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sissytobitch10seconds · 1 year

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You Are Unbreaking, Though Quaking, Though Crazy

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Back where he's safe, Viktor must now face the hardest news he's ever gotten in his life. And he must do it dreadfully alone. Warnings: Mentions of possible miscarriage/child death, mentions of starvation, inaccurate medical procedures, and canon child neglect Word Count: 5,606 Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves/Five Hargreeves

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A/N: This is the second installment in this series but I don't think it's necessarily critical to read the first installment to know what's going on here. Hope you all enjoy! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

The next time that he woke up, he was back in the house surrounded by the familiar walls of the infirmary. He had found himself spending a lot of time there, both because his medication had made him a little accident prone and because he didn’t want to leave Five’s side whenever the other man came back from a mission sick. The room hadn’t changed from the last time that he had been in it. It still had the green walls with medical equipment hanging off of it, as well as the sheer white curtains that allowed in plenty of light while obscuring it enough to keep any of the patients inside from being overwhelmed by it.

The bed that he was on had soft sheets and the mattress was just firm enough that he couldn’t shift and exacerbate any wounds that he might have had. The blanket on his lap was warm enough that he felt comfortable but not overly so, which was good. Recently, since he had gotten pregnant, he found that when he got overheated he also felt supremely ill. The next thing that he noticed was that he had a bit of tape on his face that was holding a tube to his cheek and an IV placed into the pack of his hand.

He turned his head to the side and felt the tension that had been building up in his shoulders immediately leave. Five was sleeping in a bed similar to his. They were both in the traditional hospital beds, minus the buttons that called several different nurses instead replaced with one that would bring Grace to them. Five was set up much like Viktor was, with two pillows to hold his head propped up enough that Viktor could easily see him. He had his own heart rate monitor, IV, and a feeding tube as well.

The pregnant man was immediately snapped back to the real world so that he wasn’t just watching his husband anymore when he heard some rustling coming from the other side of the bed. “Mom?” he asked as he turned to see who else was occupying this space. After half a decade with only each other for company, it was a little disconcerting to realize that it was possible for other beings to be around them without them knowing.

“Sorry, it’s just me,” Luther replied. He closed the book that he had been leafing through and then carefully looked at his brother. He had somehow gotten taller since the last time that they had seen each other, almost pushing seven feet. His hair was cropped close to his head like he had kept it his entire life, but it was beginning to grow out around the sides so that it was all the same length. He was wearing a comfortable pair of linen pants and t-shirt with a college name that Viktor’s tired brain almost recognized.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, trying to ignore the sour way that his voice sounded after an unknown time of not using it.

The blond left the novel on the edge of Viktor’s bed as he walked down to the table that was pushed over the very end of the hospital bed. He took one of the cups and filled it up with the water that had been sitting in the pitcher next to it before he passed it to his brother. “Mom was really worried about you guys. I mean, we all were, so we wanted to take turns waiting with you both to make sure that nothing bad happened. I know we have alarms that go off when someone starts to take a turn for the worse but it helps us feel at ease if we have someone with human or robot ears and eyes present.”

“Right,” Viktor nodded as he tried to take in all of the information. He took the cup from Luther and then hesitantly brought it up to his lips. He took a couple of sips of the cool liquid before his body began to scream for more of it. The rest of the cup was empty in a second.

“Can I ask what happened?” Luther asked as he took the cup back and placed it next to all of the others. He carefully walked back to the chair that was between Viktor’s bed and the door, before he reached over the side of the hospital bed and pressed the button that would call for Grace. While Viktor seemed fully coherent and responsive, it was still a good idea for someone with actual medical knowledge to check him over.

“I… Can you tell me what the date is first?”

Luther nodded. He explained the date and time, pointing to the clock that was hanging over the door to give some proof that he wasn’t lying. Viktor felt his shoulders release the tension that they had been carrying and his exhausted body sunk back into the bed. It had been a background emotion, so he hadn’t necessarily been super aware of it, but the idea that they had landed in the wrong part of the timeline had been eating away at his stomach. “You guys have been out for about a week,” he then explained, which only served to soothe Viktor’s nerves more.

Grace bustled in before he could fulfill the other side of the deal and explain the ordeal that he and his husband had been through. That was probably for the best, because Viktor didn’t want to explain it more than he had to. The more people that were in the room when he did finally get around to doing that, the more likely they were to get the story straight when they explained it to other people.

“You’re awake! How are you feeling, my dear? Any aches and pains that I should know about?” Grace asked. She walked over to him and placed her hand on the edge of the monitor, which transferred all the information about Viktor’s vitals over the last half hour directly into her database so that she could make a decision.

“Tired, but that’s not really abnormal for me these days,” he replied softly as his hand drifted down to the swollen belly hiding away his child. He felt a shock of panic surge through his system as he realized that this was it, he was a couple of check ups away from finding out the status of his child. It was something that was exhilarating for most parents but was the scariest thought that Viktor had ever had.

Grace sat down on the edge of the bed and then brushed her hand over the side of his face. “Dear, would you please tell me about what you’ve been through? It’s going to help me assess how best to help you. And if I’m going to be a grandmother,” her eyes were almost sparkling. Viktor wasn’t sure if her programming had been upgraded while he was away or if she had just continued to evolve and change because of how advanced her technology was, but she was almost human.

He flushed and ducked his head down a little bit, but found that made his vision swim. He carefully righted himself and leaned back against the pillows that had been placed behind him on the bed. As soon as his head was no longer up in the air but resting, the spinning in hs brain and ears stopped entirely.

“A lot happened, Mom. Five and I were starving to death for almost five years. We barely had anything to eat or drink and most of what we had didn’t have a lot of the nutrients to keep us going. We managed the best we could with a garden and barely any seeds and the canned goods that were undamaged but it wasn’t much. It meant that we couldn’t use our powers as much as we should have been able to, which is why it took us so long to get back here,” Viktor began to explain. It was hard to relive the life that he had just been wading through, but he had to do it so that he could get the help he needed. He was sure the feeding tube was already helping him and the baby get the nutrients that they needed, but there still might have been more required.

“Our?” Luther asked, catching what Viktor had said about his powers.

That was going to be a lot harder to explain, especially to Reginald’s golden child, than the whole disappearance was. He sighed and let his eyes drift closed as he said, “It turns out that Dad put me on medication when we were little when he told you all that I got sick. It kept me in this kind of neutral state where I couldn’t have any reactions, except panic and fear despite the pills supposedly being for anxiety. He did it to lock my powers away because they’re affected by my emotions. I can turn sound into energy waves that do a lot of things. That’s how I helped Five get us back here, I used my powers to give him the extra jump he needed to bring us back in time.”

Grace looked a little it startled when it really sank in what her son was telling her. She, of course, had known about the medication that he had been on and what it was really for. Viktor was never supposed to find out, so now that he had for what seemed to be years, it was a bit of a shock to her. Her processor whirred as she tried to process everything that he had told her and then assess the toll that using his powers with no energy had taken on his body, as well as what it might have done to Five.

“Would Dad-” Luther stopped himself and pursed his lips. Something had happened in the half decade that they had been gone, Viktor immediately pieced together, to have made Reginald’s favorite turn against him.

“How long have you been off of your medication?” Grace asked as she brushed her mechanical fingers over the edge of his forehead to displace some of the hairs that had been hanging there.

He let out a small sigh. The longer that he was talking the more exhausted he was becoming, both because the recollection took a lot of energy that he didn’t have and because he was waiting in anticipation for the question he really didn’t want to be asked. “We knew that there was a chance we wouldn’t be able to find more of my medications. You would be surprised about how few pharmacies there are when the entire world is full of rubble,” he chuckled, though the others didn’t find it as amusing as he did. “We weened me off of the medication and rationed the bottle that I took when we ran away from the house. So I’ve been off of it entirely for about four years and six months. My body has long since adjusted to my powers, I’m not going to blow up the building or anything.”

“I know, dear,” Grace smiled softly. “Now I have one more question before I decide your course treatment and you can rest again. Are you pregnant?”

It was harder to say it out loud in front of Grace and Luther then it had been to poke and prod Five in the right direction. That may have been because he was now surrounded by the very equipment that could determine the health and viability of his pregnancy. One of his hands moved to the bottom of the swell on his stomach. It had seemed so big when they were back in the wasteland, like it was a huge blaring siren screaming about the little life inside of him. Now that they were back in the Academy, it felt tiny. “Yeah, I think I am,” he whispered.

Grace clapped her hands next to the side of her face, ever cheerful and optimistic. “I’m going to run some bloodwork and we’ll see what the results of that are before we put you through any procedures or get our hopes up too far, alright? I want you to rest in the meantime. I know that look, and it means that you’re overtired.”

He chuckled, a warm feeling blooming in the center of his chest. Even after all this time away from his mother, she still somehow knew him better than anyone ever had before. She slipped off of the bed and got the equipment that she needed to take the blood. Viktor leaned back against the pillows even further than he had before and slowly let his eyes drift shut until he had fallen asleep.

---

The next time that he woke up, he could hear the steady beating of his heart and Five’s next to him. It wasn’t like when he used his powers, but instead a mechanic noise coming form the monitors watching their vitals. It was a reassuring noise, to be able to hear the physical proof that his lover was not only alive but steadily recovering.

He placed a hand on his stomach as he thought about the tiny life that he had been harboring there. He had no idea if they were still growing or if they were thriving like his husband was, but he had to cling onto the hope that they were. They had come so far and worked so hard to get to where they were that the idea of it coming crashing down because of a miscarriage or stillbirth made Viktor want to start crying.

A knock sounded on the door and jerked him out of his thoughts before he could spiral even further. He looked up to see who it was and then felt his nerves settle. He loved his siblings all equally, but there were some that he felt more comfortable around than others. Ben was that one, mostly because he and been a bit of a trio with Viktor and Five when they were younger. While Ben and Klaus were the closest out of all of them, he still had to go elsewhere to get the kind of literary discussions that he longed for.

“Hey, Mom just sent me up here to see if you were awake and wanted something to eat. She finished up lunch,” Ben explained, jerking his head down the hallway in the direction of the kitchen.

Food sounded like a risky thing, but at the same time Viktor’s body craved it like nothing else. He had experienced a couple of cravings so far in his pregnancy but nothing that he could get back when they were in the apocalypse. He also hadn’t experienced any foods that set off his morning sickness outside of the singular incident where he had thrown up his entire lunch into the side of the garden. He was a lot more sensitive to smells and tastes now, though.

“I think I could probably stomach something. Mom’s going to be able to avoid refeeding syndrome, right?” Viktor asked as he shifted on the bed.

Ben nodded, “Oh yeah. She knows all about how to ween you guys back onto a proper diet and help you get the nutrients that you need. That’s why you’ve got the feeding tubes. I’ll be back when I’ve gotten you something to eat, alright?”

The door slipped shut and Ben was gone, which left only Viktor and the steady sound of his husband’s heart. He didn’t have to wait long before his favorite brother returned with their mother. Grace set a tray down in front of him and then lowered a plate of food down in front of him. “Make sure that you eat slowly, you don’t want to shock your system,” she informed him. “When you’re finished with lunch we can check on the health of your baby, alright?”

He went a bit rigid at that. A shiver of fear brushed down his spine as though someone was dragging a feather along the tall ridges of his vertebrae. “I want Five to be there to see it too,” he replied as his eyes darted over to his husband. The aforementioned man had yet to rouse once from his slumber, at least at the same time as Viktor. The excuse that he had given was at least half real, because he did feel like it was important for his husband to be there when they heard their child’s heartbeat or saw them for the first time, but it was also a way for him to push off what he felt was the inevitable. He didn’t want to break the spell that they had found themselves in and end up back in the world of misery he had been living in for the last half decade.

“I’m afraid that we can’t wait that long. Your blood tests indicated that you were already into your second trimester, so it’s imperative that we figure out what’s going on with the little one and make up on all of the appointments and medications that you were unable to get while you were away,” Grace replied. She was using that firm motherly tone that she always did when one of them had done something that had upset her slightly. It was a tone that Viktor hadn’t gotten very often as a child because there hadn’t been a lot of mischief that he wanted to or even could get into.

He shrank back into the bed, his stomach now wound up in knots. He turned over to look at Five, wondering if there was something way that he could rouse his husband so that he didn’t have to live through this potential terror and trauma all on his own. They had been together from the moment that they had been adopted and then never separated since. Even when Five had been pulled away to go on missions, they had known that they were going to be reunited in the next couple of days. When they were in the wasteland, there had been long hours that stretched by without them sharing each other’s company, but then they were in each other’s arms again by nightfall.

“Eat something, V,” Ben said as he sat down on the chair that Luther had been positioned in earlier. He had a pen between his fingers and he was flipping it over his knuckles like he always did when he was trying to soothe his nerves.

“Right,” he nodded. He picked up his fork and tried to think about anything other than the health or life of his child as he brought the food up to his mouth.

“So I take it that’s still the first letter of your name?” Ben asked. “I know that you’re presenting differently than when you were here the last time.”

“I’m trans,” Viktor nodded. “He/him pronouns and I like the name Viktor. Do you remember when Mom helped us get all of our names?”

Ben grinned as he shifted on the bed, “Of course I do. We all made fun of Five for never being able to pick one, even years after the rest of us had chosen one. I was able to pick one pretty fast even if none of the traditional Korean names really felt like they fit me.”

“I remembered that I was from Russia but I didn’t have that huge list of names that Mom gave us for traditional names for our genders from our home countries, so I had to pick one that I thought sounded Russian enough to fit while also being actually male,” the pregnant man explained. He could already feel himself relaxing as he focused on something other than his child and what might be going on with them. It was just the distraction that he needed to be able to eat, as he didn’t even notice each bite of food that was disappearing from his plate outside of knowing that he liked the flavor.

Before he knew it, the entire plate had been divested of food and his stomach felt noticeably less painful. The anxiety returned full force when he remembered what was to come, however. He turned his head to the side so that he was staring at the unconscious form of his lover, almost trying to desperately will him awake. Viktor didn’t want to have to go through his alone, not when Five also deserved to hear the news about their child as soon as he could. That was what he had poured himself into for the last couple of months, he deserved to see what the outcome of all of his labors had been.

Grace smiled at him as she removed the tray and the plate from on top of Viktor’s lap. She placed them on the chair in the corner as Ben came to stand beside Viktor. He was on the side opposite to where the machine that Grace was going to use to check the health of the baby was, but he was standing in such a way that he wasn’t blocking Five. “I know I’m not as good as him, but I’ll be a stand in for a while. Just so that you have someone to hold your hand while the scary part happens. You’ll have good news to tell him, I’m sure of it.”

“How can you be sure of it?” Viktor mumbled. He looked down to where Grace was carefully moving the blanket off of his body and folding it up in his lap. She then adjusted the loose shirt that he had been changed into, most likely while she had been cleaning the soot and rainwater off of his skin.

Finally, his belly was revealed to the world. Grace turned to warm up some of the lubricating gel that she would then place on his bump while Ben said, “I know because good things have to happen to us now. Dad is gone and he was the one that made all the bad happen.”

“It doesn’t feel like it,” Viktor shook his head. He turned his head away from the machine like that was somehow going to make the experience any less real. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Ben was looking back at him with a pleasant, reassuring smile. He took a deep breath as his brother guided him to do so, just as they had when they were children and Five hadn’t been around to soothe his panic attacks.

“There you go, Vik,” Ben beamed. “Come on, look at what Mom has to show you and then you’ll have some wonderful news for your boyfriend when he finally wakes up.”

“Husband,” Viktor immediately corrected. “We didn’t have a marriage license or a witness or anything like that but we did get married after we turned eighteen,” he felt a small smile slip onto his face as he thought about it. Regardless of what the outcome of the scan ended up being, he was elated at the idea of being able to marry his husband and have it be recognized by other people. They might even get to throw a real wedding if their siblings would be willing to attend and help them celebrate.

“Right,” Ben nodded, taking every new bit of information with great stride. “You want to be able to tell your husband exactly what it was like when you saw your guys’ baby for the first time since he can’t do it. So look at the screen and everything will be okay.”

Viktor took a deep breath and then did as he was told to. He turned his head to the side so that he was no longer looking at his brother or husband and just stared straight ahead at the screen to see what the result was going to be. He could feel that his hands were beginning to shake as he moved them so that he was holding one of Ben’s and the other was clinging to the edge of the bed.

He jumped a little bit when he felt the cool gel being placed on his stomach. Grace had warmed it so that it wasn’t as cold as the ultrasound had been the one time that he had to have one to make sure that his appendix wasn’t bursting when he was twelve, but it still felt almost like ice to him. His skin was still so unused to being able to feel temperatures since he kept his skin covered when they were in the wasteland outside of their homes. It was important to do that so that the ash and dust from the world around them wouldn’t burn them.

She then lowered the wand, which had also been covered with some gel to ease the glide during the examination. She started at the bottom of his stomach and then rolled back and forth to evenly spread out the lubrication so that she could look properly. She hummed to herself as she did it, the lullaby that she always sung to them when they had nightmares and were still allowed to go to her for comfort.

It did the trick and he immediately felt some of the stress and tension release from him. He stared at the shapes on the screen, trying to make anything out of the blobs of static to catch the first glimpse of his baby before she had the chance to point them out to him. Something that he hadn’t been expecting, especially since his last ultrasound had been to check for internal organ damage, was for the baby to come into crisp, clear view immediately when she found them.

Blackness surrounded the tiny infant, most likely the water from the amniotic sac. The baby was the same hazy black and white that the rest of the ultrasound had been, with one little hand clearly held up to something that looked like a nose and a mouth. “There they are, Viktor,” Grace beamed as she held one of her elegant fingers up to the ultrasound machine where the baby was very clearly defined.

The breath had been stolen from his lungs as soon as he saw the outline of the child that he was carrying. When he had been wandering around the halls of the Umbrella Academy, lost and alone and afraid, he had read books where people had become parents. They had always described it as being terrifying and the most wondrous thing that had ever happened to them. He was ten when he began to dream of himself as a parent and a husband, something to soothe the ache on his heart from not being properly accepted as a member of the team his entire life. He had wanted it so desperately that he had convinced Five to enter into a ‘marriage’ just for him and now he was bringing forth their first child.

“Are they alive?” he asked, still heaving in breath around the sobs that were wrecking from his throat. The image on the screen had become blurry and his face damp with tears as his body became too overwhelmed with emotion to be able to handle everything happening. He had wanted this for so long and now he was finally able to see the potential that the future had in store for him. What he had dreamed of was finally in his grasp and yet so dreadfully, terrifyingly far away from him.

“Well, let’s see if we can find a heartbeat. The fetus looks to be about seventeen weeks along so there should be a nice strong one,” Grace explained. She reached over to the machine and flipped a few switches before she tilted the angle of the wand just a little bit. She shifted it around on his stomach and pressed a little harder than she had before so that the waves had a chance to pick up on what they needed to.

The room was overwhelmed with a whooshing-thumping noise coming from the machine to Viktor’s left, which joined the noise of the mechanical beating of Five and his own hearts on the right. He didn’t know what he was hearing at first until Ben’s grip on his hand tightened and Grace turned to him with a beaming smile.

“That’s your baby’s heartbeat, my dear! They’re alive and doing very well in there,” she explained.

That was all he needed to hear before it felt like he couldn’t handle any more information. Grace seemed to understand that the entire situation was very overwhelming, so she moved the wand back and placed it by the machine as she reached for some tissues so that he could clean off of his face. He knew that the exam wasn’t over and they would have to check over as much of the baby as they could once he had calmed down, but his emotions had grown to be too much to keep inside.

He sucked in enough air that he swallowed most of it, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. The sobs that wracked through his body were enough to make him shiver while the fear hormones released from where they had been stored while he was nervously awaiting the result. His heart was thrumming up in his ears and his body was focusing on repeating the sound of his infant’s heartbeat over and over again. It was the only thought that he could focus on, reassuring himself after nights spent worrying that the life he was carrying inside of him was already dead before their first breath.

Eventually, the tears slowed and he was able to lean back on the bed again. He had never once let go of Ben’s hand, desperately clinging to the solid warmth of another person despite wishing that it was his husband and not his brother.

Viktor mopped off his face with the tissues that Grace had been steadily handing him during his crying fit. He sniffled and laughed a little as he turned to look at the frozen image on the screen. He could see the outline of the baby hidden protectively inside of his womb, safe from the world and all of the dangers that came with being alive. “Sorry for all the dramatics,” he apologized. He then handed the pile of tissues that he had collected over to his mother so that she could dispose of them properly.

“You’ve got nothing to apologize for, Viktor,” Ben shook his head. “You had a lot on your plate for a very long time and you just got some really good news, so I think that you deserve to have a cry. But at least you have something wonderful to tell Five when he finally wakes up.”

Viktor felt a smile stretch across his face for what had to be the first time since they had come back from the apocalypse. He had moments of joy when they were stuck in the wasteland, usually when Five was doing something silly to lighten the mood or when they found something particularly good among the rubble. He had never allowed himself to feel true happiness, no moment of joy could stretch on for that long when they were constantly reminded of the death and destruction around them. But he was back in the past where he belonged, so he was allowing himself to get excited about the prospect of becoming a father like he had always wanted to.

“Are you ready for me to finish the exam now, Viktor?” Grace asked, her voice calm and patient as always.

The aforementioned man took in a deep breath as he situated himself on the bed once more. The gel on his stomach was cool, spread all the way across his belly so that she could get a good look at the baby from every single angle. He had the grounding feeling of the soft blanket on his legs and Ben’s hand clenched in his. “Now that I know they’re alive, I don’t think there’s a single thing that could shock me about this exam.”

“Not even a tail? Or a third arm?” Ben asked, a teasing smirk spreading over her face.

“While it is possible that your children may be born with superpowers like you were, it is unlikely that such an anomaly would happen to our dear Viktor,” Grace chided playfully. She placed the probe back where it belonged and then began to run it back and forth as she had the first time. She found the baby again and began to show Viktor every little detail of the infant. He got to see all of the little fingers and toes that were available in the monitor, and she also pointed out where the placenta was. It was a relief to hear that he didn’t have to worry about something that hadn’t even occurred to him as the placenta wasn’t anywhere near the cervix, so he would be able to deliver naturally if he had healed enough to have the energy for that in the next several months.

“It’s such a relief to know that they’re okay,” Viktor breathed out a sigh of relief. He looked down at the bump protruding between his hips like he would be able to see his unborn child more that way than he was from the screen that held the ultrasound. “You’re gonna be okay, baby, you hear me? We’re gonna be a happy family just like I always wanted.”

#fanfiction #fanfic #writing #ao3 #archive of our own #tua #the umbrella academy #wasteland baby (i'm in love with you) series #you are unbreaking though quaking though crazy fic #fiktor #oneshot #series #viktor hargreeves #five hargreeves #pregnant viktor #grave hargreeves #ben hargreeves #luther hargreeves #umbrella ben

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butch-bakugo · 2 years

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You know what? Fuck it, shout out to those who arent seeking help.

To those who arnt trying to heal and move on. Who are too uncomfortable to seek medication or just dont feel like using those resources. To those who dont want reminders or someone to talk to. Who dont want therapy or doctors or even to tell others about their struggles. To those who dont care about "success"(healing and "getting over it") stories. To those who dont care if their family or friends or partner(s) know about it or how they feel about it. To those who arnt seeking help.

I see you. And i know you cause i am you. I get being tried of the narrative surrounding every illness or disability or hurt people is all about recovery and if you talk about your experiences in it when recovery isnt your only goal, your tossed out as a toxic person. How to get better and move on. How to see the light at the end of that tunnel. How to feel ok again but the reality is that not everyone will ever "feel ok" again. Healing is 2 things depending on who your asking and their intentions. Either its "acting normal" and "moving on" and never talking about it or being affected by it again because you got 1 year of therapy or you've been on meds for 3 years or you got your mobility aide. Or its just superficial "whenever you dont think about it 😚" or " whatever makes you the happiest!".

Ive been told to shut up and gotten shut out of ptsd support groups for venting in appropriate places to appropriate people that i didnt think id ever "be ok" again. For saying that i wasnt sure how to feel about this being something i experience for the rest of my life. For feeling hopeless, lost and alone. Not suicidal, at least not openly and being told i was hurting the other members progress by being such a "downer". For being scared to lose myself in recovery because the only "me" ive known is one whose traumatized and not able to heal from it.

Healing is so fucking scary and you have every right to be afraid. Doctors can suck and retraumatize you. Medications can make you feel nothing which is terrifying. Having the only thing you ever see in realtion to your illness or disorder or disability be about how to overcome it and how to heal and how to "jumpstart the road to recovery!" Is fucking toxic.

The event is one pain and the recovery is 10x worse. Its coming out of denial and figureing out what it even is and learning to accept it will be there forever and learning to be ok with that and test driving 6 medications and speaking to even more than 6 doctors and going through therapists like drops of water and feeling rejected by friends and family for not healing immediately and falling behind at work/in school and relapseing back into a mindset where you dont think you'll ever recover and then wanting to die and then being made to feel guilty by doctors when your forced in and being put on even more medication and being retraumatized by a doctor at the ward and then finally convincing them your safe to be home then repeating the cycle now with the trauma the doctor at the ward gave you over and over again.

You never feel safe or loved or accepted or even like youll ever feel ok again and the community dose nothing. They tell you you must ve recovering or else your too doomy and you'll turn others away from help or god forbid cause a death that is somehow your fault because you were honest about your feelings.

The only good traumatized and sick person isnt traumatized or sick anymore. They are past it all and have gone on to do better things. They never bring up their pain or relapses. They are never triggered by anything. They were healed by one medication at the right dose from the get go and the dose was low. They never needed another therapy session after the first one. They dont even have ugly scars! They arent you thats for sure and if you dont heal immediately, your just trying to make recovery difficult.

I understand why people dont want to introduce people in crisis to those who are hopeless about recovery but you cant just silence those who arent recoverying or stopped trying to. You cant tell them to shut up or refuse them a platform just because they didn't come out sparkling clean from the bigoted capitalist medical system of america. How is that fair? Choosing not to heal any further is a tough choice. Its one made of fear and pain to decide that the fear and pain they currently have is enough for them to not seek potential further fear and pain that may be present in recovery.

People don't say recovery is easy but they also dont say it can be just as hard as the event or illness that caused it. Some people are generally done with all doctors after a few non-traumatic but definitely uncomfortable events with doctors. Speaking from experience, i was almost completely done with therapists once one got very close to me and made me feel trapped in the room alone with him then told me he couldnt help me because i couldnt guarantee i wasnt going to kill myself. I was 15 yrs old. I had a doctor who talked over me and refused to listen to any of my grievances once she had a blood test in her hands. I was 20 yrs old. I now tread very lightly with therapists and almost never want to see another rheumatologist again.

I wont dive any deeper into personal experience but i can say from almost triple the experiences above with the medical system, i understand how it feels to be scared of medical recovery and actively not seek it unless forced to. I understand the fear and discomfort it brings and you should never be forced to seek medical help you dont want wether physically or manipulatively by family or friends.

Unless you are a tangible danger to others, you should only ever seek recovery and healing for yourself, never for others. Though loved ones do benefit from seeing you happy and healthy, you should never feel guilty about not getting it when you dont want to. You dont have to see a dentist every year. Every 3 is fine. You should see your normal doctor once a year at least. Refusing medical help can be deadly.

But as long as you arnt dieing from an illness or suicidal, you are allowed to seek medical help at your own pace and never let someone make you feel guilty for that. Your health is your choice and your responsibility. So if it gose down because you ignored it, thats on you but you dont have to seek help that you dont want and no one can force you.

Speak up for yourself because nobody else will.

#levi speaks #abuse tw #tw abuse #ableism

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cortexreaver · 10 months

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people who take statement of the fact that both parties are made up of soulless self-serving mass murderers and that voting for whatever you perceive to be the Lesser Evil is not a radical act as a personal attack are frustating in general but ive developed a particular loathing for people who use lgbt rights as their gotcha for why people should suck it up and vote anyway like just openly stating that they know the likely dem nominee is a warmonger but theyd rather vote for him than nobody at all because theyre personally more likely to suffer under a republican president in their mind lol like 1. have you already forgotten how bad shit has gotten under the current dem administration or are you just trying to tell yourself it could be worse to make yourself feel better and 2. way to admit with seemingly zero shame that your personal freedoms are whats at the forefront of your mind above all else. yeah whatever undocumented citizens will never be safe the prison industrial complex continues on thriving as it does the us continues to carry out massacres through both its own military operations and through funding of its allies just to name a few the comprehensive list is a little long but one side pretends to care about a core part of your personal identity and you believe it even though theyve proven time and time again that its a facade to garner support, you know, like politicians are apt to do, and thats all it takes to make them the "lesser evil" to you?

like i dont WANT to diminish the significance of those feelings being one of them queers myself the past few years have felt notably horrifying and depressing for trans people in the us and i do also fear things getting worse from where were at. its just that on top of the fact that, again, a democrat in office hasnt prevented any of it, what people are willing to excuse while simultaneously claiming to oppose in exchange for empty words somehow still blows my fucking mind. if you cant muster a spine to go with your ostensible compassion for victims of american imperialism can you at least have a little self-respect and stop settling for crumbs at most when it comes to your rights as an lgbt community member. and then perhaps work on a fucking spine as well

#i saw people saying stupid shit online while my medication was kicking in not sure if you can tell #<- yes and you can also tell i drafted the majority of this a month ago before entering lisdexamfetamine shortage purgatory

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gracer222 · 2 years

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Love that celiac feeling when a single contaminated spatula means you have to throw out your whole meal and start from scratch ^^

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hiccstrxd · 3 years

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Heaven is you

This was an idea i had for Rayla's birthday and the outline seemed too wholesome to not do it lol. It has family feels and rayllum being soft as always. Read it on ao3.

Summary: Rayla always remembers her past birthdays with fondness. But this one in particular has brought her an abundant amount of joy, filling her heart with the purest of loves.

Or a recollection of Rayla’s birthdays through the years.

Rayla always remembers her past birthdays with fondness.

She recalls being four and waking up to her mum’s soft voice in her ear, a happy birthday, my love being lovingly murmured in the air. She would pretend that she was asleep, cracking one eye open from time to time and doing her best to contain in her laughter as her mother would start to rub her hair soothingly to wake her up. But she would burst into a fit of giggles before her mum could say anything else — even though Rayla is pretty sure she saw past her flimsy excuse of a stoic facade — and her mother would start to laugh alongside her, tickling her belly and asking her when has her little moonbeam gotten this sneaky.

She hadn’t, obviously.

She’d scoop her in her arms and they would go downstairs where her dad would be cooking her favorite breakfast — he’d always go all out when it was her birthday. And he’d see them still laughing as they approached, he’d see them — his two favorite people ever — and he’d come up to them, lifting her in his arms and making her laugh, telling her that today she chose what they would do because today was all hers. Because he’d move earth and sky for his tiny warrior.

And she remembers the glimmer in her mum’s eyes, her father’s beaming smile, her own expression mirroring theirs; she remembers feeling loved, safe, and content.

ii.

Rayla recalls being eleven and coming back after nearly an entire day of training to a cake on the dining table, a sole candle lit on its center, and a neatly folded paper resting beside it. It was rather late, her whole body ached as the practice had been a vigorous one, but upon seeing the homemade gateau she no longer felt the ever consuming exhaustion. No, she felt lighter, more at ease.

Ethari had been sporting the warmest of smiles, his eyes showing every bit of love towards his foster daughter who they had come to care for as their own. Runaan had walked over to where his husband was and stood right next to him, somehow matching his emotion almost instantly — he had been sort of tense before leaving the meadow — and they had wished her the happiest of birthdays, holding her tightly in their embrace, muttering words of comfort and pride and love.

She remembers thinking that there was still a void in her heart as the aftermath of her parents’ absence, but being there surrounded by her two guardians that loved her an abundant amount and whom she loved as much in return, that showed her day after day their support and their care was enough to bring her solace.

She had felt love all the same.

And she always looked forward to reading her parents’ letter at the end of the end. The words were like a warm hug from afar. She became misty-eyed and held the letter close to her heart for hours as if she was keeping her parents in a safe place near her heart.

iii.

She recalls being sixteen and sitting alone in the Xadian forest. She had been wounded and restless, tired and alone. Everywhere and everything hurt, but ironically she had felt numb from head to toe. Somewhere in the back of her mind she vaguely remembered what that day was supposed to be.

And the bittersweet afterthought made matters worse because then the pang in her chest was just a little too hard to ignore.

Rayla had felt cold and empty, being alone with her thoughts was as harmful as it sounded and the unbecoming urge to cry was getting hard to suppress. But she ended up shedding tears, letting them fall freely as they have been welling up and contained in since much too long ago.

It was her birthday, and she had tried to forget it, making herself not feel, perhaps then the pain would subdue.

It hadn’t.

iv.

It was her birthday and she couldn’t get the royal physician’s words out of her head. They were spinning, echoing, repeating themselves. And she felt equal amounts of excitement and trepidation all at once.

Congratulations Your Highness, you’re with child.

They have been trying, of course, they have, so the news shouldn’t be such a surprise to hear that their efforts had actually turned out fructiferous. But they have, and she didn’t know how to assimilate them without cutting the appointment short and leaving a very confused physician behind, one who was patiently waiting for a reaction out of her.

Because she was excited and elated and so beyond happy that it was taking a lot of willpower to remain seated and not run off to find Callum.

“Your Highness? Is everything all right?”

She blinked, “Of course.” Rayla offered them a smile. How could it not be, honestly?

And after a couple of recommendations and how they’d like to see her in the span of a few weeks — after all, the babe was still a halfling and the pregnancy was to be monitored constantly for that matter — they bid her goodbye with another well-meaning congratulation on the way.

Rayla couldn’t help the fast pace in which she was walking nor the beaming smile from breaking out.

“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking nonstop for you. What did the physician say?” She heard Callum’s voice round the corner; the worried tone of her husband of three years was enough to make her smile deepened because he was just the sweetest person ever and she just knows that he’s going to be the best father out there.

And the mere thought was enough to make her heart burst with adoration.

He took a couple of steps forward and placed one hand on her cheek, gently rubbing his thumb back and forth, “Are you all right?”

“I’m pregnant.”

The words left her mouth before she had time to catch herself, before she had any time to dwell on how to tell him, but after they were out, she knows that there was no better way, no better time. Because seeing those expressive, loving eyes widen in realization, going through every emotion in the span of a second, how his hand stilled its movement on her cheek and how she heard his breath catch in his throat was as heartwarming as if she’d had outlined a grander plan in advance to break the big news to him.

“Really?” He whispered, barely audible.

She hummed.

“You are pregnant?”

She hummed again.

“There’ll be a tiny, perfect mix of the both of us in a couple of months?”

Rayla nodded unable to keep the grin off her face, her arms coming upwards to lace them loosely around his neck and raising herself on her tiptoes to breath small kisses across his cheek — damn those two inches he had gained on her. Their chests were pressed together, and she felt the deep rumble in his chest that soon turned into a peal of boisterous laughter that surely could be heard through the entire hallway. The sound was too contagious to not let out one of her own.

His arms came to encircle her waist, engulfing her in a tight hug, both of them shaking with laughter and happiness and pure delight.

“We’re having a baby.”

“We are.”

They pulled back slightly, faces inches away from each other’s, noses brushing against one another, breaths mingling in their shared space. She wanted to capture this blissful moment in a picture.

And then his lips slowly curved into a smug grin.

“Don’t.” Rayla raised a single brow, looking pointedly at him because she knew where his mind had headed in a matter of seconds. And because she also remembers rather vividly exactly what he had thought about — it had been a very nice anniversary gift, after all. It had carried the promise of fervent love, a burning passion, and a couple’s desire of at last starting a family.

He let out an amused laugh, “I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to, I practically saw you thinking about it!” She rolled her eyes playfully and crossed her arms over her chest, letting out a huff in faux disbelief at her husband’s antics. They locked gazes, grass green meeting amethyst violet, a glimmer in both of them. They couldn’t help the small laugh thereafter.

His eyes softened as the laughter ceased, pulling her closer by the waist and planting one tender kiss on the lips, feeling all the love conveyed in such a small action and trying to reciprocate as much as she was receiving.

“I love you.” She said lovingly when they parted, her hands coming up to cup his jaw in a light grasp.

He brought one hand to his lips, kissing the underside softly, “I adore you.”

Rayla knows that it wouldn’t be easy, parenting — motherhood— never was as the rising self-doubts, the exhaustion of both mind and body, the anxiety of diving into the unknown, and all the possible mistakes that were bound to be made. But, she thinks, as long as they have each other — and everyone else who has been there for that matter — this baby would be raised with abundant love and affection. She'd make sure of it.

It was superfluous to say that this birthday by far had brought her one of her greatest joys. A surprise that couldn’t be topped by any other.

#rayllum #rayllum fic #rayllummonth2021 #my writing #rayla #callum #the dragon prince #rayllum fanfic #it's fluff #because i can't write anything else #and they are married #because i say so #there’s also lots of family feels

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poliel · 3 years

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Surprise Egg 13/13

Unfortunately, no matter how tired one was, waking up was an inevitable eventuality. If one didn’t die in their sleep anyway. So perhaps Buddy should be thankful to be waking up even it was to a strange beeping sound and… that distinct hospital smell.

With a groan they opened their eyes to see that… yep, they were in lying on a hospital bed in a hospital room. It certainly wasn’t their first time waking up in such a location but it was their first time waking up in one while attached to what seemed to be a full suite of life support and monitoring machines. Because that’s what the beeping sound was: a heart rate monitor. There was also an IV and other things they weren’t quite sure the purpose of. Ugh, they’d only just woken up here and they were already tired of it and wanted to go home.

They shifted their paws up to try to push themself up but… nope. Even just moving themself to attempt it hurt too much to be worth it and thus they didn’t even really try. If they had to they could force it but while their pain tolerance was high and level of stubbornness even higher, they didn’t have any desire to when there was nothing worthwhile that could be gained from it. And having discovered how far they could push their body before it quit on them they would rather not do so again, especially so soon.

Thankfully as was often the case in such scenarios, it wasn’t longer before a nurse found their way to their bedside. Buddy didn’t give them a chance to say anything before speaking themself. “What happened? How did I get here? And where are my friends?” The last thing they remembered was asking Eggabell if they could take a nap and her encouraging it. Clearly quite a bit had happened between now and then. “Oh and uh… how long was I out for?” That was always something one should when waking in such a location.

The nurse hesitated for a moment, looking down at their clipboard and then back up at Buddy. “You arrived here three days ago. According to your friends you were unconscious for at least two days prior, probably a bit longer. You got here on an airship your friends landed on our roof. They’re all now in their own rooms being observed and where applicable taken care for their own health issues.”

Feeling even more addled than they had back on the island, it took Buddy a few seconds to parse though the meaning of all that. If any of the Snaktoothers hadn’t made it off the island surely that would’ve been mentioned, right? Hard to say for sure but for now they were going to operate under that assumption and hopefully confirm it later.

First, their story. Given the whole snakification thing there was no way word of this event hadn’t gotten out already. How much had everyone already revealed about the bugsnax? Hopefully not much because it was their story to tell! … “May I borrow a phone please. I need to call my boss.”

That earned a heavy disapproving frown from the nurse. “You should be resting.”

“I know and I will but… it’s important.”

“No.”

“Well… can I talk to my friends then?” Surely they would help them contact Clumby and get this whole thing started. Filbo certainly would at least, right? Because he should know what this meant to them. “I also need my pack.” They couldn’t start properly writing their story without it.

“Later. First, since you’re finally awake, there’s some things we need to handle.”

Ugh, hospitals were the worst. But if they cooperated it’d be easier for everyone and should win them some points with the nurses that would hopefully help them later.

Buddy must’ve fallen asleep again at some point because they were waking up again despite not particularly wanting to. They had important stuff to do though so they blinked open their eyes.

“Buddy, you’re awake!” Seated by their bedside, Filbo took their paw gently between both of his. “How do you feel?”

“Eh, I’ve felt worse. But uh… better now that you’re here.” They winked at him, squeezing his paw a little as they tried to pretend like the monitor wasn’t betraying their heart rate going up slightly because Filbo was holding their paw and smiling at them. But it was really good to see him. Mostly anyway. He was still snakified and Buddy now knew what that meant and… it was their fault. They’d fed him parasites for months.

Before they could go any further down that rabbit hole of unpleasant thoughts though Filbo squeezed their paw slightly. “I’m so glad you’re finally awake. I was… worried.” His expression sorrowed for a bit before he was smiling at them again. “I brought your pack with your camera and stuff in it. I figured you might want it.” He really was the best, huh?

“Awesome. Thanks. And uh… you think you could get me a phone. I need to call my boss and tell her I’m working on the story.”

“Uh… I don’t think I’d be allowed to. And while you were unconscious, we had all decided that we were going to keep the bugsnax secret ‘cause they’re dangerous and stuff. But uh… we kind of failed at that already. To be fair I did land us on the roof of a big hospital in the middle of an important city. So a lot of people saw us all snakified and you still had Sprout in your pouch so… that was a thing we had to deal with. We didn’t tell anyone anything specific though. All the newspapers and stuff are just circulating rumors and stuff. So… the full story coming out is gonna be from you since you have more right to tell it than anyone else if it’s doomed to come out at all. You have to promise to take it easy and slow though or I won’t let you work on it at all.” He gave them the sternestlook Buddy had ever seen on his face before. It was certainly well deserved though so…

“Yeah, okay. I promise to be good.” And they kind of owed it to him to listen to him after all the times they hadn’t before leading this moment. Speaking of everything leading to this moment though… “Everyone made it off Snaktooth, right?” They still needed confirmation on that.

Filbo nodded. “Yeah. Everyone’s okay.”

“Good.” Knowing that made them feel better for sure. “Now uh… about writing my story?”

Filbo gave them another firm look. “Later, after you’ve rested a few more days, please.”

“Fair enough.”

Being bedridden was the worst. Especially since they weren’t allowed to start writing their story yet. The only thing that kept them sane was Filbo staying at their bedside pretty much as much as the nurses would let him.

They were allowed additional visitors too occasionally. Even Gramble was eventually allowed to leave his own room and come see them.

“I brought Sprout too,” was the first thing he said after they’d exchanged greetings with him and Wiggle.

“He’s still attached to it for somereason.” Wiggle didn’t even try to hide her disapproval over it as Gramble pulled Sprout’s buggy ball out of his pouch.

“One little bugsnax ain’t gonna hurt no one. And he rarely leaves the buggy ball so it’s fine. And he still follows the pointer so… he’s different, I think. Since I could never train any of the others no matter how hard I tried. Anyway, here he is.” He held him up for Buddy to see. “He’s only here because you were carrying him in your pouch for so long all of us forgot about him so I figured you might want to see him.”

Buddy lifted a paw in a gesture for Gramble to hand the buggy ball over. He did so without complaint or hesitation. They placed it on their middle, holding it in place with a paw on top, as they peered inside. Sprout was just hanging out inside, looking around and doing a whole bunch of not looking the least bit like how one would think a parasite should look. He was far too cute, especially when he went nuts for the laser pointer. … People kept potentially dangerous pets all the time, right? One just needed to know how to handle them safely and properly and it was fine. So… they looked back up at Gramble “Can I keep him? … Or uh, I know you’re still…”

“Sure. Just as long as you let me see him lots too, okay?”

“Of course.” Permission granted, Buddy carefully pushed the buggy ball into their pouch. Immediately they felt strangely a little better, less antsy.

Wiggle scoffed lightheartedly. “Seems like the paternal instinct that would’ve normally gone towards the egg went to Sprout instead. I guess if it makes you happy though, I can’t tell you that’s wrong.”

“He’s a whole lot easier to take care of than an egg though.”

“Not really,” Gramble said. “With an egg all you got to do is keep it warm.”

“Until it hatches and then you have a grumpling you have to take care of and keep alive somehow. So, no thanks. I can barely even keep myself alive.”

“Well,” Wiggle said, giving them a meaningful look, “I don’t think anyone can argue with that.”

They were finallyallowed to start working on their article once a week had gone by and they were doing better. The temptation to push to finish it as fast as possible was there but… they were too tired to really go for it. Not that Filbo would’ve even let them. They lacked the strength to defy him or even try to argue.

Despite everything though they were still good at their job and thus they got it done fairly quickly. After going over it one last time for mistakes or any important details they’d forgotten, they were able to send it Clumby’s way.

Being done with it was a massiveweight off their shoulders. “It’s done! I’m done! I never have to think about Snaktooth again.” They were finally done with that cursed island and never again would they need to think about it. … They would though for sure, it and the unknowing harm they’d caused their friends and Filbo would undoubtedly haunt them. But for now, they were happy to be done with the telling of the tale.

“Congrats!” Filbo said from their bedside.

“Thanks.” They wanted to thank him for everything, helping them and being so awesome but… they were too tired to come up with the words. So their simple ‘thanks’ would have to do for now.

#my writing #bugsnax #filbuddy #filbo fiddlepie #the journalist

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years

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PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 16

First time reader click here

Summary/TWs: Trouble is brewing. Canon-typical violence, graphic descriptions of wounds and Clint whump. Bad, terrible, no-good medical accuracy. Aliens. Reader is an anxious genius with low self-esteem and PTSD. ✨spicy sadness✨

From now on, chapters will be posted un-beta-ed. She's taking a lil break. 💖💝✨

I liked to think I had made peace with the fact that my boys and girls had one hell of a dangerous job. Natasha, Clint, Steve and Bucky frequently left for missions and while I missed their usual bickering in the background, it wasn't like the tower's common room became absolutely quiet. The fact that they mostly did recon-only missions helped, too, as they would come home unharmed and in one piece. The worry was there but subtle - like setting the table and including silverware for the people who were gone on a mission.

Peter's patrols went less smoothly, usually. He was small and even in his spider-suit, the boy was frequently underestimated by common thugs. Apparently, they didn't know how to read the news - it was blatantly obvious the hero was enhanced. And yet somehow, Pete more often than not sported all sorts of bruises, scratches and tears.

Tony and I routinely tore out our hair over the spiderboy's carelessness. The engineer had a funny way of showing he cared for Peter. Once I got to know him better, my brain dubbed them as Irondad and Spiderson. And it wasn't weird at all, somehow, that I was basically fucking my best friend's dad. Tony never made me uncomfortable, if anything, he went to great lengths to accommodate my whims. Tony continuously found time for me, answered my dumb questions and soldiered through the shenanigans I got up to after having too much caffeine and too little sleep.

Sitting in the quiet, empty common room was unnerving. It was shortly after dinner time - the evening news skipped their usual political debate in favour of the battle that was raging downtown, the reason for my headache and wrung hands.

I missed Tony's running mouth. The aliens the team was fighting looked quite hilarious, murderous intentions aside, and I could only imagine the way Tony and Clint would mock them. Hentai rejects. Tentacle porn knock-offs. The aliens were squid-like, about half the size of a human and very, very slippery, from what I spied on the TV.

An irritated-looking Stephen had me equal parts apprehensive and drooling - one after another, he conjured up a series of small portals, teleporting the aggressive octopods only god knew where. It would have looked incredibly badass if not for the exhausted sheen of sweat I could see on his brow, even despite the camera footage being shaky and grainy.

The news footage showed Tony - Iron Man, soaring contentedly through the darkening skies and taking out the squirmy mass of tentacles with his plasma beam repulsors. Steve and Bucky and Loki appeared too, sporadically, being well-oiled murder machines. Nothing new.

Yet, I worried. The little worm of doubt was squirming full-force. I tried to ignore it, yet pacing, sitting and playing Candy Crush got me nowhere. I pestered Friday to order pizza, the team's usual post-mission order plus a large one for me - stress-eating was better than stress-popping-molly in a tower full of superheroes. It took some courage to admit to myself I'd gotten attached enough to be this much from running away from all that in a blind panic.

And it would be the best option for them, really, because they had much sensible things to worry about than me. Yet every time, my selfishness won against even the most logical arguments I presented. I hated fighting myself but it was all I did - not only I was in love with Tony, I loved him.

Even when he forgot about my existence for five days, to emerge from his workshop with a new piece of tech that revolutionised one or another or something else. I loved him when he annoyed the ever living fuck out of everybody, me included, because I knew that it was hilarious to see people getting riled up over totally trivial shit. I loved Tony Stark when he ran away from his feelings, and everybody else's, because he never managed to run far enough. Or he didn't want to. I loved him, because he was like a multilayered puzzle, complex and captivating and beautiful.

I thought a lot about it, more than people would have noticed. For someone as selfish and goal-oriented as me, Tony lived in my head rent-free most of the time. And nobody would find out if I had the choice because let's face it, I'm a short cameo in his life. I'm a fuckin' catch and even then, I can't expect to hold his attention forever. His genius is too brilliant to settle for one when he could easily have the whole damn world.

Another hour consisted of me pacing and accompanying the pizza delivery boys to the common floor. It was hilarious - they were obviously star-struck about walking the same carpet as their heroes. I could see the faint hope of meeting one of the Avengers in their eyes, their posture. All they got was me - in my sweatpants, Tony's tee and no bra. My tits got the attention they deserved, at least.

My lounging was interrupted by a golden circle noisily appearing in the middle of the room, followed by Clint abruptly falling through it with a pained moan. I froze, the pizza in my mouth turning to ash - Strange poked his head through the hole in space, finding my eyes. He looked exhausted.

"Help him, I don't have much time," He breathed and disappeared, closing the portal behind himself.

The pizza piece flew back in the box as I stumbled, jumped over the headrest, kneeling beside Clint in no time. "Bird, tell me what hurts," I demanded. Not that I had a clue what to do. I mean, I knew basic first aid and...

"My leg," He gritted out, curling in on himself. Fear flooded me, limbs turning to lead. Hawk had a good pain tolerance, I knew he could break an arm and not utter a single syllable until he thought it safe to showcase his vulnerability. "That squid motherfucker stung me, I don't know. My whole body is on fire," His speech was slurred.

I nodded, deciding to limit the touching to only the necessary actions. The leg of his pants was torn and the wound itself was shaped like a whip mark, thin and red and angry. It oozed a yellowish pus-like substance, it smelled bitter, almost like stale water and seaweed salad. I didn't know much about aliens but jellyfish stings, I could work with. A short Google check later, I had an approximate plan.

"Friday, run diagnostics." I ordered, taking a deep breath and filing away the fear, the panic and anxiety for later.

"Mr. Barton has a wound that appears to be contaminated with an unknown chemical that is causing an adverse reaction. The elevated body temperature suggests that his immune system is fighting it. I would suggest a blood test to examine the offending specimens."

A blood draw? I could do that. I definitely, absolutely, could do that.

"Bird, Clint, did you hear that?" I gently touched his shoulder only for him to recoil from my hand, muttering unintelligibly. "Pretty bird, I'm going to help you. Let me." My bedside manner needed improvement - with brain running a mile a minute, I babbled utter nonsense as Friday directed me to the needed supplies. Getting the blood was a feat on it's own - I had to physically sit on top of Clint to get but a tiny vial of the red liquid.

A few tears escaped the emotional fortress I had to build within myself. Clint was in so, so much pain - pain I was inadvertently making worse by touching him. I sprinted to Bruce's lab, feeding the sample to be analysed by Friday, tearing through the room in a hurricane. First aid kit, IV, saline, antibiotics. Restraints, too, just in case.

"Analysis complete. The contaminant appears to be acting similarly to a parasitic infection with a short life-span. Primarily feeds on copper, iron and various metals contained in the human body. Does not appear to reproduce or multiply, my algorithms cannot determine the cause of said behaviour. Calculating..." Friday's mechanical voice paused. "I have calculated the approximate duration of Mr. Barton's symptoms. Onset of critical stage in one to three hours. Complete extinction of parasitic organisms in approximately sixty hours."

"Fri, do you think I have a chance of saving Clint before he goes crazy from pain? And have you figured out what's causing it?" My brain was all over the place.

"I have the best faith in you, miss." The AI sounded almost... Comforting? "I am still running multiple diagnostics. My algorithms suggest the organisms may be attacking the nerve endings - reason unclear."

An idea struck me. A crazy, brash, absurd idea. The pathogen was alien and we didn't have antibiotics to kill it. Even if I gave Clint some sort of medicine, it could go awry really really quickly. Besides, wasn't there a medical team for this..?

"Friday, alert the medical suite."

"Request denied. Per Mr. Stark's protocols, only Sir himself and Dr. Banner are authorized to request medical assistance in case of alien pathogen contamination."

"Fuck. Fuck, that makes no fuckin' sense!" I yelled helplessly. "Okay, do you have blood matching Clint's type laying around?" I asked sarcastically. This protocol pissed me off. What was Tony scared of? That someone would steal alien germs? Too late for that, there were plenty of samples all over the sidewalks downtown.

"A-positive, blue refrigerator, top shelf." Friday's answer was curt.

My hands shook. My whole body shook. Clint was laying in fetal position right where I'd left him and the man wasn't looking better - he became paler, dark circles under his eyes, clammy sweat breaking on every exposed part of his skin. Moving him was out of the question - Clint violently recoiled from me once I tried to touch him.

Reluctantly, I dragged the dining room chairs and piled up whatever heavy things I could on top of them, praying to every god that they would hold a trained man trash around in pain. Then, came the restraints. Belts with clips unlike one could see in a movie with a psych ward. I fumbled with them, then with Clint - very slowly, but I got both of his arms fastened and the man rolled onto his back.

"Wwhat... S'appening..?" Hawk finally slurred, cracking his eyes to see my (probably) disheveled and panicked face.

"This is going to hurt, I won't lie. A lot," I rambled, setting up the tools needed for both a blood draw and a blood transfusion. "I'm not a doctor. I'm not a scientist. You have alien parasites in your blood. I'm going to get rid of em," I announced, not mentioning the fact that I had to Google all the things I was going to do to him.

"S'okay, I trust you," Clint slurred again, moving about much more weakly than before. The tips of his fingers began to turn blue and the blood vessels on his face stood out in a pink-purple web. Not good.

My finest thinking moment: laying out some tarp around the archer and putting on gloves and a mask to minimize the possibility of getting infected. I started with the wound first, carefully wiping away the yellowish goop and immediately sealing it into a biohazard container. Some alcohol around the edges, the wound began emanating a faint wisp of smoke as Clint yelled hoarsely. I didn't even react - man, aliens and their germs were fuckin' weird.

Another biohazard container traveled next to Clint's arm. I had a disposable scalpel in one hand and my courage in another - it was now or never. The vein I was cutting was a minor one, but with Clint's body in total disarray, it was an ugly fountain of pinkish-purple liquid that spurted from it. I was no doctor but blood shouldn't have looked like that.

I stared at the timer on my phone. Twenty seconds, thirty, fifty. Eighty seconds, the blood was beginning to have more of a red hue. Clint's breathing slowed, tremors subsiding by a smidgen. One hundred and eighty seconds, the stream was a healthy deep red colour. With a swift motion, I wrapped up the wound, folded his arm, tied off the blood flow higher up his arm with a spare restraint. Clint wasn't moving much anymore; my hand that periodically checked his pulse shook but dutifully did it's job. His heart was working steady.

Compared to having to drain a friend of his blood, setting up the IV with a transfusion was a walk in the park. My mind was empty of any thoughts but for the actions needed to complete the process.

The container with contaminated blood, closed, sealed and put in a plastic bag, along with the gloves and the tarp. My own exposed flesh, meticulously scrubbed with alcohol until the skin became red and raw. All the instruments, Clint's pants, my clothes - in the bag.

The archer himself was laying still, his breathing steady and calm, face no longer looking like he was one step away from the grave. After undoing the restraints, I wiped down every surface we touched with Tony's vodka - rubbing alcohol had run out and I was too emotionally drained to go downstairs and leave Clint for too long. Whenever the booze collided with a stray drop of blood, a wispy smoke emerged. Such an interesting reaction. Part of me couldn't wait to examine the phenomena together with Bruce. The other part was considering the possibility of having a panic attack in a seafood restaurant.

"Fri, keep an eye- a sensor on Clint for me, will ya? I need a shower and some pants," I denounced tiredly, padding to the communal shower. I found respite, however brief, under the steam for a few minutes. Then I found Tony's old tee and a pair of someone's sweats - I didn't care whose. Post-stress adrenaline shivers had me feeling stark naked in the middle of Alaska despite the room being a toasty, comfortable temperature according to the digital thermostat.

Now I just had to think about what to tell the team.

Propping Clint's head on a decorative pillow and covering him with a soft fleece blanket was the least I could have done for the long suffering archer. The floor was hard but I sat next to him, running a hand through his matted hair, my brain an incomprehensible mess.

✨ TAGLIST OF MY LOVELIES (OPEN) ✨

@another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway @softie-socks @schemefrenzy @letsby

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x reader #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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iwrestlenow · 4 years

Text

Many More To Die - Chapter 2

TITLE: Many More To Die (Chapter 2)

FANDOM: Sanders Sides (Necromancer AU)

SUMMARY: Names are powerful things--and after ten years, Logan's has acquired quite a bit. The restoration of his power is something he has to fight viciously to keep secret...But he's not the only necromancer who's in hiding. Above his head, Roman is being introduced to the people of the Kingdom's as his father's successor--but someone in the shadows is coming for the royal house of Sanders, of which Roman is part.And Logan will not stand for someone laying figurative hands on anyone that belongs to him.

SHIPS: Logince (Logan/Roman), future Moceit (Patton/Janus) and Dukexiety (Remus/Virgil)

WARNINGS: lots of death because necromancy, slash, and more to come as I figure it out ‘cause it’s late and I’m tired. In this particular chapter, CW for angst--I’ll post what kind at the end if you want to avoid spoilers, but I’m warning because for me? It’s a triggery subject. Be safe, you’re all so sweet and ILU.

Also, no betas, we die like men.

NOTES: This is based on the gorgeous piece of art by @gretacticdraws that can be found here. I ended up writing a ficlet for it, and then my brain got swallowed up. Breathe at me wrong, and I’ll write more…hell, who am I kidding? I’ll write more anyway because this? Is self indulgent drivel. XD

Also located at AO3 over here.

1025, A.A.

“Berry?”

Logan was yanked from a sound sleep by the utterance of his name—not the sound, but the feeling of it. Crawling around inside his skull like ants, static electricity shocking his neural pathways and the core of his essence. It was red strings and his first meal after that one stretch in the dungeon's blackout cells after he punched the guard that dislocated his shoulder.

Logan Berry. Logan Berry. The gift from his guardian angel was two years old at this point...and Logan was starting to wonder if it was more than just a small reminder of his personhood, to keep the harsh world around him from breaking his spirit.

Sitting up, Logan rubbed his eyes and reached for his glasses where they sat on the floor beside his pallet. When they had finally given them back to him two weeks after his arrival, the right lens had been all but shattered. The guard who had returned them—the same one who injured him—smiled far too wide for Logan's liking, inciting the attack that had gotten him punished.

“I am awake.” he announced softly, sliding his glasses on and rising from his pallet to approach the bars of his cell. Squinting in the low torchlight, he searched...

A point of bright yellow sunlight, slit down the middle by a reptilian pupil gleamed in the shadows before the body it was attached to came into view. Swiftly, it was joined by another eye, very much human and dark as chocolate. A sweep of hair as black as Logan's own fell across his forehead, and the torchlight gleamed across the burnished surface of the scales that covered half of the young drake's face and neck.

“Of course.” the drake shot back dryly, not quite managing to hide the sibilant accent inherent to his species. “That's why you were snoring.”

“What do you want, Janus?”

The eighteen year old Janus narrowed his mismatched eyes at Logan—but quickly gave up on trying to look intimidating. He hardly needed it, being not only older, but the son of the captain of the guard.

“A favor.” he admitted, sparking enough of Logan's interest to banish the last of the cobwebs lingering in his head. Janus didn't like being indebted to anyone—and, to that end, usually came to Logan for favors, as Logan was always perfectly willing to trade his assistance for some commodity, be it books, food, or the repair of his glasses.

“What is the favor?” Logan asked.

Janus said nothing for a long moment, staring into Logan's face...no, not his face. Squinting, he realized Janus was quite deliberately avoiding direct eye contact by focusing on a point just above Logan's eyes, somewhere around his forehead.

“Janus?...”

Shutting his eyes, Janus ducked his head.

“I...need a name.”

“A...what?”

“A name, all right? Like the one you picked for yourself.”

Logan was startled by that request—he told no one about the boy who came to him, claimed he made up his own surname to replace the Name that was stripped away. Some of the guards disliked it, stirring fresh retellings of the legends of the Lazari: necromancers with the power not merely to raise the dead, but craft true, living souls from sheer force of will.

He even heard some new ones about the Animata: a theoretical balance to the Necromata, magic practitioners that could manipulate life the way necromancers manipulated death. From the stories Logan overheard while pretending to sleep with guards outside his cell, the Animata had been wiped out by the rise of the Animator, the First of the Necromata, leading to his rise and attempted enslavement of the Kingdoms. With the Animata gone and unable to keep the balance in check, the king had been forced to slay the Animator and had outlawed necromancy soon after.

All stories, of course...but over the last two years, as his name wormed through his brain the way the power of the prison mages had, it sometimes made him wonder. After all, mythology and legend served two functions in human history: explaining natural phenomenon that were not yet understood, or hyperbolic retellings of one or many actual events.

So the prison guards talked, wondered if Logan had designs on restoring his own Name through the adoption of a new one—but Janus, for all his trust issues and ilicit dealings, was an intelligent boy with a good head on his shoulders. He wasn't one for fanciful stories—only those that he could tell in the name of manipulating others.

Perhaps that was why he felt some measure of shame or embarrassment for asking Logan this favor? There was clearly some...unidentified emotion behind the request, and Logan wasn't particularly good at coping with emotional issues. He highly suspected that, when he still had a Name, he had been essentially the same.

“...I want to be allowed to keep books in my cell.” He hadn't meant to say anything indicating agreement—but the words fell out of his mouth without any conscious permission.

Janus's head snapped up sharply. This time, he met Logan's gaze with an intensity that was decidedly threatening.

“That's all?” he asked, squinting after a long moment. “No...commentary?”

Logan shrugged. “You know I do not care for sentiment. Your obvious flirtation with it, in this situation, does not interest me so much as what I can gain from the moment of weakness on your part.”

“Are you sure you're only fourteen? You sound way too much like my grandpa sometimes.”

Logan rolled his eyes, declining to rise to the bait. Instead, he gave the matter what he felt was a comically superficial amount of consideration.

“Hart.” he finally decided.

Janus raised an eyebrow at him, mismatched eyes losing focus for a moment before he nodded to himself.

“That...works surprisingly well.” he mumbled, seemingly more to himself than anything. Refocusing on Logan, Janus straightened and once again resumed his attempts at exuding as commanding a presence as he could manage.

“You'll get your books.” Janus assured him. “I always pay my debts.”

“Past performance indicates this is an accurate assessment. Hence my request.”

“Oh...go back to bed.”

“Gladly.”

********** 1033, A.A.

“Ladies, lords, non-binary royalty, and all of my valued subjects!”

By the gods, I'm going to throw up.

Roman stood behind the curtain on the balcony, his heart in his throat. Every part of him was screaming to run, to hide, to sink into the floor and vanish through sheer force of his desire to not be there—to push Remus out to take his place when the king made his proclamation. Already, he could feel the weight of his impending responsibilities threatening to crush him, the world narrowing and the walls closing in...

He couldn't do this. He wasn't ready. He wasn't smart like Remus or as patient as his father, he wasn't commanding enough—he couldn't be king.

But he would be. One day.

Peering through the curtain, he saw his father turn...and though the pride in his face only made the terror worse, at the same time...

He could do this. He had to.

Smiling, King Thomas Sanders IV extended a hand towards him in silent encouragement. It was the same hand he offered to those subjects that knelt before him at court to have their grievances heard, the same hand he offered to both Roman and Remus as children when they felt shy or had fallen down while playing...

...or leading him back into the house when he was out to hunt a Lazari...

“I give you your future king—Prince Roman Sanders!”

A hand fell to his shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise.

“Give 'em hell, Ro Bro!” Remus hissed gleefully in his ear.

It was strange, but some of the weight lifted itself off of Roman's shoulders, with his brother's hand there instead as he stepped out onto the balcony and into the sunlight.

For a moment, it was...magical. The ghost of Remus's fingers pressed into his shoulder, his father's hand curling warm around his nape—the people of the Kingdoms below, smiling and cheering in a symphony that filled his lungs as readily as it filled his ears, turning his heart into pure starlight.

For a moment, basking in his father's pride, his brother's confidence, and his people's love—he didn't just feel like he could do this, he knew that he could.

For a moment—that was all he got before his heart stopped beating.

It happened suddenly, but somehow it felt as natural as breathing. The tension of that missing engine powering the body and soul, the inability to draw breath. It was the peace of sleep, the flow of one step into the next while walking down an evenly paved road—he knew something was wrong, and yet he could not escape the manner in which it felt so normal.

Standing there, dying in front of the very kingdom he was meant to serve with no rhyme or reason for it.

Let it go...it felt so right, it felt proper.

As his vision began to dim, and the hand he'd raised to wave to the crowd started to fall by his side, he felt the urge to fight sliding out of him, eyes already slipping shut...

Easy as existing. Getting dark, time to sleep.

Until he heard a sigh next to him that was chilling.

The king.

Death no longer felt so inevitable, nor did it feel right. It was wrong, but...it was inside him, twisting and warping to form words that echoed inside his head. Something was slipping into the void left behind by the absence of a heartbeat, speaking to him in the Reaper's voice...

The necromancer.

**********

Logan was only aware of it in passing—however, Logan wasn't supposed to be capable of even that, and had to take such painstaking care to make sure that no trace of his magic could be felt anywhere. He had to keep the fact that he had power hidden, had to beat back every trace of it.

So he was aware of his magic, far more than he was aware of the distant stars that were the lives of every creature within the palace and beyond.

And the feel of his power waking, straining towards death? That hit him hard, made him focus on that awareness of what was happening.

“Lo? You okay?”

Logan spun in his seat and stood, stalking up to the bars of his cell. It was little more than a voice in another house, reaching him barely through thin walls and great distances...but it was growing closer, crossing that distance, too close too close too close...

“Logan? You're scaring me.”

Patton was at his side, watching him with wide, fearful eyes.

“Someone is killing the king.” Logan breathed.

“What? How can you possibly know that?” Patton hissed.

Logan opened his mouth...and nothing came.

Until that voice, hollow and honeyed, was suddenly in his house and in his veins and in his...in his.

For the first time, Logan understood why the Necromata were so feared—why he was locked below ground, why he had no Name of his own and why it was so desperately important to make sure no necromancer could ever practice their art.

The moment he sensed that foreign power encroaching on something that belonged to Logan alone, everything was chilling instinct and cold, calculating fury. The power swept up and took over, took action to reclaim what was being stolen.

The king was dying, but so was the Green Man.

Logan's last rational thought before an eerie blue light swallowed up his eyes and the power wiped his mind clean was that, if the Green Man was close enough to the king, he might actually be able to save them both.

********** The necromancer in the dungeons. Roman could feel it, he was certain of it...it felt cold and airy, thick morning fog swirling through his marrow yet rendering his mind strangely clear. It was familiar, not all that different from the way it felt when they touched in Roman's dreams.

The necromancer was there. He was...helping Roman.

You have to get to the king.

He didn't know, even after all these years didn't realize who Roman was, and that was the way it ought to be, and yet...he was warning Roman, he was--

The wrongness of it filled his chest in the space of a blink, filled his lungs, forced breath into his body. The fight squeezed every muscle, including his heart, in a steady rhythm that started his blood moving again. Roman tried to clutch at his chest, but he couldn't.

He felt cold all over, but his body was working, warring with some outside force, struggling to stay alive.

His body was no longer his to control, he realized with a rush of fear. The necromancer...chill fog, thick and light and clear, in his head and his veins and his heart...

Roman's body was turning, his head swiveling around, obeying an order he did not give.

The necromancer was animating him now, manipulating his every move—and all Roman could do was stand there and let it happen--

Go.

...Father!

This time, when he tried to move, his body obeyed him, his will and that of the necromancer uniting as one.

He rushed forward, reaching out...

In just enough time to catch the king as he fell, a corpse gone cold by the time the both of them reached the ground. ((CW: parental death--but this IS a necromancer AU. Just keep that in mind. XD))

#cw: angst #cw: death #sanders sides #ts logan #ts roman #roman sanders #logan sanders #patton sanders #ts morality #logince #necromancer au #thomas sanders #ts fanfic #this is all the artist's fault i'm just a hapless writer that stumbled across it #my name is liz and i swear to god i will fic again #no betas we die like men

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if-the-crown-fits-translate-it · 4 years

Text

Discord pt 36

[Date: 22/02, 06:52 AM - 07:29 AM GMT]

[Direct continuation of pt 35]

fetch: “so. let me see if I have this straight.

i was talking to crown about... something. i dont remember what. crown turns me into a court member. Knight? Knight.”

fetch: “knight does. things. I don’t remember anything I supposedly did as knight but it feels like I’ve run a marathon and this migraine is awful and this nosebleed is the worst”

fetch: “and then all of a sudden I wake up and I don’t know where i am and i don’t know why I’m here and I don’t remember where I’ve been or what I did I don’t remember”

Little-K1ng: “ yeah uh .. . .. .the taxidermy .... haha remember the opossum?? you kinda. brougth that up..”

fetch: “taxidermy right you do that don’t you”

[Redacted]: “fetch if you don’t know where you are you might want to leave crown might be near”

fetch: “no i need to remember. this is important it needs to be written down.”

[People express concern]

fetch: “obviously i’ll be careful. this is me we’re talking about.”

fetch: “I DONT EVEN KNOW WHERE I AM. I AM IN THE MIDDLE OF THE WOODS WHERE DO I GO FROM HERE. its fucking freezing.”

fetch: “no lights. phone’s at 56% i don’t want to waste battery by using flashlight. can only hear crickets and night animals”

fetch: “there’s a break in the foliage leading up to where I woke up. I might follow the trail. I had to have come from somewhere”

[People tell them to be careful]

fetch: “of course. watchdogs are always alert.”

jayyyyyyyy: “how did you get stuck in the damn woods--”

fetch: “wish i fuckin knew buddy”

fetch: “ugh my tail.

almost hurts worse than my head.”

fetch: “who the fuck bound it in a straight position it literally couldn’t move”

fetch: “i read the notes. knight sad he doesn’t have a tail. it was probably crown. sick fuck.

i am focusing”

fetch: “its so fucking cold.

editor wilbur irl I guess”

[People tell them to save battery]

fetch: “oh yeah i always have power saving on

a full battery can last all day”

[moon: “make sure to stay quiet and not leave a trail of blood too”]

fetch: “the nosebleed isnt that bad but its all over my shirt and tie and hands and face and hair at this rate I can dye my ears back with my blood lmao”

fetch: “i have nothing to stop the blood anyway”

[People suggest ripping off a part of clothing]

fetch: “I dunno the nosebleed is really uncanny. its only coming from the left side of my nose. reminds me of a nightmare I had a while ago. before all this crown stuff.

[Warning on next picture for talk of gore]

fetch: “i dont remember much of the nightmare. it was a couple weeks/months ago and my memory isn't the best. it gets nasty so I can spoiler it. but I rememeber that I was pulling my brain out of my nose. and part of it got stuck and every time I pulled it set my head on fire. I woke up and the rest of the day my nose hurt.”

emuhlee: “the brain part could have a bit to do with brainwashing? have you found anything by going back to where you came from?”

fetch: “it was just a nightmare. and it was before I found out about crown.”

fetch: “ive found a bit of a more worn trail. im just gonna follow it and pray.”

[People tell them to stay safe and with them good luck]

fetch: “a dog always finds his way back home right?”

jayyyyyyyy: i dont wanna hear ab dogs ever again in this server jesus /ic

fetch: “oh come on we aren’t that bad /lh”

fetch: “i mean I saw that knight was scared of dogs. I used to as well when I was a kid.”

kate: “..hm nah that’s a dumb idea sorry”

Ethan: “what’s your idea?”

fetch: “yeah whats up”

kate: “So what I had a thinky thought about, and this could be stupid because we've only gotten one thing, but Fetch just said that he was scared of dogs as a kid. I'm wondering if this... brainwashing more or less reverts you back a certain number of years? Like if you were scared of something as a kid, but now you're older and got brought into the Court, would you be scared of the same things you were scared of when you were younger? I have no basis for this idea because we've only gotten Fetch back, but if we somehow managed to get Pa- Max back, we could see if it lines up.”

fetch: “hm.

pretty plausible, maybe”

fetch: “or i guess i was just easier to appreciate as a younger kid. crown wants us to be happy. i definitely used to be happier”

wilboo soot: “Fetch? You’re back, as Fetch?”

fetch: “yeah hi boo”

wilboo soot: “MY ADMIN IS BACK”

fetch: “YEAH YR ADMIN IS BACK :D RETURN OF THE KING”

[People theorize more on Crown reverting people to how they were younger]

fetch: “I think crown just takes the mentality thats easiest to be happy. for me it was when I was a kindergartener with no worries at all and I just watched scooby doo and blues clues and I ate dinosaur nuggets on fridays if I was good in school and we had a trampoline in the backyard and I was just. just a kid.”

wilboo soot: “That checks out yeah...

Well, guess I know that I’m completely immune from being taken now! /hj”

kate: “Mood!”

fetch: “pff

I see a wider trail now.

looks like the forest is ending.”

fetch: “residential area? I think?”

fetch: “I hear cars. busy, so it must be a main road

I see houses.”

fetch: “I think I’m in a backyard.

yeah backyard.”

fetch: “oops. sorry to whose tomatoes these are.

wait.”

fetch: “wait i know this back porch.”

Little-K1ng: “oh tomatoes ?? how healthy”

fetch: “WAIT.

MONA.”

fetch: “LOOK AT YOUR BACK DOOR RIGHT NOW”

Little-K1ng: “huh??”

fetch: “MONA HEY

BACKDOOR

BACKYARD”

fetch: “MONA MONA :D”

Little-K1ng: “KNOCKING WAIT?? HANG ON IRL KNOCKING”

fetch: “MONA HEY

HEY HEY PSPSPSPSPS LET YOUR DOGBOY IN HES COLD”

Little-K1ng: “WHAT HELLO JDFHGJKFDHGJDHJ”

fetch: “HI HELLO SORRY FOR BEEDINY ON YOUR PORCH”

Little-K1ng: “💕 💕 💕 💕 💕 💕 💕 💕”

fetch: “MONA HI :D”

fetch: “❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️”

Little-K1ng: “HELL OOH YHEY HEY OH YM OGD FJHDJKHGJKDHJK JESUS THE BLOOD IS LIUKE. EVERYWHERE LMAO”

fetch: “YEAH SORRYYY Y Y YY

INTOLD YALL IT WAS BAD

OKAY GUYS IN GONNACLEAN UP AND WARM UP AND HAVE A

SLEEPOVER LOL

ILL BE OKAY :]”

[People express concern, and tell them to stay safe]

fetch: “I care u all ! will be back to guarding the doc soon. for now I need other watchdogs to step in till I get back”

fetch: “just make sure crown or the court don’t touch it”

[Edit to the doc by fetch:]

{“Watchdog is back outside. get the fuckin squirrels out of the yard.”}

#on:discord #by:fetch #if the crown fits

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chocoholicannanymous · 4 years

Text

If the Spit Hits the Fan (Glee) pt XIV

Follows pt I, pt II, pt III, pt IV, pt V, part VI, pt VII, part VIII, part IX, part X, part XI, part XII and part XIII.

Posting this for day 3 (Dalton) of @kbweek2020, for reasons.

Benjamin Harris asks Kurt to call him Ben during their first meeting, and pencils him in for two sessions per week “for now”. Kurt doesn't know whether to be grateful that he's at a school where his mental health is considered so important or horrified that he's seen as needing that much help.

When he brings it up with Sebastian the answer is “grateful” and Kurt's pretty sure that it's the right one. It's just such a glaring difference from McKinley where the closest he'd gotten to an adult caring about his anything (in a positive way that was) was poor Miss Pillsbury.

And that's, that's just sad.

So he agrees to go to Ben's office every Monday and Wednesday, and he tries to talk, only he finds he's still skittish and wary.

Ben's good though, and finds a way around Kurt's defenses by suggesting that they bring in Finn for a few shared sessions, “to heal old wounds”. It's a good solution as that's something about being back at Dalton, and about boarding again, that Kurt isn't entirely pleased about. Not living at home means it's hard to be there for Finn (and to not having Finn be there for him). Sebastian is a good friend, but Finn's his brother. Kurt worries, okay?

Ben being sneaky and getting permission to have Finn come over for the first two weeks is an excellent solution.

(The only one who doesn't realize that half the reason is so Finn can get the help he needs but McKinley won't provide is Finn himself.)

Once Kurt begins to trust Ben – once he's seen that it's justified – talking gets easier. Telling him about everything that's lead to Kurt transferring to Dalton not just once but twice in a year in painful but also healing. Even if he sometimes hides from everyone afterwards just to deal with the sheer hurt of how little help he's ever been offered outside of his home and his dad's garage, and how much he could have thrived if he'd gotten this earlier.

The worst part is talking about Blaine.

Except, he has to, and maybe that's even worse.

So he makes an appointment late on a Friday, arranges for Finn to come pick him up, and then walks in with his back straight and his emotions tucked away as deep as possible.

He tells the whole story of him and Blaine, from that first meeting on the staircase all the way to the police station, with as little detail and emotion as he can get away with. He winces, once, because Ben shifts a little during the part about Scandals, and right, he worked here last year. It's possible, Kurt thinks, that not that long ago it was Blaine sitting in this very chair telling Ben about his circumstances.

When Kurt reaches the end he falls silent. He's a little hoarse, from talking so long, and he feels empty.

Ben's quiet too, at first. He sits there, then gets up to fetch Kurt a bottle of water and waits for him to drink some of it.

“That's...that's a lot you just told me, Kurt. And judging from what I've learned about you I'm guessing this is the first time you've talked about all of it like this?”

True. Kurt's talked, yes, with Finn and Sebastian and even his dad. Before Blaine's disappearance he'd talked to Rachel and Mercedes. But not like this. Not without hiding things, or editing them out. Not with honesty.

“All of this, everything that's happened with Blaine... How does it make you feel?”

“Angry. Pathetic. Weak. Stupid. So, so stupid.”

“Why stupid?”

“Because I trusted him. I've got trust issues from here to forever, and I just trusted him. All I had to go on was that Blaine was cute, and charismatic when performing, that he was willing to listen and seemed sympathetic, and that he was gay just like me. That he'd been bullied, like me. Or so he said.

“And I just took him at his word. Trusted him like a damned sheep. Without a single shred of evidence that he was worth it. I told him things I hadn't even thought about telling my dad – who was worth my trust – and things I didn't have the right to tell him, and for what? So things could get even worse?”

Ben takes a moment again, before asking his next question.

“Do you feel now that Blaine didn't deserve that trust? Not just in the end, but throughout your relationship, I mean.”

Kurt laughs, short and harsh and joyless.

“You know, I dream about it. Not, not about that night – or I do too, but those are, that's not dreams, that's... Anyway, no.

“I dream that it's an ordinary day, and I'm driving over to Blaine's house to surprise him for some reason. I don't know why, since Blaine specifically told me I was never to show up there without warning, and I respected that.”

He'd added two and two and come up with “Mr Anderson is a homophobic prick”, which may or may not be true, and also may or may not be the actual reason.

“Anyway. I drive over there, and I ring the doorbell, and when Mrs Anderson opens the door I ask for Blaine. Only she tells me there's no Blaine living there, there never was. And when I push her on it, she tells me that a boy paid them to pretend to be his family, but she doesn't know why, or where he really lives.”

Kurt swallows.

“And then I wake up, and I can't help but wonder, if I were to do my research, would I find an Anderson family at West Elm Street? And if I did, would the faces match the people I've met?”

“What do you mean?”

“Blaine and I dated for six months, and were friends for another six months before that. And somehow I never got to know his family. I haven't even seen a photo of Blaine's older brother. I've only ever met Mrs Anderson three times, and Mr Anderson twice. If it wasn't for the fact that they were at the police station, specifically as Blaine's parents – which, by the way, is one of those times – I don't know if I'd believe that's who they are. Hell, at my darkest moments I still question it.”

“Do you really believe he would fake something like that?”

Ben's voice doesn't hold mocking, or disbelief, just worry.

“No. Not really. As I said, they went to the police as Blaine's parents. That's not something you risk if it's fake. Besides, Lima's too small to pull something like that off.

“It's more that I find that I was such an unimportant piece of Blaine's life puzzle that I can't even trust something like that.”

They both sit quiet for a while. After all, what is there even to say about thoughts like those?

When Kurt returns to Dalton on Sunday evening Sebastian is leaning against his door, dangling a thermos-flask from one hand. It's both a welcome sight and not, seeing as Kurt had let slip about the nightmares during a check-in the day before. But. It's coffee, and it's Sebastian.

He's halfway through his cup before Sebastian grabs the bull by the horn.

“Do you want to talk about the nightmares?”

No, he most certainly does not. Not those anyway. Still...

“The ones about that night, no. But there are others. Sometimes I have nightmares where I come to school and instead of Blaine being gone, instead of me being called into Miss Pillsbury's office the next day to be met with the news that Blaine's gone... I go to my locker and he's there. And I forgive him. I just...ignore that he tried to rape me, and I forgive him. Even worse, I take the blame.

“And then I wake up shaking, knowing that I could so easily have done just that.”

“Kurt...” His name falls from Sebastian's lips with almost no sound, and it's so clear that the other boy wants to protest.

“No, I really could have. Right from the beginning everyone was so happy to let me know I was lucky to find Blaine, and some made it clear that they didn't think I'd ever be able to do better. Hell, my own experience made me believe that. So why would I have let him walk away? If he was the best I could get, then it was forgive him or spend my life alone.

“Talking to Ben has made me realize exactly how unhealthy that kind of thinking is, and how me folding about something like that would have impacted our entire relationship. He would always have known he could get away with just about anything, and I would never be able to stand up for myself because of the fear of being alone.”

Kurt shudders. Had those dreams been reality then he would never have felt safe denying Blaine sex again. He'd never have felt safe denying Blaine anything. You want that role I need? Of course. You want to move across the country? I'll start packing. You want me to quit my job and be a househusband? Yes dear.

He'd have become a doormat, and he'd have told everyone it was what he wanted while believing it was all he deserved.

Blaine leaving had hurt like hell, but Kurt's beginning to believe it had been a blessing.

“I think I might have dodged a bullet there.”

Sebastian scoffs.

“No shit. That's not a bullet though, that's ammunition for a small war.”

Kurt acknowledges the point. It's a bit of an overstatement, he thinks, but then again he went the other direction.

“Either way, he's out of my life, and he's not getting back in. That's a good thing. The same will be true about the nightmares, sooner or later. No, this isn't me pretending things are fine when they're not, this is me honestly believing it'll be fine. Talking to Ben helps.

“Having you helps.”

He watches amused as Sebastian blushes softly at the compliment while trying to play cocky. He likes it when Sebastian's facade breaks down. In fact, he might just have made it his mission to make it happen as often as possible.

“So, do you have any plans for the rest of the evening? Lacrosse equipment to clean? Lingering homework? No? What about that essay for Mme Lacroix?”

The panic in Sebastian's face as he jumps up is delicious.

“What essay? When did she– Oh, I see. Not funny, Hummel.”

“From where I'm sitting? Definitely funny, Smythe. But if there's nothing else you need to do, would you like to watch a movie with me? I've got some chocolate I don't mind sharing, and I'll even let you pick the movie.”

Sebastian looks at him suspiciously, searching for the next joke. Then he apparently decides that Kurt is serious.

“I could do that. Careful though, that almost sounded like you asking for a date.”

“Who said I wasn't?” Total deer in headlights look. “Would it be so bad? I like you. I think we are good together. I believe we could be even better. I trust you. Giving this, giving us, a chance feels smart. It feels right.”

Sebastian keeps staring at him, and Kurt feels himself begin to fidget a little, suddenly uncomfortable. Did he read the situation wrong? Then, finally, Sebastian speaks, voice a little raspy.

“Oh god. I thought you... Can I kiss you?”

There's a desperation in the words, but Kurt can't fault him for it. He feels it too. So he nods, and takes a step towards Sebastian. He's expecting... Well, he doesn't know what he's expecting. More of the desperation maybe? Expertise? Seduction? He definitely wasn't expecting careful softness, and constant checks for consent, but that's what he gets.

Then again, maybe that's exactly what he should have expected from Sebastian, who's been with him the whole way, who knows everything, and has shown himself to care in a way Kurt's not entirely used to to.

It's a Sebastian without masks and attitudes, meeting a Kurt without the same, and it's everything he could have wished for.

He's got no memory of what movie they finally play.

#chocoholic fics #kurt fic #kurt hummel #a wild sebastian appears #sebastian smythe #in 2020 we finish our wips #kbweek2020

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jaskiers-sweetkiss · 4 years

Text

Not Possible [Soulmate AU]

Pairing: Daisy Johnson x Daniel Sousa

Based on the prompt: “Can someone make a soulmark story with Daisysous where Daisy's soulmark is "Who the hell are you?" and Daisy, being someone that would always get herself into tight situations, was something that she heard a lot and has gotten kind of desensitized to it and while Daniel's soulmark is "Who I am is on a need to know basis", he had gotten into the habit of asking people who they are to get that kind of response. However, both of them are very focused on their respective missions (Daisy to fight the Chronicoms and Daniel to figure out who is trying to infiltrate his SHIELD base), they didn't realize they were each other's soulmates until he noticed his writing on her body while rescuing her from the barn and then they fall in love yay” from @magickgirl786 (lmk if you want me to untag you)

Warnings: light swearing, mentions of torture, THERE WILL BE AGENTS OF SHIELD SPOILERS

a/n: I was so inspired by the prompt that I literally pounded this out in like an hour last night. This is my first Daisel/Dousy/Sousy/DaisySous fic so lmk what you think!!

___

Daisy Johnson hadn’t exactly had a normal life and being born with the words “Who the hell are you?” tattooed on her wrist didn’t make it any better. It was a question she had asked and been asked many times throughout her life. She asked herself that very question constantly growing up as she fashioned a name and identity for herself since she had no family to do it for her. She created Skye, the hacker but then “Skye” was thrown out the window when she met her parents and learned her real name was Daisy Johnson and she started the entire process of creating an identity over again. At some point, Agent Johnson became Quake and Quake became Destroyer of Worlds, she’d had enough names and identities to make a person’s head spin.

Working as a field agent with SHIELD didn’t help much either. Her job ensured that she was asked: “Who the hell are you?” on nearly every assignment. She barely even registered the shock of hearing the words anymore. She certainly wasn’t listening for them in 1953, decades away from anyone who could possibly be a candidate for her soulmate.

Daniel Sousa wasn’t sure what kind of soulmate he’d be getting with a soulmark like “Who I am is on a need to know basis,” but boy did he try to find out. He had tried to elicit the response from every new person he met but it never hit. The words started to make more sense when he joined the SSR and later SHIELD. Surely his soulmate must be an agent, he thought, but soon enough that idea fell through too. The identity of his soulmate was far from his mind as he went about his job, especially when dealing with the added stress of a Peggy Carter imposter. That must’ve been why the words went right over his head.

“Who the hell are you?” His words were harsh as he stepped into his office only to find it occupied by some dame he’d never seen before.

“Who I am is on a need to know basis.” Her words were curt but she radiated power and authority. On a normal day Daniel might’ve shown a little more respect for the woman but today he was out of patience.

“I need to know.” He demanded and she smirked.

“Ah, no, you don’t.” She smiled coyly, “Because I don’t exist, and we’ve never met. Now, can you shut the door please?”

“Not to be rude, but it’s been one of those days,” he began, eying the woman with his signature no-nonsense look, “So produce some credentials or I’m gonna put you in handcuffs.”

She complied immediately and he nearly let out a sigh of relief. Today may have been stressful but at least everyone was being compliant, even the two imposters he caught had gone quietly and without a fuss.

“I should inform you, that’s not my real name,” she spoke evenly as she handed over her ID, “My initials are C-I-A, catch my drift?”

“Subtle.” He deadpanned but he was grateful. It seemed someone was finally taking his fears of Hydra sleeper cells in SHIELD seriously, maybe someone was finally here to make his day easier.

The next thing he knew he was locked up in the very cell he had been keeping the imposters in. So much for making his day easier.

Daisy was surprised by the flare of guilt that came from locking Sousa up in his own holding cell. She normally wouldn’t have thought twice, it was part of the job and she was saving her people and the world, but there was something about Daniel Sousa that gave her pause. Maybe it was because he was a nice guy, or because he was already catching onto Hydra’s presence more than fifty years before it would actually come to light. Either way, she had to shake off the feeling as she continued on her day.

An opportunity to redeem herself not long after. Daniel Sousa was going to die, killed by the Hydra sleeper cells he was trying to expose, but they didn’t have to let that happen. They wouldn’t let that happen if she had any say in it. She still couldn’t figure out why she felt so strongly about a man she had only interfaced with once but something was telling her she couldn’t just let this man die. So she didn’t.

___

Daniel Sousa was not having a good week. First Hydra, then his base is infiltrated, and now he’s been kidnapped. Except, it’s worse than a kidnapping really, because not only is he no longer in Los Angeles, he was no longer in 1953, and he was, apparently, no longer alive. Somehow Daniel Sousa, Agent of SHIELD and World War II veteran, had found himself in the 1970s without having aged a day. At least this new Future SHIELD still did fieldwork, he really needed the consistency.

He found himself paired up with the agent from his office who’s real identity he learned was Daisy Johnson. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, maybe the power she emanated or her bold attitude, but something drew him to her. Somehow, even with the looming threat of Hydra, he felt less worried with her by his side. Though, maybe it had something to do with her earthquake powers.

It wasn’t until the barn that he realized the true reasoning behind their inexplicable connection.

God, that barn. Daniel wasn’t sure if they’d ever make it out of that god-forsaken building alive. Sitting there listening to Agent Johnson be sliced apart was a torture in itself for him, though he knew his pain was nothing compared to the agony she was surely feeling if her screams were any indicator. She looked like she was on the verge of death when they deposited her back at his side.

“Stay with me,” he remembered begging. He remembered telling her about what happened to his leg. He remembered feeling like there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to make sure she made it out of there alive.

Then she lifted up her hand to show the piece of glass stuck under her skin and he realized why he felt so strongly about the woman lying in his lap. His own words, “Who the hell are you?” were tattooed along her wrist. There was no mistaking his handwriting and while all he wanted to do was replay their meeting back in his mind to find out if she had said his words, he knew he needed to keep his mind on task if he ever wanted a shot at this soulmates thing. So that’s what he did, he threw all of his strength, mind, and ability into getting them out of that terrible barn. It wasn’t until he was seated on the Zephyr with Daisy safe, sound, and healing in front of him that he let his mind wander to the possibilities.

___

Daisy wasn’t surprised that she wasn’t alone when she woke up, but she was surprised by her company. She had expected Jemma when she woke up in the med bay’s hospital bed with an IV in her arm, but instead she got Daniel Sousa, not that she was complaining. He looked equal parts relieved and nervous when she awoke though she couldn’t figure out why. He didn’t tell her either, though the nervousness remained throughout her recovery. Jemma informed him that he hadn’t left her side the entire time she was unconscious and her heart warmed at the fact. The sentimentality surprised her, she wasn’t one to grow attached so quickly but there was just something about Daniel Sousa. She didn’t find out what until she had been released from medical.

“Agent Johnson, I think we should talk,” he said in that calm but commanding way of his, though Daisy didn’t miss the nervousness in his voice and face.

She merely nodded, following him into the Zephyr’s kitchen. They sat across from each other at the table, Daisy starting up the coffee machine before sitting down.

“What is it, Agent Sousa?” She asked, a teasing smile on her face, “You look like you might vomit.”

“We’re soulmates,” he blurted before immediately cursing himself and Daisy froze in shock.

“Excuse me?” She finally spit out, subconsciously sliding her fingers over the words on her wrist.

She’d heard the words hundreds of times, surely it couldn’t be him.

“I didn’t realize until I saw my writing on your wrist in the barn, I-” he stopped suddenly, unsure of what to say next. He had dreamed about meeting his soulmate, but never had he thought it would go like this. In lieu of knowing what to say, he rolled up his sleeve instead, placing his wrist on the table with his soulmark on full display.

Daisy’s mind was screaming at her as she stared at the man’s wrist. The man was born decades before her, he was supposed to die before she was even born, and yet those were her words, in her handwriting, clearly displayed on his wrist.

“What the hell?” She heard herself mutter, though she didn’t feel like she was in control of her own body in that moment.

“I’m sorry,” Daniel panicked, interpreting her confusion for upset. “I shouldn’t have sprung this on you, especially so soon after recovery-” he rambled before Daisy cut him off by placing a gentle hand on his own that was still resting on the table.

“I’m not upset,” she reassured him, “I just- how is this possible?” She laughed slightly at her own question, soulmarks were an extremely unpredictable thing and even modern science didn’t have a good understanding of them, obviously the chain of events that brought them together were meant to happen.

“I don’t know,” Daniel smiled sadly, “But, as crazy as all this is, I’d like to give it a shot.”

Daisy smiled. She couldn’t help it even if she tried, the man sitting before her was so genuine and even if he wasn’t her soulmate she was sure she’d be feeling the same butterflies in her stomach.

“Me too,” she said softly and the butterflies only flapped harder at the smile that broke across his face.

“I’d like to take you on a date if any of this,” he gestured to the Zephyr and the commotion that came with it, “ever dies down.”

“I’d love that.”

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dracosearlgreytea · 4 years

Text

indelicate marks (11)

indelicate marks: chapter eleven - the accusation

A/N: aaa okay so heres the next chapter! ive been lowkey stressed about posting this chapter as it took a lot to write, but i hope you enjoy it.. thank you so so so much for the increased support from everyone, if i havent replied to a comment dw i do read them! they literally transform my day no matter how i feel, so yeah just thank you. lotsa love - ivy

warnings: language, strong descriptions of ptsd/reliving bad memories, graphic descriptions of deep cuts and bleeding

lovely tags: @h-annahayy @okaydraco @fanficflaneuse @thatoneasrastan @biinspiration @honeymelon22

indelicate marks index

January and February, after the first meeting of the year, passed by quiet. Draco's state was getting worse. Every time you'd see him, even when you'd met twice a week, something about him was growing... darker. Sometimes it wasn't just the bags under his eyes, or the sharpness of his cheekbones. Sometimes it was the way his tone never lifted out of the monotonous state he tended to abandon around you. Sometimes it was the way he could hardly hold a conversation, or the anxiety would overwhelm him and you'd have to sit with him tucked into your chest, praying that his breathing would settle soon. But, somehow, within the misery that hung over the two of you, you also managed to find the friend you had waited so long for. Draco was funny. Dry, and witty, and frustratingly funny. The things that he'd say as a passing comment could make you double over in laughter. You'd always find his lips shooting up into that wicked grin you'd grown to adore. That smile was something you'd find few and far between, and its rarity only settled it closer to your heart. He was smart, too - a lot less stupid that he made himself out to be. Draco could easily give Granger a run for her money, if he wanted to. He had a secret passion for Muggle literature. Something, which you found out totally by mistake - and continued to bring up at any given opportunity just to annoy him. To your utter shock, Draco also played piano. He'd described an organ, back in Malfoy Manor. His parents would usually enchant to play by itself - but, his mother had still taken it upon herself to teach him how to play it when he was a child. The insights he offered you into his life were quite frankly fascinating. It was still odd. The dynamic between you was never quite settled; impermanent. There were little things you found yourself holding onto. Like his smile, or the way he frowned when he listened to you talk, as though he was really focusing on your words. Since your realisation at the beginning of the year, your affections for Draco had only grown. Most of the time, you'd manage to ignore it, only swallowing back the flutters in your chest. Because there was no way you could fancy Draco Malfoy. There was no way he would ever reciprocate, and there was no way it could ever work between you even if he did. And, it was nice. Being friends with someone. You could cope with the darkness he carried. You could cope with pushing away any indication of your developing attachment to him. Having someone to talk to, to even just be around - complicated or not - was a privilege you had never had. But, as much as you attempted to ignore it, the tension at Hogwarts was also getting a lot worse. Trying not to think about what would happen when you had to return home at the end of the year was difficult. Even the idea of having that mark on your arm was sickening. You didn't even want to acknowledge the fact that to take it, you would have to expose the mark that already sat on your forearm. Most likely, to the Dark Lord himself. The glares got worse. The comments got more threatening. Walking the corridors was not safe for you. Not when your parents had killed so many families of the students around you. It hadn't exactly been before, but now, with that suffocating atmosphere, it had only gotten worse. Keeping a firm grip on your wand at all times was second nature, at this point. You had been on your way to a meeting with Draco when your fears became too real. The feeling of someone following you had been tugging at your conscious for most of the day. But then, most people were watching you, anyway, eyes lingering on you in every hall or classroom you passed through. So, you'd only shrugged it off as your paranoia overreacting. It was still light. With winter beginning to pass, the nights were growing shorter. Weekly trips to the classroom were no longer spent in the dark, much to your appreciation. Just as you reached the last staircase leading to the third floor, it jumped into action. It swung away from your destination, and you ground your teeth, hanging onto the railings. Again, you only passed your mistake off as a busy mind - until you glanced behind you. The previous staircase had also moved. A distinct dread began to poison your gut. With the piece of staircase behind you gone, your only choice was to progress onto wherever this one would take you. You swallowed, staring up as the stairs docked. It lead onto a one-way corridor, a piece of the castle that was rarely used, and a quiver ran over your hand as you wrapped your fingers around your wand. Slipping it from your back pocket, you finally shifted. Someone wanted you in that corridor. Someone wanted you cornered. The second you stepped off of the stairs, it jolted away from you, only confirming your assumption. Stranded in the corridor, the lack of windows cast an eerie shadow down its length. There was only two classrooms coming off the sides, and one at the end - most likely locked, with a spell more powerful than 'alohamora' would fix. Edging forwards, you flung your eyes around you. Your heart was thudding dangerously in your chest - it was currently dinner. No one would be around to help if something happened, assuming anyone would help you. Draco was unlikely to come searching for you if you turned up late, waiting on the opposite side of the moving staircases. You only hoped you could reach the stairs before something bad could happen to you. Pausing, your eyes met the end doorway. It was ajar. You pressed yourself against the wall as you shifted closer - the opening only offered to show you a slice of darkness within. Someone could be, however, waiting for you inside. Hoping your curiosity would get the better of you. Preparing to jump you. Setting your wand upright and poised, you lifted your hand, before shoving the door open. Only, before you could get a glimpse inside, it had slammed shut in your face. You stumbled back a couple steps, true panic setting in. "Was it you?" A voice came from behind you. You'd walked straight into a trap. Taking in a shuddering breath, you spun to face the voice. A flicker of your brow, and you stared at the figure blocking the end of the corridor. "Potter?" He had emerged from one of the classrooms either side of you, wand clenched in his fist and eyes hard. Stupid, you're so stupid, you should have checked. "Was it you, Y/N?" Harry repeated, watching you with an unpredictable atmosphere to him. "Did you curse the necklace?" It took a second for any words to form on your lips. Your mind was going to into overdrive. Harry would not hurt you intentionally, you knew that much - he wasn't that type of person. But what he could do unintentionally... "I don't know what you're talking about." You said. Attempting to appeal to whatever friendship you'd had last year, you kept your voice as clear and honest as you could. Harry, however, did not shift. "It was you, or Malfoy." His voice lilted with questioning, and your jaw tightened. You had to remind yourself to keep breathing, act natural, even at the mention of Draco. Shit, what the fuck has Draco been doing? I know it's bad - it's the Dark Lord - but Merlin, if Harry is involved... "I said," You forced an eyebrow up at Harry in emphasis. "I don't know what you're talking about." Voice gruff, relief flooded through you. You'd managed to keep your composition. There was a million scenarios involving Draco running through your mind, and you bit back a shudder. "Then prove you're not one of them." Shit. Harry had gestured to your arm with his wand. You grew rigid in terror, a shaking whisper falling from your lips before you could swallow it back. "What?" "Show me your arm, and prove to me you're not a Deatheater." Harry said, voice a lot more forceful than before. No, no. No, this can't be happening - he wouldn't - he can't - "I don't have to prove anything to you, Potter." You spat - but there was no denying the quiver in your words. Sickness curling in the pit of your stomach, you clutched your wand, scrutinising Harry's every little movement. He shifted. It was so, so slight. Maybe he was moving towards you, maybe he was only adjusting his stance. It didn't matter, because before you could think, you raised your wand and shouted the first thing that came to mind. "Stupify-" "Expelliarmus!" You could only watch in utter horror as your wand flew through the air and clattered to the ground. All the way at the other end of the corridor. Behind Harry. No, no, no- You couldn't move. Frozen. It was as though you were in that cupboard again. Crushed against the wall, watching as two boys enchanted a blade and laughed at the way you choked for breath. "It's okay, Deatheater. You're going to get your mark soon." Harry was moving towards you now. You stumbled, falling back against the door, hands coming to press down on the handle. Locked. No escape. Breathing frantic, you could only stare at Harry with wide, angry eyes. You didn't speak as he grabbed your left arm, pulling it out in front of you. No, you didn't even struggle. You were still in that fucking broom cupboard. Harry's fingers burnt horribly against your skin, pushing up your sleeve. His eyes lingered on you as he did so, long enough to make your skin crawl. Then, he looked down. It burnt. Burnt, as though Harry had struck a match and put it to your flesh. He came to stare at you again, falling a few strides away from you as you snatched your arm back to your chest. You wanted to shout - no, scream at him, but you could do nothing but hold in the gasps of pain. Harry hadn't seen the blood. He hadn't seen the way the cuts had began to tear open, slowly. Excruciatingly. "Get the fuck away from me." It was hardly a whisper - more some inhuman, animalistic snarl. It was all you could manage. The flames were growing hotter and hotter and you'd forgotten how to breath. My wand. I need my wand. "Y/N - I'm so sorry - I-" "Go!" Something in Harry managed to click, seeing your contorted expression. With one last, horrified look, he turned and rushed away, the stairs swinging back to greet him as he did. The second he was out of sight, you let out a shuddering breath, daring a glance down to the state of your arm. Blood was already spilling down your fingers. It seeped into the fabric of your shirt, like the sea lapping at the shore - but bloodier, and a lot more sickening. "How does it feel to bleed, Deatheater? I bet you're fucking enjoying it, you sicko, just like your parents did." An involuntary whimper escaped you, unable to contain it with your mind so hazy from panic and pain. Agony was lacing its way up your arm and through your entire body, and you had to remind yourself - your wand. I need my wand. Staggering forward, you focused your gaze on your wand at the end of the corridor. Blood was spilling steadily onto floor, staining your shirt, but you refused to acknowledge it. Groans escaped your throat, scalding pain cutting deeper and deeper into your skin. Feeling the liquid thick on your hands, you, almost instinctively, gave it another look. Your entire sleeve was coated in red. An overwhelming nausea hit your gut. Falling against the wall, you desperately attempted to get your breath, but it only came in short pants. You'd barely made it halfway down the corridor. Harry had taken too long to leave, given the cuts too much time to reopen before the worst kicked in. Last time, with Draco, the reaction had been quick and easy. This time, you were alone, and wandless. Head spinning, you attempted to choke down a deep breath, and pushed forward. Everything was starting to blur a little, your head a spinning mess of thoughts. You couldn't focus. Tired. You felt so tired. You were close. You were so close to grabbing your wand, hands slick with blood as you stretched out your arm, shaking. Another step - a stumble. Your entire body crashed to floor. There was a terrible, harsh blow to the side of your head. Your ears filled with a high buzzing, sight wavering as you stared from your wand only inches away from you, to your left arm. Ten letters, red and clear. Tears rolled down your cheeks, but you didn't recognise them. It hurt, it hurt so bad, you couldn't think, couldn't breath. It was all a blur, really. A blur of torments and whispers. A blur of blade against skin. "Deatheater." "Y/N? Y/N-"

#draco x you #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy angst #harry potter fanfiction

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dwaynepride · 4 years

Text

the unfortunate case of nonchalance

PART V - BLOOD WAS OUR INHERITANCE

summary: jethro’s heart is pulling him two ways, and it’s hard to navigate the right direction.

words: 3,335

warnings: female reader

tags: @fairytale07 @jrenn10 @f4nboi @purplestarsr5 @ladyzombiielove @littlemiss3ma @minikate--24-05 @consultingdoctorwholock @dressed-up-just-like-z1ggy @ms-allenbrown @ikbenplant @dylpickles1267 @diaryofafan17 @specialagentlokitty @pageofultron @stanathanxoox @kittenlittle24

author’s note: part 5 of the cowboy!au series. this is a part of meg’s 11k challenge. the prompts are cowboy au and secret relationship trope.

part IV | part VI

March 7th, 1889

Once again, I am a wanted man.

The botched bank job was nearly five days ago, and I’ve felt every single second of it. Anthony’s wound is worse than I feared - Doctor Mallard is doing all he can, but I know that man. His hopes are not high. Anthony’s got a fever and he still bleeds from time to time.

That boy is strong, but even I’m starting to worry.

And we can’t leave while Anthony’s so weak. Everybody’s been packing up, ready to turn tail, but a journey may very well kill Anthony, if his infection doesn’t.

I know my thoughts should be on finding a way to leave, but they’re not. Not all of them. When it’s quiet, I find myself wondering if Y/N is safe. She was far from the shooting, I know that. But that doesn’t stop my concerns.

I need to make sure she’s alright; that’s the only way I’ll be able to concentrate on anything else. I’ll ride to her home at night and no one’s gotta know I was back in town.

Plus, I feel that maybe she’ll help get my head on straight.

The night is so silent, Jethro barely lets himself breathe.

Even taking the long route all the way around the outskirts of town, he was nervous. Every shadow, every noise had him instinctively reaching for his pistol. It was some sort of miracle that he hadn’t run into any law yet, but seeing the pure white paint of your home made Jethro’s stomach tight.

All the windows were dark, except for one. A candle flickers on the windowsill; its light is warm and inviting and it draws Jethro in to search for you. Though, with his luck, your bedroom would be on the second floor.

His footfalls are silent against the ground. He still keeps a hand on his pistol, but Jethro’s eyes are locked on the candle in the window. He reaches the house, leaning his back against the wood. And slowly, carefully, his head creeps forward to peer in through the window.

His eyes take a moment to adjust to the light, but the image he finds when Jethro looks in makes his heart tight. There, on the bed, you’re laying with a book in hand. You haven’t noticed him, too focused on reading, but Jethro’s just pleased that he’s found you so easily. He’s already been in town for too long.

A hand comes up, and he gently knocks his knuckles against the glass. Instantly, you jump, eyes wide as they flicker up to look in his direction.

That look of recognition makes this whole journey worth it.

Jethro sees his name leave your lips, and he quickly motions for you to come outside. You’re reluctant, he can tell. And he can’t really blame you, neither. But again, he beckons you out. Eventually you nod, and he watches you scurry out of your room.

His hands curl into fists, and Jethro reminds himself to breathe. But try as he might, he can’t seem to calm himself. Five long days of wondering and worrying, only to find you home; safe and sound and reading a book in your bed. Now, he just wants to talk to you. Hear your voice and simply be in your presence.

After what feels like minutes, the back door of your home finally squeaks open. He hears it, and Jethro immediately moves toward the back of the house. And there, in the light of a half-moon, you’re standing there looking at him and Jethro suddenly can’t remember how to use his own words.

“Jethro,” you breathe out. It’s almost inaudible, but he catches it. And when you run up to him with open arms, he catches you, too. You smell of wildflowers and Jethro’s instantly taken back to that day by the river. When you kissed him softly and he felt your lips for days after

That feels like a lifetime ago.

“I’m okay. I’m right here,” he mumbles. And Jethro’s not afraid to squeeze you just a little too hard. God, as much as he says he’s been worried about you - he’s missed you a hell of a lot more. As crazy and scary as things have been the last few days, this is the first time Jethro feels a sense of normalcy. Like everything is suddenly right in the world.

He wants to stay in this hug forever, but you’re the one to pull away. And when Jethro looks in your eyes, he doesn’t find the happiness he expects to see. He isn’t barraged with questions of if he’s alright or what happened or if everyone was safe.

Instead, you step away from him. Still within arm’s reach, but no longer holding him. “The bank...all those lawmen....Jethro...?”

His eyes fall away. Perhaps Jethro was naive to think you wouldn’t have questions about the heist. Perhaps he was stupid in thinking your happiness to see him would somehow overshadow why he did what he did. But that explanation would take too long and Jethro simply wanted to be here with you.

Your face was taut. Unmovable. And he knows you deserve to know who he is.

His thumbs trail over your forearms, grip still tight in case you decide to pull yourself from his grasp. “I’m not exactly who you think I am, sweetheart,” he says lowly.

You look confused - as if not properly understanding what he means. “You’re Jethro Gibbs,” you tell him firmly. “You came into town with your friends-”

“My gang,” he cuts in. And as your eyes go wide, Jethro’s gaze falls once again. “We aren’t just moving into town, we came here to hide. We....we did some bad things out West. Things that I regret.” The words felt like poison on his tongue. It felt like every syllable was just pushing you farther and farther away from him. But Jethro finally looks back up, watching your shocked expression. “Things that got Shannon killed, and ain’t been ‘till now that I wanted to change. My gang’s not quite there yet - they’re still convinced we gotta rob folk. The bank wasn’t my idea.”

Finally, you wrench your arms out of his grasp. And your eyes had gotten harder. Almost angry; it’s the first time Jethro’s seen you like this. Not even at the saloon when the barkeep threatened to call the law on him. “I have a hard time believing you didn’t know anything about it, Jethro. They’re your friends,” you bite out. Jethro’s never felt quite so small. “My father works there. What if he’d been-”

“My people aren’t killers.”

“And how should I believe you? Seems like everything you’ve told me is a lie. Is your name actually Leroy Jethro Gibbs, or is it something you’ve made up?”

Jethro is silent for a moment. “You think I can make up a name quite so ridiculous?”

You huff and turn away from him to walk back into the house. Truthfully, that smartass comment was reflexive, and Jethro’s kicking himself for saying it. “Hey, hold on,” he says, reaching out and grabbing your hand. And you try once again to pull free, but Jethro’s much too strong. He comes around to face you, eyes intense and serious and you even stop struggling when you meet them. “Not everything’s a lie. I do care ‘bout you - a whole hell of a lot,” he says softly.

He can tell that makes you think. The way you watch him, reluctant to believe him, but also wanting to. And God, Jethro wants you to. His stomach’s painfully tight at the thought of his foolishness being what drives you away.

And his fears are realized.

This time, when you pull your hand back, he lets you go. “You’re an outlaw, Jethro. A criminal.” Your voice is so hard, so harsh against his ears, that Jethro can’t really believe that he heard it.

But he’s not stupid nor deaf.

“Well, you let this outlaw teach you how to shoot, sweetheart. And better yet, you kissed a criminal. Don’t act so high, like your hands are clean.” The words are sharp and terrible, he knows. He spits them out with the poison on his tongue and Jethro’s too angry to feel bad about it.

The light of the half-moon reflects off your tears in the split second he can see your face, because you’re walking away from him toward the back door. “Get out of here, Jethro GIbbs, or I swear I’ll start screaming and get the law down here!”

You don’t even look at him. Not one measly glance as you pull the door open to rush inside. For a few seconds, his feet are rooted to the dirt. And as mad as he is, Jethro doesn’t quite want to leave. That pull that drove him here is still in his gut, much to his annoyance. Buried under the heat of the argument. Plus, he made you cry - some of that anger is pointed to himself.

He turns away from your perfect white house, disappearing back into the darkness so the law can’t see him. And Jethro doesn’t look back, not once.

If he had, he knows he would’ve seen your sad face in the window.

Anthony’s infection was like a cough that just couldn’t be shaken.

None of Doctor Mallard’s tonics seem to be working. And as Anthony’s condition worsened, it seems like the gang’s morale faltered, too. Jethro felt that change; he is not immune to the mood that wily young Italian brings to the gang. And with the argument he had with you last night - well, he doesn’t want to admit how much he misses Anthony’s bad jokes.

His hand runs slowly up and down the muzzle of his horse as Jethero waits on Abigail. Their plan is foolish. Could likely get them locked up, or worse. But with Anthony on death’s doorstep, there’s little choice.

Abigail had not been involved in the bank heist. She’s the one who will walk into the general store and buy the things Mallard needs. Jethro’s going along to keep an eye on her, much to the gang’s distress. Because if they lose Anthony, could they really afford to lose Jethro, as well?

Perhaps not. But Jethro wasn’t going to let his foolishness get Abigail into trouble. And letting her go alone would be dangerous.

As they ride into town, he keeps his hat low. Doesn’t look anybody in the eye. It’s been some years since he’s had to ride through a town where he’s wanted, and he hasn’t missed the way it feels. The urge to run, or the sensation that everybody’s staring at him. Having to keep his ears pricked, waiting to hear a lawman shout his name, or the crack of a rifle.

“There’s the general store,” Abigail points out.

He nods without a word, and to his surprise, Abigail has kept a lid on her usual chatterbox self. He knows she’s no fool; this is too important, and her nervous talking may likely draw attention. Even her usual frilly black lace attire has been replaced with a much less noticeable dress. Truly a sacrifice.

But Anthony’s life is more important, right now.

They climb off their horses, and Abigail makes a beeline for the door. “I’ll stay out here. To keep watch,” Jethro mumbles out. His eyes flicker around the street, relieved that everything seems normal.

Abigail nods. “I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Her words bring little comfort. Jethro doesn’t like feeling so exposed.

Jethro tries not to watch people as they walk by. That would only make him look suspicious - on the other hand, he needs to keep an eye out. Be it paranoia or caution, Jethro watches the townspeople from under the wide brim of his hat. For him, it’s unusual how normal they all act when Anthony is back at camp dying.

And he’s not sure what powers are at play. Whether God or the Universe or just bad karma coming to bite him in the ass. But Jethro’s gaze wonders over across the street, a few buildings down. His heart stops dead, and limbs go cold. Not even the scariest lawman in the state could make Jethro quite so scared.

You haven’t noticed him, of course. Nobody has. But Jethro noticed you instantly. Like his heart was a compass.

He watches you, deep in conversation with the owner of the store you just walked out of. And it’s no wonder - your last name is on the top of that store. This must be some kind of business meeting.

And Jethro’s well aware he’s staring. He knows he outta be on the look out. Knows he really shouldn’t care whether or not you’re in town because of some bank business that your father likely roped you into. The argument was still fresh in his head - there was nary a time Jethro didn’t think back on that night with a hole in his heart. Or a fire in his belly.

Despite his mixed feelings, Jethro’s certain you’ll still be cross with him. Would tell him that you never want to see him again, and he’s not sure he can take hearing that, right now.

But God, how he misses you.

Losing the privilege of talking and spending afternoons with you felt like losing a limb. Jethro missed being able to escape his lowly life for a few hours and feel almost free. And you make him feel good, too. Like he can be a decent, respectable man with a decent, respectable life.

If he apologized, can Jethro even hope you’d forgive him?

Finally, you seem to conclude the conversation with the store owner and begin walking away. Jethro’s first instinct is to follow, and for once, he’s well-aware of how misguided his instincts have been, lately. His head swivels around to the door - Abigail would be fine for a few minutes, surely. He only needs to say a few words to you. And that’s still assuming you would stop and listen.

Jethro is careful about how fast he walks - slow enough to not attract attention, but fast enough to catch up. His stomach is tight, palms are clammy, and Jethro finds he can’t hardly breathe once he’s a mere foot away.

But he needs to concentrate. Needs to stay calm to get your attention.

Slowly, he walks up to your side. And before you could turn and look at him, Jethro leans his head over. “It’s me,” he mumbles out. You jump in surprise, give a gasp, and Jethro’s worried you might say his name and out him. Perhaps this was a mistake.

You don’t say a word. You just stare at him, mouth agape, and he knows this is the perfect time to pull you away from public eye.

With a hand on your arm, he discreetly pulls you into the space between two buildings. Just wide enough to fit the both of them, but provides the perfect privacy he needs. Away from the high society he loathes so much - the only attention he seeks is yours, and now he’s got it.

It comes with a price, though. Your face isn’t so bright and alive as it usually is, and Jethro knows he’s the cause of that. Your eyes watch him carefully, and he notices dark circles that were never there previously. Haven’t you been sleeping?

“What are you doing in town?” You ask him harshly. Jethro’s head backs away from the ferocity of your words. “If the law catches you, you’ll be hanged.”

He knows that. And he knows the stupid decision he made leaving the shop to chase after you. “My friend was shot. We’re here getting some medicine for him, but I think we might be too late,” Jethro says flatly.

And to your credit, you look sad. Sympathetic for his problems, and Jethro doesn’t miss the way your hand comes to grip his arm. As if comforting him, but too afraid to really commit to it. “I’m sorry, Jethro. I really am. I do hope he gets better. But we should not be talking, and you should not be here.”

You’re inching away from him, eyes downcast. And it isn’t until Jethro sticks his arm up to block your path do you stop. “So that’s it? After everything,” he asks. You don’t respond, and that only flares up his old anger from the previous fight. “I know I can never measure up to you and your family. I know I’m some lowlife, no-good cowboy-”

“Jethro, I didn’t mean what I said.”

Your words drain the anger from him. Maybe they shouldn’t; Jethro is never so easily swayed by words. But you look back up to him, meeting his eyes. “I was just....angry and confused and frightened. My father was going mad with everything that happened. You’re a good man, I know that. And I’m so sorry about what I said.”

The apology wasn’t expected. Jethro sooner prepared for a slap to the face than your honest regret. And a small flare of hope rises - that maybe this doesn’t have to end.

You’re still staring. Watching his expression soften, and eventually, your hand reaches out to grip his. A gentle squeeze that Jethro’s been craving. The soft touch that somehow manages to mend some of the cracks that these last few days have inflicted on him.

The seconds tick by, and Jethro knows he’s already been away for too long. It was a gamble to leave the store, and now he’s just being foolish for staying this long.

Regardless, Jethro leans in and presses his lips against yours with fervor. If the first kiss were as gentle and slow as a stream, than this kiss was a raging river. It knocks the wind out of him. Makes him feel like he’s drowning and you’re keeping him afloat. And you....you’re grabbing onto him. Clutching him tight by his coat, unwilling to let him leave this little bubble you’ve created.

Acting like this is the final kiss you’ll ever share.

Jethro promises himself that won’t be the case.

Your lips are soft and pliable against his. Jethro would happily stay in this crevice for the rest of his life, but he breaks the kiss. As he leans back, he sees small tears trickle down your cheeks. With a heavy heart, he wipes them away. “I need to go now. But I need you to do something,” he says, voice somehow sturdy after that kiss.

You look reluctant. “Jethro-”

“Tell your father about us. About everything,” Jethro states. And he ignores the way your eyes flicker away briefly before returning. “Once Anthony’s fit to travel, we’re leaving. And I want you to leave with us.”

It was a tall order, he knew. Leaving everything you knew. Everyone you love. But Jethro knows he wants you with him. Feels it in his bones that you’re meant to be with him, always. And the way you’re still gripping onto him, you must feel the same. That undeniable tug, like a rope around his neck.

His hand runs along your cheek one final time before he pulls away. Unfurls your hands from his coat and squeezes out of the crevice. On his way back to the store, Jethro doesn’t look back. And yet, he feels your eyes on him.

Just as he returns, Abigail is exiting the store. And she’s isn’t stupid; she knows he was gone. Instead of scolding him for such a stupid move, she just furrows her eyebrows at him. “Where did you go?” She asks.

Jethro keeps his hat down, unwilling to look her in the eye. His answer was too long. Too complex.

“Something important I had to take care of,” he answers simply. Not a great answer, but the only one he’ll provide. “C’mon, let’s get back to camp.”

#ncis reader insert #ncis x reader #leroy jethro gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs imagine

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presumenothing · 4 years

Text

one more light

ALRIGHT SO this isn’t a new fic but i just realised i somehow never did post this to tumblr, so here it is: 2k worth of atla zombie apocalypse non-au.

no archive warning content beyond the fact of. y’know. zombies

(AO3)

“It’s not your fault, Aang,” Katara says after they beat back the latest siege, and only his sister could still sound sincere even in something they’ve all said at least a dozen times by now.

Sokka feels so proud of her that his heart is almost bursting… or maybe that’s just the effort of hacking his way through dozens of actual damned zombies. A bit of both, really.

Not that the rest of them don’t believe what she’s saying. This whole mess is Sozin and maybe Roku’s fault if it’s anyone’s, and Sokka would gladly repeat that until he went hoarse if he thought Aang would listen.

But Katara is the one who’s always believed in Aang before any of them did, and that sort of thing made a difference.

Or it used to, at least, but today there’s no brightening in Aang’s expression as he stands up, glider having never left his hands. “I’ll take first watch.”

Biting her lower lip, Katara meets Sokka’s gaze as Aang flies off without waiting for any response, and Sokka shakes his head slightly: let him be.

“Twinkletoes fly off again?”

“Yeah.” When Sokka looks over, Toph’s eyebrows are furrowed in what he would’ve called concern if it hadn’t been on someone who could still fling him off the cliff even after a whole day of fighting. “He’s… not doing too well.”

Not that any of them really are, by this point. Toph doesn’t even call him out for stating the obvious, only crosses her arms. “I wish Sparky was here.”

“You and me both,” he admits – and fine, yes, it’s already enough of a lucky coincidence that the four of them had been travelling together when the sudden case of apocalypse broke out, so asking for more would just be tempting fate, but…

Sokka sighs. “I’m sure he’s fine. Jerkbender doesn’t know how to lose.”

Toph’s punch on his shoulder is far lighter than her usual. “You’re a real shitty liar, Snoozles.”

“Doesn’t make me wrong,” Sokka retorts, and he really really hopes he isn’t wrong. Because Zuko has his firebending and his dual swords and a whole palace full of scarily armed guards plus Suki hellbent on protecting the first sane Fire Lord, so there isn’t any reason why he shouldn’t be okay except that there is.

A century of war dead, in every corner of their world. Legion doesn’t even begin to cover it.

ii.

Aang had still tried to be careful, at first – dodging blows from shambling corpses is easier than usual, if anything, and he could call up enough water or earth to freeze a half-dozen bodies in one sweep even if it wouldn’t be fatal (insofar as that applied to the undead).

Not that they really had any other option besides stopping them permanently; Katara had tried healing once, on someone who’d just been turned an hour before, and the way her entire face had gone grey answered that well enough.

But Aang is still their most powerful fighter, and after everything with Ozai none of them had been willing to say anything until they almost lost three people to a too-quick thaw. Toph had been the one to react, a flying shard of rock decapacitating the half-frozen zombie with extreme prejudice right before it could lurch onto the cowering villagers, and later she’d also been the one to say it.

“They’re already dead, Aang! Someone’s going to die if you keep this up, and it’s gonna be one of us still alive!” Toph had shouted, eyes glimmering even as Aang stood too quiet and too still, and even now Sokka isn’t sure which had been the worse sight.

iii.

In a way, taking down zombies as a non-bender is – well, maybe not easier, but at least a sword thrust clean through the throat works just the same on everything.

It wouldn’t have been Sokka’s first choice of target before, but at least he hadn’t needed to change strategies as much as the benders had: internal injuries from blunt force rock don’t slow down an opponent who lacked working organs to start with, and getting frozen in ice probably ranked as a minor inconvenience compared to literally being dead.

Toph had begun hoarding metal after their first fight, and now could bend and fire wickedly-sharp blades in a manner scarily reminiscent of Mai except she never ran out. Katara’s ice missiles aim for the head instead, and Sokka doesn’t need a closer look to know that her ice had gotten denser, heavier somehow, even if he doesn’t quite know how.

At least air still works the same in clearing a swathe through the hordes when they need it, which is just as well – Aang fights almost solely as an airbender, now.

It had taken Sokka a while to realise, since he’d initially sorta assumed that Aang had just been avoiding any use of fire (because the stench of rotten flesh burning is really enough to make anyone consider joining Aang in vegetarianism).

But then he’d paid more attention, and confirmed it with Katara and Toph: Aang really doesn’t fight with anything but air unless he’s forced to. Like he’s not the Avatar at all.

And that makes its own sense, in a twisty sort of way – even after they’d ended the war and brought some sort of peace Sokka knows that Aang still blames himself for having let things get that far, and being the bridge to the spirits doesn’t help this situation at all because it had nothing to do with the spirits to begin with as far as they could tell, so what good is the Avatar?

…just because it makes sense doesn’t mean that Sokka has to like it, and he is going to confront Aang about it one of these days as soon as he’s figured out what to say. Just like how he still needs to talk to Katara about what the heck happened during that fight in the desert.

(All Sokka knows for sure is that Katara had run out of water to bend even though they still had far too many zombies to take down, so instead she had reached and–

Empty bodies had fallen like cut marionettes in a half-circle around her, in the same moment that Katara had turned to the side and thrown up, and if Sokka’s being honest with himself he thinks he can figure out what happened there too even without asking Katara about it.)

(There are many things they don’t talk about, these days.)

iv.

At least it’s a blessing in disguise that Aang and Zuko had already gone through the Air Temples to perform the appropriate rites, because they’ve proved to be the current best option for evacuating people and keeping them safe.

Not that the temples are invulnerable, not by a long shot – but it’s better than staying on flat ground, and definitely way better than it would’ve been if there’d still been century-old corpses scattered around.

Also, it turns out zombies aren’t really keen on higher altitudes. Who could’ve guessed?

Admittedly the temples were never built to host that many people, especially not after standing vacant for this long, but it’s the best they can do for now. Iroh had told them about the White Lotus safehouses, of course, just in case everything went wrong during the comet and they needed some place to regroup, but Sokka has to wonder if those are fortified enough.

He tries to imagine Master Piandao preparing for the zombie apocalypse and can’t help a snicker.

Aang, staring straight ahead, doesn’t notice.

It’s just the two of them on Appa now as they make their way back down from ferrying more people up to the temple, so Sokka isn’t expecting it when Aang shoots upright from his seat on Appa’s head, turning wide-eyed to shout in the direction of the saddle. “Take the reins, I have to get down there!”

Sokka almost yelps in alarm when Aang barely waits for his glider to open before throwing himself out mid-air, but then he looks down and does swear a dozen things that would have Gran-Gran washing his mouth out if she heard, because there’s no mistaking those bursts of blue fire.

He urges Appa down at top speed and scrambles off once they touch land to see Katara facing off squarely against Azula, Aang by her side and Toph a few paces behind.

There’s at least a dozen ice daggers hanging in the air around Katara, but Azula doesn’t even seem bothered. “Zuzu? Wouldn’t you like to know.”

“I took you down once, Azula.” Katara’s voice is scarily level as Sokka slows to a stop beside Toph. “I can do it again. For the last time: where is Zuko?”

Azula doesn’t even bother to answer now, only throws her head back with a laugh, and Sokka can see Aang tensing up in preparation to redirect lightning–

–can see Toph twitch in something like surprise, opening her mouth to say something just as another voice roars: “Hold your fire!”

A grin spreads across Toph’s face even as Sokka turns, and there they are: Zuko supporting Suki as she limps up to them, both looking worse for wear but still safe.

Suki waves at them with her free hand, smile a little wan. “Hey. Sorry we’re late?”

Sokka volunteers for first watch before anyone else can.

He’s only just gotten settled in when Zuko comes over to sit beside him, and if Zuko notices that this position conveniently lets Sokka keep a lookout while still being able to see Suki – screw it, okay, he hasn’t seen his girlfriend in ages and he’s missed her like hell.

They’d gotten the chance to talk earlier while Katara had been healing Suki’s twisted ankle, but even now that Sokka knows she’s okay, it’s still good to have the visual reminder.

Zuko doesn’t comment on it, though, so it’s up to Sokka to point out the obvious. “You can rest, y’know. Katara will wake you when it’s your turn.”

“In a while, maybe. I’m not sleepy yet.” Zuko shakes his head even as Sokka gives him (or more accurately the dark smudges beneath his eyes) a dubious look – but then again, none of them are strangers to being exhausted but sleepless, whether from adrenaline or something else. “Suki has been taking more than her share of night watches, anyway, she’s the one who really needs the rest.”

Sokka almost snorts but stops himself. Honestly he might’ve done the same, if he had been sharing a camp with Azula. “So how are things in Firetown?”

“Still standing when we left,” Zuko answers, which Sokka takes to mean possibly overrun and definitely on fire. “I gave the decree to open the imperial bunkers to anyone who needed shelter, right before the Fire Sages burst into the hall and demanded I immediately leave and seek out the Avatar to end this blight upon our world.”

Sokka raises an eyebrow. “That a direct quote?”

“Yeah. I don’t even think I’ve ever seen the Sages literally running, but apparently there’s a first time for everything.”

Like mostly-ending the war only for the walking dead to happen, Sokka’s pretty sure they’re both thinking. “Don’t suppose they might’ve mentioned what exactly Aang is supposed to do?”

“That would’ve been too easy,” Zuko says dryly, before sobering. “Aang hasn’t figured anything out?”

“He doesn’t even think there’s a spirit behind this.” Which had all sorts of disturbing implications that Sokka refuses to consider right now. “So Suki decided to come with you?”

Zuko doesn’t say anything about the blatant change of topic. “Insisted, more like.”

Sokka grins – that’s Suki, all right – before he looks over at the other addition to their group. “And Azula?” he asks quietly.

“She’s my sister. I–” Zuko scrubs a hand roughly over his face, shakes his head. “I couldn’t just leave her behind. She’s my sister.”

And if Sokka hadn’t already noticed how tired Zuko looks, that would’ve been clue enough. Yeah, they’ve all made their fair share of jokes about Zuko being a broken record about honour and capturing the Avatar way back when but really, he’s never been one to repeat himself. Sokka isn’t even sure Zuko realises that he’s doing it.

He takes a page from Toph’s book and punches Zuko on the shoulder. “Get some sleep, hotman,” he says over Zuko’s splutter. “We’ll still be here in the morning.”

“You better be,” Zuko grumbles as he heads off to bed, but when he flops down to sleep it’s right between Suki and anything that might come at them.

Sokka turns back away with a smile.

hell yeah sokka pov

also my other atla fics are here and here if you need a pick-me-up after that, i swear they’re actually like. my usual funny fare

#i feel like this is..... considerably more grim of a take on a zombie apocalypse than you'd expect from me...??#but then again. i did just turn al into a house so yeah #atla #avatar the last airbender #fanfiction #mine

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jimlingss · 5 years

Text

The President’s Son [10]

Chapter 9 - Chapter 10 - Chapter 10.5 OR Chapter 11

➜ Words: 4.2k

➜ Genres: 100% Fluff, Slice of Life, Bodyguard!AU

➜ Summary: Kim Taehyung is the President’s son, mischievous and playful, and infamous for being a troublemaker. When everyone’s given up, they call for you to be his personal guard. There’s no other choice when your dad’s assigned you to it and surprisingly Taehyung doesn’t mind either. Maybe because you happened to grow up with that brat.

Siren wails and deafening ambulance howls — putting arms over heads and getting to your knees — handcuffs clinking as your hands are restrained. You’re bathed in blue and red lights, eyes wearily blinking as your vision is blinded. Camera clicks — microphones shoved into his cheeks — questions spewed one after another, morphing to sound like the tortured in hell. Taehyung shields himself away from the white flashes as he’s forced to stand by his father’s side. Fear runs rampant, only partially subdued with a single press conference, tabloids and media outlets gathering as they try to figure out what happened, calling upon the police chief, your father, and Taehyung’s. Those responsible are taken into custody, under investigation, while another team tries to contain public hysteria from spiraling. “I’m sorry I snitched,” Jungkook tells you. “I didn’t want to.” “It’s okay,” you murmur as you stand at the back of the room, watching the President take a stand against terrorism. “You brought me backup when I needed it.” But just because everything’s said and done and everyone’s safe doesn’t mean there aren’t any repercussions. It’s the end of the line. From across the room, you stare at Taehyung intently, how disheveled and tired he looks, the spark in his eyes lost, knowing this is unfortunately the last. And you’ll accept it. When tomorrow arrives, you’ll go looking for other jobs to take on, accept whoever might want your selected skill set. There’s nothing to do but take responsibility for your actions and the damage done. But you don’t know why it feels so hard. Your whole life has revolved around indifference, acceptance, letting things roll off your shoulder and continuously moving forward. But for the first time, your feet feel too grounded to keep moving. “Come in.” You push the door, closing it gently behind you. His office remains ever the same, except for the new piles of papers placed all over his desk. The old man sighs, taking off his reading classes and rubs two fingers at his temple while you take a seat across from him. It’s more frightening when he isn’t outright angry. He begins, words heavy with exhaustion. “Did you think about what you were going to do?” “Yes,” you answer after a beat. “I knew it was going to take a long time—” “So you ignored all the plans that were being made? You ignored standard protocol and my authority as well as everyone else’s?” He asks you calmly, composed without a bite to his words, almost like he expected this. “I wanted to scope out the environment to provide more details.” “That’s out of the scope of your job. You went above and beyond. And you did so irresponsibly. To the point where it’s outrageous. You could’ve gotten killed. You could’ve gotten the President’s son killed.” “I’m sorry.” The apology doesn’t cut it, but it’s all you can offer. “I...saw a chance and I took it.” “You’re lucky that no one got more hurt than they did.” The old man sighs, leaning back in his swivel chair as he shuffles papers in front of him. “I’ll write you a recommendation letter before you go.” “There’s no need.” He raises a brow and halts his movements completely. After a second, he glances up at you again. This time, he speaks in a softer tone, not as a chief, but as your father. “Are you planning to stay in the capital?” “I...don’t know yet.” You came for a reason and yet you’ve done nothing for that reason — it’s still too difficult to approach, too awkward. You’re not sure where to begin or what to do. Your initial intentions have washed down the drain. “Let me write you a letter,” he insists. After all, despite recent incidents, the past three months have passed by without any qualms. It was the first time there was some semblance of peace and quiet. “It’ll help you in whatever you want to do next.” “What letter?” He’s interjected by a chiming timbre. The lithe woman shuts the door behind her before sauntering up to the desk, right beside you. Her arms are crossed, dark hair draping her backside, dark circles showing her fatigue, yet she doesn’t show any weaknesses. “You’re not going to write any letter, ____.” “Hyunjung...this is a decision that’s been in the making for a long time.” Taehyung’s stepmother is outright challenged, but she stands her ground, shaking her head, not amused whatsoever. “I know I have no part in this, but it’s my job to protect my son’s protector.” Her voice moves into a higher pitched, almost like a whine of disbelief. “I came here to get on my knees to personally thank Y/N and lo and behold, I find you not only reprimanding her but firing her? I won’t have it.” Your father lightly scoffs, looking away. “She isn’t suitable for this job…” “Then who is?” The middle-aged female asks, demanding an answer he can’t give. “She risked her own life to save Taehyung. We should be honouring that bravery. I expected you to promote her, y’know! Give her a better title! Give her a raise or a vacation!” Her rambling is childish and lighthearted, dissipating the tension in the room. While she’s not biologically related to Taehyung, she shares striking similarities to him. You’re not surprised that she suits the President well. “Or even put up a statue of her in the yard! I thought I would have to fight you against naming Taehyung’s firstborn Y/N!” “I acted irresponsibly,” you speak up, looking towards her. “I’ll accept whatever punishment—” “Tch.” She clicks her tongue in annoyance, shushing you harshly. She frowns in disapproval with her reddened lips pouty. “I’m trying to defend you. Don’t make it worse, young lady.” Taehyung’s stepmother turns to face the chief. “Look at what you did to the poor girl! She should be proud of her courage, but you made her feel ashamed. Have you ever praised her before? Or do you just criticize your best employee all the time?” There’s a long silence. The tables have turned. Now he’s the one being reprimanded and scolded. But he doesn’t protest or fight her on it, perhaps giving into the woman’s judgment. “Unbelievable,” she scoffs. “You are about to fire one of the nicest people of your entire team. Absolutely unbelievable. Come on, Y/N. Follow me. You don’t have to sit here any more and listen to this ridiculousness.” You turn to your father after looking at her. His expression is impassive, but you read it well enough. There’s no real anger. At best, he feels at a loss. You deliberate what to do, but the woman doesn’t give you a chance. She urges you one last time, heavily insistent, so you take her hand and she pulls you to your feet. “If you want to fire her, you’ll have to speak to me about it first.” She struts out, tugging you along and you look back to catch your father sighing, molded into his chair, head knocked back to stare at the ceiling. He can’t get rid of you even if he wanted to. Somehow, you’re protected by everyone that has the last name Kim. “You really didn’t need to….” “Hush, child.” She spins around, hands securing on your shoulders comfortingly. “I owe you my life. Taehyung owes you his life, okay? I’ll make sure he knows that too, but I think he already does. Don’t get too bothered by your old man. He was probably just worried about how you risked yourself out there.” Somehow you doubt that. Then again, even while growing up he had an odd way of showing his affection. “Which I don’t approve of either, but what’s done is done and all I can say is thank you. Truly.” “I was….just doing my job.” “You weren’t.” She smiles softly. “And you know that.” Taehyung’s stepmother tells you how you not only saved a life, but a family and a country from being thrown into chaos. While it’s a bit much, she emphasizes that you’re a hero. Your name was never disclosed to the public, but they know an agent single-handedly saved the President’s son and the public opinion has improved in the Presidential Security Service. The recognition is overwhelming and not something you ever intended, but not something you particularly despise. “If there’s anything that you ever need, tell me, okay? Remember to take care of yourself too. I understand if you want to take a break and rest up after all that. It must’ve been traumatizing. I’ll let your father know if you want to take a vacation….” You fiddle with your fingers. “Actually, I was wondering where Taehyung was.” For the most part, you were fine and if anything, you were more curious on how he was handling it all. The woman gently smiles again. “He’s at this hospital right now.” “Can I visit him?” “You most certainly can.” // He is a prisoner. And he doesn’t understand why he’s being punished. Kim Taehyung crosses his arms and pouts like a petulant child, sitting on the edge of the bed. He would’ve personally ripped out the IVs in his arms, but he doesn’t do needles, so he had wailed painfully until the nurse came and took it out for him. “Get me out of here!” he screams at the top of his lungs. The white walls and maybe the shadow outside hears his plea. “I’m more traumatized from being in here!” He’s been under intensive questioning, assessed both physically and mentally, forced to speak to three different therapists. Taehyung’s not as scarred as they think he is. He doesn’t need any recovery when there was nothing to recover from. He was perfectly fine, especially considering when deep down he knew you’d come for him. There was nothing to be afraid of. You always end up showing up again. He just has to wait. A few minutes….a few hours….or a few years. You always come back. But at the moment he’s too impatient. Enough is enough. Taehyung jumps to his feet and marches to the door, sliding it open. Park Jimin blocks his way. “Taehyung,” he whines his name, reluctant and timid with every movement. “You’re not allowed to leave.” “Just let me go!” he demands in exasperation. The dark-haired bodyguard is at a loss, trying to get the other to sympathize with his situation. “I…..I’ll get in trouble.” “No one has to know….” The two of them are whispering as if someone can hear, lingering in between the room and the corridor. The gates to freedom are so close, yet too far. “But they’ll find out. I’m sorry, Taehyung. I was given specific duties. You know that. I’m not allowed…..I can’t go against them.” There’s a held silence. Taehyung isn’t amused whatsoever and he narrows his eyes, words full of spite. “You know….you’re unbearable sometimes.” “Yeah….” Jimin’s head slumps like he knows, lips pulling to the floor. “I’m sorry.” “What...are you doing?” You’re standing at the end of the white hallway lit by fluorescent lights. Both Jimin and Taehyung whip their heads over, the former taking a sigh of relief at the sight of you and the latter with a grin expanding into his cheeks. “Fuck! About time, dumbo! Where were you?! I’ve been trapped for five hours!” You approach with crossed arms, peeking inside the room momentarily. Of course he has his own private hospital room on the highest floor of the entire building. But you notice that the bed sheets are crumpled, chair pushed over haphazardly, tissue box on the floor — evidence that he threw one hell of a tantrum. You give him an incredulous look. He smiles, suddenly on his best behaviour. “Are you gonna come in?” Jimin looks at you like you’re his saviour. The door shuts, finally just you and him. “Are you okay?” Your eyes sweep up and down his figure. He’d make a joke about your staring, but he’s too irritated by the question. “Yes, I’m fine,” he groans. “People keep asking me that. I’m not traumatized, okay? I don’t need any sort of recovery. I wasn’t injured. I’m not shocked or anything. I’m breathing, normal, alive.” “You were kidnapped, Taehyung.” “For like...two hours,” he points outs. “And they didn’t even do anything to me. I was going to talk my way out of it anyways. You don’t have to be so worried. I’m more worried about you.” He tugs on the hem of your jacket, pulling you gently until you give in, falling into the spot by his side. The mattress dips under your weight. “Doesn’t your wrist hurt?” At the mention of it, your own hand circles your other wrist, rolling it around once without feeling any aches or pains. “It healed weeks ago.” “Yeah….well….I was just...worried.” He gazes at you through his lashes. The soft lighting makes the edges of him glow. His voice is also strangely husky around the edges. You’re uncomfortable with how intimate it is. “You shouldn’t be. I’m used to it.” He scoffs lightly. “You always like to act like you’re tough — you know it’s okay if you aren't, right? It doesn’t mean you’re weak.” It’s quiet, the words sinking in. “Even if you’ve experienced worse things, it doesn’t make this one any less dangerous or scary.” You swallow hard, tearing your eyes away from him to stare at the door instead. “I’m sorry.” The corner of his mouth curls. “What for?” “I was supposed to protect you and I let that happen to you.” “You saved me, you idiot.” “I shouldn’t have let it happen in the first place. I shouldn’t have let you out of my sight and I’m-….I’m….nervous,” you admit in a murmur and you hate it. You absolutely detest being this vulnerable when you’ve sworn to trample any signs of weakness. It goes against every cell in your body, but it’s the truth — a truth that you don’t want to shoulder alone. “I’m nervous it’s going to happen again. I keep getting startled at the smallest things. I don’t...think that’s normal.” “It’s okay.” His arm wraps around your shoulder, pulling you in for a friendly hug. You don’t jump on instinct or lean back as you usually would. You allow yourself to relax into his hold, leaning against his chest, letting him close the distance between you two. It’s nice having this sort of comfort — you’re not sure when the last time you were hugged. “It’s okay if that happens. It’s okay to be nervous or scared.” But even so, it goes against everything you’ve been taught at a young age. “Aren’t you scared?” you murmur the question and had he not been so close, he would’ve missed it entirely. “A little,” Taehyung admits too. “It kind of felt surreal when it happened….my adrenaline was pumping. I think my survival instincts kicked in — I was talking a lot to them. But I don’t remember exactly what I said or what happened….it was kind of an out-of-body experience...you know?” “Yeah. I get that.” Taehyung smiles and pats your backside once. It’s the first time he’s comforting you and it’s odd considering when that was your job when he always cried as a kid. Granted, you never did a good job — having looked down at him while telling him to get up again and that tripping wasn’t going to kill him. It always made Taehyung cry harder. “You were so cool,” he hums like it even means anything. “When you untied yourself and stole the gun….I keep thinking your talent is wasted on me. You should be a spy or something. You’d be good at it.” “I’ve already done my part,” you tell him. “I wanted to go home.” He hums another soothing note from deep inside his chest and you hear how his heart rate quickens in pace. You finally pull yourself away before it gets too weird. He’s reluctant to let go, but does so anyhow while you compose yourself with a deep breath. “Hey…” Taehyung pipes up, staring at you with those intense eyes again. “If you ever wanna talk to me about something, you should. Don’t keep it inside.” “Yeah, okay.” “Or talk to a doctor,” he suggests with a smile. “They’re probably more qualified than I am.” Taehyung hops up to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, trying to act all casual after the heart-to-heart conversation. He groans, getting the kinks out of his shoulders before spinning around with a mischievous expression. “Should we ditch?” “You’re supposed to stay here for the night.” He pouts childishly, bottom lip jutted out when he doesn’t get his way. “I don’t wanna. They already poked me with a whole bunch of stuff and asked me a million questions. It’s suffocating being in here.” “What if—” “What if nothing. Nothing’s going to happen.” He shrugs. “You and I both know that. The entire city is on high alert and the perpetrators are already caught. No one’s gonna kidnap the President’s son twice in one night. And you’re off duty, aren’t you?” Taehyung’s eyes sweep you from head to toe, brow quirked at your casual attire as he discreetly smirks. “It’s not like you’d get in trouble if we hang out after your working hours.” “Me being off duty might be permanent at this rate.” He’s alarmed at your remark. “You’re getting fired?!” “No. Your stepmom saved me from that.” “She did?” You nod, much to his surprise. “She saved me, but I’ve been thinking about things and….maybe I should resign, Taehyung. I’ve caused a lot of issues and I don’t want to give...chief a headache. I want to be treated like everyone else and if I was, I think I would’ve been removed a long time ago.” The last thing you want is to be a burden and you don’t want to be saved anymore, to cheat the system for self-preservation when you’d rather accept responsibility. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve been at the podium at the press conference,” he says. “If it were anyone else, they would’ve gotten a metal. Your dad’s just really harsh on you to a point where I don’t even understand and it upsets me.” You look up at him, exhaling. Taehyung’s tone softens, eyes saddened. “Can I make a selfish request, Y/N?” “Depends on what it is.” “I know I said you’re better off somewhere else...but still...I want you to stay. Not forever. But just a little longer,” he asks and it’s shy and earnest. Taehyung’s hand drops to his side awkwardly after brushing back the blonde strands of his hair. He musters an embarrassed laugh. “Honestly, you’re my only friend and probably the biggest reason I haven’t run off yet.” You don’t get it. You’ve done nothing for him. You don’t even openly offer him the friendship that he so desperately desires — you can’t comprehend why you’re the reason he stays. “What’s so special about me?” “I don’t know.” He shrugs. “A lot of things. It’s not because we grew up together. Maybe a little has to do with that. But you just make it a lot more….bearable for me. I look forward to seeing you. Every day.” He’s ashamed, cheeks glowing pink, looking away. It’s the first time he’s shown you something aside from outright boldness. You muse that it’s a night of firsts and you savour the glimpse of sincerity that you see. “I don’t want to make this weird, alright, dumbo? And I’m not saying I like you like that. I just know that you listen to me and that you’re loyal. This might be a job to you and you probably think I’m annoying as hell on most days or that I’m a spoiled brat, but I know you actually give a fuck about me. You care. Unlike a lot of other people. And it’s all I...wanted. I like your company. And if you’re gone, I wouldn’t know what to do.” You stare. It’s another first — the first time you’re really seeing him. Taehyung’s not just a troublemaking boy who’s caused you a lot of your childhood gripes and headaches. There’s someone deeper in front of you, someone that’s not a chore or purposely a nuisance, someone human. You stand to your feet. “So...where are we going?” Taehyung grins. “I’ll lead the way.” Jimin is surprised to see the both of you exiting, insisting that he shouldn’t leave when it goes against the rules he was specifically instructed by Seokjin. But Jimin gives in when you convince him otherwise, easily giving up when it’s two pinned against one. He follows behind, ducking away into the stairwell when the police walk past. There are more guards lingering around the halls in case something suspicious were to happen. But luckily, Jimin takes one for the team and diverts their attention while the pair of you slip away. “For the record though, I don’t think you’re an annoying, spoiled brat.” “Really?” Taehyung chirps, turning his head as you walk down the street. Without bodyguards, suits, camera flashes, you’re just normal people. No one would notice that he’s a descendant of one of the most important people in the country. “Only sometimes.” Taehyung melts into another grin, curiosity making his irises glimmer. “Like when?” “When you give the bodyguards hell when I’m gone and you demand I come back.” “It’s a great strategy that has proven to work.” He winks and you scoff. “I’m not a toy, alright? “You’re not. But if you were, you’d be my favourite.” Your eyes roll, not taking it as a compliment and certainly not impressed by the lame pick-up line. “I think you know deep down how childish you are.” Taehyung shrugs. “It’s fun. Why not? Life’s too short to take seriously. You should take that advice for yourself, dumbo. I remember when you were just a wee-child—” “I’m a year older than you—” you interject. He outright ignores you. “—and you wouldn’t even join the kids on the playground. You were reading an instruction manual your dad told you to read and he only gave you that to get you to go away when he was doing work.” You can’t recall the memory, surprised that he does. But based on what you hear, you don’t really want to remember it. “Where are we going exactly, Taehyung?” There’s a sparkle in his eye that makes you want to sigh. “Go-kart racing. Ever been?” “No. And no. Do you even have a driver’s license?” The question is answered when he pulls it out for the teenager who’s working at the center. Your worries are at least eased somewhat when you see him get strapped in with a hard helmet and a proper seat belt. You’d sit beside him just in case something goes wrong, but he told you to get your own kart and wouldn’t give it up. It’s a terribly immature and childish game, but with Taehyung’s excitement, you let loose, allowing yourself to enjoy it. Even if it’s just for a second. The music blares above you. There’s two other adults here at this ungodly hour to enjoy their own fun, but Taehyung’s the loudest and most obnoxious person in the building. He hollers, firing up the atmosphere and his energy is infectious. The boy also ignites your competitive spirit after egging you on and you end up racing against each other. Taehyung turns around often to mock you, sticking out his tongue, and he swears when you overtake him. You start to laugh when he switches strategies and tries to crash into you, doing anything possible as long as you don’t win first place. “Hey! Excuse me!” The teenager is shouting at the rails. “You’re not supposed to crash into each other! This isn’t bumper cars!” “Sorry!” Taehyung yells back, but he’s not in fact sorry when he tries it again. In the moment, you’re reminded of something that you let slip through your mind. He’s not the President. He’s the President’s son. But even then, he’s just a guy — Kim Taehyung, who enjoys simple things, who doesn’t want anything to do with the limelight, who’d rather stay out of the spotlight and in the audience, sitting next to you. “Hey, dumbo!” “What?!” You scream, the roar of the motors and noise of the music too deafening. “I can’t hear you!” “Thank you!” “What?” While you can’t hear him, he screams it again. With all the sincerity he can muster. “Thank you!” Taehyung slams the gas pedal, going as fast as he can to let the wind blow into his clouding eyes, hoping it can dry them up before he starts to cry. Truth be told, Taehyung remembers everything. He remembers every word he said, every little action they did, down to the odor of the abandoned warehouse. More importantly, he remembers you appearing in front of him, staring at him, standing in front of him, extending an arm to help him stand again when he was going out of his mind, scared beyond belief. And he can still remember how his arm wrapped around your shoulders, how you leaned into his tender touch, how his own pulse mysteriously skipped a beat. It’s all still fresh in his mind. But he wishes it lasted longer.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #taehyung fanfic #taehyung scenario #taehyung fluff #half way through the series!#finally like goddamn

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