Someone who harbors a grudge, who has been unhappy with his lot since the world was divided eons ago, whose kingdom would grow powerful with the deaths of millions. Someone who hates his brothers for forcing him into an oath to have no more children, an oath that both of them have now broken." I thought about my dreams, the evil voice that had spoken from under the ground. "Hades." Chiron nodded. "The Lord of the Dead is the only possibility." A scrap of aluminum dribbled out of Grover's mouth. "Whoa, wait. Wh-what?" "A Fury came after Percy," Chiron reminded him. "She watched the young man until she was sure of his identity, then tried to kill him. Furies obey only one lord: Hades." "Yes, but—but Hades hates all heroes," Grover protested. "Especially if he has found out Percy is a son of Poseidon... ." "A hellhound got into the forest," Chiron continued. "Those can only be summoned from the Fields of Punishment, and it had to be summoned by someone within the camp. Hades must have a spy here. He must suspect Poseidon will try to use Percy to clear his name. Hades would very much like to kill this young half-blood before he can take on the quest." "Great," Percy muttered. "That's two major gods who want to kill me." "Hey, I beat you, I got all of them." I smirked. I was trying to lighten up the mood and Percy finally cracked a smile. "But a quest to..." Grover swallowed. "I mean, couldn't the master bolt be in some place like Maine? Maine's very nice this time of year." "Hades sent a minion to steal the master bolt," Chiron insisted. "He hid it in the Underworld, knowing full well that Zeus would blame Poseidon. I don't pretend to understand the Lord of the Dead's motives perfectly, or why he chose this time to start a war, but one thing is certain. Percy must go to the Underworld, find the master bolt, and reveal the truth." A strange fire burned in my stomach. The weirdest thing was: it wasn't fear. It was anticipation. I wasn't feeling scared of anything right now. I felt like I could face anything. I was ready to take him on. Anyone in a matter of fact. Besides, if my mom and dad might be in the Underworld... which would be unlikely. Who knows maybe I could bribe him and talk him into reviving them. Or what if he's misunderstood? What if there's a plot twist somewhere here, and it actually wasn't Hades's fault? Grover was trembling. He'd started eating pinochle cards like potato chips. The poor guy needed to complete a quest with us so he could get his searcher's license, whatever that was. This was suicide. "Look, if we know it's Hades," Percy told Chiron, "why can't we just tell the other gods? Zeus or Poseidon could go down to the Underworld and bust some heads." "It might not be him you know." I added. "She's right, suspecting and knowing are not the same," Chiron said. "Besides, even if the other gods suspect Hades—and I imagine Poseidon does—they couldn't retrieve the bolt themselves. Gods cannot cross each other's territories except by invitation. That is another ancient rule. Heroes, on the other hand, have certain privileges. They can go anywhere, challenge anyone, as long as they're bold enough and strong enough to do it. No god can be held responsible for a hero's actions. Why do you think the gods always operate through humans?" "You're saying I'm being used." "I'm saying it's no accident Poseidon has claimed you now. It's a very risky gamble, but he's in a desperate situation. He needs you." "Damn, my parent doesn't? I'm going on a deadly quest thanks to Arthur Curry right here. Least they could do is support me and let me know They'll be proud of me saving the world." I huffed. "You've known I was Poseidon's son all along, haven't you?" "I had my suspicions. As I said... I've spoken to the Oracle, too." I got the feeling there was a lot he wasn't telling us about his prophecy, but I decided I couldn't worry about that right now. After all, I was holding back information too. "So let me get this straight," I said. "We're supposed go to the Underworld and confront the Lord of the Dead." "Check," Chiron said. "Find the most powerful weapon in the universe." "Check." "And get it back to Olympus before the summer solstice, in ten days." "That's about right." Percy and I looked at each other then we looked over at Grover, who gulped down the ace of hearts. "Did I mention that Maine is very nice this time of year?" he asked weakly. "You don't have to go," Percy told him. "I can't ask that of you. "Oh..." He shifted his hooves. "No... it's just that satyrs and underground places... well..." He took a deep breath, then stood, brushing the shredded cards and aluminum bits off his T-shirt. "You saved my life, Percy. Both of you did. If... if you're serious about wanting me along, I won't let you down." I felt so relieved I wanted to cry, though I didn't think that would be very heroic. I wasn't sure what good a satyr could do against the forces of the dead, but I felt better knowing he'd be with us. "All the way, G-man." Percy turned to Chiron. "So where do we go? The Oracle just said to go west." "The entrance to the Underworld is always in the west. It moves from age to age, just like Olympus. Right now, of course, it's in America." "Where?" Chiron looked surprised. "I thought that would be obvious enough. The entrance to the Underworld is in Los Angeles." "Oh," I said. "Naturally. So we just get on a plane—" "No!" Grover shrieked. "Percy, what are you thinking? Have you ever been on a plane in your life?" I shook my head, feeling embarrassed. My mom had never taken me anywhere by plane. She'd always said we didn't have the money. Besides, her parents had died in a plane crash. "We're not allowed to fly because Zeus is a stuck up who doesn't want others touching his stuff without permission." "Y/N!" Grover panicked when loud thunder echoed above us. I wanted to yell, 'Oh shut up thunder boy.' But I still wanted try fulfilling my promise to Luke with all I can. "Percy, think," Chiron said. "You are the son of the Sea God. Your father's bitterest rival is Zeus, Lord of the Sky. Your mother knew better than to trust you in an airplane. You would be in Zeus's domain. You would never come down again alive." Overhead, lightning crackled. Thunder boomed. "Okay," I said, determined not to look at the storm. "So, I'll travel overland." "That's right," Chiron said. "Two companions may accompany you. Grover is one. The other is Y/N. But someone else has already volunteered, if you will accept her help." "Gee," I said, feigning surprise. "Who else would be stupid enough to volunteer for a quest like this?" The air shimmered behind Chiron. Annabeth became visible, stuffing her Yankees cap into her back pocket. "I've been waiting a long time for a quest, seaweed brain," she said. "Athena is no fan of Poseidon, but if you're going to save the world, I'm the best person to keep you from messing up." "I'll gladly give you my spot and all but... Percy and I are a duo." I lifted my fist which he bumped. "But she's right, we can't leave the world at the hands of two idiots and a scaredy-cat." "Can't we have four people on a quest?" "You can also pick more than two people to join, but this is considered dangerous as three is a sacred number. Any more than three on a quest could result in a catastrophe, including a member of the quest going missing, dying, or the quest failing." "Willing to risk it Peabody?" She gave me a glare. No. I assure you no one shall be lost in this quest. They were all looking at me weirdly. "What did you say?" "I asked if you were willing to risk it...?" I was confused. "Y/N you're doing it again." "Doing what? I am literally not doing anything wrong. Wanna fite me? I will back out of this quest." I gave an exaggerated glare. Annabeth turned to Chiron, who was looking down on me. "I suppose... if Percy is willing to risk it and all parties approve. I could allow this as a four person quest." "Well, I call not it to the dying person." I raised my hand. "But you can come Peabody. We need a not so stupid guy." "Well, if she say yes..." "I-I... don't really..." "I want to come." "I suppose you have a plan, wise girl?" Her cheeks colored. "Do you want my help or not?" "A quartet," I said. "Hopefully it works." "Excellent," Chiron said. "This afternoon, we can take you as far as the bus terminal in Manhattan. After that, you are on your own." Lightning flashed. Rain poured down on the meadows that were never supposed to have violent weather. "No time to waste," Chiron said. "I think you should all get packing." I took Percy's hand and gave him a look to remind him about his quest. "I'll tell you later."

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UwU Haha I'm better now :) I am sorry for being on haitus And for some parts that I might've forgotten to erase UwU -kookie-doughs

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#Percy Jackson #Percy Jackson X Reader #Percy Jackson X Y/N #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #Luke castellan x reader #Lightning thief #Y/N L/N #Y/N L/N and the halfbloods #pjo #x reader #Book 1 #Chapter 9 #Fanfiction #fanfictions

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