#a man collapsed in tears after pulling a small child from the rubble this morning

[cairamelcoffee]

He tried his best to cheer the innocent baby when he knows himself the catastrophe they’re facing. Ya Allah, please protect the people of Gaza. You know what is best for them. Grant us the imaan, patience and bravery You gifted them

via @/writer_liltash on twitter

[brisbookmark]

The Three Times Jason Wasn’t Saved- and The One Time he Was

Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: detailed descriptions of torture, angst, character death, blood, needles, knives/ cutting, batfam au where the gangs all here, Robin!Jason, reader can summon weapons, sad ending

One

His head hangs, he doesn't have the energy. His feet barely touch the ground, and yet he makes no move to stand himself up. They're tingly and fuzzy and cold, as are his hands that are tied above his head. 

Jason Todd hangs in chains like a slaughtered pig, and his breathing is hoarse. His dull blue eyes land on the bloodied crowbar laying on the floor. It's his blood, and it makes him groan in pain. Hyper realization of his injuries hits him and he whimpers. It's low, pathetic, and his breathing picks up.

He doesn’t remember how to wear clothes that aren’t covered in dirt and grime and acid. The fabric of his robin suit sticks to his skin, blending with his wounds. Every small move of limb sends fires of pain throughout his body, and he tries his hardest not to make a sound. 

The Asylum wing is freezing and he’s cold, skin almost blue. He shivers every once in a while- it’s different from when the Asylum is scorching hot and he feels like he’s in hell where he belongs. The hair he used to keep so elegantly messy, it's dirty and scorched and matted and greasy against his head.

And he’s scared.

He knows that if he looks up, he'll see pictures. Taped to the dusty and damp walls of Arkham Asylum. Red circles trace each of their faces, and whether or not it's paint or blood he doesn't want to know.

It’s blood, it’s always been blood.

He can't bear to see their faces right now. Barbara, happy and smiling next to Dick as they enjoy a Gotham carnival. They're happy without him, he always held them back. He was too dependent on Barbara as a sister figure and was just an annoying kid to Dick, they're better now. 

Bruce. With a child on his shoulders. The son Jason could never be. A new Robin, one that could properly fulfill his duties. He was the failure, he was never going to be what Dick Grayson was. Maybe his replacement could, his replacement wouldn't let himself get captured.

Barbara and Selina and Alfred who had only ever taken care of him.

All with red targets around them. Everyone he'd ever cared for. Marked.

Everyone except Y/N, who's picture lay in pieces on the ground. Unlike the others, it wasn't taken by Joker's goons, and it wasn't recent.

It was her student ID from their first year at Gotham Academy. She was young, really young, eyes still bright and skin untainted by the scars of vigilante work. And she wasn't even looking at the camera but rather off to the side, caught by surprise when the photographer flashed his equipment. She hated pictures, and going to school was never a part of the deal. She’s mid laughing and so alive and happy in a world where Jason never hurt her. 

He'd stolen it soon after it was taken, sticking it in his wallet so she'd be forced to ask him for his own. You couldn't access the Academy Library without one after all. 

And the Joker had found it in his pocket and took it and ruined it and tore it and left her in pieces in the corner, her name never spoken from the maniac again. 

Jason assumed that was good. Better to be left in silence than threatened and marked for death. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long it's been since he’s seen her, and he softly starts to whisper her name. She promised him a night out once he found his mother, 

No, he couldn’t. 

Maybe the Joker couldn’t find her, hadn’t figured out her identity. He could keep her safe.

"What's that my boy?"

"No.. no," Robin pleads, the voice of nails on a chalkboard sending fear into his every bone. "Not again, not again."

The Joker comes into view and a weak cry comes from Jason's lips. His body jerks and another cough wracks his body, warm blood spilling from his mouth. Broken ribs, internal bleeding, punctured lung, he has no idea what it could be. If only Alfred were here, or Dick. To let him rest as they fixed him up, took care of him.

His chin is grabbed harshly, the bruising making it worse. The Joker laughs, pushing his face upwards and close to his own. He can smell death and acid on this villain, and Jason whimpers again. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

The robin doesn't answer. He can't keep track. He tried counting the amount of times Joker visited him, but then again, that was most likely more than once a day. And sometimes it was Harley, or a low level goon dressed like Batman and Nightwing and Batigrl and her. 

Time is a blur to him, he's been in pain too long. Everything hurts, even if someone were to save him now, he feels practically gone already. 

He wanted someone to save him.

"What about it Jason? You think Bats will come? Save his precious son?" The Joker prods, mouth wide.

Jason wants to say it. But the words dont leave his mouth. 

"Go on, don't be scared Jason. Tell me, tell dear old Joker."

"HE'LL COME FOR ME!" he yells, and it uses all his strength to just move his jaw.

"Even when he's better off without you?" The Joker asks, and he bends down to lift the bloodied crowbar. 

No. Please, anything but that. 

"He's going to! He has to!" Jason screams, and then tears start streaming down his cheeks.

The metal finds its way onto his hip, sending his body swaying helplessly as he cries. 

"Tell me, who's hurting you?" The Joker asks, grin never leaving his face as he hits Jason again. 

"Please stop, I'll do anything," the boy pleads, desperately trying to think of anything else. If only the Joker would end him now, let him go free.

"Who's hurting you Jason?"

"YOU!" He shrieks, the crowbar smacking painfully across his chest and ripping at the skin. It's like his lungs have collapsed, he no longer has bones. 

"Wrong!" 

"The, the Joker-"

"WRONG AGAIN MY BOY."

Jason looks up at the pictures on the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. Blood pours into his mouth and he spits it out, shaking in his chains. "Batman.. batman is hurting me."

The next hit never comes. "Attaboy," The Joker mutters, and then he leaves.

Two

He returns the next morning. Jason assumes it's the next morning, as he's in a new purple suit. Harley gave him a dosage some odd amount of time ago, it must be a new day. His limbs are numb, his wrists are cracked and bleeding. He tries to keep his tongue in his mouth but his jaw is slack and disfigured, it’s increasingly difficult. 

Jason hasn't slept in days. Dark circles accessorize his black eyes, it's a miracle he can see at all.

The green haired man sets a timer in the corner of the room, and the Robin's brain goes into endless loops of trauma. The crowbar, the explosion that almost killed him. His mind wandered to warm arms pulling him out, thinking Bruce had pulled him from the rubble. Except it wasn't his father at all.

Batman hadn't even tried. 

"Jason." The Joker says sweetly, walking around the boy like a predator. The robin is helpless, he's lost all feeling in his limbs. "I thought I might tell you a story today."

The dark haired boy stays silent. He doesn't cry, he doesn't scream, he prays to a god he doesn't know for it all to stop. A bullet, a poison, the world ends in a fiery explosion, he didn't care.

"Jason."

"Just kill me already," he pleads, voice cracking and desperate.

Loud laughter echoes through the room. Jason's head hurts from the sheer volume, and it doesn't stop. It gets louder, and it carries around, and Jason lets out hushed breaths. 

"I can't kill you boy, we're a great team you and I! Would you like to hear my story?"

Jason closes his eyes in anticipation for today's beating.

The Joker grabs his face again, and Jason is groggy. Fading in and out of consciousness. But as his eyes are forced open and the first thing he sees is a blade, Jason screams.

It's a dull knife, long and serrated and bloody and dirty. And in its reflection is the lunatic's face, grinning like mad. The light catches on the razor as the Joker's eyes go wide.

"Wanna know how I got these scars?" He sneers, and Jason cries. He struggles to get away, hanging helplessly from his suspension. Nothing works, and two goons from the shadows hold him still with no thought towards his bruised and broken body.

He's in agony, and he's begging. He's in insurmountable pain and he can't do anything about it. The razor is brought to Jason's lips, presses to the side of his mouth with dull pressure.

He’s muffled now, and he continues fighting. 

"Just,, like, this!!" The Joker yells, dragging the blade upward through Jason's skin at a slow agonizing pace. He wants this to be slow and torturous, and Jason only cries and shakes. It hurts, god it hurts, he's being cut open, and the blood and tears mix and cause him more pain, 

He almost wishes for the crowbar again and once the knife is finished on one side, he screams again. His blood bleeds from the blade and falls onto the floor, joining the rest from the past days. Months? It couldn’t have been years.

“Such a handsome young man,” the joker croons, erupting into even more laughter. “Tell me what brought the chicks in, your crippling daddy issues or your criminal record?”

Jason couldn’t answer if he tried. The Joker grabs his face, almost smelling his newfound wounds, and then pulls back, leaving him in a hanging sway. 

“Let me go..” he pleads, mouth sore. His bright blue eyes are so devoid of color it hurts, and he closes them. Blood and dirt clumps on his pretty eyelashes. 

“Now I don’t think I can do that dear Jason.”

Joker licks the blade clean, it catches on the man's tongue and cuts him, not that he cares. Jason's glad he's not forced to swallow the damn thing.

Well, be careful what you wish for. 

Its sharp edge is brought down his jaw, down his neck, so close to his jugular veins, if only he could shift and catch himself on the blade, he could end it all. 

He starts crying.

He doesn’t know when he stops.

The Asylum walls go black, and he's shrieking. Harley Quinn brings a bat to his body as the Joker moves his knife, and it finds solace along Jason's cold chest.

One cut. Two cuts. Jason screams more. His throat is raw, he doesn't even know where his terror is coming from anymore, it'd been beaten out of him. 

"Bruce-, bruce stop-"

The Joker laughs. "AHA, the boys learning, don't you see? That's right, that's right."

The cuts are few, and after a while they're bearable. The hardest part to deal with is Harley"s high squeals as she beats him. She calls him cute, handsome, a songbird.

Songbird.

"You can't.."

"I can't what Jay darling? Hmm?? What can't I do?" The Queen of crime pouts, and Jason sees red.

"Don't say that," he spits, finding his voice. "That name isn't for you bitch."

The next time the knife touches his skin, it's coated in acid. And he's yelling for it to stop, he's pleading, thrashing around.

His kicks find Harley and he's flown forward and backward, still chained to the ceiling. Its desperate.

"JAY DARLIING," she sings. "Puddin what else gets our birdie going?? Mm? What makes him sing like a good pet. Oh this is exciting!" 

"SHUT UP-"

"Jay," Harley flutters her eyelashes, bringing herself close to his face. "Baby? Love? Is it sweetheart?" Her mouth is wide, eyes deranged. "Perhaps it's Mister J! He stares into her gaze, and for a second the jester flinches.

If Jason wasn't suspended and restrained, he'd kill her. He knew it and she knew it and Joker most definitely knew.

"Well Jason, kill her then! Do it loverboy, why won't you end her?" He croons, and Harley feigns sadness. 

"I-" he starts, unwilling to let himself hang in shame. How could he do this? 

"Oh come on angel! Why don't you try?" She shrieks, and then Jason is shouting, further tearing into the cuts along his mouth as he brings his legs up, attempting to wrap them around Harley's neck. 

He doesn't get very far. Someone holds him steady, and the stinging knife is brought back to his chest. An H. An A. Another H and an A. 

Straight across his chest, and then it begins again. Jason's breathing is labored from his attempt to retaliate, and he slips back into his daze of unconsciousness. He can't do this much longer.

THE.

Jason can see it in the mirror on the opposite wall. He doesn't remember when that got put there. If he could reach something with his feet he could throw it. Break the glass, pick it up with his feet again perhaps, end this torture-

JOKES.

Jason feels like vomiting. 

ON.

Jason vomits on the ground in front of him. Sweat sticks to his skin and he's pale, he feels a fever growing on him. The knife continues lower to his bruised skin. This couldn't get worse, could it. 

YOU.

The words are engraved on his body, marred by the blood dripping from it. Jason's eyes roll to the back of his head. The trauma puts him to sleep, and the Harley Quinn whispers another "Jay Darling" into his ear before departing. 

Three

Y/N’s picture is gone now, he can't even piece it together in his mind anymore. The scraps are scattered and disintegrated into dust.

This time he hears Harley before Joker, she's hanging off of the clown's arm, looking at him with the adoration of a psychopath. In her hands is a long poker, tip red hot, and she swings it without a care in the world. She giggles as her love comes closer to the half dead boy, untying his chains.

Jason lands on the floor, a crumpled heap of skin and broken bones. His head hits the ground, but it's the most beautiful thing he's touched in a long time.

He doesn't move, curling into a protective ball. 

"Mister J our bird isn't moving," Harley whines, kicking him in the back. He groans, shielding himself as best he could. There's nothing on the ground that's usable, not even a sharp stick or rock, there's a used abandoned needle but it sends him into nausea.

The Joker's laughing brings him back to reality as he attempts to crawl away. The floor is appalling, disgusting, a mix of wax and blood and body fluids that he wished he could forget, but he's let go. 

Jason slams his hands on the cement, using the force to wake him up and pull himself forward. His legs don't work, he's going delirious again, and then there's the sizzle of water behind him.

"Where are you going birdie?" Harley asks, and the Joker takes another step closer. 

"No, no, NO-" Jason pleads. Please let him go, dead or alive he doesn't care. Just get him out of here, make it stop. It's the only word he knows at the moment, every syllable is tortuous to pronounce. He bangs his head on the cement. God he’s going insane.

Stop touching him. Stop hurting him. 

He’s been beaten and tortured and degraded in the worst ways possible. He couldn’t remember what it was like to be human. And still, this was the worst pain yet.

He's pinned down as the hot poker nears his face, the symbol bright red on the end. Like a branded piece of meat. His flesh burns and sizzles as the Joker gives more pressure, and Jason's never screamed louder. 

It's in the intense silence within which he screams with his whole body. It forces its way from deep in his throat, demonic and angry and scared. 

He's hiding a truth from himself, and soon he's not screaming from the burning, but rather that he's stuck here. Forever. 

Edged with the tantalisingly sweet release of death, the Joker will never give it to him. 

The Joker will never let him die, he will never let him go. And now his cursed J is on Jason’s cheek, he’ll forever be the Joker’s pet.

When the brand stick is taken off his skin, Jason is sweating and pale and falls asleep.

"What a shame you couldn't handle it."

x

Y/N runs through the hallway with desperation. She'd tracked down Harley one night and by some god forsaken miracle, the deranged woman had blood on her skirts.

Another miracle hadY/N sneaking into Wayne Manor to ask Barbara to help her, analyzing the blood samples to track down the Joker.

They found something better.

For a second she believed Bruce's high end, most technologically advanced equipment was wrong. Babs assured her it wasn't. That was Jason's blood on Harley, less than two weeks old. 

"Jason?"

The boy looks up, whimpering. He almost doesn't hear her.

"Oh Jay," she whispers from the hallway. She's just a shadow but Jason knows it's her. No one has ever said his name with such gentleness. 

The woman lets out a sob. He's here, he's alive, he's gonna be okay. 

Jason holds back sobs of his own as she runs to him. Her fingers are first to touch him, resting on his chest and trailing over his scars, his wounds and his blood. His torn clothes, the dirt and acid burns. Her hand stops over his heart, beating so slow she would have believed him to be dead.

But this is Jason. He's not dying anytime soon. Especially not if she can help it.

Tears stream down her face as she wraps her arms around him, holding him close. 

He's gonna be okay.

Y/N is immediately supporting him as she conjures a knife to cut him down. His arms are free and he nearly goes unconscious.

She catches him before he can fall. It's not like the Joker when he needs to crawl away like a wounded puppy. He welcomes the other presence in the damp room, shaking. Jason lifts his head, and he doesn't even have to move until she's at his side. It's so different.. he forgot what this feels like. 

Jason forgot what it felt like to have emotions besides fear. 

He curls into her lap, slowly using her body to sit up. 

"Jay look at me, please," she murmurs, holding his face and brushing the hair out of those colorless eyes. "Oh my god I knew it.. I knew you were alive.. Jay I'm so sorry-" she stops herself, kissing the top of his blood matted head.

That doesn't matter now.

"I'm gonna get you out of here, you're okay sweetheart. Stay awake okay? Okay. Stay awake for me please."

Jason nods, hanging onto her. If he lets go, she'll leave. He'll lose her and he'll be stuck here again. She'll fade away.

It hurts to move, every bone and every limb is on fire. Then she's grabbing him and they're standing up, she's practically half carrying him.  

Mumbles of his name fill the empty asylum wing. Js and Jason's and Jay's pass her lips as if just repeating it is gonna make him alright.

One step, and Jason crumbles. He can't walk, it's a miracle he can feel his legs at all. "I'm not going anywhere," he mutters. 

She doesn't say anything. She knows.

Footsteps in the background. Walking, jogging, running. 

Maniacal laughs and snarls and spit.

Y/N bends her knees and slings him over her shoulder in a fireman's carry, and then she starts running. Down one hallway and then the next, the Arkham Asylum is a maze.

"Jay, side of my mask, the-"

"Comms," he finishes, holding the button to turn it on.

"Bat? Batgirl, do you read me?" The girl whispers, ducking into an alcove.

"I'm here. Did you..?"

"I've got him. Babs, he's alive, Jason's alive, he's breathing-" It feels so good to say, to not just breathe an empty statement. 

Crying comes from the other side of the comms. Barbara composes herself enough to speak, but even then, emotion hangs in her voice. "Let's bring him home then, where are you right now? Dicks outside the Asylum with Bruce, don't worry about the thugs or the cameras, we have it covered."

"I'LL FIND YOU BIRDIE!" 

"The Joker's here," Y/N tells Barbara and the air hangs with a pregnant pause. 

"Okay, Tim's gonna have you turn right, we got his signal."

The woman turns, ducking into the darkness.

"Y/N,." Jason wheezes, hanging onto her shoulders with the strength he could muster. 

"Jason if this is one of, one of your 'if we don't make it out' speeches-"

"Nevermind," he replies, wishing he had the energy and the ability to smile. She does, she smiles for the both of them- even if he can't see it from this angle. 

"God I'm going to make him pay for this. Writhing and screaming and begging for me to end him," she threatens, listening for the next of Barbara’s directions.

She's told to go right and through a door.

There's two sets of footsteps now.

Y/N continues, trying to fill the silence. The Joker won’t track her voice, the alarms are too loud. "That doesn't matter now, I guess. You're alive and I- we thought you were dead and it took so long for me to accept that, and I still don't know how I found you but I did and Jay I'm so proud of you-"

"Hey this doesn't mean you can give me a speech of your own," Jason interrupts, and she cracks another smile. She’s rambling like she always does when she overthinks, and he closes his eyes to imagine that they’re once again on a Gotham skyscraper with a bottle of champagne. Spilling secrets and laughing like they weren’t masked vigilantes with secret identities. 

"I love you Jason, and you're not leaving me again."

"HAHA I LOVE THIS GAME-" The Joker yells. His psychotic grin fills Jason’s vision as the maniac throws open a hatch, jumping down into the room. Jason is dropped to the ground and Y/N has her sword in hand, stepping in between the two men. 

His vision is blurry, he can’t see anything, and the ground is warm. 

He can’t succumb. Jason stands up again, grabbing a pistol from Y/N’s leg and he shoots. The feel of a gun trigger isn’t unfamiliar. 

Yelling fills the room, as does the clash of metal and fists, Jason smiles as the Joker cries out in pain. Another door opens, there’s girlish laughter now, and so many footsteps. He keeps shooting, dropping enemies like a second nature because he was Jason Peter fucking Todd. 

Jason’s ribs get stomped on again and he loses his gun, and metal echoes on the ground as something is dropped. Three gunshots ring through the room. 

No. 

No.

The Joker and the Harlequin keep laughing in glee, and Jason blacks out from crying again. 

x

Cold hands grab his face. The man who laughs is, well, laughing and pulling Jason’s face close to his own. The smell of death fills his senses and Jason opens his eyes. 

"How long do you think it's been, Jason?"

[can-youimagine]

Supersuit (Steve Rogers x Reader)

Summary: Even though Steve is forced to take a break from the superhero life, he can’t seem to shake his need to do good

TW: 

Word Count: 1002

A/N: My write-a-thon is underway!

Masterlist

There was very little glamor in the superhero life. After the fallout of the Sokovia Accords, you and Steve went into hiding. You bought a nice little house in the suburbs and with a pair of glasses, Steve got a job at an insurance company, allowing him to continue to help people, even if he couldn’t save them from injury. 

You, on the other hand, stayed on the sidelines. Just before the incident, you learned that you were pregnant. In a way, this new life was a blessing in disguise. This gave the two of you a chance to live the all-American, white-picket-fence life that Steve had always dreamed of.

While he put aside his powers, you were able to use yours. Elasticity came in handy when taking care of a small child. 

Even though you were dealing well with the new life, you could tell it was tearing Steve apart. He and Bucky would go out every week, and even they thought you didn’t know, to stop petty crimes. Bucky, like you, absolutely loved living a relatively normal life. He just wanted Steve to feel the same.

“You’re late,” you mutter, as Steve walks in, covered in rubble.

“I’ll put Jack to bed tomorrow night,” he says, walking past you, but you are too quick. Pulling a piece of rubble off of his shirt, you ask him what happened, to which he responds with the incredibly alarming answer of “the building was coming down anyway.”

“You tore down a building! Steve, are you insane? What would have happened if you got caught, you are still a-” a cry from Jack’s room cuts you off. “We’ll talk about this in the morning,” you finish before heading into Jack’s room.

Steve didn’t live up to his promise. In fact, he wasn’t home to put Jack to bed any night. As much as it hurt you, you noticed how excited he was to leave for work. Maybe, whatever new shift he picked up was worth it. One night, while you’re cleaning his office, you notice that his old suit has been patched up. Concerned, you take a closer look. The new stitching is of a different material than the old suit. You can’t tell what the material is, but you know who made it.

Before you have time to process what you’re doing, you’re on the phone with your former boss. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“Hello, (Y/N), how are you?” Hearing the smirk on his face angers you even more.

“Shut up, Stark. What are you doing with my husband?”

“Funny, I’ve never been on the receiving end of that question. Look, (Y/N), I don’t know what’s going on with Steve. He said he wanted a new suit, and I wanted to try some new tech out. I made a suit for you and the baby - that you didn’t name after me - if you want to come by to check them out.”

“I -  no! I don’t care about my suit, which I don’t need-”

“Alright,” he interrupts, “You wore me down. I’ll send a car and a babysitter for you. See you soon.”

You should have known that arguing with Tony Stark was useless.

The compound looks exactly the same as when you left. As soon as you step in, you wonder why you left in the first place. As soon as Tony walks over to you with a glass of scotch, you remember. You push the glass out of the way, asking, “Where is my husband?”

“You came to see the suit,” he reminds you. “Have a seat. I’m quite proud of it.”

You roll your eyes but give in. He begins to explain how far the suit can stretch and that it’s fireproof, making you roll your eyes. As he begins to explain what Jack’s suit does, you can’t help but laugh. “He doesn’t have any powers. He doesn’t need a suit.”

Tony scoffs, taking a drink. “He still needs to look good.”

“Do you know where Steve is or not?” 

He hands you a tablet. A map appears on it with a blinking dot that looks like it’s in the middle of the ocean. “You installed a tracker?”

“Are you complaining?”

“Not if you can take me to him.”

Tony wordlessly leads you to his jet and gives you your suit before setting the jet to Steve’s location.

“Take care of my baby,” you warn.

“Take care of mine,” he counters, closing the door.

Although you would have liked to have spent your honeymoon on an island like it, you don’t have time to take in the view. Instead, you are on a mission to sneak inside the base that seems to take up the center of the island.

Using your powers, you manage to sneak into the center of the base, closer and closer to the blinking dot. When you finally see Steve, he looks like hell. Like something straight out of a movie, the Super Soldier is completely drained of his strength. Your heart aches for him. 

Looking around the room, you can see what drew him here. The computer screen in the wall projects the project details. Somehow, the man believes that he, by just draining some of Steve’s blood, can reverse-engineer the serum to inject it in everyone, eradicating illness.

You stretch around the corner, covering the man’s mouth before you knock him out. Luckily, as he falls, he hits the button that releases Steve. As he collapses in on himself, any anger you harbored towards him melts away. You immediately rush over to him and help him up. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you. Let’s go home.”

He nods, letting you carry him for once. He seems to have gained more strength on the flight back to Tony. He is already waiting for you when you land. “Y’know, Rogers, if you ever need a job, I think I have one to offer,” he says to you. 

“I’ll think about it.”

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Kissing Dead Pearls (Part 3)

So yeah, this is gonna be my first time writing for zutara, so I have no idea how well that will be received. I know that this fandom doesn’t seem to like zutara so wish me luck lol.

Sokka always liked fish, particularly boop boops because of their silly name. He also liked blue marlin.

She likes stingrays--especially bluespotted ribbon tail--the most but they call her starfish. 

She has come to associate her friends with marine life, a habit that formed at childhood. One that she and Zuko have never outgrown. At one point they had addressed each other by the names of sea animals.

Zuko got the name stingray after an incident where he’d jammed a fork into an outlet when Ozai wasn’t watching. It scarred his face and their father was under fire, for the first time, for child neglect. 

Sokka was a clownfish because he was the comedian in the group and he had been until his departure. Sailfish has been bestowed upon Katara after dolphin had been taken from her and given to Ursa. Mother was gentle and docile like a dolphin. Katara is too but she is also a fast swimmer. She can swim further out into the ocean than any of them and sailfish are known for their speed. TyLee is also loving and sweet but as kids they had run out of gentle animals to compare her to so they chose the pretty betta fish because TyLee has always been pretty. Eventually they learned about cuttlefish and that became her nickname; it sounds close enough to cuddle for them. 

Aang is an obvious angelfish.

Where Katara, Ursa, Tylee, and Aang are kind and caring, Toph is a shark. She’s fun and dangerous and with a razor sharp tongue. She is among Chan, Jet and Roun-Jian who have been nicknamed  Hammerhead, Sand, and Thresher respectively. The name Mackerel was afforded to Toph despite her being the smallest of them. 

Mai is the piranha mostly because she had been afraid of them at one point and they like to joke that Tom-Tom is a barancel because he clings to Mai like one. Iroh is a serene turtle and Suki is lucky koi.

Ozai is and will always be a crab because is general outlook on life is grumpy. Zhao, the weathered fisherman is a slick and shady eel and their old history teacher Long-Feng is an angler fish; it looks welcoming on the surface but is ugly within. And the bartender is a prickly urchin. They steer clear of he and his wife June, who they have called the Kraken. 

It was a fun game and to this day she has a tendency, even if it is out of habit, to try to decide which sea animal a newcomer is. 

.oOo.

Azula wakes up on the sofa. It is still raining, fat droplets plop upon the lighthouse. There are less of them but it is still a steady stream. She senses that the worst of it has come to pass and it is probably safe to go outside if she doesn’t mind getting wet. In fact, most people do go out. They emerge skeptically from their homes, reluctant to assess the damage, but eager to just get it over with. It is routine in their little harbor town. 

The people of Port Tui-La are slowly awakening, Azula watches them trickle outside of their homes to inspect them. Many of them, the ones who live more inland, skip this and prioritize checking on their shops or their boats. Though boats are almost always a lost cause, hence why Ozai keeps theirs in a boat house. The news of three summers ago was when recreational fisher, Pathik boldly declared that he had found his janky wooden ship fully intact in a rocky alcove while the Cod Man bellowed, “my fishing ship!” to the fleeing grey clouds. 

She watches the Cod seller’s car whip down the road, he is always the first to arrive at the docks. Azula rolls her eyes, she can already hear him crying out. 

“He must have great insurance.” Zuko grumbles as he groggily wipes his eyes. “I hope he does.”

“Maybe he won’t need it this time?” Azula stretches her arms. 

“Ha!” Zuko bursts. “I bet he’ll be La-bsters, crying about it within the hour.” 

“If La-bsters is still standing.” Azula says dismally. “This storm was pretty bad.” Her heart sinks for Hakoda and Katara. They have already lost Sokka, if they’ve lost their restaurant too… “We’ll walk over there.” 

“Shouldn’t we check on the lighthouse first?”

Azula shakes her head. “It was built to withstand storms.”

“I can get the car started.”

She shakes her head. “Too many debris in the road, it’ll be quicker on foot.” 

“We’re going to have to clean this first.” He gestures to the blockage at the door.

Azula rubs the back of her head and grumbles to herself as she begins heaving the furniture back into its place. To the best of their memory, everything is back in order about twenty minutes later. By now the rain is beginning to taper off, but she speculates that it will come back in furious bursts and random intervals.

She shuffles around for two umbrellas and shoves one into Zuko’s arms. 

She pops her umbrella as she steps beneath a grey washed sky. Small rays of light break through the clouds, but do little to lift the gloom. The destruction is abundantly apparent as the siblings make their way down the path that leads from the lighthouse to the boardwalk. It isn’t a very long walk but they can see the damage inflicted upon the houses of their nearest neighbors. 

The worst of them has a collapsed roof and another has flood damage to the ocean facing wall. Even from this distance she can tell that the boardwalk has been hit hard. After many decades of standing proud and secure, a particularly powerful wave, or mayhaps, a bolt of lightning has collapsed one of the corner pillars. It is splintered down the middle and juts from the lapping water like a broken tree trunk. All around it float planks of wood, chairs, stools, and other buoyant knick knacks. Several of the tourist shops, the ones nearest to the collapsed scaffolding are gone.

Gone in the sense that they are unusable and irreparable. She can see their dilapidated corpses, laying helplessly in the ocean, waiting for the ocean to finish the job. Their rubble will pollute the beaches for days. Likely, the beaches will be closed to the public until the damage can be cleared. 

Azula’s favorite jewelry shop, Mai’s family’s jewelry shop, is amid the wreckage and she silently curses to herself, wishing that it could have been that damned pub instead, maybe then her father would be rushing down the street to make sure that she and Zuzu are alright. 

It very nearly brings tears of frustration to her eyes. She clenches her fist in her pocket and steps over a broken palm tree, its coconuts roll down the incline of the street. 

From what she can see, the La-bster still stands. Though she can’t foresee it opening any time soon. Much like the beaches, it will remain closed until the boardwalk can be repaired and safety secured. Even if the boardwalk were deemed safe enough, the rubble is an eyesore. 

The restaurant may stand but they are still going to take a financial hit, losing that much business at the height of tourist season. 

Hakoda and Katara are already there when she and Zuko arrive. 

“Zuko, Azula!” She throws her arms around both of them at once. When she pulls back, Azula can tell that she has been crying. Her eyes are red and there are tear tracks on her cheeks. Azula doesn’t need to ask her what is wrong but Zuko does anyhow.

“We can’t reopen like this.” She confirms what Azula has speculated. “Waitressing at La-bsters is the only thing that’s kept my mind off of…” She trails off. “Even when the restaurant is super busy I’ll think of him. About how he’d always take the difficult customers from me. Or that one time he threatened to throw a man into the harbor for me.” She wipes at her eyes. 

Azula laughs, that sounds like Sokka for sure.

“Need help with cleanup?” Zuko offers. 

“That would be wonderful, thanks.” 

Azula frowns, she must admit that she hadn’t planned on spending her morning moving heavy planks of wood and fixing outdoor decor. She looks around, there is plenty of that to be cleaned; strings of patio lights are either gone, have cracked bulbs, or are tangled and knotted around palm fronts and rafters in unflattering ways. Outdoor chairs and tables are overturned. Some of them are in neighboring properties and the La-bsters have a few chairs from the Cod Merchant’s Cod Shack. The floor is a mess of glass and broken plastic and Azula has no idea where to begin this task. She has no will power to do it either. Evidently she had just come by to make sure that the place was still standing and that her childhood friend is okay.

Task done.

She retracts that statement. “I’m going to see if I can reach Mai, I don’t think that she knows about…” she jerks a thumb in the direction of the destruction.

“Yeah, that’s fine.” Zuko says, “I’ll help Katara, you’re better at breaking bad news anyhow.”

She squints at the wreckage once more, a little ways down the beach, TyLee’s family’s boat rental place still stands. It only does because they have learned from the last time; instead of a small wooden shack on the beach they have built it into the side of a nearby cliff.  Their most expensive rentals are tucked away into a garage, also built into the cliffside.  But there is some damage to their cheaper rental boats and many of their canoes and inflatables are scattered upon the beach. 

Azula picks up her phone and dials Mai’s number, hoping to get a signal.

.oOo.

Katara fixes her eyes on the ocean. She hates it more than anything as it keeps stealing the things that make her feel loved and secure. She loves it more than anything because it makes her feel free and empowered. Such is the duality of the ocean. 

Currently she hates it more than anything in the world. 

Currently it has reminded her of the last thing it took.

Mai’s jewelry shop is like Sokka, dismantled and being pulled further and further into the water.

She shakes herself, she doesn’t know that he is dismantled. 

Yet the hole in her heart is the same it has been several months and it still stings. There is such a vacancy in Sokka’s absence. Anything and everything is at risk of triggering a pang of sorrow; a specific dock post that he used to sit on regularly (she can still see the marks where he’d tagged it), a cluster of shells on a table, certain movies and books. Song are especially provocative; he had always loved reggae. They listened to it together all the time and he had a reggae song for everything, rendering the genre impossible to listen to without crying. There are so, so many songs that she can’t listen to and it is hard to explain why she gets teary eyed when they play on the radio.

Every now and again a customer will walk in who has his hair styled like Sokka had or wearing the same shirt that he had. On one instance, a girl walked in wearing Sokka’s favorite shirt, the one that he’d worn when he went out to sea before he’d disappeared. 

She no longer enjoys recreational sailing, and gets tense when anyone mentions that they are going to take a solo recreational trip. 

Azula insists that Sokka is still alive but Katara knows in her heart that he isn’t. She senses it in the same way she’d sensed that he’d had an accident while jet skiing with Jet and Chan. The same way he sensed that she’d gotten hurt while surfing. 

She knows that he is gone because she can no longer feel him but she lets Azula talk about how she is sure that he is alive. Azula is rarely an optimist and Katara doesn’t have the heart to crush that.

Azula is the only other person who still seems truly impacted by his disappearance. She also tends to turn the radio off when certain songs play, though not as many as Katara. It isn’t for lack of memories with the songs either, it is more that she only turns the music off for songs that have particularly fond memories. Katara noticed that the other girl will grow randomly distant or somber. And Azula still thinks that he is alive. She can’t imagine how Azula will take it when that denial is shattered.

All the same, Katara tries to think of the absolute joy she would feel at being proven wrong.

Not that she thinks this will be the case. Azula has lost her mother already, her father might as well be dead...losing Sokka had done her psyche so much damage. 

Damage that her father didn’t bother to tend to. 

Damage that Zuko could only do his best to mend. 

Damage that had almost killed her too.

And it is no wonder, they had been so close. Of course they were, Katara had caught him kissing her on more than one occasion. It always left her feeling flustered. Especially the night that she’d come across Sokka heavily and deeply lip locked with Azula. She still gags and the sucking sound. And yet, she’d give anything to overhear it again if it meant that Sokka was back. 

They had softer moments. Moments where Katara had found them curled up beneath a palm tree, Azula cuddled in Sokka’s arms. They half-sat, half-laid in the glow of the fairy lights that curled around the tree. They nestled in a burrow of a brightly colored bean bag chair. They’d invited Katara to join them as they watched a movie being played on a projector screen across the beach. 

Katara can no longer attend those movies.

She feels a hand on her shoulder, “you good?” Zuko asks.

“Yeah.” She nods. “I’m just thinking again.” She looks towards the horizon. She can’t see the sunrise, not that it will bring her any comfort today. In fact, a pretty sunrise would only be mockery. 

Just like it had been on the day Sokka was declared dead. 

The sky had been so vivid that day, all manners of orange and gold and the clouds seemed to be tinged a deep purple. Really it was the most beautiful sunset that she had ever seen. 

And when night finally fell, the animals had been more lively than ever. Under a starlit sky, she’d never seen so many turtles migrating from sand to sea. Never seen so many crabs scuttling across the rocks. So many fish in the waves and starfish in the tide pools.

Tide pools that reflected a sky that looked as though it were painted with pearl powder. 

“Sokka laid those out for us.” Kya had remarked, dabbing at her wet eyes. “My baby boy, made this for us to see.” 

The sky had been all sorts of mystifying that night.

And yet she could not enjoy it. 

Not at all. 

The sky...the world had no right to be so beautiful when her brother was dead. 

She recalls at once, their old fish game. She wonders if that’s what the afterlife is like; one big ocean where loved ones go. Spectral fish in a perpetually fluorescent sea. She likes to think that Sokka is a clownfish in this phantasmal sea. That one day she will be a sailfish swimming next to him, finally the big sister and not the little one.

Zuko puts an arm over her shoulder.

She gestures to an overturned table. “Can you help me pick this up?”

[firesign23]

If I ask realllllly nicely, will you write Brienne and Addam's second meeting, please? :-D

I’ll be posting this universe to ao3 as a separate fic once I settle on tags and a title (so maybe 2030?), probably with an extra level of editing, but a continuation of this ficlet. In short, canon-compliant nonsense where Brienne is pregnant, Jaime’s still dead, the only person who is both grieving this and not making Brienne homicidal is Addam Marbrand, angst ensues.

Second Meetings

The sept where Jaime had been laid out was small, near to the Red Keep but obscure enough that the event had been as private as possible. Or so Tyrion had assured her, the night she had invited him to dine in her quarters and told him of the babe. Of course, she’d also told him never to speak Jaime’s name in her presence again or she would resign her position and return to Tarth immediately; whispered promises and dreams of a life after the war were not marriage vows, and the Lannisters had no claim on Jaime’s child. Brienne’s child. The man had nodded, sadly, and Brienne had hidden her shaking hands beneath the table so he did not see.

Still, she’d remembered the location of the modest sept. Jaime--his body had been gone by the time she’d arrived in the capital, no doubt returned to Casterly Rock as the golden lion, a convenient figurehead one final time; she hadn’t had the courage to ask, only recorded his story in the White Book and hoped he would be remembered for more than his family. That had been before she’d known… her hand trembled against her stomach as she stepped into the sept, silent and near empty. Near.

Even a destroyed city was large, and Brienne had been busy--she’d given very little thought to Ser Addam since their impromptu sparring, and in the following fortnight their paths had not crossed. (She had not, in truth, allowed herself to give him thought, had not given herself time to breathe lest it all collapse.) But he was there now, head bowed as he stood before the statue of the Warrior; she wondered if he was a religious man, or simply one seeking the same answers that had driven her to the last place Jaime had been. Jaime’s body had been. Ser Addam looked up, inclined his head when he saw she was there, and turned away to light a candle at the foot of the Warrior.

There were no echoes of the man Brienne loved, loves, in this room--the green in the stained glass in the high-set window did not capture the light in his eyes, the pale grey stone did not carry his vibrancy. But she could not bring herself to leave, and so she moved to the first statue. She prayed to the Crone for guidance, to the Smith for support as she played her role in this broken world, to the Stranger for she was as alone as she had always been. She apologised to the Maiden for not coming sooner. Short prayers, perfunctory thoughts as she circled the room.

By the time she arrived at the Warrior, Ser Addam had moved away. The statue was tall and set on a dias as the others had been, and the candle at its base flickered. Warrior welcome him and bring him peace, she thought, though she had no real belief; it was easier than to think all the words which clawed at the corners of her mind, about honour and duty and and the cost of them both. She lit a second candle, watched as the wax melted and dripped, braced herself for what came next.

She barely spared a glance for the Mother, aware that the precarious hold she had on her emotions would slip if she did. She needed the Father, not for his judgment or his protection but because…

His statue was much the same as it was down the length and breadth of Westeros, a bearded man of firm expression. She held herself with dignity, refused to look away. Father, she began, Father, he was a good man. He deserved to know. He deserved-- her hand was on her stomach, as if to shield her child and offer it in the same breath. She blinked away the tears that threatened to fall. He deserves--

Her thoughts were interrupted by a low, deep keening that echoed off the seven walls, a sound of such pure, distilled grief that she could hardly breathe for the ache of it; it took several moments to realise the sound echoed in her chest not from familiarity but because it came from her, all the pain she had not allowed herself to feel swelling until it could not be contained. She had a passing, hysterical thought that it was much like steam from a kettle, and the tiny chink in her defenses--

She shattered.

She had no memory of it afterwards, only Addam’s story that he’d been about to leave the sept when the noise had started, how he’d had watched as she’d collapsed to her knees before he could reach her, how she’s struck the statue with her fists until he’d pulled her arms away, how she’d screamed. She came to awareness some time later, her knees aching from the stone floor and her hands scraped raw, her eyes and throat burning; Addam’s arms were still around her shoulders, the only thing that kept her upright as the exhaustion hit.

“I’m sorry,” she rasped, though she did not yet know what for.

“My quarters are nearby,” was all he said. “We’ll get a drink in you before you return home.”

He helped her to her feet, out of the sept, down the street. He’s strong enough, she thought, the voice in her head near cackling, but she was too tired to react. She was so tired, so numb to it all. If people stared as they passed, she did not notice, all her energy in putting one foot in front of the other until they arrived at a small house that had been spared destruction.

“My rooms are upstairs,” Addam said. “Do you think you can--”

“Yes,” Brienne said, though her legs still ached and shook. She managed though, and was taken into a small room meant to entertain guests--comfortable chairs, a table laid with tea things and a decanter of wine. She watched Jaime’s friend move around the room, shooing a cat from one of the seats before motioning for Brienne to sit down.

“This is…”

“Domestic for a knight?” Addam guessed, and she nodded. “The Red Keep has not always been a friendly place these last few years. A place to go was advised. I didn’t spend much time here, but after--” he gestured out the window, where much of King’s Landing was still in ruins. “It’s better than a tent among the rubble.”

He made her tea, offered her some soup, and then sat in another chair and said nothing as he waited and watched. Patient, she thought; not the waiting game Ser Goodwin had taught her, meant to exhaust her opponent before she struck, but genuine patience. Brienne drank and ate until she began to feel her strength returning, mopping up the last of the broth with a heel of bread.

“The babe…” she began, when the bread was gone, “the babe quickened, this morn. And I had no one to tell, no one who…” her hands trembled. “He’ll be a bastard. The King will legitimise him, or her, but it will always be--people will know, and they will be cruel, and…”

She turned to stare out the small window, though there was nothing of interest outside of it. The words poured forth, a confession she was compelled to make, if only so it stopped echoing in her mind. “I do not have the courage to face this alone, but I have no choice. I cannot…. I love it already, is that strange? Because it is a final bit of good Jaime brought to this world, but also…” the wounds on her hands stung as she clenched them into fists. “Because it is mine, to--I would fight the gods themselves if I needed to, to keep it safe. It is not how I expected to feel, I am not… maternal. I am not--not suited. But this child… it does not seem to know that, and it grows. And so...”

“It is not strange,” said Addam. Patient, patient, patient.

She breathed deeply. “I went--I went to the sept because I had… I know he’s gone, I know it, but I can’t--we’ve spent so long apart over the years, more often than we spent together, and it feels as if our paths will cross again. It’s foolish, but I truly felt I might be closer to him there, that I might not be so totally alone in my joy and my fear, but…” her voice cracked, though the tears stayed away. “He is gone, truly gone, and I am alone.”

Addam reached out to take her hand, squeezed it gently. He would tell her, later, of how he’d sat the final vigil himself, how quiet it had been, how he’d half-expected it to be some strange jape until the moment the Silent Sisters had escorted the body away. But for now they sat in silence, until the pink tendrils of sunset filled the room.

And she was not entirely alone.

[collecting-stories]

Across a Lifetime - Magneto

“I’ve been in love with you my entire life, since the day I met you.” With Magneto please? Thanks!

Across a Lifetime - Magneto x reader

“Max!” The young boy turned his head to the sound of someone calling for him. Running down the street toward him was a young girl, the yellow star bright against her black coat. She stopped short of colliding with him. “Max, thank god you are alright, I was so worried.”  

“I’m fine.” He looked back to where you had come down the road, “where is your father?”

You were not so much younger than him that you needed a parent with you to go outside but he worried none the less when he saw no one accompanying you. He put his hands on your face, holding you steady while he looked into your eyes. He had awoken last night to the sounds of screaming and the unmistakable sight of the streets below his parent’s apartment in flames. His mother had urged him to stay inside, away from the windows and doors.  

“No lights my love,” she had insisted, brushing his hair back and kissing the top of his head as she held him against her. She was still in her nightgown and robe as she held onto him and he realized his father was no longer in the house. Even in that moment, when he knew his first thought should be of his father, he thought only of you.  

Max knew that your family often stayed late at the shop below your apartment, a quaint little deli that had happily served the city of Berlin for over fifteen years, since long before you were born. But things had begun to change, things even you were aware of. Max had come home from school with a bloodied lip just last week when some boys in the courtyard had begun to call you names and throw rocks at you. His mother and father had argued in quiet voices about what to do and he remembered the terrified look in his mother’s eyes the entire time. As if his actions defending you were the same as someone killing a man.  

The whole night he stayed awake, afraid to close his eyes or to leave his mother. When morning came and the fires died out he crept to the window. His mother had fallen asleep on the settee and he peered out the front window, looking down at the destruction of the night prior. He had taken his coat and gone down amongst the rubble to find you. But you had found him instead.  

“Where is your father?” He asked again, inspecting the bruises on your face delicately. You looked as if someone had stomped on you and in fact they had.  

You had been exactly where Max feared you would be. In the store front with your father and grandmother when someone had thrown a brick through the front window. It shattered the glass and hit your grandmother, sending her back onto the floor. Her head collided with the ground in a sound you’d never heard before and you had shrieked when men came into the shop, Your father was in the back room and two of them went to find him while the other three stayed in the front with you.  

“They shot him.” You cried, tears pooling and running down your cheeks as you remembered the events of earlier. “Grandma is gone too.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, Max I had never seen them before.”  

“Have they hurt you worse than this?” His hand ghosted over the bruise. You cried and nodded your head. Max held you to him the same way his mother had held him.  

“Max, Max!” Both of you turned to see his father coming down the street, a limp in his gait as he attempted to run to his son. When he reached Max he fell to his knees and hugged the young boy, pushing you away unintentionally, "where is your mother?”

“She’s at home.”  

“Come on, we must get inside.” He urged, standing to his feet as a couple of SS walked passed, eyeing the three of you suspiciously.

Max held your hand and dragged you along with them to his home. You were still crying as they entered the house and Max’s mother ran to embrace him and his father, frantic over their absence. “You cannot leave like that Maxie!” She tutted, holding him close and kissing his head over and over.  

-

Max sat inside the train car, huddled on the floor pressed against his mother, he could hardly breathe, he was packed so tightly. Just hours earlier he had been playing outside in the street with you, laughing as you tried unsuccessfully to climb the tree outside the small house the family had been staying at. His mother said you were doing better. That you looked happier these days, even smiling again.  

After the Kristallnacht his family had taken you with them when they fled to Poland. You had only your father and grandmother and since both of them were dead there was no one left for you in Germany. There was nothing left for anyone in Germany. So you travelled to Poland with Max and his parents, his father going so far as to get false documentation claiming you as their second child.  

But you were not with Max in the train car. He sat between the wall and his mother, her arm around his shoulder as she pressed her lips to his head. He wasn’t sure if she was soothing him or herself. Beside her his father sat mimicking her, his arm around his wife’s shoulders as he kissed her head every so often, promising it would be okay. You were missing though.  

You and Max had been playing outside the house, climbing the tree and laughing with each other, when men, soldiers, arrived. One pulled you from the tree while another grabbed hold of Max as he thrashed against them.  

“No, let me go! Let me go!” You screamed, kicking against the man who held you.  

Max’s parents ran from the house, shouting and everything was a blur after that. He could only watch as you where hauled away from them. Max and his parents ended up on a train, packed with others like them. Others who had fled their homeland just to be dragged back, knowing that when they returned to Germany there would be nothing there but death. Max looked for you at the train station and again in the train car but you were nowhere in sight. A million possibilities ran through his head but his mother just kept mumbling that it would be okay, even though he knew it wouldn’t be.

-

Your feet pressed over stones on the ground as you walked along the road. You weren’t alone. Hundreds marched, their feet bare like yours. None of you felt the roughness under your skin or the cuts that embedded themselves onto your feet as you walked. Instead all you felt was numb. Your body was tired, you could feel all the weight of your bones heavy as you dragged yourself along. You could not die here on the street.  

You imagined yourself back in Berlin with Max, before the war began. If that is what this was. People who walked with you, who had been out in the world longer said the banned radios were calling it a war. It didn’t feel like a war, not when it had stripped so much of your life from you. The only solace you found was in your memories of Max. Images of playing with him in the street outside your father’s deli, going to his house for Sabbath and holy days, and walking to school with him. You couldn’t even remember if the memories were as pleasant as you thought they were or if you had imagined them that way because you wanted to. All you knew as you walked was that Max was the only thing keeping you going. You didn’t know if he was out there but you hoped he was, prayed that Max was alive and that someday you might see him again.  

-

You were not a mutant though you had a fairly good understanding of what they were. Or, you’d read enough in newspapers to form an opinion on the human anomalies and decide where you stood in the ‘good’ or ‘destructive’ argument. The degree you had in psychology provided you with a job and access to Charles Xavier’s team of mutants, or school as he so carefully put it. He wanted to build a school for those that were different to find solace, it was a nice idea but not one you were sure would ever truly take hold. His interest in you was as a member of his imagined school, a counsellor for his students.  

“I don’t know if I can truly counsel them.” You remarked, touring the grounds with him.  

“You can’t possibly have every lived experience that your patients have.”

“Of course not, but most are...easier to empathize with. What can I say to someone who can read other people’s minds Charles?” You asked.  

“You may not be able to relate fully but it’s my belief that even we have things we need to expel. You don’t have to understand what we’re going through but all of our problems are not in line with our condition. You’d be surprised how human most of us are.”

“I’m not accusing you of not being.”  

“Charles,” both of you stopped along the garden path to acknowledge whoever had come looking for your companion. The man walked over and, though he had called for Charles, he kept his gaze on you. He looked distressed as he stared at you and you couldn’t help but recognize something in his eyes, something you had been looking for since you came to America in the 1950’s.

“Ah, this is my collegue-”

“Max?” You asked.

Charles looked confused, he was about to correct you but the other man beat him to it. “I’m afraid I go by Erik now. What are you doing here?”

“I was asked to come here as a counsellor.” You explained, trying to maintain professionalism for the sake of Charles when all you wanted was to collapse into tears the same way you had that night in Berlin.  

You had been alone since Poland, shuffled from hiding places to camps. You had survived but barely and finally, toward the end, you were smuggled out of the country to South America with a German man and his wife. From there you crossed the border into America and you’d been living as someone else too, a nice catholic girl who was going to school to be a counsellor. It was at a seminar that Charles had met you and invited you to meet the people at his school.

“I’m sorry,” Erik shook his head, seeming distracted as he turned to Charles, “Can I speak with her alone please?”  

“Certainly, we’ll talk soon.” Charles said before turning and leaving.  

You kept your eyes on his trailing chair, trying to breath and calm yourself. You had always hoped. When they pulled you from the tree in Poland, when you were taken from a train car to a camp in the middle of the night, marched across Germany in nothing but a nightgown and bare feet. You had hoped the whole time that somewhere Max was alive. But as you cross the border into America and learned to adapt, to hide yourself from your past, you began to think that you would never find him again. That maybe he was dead. Like your father and your grandmother.  

“Max.” You cried, just like that night. And just like that night he pulled you against him, kissing the top of your head. “Max, you’re alive.”

“Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.” Erik promised, more tender than he had been in recent years. More tender than he could remember.  

“I missed you, I love you so much, I-” you confessed.  

“I’ve been in love with you my entire life,” Erik said, holding your face in his hands and inspecting you, kissing your forehead. “Since the day I met you.”

I wanted to write this around Erik’s backstory. Let me know what you think!

[olivewritessometimes]

Okay, so, I had to start my blog at some point...

and after procrastinating for around a month, I decided to release my first fic on Lance’s birthday. (Probably not the best idea since it’s filled with angst and is from Keith’s point of view.) Also, why not a bit of Klance to start us off, right?

Enjoy!

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2.7K Words

Warning: Mentions of Self-Harm, Swearing

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  As a member of the Blade of Marmora, Keith was able to visit many places, even if he couldn't call any of them home. 

  His favourite places included Arus, where his adventure with Voltron and the Lions began.

  It also included Olkaria, the new planet inhabited by the Olkari, after Olkarion was destroyed.

  There was also the new Daibazaal and the new Altea, which had been recreated after the entire ‘Honerva’s realities’ ordeal a few years ago.

  But his favourite place to visit, by far, had to be Earth.

  He enjoyed visiting his old shack in the desert, the only place he knew for a very long time.

  He liked to visit the Garrison, to see how the Holts and the rest of the staff were doing.

  He would also drop in to see Shiro. He was like a brother to him, so he insisted that Keith should come over every time he came back to Earth.

  And, although he would never admit it, he particularly liked going to see the McClain family farm, for reasons you can guess.

  A knock on the door announced his arrival.

  “Oh, good afternoon, Keith,” answered Mrs. McClain. “Lance is in his room. Please, come inside.”

  Keith nodded, and stepped through the door.

  This wasn’t any different from what normally happened when he came to visit, so he knew what to expect.

  “Keith! Keith!” yelled the child stampede from down the hall.

  As expected, they came roaring down the hall, jumping up and down, demanding to know what super-cool alien adventures he had been on since the last time he’d seen them.

  “Not really anything exciting, unless you count the giant Weblum that tried to swallow us whole!” Keith said, in an attempt to tell a story to impress them.

  “A Weblum?” “How’d you get away?” “Did he eat you?” came some questions from the kids.

  Keith had gotten better at socializing with children since he started visiting the McClains more often. 

  There were only a few simple rules to it. One, don’t make them upset. Two, keep them happy and they’ll love you. Three, don’t reject that love.

  “Yeah, it was no big deal. It only crushed about half the Marmoran fleets,” he continued, knowing that the cliffhanger would make them want to hear the whole story.

  Obviously, there was no Weblum that tried to swallow them whole, or crushed half their fleets, but kids love a good story, so Keith sat down at the kitchen table and began his tale.

  “So there I was, leaving a planet suffering from a drought after supplying them with enough water for a year, when all of a sudden, Wham! A Weblum comes out of nowhere, catches two ships in its mouth, and not three seconds later, they’re gone into the Weblum’s stomach.

  “I yell at the other ships to get away as fast as possible, but it's already right in front of us, grabbing every one who came too close. I swerve left, then right, and then left again, to try to get away, but then it catches around five ships in its mouth, eats them, then bites down on the wing of my ship.

  "I jiggle the controls to try to get away, but it's too late! The Weblum has me in its jaws, and it looks to be the end! I'm about to give up hope, when suddenly, the wing of my ship snaps off, so now at least I'm free from the Weblum, but I'm running out of oxygen in my ship."

  As he continued to tell the story, making it as dramatic as possible, he was so caught up in the adventure that he didn't even notice when Lance emerged from his room, saw Keith, and leaned against the wall to listen in as well.

  He was reaching the end of the story, where he ended up hitching a ride with another ship for transport back to Earth, when Lance finally spoke up.

  "You know, I don't think Weblums are that vicious." 

  Lance stood up from the wall and walked into the kitchen, as he continued. "From what I remember, they would only do that if they didn't even know you were there."

  "How do you know?" challenged Keith. "Did you ever have to collect scaultrite from its third stomach?"

  “Well how do you know that it was attacking you when you went to collect it?” Lance retorted. “It could’ve just thought you were a piece of rubble or something.”

  “Well how do you know that it didn’t know that I was a Paladin of Voltron, and that it wasn’t trying to kill me?”

  This banter went on for a while, until Lance’s niece, Nadia, started a little game.

  “Raaah! I’m a Weblum, and I’m going to eat you!” she yelled, chasing the other kids around.

  As Mrs. McClain shooed them out of the house, in fear they would break something, Lance mentioned something about feeding the chickens and walked outside.

  Keith let out a sigh of relief once Lance was out of earshot.

  He had refused to let anyone know that his admiration for Lance was more than simply being proud of him for helping him save all of the possible realities.

  Not even Lance himself.

  Shiro has known that he had a crush on one of the Paladins, and encouraged him to try to talk to them about it, but Keith assumes that he guessed it was Allura, since he stopped after she'd gotten with Lance.

  After that happened, Keith continued pining, but he'd started to lose hope, since Lance had been in love with Allura since they first met, and wouldn't be quick to break up with her.

  Not that they would ever have broken up, Lance was a nice guy, and Allura would never have wanted to leave him.

  After she died, part of Keith realized that Lance was now single, and for the taking, but he didn't act on it. That would be too cruel.

  Instead, he chose to comfort him, and try not to let his feelings for him get in the way.

  Which he was succeeding at, for the most part.

  He was snapped from his thoughts when Mrs. McClain walked back inside.

  “Would you like to stay the night? We live a while away from any hotels, and it’s getting late,” she offered.

  Keith looked at the clock on the wall, and noticed that it was too late for him to start heading back.

  He accepted, and she showed him the guest room, and let him know that dinner would be ready soon.

  He walked outside, since it was still light out, and sat down by the roots of a large oak, enjoying the view.

  He'd be lying if he said that he was looking at the rolling hills, and the flowers that cover them. 

  He also wouldn't really like to admit that the view he was enjoying involved Lance, the chickens, and the difference between him here and him on the battlefield.

  The Lance he knew as a Paladin of Voltron was a ruthless, self-sacrificing, adrenaline-loving sharpshooter, a warrior in his own respects.

  The Lance he saw here was a simple, kind man, who would maybe hurt a fly, but only if it was bothering him. 

  Lance's sister, Veronica, just so happened to notice the exact direction Keith's eyes were looking, and sat next to him.

  "Lance, huh?"

  Keith looked up, startled, then a confused look made its way onto his face.

  “What do you mean, ‘Lance, huh?’” Keith asked.

  “Well, I knew you weren’t coming just to say hi, you come over way too often for that. So I assumed you maybe like liked someone who lives here. I also guessed Lance, but it’s nice to have something to confirm it,” explained Veronica.

  “So, you were just making sure that you were right about guessing which McClain I like.”

  “Yep!” She exclaimed, popping the P.

  He rolled his eyes, before realizing that Veronica was the exact person he did not want knowing about it.

  “Oh my god, please don’t tell him. Quiznak, that’ll be awkward,” he pleaded, before realizing what he said.

  “Christ, I’ve got to get out of the habit of saying that!” He laughed, and Veronica gave a small giggle as well.

  She was about to continue when they heard Mrs. McClain yelling to anyone outside that dinner was ready, and to get it while it was hot.

  Veronica stood up, and as she helped Keith up, said, “Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  They walked inside, and headed to the dining room, where Mrs. McClain offered Keith a chair almost at the end of the table, seated between Lance and Veronica.

   Needless to say, it was a very awkward night for Keith.

 Later that night, Keith woke up with a dry throat, so he got up to get a glass of water from the kitchen.

  As he walked down the hallway of bedroom doors, he heard an odd noise coming from behind one.

  Not wanting to wake whoever was inside, he put his ear to the door to see if he could hear it better.

  It might have been the door muffling the sound, but Keith could have sworn that it sounded like someone crying.

  He didn’t know who it was, because he’d never slept over before, and didn’t know whose bedroom was whose.

  Keith then heard footsteps, accompanying the sobs, heading towards the door.

  He hid behind the door as it opened, not wanting to be seen.

  As the door closed, he could see that the one crying was Lance, but Keith didn’t stop him. He wanted to know why Lance was so upset at this time of night.

  Lance shuffled into the kitchen, still sniffling, and opened a drawer.

  Keith then knew that he had to do something when he realized that the object that Lance was pulling out was a knife.

  As Lance set the blade to his wrist, Keith put his hand on his shoulder.

  Lance gasped, dropped the knife onto the counter, and turned around, shocked.

  “Oh, i-it’s only you,” he said between sniffles. 

  “You shouldn’t have seen that.”

  He went to wipe away his tears, when Keith grabbed his wrist.

  For the first time, he noticed the scars.

  “Lance, it’s one in the morning. What’s wrong?” He asked.

  Lance’s eyes welled up, and before he could stop himself, he burst into tears and collapsed in Keith’s arms.

  Keith wasn’t expecting the added weight Lance was pushing onto him, so he ended up falling to the floor, not even minding the pain when he hit. Only taking caution that Lance didn’t hurt himself.

  “I miss her. There was so much more she could’ve done for the universe,” he said through choked sobs.

  It didn’t take much effort to tell he was talking about Allura.

  “I just can’t help but think that there was another way,” he continued. 

  “So that she might be here today, and that we might have started a life together, and that we might even have had kids, who would have grown up safe and happy, with everything they’d ever need, but she’s not. She’s-” he cut himself off, and buried his face in Keith’s shirt, weeping.

  Keith wasn’t really the kind of person who was best at this, but he was going to try his best for Lance.

  He didn’t really know what to say, so he started by trying to calm him down by running his hand through his hair.

  After a few minutes, Lance did start to calm down, and eventually started to lean into the touch.

  “I know Allura’s not here now, but I think that what she did was very noble. She sacrificed her own life so all of humanity could live. So you could live,” he tried.

  “She gave her Quintessence to bring the dead realities back to life, so if you think about it, her life force is inside every living creature in the universe, and even those in other realities. Including you.”

  Lance looked up, and it was all Keith could do to focus on calming Lance and not lose himself in those adorable eyes of his.

  “So when someone says that she’ll always be with you, they’re not wrong. Her life energy is what’s keeping us here today, so she’s technically still with us. Just not in the form of a body.”

  Lance was considerably less upset now, and other than how his eyes were still red, you could hardly tell he was crying at all.

  “Thanks, man.”

  He got up and put the knife away, which reminded Keith of something else he was wondering.

  “How long have you been doing that?” He asked as he stood. “Cutting yourself.”

  Lance rubbed the back of his neck and shyly answered. 

  “I started doing it while I was in the Garrison. Sometimes, the shouting from Iverson, the teasing from the other kids, it was too much. Hunk was the one who helped me quit, after it became a habit.”

  Keith was in awe at how young he must have been when he started.

  Lance continued. “On the Castle of Lions, there were loads of missions that went wrong, and like half the time I thought it was because of me. Whenever I was yelled at because of it, add that to some self-esteem issues, and you get the urge to slice your skin open because that pain will distract you from the mental pain.”

  He was about to go on when Keith interrupted.

  “Woah, woah, woah, self-esteem issues? What else have you been going through?”

  “Ah, well, there was the One Paladin Too Many issue, and it got me wondering, am I really needed on the team?” Lance explained. 

  “Just about anyone with good aim can use a gun, but you could probably find a more serious, sensible person to do it, rather than someone who’s just a goofball.

  “I knew you could replace me just like that, so I thought it was only a matter of time until the title of Sharpshooter went to someone else.”

  “Lance, no one ever thought that about you,” Keith reassured. “Your jokes were exactly what we needed to keep our spirits lifted, and we would be lost without you.”

  “But was that all I was good for? Comedic relief?” Lance retorted, tears starting to fall down his cheeks again. “Did you only keep me on the team for my jokes? For someone to laugh at? It's kind of the only thing I'm good at, might as well have been useful for something."

  "Lance-"

  "I'm a shitty pilot, the only weapon I can use is the easiest one to use, and I only ended up dating Allura for a few months before she died, because my stupid ass couldn't make a fucking move! If I can't even ask a girl out over the span of a few fucking years, then what-"

  He was cut off by Keith's lips on his own.

  Lance didn't register what was happening at first, but once he did, he relaxed, and seemed to melt under him.

  Keith pulled away with a soft smile, thinking of how long he'd been waiting to do that. 

  Keith knew his mind must be racing with anger, sadness, confusion, and everything in between, so he took Lance’s hand in his own. 

  “You need to stop. You’re hurting yourself, and you think that you’re fine on your own. Well, you’re not. You’re keeping this a secret from your family, your friends, everyone, when really, you should have come to us in the first place,” he explained.

  “We’ll always be here for you. I’ll be here for you. Just talk to us, we’ll-”

  He was cut off by Lance launching himself onto Keith, pressing their lips together.

  Keith didn’t even realize what was happening until he felt Lance’s hand holding his, fingers intertwining like magic.

  Instinctively, he wrapped his arm around him, finding a position in the small of his back.

  They stood there for a few seconds, then Lance slowly pulled away.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  He rested his head on Keith's shoulder, and he started stroking his hair again.

  At that moment, Keith finally knew where his home was.

[dammitadolfnomorecake]

SCSI (shifty eyes and whispers... don't blame me)

The mood throughout the camp was somber. Their numbers only a fraction of what they'd when they rode out from Trost. Everyone had lost someone on, and Eren didn't know what to say or do to help. Especially after being singled out and yelled at by a soldier he didn't even know. It was shit. He knew they had a right to be angry, but he was hurting too. Levi hadn't even spoken since he'd returned from helping kill the remaining wolves. The fact they were even now able to make camp within the walls of Shinganshima was all thanks to the soldiers they'd lost. Hanji and Armin had gone ahead with collapsing part of the wall, the entrance not completely blocked, instead it bottlenecked, only serving to slow the werewolves down. Curled up in front of the fire, Eren kept his face against his knees, trying to drown out the dribbles of conversation around him. He'd failed. He'd failed so fucking hard that more people had died. When the fire started to die, Levi turned in for the night. His boyfriend casting an aura of wanting to be alone, so Eren left him to it. They both could probably do with some space. Gradually, he grew restless from anger, rising to his feet and drawing the attention of Moblit. The only one who actually seemed to be awake "Eren?" "I just need to clear my head. I won't go far" Moblit nodded, the man returning to staring down at the blackening embers. Waiting until he was away from the camp, he shifted. Closing his eyes as his claws dug into the sand over the cobblestone road. No matter how much he'd loved and longed for Shinganshima, it was always going to be a giant graveyard. Some day people would rebuild, but things would never be the same. Opening is eyes, he turned, initially ambling down the street, before working his way into running. Even if he couldn't remember, his feet still knew the way home, his paws thumping against the stone as he raced towards it, like he'd done when was he a human kid. Finding his house just as flattened as he remembered it, he wanted to throw his head back and howl. The only thing stopping him was the possibility of drawing more wolves. Forcing himself to face the reality in front of his eyes, he padded over to the destroyed building, before shifting back and taking a piece of roof tile into his hand. This wasn't fair. He'd come home. He'd come home and there was nothing. No ghosts. It might have been a selfish wish to see his mother again. Or even his father. But for a place dripping with death, there wasn't even a ghost around to tell the story. Instead, the night had become eerily silent. The stars mocking them with twinkle. He was once again trapped in a cage, and couldn't even see a way out of it anymore. This was the life he'd thought he'd wanted, or, at least in part it was. He'd thought he'd always be a normal human, with a pathetic crush on his hero. Now he was the most hated person in the world, pregnant to what would be the second most hated person in the world. It wasn't fair. If there were people in this world that could carve out some small piece of happiness, why wasn't he allowed? He didn't ask to be different. He didn't ask for the ability to shift or for the ability to fall pregnant. All he'd wanted was for break down the walls and find a way to liberate humanity from their role as fodder. Hanging his head, tears streamed down his face. Tomorrow they'd ask him to shift to clear the rubble... tomorrow he could lose his baby... another senseless death. * Unable to sleep, Levi wasn't surprised when Eren left. He also wasn't surprised when his boyfriend returned in tears. Sliding up behind him, Eren cold hand grabbed his as he shook "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry" "No... you're not to blame" "I went home... I'm going to have shift tomorrow" Rolling over, Levi shook his head. He didn't care if there wasn't another way. They'd made one. He'd lost his team to this shitty hellhole. He couldn't lose his family.... "You can't. You were in so much pain earlier" "There's no other way..." Eren's voice broke, pulling his hand over to rest on his stomach "I don't know how to protect it... I don't want to lose it, but... there's no other way" "There's always another way. We'll make another way. I can't... Eren, I can't lose you or the baby. And not here" "There's no other way. The house, its gone. The roof's over the rubble... even if we wanted to find out more about my family, we need to clear it to get in" "Then we'll use the horses" "Levi, there's no space. I don't know what to do" "Take me there?" "To my home?" "Now. While everyone is sleeping.... I want to see it. I want to see where you came from. I want to see if we can find another way" "It's cold. You'll need your cloak" "You won't keep me warm?" Eren sighed, his boyfriend sitting up, taking his hand off his belly and looking him in the eye "You're acting strange" He probably was. But this was Eren's fault. He'd changed him. The brat has wormed his way into his mind, twisting through his walls and cocooning around his warped emotions "I don't want to lose you, or our baby" "I know that. But we're still expected to do our jobs. Erwin isn't going to try and find another way, not when he has a convenient tool like me" "You're not a tool. With your strength and mine, we'll find another way" "Ok..." Eren kept a tight hold on his hand and they stared down at the remains of his childhood home "That's it?" "Yeah. It's... bad, isn't it?" "It's not great" "I don't think we can do this without me shifting" "Just let me take a look. What did Erwin even want from in here?" "My dad's notes... did you know they looked into my family? They couldn't even find anything on him... it was like... like he just showed up one day..." "You didn't know your grandparents?" "Mum's parents died when I was super young... dad never talked about his..." Somewhere in the back of his mind, Levi had held this mental image of Eren growing up, being spoilt rotten by them. The kid loved his family... so he just kind of figured that they'd all be a tight unit. Everybody in everybody else's business... "Where were your dad's notes?" "He kept an office in the basement. We weren't allowed down there. Erwin's got it in his head there's something down there, but now we know the gate was blown up intentionally... maybe there is something down there" His omega sniffled, trying to pull his hand from his. Tugging Eren into a hug, Levi rubbed his boyfriends back with his free hand "Eren. You're not your father. Whatever he did, it has nothing to do with you. Ok. No matter what we find, I'll stand by you" "But all this could be our fault... if dad... if dad was treating supernaturals or maybe even one... it could be why the Government blew up the gate" "In that case, don't you think your dad was doing the right thing? And that those pieces of shit that decided to elect themselves to Government, are the ones in the wrong?" "But if dad did something wrong..." "Eren, don't go there. Just focus on you and the baby for now. Ok?" "I'll try... I can still shift to a wolf... maybe we can dig our way in?" "After today, I think you need to give shifting a rest. Let me take a look at this pile... at the house" "Smooth save" "I thought so. Why don't you sit down?" "Because I don't want to" "Brat, go talk to the baby, or something. I need to think" "Are you saying I'm distracting?" "I'm saying you're very distracting. Right now, I want to feed and I want to fuck you" Eren laughed, his cold nose pressing into Levi's neck "If you find a way in, I'll let you do anything you want to me" "Go. Sit. Right now" "Yes,sir" Purring the words, Eren let go. Jogging over to to ruins of the house across the road, his omega settled himself on the edge of the ledge. The cheeky shit throwing him a thumbs up. After his day, the last thing he wanted to do was go shuffling through a pile of refuse... even if it was Eren's house. This was for their baby. It was so Eren's child... Not even born and causing trouble. After an hour or so of moving debris, Levi couldn't go any future. Even if Eren was to help, the roof beams were too heavy for the pair of them. Annoyed and covered in dust, he hated giving up. Giving up meant Eren would have to shift. There wasn't even a way to tunnel into the basement, the foundations seemed to be made of solid stone, so solid that he had no idea how the man had even created a basement in the first place. Feeling like he'd failed again, he brushed himself off as he walked to Eren, his footsteps heavy, as if his boots were filled with led. Sliding off the wall, Eren came to him, meeting him halfway with a small yawn "I can tell by the look" "I'm sorry" "No... you tried. And you cleared a lot... so maybe... maybe things will look better in the morning?" "Shitty brat. You don't need to try and make me feel better" "Today's just been... today's been a rough day" "It's been completely shit" "Yeah. What do you say I show you where the well is?" "That might just be the best idea you've had all day" "Really? Because I think you need to feed" "That was my idea" "Mine now" Why was he in love with this cheeky little shit?! * "Eren! Wake up!" After cleaning off at the well, Eren had led him up to his favourite spot, near the tree he used to nap by. Laying in each other's arms, the sex had been soft and sweet, Levi eventually falling asleep with his head against Eren's stomach. He really was hopelessly in love with the small swell, and it truly felt like the one thing going right for the pair of them. Unlike the fact they'd overslept "Eren, come on..." "Fuck off, I'm sleepy" "Eren, the suns up. We're late" "If we're already late, what does is matter if we just fall back to sleep" His boyfriends sleepy mumble was completely precious, and if he could, he'd let Eren spend the whole day napping in the sun "I love you, you little shit. But we're late and Erwin's not going to be happy" "Ah fuck... I forgot about Sir Fluffybrows" "Fluffybrows?" "You call him "Shitty Eyebrows"... Blonde Arsehole with Ridiculous Eyebrows is just too long" "You could shorten it to BARE" "I don't want to think of Erwin being bare... in any way, shape, or form. Ew... why would you do that to me? I'm awake now, you jerk" Stealing a kiss from Eren's pouty lips, he then kissed his way down to Eren's stomach, mouthing at the swell "Levi... don't start something we can't finish" "I just wanted to say hello to our baby" "Then save your kisses for me. I don't want to be jealous" "You have nothing to be jealous about, but just let me give you something so you don't forget you're mine" Moving across to Eren's exposed hip, Levi licked the taunt skin, cleaning the spot before sucking a dark and possessive hickey on the soft caramel skin "Levi!" "Come on, you shit" "Kiss me again?" "Will you get up?" "Parts of me already have" Punching Eren in the arm, his boyfriend finally started moving, trying to scowl at him while smiling with his eyes. With Eren's guidance, they made it back to the house in a manner of minutes. Hanji howling with laughter as they both arrived "Gentlemen. How nice of you to join us" "We were up late cleaning up the rubble" "So that's what they call it now" Poking her tongue out, Hanji dodged the elbow Eren threw her way "Oh, relax. You're not even that late" Erwin cleared his throat, shooting Hanji a disapproving voice "As I was saying, we need to figure out how to proceed. Mikasa has already pointed out where the basement entrance is in" Hanji did a little dance?, or maybe she was having a fit?, before pointing down at the roof remnants "Yep! It's right there, under those massive beams..." "Eren's not shifting. Find another way" "It's the easiest way" "And what if we're attacked while moving the rubble" "That's why we have people waiting at both gates. Seriously. We can't get a horse down here, let alone two or three. All he needs to do is shift" "He's not shifting!" Looking to Eren, Erwin frowned "Is there some reason why Eren shouldn't shift?" "Because he should have a choice in what he does! It's his fucking body" "That's funny. It's thanks to us that he's not dead as it is. Eren, is there any reason why you shouldn't shift?" Eren opened and closed his mouth, before looking to his feet "No? Good. You will shift and you will move this roof" "He's not fucking shifting! Hanji, find another fucking way!" "Erwin... maybe, maybe we should..." "If they'd managed to keep it in their pants for longer than 5 seconds, and actually been here when they were supposed to, they might have had a say in it. Instead, it's already halfway through the morning, and now Eren won't shift, because he refused to listen to his superior officers. Eren. Let me make this simple. Either you shift and move those beams, or, I take you into custody and I turn you over to the Military Police on a charge of treason" "You can't do that!" "Watch me" Levi stepped forward, but Eren darted in front of him. His boyfriend looked miserable, as if the worst had already happened. Leaving in, Eren kissed just in front of his ear "I'm so sorry" "Eren..." "I... I really wanted to have this baby with you" "We can try something else" "They'll send me away. I don't want to be sent away... they'll torture me. They'll take the baby" "Eren, don't do this" "Levi, get away from him right now" "He's not fucking shifting!" "You're going to be selfish enough to sentence him to death?! I never thought you'd be this stupid" "Please Levi... maybe...." "Don't say it'll be alright. You were in so much pain yesterday" "If I get it done quick..." "Eren, you have until the count of 5. 1... 2..." Shoving him back as hard as he could, Eren turned, shifting with the most heartbreaking howl he'd ever heard from the boy. Lashing out, the beams cracked as they shifted slightly, roofing falling off the side of the block. Howling, Eren was about to strike them again, when his body shifted back. The teen screaming as he fell to the ground, his arms around his stomach as he screamed again "Eren!" Jumping up, Levi rushed to his brat, lifting him into his arms, growling as Hanji tried to approach "Eren... please" "Levi, what's going on?" "He needs help!" Using his knee to balance Eren as he tried to find a hold that didn't hurt him omega, he let out a choke half sob as the knee of his pants grew wet "Levi..." "Come on, brat... come on..." "Levi, I need to examine him" "Haven't you all done enough! You forced him into this!" Whimpering, Eren's lips moved, voicing a silent apology that was meant for no one other than their baby "I've got you. I'm taking you back to our tent. You're going to be ok" Laying Eren down, his omega his sleeve, sobbing as he tried to bury his face against Levi's chest "Shhh... shhh... you've got to calm down for me. Ok. You're putting more stress on the baby..." "Alpha... it hurts" "I know. I know it does" The tent flap rustled as Hanji climbed in, Levi pulling Eren tighter again him as he bared his teeth "Get out!" "Levi, Eren needs medical help. He's bleeding" "Get out and leave us alone!" Whimpering at his cold tone, Levi rocked Eren, stroking his hair as he hushed him again "Eren, it's Hanji. I need to examine you, ok?" Whimpering again, his brat nodded slightly "Ok. I'm going to work at getting your boots and pants off. You don't have to look. Levi, keep trying to calm him down" If Eren hadn't consented, Levi would have broken Hanji's fingers for touching his hurting boyfriend. Laying on his side, Eren still had his face hidden against Levi, while the smell of his brat's blood had his stomach rolling. He'd never forgive Erwin for this. The man should have known Eren was pained from shifting. He'd fucking seen it the day before. But no. All he cared about was getting into the fucking basement. He hoped whatever down there was gone. He hoped the man's efforts resulted in nothing. Just so he could feel some measure of pain, like the pain both he and Eren were going through. Gasping as Hanji probed, Levi growled "Is he... is he what I think he is?" "If you think he's fucking pregnant, then you're fucking right" "Ok... Eren, I know it hurts, but I can't tell if you're losing it or not. For now, I want you to lay on your back and stay very still. All we can do is wait for now" "Are you fucking serious?!" "If I'd known he was pregnant, maybe I could have fucking stopped this. Instead, you both kept it to yourselves" "Of course we did! Erwin is looking for anything, anything at all that he can use to kick Eren out the Survey Corps and to seperate us!" "Levi" "Don't Levi me. He's my fucking world Hanji. And he was so fucking scared over being pregnant, but he's even more scared of being taken and cut to pieces. Of having our baby cut to pieces" "Look. If Erwin asks..." "You say nothing. He probably doesn't even care. He didn't bother coming to check. No. All he cares about is what he might find in that basement" "I don't care. I'm done with both of you right now. Eren needs to rest and stay still. Anything he needs, you do it for him. If the bleeding increases, let me know. I'm sick of being stuck in the middle of this! You two used to be fucking friends, now you're acting like little kids. Get your act together" Hanji stormed from the tent, while Levi rolled Eren onto his back. His boyfriend didn't want to let him go. Reaching behind, he pulled his blankets over, using them to give Eren some privacy, before settling to sit beside him, stroking Eren's hair again "You're ok... you're ok, I'm here" "I'm sorry" "No... shhh, it's not your fault" "The baby..." "Shhh. Hey, if it's anything like you, it's stubborn and it's a fighter. Don't give up on it brat" "Can you lay down with me? I'm cold" "Sure. I'm not going anywhere" "I'm sorry" "Don't make me repeat myself" Eren gave him a smile that also may have been a grimace, but he chose to take it as a smile. His brat was strong... and hopefully their baby would be too.

[paubari]

Brother’s Requiem: Ode to Solidbone (pt.1 of 2)

Tears spilling, the scent of bloodshed, voices calling out to none answering, bodies were strewn about the streets, the walls of buildings that still stood were painted crimson, and in the middle fo the city square I was kneeling. The bodies beside me, may it be friend or foe, stopped moving hours ago while their howls of pain and anguish were replaced with an eerie silence. The walls of the fortress were crumbling like bread soaked in water, what once stood for a thousand years is now reduced to rubble. There was no sunlight peeking through the clouds, a steady overcast protecting the sun from seeing the sins of those it gave life to. We tried fighting them off, our shields caught their arrows, the steel of our swords met theirs, and the barricades we set up were but a temporary guard against their relentless assault. These brutes whos hulking size nearly doubled mine, sellswords who had no problem slaughtering innocents, mages calling forth the very elements against us,  and malevolent casters summoning beasts who don't seem of this world upon us. By the sight of their charge, my knees were quivering because we were not ready for such an attack. Our fortress in the mountains was the last bastion against these forces of infamy, the shield which guards the realms of innocent folk. Then again, how innocent can the citizens further inland be?

While we were still in basic training my brother used to smile warmly and ask me "Norman, have you ever asked yourself what life would be like beyond these walls?" to which I would answer "We were trained to discourage such thoughts Josiah but my heart wishes to become more than a soldier" He would flash me a grin, a jolly grin which would calm me down. Something I've always wanted to see whenever I felt uneasy. He flashed the same grin at me before the attack, reassuring me that we'll be alright.

Well brother, can you tell me that again? As I clutch your lifeless body in my arms, your jolly smile replaced with a pale grimace, and your lower half now missing. I hold you in my arms and I weep, wishing we had chosen to flee instead, don't you remember brother? After they gave us a hard time in the mess hall I walked out and you followed me. Underneath the light of the rising moon, you told me

"Please have patience brother, you know our father would be upset with you if you choose to abandon training now."

I shouted at you then, I wish I hadn't "We don't have to be soldiers brother, we can choose to be who we want to be!  Our last names don't dictate our place in this world, it is for us to decide our path."

You answered me calmly, I remember what you said even if I was seething with rage "It is not our last names that make us soldiers but the responsibility that is tied to our bloodline. Our great ancestor, the first of his name, swore an oath to himself that a Solidbone will always be the shield that stands between the innocent and those who wish to do them harm. That is our family credo, our legacy which us being the last of our name must uphold."

I scoffed at what you told me then, I realized you were right. When we were at father's deathbed he made us swear that we uphold the family oath for we are the last of the Solidbone. Well brother, does family oath worth anything to you now? How many men of our family need to die until we realize we don't always have to lay down of our lives for those in need. There are times when we can choose to become selfish, times when we can choose to protect each other rather than those we don't even have blood relations with. I part the hair from your cold forehead as I move my face closer to your ear. Whispering I say "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you, I wasn't strong enough." tears still falling from my eyes, with blurring vision I embrace your lifeless body. Father always told us that I was the weakest of us two, even when we were younger. If caution means cowardice then I revoke my bloodline, I revoke my oath, I revoke my last name. I will choose to forget and forget I did.

A little while after our crushing defeat at the mountain fortress I was called to the mess hall. It's the once lively atmosphere now replaced with a heavy silence. From about fifty to sixty people operating inside every day, the numbers are now cut down to those you can count with your fingers. I was forcing myself to eat some stew when Commander Jacques came in. He had lost an arm and was wearing an eyepatch over his right eye.

I stood up snapping in attention, he sighed heavily before speaking to me "At ease soldier, you'd be pleased to know that I had personally seen through the arrangements of your brother's burial within the Solidbone estate" on the inside I scoff at him, my mood was far from pleased but on the outside, I was nodding in silence. I never broke composure as he continued "I offer my deepest condolences to you, it must hurt knowing your only family has gone and passed but rest assured the army has your back."

I wanted to spit at his face. This was the same commander who insulted me while I was in basic training. He called me a disgrace of a Solidbone and that my father was cursed for having me. Look who's limbs are all intact Commander Jacques, oh wait you'd have a hard time looking. I snicker a bit but snap at myself. It wasn't the time to tell jokes, I scolded myself.

"Out of respect for your father and your recently deceased I have chosen to reassign you further inland. This place hasn't collapsed so most of our inland troops will be stationed here."

Great, more pigs for the slaughter. Who's family will they destroy next? "Aye sir" I answer him as coolly as possible.

"Good, you'll be assigned to guard a small hamlet just beside the main city. Be sure to pack everything of your possession and I expect you to be at the gates by the crack of dawn. A horsedrawn carriage will be waiting for your departure, send my regards to Captain Folley when you get there. Understood?" He stoically told me.

"Aye sir" I answer, this time with less emotion.

After he had left me to myself I quickly ran for the barracks. Entering I hastily pack my things making sure not to shoot a glance at my brother's side of the room. I get dressed and fall asleep rather quickly, having no dreams whatsoever. As my eyes flutter open my body felt heavy like molasses. I slowly stand up and stare at my brother's empty bed, he had fixed it before we were called out for battle. I go to his chest and filter through his belongings. I roll up our family portrait and stuff it in my knapsack along with some trinkets which he owned. I look at his bed one last time before exiting the barracks. At the gates was a horsedrawn carriage which already had three passengers inside when I got there. They shifted about as I entered and when the coachman made a headcount he realized we were all there so he motioned his horse to move. The travel time to my destination took ten hours. The whole ride there was silent, none of us bothered having a conversation. With each passing town, one of the passengers got down until I was the only one left. When we reached the hamlet it was nearing nightfall. I got down an saw a peculiar man dressed in a captain's uniform. He was rotund, seemingly eating too much. He had a relaxed demeanor, something not common among us soldiers. He smiled at me but it looked forced. Behind him stood two other soldiers, they seemed to be new and were eyeing me suspiciously.

"Ah you must be Norman Solidbone, I'm Captain Folleys. I understand Commander Jacques has issued a transfer yes? I hope you pull your weight around here because you will be replacing a very active soldier" he said in a sarcastic tone pointing to a drunk old man passed out in front of the tavern. The old man was wearing the same uniform as mine but he was more unkempt. "Private William can you please escort Seargent Robert to this carriage immediately, thank you" One of the soldiers behind him lifts the drunk old man to the back of the carriage while Captain Folleys motions me to follow him. He leads me to a small barracks where he told me it would be my home for quite some time. Briefing me about the rundown of the hamlet he told me that they rarely have any fuss besides rabble-rousers. Most of the problems are farming related and the hamlet was overall peaceful. I got to choose my guarding rounds and I settled for mornings, I wanted to keep my evenings vacant. So that was my routine; every morning I would walk around the hamlet helping the folk around with their small problems while at night I would drink my senses away at the tavern. I drank so much alcohol there would be times I would pass out by the bar itself but knowing it's such a small place I was one of the regulars. The Army also compensated me by transferring my brother's salary to me. I almost forgot who I was if I'm being honest. After a year a letter came to me about our home estate being reclaimed by the state but I didn't care, I just kept drinking. A lone wolf in the world, I stayed true with my decision to forget who I was until one day I was tasked by Captain Folleys to survey a place near the outskirts of the hamlet. He said that strange noises have been heard there for three straight nights. I started trudging towards that area, kicking away dead leaves and branches wishing I was gulping down mead instead. A loud crying noise broke my trance, I started running towards the source of the sound and within a clearing, I saw a little girl sobbing. I drew my hammer from my side and raise my shield, anticipating an attack at any moment. After a few seconds, I slowly went near her. When I got close to her I asked,

"Ho child, why are you here in the dead of night?" staying alert all the while.

"I'm hungry, my parents don't feed me anymore," she told me in between sobs

"Can you tell me where your parents are little one?" I ask her, eyeing the treeline around us.

"I'm so hungry, I ate them, I keep eating everyone that comes close to me," she told me in a low voice

I felt my stomach clench as I heard her say those words. Slowly backing away from her I can see her form twist and change. Her arms grew longer, her fingernails on each hand looked sharp, she became taller as well almost reaching my size. As I was backing up the heel of my boot hit something soft and I heard a pained grunt moan out. I look down and see a man dressed in a red robe, it had ornate silver etchings, his hood was down and I can see a pained expression painted on his face. What caught my attention, however, was that his legs were missing. What was left were tattered robes caked in blood. He was gasping, looking at me then back at the creature. My blood was boiling, I remember Josiah. I remember the battle a year ago, I remembered everything.

"Will you... be my... food?" This creature exclaimed it's head tilted to the side as it shuffled towards me. I gritted my teeth in anger, this bitch made me remember everything I wanted to forget and I hated it.

"To the nine hells with you!" I shouted charging at the thing. Her claws met my shield as I put it up just in time as she swiped at me. Swinging my hammer I managed to land a few hits on her but it seemed like she wasn't even affected. We exchanged blows before I felt exhaustion creeping over me, my alcoholism has made my body unfit for drawn-out combat. I was trying to catch my breath when she saw an opening and slammed onto me, sending me flying backward landing next to the bleeding stranger. The wind was knocked out of my lungs as I was gasping for air. I was going to die, I told myself, killed by a changeling. It was going to eat me alive. I can finally be with my family, I can finally join them in the afterlife. I close my eyes for a moment embracing death when I heard a voice whisper to me,

"You can't give up now" My eyes flutter open as I see the man in the red robes was staring intently at me. He had in his hands what seemed to be a dagger but it was shining with a silver hue. He tossed it towards me and said: "Use this, please"

(end of part 1)

[archivesdiveronarpg]

Congratulations, CASS! You’ve been accepted for the role of CORIOLANUS. I don’t think you realize how absolutely, completely, utterly over the moon I am to have Verona’s favorite princeling join our ranks! Cass, your application perfectly captured Coriolanus. It was effortless, simple, and had my heart aching. That’s what Cyrus makes people do, he has them on their knees for him simply because he bats his lashes and asks them to do so. I don’t know what I’m looking forward to more -- Cyrus reaping his vengeance upon all of Verona or simply obtaining retribution on his mother dearest. Thank you for this beautiful application, Cass, I can’t wait to see Coriolanus on the dash!  Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within twenty-four hours.

Out of Character

Alias | Cass

Age | 21

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | I am, admittedly, well, me.I am around everyday to chat plots and connections, and around (normally) at least every other day to write replies or starters or drabbles. Spring break is coming up, and I’ve balanced a few new things in my life, so I’m anticipating my activity picking up within the next few weeks, as well!

Timezone | US EST

In Character

Character | CORIOLANUS, CYRUS SLOANE

What drew you to this character? |  I was excited from the teaser, honestly, and the bio only strengthened my passion for Cyrus. I love how there are various features of his past that factor into who he has become (for example, spoiling being the source of rot rather than sheer anger or abandonment issues) and how those facets manifest themselves into a duality between what he shows the world and what he sees in himself.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character?

1. Plotting: Recently back in Verona, Cyrus still has several plans to finalize and a handful that have yet to be created. This is largely going to be the connection phase of his character development, and it involves getting close to people, learning secrets, and gaining trust. Thus, this is the most immediate plot, and Cyrus will act in a manner of angelic innocence while planning precisely what to do with all the power he’s slowly gaining. After all, good things take time. 2. Conquest: The time to act upon plans. This is the beginning of Verona falling, of Cyrus pitting two sides against one another until there ceases to be loyalties and breeds only chaos. This is the time to sit back and watch the world bleed, to see his wounds reflect upon the place that bred them years ago. 3. Retribution: Coincides with conquest, but on a far more personal level. This is for the people who have personally wronged him – specifically Mother. This is when her empire falls and his own begins, when he proves that abandonment only results on barren ruins and the ghosts that wander them.   4. Order: More an aspiration of Cyrus’ than necessarily a plot idea, the drive to create order from the chaos. To raze to the ground and rebuild so that Verona is a pedestal beneath him. To have Verona at his feet simply because the city has forgotten how to stand. To rule.

In Depth

What is your favorite place in Verona?

Cyrus’ eyes widened as he lowered his cup of coffee, obvious caught in half-sip. He waved his hand and reached for a napkin, dabbing his lips as he swallowed before exhaling as if he had endured a hard day’s worth of work.

“Sorry about that,” he said, straightening once more. “But my favorite place? Well, it certainly isn’t the streets. Too much trash, too little fresh air. I tend to be fond of the stores, but even they can get so crowded that they become more work than they’re worth. If I had to choose a single place, I would say the Cathedral. You can find peace there.” And every weapon that he would ever needed rested inside of it. God’s words protected an arsenal and his pews hosted an army that was just chomping at the bit for action, to tear someone else to shreds in the name of greater loyalty or personal gain. And she was here, reigning for only so long, only until her might collapsed around her, only until she was buried in her own rubble.

What does your typical day look like?

“A lot like this,” he answered, gesturing around him. A cup of coffee rested on the table (filled with precisely three sugar cubes) while shopping bags rested at his feet, sporting names from Armani to Valentino. They were so gaudy that they spoke for themselves, and Cyrus felt comfortable leaving his lie there while the truth rested in plain sight behind him. There was a bag, slightly more tattered than someone of his composure would usually carry, and it was filled with tattered journals and newspaper clippings. It housed all of his thoughts, written in Afrikaans and bursting with all the public details of the people who held Verona upon their backs. Old articles spoke of the “terrorist” attacks that the media was too scared to link publically to the mobs. An image of Verona as it now stood was created by mixing all the things in that pack, and Cyrus carried it with him everywhere. As soon as something new filtered through the streets, it was incorporated into the old-fashioned database, and that night, plans were updated, refined, articulated. The day was full of reconnaissance and the night was full of work.

What are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?

“You waste no time in asking the heavy questions, do you? It’s admirable to be so forward.” Cyrus laughs like bubbles and his grin flashes like gold, falsely promising that everything is meant in good spirit without an ounce of vitriol. “I think that it needs to be resolved, and quickly. It’s tearing the city apart, and soon the whole of Verona will be noticing. Better to bring about peace before they try any other stunts.” He shook his head, falling into a mask of false sadness, of regret that he couldn’t have arrived prior to the bombing. He was the perfect image of a Capulet Emissary, ready to find peace and restore the order of the mobs.

Inside, it was a different story. This war was an opportunity just waiting to be exploited – and how no one had seized the chance yet was beyond Cyrus. A war like this would have never lasted long in South Africa without someone new rising from the ashes. There, people knew when the exploit weakness. In Verona, people seemed to be falling subject to it. It was time for a bit of foreign intervention in his hometown. Brought in to restore order to Verona, Cyrus was more than prepared to have precisely what he wanted: a new order under his regime.

In-Character Para Sample:

Cyrus Sloane always got what he wanted. From the time he was thirteen and requesting a pool table in his room to when he was eighteen and simply asking for Cape Town to bow at his feet, there was no resistance, no one was willing to tell him no. So imagine his surprise when he approached one of the clubs in Milan dressed to the nines, full of confidence, oozing sweetness – and was turned away.

“You’re not on the list, sir, and it’s a closed party.” The usher had left it at that, obviously fixating on a point just past Cyrus’ head as he spoke.

A lesser man would have thrown a fit then, or sidled up closer to the usher with intent in their fingertips, but both efforts would be fruitless. This was one of the most exclusive locations in the city, and settling into normal habits would yield little (if any) success. To make a scene would mean becoming memorable for all the wrong reasons, so Cyrus fell into an easy display of disappointment.

“Of course, I understand,” he said, stepping back and pulling a broken smile. He didn’t wait around for the usher to take pity, but instead turned back towards the line. It should only take five or so seconds, he guessed, and he began the countdown.

Five. A group of girls were cooing about how it was such a shame the list couldn’t be expanded. Four. A man was looking anywhere but him. Three. A couple fell into hushed whispered. Two. A child asked why this wasn’t like school, why everyone wasn’t invited. One.

“Hey.”

Cyrus glanced up, coming eye-to-eye with a woman approximately his age and perhaps dressed even better than he was. Careful to keep disappointment evident, he forced a small smile and hoped to look every bit like a kicked puppy. Something flickered in the woman’s eyes, and Cyrus knew that he was in.

“My date ditched me last minute,” she said, shrugging her shoulders as if she hadn’t been hurt by it at all. “Replace him, and I’ll get you in.”

Cyrus visibly brightened, going so far as to straighten his shoulders and erase all remain cracks of downtrodden deflation. “Shame he couldn’t make it, but I might need to write him a thank you note in the morning.” He slowly reached for the woman’s hand and, when she didn’t pull away, raised it to his lips and kissed her knuckles. “Answer enough?” he asked, smiling at her.

She pulled her hand away and flushed, falling into a modesty that could only be brought around by those surpassed by their forwardness. “Keep that up, and I’ll stop thinking of you as a replacement in no time at all.”

A laugh, and then they were walking into the club arm in arm. The usher glanced at him, surprised, as he stepped up to the line again, but this time the red velvet rope was pulled aside. Minutes later, he was alive with the wash of music and the thrum of elite company.

It was a golden rule of playing games with charm and will: there was always a way to get exactly what you wanted. Sacrifices were a thing of the past.

Extras: If you have anything else you’d like to include (further headcanons, an inspo tag, a mock blog, etc), feel free to share it here!

Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/1299363955/playlist/3M0vhMqeSJL7d2izIpRQir