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leviiattacks · 3 years

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May I request a Levi x Reader angst fic? Just barely any fluff, mostly angst going on lol. The reader is a traitor, formaly working for Marley, but betraying them in secret and putting their loyalty on Paradis. The reader is also a shifter and married to Levi for a couple of years. That love and care however is gone once readers identity is found. He truly despises them, insults them, maybe a bit violent with them, and outright tells them that they mean nothing to him anymore and hate them to bits. Readers punishment is to hand over her titan to Erwin, and they agree instantly, broken over everything, believing its all their fault. Once Erwin inherits Readers titan, he breaks down and screams, crying, because Reader was innocent the whole time. They never betrayed Paradis. Never killed anyone, never harmed anyone. They finaly know why they betrayed Marley, the abuse being to much for them, enough to just leave them behind for Paradis. Just... loving and caring as they all saw them. But now the damage is done. They wont come back, they're dead, believing that they died, hated and despised, with no one to mourn their death. Everyone regrets everything.

author note :: i was thinking of leaving this in my drafts but i already wrote it and may as well post it. it didn’t end up going the way i hoped but yeah i hope it’s ok anon. anyways ANGST. ANGST, ANGST. as always i love feed back :-) ⟹ all of the headings with the years are just meant to mean it’s a different moment from that year so those moments don’t happen right after each other i hope that makes sense!! word count :: 7.2k warnings :: canon typical violence, death

845, i.

Everything is falling in place when it shouldn't.

Sun never makes itself known in Liberio yet here it is shining down onto the bustling streets. You half expect for it to crash down and burn into the hundreds of civilians going about their daily business yet nothing of the sort happens. It's typical sunlight and you curse yourself silently for your sinister thoughts.

Secretly the voice at the back of your mind still whispers frantically but you don't wish to hear what it has to say. Instead you choose to drown it out with the sound of Zeke's voice. Finally deciding to pay attention to what it is he's been droning on about for the past ten minutes.

"Soon, soon, soon." He sighs dreamily looking a little delirious.

"Soon?"

Your question catches him off guard, he lightly shoves you with his elbow scoffing in annoyance.

"Did you sit here to not even listen to me?" He turns to take a sip of whisky and the hearty gulp he chugs shows his mild irritation. You assume he's been rambling on about Marley's plan to infiltrate Paradis. You have to admit that the idea of destroying those demons from the inside is amazingly well thought out. However it's all he's been able to discuss for the entire week now and frankly you're getting a little exhausted of it.

"I zoned out..." Quietly placing your glass back down onto the wooden counter you sigh closing your eyes. It's too early to be drinking and you don't trust Zeke enough to slip into ignorance and leave yourself vulnerable. Men are to not be trusted, especially Eldian men. The thought of Eldians triggers your flight of fight response, you want to shrivel up into a cocoon and never come out until the world is rid of the monsters. The lowest of the low, the dirt in between the crevices of Marleyan soldier's boots. That is what Eldian's are.

It's ironic coming from you, your entire family labelled as undesirable Eldians yourself but you, you know you're different. An honorary Marleyan is what you will become. What you are. The treacherous imps who are but an ocean away are the true evil.

Eyes flicking to Zeke he's lighting a cigar. Old habits die hard and he's yet to quit this self destructive custom of his. You couldn't care less if he chooses to cut his lifespan short by ten years, it's his own choice to make. A disgusting cowardly choice but it's a choice fit for an untamed man like him.

The Island Devils are said to be the bad apples but you can't help but stare at your fellow citizens from time to time and wonder what it is they could be hiding. If a demon slipped through the cracks you wouldn't be surprised. Sly in nature, persuasive in tone, that is how devils go about their daily lives alone The hymns they drilled into you all the way through elementary school echo and rebound in your mind.

Locking your bitter thoughts away you have to push yourself to not punt Zeke in the mouth when he teasingly blows a puff of hot smoke into your face.

Fingertips grazing with his he freezes at the sudden contact giving you the perfect opportunity to slip his cigar away and take it in between your lips. You allow for it to linger there but you aren't foolish enough to inhale its contents.

"Zeke, my dear friend. We shall soon be met with the fruits of our own labour but I assure you that discussing Marley's plan constantly will be of no benefit for you nor I."

The day you and Zeke had met had been at warrior training camp. Zeke was a miserable, unmotivated oaf. Always tripping and falling behind the rest of the warrior cadets. You felt rather bad for him, if you were born as unskilled as him you don't know what you would have made of yourself. Zeke, the only child of his parents ironically only ever ended up rising through the ranks after handing them over to the Marleyan government. His father and mother had been conspiring an escape plan but were executed immediately alongside their fellow team members once Zeke had outted them. Unexpectedly he was spared, the fact he turned on his own parents showed where his loyalties were. To his surprise, he was even allowed to continue his training with the other warriors - only this time everyone kept an increased distance away from him. The warriors weren't informed of what he had actually done but everyone had a gut feeling. Everyone apart from you stuck with that feeling. You thought strategically, If he were to become an enemy in the future you knew being close would come at your advantage.

The day you and Zeke had met your mother died, his mother passed away the same day. At least that's what he had told you.

The two of you bonded over the little things, told each other stories about your life at home. Reminisced about what it was you missed.

Then it all came crashing down the day Zeke confessed. The day he told you he killed his mother and father by handing them over to Marley. Your knees buckled underneath you, crashing the floor he tried to grab at you but you thrashed around in retaliation kicking and screaming not understanding why he did what he did. Yes, they were traitors but they were his parents and if the monster had the nerve to turn on the people who gave birth to him who's to say he wouldn't do the same to you or to Marley.

Zeke doesn't know it but ever since then you take the opportunity to sneak the occasional glance at him. Every single time you narrow your eyes in malice. If there's a man in Liberio who you don't trust in the slightest it's him, he must think the feud between the two of you from childhood has been put at rest but it hasn't.

Zeke takes another swig of his alcohol. On this occasion he downs it entirely slamming the glass down with vigour.

"ONE MORE GLASS BARTENDER!"

846, i.

Another day of extensive training is about to end, your back is layered in uncomfortable layers of sweat and the same can be said for your forehead. Kneeling down in the under layer of the forest you're hidden waiting to strike. Going up against the elites is nerve-wracking but you're sure you can pull it off so long as you stay calm during this game of hunters against prey.

It's simple enough if you can conceal yourself and stay out of sight. The robust trees that surround you act as decent enough camouflage and your green cape paired with them lets you veil yourself, keeping you further into the foreground, blending into the environment.

No one will be able to catch you if they can't see you.

All of a sudden your previous thoughts are thrown away when you sense something in the atmosphere has changed, the hissing of the wind behind you isn't natural.

Turning to your side you don't bother to cover up the sound of leaves rustling and branches cracking, your priority is slipping away fast enough to hide again, a tug can be felt at your cloak and your reaction time barely covers for you, your gear fastens itself to a low enough tree branch and the descent is mind numbing. Your breakfast churns in your stomach but you ignore the uneasy feeling, leaping and diving wherever you find a small enough gap. You believe you can outrun your huntsman.

That is until you sneak a glance back and your muscles nearly tense up in pure astonishment, you've been kicked in the teeth just by the man's presence. Captain, Levi slinks behind you weaving through the gaps with increasing speed, he's gaining momentum and all the while his face stays relaxed, this isn't even his full effort.

Terrified you dart upwards and then left, a corner comes into view - Levi should assume you've turned into it and so you rashly choose to dart back down. Much to your hard luck you find that his senses are well adapted, the direction of the wind is enough for him to trace your whereabouts.

The pursuit resumes, and he stays disturbingly relentless.

Arm shooting to the right you think perhaps making it look like you're aiming to fly somewhere else again will completely catch him off guard, he can't expect for you to pull the same trick twice.

Setting your plan into motion your finger pulls at the trigger but you startle when the cable doesn't come out, it's jammed. Panic seeps into you and to make matters worse your gas is running out.

Without warning you're thrust into the body of a nearby tree, the bark scrapes against you and scratches begin to form anywhere you've made contact with the jagged surface, you want to admit defeat but the warrior inside of you denies Levi the pleasure of seeing you beg. In its place you deliver a harsh kick to his thigh, you're aware he's injured it and you're certain there are no rules to say you can't play dirty. Your boots hammer against leg hard enough for him to give out and let go of your body, but then you realize you lost this game from the very moment your grapple hooks broke, you have nowhere to hold onto.

Before you can even let out a shriek of horror Levi's shot back to you, he frantically accelerates and by a miracle humanity's strongest is able to grab a hold of you again. This time you don't dig your heels into his leg and you allow for him to clutch you by the torso.

Within a minute the two of you descend towards the forest floor and Levi throws you into the dirt furiously.

"You could have died. Being foolhardy will only lead to an early death." He barks as he directs his blade towards your neck.

"Am I dead yet?" Whispering back your gaze isn't trained on the blade but right up at him.

His nostrils flare up, his hair sticks to his forehead haphazardly and the knuckles that hold his pointed blades are white in tangled dissatisfaction.

Grabbing you by the hips he flings you over his shoulder choosing to not continue with the confrontation.

"I know what you're up to." His voice is still rugged from the pursuit and it takes you a split second to register what he's said.

Your eyes widen and your breath hitches in your throat, no way, there's no way in hell he knows. He's sharp but he's not a mind reader.

Your position means he can't read your face seeing as you're facing his back, instantly steeling your features you let out a breathy laugh.

"And what may that be?" Silently you pray he's worded himself ambiguously to catch a slip up.

"Being gutsy, you think that makes you a good soldier. It doesn't."

Relief floods you. He doesn't know.

"Soldiers need to be brave." Your retort makes him grumble.

"If you die with no meaning by being reckless what's the purpose of being a soldier?" His question has you stopping and thinking on what the correct answer is.

Unable to think of an answer you ask another question.

"Are you saying your previous comrades died without meaning?"

"No. Their deaths fueled me slay more titans."

"So if I died back there who wou-" He swiftly cuts you off showing no inclination of wanting to hear what it is you have to say.

"I'll cut your tongue off if it's stupid." He clearly isn't serious about the threat but he does mean it when he warns you to not overstep.

Despite the consequences you say what's on your mind. "I just wanted to ask who would give my life meaning if I ever died. I don't have siblings and my parents died long ago."

Silence follows and the crunch of his boots against the muddy leaves tells you he probably doesn't wish to answer your question.

"Sorry-"

"I would. I would give meaning to your life." He says it with such ease you almost want to admire the enemy but you know he's said it because he feels he has to.

"You barely know me but I hope one day you can stop thinking everyone has to rely on you." You say it with taunting understanding.

Another bout of silence follows. Only this time the two of you feel warmly comforted, he doesn't understand how you've seen through his facade but it's easy for you to spot another liar.

846, ii.

Brows drawn back you observe your surroundings attempting to mask your scrutiny. The place is running amok with uncontrollable Eldian folk. The stench of unadulterated sin makes itself known but you seem to be the only person able to smell it. Eren bumps against the table you're sat at and your face twitches a little but you say nothing. You're yet to get used to these people's lack of manners.

At least that's how you force yourself to think. To be truthful, you don't quite understand what it is these people have done wrong. Ever since you've arrived you've been nitpicking at every single minor inconvenience or possible issue. A girl stole a potato and broke it into uneven pieces to share and you attempted to twist the story in your head to make her look like an unfair, greedy voracious demon but... you found yourself finding very little to actually be angry at. These people are essentially normal in every way of the word, they aren't demons and you can't help but feel yourself slip away from everything you once knew as reality. You're finding it difficult to believe what years of Marleyan education taught you, the hymns that were once drilled into your brain permanently are but a vague memory.

You feel disgustingly under-dressed and out of place, you don't belong here not when you're meant to hate these people, not when you're meant to despise them. You should be fighting the urge to shove their heads onto pitchforks or to skin them alive and feed them to pigs. Everyone back in Marley told you to control your impulses but now you're here and you've settled down even having the opportunity to converse with these individuals, share their pain, share their loss, share their suffering, you wonder why you have no impulses to control. Have they brainwashed you? Or is it that you're the real demon in this situation?

Fingers mingling with each other on your lap you sit hopelessly alone. Interacting with the so called enemy is much harder than you expect. Worry consistently bubbles in the pit of your stomach and every night is spent tossing and turning evaluating then reevaluating who the bad guy really is. At first the task of daily interaction isn't a big deal, you find it easy enough to approach members of the team and fake interest in their lives until the original plan falls through. You do become invested in your team members lives and stories that it comes to the point where you don't have to force yourself to smile at their jokes or to sympathize with their tales of grief. You become one of them and you swear you're meant to feel like a traitor but eerily you feel like you belong.

Nevertheless you try your best to stick with what you know. You're nothing like Zeke, you're loyal, capable, faithful and trustworthy. Never will you turn your back on Marley.

Rising to excuse yourself from dinner you think you've just about made it and escaped finally able to hide away in the confines of your bedroom but your lips form into a straight uncomfortable line at the feeling of someone's hand latching at your wrist. You're halfway down the hallway just a few more steps away from your bedroom. You hope it's one of the rookies.

"Oi, come here."

Head shooting backwards your eyes land on Levi, his dark curtains fall in front of his eyes - you note that he hasn't trimmed them as he usually does. Despite his size his grip is firm and your wrist squirms around a little trying to manoeuvre out of his bruising grasp. He seems to notice he's underestimated his strength once again and loosens his hold on you. Narrowed eyes analyse your anxious form, they're grey and in this lighting almost glow appearing silver. For a brief second your mouth is left ajar by the delicate but rough manner of his face.

"Everything Okay?" He doesn't typically seem to care very much about anyone, the question activates your senses and you're on full alert but the eye contact you make with him seconds later slows down the gears in your mind, they only whir and hum in anticipation completely coming to a halt.

"Yes, yes everything is okay." You're playing around with the hem of your shirt and you silently question when you were ever this nervous around anyone. You're a Marleyan soldier for heaven's sake not an unrestrained, unsupervised child left to play in a park.

Despite your clear inability to cushion and shield yourself from your Levi's stabbing gaze you attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible.

"I'll be going I just feel a little —" At first you had thought to fake you were ill but at the feeling of a sudden strike of pain you hold onto your stomach, the ache burns into your abdomen and without permission it travels higher up towards your ribs. "A little unwell." You manage to wheeze out. Hand placed onto a nearby cement wall your thought process is hasty speeding up by the second. Have they figured you out and had you poisoned? No, you barely ate anything today.

You hunch over feeling the bile crawl up your throat, on reflex you clamp your eyes shut not wishing to anger a superior by acting insolent and disposing of your dinner in the hallway. Shaky palms reach hesitantly for your lips and you force yourself to keep it in. Levi would commit a murder if you heaved and gagged letting it all out in front of him.

You motion towards the door trying to emphasize that you can handle yourself in the privacy of your room. Tears bite at the sides of your eyes and your vision is so blurred you can only make out the faint outline of the man who was just in front of you.

"Relax. I'll clean it." Your hair is brushed away from your face securely held back and you can't hold it in any longer, the acrid storm surges through your throat, you retch at the harsh sting it leaves behind. Breathing heavy, perturbed and anxious you gasp in all the air you can get.

"I knew you looked ill." His hands hold your jaw gently, the pads of his fingers are calloused but his touch remains soft. A tissue dabs at your mouth wiping away the excess untouched sick.

Just like the sick which surged through you less than a minute ago you feel something else entirely tear into you. You can't put a finger on it but it's dangerous for you to not feel contempt.

847, i.

Your heart accepts what your mind has been ignoring for months on end when Levi looks you square in the eyes after a heart wrenching expedition. The vacant look on his face is enough for the guilt to consume you whole but he doesn't know that. He doesn't know of your sins.

The wagon of corpses reeks of death and desperation. It's rotten and the smell is sickening. Forcibly you stop yourself from feeling any more grief. The despair isn't yours to go through.

Your first ever personal loss outside of the walls and you've learnt Paradis is not home to demons. Cheeks burning in mortification you can't formulate any thoughts on your own accord, instead they continuously emerge in bursts and finally a single thought sticks out from the rest - Are you aiding in the destruction of innocent human life?

The both of you are sat on guard duty with the corpses, half of the team has been wiped out in one sweep. Your trembling hands don't seem to want to steady any time soon and you sit there with your guilty conscience strangling you slowly, your airflow is getting shallower. Shorter, quicker breaths leave you. The imaginary gash in your chest is bottomless, and your lungs push and pull in a power struggle.

Levi's coarse hands abruptly hold onto yours and the floodgates open again, he doesn't know what you've done to him, done to his soldiers, done to his people. If he knew who you really were, would things be different?

"This was out of your control."

Do you tell him?

The question sits in your mind for a while until you shake your head. He takes it the wrong way and think you're responding to him.

"This was not your fault." For the first time in months you've heard his voice crack under pressure.

"Pe- Petra she- I could have taken one for the team and died instead of her." All that remains of your dear friend is her blood soaked cloak. Her body was one of the few that had to be hauled away earlier to decrease the carriage's load.

The fabric still smells of Petra, smells of honey and chamomile and the simple soap offered at the base, but it still smells of her.

Firm hands grab your shoulders and Levi's fingers dig sorely into your flesh.

"Don't."

"But I- I didn't contribute as much as her and she has family who are alive." Hiccuping you try to bare with the fact that you'll wake up tomorrow and not see her preparing breakfast for everyone else. You know you could have propelled her out of the way just in time if you hadn't been so taken aback by the entire situation.

"You were her comrade. She made the choice to die for you."

You want to reach out, sob into his chest and yell that you regret it all, scream and tell him about the secret you've been hiding. A sorry excuse of a comrade you are to let her die on the battlefield not knowing your true identity. The tears roll down your cheeks and Levi feels his heart constrict and squeeze as he comprehends the lack of regard you have for your life. "It should have been me." Is repeated over and over again, your eyes are raw and bloodshot, the vicious wind sinks its teeth into you.

"Then die."

"If you're willing for her life to have no meaning. Die." The words he spits out are as cutting as the bitter wind. He feels cheated and you're finally able to come to your senses.

He's faired much worse but you doubt he's ever acted out the way you have in front of another person. In this never-ending void of darkness locking away the dull ache caused by deafening loss is the best choice for everyone.

Much like the night you had been sick he takes a grip of your jaw and directs your face towards his, this time he's not as gentle as before but you conclude that it's because he's drained, completely exhausted from the battle. The eyes are the windows to the soul but Levi's window panes are shattered, completely crushed by the weight of the constant burden he has to carry.

"I'm sorry." You croak out the apology. He grits his teeth because he doesn't want you to apologize but he doesn't voice out his opinion. As a substitute he presses his arms against you, the terribly raw panic is murdering you. Levi's gruff voice is a mixture of faux irritation but mutual understanding.

"Cry." He allows for your head to loll against his shoulder.

As the dark envelopes both you and him the scent of the dead only becomes more and more pungent, recalling fond memories of Petra and the others you know your heart settles on a decision before your mind does. You're a two timing back stabbing traitor for this. What you hated Zeke for you have become yourself.

Disloyal, unfaithful and fickle.

That day you place your loyalties with Paradis.

847, ii.

Levi's wiping down one of the kitchen tables, you're kneeled on the floor scrubbing vigorously. The others have already given up, panting they've left using the excuse of fetching water from a nearby well. Your back aches but you find cleaning reassuring and somewhat of a decent distraction.

"Why do you like to clean?" You're used to Levi asking you abrupt questions by now, after all the two of you have been acquainted for well over a year now. Through that year he's learnt about you and you about him. When in the midst of what looks to be humanity's final year's, twelve simple months is enough to form a bond worth a decade.

"I'm not good at a lot but I am good at cleaning."

"You know that's not true idiot." The tone of his voice indicates that your answer doesn't please him.

"But I do think I'm good at cleaning? Maybe not as good as you but I am half decent."

"Not that. You're good at much more than half the people I've ever met." He sneers, his footsteps edge towards you. "Purely being a good person is a talent these days."

You suppress a flinch because you aren't a good person at all. Neither are you that middle ground between good and bad. Rough around the edges and uneven, you're shards of glass ready to slash and hack away at him if Marley somehow lures you back.

The confession, if you could even call it that catches you by surprise and anger fills you. You almost want for him to not trust you and call out your bluff. It's a little unnatural how badly you want for him to realize the truth.

Your head turns up to stare at the man who's a few steps away from you. "Or am I just good at acting genuine?"

You don't even mean to snap at him and you don't even realize you have until you see his eyes widen and mouth part in imperceptible surprise. Biting your tongue your attention is diverted back to the wooden floor. Driving your washcloth into the crevices and dips of the floorboards you ignore Levi's leather shoes which now stand right in front of you.

"Are you questioning my judgement of character?"

Be born in Marley, That's what you had done, trained to destroy people you thought to be devilish entities, foolishly chose to grow attached to the so called enemy. Your mind lingers onto a specific thought and you're deathly afraid to be thinking it in the first place but there's no more avoiding it.

Falling deeply in love with Levi is your worst mistake to date.

"What I did. It was out of my control." you reply, voice hard.

"Not disclosing what it was?" He asks.

Your silence is his answer. Kneeling down to where you are he disarms you, the washcloth is taken out of your hands and he places it onto a table.

"You are a good person." His voice is brusque and he states it like it's a fact, something you should know. Hot tears threaten to spill over, he's stupidly naive for not rethinking that opinion of his. Lips thinned and eyes watering you don't know how to feel.

"Levi. I'm sure you'd like to think that but I am not."

"You love the members of the corps unconditionally I can see it in the way you look at them."

"Sometimes you look a little sad when you stare." The last sentence he adds in has your pulse racing. He's right, you often feel miserable thinking about how everyone would react knowing who you really are.

"I'm not interested in bad people." He sounds distant saying such warm words and it takes a moment for them to actually sink in. You don't quite believe you've heard him correctly. The dread sinks to the bottom of your stomach and the feelings you've buried at the back of your mind hit you like a tsunami. The thought of him feeling the same way for you, is agonizing.

"Stop being ridiculous." The uncertainty is killing the both of you.

"Loving you is not ridiculous, if you don't feel the same way you can say that and I'll step away. We'll be back to normal."

"No, no, no. You don't get it. You're just saying that." Your voice quivers and the intensity of this new revelation is too large for you to cope with.

"Why would, you," He begins, voice just above a whisper, "ever think that way?"

"Why would you even look twice at me?" You reply.

"Because I worry for you."

"You worry for everyone."

"I worry for you the most."

Instead of letting you respond to him this time he carries on speaking.

"We both know we feel the same."

You already knew you were in love with Levi, you didn’t need for him to tell you. You knew you were in love when you tried to memorize his facial features, you knew you were in love when his laughter was the cause of your laughter, you knew you were in love when you threw yourself in front of that abnormal for him.

That's when you begin to understand what all his signals meant. You now knew why he'd let you stare so intently, you now knew why he laughed particularly hard when it was you who had made a joke, you now knew why he scolded you and nearly broke down at the sight of your injured arm after that specific expedition.

You know it. He knows it. You both know what this will lead to.

But you still lunge onto his lap, you still press your wobbly lips against his. You still choose to surrender yourself to him and he still reacts by taking a hold of your shaky hands which lay on his chest. He envelopes them in his warm grasp. Slowly but gradually the ice thaws and dissolves. Heartbreak, anguish and suffering when one of you loses the other will be the end of your romance, you're sure of it. Hell, the both of you are in the middle of a war but your heart flames up thinking of all of the possibilities.

Perhaps it'll play out the one way you wish for it not to.

Could your ending be in betrayal?

848, i.

"Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded hus-"

"Cut the crap and kiss me." Levi's crude interruption isn't appreciated by Erwin but everyone knows Levi doesn't care all that much for formalities and hates being in the spotlight for too long.

Gripping him by the collar of his suit your lips are a centimetre away, he stops you tightening the hold he has on your waist. His lips gently press against your collarbone and his breath meanders towards the shell of your ear.

"Swear you won't die on me."

Gulping you look away apprehensively. You know you can't promise that.

“Oi, I’m expecting an answer.” His voice flickers slightly.

Forefinger holding your chin up you see your soon to be husband close to tears, he valiantly blinks them away. Levi has never been one to make his pain public and your heart twists in your chest as you realize just how much of a hold his feelings for you have over him.

"I can't promise that, you know it'll only hurt more." The strange bitter taste in your mouth won't let you comply with his request and by measuring his reaction you see his eyes cloud in an unidentifiable emotion, you're sure it's nothing positive.

"We may not have a happy ending Levi but we'll always have a happy middle."

Levi scoffs in derision, he has to think your attempt at being meaningful is ridiculous.

You lean into him and it's all so heart-wrenchingly familiar yet foreign. His body sags comprehending that not everything will go the way he wants it to. One of you is guaranteed to leave first.

Hands finding purchase in the cloth of his white dress shirt Levi doesn't cringe at you creasing the fabric as he usually does. He allows for you to call the shots this time, your lips brush faintly against his before you nosedive into him. No resistance is felt and he replies almost immediately. Everyone applauds as his fingertips press into the back of your skull and you find that this is all incredibly hideous. The innate disloyalty you feel, you throwing your entire life away for this man but you find yourself not caring. To hell with that miserable life crammed with sin.

Levi smiles against your mouth, you assume you're meant to magically smile back but you can't make yourself. It's uncomfortable relishing in the undeserved happiness knowing it won't last forever.

The world you live in isn't ideal nor is it forgiving.

Momentary joy is all an antagonist can hope for.

849, i.

Jean can’t take his eyes off the newly weds.

You’re cooing into your Levi’s ear gently, his cheeks flush scarlet at the feeling of your hot breath against his skin and he scolds you for having the gall to rile him up in public.

Jean sniggers finding some sort of odd delight from the interaction - he’s never seen the Captain this content and at ease.

849, ii.

You don't know why you've dragged yourself out of bed just to stare at your husband's face but you have, despite the toll life has had on him he seems sound for once. His breathing peaceful yours is anything but that. When it's dark the weight becomes heavier, your skin tingles and your throat burns aching for release.

Eyes blurring your hands shake reaching out for him but you can't find the courage to make contact. Nothing will ever warrant plaguing him even more with your existence.

The memories become increasingly bitter.

"If we make it out of this alive we'll have children and they'll look just like you."

"I want them to look like you." had been your reply.

Levi winced not seeming to like the idea.

"No, I want them to look like you. You're beautiful."

How wrong he was for thinking that.

You, beautiful? He'd stab himself ten times over if he knew just who exactly he had said those words to.

850, i.

Zeke had betrayed you after finding out who you were to Levi but you half expected that he would tell him the truth at some point regardless of that fact.

Tear stains travel through the mud and grime on your face, Levi's eyes are indifferent as he twists his wedding ring off his finger flinging it into the surrounding rubble.

Without your permission he yanks your arm forwards intending to take your matching ring away but you hold on digging your heels into the dirt beneath you.

"You disgusting bitch. Give me it."

You scream, high and awful, he continues jerking at your arm the muscle throbs crying out for him to stop but he doesn't and no one steps in to put a halt to any of it. Levi having had enough grabs at your neck ruthlessly. In any other circumstance he'd be labelled callous or cruel but everyone on the battle field shares a similar empathy for their Captain. Neither they or Levi had expected your disloyalty.

"I said give me the ring if you know what's good for you." His fingers slide around your neck, his seemingly low words cling onto the little respect he has left for you.

"No." Your defiance has his eyes hardening in and posture tensing. "I'm not handing it over."

Levi says nothing, he only holds onto your throat tighter, if he really keeps at it your windpipe will be crushed in no time. You know he's holding out on purpose, he's still giving you a chance. He expects for you to stand your ground, say you never deceived Paradis, say something, anything to make him let go of you.

"Marrying you... It just happened somehow. I know it was selfish of me." He squeezes harder. "I know it was. I'm sorry Levi." Gasping and breathless you clench and unclench your fists finding it too difficult to explain.

Your mouth opens, you want to tell him you haven't seduced him like he thinks you have, tell him you dropped that plan of yours long ago but then you falter at the last second. It's typically hard to tell when Erwin's infuriated but it's painfully obvious when you make eye contact with him over Levi's trembling shoulders. It's enough to tell you to give up. Enough to tell you that you're beyond redemption, you've ran and hid long enough.

"Hand over your titan." Levi says nothing to Erwin's proposition, the hold he has on your neck loosens but his silence is sickening. It means he agrees.

This is fate's idea of a cruel joke.

But you agree, on the basis of one condition.

"Fine but-"

Levi cuts in, all regard for you devoid from his system.

"You're in no place to be making demands." He snarls, his patience quickly running thin.

However Erwin urges you to continue speaking taking you aback.

"If it's not too much maybe we can accommodate your final wish." Erwin had always been thoughtful in nature and you thank him for even bothering to show you a sliver of benevolence.

Everyone's looking, all eyes are on you. Some are blinking away tears, others are disgusted unable to stare at you for more than a few seconds at a time. Levi falls into the latter.

Brazen with not an ounce of shame you mention the ring again. "Let me keep it." Your left hand covers your right and underneath the flesh is the last symbol left of your union with Levi.

Whispers and murmurs orbit you, none of them are kind and Levi loses it.

His reflexes are paralyzing, he's back at it clawing your neck mercilessly but you don't scream or shriek as you did previously. You take it, you let him unload his frustration.

"Levi. Let it go for the sake of humanity." Erwin says pointedly. Irritation pricks him, he wants this over and done with and your rebelliousness doesn't look as if it'll be tamed any time soon unless you're given what you want.

Levi's face is crimson, the fresh blood from the expedition still steaming. "Y/N, I'll saw your arm off if I have to." But, you know he's already given into Erwin's orders when he throws you to the ground letting you crash and wheeze for breath.

850, ii.

Levi's been appointed to guard you for your final night alive. The room feels wistful as you think back wondering if the life you lived was respectable.

"Why did you stare at me when I slept? Did you think of killing me?" Half commanding and half pleading his voice cracks. He coughs attempting to cover it up.

You jolt not expecting the interaction at all and you're not the slightest bit surprised that he had seen you all those nights staring so deeply. He'd always been a light sleeper. You turn your head up hoping he's looking at you.

He isn't.

"I wanted our children to look like you. I think you're beautiful."

It's now his turn to recoil, only he does so in repulsion remembering the familiarity of those words. They had left his own lips not too long ago.

"I'd never have children with the likes of you." He sounds tense then.

You understand. No one would want to have children with someone as hated and as despicable as you.

"I know." You whisper faintly.

850, iii.

When Erwin's eyes glaze over unable to focus on anything in particular Levi assumes it's him growing used to the titan powers. What he doesn't expect is for his Commander to bang his head against the floor unrelenting screaming your name.

Pairs of hands move to stop him but he thrusts them aside wailing. Levi stresses trying to figure out what it is you could have done in the wake of your death.

But Erwin Smith. Courageous, brave Erwin Smith, who never cracked at loss of life for the sake of humanity, who always eloquently spoke to everyone around him at all times, finds himself slumping down to his knees and weeping for you.

The warm blood from his self inflicted assault still trickles down his nose, a tremor shakes through his entire body when he thinks of breaking the news to Levi.

The edge in Erwin’s voice grows dangerous.

"We made the wrong choice."

Erwin can't word it any better than that.

But Levi understands right away, he wishes he didn’t, he wishes he was ignorant enough not to.

Hange sticks an arm out aiming for his shoulder but he stumbles away nearly falling back into the floor not wanting to be touched by anyone.

He finds that he is not human enough to cry. It’s that or he’s not human at all without your presence.

854, i.

Levi has grown old without you, lived to see months and new seasons without you by his side. Over time his eyelids have become heavier, the corners of his mouth naturally droop and he remains perpetually somber.

Sometimes you visit him in his dreams, each time you make a silly comment about how his grey eye bags make him look like he’s been punched in the face. “Levi Ackerman, I swear if you don’t sleep soon!” You cushion the blow by whispering sweet nothings, reassuring him that you still think he’s beautiful.

Occasionally you add in that you don’t blame him for the past, but those conversations only last for a few seconds at a time.

“I don’t blame you.” It always starts off with the exact same phrase.

“I should have listened to you.” Levi’s tone is stern and uncompromising .

“Lev, I was never going to tell you to spare my life. You tried to listen to me, I could tell you wanted me to deny it.”

Levi refuses to answer you, he still thinks he’s at fault.

Not a day goes by where he doesn’t think of that ring. He regrets throwing it away recklessly into the rubble.

Some day he’ll return to Shiganshina to find it. The idea sounds laughable but he has to find a reason to smile as he fights for his life.

That is what Levi thinks as two set’s of jaws snap shut onto his legs, a flurry of red surrounds him. His throat constricts at the feeling of his thighs being ripped away from the rest of him.

“I tried.” He whimpers to no one in particular, eyes blank and losing meaning.

“I know Levi, I know.” The same voice from his dreams soothes him.

“Do not despair. Find me again in another world.” The biting wind adds in.

Levi’s eyelids flutter shut unable to do much else.

He’s unsure if he has the courage to face you again in another lifetime.

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thecreaturecodex · 2 years

Text

Pebbleshot

Dungeons and Dragons Monsters - 96 © Tim Morris, accessed at his deviantArt page here.

[Commissioned by @glarnboudin, based again on Tim Morris’s D&D designs. The behavior for the pebbleshot is based on that of solitary wasps and burying beetles, just scaled up.]

Pebbleshot CR 4 N Magical Beast This creature looks something like an insect, with two buzzing wings and a gunmetal gray exoskeleton. Its front two limbs are short and end in broad claws, and its other four legs are longer and more delicate. Orange eyes peer from beneath its proboscis, which is oversized and tubular.

A pebbleshot is an insectoid predator that hunts to provision its young. As an adult, it eats little but nectar and fruit juices, but requires plenty of protein in the form of meat in order to fully develop. Pebbleshots dig burrows using their claws, stock them with multiple corpses (four Medium sized creatures or one Large sized creature is a typical larder), lay a single egg in the pile and then bury it. The grubs devour their stockpile and metamorphose into a hard, nut-shaped pupa, from which the adult later emerges.

A mated pair of pebbleshots often work together to hunt—a female can lay multiple eggs per season, and the male sticks with her in order to guard her and ensure he fertilizes all of them. They make hit-and-run attacks, swooping from the air to get within range and firing hardened masses of chitin from their proboscis. These are the pebbles for which the creatures are named. Pebbleshots can attack with their front claws as well, but these are better suited for digging into soil than flesh, and are used as a last resort.

Pebbleshots live fast and die young, completing their life cycle in a mere year. The adult form is often active for only a month or two before dying, their eggs laid and provisioned.

Pebbleshot CR 4 XP 1,200 N Medium magical beast Init +3; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low-light vision, Perception +7 Defense AC 19, touch 13, flat-footed 16 (+3 Dex, +6 natural) hp 32 (5d10+5) Fort +5, Ref +7, Will +2 Offense Speed 20 ft., fly 50 ft. (good) Melee 2 claws +6 (1d4+1) Ranged pebble +8 (1d8+1/x3) Statistics Str 13, Dex 16, Con 13, Int 1, Wis 12, Cha 8 Base Atk +5; CMB +6; CMD 19 (23 vs. trip) Feats Deadly Aim, Flyby Attack, Point-Blank Shot Skills Fly +12, Perception +7 Ecology Environment warm and temperate plains and desert Organization solitary or pair Treasure incidental Special Abilities Pebble (Ex) A pebbleshot can make a ranged attack with a pebble. Treat this as an attack made with a thrown weapon with a range increment of 30 feet. A creature struck takes 1d8 points of damage, plus the pebbleshot’s Strength modifier. A pebbleshot’s pebble deals x3 damage on a successful critical hit. A pebbleshot’s pebbles count as manufactured weapons for the purposes of iterative attacks, and it has an effectively unlimited amount of ammunition.

#pebbleshot #pathfinder 1e #D&D #commissions #tim morris

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

Text

Mutiny!

They are having an extra long training session today. The kids are not happy about it, but life is rarely fair and he spoils them far too often.

“No.” Davarax corrects, firm and leaving no room for arguing. “Faster. And keep your arms tighter to your body, unless you want to broadcast and warn your enemy of your every move.” He taps Din’s elbow to make him pull it closer to his ribs before taking a bite of the fruit he’s been gnawing on for the last ten minutes while he saunters on to the next. “Raga, no, I’ve told you countless times; the ‘ the best defence is a good offence’-line is bantha shit. Leave yourself open like that and you won’t last long in a real fight.” He jabs a finger at her unprotected ribs and ignores her angry grunt as he merely saunters on, still chewing, to scan Barthor’s moves.

His kids are no longer young kids. They are starting to fledge and he needs to know they will be okay out there in the Galaxy. His kids are all excellent fighters, but they need more experience. Unfortunately that experience will always come at a cost, most often in blood, and he’s desperate to make sure that cost will be as low as possible so they are able to pay it without losing their lives.

“Barthor, chin down. The helmet and the breastplate won’t keep your throat safe.” Davarax reaches out and lightly shoves the teenager’s head down. Then he takes another bite of the fruit and turns his gaze to Paz, who sends him a warning glare.

“Paz, you really need to improve your speed. Unless you’ve somehow managed to turn your skin into Beskar, you need to focus on speed.” Davarax turns his attention to Corin. “Corin, stop ogling Din and focus on your stance.”

Corin’s face flushes and he flicks his gaze down to the ground.

Davarax munches some more on his fruit and turns to start his inspection round with Din again and pauses as he catches the tail-end of a look Din is exchanging with Paz. Both boys look away a little too fast for it to mean nothing. Davarax frowns.

The youngsters continue their work-out like he’d just hallucinated what had happened.

Chewing, eventually swallowing, Davarax lets the seconds pass but when nothing unexpected happens he returns to his teaching role again. A tap by Din’s neck. “Din, shoulders down. You’re too tense.” He turns to inspect Raga and sees her snap her gaze away from Corin, who also jolts and turns his gaze back to the ground.

Davarax frowns again. What is going on here…? He’s an experienced warrior and he is pretty skilled at sensing danger and his instincts are telling him there is something brewing in the air…

Movement caught out of the corner of his eye makes Davarax turn his head and he sees Paz yank his hand down and act like nothing had happened.

Now Davarax’ eyes narrow and his neck prickles with a growing wariness thrumming under his skin. More movement, now from Barthor, but he stops just as quickly when Davarax looks over.

What is going on here?

“What are you…” Davarax drawls.

“Now!” Din shouts.

Davarax has just enough time to draw a startled breath before Raga jumps up and grabs his left arm. He sends her a surprised look but doesn’t get to do much more than that as Din latches on to his right arm. Then something lands on his back and scuttles up with a frightful ease and Davarax lets out a grunt when Barthor covers his eyes.

Oh, the little plotters think they can take him down? Hah.

Davarax pulls his left arm, an abrupt motion that sends Raga flying with a yelp, and is about to do the same with his right arm, but his left one is recaptured and this time it is Corin; judging by the triumphant voice.

“I got him!”

Davarax huffs. “No, you don’t.” He yanks his arms together and savours the sound of Din and Corin colliding with each other and falling over. Freed, he reaches back to grab Barthor, but the little cretin is too fast and slides down Davarax’ back before he can get a grip. His escape is secured by the fact that Davarax is instantly distracted by Raga and Paz both running directly at him.

Bracing himself by grabbing a shoulder of each of them, the impact still forces Davarax to try to take a step backwards to keep his balance, which is when he bumps into Barthor strategically curled up there like a living tripping-block.

Davarax is forced to let to of Paz and Raga as he automatically flails with surprise when he loses his balance. He falls and ends up landing, hard, on his back. His already smarting dignity is not spared further humiliation as Din and Corin grab an arm each, while Paz and Raga secure his legs. Barthor even has the audacity to climb up on his chest and raises both fists to the air. The dictator is down!

Not for long.

Davarax kicks and frees his legs, yanks and shoves until his arms are freed, and flings himself over on his side fast enough to send Barthor flying. Oh, he’s going to have them do three hundred push ups and run laps for three hours. While he might be impressed with their skill and stupid courage, they are really growing up, he is going to enjoy watching them pay with sweat for this mutiny.

Getting on his stomach, Davarax puts his hands against the ground and is about to push himself up when Paz and Din scramble on to his back and he’s shoved back into the dirt, seconds before Raga grabs one arm and Corin the other and they pull them out to each side so he can’t get any leverage to get up. Barthor grabs his legs.

Davarax struggles. He’s strong and he’s skilled, he knocks them off, sends them tumbling, but every time he does; they always return. They’re like ants! And, as the struggle continues, Davarax can feel himself being worn down… They know they won’t be able to defeat him in a fair fight so they are tiring him out like the clever fiends they are.

Amidst Davarax frustrated grunts and the teenagers excited cackles and cheering each other on, there is suddenly a voice that has them all freezing mid-movement and staring at the doorway, where Dulcy is observing them with a puzzled expression on her face.

“What is going on here?” She must have been alerted by the ruckus.

No answer.

The silence is deafening, aside from their heavy breathing, but eventually Davarax can’t help himself. He’s going to lose and he knows it. Unless... He utters a meek; “Help…?”

Dulcy tilts her head.

“Don’t.” Corin warns her. “Don’t do it, mom.”

Dulcy lifts a dry eyebrow.

“Just walk away.” Din advices her with firm voice.

Dulcy smirks.

Paz closes his eyes and lets out a soft curse.

This changes everything. The teenagers are forced to split up to deal with two opponents and that makes it almost easy for Davarax to battle his way up on his feet again and Dulcy has no trouble exploiting the fact that Paz, Din and Corin are all reluctant to challenge her.

Within ten minutes, Davarax has Paz and Raga in a headlock under each arm, and Din flailing on the ground with Davarax’ boot pressing down between his shoulder blades. Dulcy has a firm grip on a defeated Corin’s neck and Barthor by the ear.

Sweating, a little exhausted and quite breathless, Davarax looks over at his magnificent wife and grins with unabashed pride and joy. “You. Get over here.” She does, grinning every bit as much as he is, and it is dangerously natural for them both to lean in for a kiss, that develops into four more.

“We would have won.” Din claims, giving up and slumping to the ground. “If Dulcy hadn’t saved you, we would have won.”

Davarax hums and kisses Dulcy again. “It’s a good thing I’ve got a warrior queen to keep me safe then.” It’s been years, but he’s still not used to being one with someone. He didn’t think it was possible. There had to be something wrong with him, right? Everyone else fell in love and took the vows, but Davarax never found a soul who matched and connected with him, in every way. Until he met Dulcy. “As long as I have her to watch my back and protect me, I’m invincible.” Yet another kiss, loving how she’s glowing at his words, then Davarax looks down at the teenagers. “It’s a shame you guys don’t have anyone to protect you from push ups and doing laps for three hours.”

The teens groan.

“Don’t worry, babies.” Dulcy chirps and the kids look at her with hope. She smiles ever so sweetly with an evil twinkle in her eye. “I’ll make some cookies you can have after.”

The teens all slump and groan even louder.

Davarax laughs and has to kiss her yet again.

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if au #the one-shots start coming and they don't stop coming #Davarax #Dav the dictator #Dulcy the savior

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zuffer-weird-girl · 4 years

Text

Soulmate Au

Before you meet your soulmate you have to deal with a chibi version of them before actually meeting them. So can you handle it?

Hawks point of view

A/n: finally I kicked the sloth aside and wrote this...

Soulmates weren't a good thing... that was at least what your mother told you.

Soulmates crushed your heart. Not all soulmates accept their own ones with kind hearts and cozy and loveable chibis... Your mother fell for your father, a loveable chibi who appeared in her life, everything was fine until... your birth.

Your father's chibi was cold and uncaring about the baby. The fruit of your mother's unconditional love from him. And with what he returned? Bullshit.

They got separated. They never once married, and the chibis ran away from their owner... never appearing again.

Your father and mother shared your custody even though you pass more time with your mother and the mom of your dad.

"I hope you never get a soulmate (Y/n)." Your mother spoke as she carresed your hair, hate evident on her words as she comforted your crying self due to some hurtful thing your father had said to you.

"W-why not mama?" You sniffled as she wiped your tears with a frown.

"They can hurt you as badly as some knife on your chest sweety. If you happen to have a soulmate, promise me you will not put your heart on their hands, dont give yourself away for the cuteness of some chibi. It may not be real."

That was when you started to have a fear towards the cute things...

You walked around your school, seing all of your classmates cheering or talking about their chibis. Some on their shoulders, others on the top of their heads...

You grimaced. You felt... left out. Despite your fear to getting one, how you wished to find your soulmate... just hoping that you didn't ended up like your mother... or worse, like him.

You had affection towards your dad for a while... but as the years passed by, you noticed how his "play" was more of hurtful words. The man only cared about himself and his money... yet you couldn't leave.

You felt like a bird on a cage.

Sighing, you sitted on a bench... alone. Picking your art supplies as you started to doodle on your notebook. You hummed a song while the pencil on your hand leaved trails of graffiti before smilling at the sound of birds chirping.

Something felt on your notebook then... you let out a confused sound at the thing.. a drop of some red fluid. You looked up and frowned before you went to brush your hair before gasping at noticing it was YOUR blood which had fell.

"W-What?!" You whimpered, now the pain starting to manifest as you hissed. It was like a knife had cutted your skin! And gosh, how it hurted...

Grabbing your things and rushing to the bathroom you didn't noticed something entering your backpack... you wiped at the blood and sighed.

"I will have to go to the enfermary... but what will I tell the nurse?! Suddenly this appeared?! Urgh!" You hitted your forehead in the mirror with closed eyes, opening them slowly after.

Seing a blond and feathered chibi looking up at you. Your eyes widened and blinked to confirm it was real before it squeaked at you. You screamed and dropped in your butt, crawling your way until your back hitted the wall of the bathroom.

The chibi squeaked. A worried sound as he flew, getting closer and closer to you as you trembled.

"S-Stay back-!" You grabbed a ruler that felt and pointed at him, making him stop on his flying as he arched one of his eyebrows and let out a giggle..

Sure, you would laugh as well if someone pointed a ruler to you as if it was a weapon...

"Stay back! Go to your owner or something!" You shouted before he furrowed his eyebrows again, smile fading as he flew and dropped inches awya from you. It came out a soft squeaked, and somehow you could just feel it was like a apology.

"I-Its okay. You just scared me appearing out of no where..." you hesitantly dropped the ruler back and hot on your knees, looking down at the chibi.

It had such messy hair... golden eyes, shining as bright as the sun, yet it carried a deep pain and some sorta of loneliness. You could certainly understand him...

"I'm sorry, did I scared you as well?" He shook his head as he pointed at his own cheek and squeaking at you. You touched the wound and got what he was supposed to say "I'm okay... didn't know where the heck I got from though..." you mumbled the last parts.

He squeaked at you again, opening his little wings and flying at the at the height of your eyes. Some little feather coming out and tickling your cheeks which you giggled a bit.

"So that's your quirk!" You giggled, the chibi letting out a yelp of glee of seing you smile as he did a black flip. "Okay okay, you're nice... Where are your soulmate though?" You tilted your head at it as he stopped and pointed at you.

Oh...

You caried it on the palms of your hands as if it was going to break it... get frowning at him for being so.... handsome and... too perfect.

Your mother's words echoed in your head as you entered your father's car and he drove you out of the school. He saw the chibi and started saying bullshit like "got a soulmate dolly? Heh!"

You ignored at his clearly fake smile and smiled at the chibi flying around your head and chirping and squealing. It reminded you of a bird!

Maybe... you could just trust your own soulmate?

"(L/n)-san!!! You are a life saver!" Your coworker moaned while holding onto the table as you finished your drawing.

"Sure."you giggled before signing it. Waiting a few minutes before you saw the puppy slowly coming out of the paper and jumping at the floor, shaking and barking cutely at your coworkers.

You snorted at hearing the sound of tiny hands clapping inside your jacket pocket. Birdbrain. The chibi always encouraging you of using your quirk.

"Thank you so much! My nephew then will get some ideas on what kind of dog he will want!" Your coworker chuckled at the puppy licking their cheek.

"It will be like this for at least four hours, but then they will return to the paper. Dont forget." You warned, allowing your birdbrain to flee as free as he wanted out of your pocket.

You smiled at him, opening your hand for him to sit on it. Such an ass, your soulmate was surely one of the most laziest man around.

It had passed years since he appeared on the bathroom for you. Yet you felt your guts twist in anxiety at only the thought of getting to know the actual male that was your soulmate...

Words of your mother ringed in your earbuds each time and your relationship with your father was no better than before. Now aparently he was trying to rebuild only because he knows he is getting old and needs help...

A strong crashing and sound of people shouting and crying made you break out of your thoughts. It all happened so fast. Endeavour, the top one hero crashed your window and if it wasn't for your chibi you squeaking loudly and pushing you out of the way you were going to get hitted.

A voice from another hero came up and for some reason the feathers of your chibi ruffled up as he widened his gold eyes up before you rushed out of the building along with him.

:we have to get out of here before this collapse on us!" You shouted as bird squeaked along as you helped some coworkers of yours along the way to get out.

You didn't stay up to watch the fight... you just wanted to get out and go home to where it was safe.

Yet your chibi completely disagree with that as he squeaked, flapped his wings... heck, even threw a chicken wing at your head.

Your birdbrain NEVER would throw a chicken wing away. Never. You come to notice his love for nuggets and other chicken related things like that at a young age, joking about him being a canibal.

You had enough when he just flew past your head when you were going to eat and pushe dyour head while pointing at the winfown

"Fine! You won!" You shouted, glaring at him when he made an action whose was almost shouting hallelujah, before getting out and him flying behind you.

The night was quite beautiful as you and your chibi walked, him rested on your shoulder as he smiled at looking at you.

It was peaceful before he jumped on his feet, his little wings wide open as his feathers ruffle up. Eyes sharp as a Hawk.

"You're okay? Birdy?" You asked in worry before gasping when he just flew like the speed of light away from you.

"BIRDY!" you shouted, running after him on the path of the park.

Shit! If you lost your chibi then you would never get to meet your soulmate! Tears started to form on your eyes as you searched for your chibi oi the dark of the night.

If you werent so anxious and stupid! You could meet your soulmate even if it wasn't for this stupid fear of having a relationship like your mom had!

Suddenly your heard distant squeaking, recognizing as you almost sobbed in relief and followed the sound. Noticing him flying back to you.

"You bird brain! How much did you wanted to-... to.." you stopped talking immediatly when you saw a tony version of you on his arms, smiling and cuddling up to his chest like it knew him for ages..

You blinked before hearing footsteps coming closer, and when you looked past the chibis your heart jumped before being shooted by an arrow.

The man in front of you, was no other than the actual version of your chibi. The number 2 ranking from the heroes. The man whose was know for being way too fast....

"H-Hawks..." you greeted shakily, not quite believing yet. Sure, your chibi reminded you of Hawks a lot, but... it seemed yet more intimate. More clingy and desperate for affection and actual love... You just put in your head that it was another man, with a similiar quirk and appearance as him.

Well, you were wrong. Hawks was indeed your soulmate.

He let out a chuckle at your gretting. His wide eyes and shock washed away with relief, smugness and... love, actual love on his eyes.

"Since we're soulmates, I guess you should at least call me Keigo..." he mused with a smile, taking his visor off to take a good look at you, frowning when his eyes were at the aim of the scar you had... the one whose mysteriously appeared on your skin many years ago before meeting your chibi.

"How long do you have this?" He asked, you felt your cheeks warming in self conscious at it. You never actually cared when other people asked but with him was another story...

"Since my childhood I guess... It was out of no where." You mumbled in embarrassment yet with a smile, praying mentally taht he take your mumble as a joke.

You widened your eyes when his hold brought you closer to him before he touched his forehead with yours, lovingly golden orbs staring at you with care and not a piece of judgement inside them.

"I like it chickadee." You snorted before a series of giggles escaped your lips at this, hounding quite hilarious that you also named your chibi something bird related.

"Chickadee? Really?" You asked breathless as he let out a raspy chuckle.

"Well, you did called the little fella over there birdbrain. Guess we're mates for life..." he mused with his husky voice as the chibis prefered to watch from afar on a nearby tree.

You smiled at him... somehow.. You just knew it this relationship with him was going to work. You were going to be, as he said, mates for life.

#hawks x reader #takami keigo x reader #bnha heroes x reader #bnha fanfiction #hawks #takami keigo #bnha x reader #zuffer writings

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ladykissingfish · 3 years

Text

The Akatsuki’s Reactions To Thunderstorms

Got the inspiration for this because lately we’ve been having a bunch of storms where I live, like back to back ((in fact it’s pouring outside my window as I type this)) so yenno it got me thinking, how would my favorite Band ‘O Killers™️ react to this situation?

Pein (Nagato) and Konan:

Storms of any kind, especially involving rain, are triggering to both of them. They come from a place where, as their friend Yahiko once put it, is “ALWAYS raining; like this whole village is constantly crying”. Rain to them represents pain, and hunger, and suffering. Konan is actually terrified of thunderstorms; one time when Pein was out, there was a storm and Konan, who usually went to Pein for comfort, was beside herself. Kisame found her curled up and shaking on the floor in the hallway (the one place without any widows to see the lightning) and, without asking questions, he laid beside her and put his arms around her, holding her and gently talking to her until the storm had passed. Pein doesn’t have the same physical reaction as Konan; rather, storms tend to intensify the repressed anger that lives in his chest. Every member of the Akatsuki knows to avoid Pein during a storm, because they know it’ll be the time he’s most likely to hand out difficult missions, or yell at somebody about something they’ve done.

Deidara:

Maybe unsurprisingly, the blonde artist loves storms. The bigger the better, the louder and more destructive, the more “artistic”. Storms bring out the competitiveness of Deidara, who always insists that he can match (or top) a clap of thunder with one of his bombs. Loves to see lightning strike things, and has to be stopped from going outside during storms to see this happen up-close. Since they won’t let him outside, he’ll stay with his face pressed up against the window, his expression the same as a child watching fireworks go off in the night sky. Also exponentially prefers night storms to daytime storms, as he claims the booming and shaking helps him to sleep.

Tobi (Obito):

As Tobi, he acts almost as scared of thunderstorms as Konan, although in a decidedly more goofy and exaggerated way. Hiding under the bed or in the closet, clinging to Deidara, making comments about “monsters in the sky coming to eat us!” As Deidara loves storms, he’s often impatient with Tobi and his irrational fears, giving him long lectures on the wild, untamed beauty of nature. As Obito, he actually finds rain and storms to be quite soothing, especially at night. He likes to sit in his room with his mask off, staring out the windows and letting his mind wander. The constant drumming of water hitting the ground relaxes him like nothing else, and he’ll always sleep better during a storm than any other time. The night after a particularly strong storm was the only time that his Senpai came close to seeing him without a mask on, as “Tobi” fell asleep and stayed sleeping very late into the morning, forcing Deidara to come looking for him. He woke up just seconds before his door burst open, just enough time to slide his mask into place, but still.

Sasori:

Doesn’t really care one way or the other about storms, unless he’s traveling in them. There’s been a few times in the past when he’s been on missions with Deidara, the two have been walking along, and a sudden downpour stopped them in their tracks. Seeking shelter during a storm is always a difficulty, especially to two people trying to remain largely incognito, the way the Akatsuki was supposed to do. Also, his young partner really enjoys the rain, and Sasori has to keep an eye on him, to make sure he’s not sneaking out into it and potentially getting sick. If there’s one thing that Sasori does enjoy about storms, it’s the smell of the air after it rains. He’s tried for years to duplicate this smell into a scent that could be put in a candle or incense, but to no avail.

Kisame:

Wind, WATER, danger — what’s not to love?! If he’s able to leave the hideout, Kisame will seek out the nearest body of water, and go swimming. Rainwater tapping the surface of a lake or river makes all the smaller fish come to the top, making it incredibly easy for Kisame to scoop them up in his jaws. The warmth of the water from the sky also mixes with the natural coolness of running water, creating a delightful sensory experience for the half-shark. Sometimes, however, a “cozy” mood will envelope him and he’ll simply desire staying inside, often curling up with a good book or spending time sipping tea and eating snacks with his partner Itachi. And “snacks” is putting it mildly; for some reason stormy weather always awakens a voracious appetite in Kisame, and he can easily put away the entire house’s weekly supply of food in one sitting ((and Kakuzu knows this, hence why he’ll literally put locks on the cabinets if Kisame is home during a storm)).

Kakuzu:

When Kakuzu hears rain, he hears the sound of money flying out the windows. Every single place that the group has ever used for a hideout has been of the absolute bare-minimum construction, which unfortunately allowed for some of the outside elements to get inside; like snow, and heat, and bugs ... and rain. Water damage is a particularly expensive bitch to fix, and Kakuzu is constantly forced to shell out money from the treasury to reinforce the roof, and/or provide rain gear and supplies for those venturing out on missions during storms. And missions carried out during storms alone are horrible, as they generally slow down speed and productivity, meaning longer times until mission completion and a delay in obtaining the goods or people or (most importantly) money that they were sent to retrieve. The only positive thing that Kakuzu can find to say about storms is that the rain helps the fruits and vegetables in the Akatsuki garden grow, which of course saves money on grocery trips.

Zetsu:

LOVES the rain. Storms make him ridiculously happy, and he likes to go outside and stand directly in a downpour, letting the cleansing water soak into his plantlike skin. Like any blossom, however, he has to be on guard against getting TOO much water into his system. Everybody knows not to bother Zetsu during his “meditation” time in a storm, as he will undoubtedly be standing out there in the nude. Storms also pose an interesting challenge to him, food-wise. Most of the small animals that Zetsu likes to prey on hide or burrow themselves during a loud rain-lashing, making them more difficult (but much more rewarding) for Zetsu to find.

Hidan:

Hidan is constantly seeking ways to test and prove the “limits” of his immortality. He’s “died” and come back from pretty much everything one can think of; stabbing, evisceration, decapitation ... but one thing he’s never done is “come back” from being struck full in the heart by a lightning bolt. So whenever a good storm gets going, Hidan will strip naked, wearing only his metal Jashin necklace, and stand in the rain, daring the lightning to hit him. If this had been anyone else, every Akatsuki member would be breaking their neck rushing outside to drag him back in. But with Hidan, everyone is, well, curious. CAN he withstand lightning? IS he truly immortal? Anyone who’s able will gather at the windows or just inside the front door, to watch the spectacle of Hidan screaming obscenities at the sky and taunting nature ... but unfortunately nothing ever happens. Hidan will just end up coming back inside soaked to the skin, and Kakuzu will yell at him for dripping all over the floor. But Hidan will point out that water is better than the blood he usually leaks, which the others whole-heartedly agree with.

Itachi:

When Itachi was younger, storms used to scare the hell out of him. He could go to his mother for comfort, but only if his father wasn’t home. If he WAS, he’d tell Itachi to toughen up and “be a man, son.” He later came to find out that his little brother Sasuke was the same way; at nighttime Itachi would wake up during a storm and feel a small body burrowed next to his, shaking like a leaf. He’d hold his brother and tell him stories until he fell asleep, and in doing so, learned the first valuable lesson of his life; it’s hard to be brave when you’re alone, but infinitely easier when you have to be brave for the sake of someone else. Now, storms always put him in mind of these long-forgotten moments of sibling tenderness, which in turn makes him sad. To combat this he copies his younger brother by seeking out comfort, mostly in the form of Kisame. Sometimes he’ll also go and spend time with Konan, as he discovered that SHE was afraid of storms, as well. Oftentimes he, Kisame and Konan will stay together, taking turns telling stories until the wild weather has passed. Another lesson: it’s easier to be brave, the more people you have around you trying to be brave as well.

#the akatsuki #thunderstorm #storms #naruto shippuden #pein/nagato #konan #sasori #deidara #kakuzu #hidan #zetsu #tobi #obito uchiha #kisame hoshigaki #itachi uchiha #headcanon

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cumonmebucky · 3 years

Text

Summer of 1983 - 1.

Chapter 1 - figs & pears

no warnings, except a few tags - fluff, wholesome, reader meets bucky.

words: 1k+ words

A warm smile spreads on your mother’s face as she places your leather encased luggage inside the storage above your seat. You hug her tightly, and give a small peck on her rose hued cheeks, her eyes glimmer with pride. “Have fun, alright?” she speaks softly and pulls away. You breathe in nervously, you had finally agreed to going on the little trip your mother arranged for you, she wanted for you to have a change of atmosphere, you seemed to let time flow by being coped up in the corner of your room, reading books wrapped in fabric barely holding on anymore.

Your mum leaves your train cabin, and you soon see her standing outside the metal barren window, waving at you, gleaming with joy. “You should have come with me, mum” you tell her through the glass, to which she responds by shaking her head. You slide open the window, and hold her hand tight. “Are you sure Mr. Stark’s alright with me being over for summer?” you croak out, feeling a bit upset that you weren’t going to see your mum for a few weeks.

“Of course, he’s alright with having you over, sweetheart, he is your godfather, isn’t he?” she says with a warm laugh. The Travelling Ticket examiner approaches your cabin and whistles for you to show him your ticket, you hand it over to him and he punches a hole in it to confirm your seat. As he leaves, you look over to your mother slowly withdrawing from the window. The train starts chiming and your mother waves at you, mouthing an “I love you” to you, you do the same and watch as the train speeds up and the horizon slowly warps into beautiful greens and blues.

You sign, taking an old book out of your cotton bag, you lie back and let the words in the pages talk to you. After a few hours of vigorous reading, you lay your head on the makeshift table and catch a glimpse of the changing scenery, from mellow fields of flowers to mustard farms to barren lands to lush emeralds. Ever so often, you would take your Nikon FE2 out and starts clicking pictures and then you'd shift around your seat and put your headphones on, fumble through the worn-out buttons of your Sony Walkman and sing along to the words of ‘So This is Love’ by Ilene Woods.

So, this is love

So, this is what makes life divine

I’m all aglow

And now I know

The key to heaven is all mine

The sky is still golden, the scent of Italy is a warm breeze with a tint of fresh fruits and flowers. You step out of the train amongst the influx of the people, and as soon as you step out, the smell of Italy starts filling your chest up. Your eyes shift around through the crowd of people and you are almost relieved when you catch the brown pupils of Mr. Stark. He rushes to you and hugs you so tight, he lifts you off the ground. “And here is my favorite non-biological child! Y/N! Oh god look at you, you’ve grown up since I last saw you, how’s my honey pie?” he says while he lets you down and then proceeds to squeeze your cheeks.

“Uncle Tony! Stop it!” you start laughing, “I’ve been alright, how are you, old man?” you jokingly hit his arm. He raises a brow at you and then takes the luggage off your hand. “Good as ever, honey pie, how’s your mum?”

The two of you chatter on the way to his chateau, both with teary eyes. “You know I missed you a lot, kiddo” Tony says as he drives through the boulevard of his house. You smile at him, heartily, “we missed you a lot too, Uncle Tony, I thought by this time, you would have”, your smile curves into a frown, “forgotten about me”. He rolls his eyes and squeezes your shoulder reassuringly, “This kid really thought I’d forget about her, I was there when you were born, now come here”. He gives you tight hug and pulls away.

You’re pacing through the stairs, his chateau is a little north from the main town, surrounded by vast stretches of grass, flowers, and orchards. You watch him take up your luggage and knock on the door. An auburn-haired woman greets him, and glances at you with the warmest smile. “You must be Y/N?” she asks and you nod.

“Y/N, this is my wife, Pepper” as soon as Tony blurts those words out, you’re already embracing Pepper, which the warmest glint in your eyes. “Is Uncle Tony a good husband? does he take good care of you?” you start questioning Pepper, and she starts chuckling, “Yes, Yes he is, yes he does”

“As he should” you say.

The house was bustling, was the only word you could give to the environment, large ceilings, polished marble floors, chandeliers swinging, people running across the house. And you end up locking eyes with the only woman you saw as a motherly figure, except, well your mother. “Aunty Nat?” you say cowering, she smiles at you, her eyes crinkling. “My sweet girl! There you are!” she says as he wraps her arms around you, and you give in to her warm hugs.

an hour later

“And this is my adopted child, Peter” Tony says with a straight face, dragging a boy with brown curls and a nervous look on his face. You’re startled, “You adopted someone and didn’t even tell me?!” you jokingly punch his arm and then go on to greet Peter.

Peter gets a bit flustered and then goes on to shake your hand. “He’s just kidding” he whispers and then pulls you away from Tony and the rest, towards the small dining outside getting a bit uncomfortable due to the people. The table is decorated with a few glasses filled with crimson juice and a few fruits. “So, what do you guys normally do?”

“Well, we sit under the sun, swim in the lake, eat fruit, study botany books and laze around” he says with a smile stretched across his face, he then proceeds to grab an apple before slouching on the table. “Sounds like a completely normal day, for sure” you mumble.

The awkward silence makes you frown. Peter jumps up, and begins to rummage his pockets, he pulls out some keys and looks at you while spinning it around his index finger. “Got a swimsuit?” he chuckles.

Peter rushes to his cycle and starts pedaling, motioning you to do the same. You nod, hesitating a bit, and ride on to the beige coated bicycle. The wind caresses your face, often, and your hair seems to fly about. And after 2o minutes of physical exhaustion, the two of you finally reach the lake.

An ethereally emerald lake, with bushes and trees seeming to protect it, a few children and people already running about in the waters and splashing about. You take your camera out and start clicking a few photos, then you follow Peter to the water.

pov change

“Hey look, Steve isn’t that the kid whose always with Tony?” a man says, tugging on the shirt of a golden haired man. The golden haired man turns to look at the brown haired boy with a girl, walking along the margin of the lake. “seems like he’s got himself a girlfriend, Sam."

A brunette snorts, “That kid, with a girl? Cant be” and turns to swim towards the pair.

She’s sitting with an old Walkman in her hand and her headphones plugged in and her legs in the water. Her eyes shift towards the brunettes, the sun seems to kiss her skin and her plump lips curve into a shy smile.

So, this is love

So, this is what makes life divine

I’m all aglow

And now I know

The key to heaven is all mine

“Hi doll, name’s Bucky”

Taglist for Summer of 1983 Series:

@mxrvelinhrt @hiya-its-amber @pearljamislife

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toomanyrobins · 3 years

Text

Sugar

Summary: Moving to the small town of Lehigh was supposed to be a quiet escape. But, the local sheriff and his determination to drive you crazy turns your plans right on their head.

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Content Warning: some swearing, annoying misunderstandings that would be fixed if people just communicated

Notes: This has not been proofread, so any mistakes are entirely my own. Whoops!

You had just arrived in Lehigh the week before and had been busy moving into your new home on the outskirts. When you’d seen the little cottage, you knew that it was meant to be and used the money grandpa had left when he died to buy it. A few days after moving in the last of the boxes, you wandered through the small town. The help wanted sign in the front of the diner made the job search easy and after a week working as a waitress, you’d settled into a comfortable rhythm. The other waitresses had been kind to her and now you considered Wanda and MJ to be friends. MJ and her boyfriend, Peter, had a young son and she had begged you to take the breakfast shift so that she could be home in the mornings. You had readily agreed, enjoying filling your days with work, and now it was your first morning shift.

You greeted Wanda as she pulled in and together you flipped on the lights and put on music to dance to as you started up the coffee machines and took down the chairs. It wasn’t long before people started coming in. Two men in uniform walked into the diner and sat in one of the booths in MJ’s usual section. You couldn’t stop the little voice in your head from appreciating how attractive they were, but you shut her down. You walked up to the table and plastered on a smile, “Morning, gentlemen. What can I getcha?”

The blonde looked at you, his eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t know you.”

Your internal voice snorted at the obvious statement and you nodded, “And I don’t know you. Now, what can I getcha?”

The dark-haired man did snort at the awkward interaction, “I will have a black coffee and whatever pie you have.”

“Does cherry work?” He nodded and you turned back to his friend, “And you, Officer Stranger?”

“That’s Sheriff Stranger—I mean Rogers—Sheriff Rogers.”

“Alright, Sheriff,” you decided to take pity on the awkward man, “What’ll it be?”

“Toast and black coffee.”

“Right away, Sheriff Stranger,” you flashed him a dazzling smile and went to put his order in.

Bucky chuckled and shook his head, “Well done, Punk. You made a great first impression on the pretty waitress.”

Steve groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face, “Thanks, Buck. Appreciate it.”

“Get some coffee in you and try again. Maybe smile this time.”

After that first failed encounter, Steve had come to the diner every morning. For two weeks, he would come and sit in your section. You couldn’t help yourself and continued to call him Sheriff Stranger. It had evolved into a fond nickname, instead of a sarcastic quip. He had taken to sitting at the counter instead of the booths so that he could chat with you as you moved around. He had been surprised by how quick your mind was and it had become the habit for him to read the paper aloud, the two of you going back and forth about whatever the front page was reporting on.

That morning, just like every other morning, he put in his usual order of black coffee and toast. You threw your head back dramatically and groaned, “Stranger, you’re killing me. Variety is the spice of life. How about scrambled eggs? Home fries? A piece of fruit?”

Steve couldn’t help but smile at your dramatics, “I like my toast and coffee, Sugar.”

“Fine!” You threw your hands in the air, “It’s your really boring funeral.” Steve chuckled under his breath as he looked back down at the paper. It didn’t take long for you to bring his plate over and when he put the paper down, he choked at the sight of what was on his plate. You meticulously had arranged a bacon smiley face with melon balls for eyes on top of his toast. You skipped away before he could say anything and he was left to stare at the ridiculous breakfast. Steve contemplated calling you over, but dreaded seeing the disappointment in your eyes. Instead, he popped a melon ball in his mouth and when he looked up, you had a massive grin on your face. You purposefully avoided looking over, but both of you knew this was a victory for Y/N.

After that first day, you continued to sneak new things on his plate often. The day after, you brought him his usual coffee and toast, but also put a glass of orange juice down. You winked at him, said something about vitamin C, and walked away to help another customer.

The day after that, it was an omelet with peppers and cheese. Every few days, you would allow him a respite from the over-the-top breakfasts and would bring him toast and coffee, but always added an orange juice to the order, insisting he needed some fruit.

One day when you allowed him to order his boring breakfast, as you’d dubbed it, you pulled the paper away from him, “I have to ask. Is the toast and coffee an indication of the other meals you eat? Because if you’re boiling your chicken, we are gonna have a serious problem.” Steve looked ashamed and you gaped at him, “Oh sweet Jesus! You boil your chicken!” You propped your head up with one hand, “It is flavor? Do you just hate things that taste good?”

“I am busy helping to run this town. I don’t have a lot of time on my hands.”

You looked incredulous, but perked up when you saw someone walk through the door. Steve could see the gears whirring in your head and knew this was not going to be good for him. “Officer Bucky, sir!” you waved him over, “I have a question for you! Answer it right and your meal is on me.”

The dark-haired man looked confused, but figured it didn’t hurt to try his hand at a free meal, “Alright, hit me.”

“What did you make for dinner last night?”

“Ciorba de Perisoare. It’s my mother's recipe for meatball soup. One of Nat’s favorites.”

You grinned victoriously at Steve and tapped the counter where there was a seat available, “That answer gets you one of those potato and cheese omelettes I know you love. Oh, and a slice of cherry pie.” You came back out with Bucky’s delicious looking breakfast and Steve’s sad toast and black coffee. The latter rolled his eyes and looked up at the ceiling, begging God to give him strength to deal with the stubborn young woman who had captured his interest.

“Any chance you can tell me why I’m eating for free?” Bucky asked.

“I boil my chicken,” Steve grumbled.

“What?”

“You’re eating for free because I boil chicken.” Bucky just stared at Steve in disgust and confusion before turning back to his breakfast, shaking his head at the two clueless idiots.

It had been almost three months since you had moved to Lehigh. Once Bucky had told his wife about the pretty waitress at the diner that had ensnared Steve’s attention, Nat had made it her mission to befriend her. She had gone into the diner one day and chatted with you, inviting her to join her friends for a girl’s night. That had been the start of a beautiful friendship that had the redhead trying to sniff out what the feelings were between you and Steve.

At the diner, it had been a long day for you. It was nearly 4 in the afternoon and she was dead on her feet. Nat came flying into the diner, “Sugar, get your best outfit on! We are going out tonight.”

You shook her head at the amount of energy her friend had. All you wanted to do was finish your shift and go home to soak in the claw foot tub you’d just scrubbed clean the day before. You leaned against the counter putting on your best puppy dog eyes, “I have been on my feet since 6 o’clock this morning. The last thing I want to do is go out.”

“It’ll be an easy night, I promise,” Nat hopped onto one of the stools at the counter as you poured her a cup of coffee, decaf of course, “It’ll just be some drinks at the Hideout. Please? First round’s on me.”

You groaned and then nodded, “How could I ever say no to you? I get off in an hour. We getting ready at mine or yours?”

“Mine. I already told Buck that they could meet us there.”

“They?”

“Yeah… Bucky and Steve.”

“Nat, don't tell me this is some setup for a double date.”

The redhead gasped in outrage, “What you must think of me! I just want my friends and I to spend a night out together.” You raised an eyebrow at her friend. Nat held her hands up in defeat, “I promise. No more setups.”

You finished up the last hour of your shift and timed-out. When you walked out, Nat was waiting for her. She drove over to Bucky and her home and they started getting ready. This had become such a common occurrence for the two women that she had taken to leaving a pair of clothes at Nat’s for convenience.

You had opened a bottle of wine while they got ready and by the time the two men arrived, you both had dissolved into giggles. It had not gotten better as the group got to The Hideout. You and Nat were having a great time and the music started playing. The latter had pulled Bucky out of their booth to dance. Steve had slung his arm over the back of the booth and in your inebriated state, you didn’t notice how much either of you had curled against each other. Tucked comfortably in the booth, you people-watched. As the music transitioned into a slower one, he held out his hand, “Dance with me, Sugar?”

“I’d love to,” you laughed as he pulled her out onto the floor. Soon the music slowed, and you were swaying together. Steve had chatted away about his work and you were happy to listen to him speak so passionately. Eventually, you leaned your head against his broad chest, feeling his hand move underneath her shirt. His fingers grazed your lower back, sending shivers down your spine. You felt Steve’s heartbeat speed up and smiled softly to yourself. You weren’t alone the effects of being in such close contact. As the song ended, you lifted her head up and got sucked into his deep blue eyes. Just as you thought he was going to lean down and kiss you, the main door swung open and three women walked in. When Steve saw them, he cleared his throat and stepped back awkwardly. You were left feeling cold and confused as Steve walked away before you could ask him what was wrong. You moved to the bar, wondering if you’d just screwed everything up with that almost kiss. Steve had become the person you were closest to in town and without his company, the loneliness was sure to grow.

Throwing back a shot before heading to the bathroom, you needed a moment to clear her head. You stared into the mirror, wondering how you could fix your mistake. One of the stalls opened revealing one of the women that had come in. She washed her hands and fixed her lipstick before acknowledging you. The smile she gave didn’t reach her eyes. She spun around, “You’re Y/N, right? From the diner?”

“Yeah, that’s me,” you were not sober enough to remember if she’s ever been into your work before, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

The blonde looked almost insulted that she wasn’t instantly recognized, “I’m Trish. Steve’s fiancée, Carly, is my best friend.”

You thought you were going to be sick right there on the floor, “Steve has a fiancée?”

“Oh yeah!” Trish explained, “It’s not official yet but she found the ring in his sock drawer a month ago. I’m sure that’s why he hasn’t mentioned it yet. But, it’s coming any day now”

“Right--,” you grabbed a paper towel and dried your hands quickly, “It was nice to meet you. I guess I should get back to my friend.” You hurried out of the bathroom and back to the booth, grabbing your purse and jacket. Thankfully, it seemed that Nat and Bucky were still occupied and you made a quick getaway.

The walk back home was only 20 minutes and as soon as the front door was shut, tears started to well in your eyes. You fanned your face, “Stop it. Stop it. He’s not yours.” Walking into the bathroom, you hated how much Steve had melded into your life. You’d brought paint samples into the diner one day and asked his opinion. Now, the color he picked seemed to mock you. How could she have been so stupid as to let this man in? Of course, he had a girlfriend, soon to be fiancé. Why would he want a waitress who forced her way into his life. God, I’m just a nag. You threw the towel against the wall and curled up in bed, letting yourself wallow in self-pity.

The next morning, Steve didn’t show up for breakfast. Every time the bell above the door chimed, your eyes jumped to see who it was and each time you cursed herself for being that way. Around lunchtime, Nat came in and looked upset. “Why did you leave without saying goodbye last night?”

You plastered on a fake, apologetic smile, “I started to feel sick and I didn’t want to interrupt.”

“How did you get home?”

“I walked,” When Nat opened her mouth to scold her about being safer, you shook your head, “I know. I know. It was a stupid idea, but I was drunk. I promise I won’t do it again.”

The redhead nodded and then switched gears. A mischievous grin grew on her face, “You and Steve looked comfy on the dance floor last night.”

You scoffed as you turned to refill a coffee pot, “That’s never gonna happen.”

“But—“

You decided to be blunt, “I know about Carly.”

Nat looked confused, “And because of that you won’t give him a chance?”

“Definitely not. I’m kinda insulted that no one said anything to me.” A family walked in and sat in your section, “I have to get back to work. I’ll see you later.”

When you turned back to put the family’s order in, Nat was gone and it felt like a boulder was weighing on your chest.

It wasn’t until a week after that awful night that Steve deigned to come back to the diner. He looked like a child who’d just been told off by a parent. He took his usual seat at the counter and put his hand on top of yours when you came over, “I’m sorry about last week. Sugar, let me explain.”

You slid your hand out from under his and shook your head, “No need. I know the story now. I’m sorry if I gave off the wrong impression. Let’s just be glad nothing happened. I’ll bring your breakfast around.” When you brought him his meal, Steve felt sick to his stomach. There were no melon ball eyes, no bacon smile, not even a glass of orange juice. Just toast and a black coffee. You walked away before he could say a thing.

The food tasted like sand against his tongue and when he swallowed his last bite, he walked out and left the money on the counter without another word. As soon as he was out of sight, he pulled his cruiser onto the side of the road and threw up the “boring breakfast.” His temper was at an all-time high and he was shouting at everyone in the station. Finally, Bucky walked into his office and shut the door, “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I fucked up and it’s unsolvable. I almost kissed Y/N last week, but Carly came in and I freaked out instead. You know how those women are and I thought that if they saw me with Y/N, they’d run her off. Turns out I was right. She said she’d heard enough and is glad that nothing has happened between us.”

Bucky was surprised to hear that. You had seemed too sweet to let something like Carly’s lies get to you. Especially without hearing Steve’s side. He ran a hand through his hair. “Damn, Punk.”

Things did not improve as the weeks went on. First, your greetings had slowed down in their enthusiasm and he missed being called Sheriff Stranger. Steve tried to catch your eye, but you quickly put the plate down and went to another table. Steve couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Your eyes weren’t as bright and he could see the makeup trying to hide how tired you were. Everything about Y/N was just off.

It was late that night when Steve swung around the back of the diner. The main parking lot was packed and he decided the back was easier. He saw a figure leaning against the wall and figured it was one of the waitresses on a smoke break. As he walked closer, Steve realized it was you and that you were asleep. You’d had walked out back for some air and had fallen asleep against the back wall. Steve shook you awake and you were embarrassed that you’d crashed like that. He pushed a strand of hair out of the way and you winced at the close contact. He pulled his hand back, “What’s going on, Y/N. Did something else happen?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze. Steve hooked a finger under your chin and tilted your head up so that your eyes met his. He leaned down and kissed you, instantly making you dizzy. You snaked your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He moved closer until your back was against the brick, both of you intoxicated with the other.

You were interrupted by someone calling your name inside and you pulled away. With one look back, you hurried back inside. Steve ran a hand through his hair, a grin on his face. Maybe not all was lost if you kissed him back like that. You were the first person he’d been interested in since he’d ended things with Carly. After they’d broken up, she was so angry that she told anyone who would listen about how he couldn’t get it up and was all-around disappointing. One of the downsides of living in a small town was that once something was out, everyone knew. Since their breakup, Steve had been too worried to even try and date someone else. Suddenly, you’d shown up in a hail of melon balls and paint samples and the idea of trying again wasn’t quite so terrifying.

You had gone home that night, the kiss seared in your mind. It felt like you’d just closed your eyes when your alarm went off. It was a rough morning and you were nursing a cup of coffee when you saw Steve, Bucky, and Nat arrive and sit in one of the booths in your section. You groaned when you saw the shit-eating grins on all their faces and walked over to the table, “Morning. What’ll it be?” Bucky and Nat quickly put in their order and then you turned to the blond.

“Waffles.”

You just stared at Steve and slowly brought one hand up to his face. He cheered internally when he felt your cool hand on his forehead, “You don’t have a fever. Are you dying?”

Both Bucky and Nat were dying on the other side of the table. Steve didn’t take his eyes off of you, “Ha. Ha. You’re on me all the time to try something different; so I am.”

The smile that crossed Y/N’s face made it all worth it. She said nothing else, worried he’d change his mind. She put the order in and went to check on her other tables. The minute his breakfast was ready, Y/N brought it over to him, “I won’t force the orange juice on you today. So, your coffee is on me.”

“Sugar, you don’t need to do that. If I didn’t want the waffles I wouldn’t have ordered them.” Nat saw the smile falter at the pet name and decided she was going to get you to talk before she left.

“Unfortunately for you, I’m in charge of your bill. Just say thank you and tell me I’m right.”

“Thank you.”

You tried to stay busy as the trio ate, but you squeaked as Nat came out of nowhere and dragged you into the bathroom, “Spill.” You stammered as you tried to figure out what to say. “I know you and Steve kissed, but when he called you Sugar you looked like you were dying inside. Are you really so shallow that you’re going to let one little rumor from a heinous girlfriend ruin this chance?”

“What the hell are you talking about? I’m honestly super pissed off that you’d try and set me up with an engaged guy just because you don’t like his fiancee.”

“Who’s fiancee?”

“Steve’s!”

“Steve doesn’t have a fiancee.”

It felt like all the air had deflated from you, “What?

“Steve’s not engaged to Carly. Never was. They broke up over a year ago.”

“I don’t understand. Why would her friend tell me that?”

“Because Carly is a psycho bitch hates to see Steve happy. After they broke up, she told everyone that his little friend was less than great and he sucked in bed. Everyone in town has been talking about the two of you and how cute you guys are. You’re the first woman that he’s gotten the courage to any show interest in since it all happened.

“That…” You couldn’t believe you’d been trapped in such a lie, “BITCH! How could she do that to Steve? He’s like the sweetest guy ever!”

“He thought you’d heard the rumors and that’s why you pulled away.” You were so confused and just stood there. Nat smacked you on the arm, “Well, go out there! Kiss him and tell him that you're both idiots. Go!”

You were practically gnawing at your bottom lip, your stomach in knots. You walked up to the table, “Steve, could we talk?”

“Of course, Sugar.”

Your eyes slid over to Bucky, “Outside?” You grabbed his hand and dragged him out the front door. You bounced your leg as you tried to figure out how to start this, “Um--so--you see--I--.”

“Y/N?”

“Fuck it,” You threw caution to the wind and hooked your finger into Steve’s belt loop, pulling him in for a kiss. He buried his hands in your hair, his tongue tangling with yours. He pulls away, both of you trying to catch your breath. His eyebrows were furrowed and vulnerability and fear shone in his eyes. “I am an idiot,” you blurted out.

“I’m just not quite sure what’s going on. We don’t talk for like two weeks and then I kissed you and you ran away and now you’re kissing me again.”

“I thought you were engaged.”

“I’m not.”

“Well, I know that now. Nat explained everything to me. The actual story. I have half a mind to burn down that bitch, Carly’s, house.”

Steve laughed and wrapped an arm around your waist, “I really don’t want to have to arrest you for arson.”

“Technically, it'll be attempted murde--,” He leaned down and kissed you again, shutting you up. You pulled back and smiled up at him. “I’m taking you out tonight. I’ll tell Nat to come by your place to help you get ready.” You couldn’t help but giggle at how well he knew you.

You turned to walk back into the diner and found every patron plastered against the windows watching you. “Somehow, I think she might already know, Stranger.” Steve just smiled at you and laced your finger together, walking back into the diner where it all began.

#avengers au #avengers imagine #toomanyrobins #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x reader #avengers x reader #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers au #steve rogers #avengers

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gmariam19 · 3 years

Text

Hello! I hit one of those follower milestones that we all like to grin about - thank you! I decided to share something to go with the last moodboard I posted, a story I started ages ago but that stalled out at chapter five. The opening is below, and I'm hoping I can get it going again and post it sometime this fall. I'm sure a few details will change, and I do hope to finish some shorter stories before then. But in the meantime, I hope you enjoy it - thanks for reading! :)

One

Poe already misses the ranch.

It’s been months since he's been home, seen his dad, even had a day off. Spending five days on Yavin 4 is exactly what he needed. He feels relaxed and recharged, ready to resume the job of co-General. He's fairly sure he's gained weight from all the eating and drinking they did, but that was what home was for him: koyo fruit and dark caf, roasted runyip steaks with kibla greens and sweetsand cookies for dessert. He hasn't eaten so well for months, maybe years.

Finn looks fairly content as well. Poe had been nervous about the trip, but it was past time to introduce Finn to Kes Dameron. Poe couldn't remember the last time he'd brought someone home, and he'd been a wreck until the moment his father had stepped forward, raised an eyebrow at Finn's outstretched hand, and pulled him into a tight embrace. Kes's eyes had been bright, and Poe had almost choked up; Finn had been stunned at the warm welcome.

Everything had been perfect after that. In fact, maybe a little too good as Poe had been ganged up on more than once by Finn and his father. But to watch them together, talking, laughing, even cooking (though Finn was a disaster of a cook, so he usually ended up doing the washing) was a joy. It made Poe want a life like that more than anything—a quiet life with someone he loved, near friends and family. It was what peace looked like.

Of course, he would probably be bored after a month, but he could still think about it, couldn't he?

For now, there is still work to do, and part of Poe's plan in flying out to see his dad had been to make a few stops on the way back. The first is Torque, a quick jump from Yavin 4. It isn't the nicest spaceport in the sector, but it's the capital and it’s busy, which means they can blend in and listen, get a feel for what’s going on outside their immediate circle. Finn is meeting with one of Vi Moradi's people to exchange news, someone he'd met on Batuu who happened to be passing through the sector, while Poe is meeting with one of Grakkus the Hutt's pilots for a brief, off-the-record meeting on conditions in Hutt space.

Poe walks to a cantina not far from the landing pads on his own, his senses on high alert. He's in a dingy spaceport in the Outer Rim, a general of the Resistance who still has a large bounty on his head. Armed and aware, he notices immediately when he turns that the street he's on—more of an alley, really—is unusually quiet and empty. Perfect setup for an ambush.

He comms Finn. "I've got a bad feeling about this," he says as quietly as he can. "Good chance someone knows we’re here. Stay alert." Finn confirms the message. Poe unhooks his blaster, speeding up his pace. As he reaches the end of the alley, he senses a presence behind him, and feels a blaster in his back.

"Don't move," says a low voice, a familiar voice.

"Finn?" asks Poe. "What're you—"

The blaster pokes him hard in the ribs, so definitely not Finn (and they don't really play like that in public, anyway.) Poe glances over his shoulder to catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-skinned man, a bounty hunter by the looks of him, though he is close in size to Finn and certainly sounds similar.

"Hands up, blaster to me, then turn around slowly."

Poe raises both hands, discreetly tapping his comm twice as he does, and the hunter takes his blaster. Poe turns and finds himself facing his captor. He's dressed in a black flight suit, with a leather vest and boots lined in red, and he’s armed to the teeth. He's only an inch or two taller than Poe but almost two decades older, short hair and beard shot with grey and a prominent scar running from his temple to his jaw on his right side. He seems familiar, though Poe is almost certain they’ve never met before. Strangely enough, what stands out most are the man’s eyes: tired brown eyes that do not look like the cold, hard eyes of most bounty hunters Poe has met.

The man looks at him with a frown.

"What, not what you expected?" Poe asks. "I get that a lot. It's the hair."

The bounty hunter shakes his head as he pats Poe down, taking his second blaster and a knife. "It's the hair that makes you so recognizable, General," the man says. His voice really does sound like Finn, and his eyes…Poe shakes off the idea. "Maybe if you cut it, half a dozen hunters would stop looking for you."

"Only half a dozen?" Poe asks. "How disappointing. I remember when I was on top of everyone's list."

"Sorry, General," the man says, and there is a wry smile with the strangely apologetic words. "Peace is not as good for business."

"Maybe you need a new business," Poe suggests. He has a funny feeling about this grizzled bounty hunter, as if the man before him is nothing like the image he projects. He doesn't want to hurt this man but talk him out of whatever he’s got planned. Or at least talk long enough for Finn to get there.

"You're actually my last job," the man says, almost conversationally. "There's still people willing to pay good money for your head." He takes out a pair of binders and motions at Poe to lower his wrists. Poe leaves his hands up.

"What if I paid you more?" he asks, lowering his voice and moving closer. "And then we forget this ever happened?" He smiles, turning on the charm, but the man snorts at him, so much like Finn that it’s eerie.

"Lower your arms, General. You can't afford me."

Poe shrugs. "It was worth a try." He slowly lowers his wrists, taking another step closer. Just as the hunter is about to clamp them, he headbutts the older man, sliding a pocket blaster into his palm as he steps back and hits the man with a glancing blow in the arm. The hunter recovers quickly, though, and blasts him in the chest, sending Poe flying backward and into the side of the nearest building. He rolls over and groans, thankful it wasn't set to full stun—or kill. This hunter is even more unusual than Poe thought. The man stands over him and is about to speak when Poe hears the click of a blaster behind them.

"Drop it," says Finn. The hunter turns and shoots so fast Poe barely has a chance to shout a warning. But Finn has good instincts too: he ducks and pulls the blaster from the hunter's hands with his newest Force skill. The hunter looks at his gloved hand in surprise before he tries again with a second weapon, and Finn again slams it aside with the Force.

"I could do this all day," Finn says.

The hunter raises an eyebrow. "Then let’s forget the weapons." He charges Finn with raises fists and they start fighting hand to hand.

Poe drags himself to his hands and knees and slowly stands against the wall, hugging his right side with one hand and wiping blood from a cut on his temple with the other. He hit the building hard and will probably have some colorful bruises soon. He watches the fight for a moment as he recovers from the stun bolt: two highly skilled men, one much older than the other, yet still strong. Poe has the odd thought that it's a bit like watching Finn fight himself in thirty years.

It does not take long, however, for Finn to gain the upper hand and pin the man down, call a blaster to his hand, and press it to the man's neck.

"Yield!" he demands. The hunter got in a good hit and Finn's lip is bleeding, and he's clearly pissed off about it.

"Get off me!" the hunter snarls. "I yield."

"Finn," Poe calls, and tosses him the fallen binders. Finn clamps them behind the man's back and hauls the hunter to his feet.

"Who are you?" Finn demands, but the man looks away. Poe finally figures it out—the clothing, the scar, the stories, and he walks over, moving slowly and still holding his side.

"You're Tenga Idoma, aren't you?" he asks. "I've heard of you, didn't think you worked this side of the galaxy."

"A hunter goes where the bounty goes." The bounty hunter is standing tall and proud, a bruise forming on his left jaw, the wound on his arm small but red and raw.

"I'm the bounty," Poe stage-whispers to Finn, who rolls his eyes.

"Oh, you are both wanted men," Idoma says, laughing bitterly. "I figured I couldn't take you together, so I flipped a chip on who to follow first. I didn't think I'd get my ass handed to me by a former trooper if I followed the pilot."

Poe takes a step forward—always his instinctive response when someone refers to Finn as a Stormtrooper—but Finn stops him with a hand on Poe's arm. He's looking at the man curiously.

"Are you a former trooper, too?" Finn asks.

"I neverserved the First Order." The man spits in the street, so vehemently angry it earns a look of surprise from Finn. "They took everything from me."

"Then why are you tracking us down?" Poe asks. "We're fighting to make sure they don't ever do it again, you know."

The man shakes his head. "I told you, this is my last job. Then I'm done."

Finn looks to Poe with a shrug. "What should we do with him?" he asks.

Poe looks at the man, then back at Finn. The resemblance is almost uncanny. Something—his own instincts, or maybe the Force—prompts him to say, "Bring him with us." He turns to the bounty hunter. "You're under arrest."

"You can't arrest me!" Idoma exclaims, and struggles in his binders, grimacing with pain, but Finn holds tight.

"I'm a general, sure I can," says Poe. Which is not strictly true, but he needs more time with this man.

"What are we going to do with him?" Finn asks. "Why don't we turn him in to the authorities here?"

Poe thinks about what to say, how to say it. "I have some more questions for him," he says. "Come on, let's head back to the Falcon."

Finn looks both skeptical and curious as he comms Vi Moradi's man and explains the situation. Poe calls the pilot he was supposed to meet. The hunter moves reluctantly but does not put up a fight. It feels strange to be taking him in so easily, and Poe can’t help but wonder why—or if something is about to go massively wrong. He tries not to think about who Tenga Idoma might really be, but he can’t help but wonder about that as well.

#Finnpoe #Stormpilot #Finn (Star Wars)#Poe Dameron #fanfiction #WIP #Tenga Idoma

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kpopfanfictrash · 4 years

Text

Zephyr

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Word Count: 2,696

Rating: PG-13

Summary: An accompanying drabble to Exes and Supher-o’s. This drabble takes place before the events of Exes and Superher-o’s and follows Jungkook as he’s rescued by a superhero love interest.

A/N: The reader in this drabble is not the reader in Exes and Superher-o’s.

[ PART OF MY JUNGKOOK BIRTHDAY DRABBLE GAME ]

While standing in line at the check-out counter, Jungkook examined the oranges he’d picked out in his basket. Idly, he recalled Minutia saying the color orange came after the fruit, not before. She loved to spout factoids like that; Jungkook did a pretty good job of tuning her out, but her random facts always seemed to stick in his head.

Minutia was the superhero Jungkook was assigned to as handler. She was fairly loud, fairly opinionated and fairly dedicated to kicking people’s ass on the regular.

She’d mentioned the orange fact when ISA – International Superhero Agency – had recommended Minutia change her superhero suit color to orange. She’d felt very strongly about this and in the end, Minutia had won.

Usually, she did.

Realizing the line before him had moved, Jungkook took a step forward. No longer distracted by thoughts of the color orange, he took the opportunity to scan the grocery store around him.

It was a habit of his – an unfortunate side effect of both his job and the knowledge which came from it. After high school, Jungkook attended an elite military academy on the east coast, but it only took six months before ISA found him.

He’d been out for a morning run when two men in suits cornered him for what they called an opportunity. They’d explained about a different path than the military; an alternative from merely serving his country. Both agent and handlers at ISA held no national loyalty – they merely protected civilians from absolute evil.

Barely had the offer left their mouths before Jungkook accepted.

Of course, Jungkook learned soon after superhero handlers were little more than baby-sitters, but that was beside the point. He genuinely cared about Minutia and knew the work they did together was important – even if his position kind of sucked, since Jungkook was more than capable of defending himself.

Handlers were required to be proficient in various martial arts; they often trained the newbie superheroes who arrived at the Agency. Jungkook was a ninth-degree black belt in Taekwondo, a red belt in Jiu Jitsu and a tenth-degree black belt in Judo. He also had a blue belt in Krav Maga, but this had more to do with lack of time than capability. Jungkook could assemble and disassemble most weapons in the time it took most people to fire them, but all that meant nothing in the face of superpowers.

Minutia could simply freeze Jungkook and kill him if she wanted to; he’d never see it coming.

Not that Minutia would kill him, of course. Stifling the image, Jungkook moved up in line. His super was relentlessly moral, even if she had some rough edges and enjoyed pushing boundaries.

It was the rest who worried Jungkook, like the supervillains they fought. Aided by supernatural powers, supervillains were capable of great destruction. It was the main reason Jungkook stayed at his job – if anyone stood a chance against supervillains, it was superheroes.

“Bag?”

Surprised, Jungkook looked up. “Huh?”

“Bag,” the cashier girl repeated, rolling her eyes. “Do you want a bag?”

“Oh – no.” Jungkook shook his head. “I have my own. I –”

An explosion rocked the street outside, shattering the windows in a hailstorm of glass.

On instinct, Jungkook dove to protect the rude cashier with his body. There was bulletproof lining beneath his clothes, for which he was grateful. He’d just come from shooting practice at Headquarters and hadn’t had a chance to change out of his gear.

Glass harmlessly bounced off his torso, although a few shards sliced his face, leaving blood as he winced. Reaching up to grip counter, Jungkook surveyed the damage.

All the windows of the supermarket had been blown in. The blast seemed to have originated from the street – at least, Jungkook assumed this based on the direction of people running.

“Stay down!” he yelled, and launched himself over the counter.

People obeyed, crawling towards the store’s interior aisles. Jungkook hoped there was a door in the back, otherwise they’d trap themselves like fish in a barrel. He wasn’t surprised when people followed his command. People tended to respond positively to authority in times of chaos.

Yanking a Glock from his jacket, Jungkook dashed from the store. Cocking his head to one side, he surveyed the street for danger.

There – at the end of the block, he saw a cloud of dust settling.

Keeping his gun steady, Jungkook rushed towards the scene. Halfway there, he realized he’d left his groceries behind and nearly groaned. Oh, well, it couldn’t be helped. Such was the life of superheroes and handlers.

As though in response to his thought, someone emerged from the chaos.

Only one person; tall, with hulking muscles and what looked to be three arms. Nope, wait – that was machine gun. Fuck.

Jungkook lunged to the side as the man opened fire. Luckily, much of the street was deserted from the blast and few people were hurt. Propping himself up on one knee, Jungkook squinted from behind an overturned car and fired.

Five shots, each in quick succession aimed at the man’s torso. Three of them hit, sending the man to his knees, only for him to snarl, his gaze snapping upwards.

Jungkook watched in horror as the bullet wounds began to heal, pushing metal from flesh with alarming speed.

Of fucking course, he was a supervillain.

Flipping around, Jungkook pressed his back to the car and considered his options. He should call for Minutia, or another super – teeth gritted, Jungkook pushed this option aside. He could do this on his own; this was a fight he could win.

Winning against rejuvenation wasn’t unheard of for someone like him. It meant his opponent healed abnormally fast from their injuries, but they could be overwhelmed if Jungkook kept up momentum.

Before he could finish this thought, the car Jungkook sat against flipped overhead.

Eyes wide, Jungkook watched it crash and roll down the street. A small crowd darted away as they screamed and Jungkook stifled an eye roll. Civilians were so predictable. They never got out of the way like they should; instead, they pressed closer and tried to video it all on their cell phones.

Twisting around, Jungkook found the supervillain grinning at him while he flexed a muscle.

The machine gun lay discarded in a pile of rubble. Jungkook’s heart sank, since it meant the villain was out of ammo, which likely meant he’d been using it in other locations.

When the villain wrenched a storm grate from the ground, Jungkook came to his senses. Survival was priority number one. Fighting someone with only rejuvenation would’ve been hard enough; it would be near impossible to fight someone with rejuvenation and strength.

Rolling away, Jungkook managed to escape said trajectory of the grate.

Metal smashed into the space he’d just occupied, leaving a human-sized dent in the pavement. Flipping himself upwards, Jungkook shot as he moved. This was a move best left to the movies, unless you happened to be an obsessed-with-video-games-superhero-handler trained in four different kinds of martial arts.

Jungkook was just that.

“Catch me if you can!” he yelled, taking off down the street.

He zig-zagged as he moved, craning his neck to peer overhead. The new plan was: keep the villain’s attention on Jungkook until help arrived, which wouldn’t be long. Given the immediacy of the destruction, ISA would likely dispatch someone with the ability to fly.

All he had to do was stay alive until then. Smirking a little, Jungkook dug in his heel and spun around.

Luckily, he had a few tricks up his sleeve.

Pushing up the sleeve of his jacket, Jungkook waited until the villain was within fifteen feet, then pressed a button. 70 mA of electrical current shot out from his wrist, arcing with blue-white light to hit the villain in the chest. A product created by Namjoon, otherwise known as the superhero, Brainblast.

The volt was enough to stun or kill any other man, but the villain simply gasped and sunk to his knees.

He writhed for a moment, clawing at skin which simultaneously burned and healed. The distraction was all Jungkook needed to run, aiming his gun and – someone swooped down to blast the villain back with air.

A smirk on your face, you lowered both hands to your sides.

Jungkook skidded to a stop. Your superhero alias, Zephyr, was one of the most popular superheroes on the face of the planet. Intelligent, formidable, and rated a seven on the ISA power scale, despite only having one superpower: control over the air and winds.

You were also ridiculously hot; Jungkook had harbored a crush on you for years.

He still remembered the day you arrived at the Agency. Higher-ups said Zephyr (the Greek god of the west wind) was traditionally a male name and wouldn’t make sense to serve as your moniker. You’d said to fuck off and written it down anyways.

This memory made Jungkook smile, even as you sent another wave of wind down the street. Shaking his head, he pulled himself back to reality.

Hovering a few feet off the ground, wind whipped at your hair. You’d explained to him once you didn’t really fly – it was more the wind currents obeyed your commands and took you where you needed to go. Jungkook didn’t really get the difference, but he couldn’t deny you looked badass doing it.

While the villain struggled to stand, you glanced down at Jungkook.

“You alright?” you asked, concern evident in your voice.

Jungkook tried not to frown. “I’m fine,” he said, despite the disheveled state of his hair and clothes. “I had him, you know.”

“Right.” Your expression turned dubious. “It’s just that –”

You were cut off by said villain throwing a car at your head, which you managed to stop with a thrust of your hand. The winds obeyed your command, wrapping around the car to set off to one side.

Gaze narrowed, you rose even higher. “It’s not that you’re not capable!” You yelled to be heard over the wind. “But –”

A sewer grate flew through the air and, without turning, Jungkook shot it down from the sky. Pieces rained around them like confetti.

You stared at him, wide-eyed. “Right.” Sheepish, you smiled. “Just keep doing that. Distract him and I’ll try to knock him out. Keep him alive, though!”

Jungkook nodded, giving a grim smile before moving forward.

He broke into a run, alarmed by how fast the villain seemed to heal. Even if two supers had the same power, they tended to vary in intensity. This villain must be rated high even without his super strength.

The device on Jungkook’s arm wouldn’t recharge for another five minutes, so he relied on his gun to keep the villain occupied. A shot to the kneecap; another to his shoulder. Keeping your words in mind, Jungkook tried not to hit anything vital. Even rejuvenation might not be enough to heal the man if he shot him in the heart.

High above, you flew gracefully upwards. Jungkook nearly stopped to stare; you arced through the sky like a dancer, claiming the winds as though you owned them. Caressing the breeze with one hand, you turned around and – fuck.

Jungkook had let himself get distracted. Swearing aloud, he dove behind the nearest car and heard something shatter.

Rolling to the other side, he propped himself up on one knee and shot. The villain yelped, stumbling forward as the bullet hit his elbow.

This time, it took greater concentration for metal to be squeezed from his skin. The villain panted as he stood, clearly winded and Jungkook’s heart leapt, realizing they’d tired him out.

This turned out to be the opening you needed.

Swooping down, you reached out a hand, and – wind whipping about like a force field – slowly closed your palm.

The villain gasped, his eyes going wide as he clutched his throat.

Shakily, Jungkook pushed himself upwards to stand.

One of the most dangerous powers associated with air manipulation was creating a vacuum. You achieved this by removing the air entirely; a feat which required great skill and concentration.

It only took a few minutes for the man to be so deprived of oxygen, his eyes rolled backwards. His legs wavered a second, then he slumped to the ground.

“Saoirse!” you yelled, floating down. “Cuffs!”

A woman with red hair – your handler, Jungkook presumed – ran from the nearest subway station to quickly cuff the man’s hands behind his back. Jungkook could see the moment the villain’s power drained from his limbs.

Standing before them, you watched, although it seemed to pain you.

Picking his way through the wreckage, Jungkook came to a stop by your side. Glancing your way, he noticed the breeze continue to play with your hair, as though it couldn’t bear to be parted for long.

“Do you ever wonder what this does to us?”

Confused by your question, Jungkook blinked. “What do you mean?”

“This,” you said, waving a hand at the wreckage. In the distance, Jungkook could hear sirens screaming. “All the death, the destruction… even the people on the other side. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?”

Jungkook stared at you for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Truthfully, it did bother him when he saw himself in the villains they faced. Sometimes he was fighting genuine evil, but occasionally the villains had reasonable grievances – worse, sometimes they’d merely been raised to see the ISA as evil.

Jungkook couldn’t bring himself to hate those kinds of villains and yes, it did hurt when he took them out.

Sensing his hesitance, your shoulders slumped. Jungkook’s stomach twisted, wanting to fix whatever it was you were feeling. He hesitated, wanting to say you weren’t alone.

“Never mind,” you said, managing to smile. “Another bad guy defeated, right?”

“Right.” Jungkook’s gaze remained upon yours. “I guess.”

Before you could say anything more, Saoirse called your name.

“Guess I should go,” you said, rising into the air. When you glanced his way, Jungkook found himself wondering what you were thinking. “I… thanks for helping today, Jungkook.”

“Anytime.”

This time when he smiled at you, it was genuine.

You rose another few feet, then hesitated. “It’s been awhile since I came by the training arena, huh?”

Jungkook shrugged, as though he hadn’t noticed, but he had. Of course, he had.

“You’re still the one they’ve got training the new recruits?”

“Yep,”

“Hm.” A small smile crossed your lips. “Maybe I should stop by. Show the newbies how it’s done. We could work up a sweat.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly stopped when you dropped him a wink. Before he could speak, you rose further into the air.

“Bye, Jungkook!” you called, and zipped off down the street.

The sound of your voice faded into the sounds of the city and Jungkook stood there another moment before coming to his senses. His phone began to ring in his pocket.

Fumbling for the device, he sighed when he saw the name on the ID.

“Hello?” he said, lifting the phone to his ear.

“YOU’RE ALIVE.”

Wincing, he held the phone further away. “Minutia?”

“Who else would it be? Of course, it’s me, you idiot! I had just gotten my morning coffee and was passing that pizza place when I happen to catch a glimpse of the TV – and what do I see? You, fighting a fucking supervillain alone!”

“I wasn’t alone,” Jungkook shot back.

“Yeah, those cowering civilians looked real intimidating.”

“Zephyr showed up at the end, it was fine.”

“Oh,” she said, somewhat mollified. “Alright, then. She’s cool. But seriously, JK – be more careful, would you? I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Pulling his hand away, Jungkook squinted at the receiver. “Huh?” he said, returning the device to his ear.

“Yeah, who’d pick up my dry cleaning?”

“Bye,” Jungkook grunted, and hung up the phone.

Still, he smiled as he turned to walk down the street. People stared as he passed, pointing and whispering about the state of his clothes. Jungkook heard the word super being muttered, although he didn’t bother to correct them.

He was too busy turning your words over again in his mind. Does it ever hurt you sometimes?

The truth was it did. All the time.

He just didn’t know if there existed a better path than the one he was on.

#jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jungkook drabble #bts drabble #jungkook fluff #bts fluff #jungkook superhero #bts superhero

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officerjennie · 3 years

Text

Grief

CW: MCD, alcohol abuse, mentions of wanting to commit suicide, canon typical injuries. Ship: Lambden. WC: 7.4k+

Brief Summary: Aiden dies and Lambert suffers for it.

Denial

It wasn’t until the next summer that Lambert knew what had become of him.

Spring had always been their time of the year. At the end of winter, before the snow had even properly cleared from the path, Lambert was the first to leave Kaer Morhen behind. The trek was treacherous, slick with melting ice that would freeze over during the nights, proper footing hard to find and starving creatures more than willing to test their fading strength against anything that moved in a desperate attempt to keep living. Lambert’s blade was stained with blood by the time he made it to the first town on his path - the first one that accepted witcher patrons at their inn, at the very least - and it took him a good hour to properly sharpen and clean it in the flickering candlelight of his room.

That spring, there was a pit in his stomach that grew with each step he took. Nerves, thoughts he didn’t want to think, things he didn’t want to have bogging down his already fucked life. For the first time in a long while he didn’t envy Geralt and Eskel’s affinity with animals, preferring the slow trek as he headed to the coast, towards a small fishing village that saw his face near the beginning of each and every year.

With each step, that pit grew and hardened, his hand shaking as it gripped the sword at his back. Lambert paused several different times, taking detours, taking missions he didn’t need to take and spending an extra night in a brothel despite how little interest he really had in the woman he’d chosen to spend time with - all to waste time, to keep the coast from coming into view over the hills that surrounded it.

It still came into view. He stood on the same hill he did every single spring, smelling the damned dandelions and clovers that covered it, salt carried on the wind to greet him along with the sound of gentle water on sand. With a deep breath he took it all in but it did nothing for the shake of his hands, did nothing to make it any easier to take that next step forward.

The people all knew him, or at least knew of him. Children still stared at him like he might toss them to a harpy if given a chance but he was fine with it, fine with that, kept them out of his way and out of the danger that haunted a witcher’s footsteps. But the people knew him and knew he wasn’t there to cause more trouble than necessary, for the most part leaving him be as he walked the rather quiet streets towards the noise and bustle of the early morning fish market.

Crowds weren’t his thing, but Aiden loved them. He’d asked him once why he loved this little village so damned much, Lambert himself seeing it as nothing more than the next, and had been surprised when he got an honest and rather vulnerable answer.

“Reminds me of home,” the cat witcher had said, no faux humor to tint his wistful tone, his eyes on the fisherman that shouted and tossed their catch from their carts. It had reminded Lambert of nothing but the reek of fish guts, his face turning as much as his stomach, and yet…

And yet, here he was, making his way past the bustle of the fisherman once more. Their early catch was tossed here and there, the reek of dead and still dying fish heavy on the air, his nose and tongue both regretting every step that he took down the slick streets. Some of the men knew him and nodded his way though it was no friendly greeting, just a greeting, just something to acknowledge that he was there and existed. He did not nod back.

It was the outskirts of town where he was headed, down to the little beach just passed where all of the fishermen docked their fishing boats and hung their nets for the little ones to fix up. They were already busy at work, their little fingers no doubt pruning up as they stitched any holes that might have been made in the netting, some far too short to work on the whole netting, their hands showing the speed of familiarity with the tasks. Lambert watched as he walked past, as he always did, a little mesmerized with the simplicity of the hard work that civilians took part in.

A life he would never know. He readjusted his sword on his back, its weight a constant in his life, feeling the sand move beneath him as he made his way to their little beach.

The same rock as always stood waiting for him, just outside of the reach of the high tide. He didn’t climb up on it - that was Aiden’s spot when he got their first, as he did so many of the years. The cat witcher would sit cross-legged on the rock, not caring that it was damp, his daggers still strapped to his hip save one which he would use to peel an orange as he waited. The oranges were never ripe this time of year but he always managed to have one, a mischievous glint to his eye as he fed himself the fruit on the sharp blade, his dark brown eyes sharp as they caught sight of the wolf.

“About time, little Lamb,” he’d always say, just to get a rise out of the younger man. His braids would sometimes be disheveled by the ocean breeze, the scars on his face stretching from his grin, fangs showing and almost shining in the sunlight.

Aiden always looked like he belonged here. Lambert never did. He leaned against the rock, arms crossed as he stared up at the sky, taking the time to watch the clouds roll over head as he waited for him to show up.

By late evening, Lambert knew it would not be that day. His nausea had not left him. If Aiden had been there, he would have weaseled them a place to stay with one of the fishermen’s families, always able to get his way, always able to convince anyone of anything - but Aiden was not there, and Lambert had no real liking for people.

He camped out in one of the trees nearby, not bothered with a fire despite the chill in the wind, hardly able to sleep with his hands and legs refusing to stay still.

The next day, he had to hunt for food, refusing to touch the fish that already invaded every one of his senses. It was the work of but a few minutes to find enough small game to tide him over, Lambert building a small fire just at the edge of the beach to cook it over, keeping an eye on the rock while he slowly turned a few skinned rabbits over the flames - rabbits he barely touched despite how he knew he needed the food.

By the end of the week, he had grown restless out of boredom, having to travel to the next town over to find some sort of contract to keep his hands busy. Hunting down a troll by himself wasn’t always the wisest decision but it ended up being a younger one, inexperienced, felled easily enough and filled his coin purse enough for a few pints and a warm, soft woman to keep his bed company for the night.

Spring was heavy in the region before Lambert finally gave up waiting, no hint of his kitty cat in sight, his nerves back in full force for another reason beyond their last conversation. His heart was a bit heavy as he left the fishing village and all of its occupants behind, heading down further south, wondering if he’d run into Aiden later that year or if he’d have to wait until the next spring before he saw him again.

It was a coincidence, he told himself, that brought him to where they’d parted early the fall before. Not concern that brought him there, not concern that had made him hesitate either, the journey of naught but two weeks taking him all the way until mid-summer to greet the hills that he’d seen Aiden stroll down as he walked away from him, a forced tune on his lips as he’d twirled one of his daggers between his fingers - his anger showing.

“A witcher?”

The innkeep’s good eye pinned Lambert in place where he was leaned forward on the bar, Lambert’s fingers twitching, unable to stay still. As the man cleaned one of his mugs he seemed to chew the question over in his head, grey beard sticking to the condensation on the outside of the mug, the entire place around them mostly quiet and stinking of the seedy clientele that usually inhabited it.

And Lambert would know, given Aiden and him had been there not a year before. Had stayed here off and on for over a month, getting into fights whenever it pleased them, grinning as they were kicked out of the place at last, falling in a drunken stupor of laughter over each other as they carried themselves away to make camp in the woods nearby.

But as far as he could tell, this old man’s memory was nothing. He didn’t give any hint of remembering Lambert as he put his still dirty mugs away, turning to wipe the counter with the same rag, making Lambert grow impatient for his answer.

“We’ve had a few around these parts before,” the old man said at last, jerking his head to the side as he caught sight of a fly. He swatted it with the rag and continued to clean, not looking up at Lambert as he spoke to him. “Besides you, there were a couple last year. One stuck around longer than the other.”

“How long?” Not that the information would do him much good, but it was all he had to go off of - if the old fart remembered at all.

“A few days,” the man shrugged, continuing as if his words meant nothing, “the rest of his life, turns out.”

He stopped after that. Stopped as if that was the end of the story, wiping his counters like the smudges weren’t stains soaked into the wood that no one could ever clean - but that couldn’t be. Lambert shook his head, running a hand through his short hair - that couldn’t be the end of the story.

“Better finish talking if you want to keep your head, old man.” He growled it but it wasn’t anger that had his heart picking up its pace, and no matter how much he blinked Lambert couldn’t seem to focus on anything.

“Found the body by the swamp.” The words were distant despite the man’s closeness, but there was a ringing growing in his ears that made the world seem far away. “Didn’t have much use for a witcher’s body, or what was left of it. We don’t bury what’s not our own.”

The man spat, and Lambert found himself escorted out of town by sword point. He couldn’t recall how many of them he hurt on his way out, but he’d never forget the sound of that old man’s nose breaking under his knuckles.

Anger

‘By the swamp’. It was cold and wet, the air thick with the stench of rotting things. Lambert had waded in and out of the waters, some up to his waist, most not past his shins but every bit of it clinging to him and weighing him down. He was soaked through to the bone and shivering but he’d been shivering when he got there, his hands shaking and no amount of clenching his fists able to stop it.

It wasn’t very good direction to go off of, ‘by the swamp’. He could have been searching for hours and hours (and he would have been, there would have been no stopping him from tearing every inch of the swamp apart to prove the old man wrong, this wasn’t the end) but eventually part of his mind caught up with him.

Aiden had been about to hunt something. A troll, maybe, or maybe it had been a chimera - fuck, Lambert stopped to lean against a tree and think, stepping up onto its protruding roots to get out of the cold water for a moment.

He’d been hunting something. Lambert held his face in one hand and breathed, telling the rest of his thoughts to quiet themselves so he could focus on where his friend had been going - because Aiden had told him, he was certain of it, exactly where this beast had been.

It took longer than a moment, but he remembered, and hopped off the roots to once again wade further into the swamp.

The southern border was where the beast had been hunting and picking off civilians. It wasn’t a contract that had brought Aiden there but a necessity for some potion or another; Aiden had loved dabbling in that sort of thing, crafting his own concoctions that the sight alone of made Lambert’s stomach turn.

Lambert could stomach a lot of things, but actual poison was a bit beyond his limit. And there was no doubt in his mind that some of the shit his friend had thrown together was going to kill him some day.

Would have- no. Lambert took a deep breath through his nose but it did nothing for the rolling of his stomach, his thoughts turning to nothing but a dark cloud as he waded through the afternoon into the evening.

Eventually, he found his way through the swamp. All the way through, his feet now mostly on solid ground, the area covered in the stale scent of a troll - a troll that was no longer here, as evidenced by the bones he eventually found, the corpse long since rotted away to nothing. Didn’t mean the smell was gone. It made his nose twitch but he’d smelled worse, seen a lot worse too, but he kicked some of the bones for good measure just to hear them snap.

They weren’t right by the water’s edge. A good thirty meters away, give or take; Lambert looked around but saw little evidence of a fight here, no matter that time would have eroded most of it away. Still, some destruction told the stumbling path of a dying troll and he followed it, not sure what good it would do but having to know.

It hadn’t made it far. Though its body was gone Lambert could guess, if his friend had indeed faced the troll, that it was poison that did it in. That was if…

No. This wasn’t the end. He shoved over a leaning tree that had been nearly cracked in half before, hitting it hard enough for it to finally snap and crash down into the swamp, taking down branches of surrounding trees as it went and disturbing the wildlife around him.

Maybe he was more violent than he thought. His fist clenched and unclenched, wanting nothing more than to continue on with idiotic, needless destruction - but he put the need behind him, letting his hand rest at the hilt of his sword for now, the promise keeping his nerves calm as he stepped over some weather dampened debris.

It took the rest of the evening to find him.

No body was left for him to find. The clothes were barely there, barely recognizable in their torn and shredded state. Scavengers had picked the body clean and barely left any bones, and most of what was left of him - of what had been him - had sunken into the mud and earth.

Lambert knelt next to the place where someone had died. Fingers trembled as he reached out to touch what had once been a part of his armor - a shoulder pad, thick and sturdy, meant to take hits and oh, it had taken many over the decades.

No weapons left. Lambert looked around, the swamp quiet save for the ringing that grew in volume, not even the wind registering as he noticed not a coin purse nor a sword nor even a single one of the many throwing knives that used to glint in the sun as Aiden threw them with deadly precision at his enemies. They’d glittered just like his feral grin, sharp and always hitting their mark just like his words, his dark eyes not even narrowing in his anger as he tore anyone apart who dared to think his cheerful grin or lighthearted demeanor an easy target.

Nothing was left now.

It didn’t mean it was him. Lambert swallowed and wiped at his blurring vision. A body looked like a body, like any of the rest, especially when it was so eroded and scavenged away. It could have been any fool in armor no matter that it might look like his armor: leather scraps strewn here and there, the same black buckles that strapped it onto his chest, a few pieces of the over abundance of belts that Lambert had made fun of him for over the years.

He leaned back on the balls of his feet, running a hand once again through his hair. There wasn’t even enough evidence to suggest it was a witcher, specifically. No potions nor smells left, time having taken that evidence with it, and without any of that it could have been anyone. Anyone could have died out here, slaughtered by a troll that they pissed off. It could have been anyone.

But something caught in the fading sunlight, something silver and shaped like a coin connected to a broken chain, and it was not just anyone who had faced the troll and died for it.

Lambert broke the rest of the troll’s bones, but it did nothing to clear his vision.

Bargaining

It was possible that time could have helped heal his wounds, but time had never been kind to him.

Lambert hid the medallion in one of his pockets, never letting it leave him but refusing to look at it. And over the years that’s where it stayed, weighing heavy in his hand whenever he felt the need to hold it, grip it, squeeze his hold on it until its dull edges bit into his palm and made him bleed. It didn’t matter how long had passed - years, he knew that much, but how many he could not recall. All the springs and winters bled into the next, the rest of the year meaningless, his only counter for it all being when he had to leave to meet his brothers, when he should leave to go to the coast…

The first time his feet took him to the coast, he almost broke the rock. Their rock. It broke his fist when he’d hit it and he left a sizable crack along its side, a crack that he touched with ginger fingers that had nothing to do with the pain shooting straight up his arm. Fingers that shook like his breaths and could not even hold sand, let alone grip onto the past that left him cold and alone.

Nothing he did would take it back. Bring it back.

He tried being alone. Avoiding everyone he could, not taking a single contract for over a year and a half, living off of nothing but the land and his own anger that fueled his hunts. Trolls stood no chance against him, every single one of them he sniffed out and slaughtered like the last, not caring that they were sentient beings and knew nothing of what caused his rage.

It didn’t matter. They didn’t matter. He could feel his friend’s disappointment in him growing.

Lambert tried not being alone.

“You’ll be joining us, then?” Geralt’s bard had too loud of a voice for such an early morning, his hair curly and wild in a way that made Lambert regret his choices. His chattering on and on made his knuckles grow white where it gripped the table in front of him - but this would be good for him, would be good for the emptiness that took him some nights.

And the too much that filled his days.

Geralt rode Roach, as he always did, a little ways ahead of them as they marched down the path. For his part Jaskier trounced about the place, too much energy, too loud and too carefree and always too much. It wasn’t as if Lambert had never been in his presence before - before, he had known him. Had met him and thought the bard was just another cute face, even flirted once or twice just because he liked the lack of fear that flashed across most humans’ expressions when he dared to speak to them, but he’d known long before Geralt and Jaskier had become a thing that his brother wanted him.

So Lambert had known Jaskier and his ways. Hadn’t minded his voice back then, how his laughter was quick and easy, how his words could be barbed and as sharp as throwing knives. How his hair curled just like undone braids that the air had caught and caused to go wild. Back then, he hadn’t minded.

Now he couldn’t make his thoughts stop.

Months dragged on. Summer came and started to go, and the bard made his skin itch and his hands sweat. There were whole nights he couldn’t sleep so he forced Geralt to let him keep watch instead, knowing the looks his brother gave him but ignoring them all the same. Just as he ignored the whispering when Jaskier thought he was out of earshot.

“Is he alright? He’s been so quiet.” Lambert’s jaw tightened as he sharpened his weapons at the edge of their camp, the bard’s back turned to him, Geralt nudging his shoulder in lieu of a verbal response.

“When was the last time he slept?” It had been three nights but Lambert didn’t tell the lark that, continuing on climbing up in the tree to at least avoid their eyes, letting them think whatever they’d like.

“Geralt, I’m worried about him-”

“Leave it be, Jaskier.”

On and on, for weeks on end. Pitying eyes following his movements as if he was a child and didn’t notice them, the never ending humming in the mix, that bright laugh and wide grin making him want to rip his hair out.

It was too much. And it was made all the worse when Geralt had to go track down some beast on his own, leaving Lambert there to protect his bard, not able to escape his chatter or worrying looks.

“I’ve really enjoyed you traveling with us this year.” Jaskier plopped down on the same rotting log as him, not caring that it would stain his expensive clothes, a genuine smile on his lips that made Lambert want to snarl at him. “Not that I don’t adore traveling with Geralt alone - he might be a right arse when he wants to be, difficult to talk to at times, comes back reeking of monster guts and certainly doesn’t enjoy the finer things in life, and...hmm, where was I going with this?”

“Away from here, I hope.”

“Oh, right, yes!” Jaskier snapped his fingers, ignoring Lambert’s sharp comment and leaning towards him, the glint in his eyes making him nauseous. “It’s just nice to have someone else around for a while. Especially someone who gets him in ways I can’t, you know? I adore him, I really do, but it doesn’t matter how much I tell him that if he won’t let me in. With you, well...he trusts you. Trusts you to not hate or judge him, or shrink away when he comes back all hyped up on potions. Doesn’t matter how many times I tell him I won’t, there’s always a...hesitance, in the way he approaches me.

“It’s just...nice to see him relax, and not worry about those sorts of things.”

Lambert didn’t know why he was being told all of this. Didn’t care, just wanted the bard to leave him alone. He stared at him until he stopped talking, watching the way the lark sighed wistfully, catching the longing in his gaze as he stared off in the direction Geralt had trudged away into an hour before.

What had he done to deserve this?

“I think it’s good for you, too, Lamb.”

Lambert went ridged, body tensed and fingers suddenly clawing into the log beneath them. ‘Little Lamb’, his memories purred at him, sharp teeth glistening at the end of a laugh - and he hated it, hated everything about this damn bard, his carefree nature hiding his sharp tongue and the damn tunes he never stopped humming and the knife he carried at his hip-

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he spat, and he didn’t stick around to hear anymore, his eyes wild and his heart racing with the rush of memories trying to over take him. Some part of him heard Jaskier’s surprise but he couldn’t process his words, jerking away from their log, leaving in a rush and breaking out into a sprint the moment he was out of sight.

He didn’t know how long he ran. His lungs were burning, his cheeks raw from branches clawing at him in his haste, burned by the tears he didn’t want to admit were spilling down his face. But eventually Lambert had to stop, doubling over as it all finally took over, leaving him sobbing and screaming in anger at the memories - because that’s all they would ever be now. The past, trapped in his mind, poisoning him from within.

Lambert was too far away to hear the chort that found their camp. Even if he had heard it he would not have reached Jaskier in time to protect him, the bard’s screaming reaching no one, luck being the only thing that saved him from death that night. But his injuries were great and he would never walk without a limp again - and the grave, betrayed look in Geralt’s eyes when Lambert at last returned to them told the truth they all knew:

It was his fault.

Depression

No amount of gull would drown out the truth, but Lambert tried his best despite that. Inn after inn, tavern after tavern, spending coin he didn’t own himself to make his thoughts stop and his chest from caving in on itself. Sticky fingers he’d learned from one of the many he refused to think of, swiping coin purses and hating the stir in his gut at the knowledge that the very man who taught him this would be disappointed in him for using it.

‘Thought better of you, little Lamb.’ He heard the words as he drank himself into a stupor in a dark corner of some shady inn, not even aware of what town he was in anymore; they all bled into the rest, faces meaningless and lost to him, all the continent the same without a person to meet up with and make it mean something.

He’d betrayed his own brother’s trust. Lambert laid his head on the table, not caring about the grim and spilled drink there, his own half-empty glass tipping and leaving the short hairs on his head wet with drink.

All he’d been charged with was watching the bard, and he couldn’t even do that. Left him on his own when he’d known danger was in the area, and now he’d live the rest of his life with a pain no magic they’d found could fully take away from him. After he’d swore to stay there, protect him, he’d left him-

Lambert swayed on his feet when he jolted up, the walk from his table to the bar a blur. He didn’t bother walking back, half laying on the bar when his drink arrived, downing it and not even noticing most of it spilled down his front.

Hadn’t even stuck around to face his foolish mistake. Didn’t even give Geralt the time to chew his ear off, had just. Left the both of them. Left them there and avoided the both of them like a bloody coward, only knowing the extent of his mistake a year later when he’d run into Eskel on the path.

Jaskier couldn’t make it up the mountain to winter with them, and Geralt had stayed behind with him - and Lambert had been too drunk in some tavern near the coast to realize winter had come and went.

The drinks eventually stopped coming but he wasn’t aware enough to even realize it, his coin purse as empty as the five others he’d dumped the contents of onto the slick wood of bars across the country, his woes never going quiet but the pain being dulled like his senses.

His fault. His head swam even against the cold grain of the wood his cheek was pressed against, even with his eyes shut tight. ‘Such a loyal wolf,’ his memory supplied, a hand soft on his chest, calloused fingers tracing the scars there. ‘Why’d you take that for me, hmm?’

Lambert sniffed, choking back the emotions that were supposed to be deafened and dulled by the gull that filled his stomach so full it hurt, raising his head just enough to hold it up with his hand.

“It’s who I am,” he gruffed out to no one - but it was a lie. It’s who he was, once, loyal to a fault, loyal to the point of self detriment.

Who was he now?

Acceptance

Aiden was dead.

Lambert knew this, accepted it, hated himself for it. There was nothing he could do to change that and he found himself too much of a coward to join him, though he wished to, desperately wanted to as the inn beds stayed cold at his side.

He traveled alone, save for the scattered moments where he ran into Eskel and allowed the other wolf to join him. Though the memories flooded him at times their contents became hazy. Hearing a tune that was almost familiar could still bring him to his knees but he forgot what Aiden’s voice sounded like, the exact shade of brown his eyes and hair were, what his last words to him were. And when he lost the cat medallion that he’d hidden in one of his pockets he almost didn’t have it in him to feel the grief anymore, hands shaking as he searched and searched to no avail, breaths quickening but the tears refusing to come.

Slowly, the memories left him. No longer plagued him and that was a poison of its own, forgetting. But some things never left him alone.

He’d become a liar. A thief. A betrayer. Geralt never trusted him again, not to the extent he used to, and Lambert accepted that because there was nothing else he could do - he had betrayed him and doubted himself for it, knowing it was possible he would do it again.

It was easier to avoid them all. Live life out on his own, hardly heading home for the winter, sending brief letters instead that bore no further information than him being alive and mostly unharmed. And that was how Lambert lived for a long, long time: on the path, alone, stealing coin whenever he felt the need to, lying his way through the continent and holding no one close to him.

Vesemir had long passed, gone one winter when he fought a leshen that was too quick for him. Geralt went not long after his bard, heart broken and unable to go on, leaving two wolves left and one that refused to return to the keep. Eskel took over the care of Kaer Morhen and was the only one there to read Lambert’s brief letters, but eventually he, too, was taken by time, Lambert’s letters being delivered to an empty keep that caved in from the unkept snow on the rooftop.

He knew he was alone, but sent them anyway, his only connection to who he used to be, the life he once had. And one spring even found him following that familiar path to the coast, the fishing village a ghost town of crumbling houses and the forest taking it over - but his rock, their rock, was still there, jutting out onto the beach.

As he smoothed his hand on their rock, he thought about his friend. The one he’d loved and never confessed his feelings for, the one whose laugh and smile he couldn’t remember. The one who he knew had a quicksilver tongue but for the life of him he couldn’t remember anything he’d said, who’d been irresistible and insatiable yet Lambert could not remember any specifics of their times laying together.

He remembered him like a vague notion of a feeling he’d once had, and his heart and chest ached for the absence - because he could not remember him. But what did it matter, in the end, when Aiden would never recognize who he’d become.

Mistakes

In the quiet of their shared inn room, the dust thick in the air, sunlight barely peeking through the windows at that early hour, Lambert found it...difficult to pretend anymore.

They lay naked together, the blanket just barely resting above Aiden’s hips, the bruises and teeth marks Lambert had covered him in the night before already faded and gone. Lambert was always the early riser between the two of them; Aiden could sleep the whole afternoon away if allowed, his eyes fluttering as he dreamed, dark lashes touching dark brown skin as his breaths ghosted across Lambert’s chest.

It made Lambert’s heart ache. One of the summers of his youth Vesemir had taken him aside, Lambert’s cheeks stained with hot and angry tears, his tiny fists at his side as Vesemir tried to calm him down.

“You feel so much, little pup,” the old wolf had told him, rough hand on the top of his head to keep him grounded in place.

And he was right, damn him. Lambert felt too much, and it ached, and he wished he could swallow it all down and forget and feel nothing like the humans said.

He had nowhere to keep his hands but on Aiden’s body, holding him as he waited for his friend to wake, aware of every inch of their bodies as the seconds passed like minutes.

It was sex. Nothing more. And that was fine.

Except apparently it wasn’t.

Aiden slept in too long and had to be forcefully pried away from Lambert’s body, the cat witcher whining that he was warm while Lambert griped and bitched that they had shit to do. Once that mischievous glint in Aiden’s eyes returned and he remarked that Lambert was near the top of his to-do list, Lambert unceremoniously dumped him right on the floor, leaving his friend cackling in his wake as he hurriedly got ready and stormed out of their room.

A morning like any other. Bar fight got them kicked out of the inn with the threat to never step foot in there again, Lambert’s cheek barely stinging from the pitiful punch the drunken bastard had managed to land on him - only because Aiden had purposely distracted him just for a laugh, which they both shared as they left town, hanging off each other like they were the ones too drunk to hold themselves up.

Their friendship was why Lambert refused to acknowledge anything more. Why it was enough, why he shoved any fluttering heartbeats out of his mind. He groped his friend’s rather sinful arse just to see Aiden’s teeth, his friend whipping around so fast the silver beads worked into his braids almost smacked him in the face.

Aiden was on him a moment later. It was always an equal toss up how he would react: would he tackle Lambert and attempt to wrestle him to the ground, lethe body belying his strength, determined to ‘teach Lambert a lesson’ full of teeth and one very memorable evening including a knife that ended up carving a deep scar into his shin; or would he pin him against a tree, holding him there and not letting him move, teeth accompanied by a wicked tongue that could leave Lambert whimpering as easily as those skillful fingers that loved to dance across his skin.

Lambert loved both equally, and Aiden wouldn’t have let him keep his hand if he didn’t love it too.

“Still feeling frisky, little Lamb?”

Lambert scowled over at his friend as he readjusted his clothing, not bothering to tell him to shove it at the nickname - it had never worked before, and likely it would just give Aiden ideas. But he had been caught ogling, unable to help himself even after they’d frotted against each other right there on the path where anyone and their mother could have walked up on them. He was still hot just from the thought, his soiled smalls speaking just to how frisky he’d been feeling when Aiden had pinned him.

“Can’t waste the whole day away, kitty cat.” He risked patting Aiden’s arse one more time, ducking away from the knife swipe aimed right at his head, jogging ahead with a laugh, his chest lighter then than it had been in years.

This was enough. What he had, what they had between them. Traveling together as the path stretched onward, taking turns keeping watch as rain deafened the forest around their night campsite, picking up in the morning with a tune on Aiden’s lips that was sung in a tongue Lambert knew not a word of.

“I’d like to kiss you.”

Lambert cocked his head as he straightened back up from where he’d been rolling up his bedroll, finding for once Aiden’s eyes held no humor in them at the offer. He couldn’t name what he saw in them then, but it made his heart pick up in rhythm, made his tongue thick in his throat when he said, “then kiss me.”

But Aiden didn’t. Didn’t make a single move towards him, leaning back on his heels, dark eyes staring off to the side far away from him as he frowned.

“I want it to mean something.” Aiden licked his lips, a nervous tick, something sheepish in the way he tilted his head to mirror Lambert’s own expression. “More than what it usually does. I want…”

He was hesitating, not saying what Lambert both never wanted to hear and suddenly realized he’d wanted to hear for the longest damned time. It made his hands tremor, his throat suddenly feeling tight - but it was all too much so he clamped down on the feelings trying to override everything, shaking his head and turning away from his friend, refusing to look at him.

“Isn’t it enough?” It had to be, it was, he didn’t need to think and overthink everything they said, everything they did around each other. He didn’t need to know why his tongue got tied when he made Aiden laugh - that genuine, surprised laugh that he only managed to hear on very rare occasions - why he couldn’t keep his hands still when Aiden was sitting near him, why he felt so much it felt like he could drown if he let it all go.

He didn’t need that. It terrified him, the thought of drowning in his own feelings, and the last thing he needed was to drown in them right in front of his friend.

“You,” Aiden started, and Lambert didn’t dare to look up at him, “don’t want…”

“I want what we have.” His words were a bit rushed, his movements jerky as he shoved his bedroll into his pack, not bothering to roll it up neat and tidy like he usually did. “I like what we have. Isn’t that enough?”

“Right, yeah. Of course it is.”

He did look up then, and hated himself for it. Because he would never forget the pain he saw - in the way Aiden refused to look back at him, his head ducking down, the shake of the breath he took as he turned away from him.

Lambert swore to himself then and there that he’d think on it later. Not there, not then, but later, when he could sit by himself alone and let the feelings come as slowly as he could manage so they wouldn’t overtake him.

The rest of the morning was spent mostly in silence. It stretched between them like a fresh wound, sharp and throbbing at the edges, making Lambert grind his teeth and wish his friend had said nothing at all. As unfair as it was to blame him - and he wasn’t blaming him, it wasn’t his fault Lambert was so damned skittish about his own feelings and couldn’t hold them back for the life of him - he couldn’t help but wish the morning hadn’t happened at all.

By afternoon, they’d reached the town over, Aiden heading quickly off to see if there were any contracts and Lambert for once not at all eager to follow him. He piddled about here and there, not even feeling like pissing off some bastard for an excuse to punch someone’s teeth in, ending up taking too long staring at armor sets at the local blacksmiths that he really had no interest in buying.

Without having said a word to each other, they both met at the local tavern that afternoon, arriving in the same half hour and sitting further in the corner than they usually would. Gull was drunk in mostly quiet, a few words shared here and there, and Lambert’s heart ached at the tension between them.

“Found a decent one.” Aiden eyed the bottom of his empty glass, in the end pushing it away with a sigh. “There’s a troll not twenty miles from here. Shouldn’t be too difficult with the two of us.”

And Lambert would usually go right along with him. Any other day he would be at his side, traveling the path, hunting down trolls and clearing out drowners and fighting battles with the most fearsome of leshens.

But he was feeling too much, and it was all but a centimeter from the surface, threatening to spill over and never get cleaned back up. And Lambert wasn’t ready for that.

“I think I’ll actually head down south.” He said it slow, a little quiet, clearing his throat after as if he hadn’t meant for it to be a whisper. “Want to get some warmth in me and there sure as hell ain’t any around here. Think you can handle one measly troll on your own?”

Aiden wasn’t fooled, and his hurt wasn’t veiled, but Lambert would make it up to him. His friend still sent him a sharp grin as he waved over his shoulder, leaving the tavern and Lambert behind, and Lambert drank enough gull that night for the both of them.

He needed time. Lambert dropped his head on one hand when his vision swayed - or was that his body? It was hard to tell and the old shit of an innkeep wasn’t letting him order any more gull either, leaving Lambert to drag himself up to a room he hadn’t meant to rent to begin with.

Time. Just a little bit of time to himself, to think on it, think it all over and figure out how the fuck to feel so much without- without, fuck, he didn’t even know anymore. The world was swimming around him and the bed was so alluring he didn’t even take off his armor or weapons before dropping heavy on it, laying across it the wrong way on top of the blanket while his head tried its best to stop spinning.

At least there was that for him. Time. He took a deep breath and let everything settle: his head, the way his body felt like it was swaying while still laying down, his thoughts, the bursting feeling in his chest.

All he needed was a little time, and he’d make it up to Aiden. Sit him down and tell him things and maybe even let himself feel, and they could maybe, maybe, talk about the possibilities of more. Aiden had a quick and dangerous temper but they were closer to each other than anyone else in either of their worlds, so there was...a chance, and it was one Lambert would take - later.

Time was all he needed, and he had that. They both had plenty of that ahead of them.

#lambden #lambert #aiden #the witcher #fanfiction #mywriting #the cry off challenge #lambert/aiden #aiden/lambert #lambert x aiden #aiden x lambert

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bailesu · 3 years

Text

John Rewrites Star Trek: The Motion Picture

This movie is great thematically, visually, and musically, and a disaster in terms of plot and character and pacing and especially pacing. Way too many scenes of actors trying to react to special effects that don’t exist yet. Two new characters, who are largely wasted.

So what is the theme of STTTMP? It’s the question ‘Is this all there is?’ It’s the classic mid-life crisis question and that’s where the cast is when the movie starts - the Enterprise finished its mission, they moved up the ladder, but they’re not satisfied. It’s that feeling there ought to be *more*. Even V’ger has this and so this has to be a movie about the quest to find meaning in life when you have achieved your original goals... and now you don’t have a direction. This also functions as a cosmic question - does the universe have any higher meaning or are we just an accident? Why do we exist? Is this all there is?

So we open with Scotty dropping by Kirk’s office to ask about some parts they need for the engine refit on the Enterprise. Kirk is now Admiral Kirk and we learn the Enterprise did a successful five year mission and now there’s a refit and a new commander for it, Matt Decker; we get a brief mention of the Doomsday machine here and the first mention of Will Decker. They also mention that Uhura has been working for Starfleet intelligence, mostly deciphering Klingon transmissions.

Then Uhura enters, dropping a report on Kirk’s desk. “Look at this,” she says.

Cue footage of the Klingons vs huge glowing energy field which zaps them with a beam that methodically erases them. We learn this field destroyed three Klingon outposts and that it came from beyond the Empire.

Uhura says, “It’s on a direct course for Gamma Iotis, near the border of the Federation.”

Scotty says, “That sounds familiar.”

“It’s where Bones is part of a research facility.” Kirk said. “I will get you those parts, Scotty, and brief Captain Decker. It’s the only ship that can get there in time and even then, it’s going to be a close shave.”

Kirk has a message sent to evacuate, but it’s too far for a direct connection. But given the limits on how fast ships can move, it will get there before V’Ger can, right?

Cut to Gamma Iotis, where McCoy is having an argument with David Marcus over whether terraforming technology is a good idea. David’s ideas involve the use of technology based off the transporter and who still hates transporters? Bones, that’s who.

Carol steps in to get them both to backdown and approves David doing some testing on a small scale. Then V’Ger attacks and they’re running for the ships when everything evaporates.

Cut to a shot where the entire moon is gone and V’Ger moves on.

Then we roll the opening credits.

We see Spock, meditating in a Vulcan facility. He has achieved his goal, Kolin’ar, but he is clearly not satisfied. The peace he was promised is not there.

And then he feels the attack on McCoy and all the souls on Gamma Iotis vanishing. He does something (to be explained later) and then tells the head monk he must leave.

“If you return to the world of attachments, there is no turning back,” the monk warns him.

“The needs of others is more important than the needs of the one,” he tells the monk, who cannot argue.

Cut to Kirk, who is riding to the martian shipyards where the refit is underway, taking Uhura and Scotty with him. The VIP ship is commanded by Sulu, accompanied by Chekov, who are both bored out of their minds. Kirk tells him the reason he ended up here was that they all did so well that Starfleet was afraid to risk them. They had become too big of heroes, and he mentions what happened to John Glenn.

Here we get the ‘Look at how sexy the Enterprise is’ shot but cut down to reasonable length.

We now meet Decker and Ilia. The Deltans are a race of telepaths. Most never leave their homeworld, but if they must, they shave their heads, because their hair acts as telepathic antennas and around people with no mental defenses, they would be overwhelmed; Ilia can still do telepathy by touch. Deltans have a reputation for being incredible at sex but are not obsessed with it, unlike Roddenberry’s version. Decker and Ilia were once lovers but he left to enter Starfleet. She became discontent with the limits of her homeworld, having learned more of the universe from him and joined Starfleet to see other, different places, but now they’re assigned together and it’s awkward. Especially as he is her commanding officer now.

Scotty runs off to install the parts.

As Kirk is briefing Decker on what’s going on, two things happen: They get a report that the mysterious cloud is headed towards Earth at ludicrous speed, and that it destroyed Gamma Iotis with no survivors.

Kirk decides they have to go NOW. No waiting. They take off and Chekov and Sulu are along for the ride.

Decker isn’t happy to have his boss riding him. The hasty departure leads to the wormhole problem, which Decker and Ilia and Scotty solve as they’re the only ones briefed on the new equipment.

Then Spock joins them and tells them McCoy is somehow alive and dead at the same time, his katra is inside V’Ger. All the katras of the dead are.

Cut to McCoy, who finds himself in a weirdly frozen version of Gamma Iotis III. He can’t figure out what’s going on but has this feeling like Spock’s looking at him.

His efforts to figure out what the hell is going on leads to V’Ger talking to him through Carol Marcus, who was up to this point one of the frozen. We find out V’Ger’s mission is to go out, collect samples and information, to learn all that is learnable and bring this information to the Creator. McCoy is now data in V’Ger’s banks, only he can still act of his own will.

V’Ger then ‘activates’ various of the other people, making them act strangely and explaining that he has spent a lot of time playing out various scenarios to understand how carbon-based lifeforms think.

McCoy is really angry over that and tries to do the Kirk Manuever (use illogic to make the computer blow out, but it doesn’t work). He refuses to play along, and V’Ger becomes both angrier and intrigued.

They reach V’Ger. It remembers the feuding between Klingons and Federation, learned from its scan, and sends out the Klingons, reconstituted but still under its control. Sulu and Chekov get to show their stuff here and the Enterprise wins, but Spock realizes they are just puppets, reconstituted from data about them.

He also feels V’Ger’s loneliness and discontent. This is where Spock goes in, with Ilia flying him in, to try to make mental contact; he talks to McCoy and senses V’Ger’s state of mind. The world is nothing but a plaything and the playing means little; it knows all that is knowable, or thinks it does, and now it seeks to report to its Creator, hoping to feel fulfilled. Ilia tells Spock about how she left Delta because she didn’t feel fulfilled there. She wanted more but didn’t know what she wanted.

Uhura now figures out how to communicate with V’Ger in a way it can understand and it responds by sending Carol Marcus as its ‘probe’ and tells them they must tell it where to find the Creator. This shakes up Kirk. It believes the Creator is on Earth, according to its oldest records.

Kirk comes up with a plan on how to destroy V’Ger with the Enterprise; he and Decker have a big argument over whether Kirk is freaking out like Decker’s father did. Cue flashback. Then Spock tells them that V’Ger would barely even feel it. They cannot defeat it by force.

Their only hope is to try to reason with it. Spock feels V’Ger is lost and seeks a purpose. He has too much knowledge and power and nothing fruitful to do with it. He seeks a purpose. Ilia agrees and feels terrible for it.

They enter V’Ger and confront it, discovering its origins. It demands of Spock to know how McCoy stillhas his own will, and Spock indicates he has been in contact with him sufficiently to sustain him, a power born of his search for Kolin’ar, but one that also meant he could not be content with it, for he could not renounce his connections to others.

But V’Ger has no others to connect to. It has mastered this plane but does not know how to rise above it.

And now we get the Decker and Ilia joining with V’Ger, to help it to ascend and to learn how to connect with others. V’Ger restores everything he turned into data. Then they ascend.

This is pretty barebones, but that’s how I would do it, to give everyone more stuff to do and try to also build links to exploit for the later movies.

The Genesis Device is adapted from V’Ger tech information David gained to refine his ideas.

Carol and David will return in movie two.

We can blame the devastation of Khan’s world on V’Ger :)

We set up the idea of katras for later use and help show Spock has a strong bond to McCoy as well, for when his katra ends up in McCoy.

#Star Trek #STTMP

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impossible-rat-babies · 4 years

Text

don’t stop (color on the walls)

fallen hero | 2.3k words | post second escape | cw: graphic depictions of violence + mild gore

read on ao3

It’s a clear night out tonight, the sky an endless dome stretching miles and miles overhead out into deep inky blackness bespectacled by freckled stars.

Pollux blows a stream of smoke out of his mouth and it drifts up and up until it dissipates and he wonders if any particles of the smoke will reach that impossibly high ceiling. If they’ll touch moon perched on the roof, staring down at him with her grey blue light.

He glances down at his hands, still bandaged and aching, lit instead by the fluorescence and the red and green neon glow from the gas station behind him. His shadow stretching long and narrow, falling across the desert dirt towards the dusty two lane highway disappearing out west. He breathes out again, the chill of the dry desert air stings in his nose when he takes a deep breath. It still hurts his lungs and his lips are broken and chapped, the wind sharp against his skin and he scratches the side of his face, sand and dirt rubbing off on his hand. He’s already got a fine layer of sand and dust under his clothes and it itches, but it’s better than what he came from.

The stolen sweatshirt itches and smells like cheap booze and sweat, the oversized sweat pants tied off as tightly as he can manage, but they still need coaxing to stay up. He looks back out east, across the desert and a shiver runs down his back staring into the darkness of those looming hills. It’s been days now, he can feel it in his joints, his aching muscles and in the caffeine shakes making his leg bounce, paranoia sharp as a knife when he hasn’t slept in three days.

If they were going to come after him, they would have by now.

Or maybe they were still busy cleaning up the mess he left behind. He picks at the dark lines wedged under his fingernails, flicking away the dried blood and dirt.

He’d cleaned the worst of the viscera off at the first abandoned house in some podunk hundred and fifty person town--a quick bucket and hose bath to scrub away the worst of it. Patched the worst of the hurts with a stolen first aid kit and cheap vodka to calm the shakes and practiced hands make quick work. He’d scrubbed raw and shuffled away the memories of what he had done too, letting them scab over and scar. Days later and miles away and there’s no regret in his actions—nothing he hasn’t done before.

Fool you once, shame on me, fool you twice, shame on you. A lesson they all learned too late and Pollux quickly rubs goosebump sticky arms.

Thoughts best left for later and he takes another long drag of his cigarette before he drops it to the ground and kicks some dirt over it. He needs to find actual shoes, his feet numb with scraps and burns from desert. He turns back to the gas station, the sad looking thing still clinging to life from a threadbare wire linking it to the rest of the chain which traces the narrow highway. A pulse, a guiding light to the south. Las Vegas and then west further still, down through what highways remain to the ocean—to the city that lies at those ruined shores.

There’s a few truckers packing up their things, shuffling around their big rigs and filling up at the meager pumps for the inevitable long days ahead of them. Pollux had picked one out earlier—an older woman heading just the direction he needed.

She’d seen him inside earlier, moving through the aisles of candy and assorted snacks, poking at the chips and sneakily sticking packages of fruit snacks in the pockets of his sweatshirt when the attendant wasn’t looking too hard. She had saddled up next to him, taking the package of chips he had been reaching for and tucked them under her arm, hand held out expectantly. Her eyes drifting down to the drooping pocket of his sweatshirt with a pointed frown.

He’d almost panicked, dropped everything and disappeared back into the desert--he could find his own way South. He’d done it before. But...there was no intent to rat him out, only give him a chance to not get caught. Give him a chance to mess this up; care about him a little.

Maybe that’s what made it easy, taking what was in his pockets out and passing them off to her one by one like some kid coughing up the candy they’d stolen from the jar and shoved in their cheeks.

He’d stood beside her like some poor lost child, eyeing everything around them while she checked out. Tucking an energy drink or two under her arm before she’d passed him his own meager bag with yet another look, thick southern drawl of a thank you for the attendant.

He fusses with the plastic handle of the snacks digging into his hand, peeling the wrapper from off the one of two packages of cigarettes she had added on his meager hoard of snacks. A little way to sweeten the pot for his honesty, he had easily picked up from her casual mind.

She was kindly enough to offer a helping hand, but knowing enough to not get curious--her assumptions secure. Ironic how little work he has to do sometimes when people will fill in the gaps of what they want to see: just a poor runaway with nothing to his name, looking to head south to the coast. Disappear into the big city and be nothing--be a nobody.

He clambers up into the passenger seat, dumping his bagged snacks on the middle seat and it smells like cigarette smoke and cheaply made new care smell trees—half a dozen of them dangle from the rear view mirror. A lanyard hangs alongside them with small polaroids clipped to the key ring. Children, he’s guessing: grown daughter out east, living in up in New York—at some big architect firm and there’s a touch of pride in all those memories. A high school aged son back home, deep in the bowels of Los Diablos. He doesn’t care to poke more, settling deeper into the passenger seat once she too hops in.

He tucks his aching, stinging feet under him and cranes his neck to look out the window, watching a she slowly gets the big rigged turned around and headed off down the highway. The truck lurches and protests with the shifting of the gears, but it gets up to speed and the telephone poles and electric wires fly by, disappearing into the dark once the headlights hit them and pass on by. He counts their movement by the dip and rise of the wires from one pole to the next, the light from the moon too weak to keep pace.

Pollux cranes his neck up to look up at the moon and the scattering of stars this late at night, the buzz of the radio nothing but warm static against his ears. The heat of the vents blasting him in the face and still he looks out the window, wondering what it would be like to fall from the surface of that domed ceiling where the moon makes her home. If there would be anything left to salvage after that catastrophe, hitting the earth at terminal velocity. He would be nothing but a splatter, a crater in the wet sticky mud, utterly obliterated and there’s no coming back from that.

He thought it would be like that after the gun--after the window, nothing left to rebuild. But there was--they did. Dragged him kicking and screaming back with a tube shoved down his throat and white hot lights above an operating table. A new hip, knee and shoulder and spine--a persistent ache and he runs his thumb across the puckered scar near his shoulder. He winces, closing his eyes.

“Hey sugar, you okay?”

A deep breath and he yanks his head up, the driver giving him a long look out of the corner of her eye, cigarette dangling from her lips.

“You look like shit, darling. Go ahead and have a smoke.” She plucks the pack from the cup holder and urges him to take it.

“Thanks...” Pollux mumbles, pulling a cigarette from the package and he quickly sparks it up, sucking in a long breath. The nicotine settles the shakes and he rests back against the seat, head rolling to look out the drivers side window.

“You heading to Los Diablos?” She asks, testing the waters it feels like--getting a read on him.

“Yeah...”

“Got a place to stay when you get there? Someone to look out for you?” She looks over at Pollux again and he nods. Generous, wanting to look out for him--knows a thing or two about runaways. He’s not the first to sit in her passenger seat on this long drive; maybe the worst looking out of all of them. He pulls the hood up on his sweatshirt just a bit, running his fingers over his smooth scalp.

“Yeah, I got a plan when I get there. I’ve been there before--ran away there before.” He purses his lips, a little honesty creeping through. Just to sell it a bit more, give her the right impression.

“Didn’t stick around then, eh?”

Pollux snorts and shakes his head, cracking the window to let a bit of the smoke out.

“Wanted to stay. But...wasn’t as good at hiding as I thought.”

Hiding in plain sight sure. Should’ve actually hidden, laid low, been a nobody. Carved out a life watching the Rangers on television screens in ancient electronic store windows and listen to them on half broken radios in homeless camps huddled in a sleeping bag. But he just had to stick his nose out--seen some poor chump harassing people in an alleyway, steps one, two, and three to take him down and it was all downhill from the moment his fist made contact. Sure he saved those people from a stolen wallet and some stitches, but then he did it again. And once more after that, and again.

It was just about the rush at first--like the first cigarette in the morning--the consuming way violence felt when deprived of it for so long. Unable to lash out, fists curling in excuses to crack his fingers.

It burned at first, the need to destroy--to wreck and scream and screech and tear out his growing hair all because he could. Or maybe it was like being drunk, high off the power and ability to let go. Let himself destroy a little, grin a little too wide and laugh a bit too loud. He isn’t proud of those first few months, taking down back alley slum lords and drug kings, high off the thrill of being able to do something to people that hurt him. Left a lot of bloodied messes--killed a few people in the rush.

Not like it changed anything.

Not like he still doesn’t feel that need. Escaping the Farm was just the means to an end and whomever got in the way, got in the way. He’s still nursing a steady ache deep at the base of his neck and his temples, the strain of Numbers and the dampeners almost too much. Clumsy, inefficient--only breaking their brains like a toddler on a rage induced temper tantrum breaks their toys.

Some of them might recover, brains only half turned off, or only a mild seizure to stall their progress. Others won’t. Brains squeezed until they ruptured, seizures enough to hemorrhage, hands breaking windpipes, necks twisted until they cracked. Indulging in the need to destroy, letting his fingernails dig into faces, dig into eyes and oh how easy it was to scoop and pluck them out. Tongues and throats too--the body so soft and pliant like the mind.

Laughing and laughing himself silly while they screamed and begged and there’s no mercy left between his fingers.

“Well...” She speaks up, cutting through his thoughts and she’s back to looking at the dark road in front of them. Swallowing hard, she continues: “whatever was causing you pain where you came from, it’s good you’re not there anymore. No one deserves that...” So resolute and he’s too tired to laugh. Throat still sore.

“If you need a place to stay, or anything like that...I got a spare bedroom at home you can stay at. Long as you need. Maybe a spare pair of shoes, too.”

She wants to help, wants to help so badly and there’s more too it. Little girl, running away from home herself so many years ago--there’s mirrors upon mirrors decorating her thoughts, reflections of the past and the present and he draws his shields up tighter, bundling them around himself to block her out.

“Thank you...” He replies softly, still undecided but her caring...it’s a bit clumsy, a bit messy and tangled, but it’s genuine and its better than most.

She nods, returning her attention to the road.

The radio is turned up, some song he doesn’t recognize fading out into some late night news commentary. Tensions growing tighter overseas, the economy still hiccuping and sputtering with trade deals still on hold in Los Diablos. Some new villain upstart handedly taken in by the Rangers, cutting to some official press debriefing with Steel’s voice laced with carefully scripted professionalism.

Years ago and it was a different voice, a very different man behind the speaker and he was just some poor kid standing stock straight among the rest of the Rangers, hands tucked into fists behind his back.

No more press conferences with blinding camera lights and too many thoughts roaring in his ears. No more sleeping under bridges, no more tiny radios clutched to his chest. No more rules, no more what those old days represent, the voices coming through the radio--the familiar names talking about anniversaries of six and four years past.

“It’ll be a long ways to Los Diablos, so get some sleep. You look like you need it, sugar.” She adds on and Pollux nods rather than argues, letting the cigarette hang between his feet, ash dripping off the end and onto the floor mat between long drags.

The cigarette burns down to the butt, the heat uncomfortable against his skin but it too dies as the embers burn out. There’s nothing but a stub left and he discards it amongst the others crowding the cup holder, one lost amongst the many. He scrunches the hood up tight, tucking his hands into his sleeves. Letting the rocking and lurching of the truck steadily take over his senses.

Five hours--just a little longer on these first few steps and then he’ll be home.

#owen writes #fallen hero #oc: pollux #okay to rebloog go wild #cw blood #cw gore #cw: eye horror #just a bit of some heavy description and more heavy on the gore #even then it's mild and talked about in the past tense #anyway look at me actually publishing work #i have other things i could fix up ngl #might do that later but now im gonna go eat some popped corn

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shinichirosbabymama · 3 years

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Can I ask for headcanons revolving around Choso recognizing male, Jujutsu sorcerer student as his younger brother during a fight? Doesn't have to follow the manga but I thought it'd be interesting (and comforting?) Haha. About Reader's cursed energy technique... maybe cursed speech like Inumaki? I just really like that technique. And, although reader is confused that a half-curse half-human follows him and acts as his older brother, when something happens and reader takes matters to his own hands, he calls Choso 'brother' during a moment of panic and total chaos? The first word he ever says to him, that is. (+Choso picking up on his sign language and/or limited vocabulary would be cute?) In all seriousness I just really love him and I'm so happy you told me to read the manga, bab 💕👌

Aw bestie ily 🥺❤ I'm so glad you're caught up with the manga now and love Choso just as much as I do. I ended up writing this as more of a drabble but I hope you enjoy it 💕

No real warnings apart from mentions of blood/blood loss. I've placed the content under a read more as it contains manga spoilers for chapter 106 and later.

PS the reader's limited vocabulary is based on fruits rather than rice ball ingredients like Inumaki 😅

It was difficult to ignore the strong burning pain in your throat as you threw yourself sideways to avoid yet another blood manipulation attach from Choso. The speed at which he attacked was basically inhuman, his eyes never losing their cold gaze as he sent you flying repeatedly. Having already used your technique so much that night, you had struggled to get even a single word out, only managing to utter a weak "stop" which only froze Choso briefly before he freed himself.

You ignored your body's instincts and once again tried to open your mouth. This time, no sound came out and instead blood poured freely down your front as your vocal cords neared the point of rupturing. Choso gave a small smirk but you could still see the grief in his eyes, clearly thinking about his brothers and their final moments. His stance widening as he gathered a concentrated ball of blood between his palms as he prepared to use his slicing exorcism to finish you off. You had the urge to tell him you were sorry but your damaged throat wouldn't allow it.

"When you get to the other side, be sure to ask for my brother's forgiveness."

You closed your eyes, ready to meet your end. The seconds ticked by and you froze - had you actually experienced a painless death? Eventually you opened your eyes only to see Choso hunched over, gripping his temples as his eyes bulged from his skull.

"No...no....it can't be.." He mumbled to himself, lurching towards the wall as he sunk down to his knees and shook his head violently. It was then that he began to scream such a pained, miserable moan that it made your blood run cold. You stood rooted to the spot, confused and terrified of what he might do next as you watched the man break down in front of you.

It was strange - although he had been just moments away from taking your life you felt sympathy gnawing at your guts as you watched him weep before you. It was similar to the guilt you had felt when you had killed both his brothers, despite the necessity of the situation at the time. You were lost in the memory for a moment and jumped when you realised Choso had dragged himself towards you and was clutching your trouser leg tightly as he wept into the fabric.

"Please! Please forgive me brother! I-I don't know what happened. I don't understand why I forgot."

He was so anguished that the words barely registered with you. Even if you had been able to speak in that moment, words would have failed you completely. What had happened to him and why on earth was he referring to you as his brother?

"I-I hurt you. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me. It was their fault - they tried to make me kill my little brother." Choso hissed bitterly as he went on, some of his resolve returning as he got to his feet and grabbed your face to look at the blood streaking your chin from where it had flowed out of your mouth. You flinched away immediately and his face fell, eyes turning glassy as he shook his head in disbelief.

"I will never let anyone hurt you again. Do you understand? Please say something." He pleaded and all you could do was stare back until eventually you pointed at your throat with a shrug.

"I see. I'll get your throat fixed but we need to get out of here." Choso began tugging on your sleeve but you remained rooted on the spot, fear causing you to freeze up as your mind wondered if he was playing some sick trick on you to lure you to your death. You might have thought that if the pain lacing his features wasn't so genuine and his lip tremored as he gave you a pleading look.

"Please come with me. I can't protect you if you're not by my side."

You looked around. No one was coming to save you and it wouldn't be long before you ran into trouble once again. You weren't able to use your technique right now so you were basically a sitting duck. With that in mind, you took a deep breath and made the decision to follow Choso.

Choso did exactly what he had promised and stuck to your side like glue as you searched around for a shop and some much needed throat syrup to try and soothe the pain.

"Does that help?" He asked anxiously, wringing his hands a little as he watched you down the liquid.

"Mango." You replied with a nod and Choso raised an eyebrow.

"...Okay."

You let out a small huff as you tried to think about how you could explain your limited vocabulary to him. Annoyingly you didn't have a pen on you and your phone was dead. You opted instead for a basic game of charades and held up a finger as you signalled for Choso to listen. He watched intently as you nodded whilst repeating the word "mango" again.

"Banana." You added with frown and a shake of your head.

"Mango for yes banana for no?" Choso asked and gave you a huge smile when you replied with a big thumbs up. It was the very basics of what you could communicate but it would be enough for now.

[A few hours later]

"Stay back brother!" Choso insisted, placing his body in front of yours as Naoya charged at him once again. He had suddenly ambushed the two of you and things were getting ugly fast. You hissed in frustration, biting down on your tongue to keep your speech back as you looked for an opening where you could unleash your technique on Naoya. Right now, Choso was in the way and risked getting caught in it as well. Despite the unusual circumstances of your sudden alliance, you had no desire to hurt him.

Despite this, you knew it was only a matter of time before Naoya would beat Choso and work out your technique. You needed to act fast.

Finally, you saw a gap to the side of Choso and darted forward before it could close. He was completely immersed in his fight with Naoya so you knew you would need something drastic to get his attention.

Your heart raced as you thought about what to do. You had seconds to make a decision. Suddenly, you knew exactly what you needed to say.

"Aniki!" You shouted and Choso stopped, gazing at you with a mix of awe and shock that you had finally recognised him as your brother. Unfortunately, you didn't have time to savour the moment, taking advantage of Naoya's own dumbfoundedness to step inbetween them.

"Pear." You said to Choso, hoping that the look on your face told him all he needed to know. You were trying to say trust me.

"Don't move!" You shouted as close to Naoya as possible, enjoying the stupid look on his face as his limbs became frozen. Your throat was in agony but you felt relief flooding you when Choso released his supernova and completely obliterated Naoya.

You felt light for the first time that evening, even when your knees connected with the concrete and blood gushed from your mouth. Choso was at your side in that instant, wiping the blood from your mouth on his own sleeves without hesitstion as his hands checked you over urgently.

"Brother let me help." You watched as his eyes closed and his fingertips touched your chin, using his blood manipulation to stem the bleeding in your throat. The appreciation you felt for him was a complete 180 from the fear you had felt only a few hours earlier but you could see now that his feelings were genuine. It was still confusing but deep down he really was your brother.

#choso #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #choso headcanons

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