#okay but does the water make the shirt look battle damaged or is it just me

[animatedjen]

Cal Kestis | Jedi Survivor

[topguncortez]

Bad Medicine | Chapter 9

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synopsis: A wealthy Italian mobster sets up his daughter to marry the head of one of the last remaining mafias in California. The union was supposed to create and heal the damage between two families, but all it does is cause more harm than good.

word count: 5.2k

warnings: guns, drugs, mentions of prostitution, mentions of physical assault, mentions of sexual violence, mentions of torture, mentions of suicide, physical violence, brief handjob, nudity, guns, character death.

“Sunshine.” 

It was barely above a whisper, but Y/N still heard it. She hadn’t left Rooster’s bedside since they patched him up and brought him in here. She pulled up a chair next to his bed, and watched the slow rise and fall of his chest. Guilt was eating her alive for him getting hurt, for distracting Jake from his phone and not being able to go help his brothers. 

“Sunshine.” Rooster said again. Y/N sat up straighter in her chair, watching his head move from side to side. She reached for his bedside lamp, and flicked it on, “Sunshine! I’m here! It's okay!”

Her heart was breaking in her chest as she watched Rooster move around in bed, having a nightmare. She knew the signs all too well having had many herself. She gently grabbed Rooster’s hand in her’s and squeezed it, taking her other hand and shaking him gently. 

“Bradley, it’s okay. It’s just a dream,” She said softly. 

“Sunshine!” Rooster yelled, before sitting up with a start causing Y/N to jump back. He started coughing and wincing, holding his side and looking around the room, “W-water.” Y/N nodded and grabbed the glass of water on his bedside and helped him take a sip from it. He gently pushed her hand away when he was done drinking. 

“Thank you,” He said breathlessly and ran a hand through his matted curls, “Fuck,” He reached for the bottle of painkillers on the bedside table, dumping a few in his hand before popping them in his mouth. He swallowed them down and cleared his throat, “Why are you in here?” 

“Oh, I uh. . . I want to make sure you are okay.” Y/N fiddled with her thumbs as she sat back in the chair,  keeping a distance between her and Rooster. The man nodded and laid back in his bed with a grunt. It was silent for a moment, Y/N still looking down at her hands in her lap and Rooster looking at the ceiling, still trying to catch his breath. 

“You have a lot of scars,” Y/N finally said. Rooster looked over at her, catching her quick glance at him. 

“Pissed off a lot of people,” Rooster shrugged. He shifted a bit in bed, pulling down the blanket a bit to show the scars on his chest. Y/N leaned forward a bit, her fingers itching to reach out and trace over them, “These ones are usually hidden, unlike some of them.” 

“I have scars too,” Y/N said. 

Rooster knew this. He had seen the photos that Bob had dug up, and remembered seeing them the first night she was here. Her scars were almost worse than his. Rooster saw his as battle wounds, victory marks of surviving. He watched as she fiddled with the hem of her shirt. He could basically hear the gears turning in her head as she carefully lifted her sleep shirt up, exposing the scars underneath. He sucked in a breath coming basically face to face with what she had worked so hard to hide. 

“C’mere,” Rooster said and held his hand out to her. She gently took his hand and with one swift movement, he pulled her down to straddle his lap, her hands going to rest on his shoulders, “These are more than just scars,” His voice was quiet, and he gently ran the pad of his thumb over the brand mark on her ribs, “These are survival marks. You fought, you survived.” 

“Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve,” Y/N sniffled. Bradley gently cradled her face in his hands and wiped a stray tear away from her face. 

“You reminded me of sunshine,” He said softly. She opened her mouth to say something, but he pressed a soft kiss to her lips instead. Rooster pulled away first, and leaned his forehead against hers, “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Tears welled up in his eyes. Y/N knew that the pain medicine must be kicking in again, and she gently ran her fingers through his hair. 

“It’s okay, Bradley, it’s okay. Let’s go to sleep,” Y/N whispered to him and kissed his forehead. 

Rooster sniffled and nodded, “Don’t leave me.” 

“I won’t,” She whispered. Y/N turned the lamp off and then gently climbed off his lap, laying to the side of him on her back. Rooster shuffled, mindful of his injury, onto his side, laying his head on her chest. Y/N wrapped her arm around his body, keeping him close. 

“Sing to me?” Rooster mumbled. Y/N didn’t even open her mouth to ask what song, when Rooster started singing to himself, “You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.” 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

The next morning, Y/N woke up before Rooster did and quietly left his room. The boys were sitting around the table, and she had apologized to them for what had happened. Each of them told her it wasn’t her fault, except for Jake, who remained silent. He had just pushed it away, not bothering to bring it up anymore. Rooster wason strict orders to rest, which he didn’t mind, he saw it as a chance to catch up on Netflix shows he had abandoned. 

Y/N wasn’t paying attention as the tailor was working on Reuben’s black wedding tux. Her mind was running a thousand miles per hour over everything that had been revealed in the past couple days. Francisco was very much alive, and in the area. Jake had heightened his security around the mansion and the various clubs. She was never out of his sight or Reueben’s. 

Y/N had also demanded that they work on a plan for getting Sophie. Y/N feared for her friend’s life, and also begged to see the security footage of her. She had broken down, getting physically sick at the sight of her friend going through the same horrendous torture she had once endured. But, Y/N had also shown that she could be a huge asset in getting both Dante and Francisco. Francisco had shown to be a creature of habit, doing much of the same things he had done before; prey on the weak, and innocent.  

“You keep thinking that hard and your brain will catch fire,” Reuben spoke, nudging her with his foot. Y/N jumped and looked up at him. He smiled and shook his head, “You okay?” 

“Best I can be,” Y/N shrugged. 

“Jake said he didn’t hear you screaming last night. Nightmares must be going away.” 

“Or, I was just too drugged up to even imagine that monster.” 

“Whatever floats your boat,” Reuben shrugged and stepped back up on the pedestal the tailor had him on. Y/N admired the nice fitting suit, the velvet vest and tie stood out drastically against his skin and made his eyes pop. Reuben was always one to spend extra long on his appearance. He was comparable to her brothers, and she often joked with others that he was. 

“Payback,” Y/N called out to him. 

“Hm?” 

“Would you. . . would you walk me down the aisle?” 

“What?” He asked, unsure if he had heard her correctly, “Me? What about the Don?” 

“It’s my wedding, and I want it to be someone I love.” 

Reuben looked down at his shoes, trying to hide his smile. He looked back up at her and nodded, “It would be an honor. Ya know when I got stuck with your dumbass, I took it as an insult, I thought I was getting punished for something. But turns out, I got placed right where I was supposed to be.” 

“There’s no one else on this planet that I enjoy annoying more than you.” 

Reuben laughed, tilting his head back. The tailor stepped back, looking over the suit once more, before directing him to go change. He came back out in almost similar attire, dark gray dress pants and a navy blue shirt. They both thanked the tailor before heading out of the small tux shop in the center of San Diego. Reuben walked out of the store first, doing a quick survey of the area, before ushering Y/N out, keeping her head down as she walked to the black SUV parked out front. Y/N sighed as she collapsed into the passenger seat, putting on her seatbelt as Reuben climbed into the driver’s seat. 

“I’m gonna get real tired of this shit, real quick,” Y/N said as Payback started on the journey back to the mansion. 

“It’ll only be for a little bit. These fools are smart, they’ll find Francisco and Dante and we’ll get Sophie back and you’ll have that big ass white wedding you’ve been dreaming of since you were six.” 

“What did you want to do, ya know, before this?” 

“I was in the Navy,” Reuben answered simply, and her eyes widened in surprise. He looked over at her and chuckled, “What? How do you think I got the nickname ‘Payback’?” 

Y/N shrugged, “Thought it was cause you’re cheap.” 

He rolled his eyes, “I got discharged for fighting. We used to do matches on the deck after hours. Hit someone a lil too hard. . .” He grimaced at the memory, “Afterwards I decided to take the fighting thing a little bit legit, and needed some cash. It was Gianni who scoped me out during a match. I had no idea who he was until later. Hired me right on the spot.”

“What about your family?” 

“Heavy with the questions today,” Payback laughed and Y/N just shrugged, “I got no one. My parents and brother died in a plane crash. My old lady left me when I started working for the Don.” 

“I’m sorry,” Y/N said looking down at her hands in her lap, “We’re your family now, you know that right?” 

“I do,” Payback answered as they pulled into the driveway of the mansion. 

“You’re back! How was it?” Javy asked, running into the front room, Rooster slowly walking in behind him. He was slowly getting stronger after his injuries. Y/N had pushed him into staying in bed, but he was going stir crazy looking at the same dark colored walls all day. 

“Good, but why are you out of bed?” Y/N asked, looking at Rooster. He shrugged with a shy smile on his face. 

“Payback,” Bob said, from the hallway towards the offices, “Jake wants to talk to you about something,” The man nodded, excusing himself and walking down the hallway to the office. Y/N sighed and looked at the two boys in front of her. 

“Well, since they’re busy for the day. . . what can we help you with?” Javy asked. 

“I gotta get these place settings done for the reception.” Y/N said. 

“Perfect! As long as I get to sit next to one of your hot cousins-” Javy started speaking but was cut off by Y/N. 

“How do you know what my cousins look like?” She asked him. Javy just smirked and tapped his temple, then grabbed her hand pulling her into the dining room to start working. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Jake watched out the window at the passing buildings as they neared the tech district of San Diego. He hated having to go into the city. If he could do all his business at the mansion or various safehouses and buildings he had scattered around, he would. The city was a giant playground, perfect for people to hide. Bob had told him that he had to go meet with some knew tech investor, Jake had been pushing it off for weeks. It was all a part of Jake’s father’s plan to make Seresin Industries even more legit than they already were.

“Get in bed with the politicians, grab a seat in the boardroom. It’s all a part of the game,” 

His grandfather had once said to a very young Jake. Jake didn’t even know what it meant, but he would soon learn of the dark secrets his family had, and the trail of bodies they seemed to leave. The older Jake got and the way things had started to shift, it was more important than ever that he made himself a spot in the boardroom. The more endorsements Jake got, the more legit they took them as players in the city. 

The guns and prostitutes were the main source of income for the Seresin Mafia and had been since their great grandfather had taken over when the FBI had started shutting down the mobster in the ‘40s. Jake loved the influx of freshly pressed bills he would get after a deal or a night at the club, but he knew all that would only last for so long. He was tired of losing ground and battling to stay afloat. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” Reuben spoke, snapping Jake out of his daze. 

“No,” Jake sighed, shifting in his seat, “I always wonder what life would’ve been like if that Mafia families just. . . crumbled, like the CIA and the FBI and all them fuckers wanted. None of the secret deals shit that on behind the scenes.” 

“I reckon you’d be out of a job, and still pulling 8Gs,” Payback smirked and Jake rolled his eyes, “One way or another this shit would’ve still been happening. Just cause the American Crime Families crumbled, doesn’t mean the European ones would too. Al Capone had to get his money from somewhere.”

“Mr. Seresin,” The driver spoke as they pulled up in front of a large gray skyscraper. Jake looked up and read the side of it; ‘Simpson Technology’. Payback got out first, using his ear piece to talk to the other guards standing around. Sometimes, Jake felt like he was more heavily guarded than the president. Jake thanked his driver, as Payback opened his door, ushering him out of the car. Even though Jake saw Reuben as a friend, he was still just a guard. Rooster was still recovering from his injuries, so Reuben had taken over protecting Jake. 

“Thank you,” Jake said, getting out of the SUV and fixing his navy blue suit. 

He took one step towards the glass sliding doors, when a hooded man ran up to them, gun outstretched, pointing at Jake’s head. Reuben moved quickly, grabbing the hooded man, punching him several times. Jake was frozen in fear, as he watched him fight the man. 

“No!” Jake yelled as the hooded man punched Payback in the throat, and fired three silent shots into his chest. Jake moved quickly to catch Payback, breaking his fall to the ground. The hooded man turned and raised his gun back to Jake, but a shot rang out, burying itself into the man’s forehead. 

Screams echoed all around them, as people fled in fear from the sound of the gun. Jake's hands went to Payback’s chest, blood staining through his shirt and onto Jake’s hand. Payback coughed up blood as he looked at Jake. Jake shifted, so he was holding Payback’s head in his lap, still pressing his hand to his wounds. But, Jake could see it in Reuben’s brown eyes, no matter what they did, his time was ticking by quickly. 

“Y-Y/N. . .” 

“I got her,” Jake said. Payback nodded as he sucked in a ragged breath, his body going still. Jake clenched his jaw, fighting back tears as he looked around at the crowd frozen in fear. He wanted to yell at them to go the fuck away, but instead looked down at the man who he had considered a friend. 

The sound of sirens grew close, and Jake felt himself being pulled from Payback’s body. His mind was clouded as a guard shoved him into the back of an SUV. Jake’s green eyes never left the sight of Payback’s body on the ground as they drove quickly away from the scene. He knew this was probably all over the news, and he reached into his pocket, shakily getting his phone out and messaging Bob to pull whatever he can off the airways. He felt warm tears fall down his face as he typed the message out, angrily wiping them away. He put his phone away and let out a shaky breath. Jake had seen death before, he was no stranger to it, but to hold someone in his arms as they took their last breath, was something new to him. Jake looked down at his shaking hands covered in blood.  

“Stop the car.” Jake said softly. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Seresin, we have to get you back home-” 

“Stop the fucking car!” Jake yelled. The driver stopped quickly and Jake threw the door open. He stumbled out of the car and leaned over, emptying the contents of his stomach. When he was done, Jake stood up and wiped his mouth, before getting back in the car. He nodded at the driver to continue on their way home. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Y/N was sitting in the living room with Javy and Rooster, giggling uncontrollably as Javy showed them all his “wedding moves”. Y/N was sure that Javy’s moves might do better in a strip club than at a wedding with her grandmother in attendance. But she loved Javy’s energy. He was carefree and a good person to keep her mind off of things. Her laughter was cut off by the front door opening and Jake walking in. The very first thing any of them noticed was the blood on his pants and black button up. Y/N and Rooster stood up from the couch as Javy ran over to him. 

“What the fuck happened?” Javy asked. Jake didn’t acknowledge his friend as he walked straight over to Y/N. She held her breath as he gently placed his hands on her face, running his thumbs over her cheeks, before kissing her lips softly. When he pulled away, she looked up at him. 

“I’m fine,” Jake said, his eyes locked on her. He looked away for a moment, over his shoulder at his friend, “Get out.” 

Javy nodded and walked to the couch, helping Rooster up. Jake kept her face in his hands the whole time until the two of them left. He then moved over to the built-in bookcase and grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a rocks glass. He leaned his hand against the side of the fireplace, watching the flames dance in its cage. 

“What happened?” She asked quietly, “Is-is that-” 

“It’s not mine,” Jake said, “Go to bed.” 

“What? No! Jake, you’re covered and blood and won’t tell me-” 

Jake clenched his jaw as he threw his glass into the fire, the flames roaring at the added fuel. Y/N jumped at his outburst. She watched him for a moment, as he had his back towards her, before taking his command and going upstairs. He listened as the soft pad of her feet descended away, and he suddenly felt a new pair of eyes on him. 

“Is there news?” 

Bob let out a sigh, “Yeah. Your face was plastered everywhere from the San Diego times to the goddamn Sun. Did what I could but Jake. . . you gotta tell her before she finds out on her own.” 

Jake shook his head, “I know.” He let out a breath and turned on his heel towards the stairs. He patted Bob on the back before taking the stairs to his fiance. 

Bob hung his head as he looked down at the tablet in his hands, and pressed play again on the footage. It never got any easier losing a person you care for, especially one who wasn’t meant to die. Bob’s eyes flooded with tears and he locked the tablet, before tossing it down on the couch. He ran his hands through his hair and shook his head. How did everything get so messed up, so quickly? 

Jake knocked softly on the bedroom door before pushing it open. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the storm he was about to be hit with. Payback meant more to Y/N than anyone else in this house, hell, in the world did. He thought back to his Naval training on how to break the news to someone's partner that their aviator wasn’t coming back. He never thought he would have to use such training, but here he was. 

“Hey- what are you doing?” Jake asked her softly. He poked his head into the bathroom, noticing the candles and the steam rolling off of the bathtub as it filled up. He looked up at her, noticing the silk red robe she was wearing. 

“You’re covered in blood and won’t tell me why. You have this scared little boy look on your face, it’s freaking me the fuck out,” Y/N explained, “Strip down.” 

“Y/N. . .” 

“Jacob,” Y/N said, “I might not like you, and hate this whole situation but I’m not stupid.” 

Jake nodded and held his hands up, walking over to the bed and starting to strip down. He unbuttoned his shirt and threw it on the bed. Y/N leaned against the doorway, watching as his back muscles flexed as he pulled his belt off. He unbuckled his pants and kicked them down his legs. She had only seen him half naked a handful of times, but she had never seen him completely naked. 

His body was one sculpted by God himself, making him look like a saint straight from the Vatican. Jake was usually so confident being naked in front of women, usually they were down on their knees, and not standing at eye level with him. He felt exposed and wanted to cover himself up, but Y/N walked over to him, taking his hand and leading him into the bathroom. Y/N let go of his hand, and Jake kept his eyes trained on her. He watched as her small hands went to the strings of the robe, pulling them until they came undone, and the robe cascaded to the ground. 

Jake’s eyes took in her whole body. He had seen her naked before, but he had never really looked her over. Her tan skin had scars, the most noticeable one ran down her chest starting at her collarbones and ending right above her navel. His eyes also took in the branding mark that Francisco had left on her. The large letters ‘FS’ were scared into an intricate pattern. Jake had always wondered why she didn’t have them covered up or fixed. He knew her family had enough money to pay for some sort of surgery to fix it. 

The confidence that was flowing through her veins was something she hadn’t felt in a long time. She turned around and stepped into the jacuzzi bathtub, letting the warm water take over her body. She sighed at the feeling and then held her hand out to Jake, inviting him to join her. Jake softly padded over to her, stepping into the hot water, and resting his body in between her legs, pressing his back up against her chest. 

Neither one shared a word, as Y/N quietly and softly washed the blood and stress away from him. Jake was trying his best not to completely break, not being able to remember the last time someone had cared for him like this. Y/N hummed softly as she grabbed a wash cloth, lathering it up with soap, running it over his shoulders and chest. Slowly she started trailing her other hand down his body, placing soft kisses on his neck. Jake shifted slightly, both in a feeling of comfort and discomfort. He gasped when her hand swiped across his cock.

“I have to tell you something,” Jake started, grabbing her wrist. 

“Shh, it can wait,” Y/N whispered, wanting to continue. Jake let out a shaky breath as her hand wrapped around him and lazily started working him up and down. He shook his head and lifted her hand off of him, bringing it to his lips, and placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist. 

“Not tonight, baby.” Jake murmured softly, “I promise, soon.” 

She pressed her lips to his shoulder, nodding her head. The two of them sat there, until the water turned cold and the candles slowly started to burn out. Y/N got out first, drying herself off and putting her robe back on. She helped Jake out, wrapping him in a fluffy white towel, drying him off. They walked into her bedroom, noticing that Emile had placed some clean pajamas for Jake to wear on her bed. Jake slipped on the pajama pants, and climbed into bed with her, laying his head on her stomach as she ran her finger through his damp hair. She watched as his eyes fluttered, slowly lulling him into a dreamland. Y/N could feel him starting to relax, and slowly pulled herself away from him. His green eyes shot open and reached his hand to her. 

“Stay,” He rasped. She paused for a second, looking at him. They were yet to sleep in the same bed, side by side. They were basically playing musical beds, if Jake was in her room, she was in his and vice versa. But there was something so inviting about him being so vulnerable. She smiled at him softly and nodded. Jake shifted over in the bed, and patted the spot next to him. She climbed in the bed and Jake’s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. 

— — — ♱♱♱ — — — ♱♱♱ — — — 

Waking up to the sight of Jake fast asleep on the pillow next to her was one of the best sights she had ever seen. She softly ran her hands down the side of his face and kissed his cheek softly. She saw the corner of his mouth pickup in a smile, and his eyes fluttered open. He turned to look at her, his green eyes searching hers. 

“Morning,” Y/N said softly. Jake nodded, pushing himself up slightly, and placing a gentle kiss on her lips. 

“Goodmorning.” 

Y/N and Jake walked downstairs to the dining room, hand in hand, rested smiles on their faces. Bob and Rooster shared a look, taking in the sight of their leader and his girl. Every time they had seen them together, there was a look of anguish and hate on their features. But something had changed in them, and everyone was starting to feel it. They no longer had to feel like they had to keep Jake and Y/N separated in fears that they would kill each other. 

Jake pulled a chair out for her to sit next to him. He placed a kiss on her forehead, as he prepared a plate of food for her. Jake sat down in his chair as Bob pushed his iPad over to him. Mickey, who Y/N had been introduced to the other day, gave them all a rundown of some information they had gathered yesterday about Francisco and Dante’s whereabouts. Jake kept glancing over at Y/N as they talked, gauging her body language. He knew it was useless to hide information about Francisco from her anymore, she would beg until she knew any way. 

“From what we’ve gathered so far, Sophie is still alive.” Mickey said, looking over at Y/N, “Right now ATF is trying to set-up a meeting down at the docks between Dante’s crew and another crew on the radar. The hope is that Francisco is there and we can-” 

“Is that supposed to comfort me?” She asked, cutting Mickey off. She looked up from the manila envelope that was laid in front of her. It entailed more information and pictures of Dante’s latest movements, “I’d have more comfort knowing that either Francisco or Sophie were dead.” 

“We’re working with a local crew,” Rooster said, “We’re hoping to get someone on the inside who can give us more information on his setup. We spooked him once, he knows we are on to him.” 

“Perfect,” Jake nodded and then looked over at Y/N, “We’ll find her, baby. I promise,” Jake picked up her hand and placed a kiss on the back of it. She smiled shyly and he set her hand back down. He looked back at Mickey, who was now sitting next to Bob as they talked over different possible plans on breaking up the meeting between the two crews. 

“What the fuck happened at Simpson Tech yesterday?” Javy said, walking into the dinning room. He held in his hand the morning paper, and Jake’s face on the front of it. 

“Coyote, not here,” Jake said, his eyes quickly glancing over to Y/N.

“Your dad has been blowing up my phone with screenshots of articles and videos of you outside of Simpson Tech. And then this,” He tossed the paper down on the table, “Was on our front door. How the fuck were you just going to let that slide that someone held a gun to your head!?” Javy yelled. 

“Javy-” “What?” Y/N and Jake both spoke. Y/N dropped her fork and looked over at him. 

“Someone tried to kill you? Where was Reuben?” Y/N asked him. Jake looked down at his iPad and then back up at Javy. Javy’s jaw dropped slightly and looked over at Y/N, silently understanding why his friend didn’t want to talk about it outloud. 

“What happened?” Javy asked softly. 

“I don’t know,” Jake sighed, “I barely stepped towards the building and this man just ran up on us. Payback tried to fight him off but. . . “ Jake looked at Y/N, who’s eyes were locked on him, “He shot him three times in the chest. There was nothing we could do.” 

“Is this a sick joke?” Y/N asked, her eyes becoming glossy with tears, “You’re fucking joking?” 

“I’m sorry,” Jake whispered to her. 

“You sat there last night–let me wash his blood off of you, almost fuck you and you couldn’t bring yourself to tell me that Reuben took bullets that were meant for you.”

“It wasn’t like that, Y/N. I stopped you.”

“Shut the fuck up Jake,” Y/N seethed, “What the fuck is wrong with you? You have the audacity to sit there and make this about us?”

“What was I supposed to do!” 

“I can’t fucking believe you–” She said, standing from her chair, "-how do you claim to be my protector and then get the one person who actually gave a shit about me killed?" 

“Y/N, I didn’t pull the trigger.” 

“You might as well have.” 

Jake watched as Y/N railed into him with unmatched fury. “I don’t know what to say, Y/N. You would have found any and every way to blame me for it, no matter what had happened.” 

“That sounds painfully familiar, Jacob, it’s almost like you spent weeks blaming me for anything and everything you could. You saw every fault as mine, but I never got someone you cared for killed. That’s the difference between us isn’t it? When I say I’m going to protect the ones I love, I do it.”

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[keouil]

when it falls as all empires do

gojo doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window, just calmly assessing the passing cars and checking the time on his phone every so often. his hand on her leg was still there, holding her in place. not forcefully, she thinks, just a message, she knows: i’m here too. gojo/shoko. angst. also on ao3.

Shoko’s leg won’t stop shaking.

It’s half past midnight by the time they make it downtown. They felt the veil drop around Tokyo like a violent downpour, dragging what fragments of life were left down into a voidless abyss that bottomed out into nothing. The city felt as washed out as it looked. The single streetlight facing Ueno station was broken, red and green lights flickering on and off. The dwindling sounds of cars passing and bicycle bells chiming was an almost glaring offense to the weighted silence. 

They were waiting in one of the school’s safehouses in the city. Shoko was seated on one of the stools facing the window, trying her best to gather her bearings and quiet her mind before the storm took them too. In for four counts, out for six. It’s easy enough to do, and a meditation practice she normally does herself before any big procedure. It would be easier to do if the tremor wracking through her entire body wasn’t currently taking up all the effort to be still.

A hand on her leg.

Placating. Deceptively gentle. A little firm in it’s hold, pressing down just enough to reach the marrow of her bones and force them to water. It wouldn’t do, she thinks grimly, to be like fire now; they have enough people to cremate as it was. 

Shoko casts a wary glance at her side. “I’m fine.”

Gojo doesn’t tear his eyes away from the window, just calmly assessing the passing cars and checking the time on his phone every so often. His hand on her leg was still there, holding her in place. Not forcefully, she thinks, just a message, she knows: I’m here too. 

“I know.”

He only lets go when they hear the door crash open with a bang.

“How bad is it?”

Shoko doesn’t even know where to start. There were bruises, cuts, smears of blood all over the body, end and beginning all morphed together like a maximalist gore painting. Most of it isn’t Getou’s—this she confirmed first—but there were enough open wounds to cause external bleeding and render him unconscious when Nanami all but heaved his body onto the operating table. 

“It’s..” she starts, hesitant hands struggling to cut through his soiled uniform. She nearly nicks herself at least twice before Gojo steps in, gently taking the scissors from her and making a clean cut down Getou’s usually pristine white shirt. “He—It’s just.. a lot of blood. But it’s—I’ll fix it.”

Gojo curses under his breath. “Fucking Sukuna.”

The culling games were getting progressively worse and more demanding each year that passed. First years were almost always never allowed to participate, the single rule the higher-ups strongly enforced during the Peace Negotiations with the Cursed Spirits back when the Treaty was still a work in progress. A week every year of jujutsu students battling it out on Tokyo was enough of a compromise than have half of Japan’s jujustu population obliterated in a single night. 

But evidently Sukuna was growing restless at the lack of real stakes during his yearly celebrations and demanded more and more flesh, as fresh as possible. Getou only barely managed to get his application approved.

Gojo looks over the body laid out before them. “He’ll be okay, right?”

“I’ll fix him,” Shoko repeats, more firmly now, stepping over him with glowing hands already mentally cataloging the damage the body went through. “It can’t be that bad if he still managed to get to Nanami.”

Their eyes flicker to the other sleeping form laid out on the couch, breathing coming out raspy but consistent. Shoko already checked over his body, confirming most of them were artificial wounds and he wasn’t as badly injured as he looked. 

No shit, Gojo commented drily when he did his own assessment. I bet he didn’t even let you land a single curse.

Nanami not being able to look them in the eye was confirmation enough.

“It should have been me,” says Gojo somberly, coming over to place a blanket over Nanami’s body. “We both applied.”

“Yaga vets all the applications,” replies Shoko, brows furrowing in concentration as she patched up a brutal scar that ran down Getou’s ribs. She felt his breath hitch as skin met skin, but blissfully remained unconscious. “He would never have sent Nanami alone on his first year. You know that.”

“That’s why I’m saying it should have been me instead,” Gojo says hotly, glaring down at the green glow of light emanating from Shoko’s fingers. He stares at him for a little longer, imprinting this to memory, before muttering lowly under his breath, “Fucking idiot.”

They were in school when an oni announced itself by the red tori gates, an explicit instruction from Sukuna to transport the school’s tributes for the year. Nanami was uncharacteristically pale as a ghost. But Gojo had wildly raged and yelled, even threatened to activate his infinity if the incorporeal deity so much as touched a hair on one of them, before Getou calmly brushed him aside and stood between the oni and Nanami. 

Shoko is never going to forget that look of betrayal on Gojo’s face as the oni took hold of both their arms and whisked them away, leaving behind shadows of smoke that lingered long after they were gone. 

“Think he negotiated in your place?” Shoko asks, slowly probing against Getou’s strained muscles and kneading them. Most of the cuts were closed now. “Sukuna is obsessed with you after all.”

Gojo took Getou’s other hand and started running his fingers over them, small bouts of cursed energy spiking from his fingertips from time to time. “Maybe,” he says. “We were always going to volunteer if any of us had to go. Damn idiot is just too stubborn and suicidal.”

“Like you aren’t?” Shoko couldn’t help but quip back, meeting his eye from the other side of the table. They were still so vibrantly blue, untouched by the veil. Shoko herself felt out of pallor. “How many times have you filed an extinction notice for Sukuna? Going on three times this week, you think?”

“Closer to six, I’m sure,” Gojo supplies, letting the ghost of a smile grace his face. That levity, too, still so uneaten. “You okay?”

Shoko blinks at the sudden attention. “Fine,” she says. “Why?”

Gojo holds her gaze for a few seconds before shrugging. “Just checking.”

“I said I’m fine, Gojo,” she insists, a slow bite crawling through her tone. He always got cryptic after she used her RCT on Getou, annoyingly more attentive and curious about her process than usual. “I’ve healed far worse bodies than this. Don't worry — you’re still getting your best friend back.”

Gojo, as she predicted, just sighs heavily and shakes his head like she just completely missed the point. Maybe she has. But after being so easily discarded as a potential candidate for the games and leaving no room for debate on her part, to both of them meticulously tracking her cursed energy levels when bodies began pouring into the morgue and always reminding her to leave some for her actual friends: Shoko finds she couldn’t care less. 

She was a growing green light of healing cursed energy, and they came one in a million these days. She knows her rarity. She just wished they respected her for it too. 

The clock on the wall reads a little past three in the morning when she feels Getou stir.

Shoko’s head was resting on the table by his side, one of her hands clutching his firmly. A blanket she doesn’t remember shrugging on fell from her shoulders when she peers up to check on him, face morphed into a grimace. She immediately springs into action and is already mentally reciting the words to do a diagnostic, when a gentle hand comes up to her shoulder that forces her to stop.

“Just a nightmare,” is what Gojo says softly when he takes hold of the blanket that fell on the floor and fastens it again on her shoulders. His hands linger for a bit when he notices how cold she’s gotten. “He’s not going to wake up for a few hours.”

Shoko stares blearily up at Getou, blinking away some of the disorientation as she notices his hand still clutched firmly against hers, almost desperate. Nightmare it is then. She quickly scans the area for Nanami, still sleeping soundly and with a fresh set of bandages to his head.

Turning to Gojo, Shoko eyes him accusingly. “Did you even sleep?”

A scoff. 

“Have you?" Gojo shoots back, sitting beside her and turning his head. “You were swaying in place when you got to his legs.”

Shoko feels herself doused in ice. Her eyes snap immediately to Getou’s lower body, internally cursing herself at the grave misstep. Gojo’s head blocks her view immediately, knowing eyes peering down at her like he was trying not to be annoyed. 

“I got it,” he says softly, one of his hands coming to rest on her leg. She had apparently started shaking it again, she didn’t even notice. “He’s not going to die of a sprain, Shoko.”

Shoko deflates, feeling the premature adrenaline wash her out dry. She staggers a little in her seat as a result, Gojo’s hands immediately coming to rest on the small of her back. He’s frowning when she chances a glance up at him, grimacing at having her tell shown.

“You need to rest,” he tells her gently. 

Shoko waves him off weakly, still a little sluggish. “You do too. But you didn’t. Sleep.”

“I don’t need it, my body heals itself around the clock,” he says matter-of-factly, dismissive. “And I’m not the one doing 48 hour shifts at the hospital because of some megalomaniac. I’m not the one who just did a two-hour recovery operation on a dumb idiot, either.”

Shoko manages a disbelieving laugh. “That why you guys keep me out of everything then? Cause I’m that vital?”

The frown comes back, this time etched in deeper and meaner than Gojo had ever directed at her. “I take your name out because my body will break down one day and I don’t trust anyone with it. I take your name out because no clan doctor ever had the foresight to look at my brain first to fix my eyes. I take your name out because Getou will kill me if I don’t. I take your name out because he doesn’t even need to tell me to do it, I’m already burning through all your attempts at self-destruction just to prove a point,” he glares harder down at her. Shoko can do nothing but hold his anger and feel it suffocating her from the inside.

“I take your name out, Shoko,” Gojo finishes, nostrils flaring. “Because out of all of us, you’re the one who needs to live. I need you to live.”

Shoko is already opening her mouth to retort when he beats her to it. 

“If you can’t believe I’m doing all this because you’re my friend,” he quips back, searching her eyes and letting a sliver of disappointment show before they harden like forged steel. “Then at least believe you’re just as essential to keeping me alive as this bullshit treaty and that I will personally burn down the entire Culling Games overnight if you keep trying to pull yourself in again.” 

Shoko doesn’t know what she’s more terrified of: that she knows Gojo will do exactly that, or that he’ll do it for her.

[oomisluvr]

sakusa takes care of a drunk reader, a drabble

synopsis: y/n is talking to a stranger about her sex life and kiyoomi is on damage control. it's an uphill battle to finally tuck her into bed. give this man a break, please.

“he be blowin’ my back out, girl.”

“she means we very gently and very passionately make love.”

“just beatin’ this pussy up!”

“i do no such thing.”

“absolutely drillin’ and killin’ my shit.” you motion with your hands. sakusa reaches out to stop you, a blush deep on his face.

“y/n.”

“this boy folds me like a pretzel.”

“y/n!”

“my ankles be touchin’ my ea- mmph!”

sakusa covers your mouth with his hand, “you’ve lost your talking privileges. give me your drink, babe,” you glare at him, defiance burning in your eyes. he glares right back, “now, y/n.” he looks to the woman you were talking and apologizes on your behalf.

you relent, releasing your grip on the drink you were holding. sakusa take it and relaxes the hold he has on you, "you always kill my fun, omi!"

"no, i keep you safe." his gaze softens and his voice follows, "c'mon, it's late now. let's get you home."

you're surprised by the gentleness in his tone. wordless, you nod, extending your arm for him to take and lead you out of the club. it's raining tonight, and sakusa all but demands you to stay at the entrance doors while he runs to get the car.

you'll get emotional if you think about it too much, about exactly how much he sacrifices for you. he accommodates for you in every aspect of his life, oftentimes without you ever having to ask. you're part of him, an extension of his own body. he quite literally could not live without you. he loves you, with everything in him. he really didn't have to come out with you tonight, but you know he did it because he cares about your safety.

when the car pulls up, sakusa jumps out, umbrella in hand, escorting you to the passenger door, opening it, and closing it once you got situated. you giggle at the little jog he does to get to the driver's side. the sound of rain hitting the windshield makes you sleepy. upon noticing your tired state, kiyoomi removes the jacket from his shoulders, draping it across your figure. you yawn, snuggling into the heavy fabric and allowing his scent to lull you to sleep.

the next time you wake up, sakusa's at the passenger side of the door, lightly shaking you.

"c'mon, we're home now." he stretches his hand to pull you out, closing the door behind him, and snaking an arm around your waste, bringing you to your shared apartment.

after fumbling with the keys, he unlocks the door and kicks off his shoes, turning the lights on. sakusa leads you to the couch, descending on one knee to remove your heels, fighting with the straps and buckles.

"try taking it off with your teeth."

"try tak- what the hell? i'm not doing that."

"awww, c'mon, you know you like my feet."

"y/n, stop being weird," you wiggle your toes, making him loose his grip on the clasp of your shoes, "and stop moving."

you giggle, still feeling buzzed from all the alcohol you downed, "i know you secretly have a foot kink."

"i do not."

"it's okay, it's okay," you soothe, roughly ruffling his hair, "it's just me and you here. you can tell me if you wanna suck on my toes. i won't judge," finally removing your shoes, sakusa stands to his feet, stretching his hand for you to take.

"i don't know where you're getting this from, but you need to go to bed. i think you're delirious." you pout like a child, not wanting the fun to be over.

"fine. only if you carry me." you flop back on the couch to emphasize your unwillingness to walk yourself, stretching your arms up, "please, oomi?"

you're so cute, but sakusa can't let you know that. huffing loudly, he bends down to pick you up with ease, arms hooked under your legs and back, "you owe me in the morning. i didn't sign up for this."

you giggle, enjoying the attention from him, "you're so strong, oomi. look at these muscles." you grab his bicep, "what is this? a bowling ball? is there bowling ball in here? did you eat a bowling ball?" sakusa fights back a smile, but a blush manages to break through.

strolling through the bedroom, sakusa drops you on the bed, leaning down to kiss your forehead, mumbling in your ear, "why are you only nice to me when you're drunk, hmm? pretty girl." leaving you on the bed, sakusa digs through your dresser, approaching you with your usual pajamas, "put this on."

"no." you resist.

"y/n."

"put them on me." you kneel up on the bed, manipulating your arms and back to reach the zipper of your dress, dragging it down and shimmying out of the loose fabric, "look, i made it easy for you."

sakusa will never get used to seeing you in just a bra and panties, and his face turns beet red at the sight. you're sitting on your thighs now, legs folded behind you, feet touching.

"you're so difficult," he sighs, his blush only deepening when he moves to touch you, "arms up." you giggle, shaking your head and crossing your arms, he clenches his jaw in an effort to focus on the task at hand.

"oomi~" you flirt, "i still have my bra on. i can't sleep with a bra on. it's not good for me."

"then take it off."

"take it off for me."

"y/n."

"i won't go to bed until you do."

"fine. turn around." you shuffle on the bed, your back now facing him. with anxious hands, he unclasps your bra, the soft fabric falling to the bed. your bare back greets him, and he bats away impure thoughts. before you can turn around, sakusa grabs your arms and forces the shirt on you.

"oomi! don't be so rough."

"then listen and i won’t have to be so rough,” yanking the shirt over your head, he sighs, “there. all done.” you’re scrambling to get under the covers when sakusa grabs your ankle, “not yet. you need to do your skin care,” you open your mouth to protest, but kiyoomi interupts you, “let me guess, you want me to do it?”

you nod your head in excitement, “carry me oomi!” scooping you up, he carries you to the bathroom, setting you on the counter space. you’re rambling about god-knows-what, incoherent and broken sentences flow from your lips. sakusa tries his best to listen, he really does, but he can’t tel the difference between makeup wipes and micellar water.

“sorry to interrupt you, angel,” he kisses you on the forehead to calm your protests, “but which one do i use? the micellar water, right? you said the wipes burn sometimes...”

“aww oomi,” you bring your legs to wrap around his legs, pressing him into you, “you know me so well,” you mumble against his lips. your arms wrap around sakusa’s neck, hands tangling into the soft hair at his nape, lips building a rhythm against his.

it takes everything in sakusa to stop you, but he knows where kisses like this lead and getting you in bed is top priority.

“no, y/n,” he breaks the kiss to peer into you, “you need rest.” his eyes are soft and full of love, “let me take care of you, baby. sit still, please.” you nod and give him a quick peck, a silent promise to give him the reigns. relaxing the hold your lags have around him, kiyoomi gets to work.

he dabs the micellar water on your reusable cotton pad, gently swiping it across your face. you close your eyes, humming and mumbling the words of a song he heard earlier. using this time, sakusa admires the softness of your face, love swelling in his chest.

“all done.” you kiss his cheek in thanks, moving to hop off the counter. his hands fly out to hold your hips, keeping you placent, “not so fast.” he moves away from you, searching through the cupboards to find all the pieces of your routine.

after gathering his materials, he starts with dropping a clear, cool serum on your face.

“remind you of anything?” you joke, giggling mindlessly at your own joke.

"stop talking."

"boo, go back to being nice!"

"shh!"

you sigh loudly, swinging your legs and humming louder. sakusa works moisturizer into your skin with such vigor, your body starts to move. for good measure, he squeezes your cheeks, making your lips appear fish-like, laughing when you whine, "oomi, stop! let me go! are you done yet?"

moving to put all your things away, he nods, "yes, y/n. all done."

"carry me back then!"

"i lied. you still have to brush your teeth." you open your mouth to speak, "and no, i will not brush them for you."

"but i'm tired!"

"too bad. look, i even put the toothpaste on for you." he hands you the toothbrush. you snatch it out of his hands and vigorously brush your teeth. smiling at your attitude, sakusa begins to do his own nightly routine.

looking at him through your peripherals, you admire his physique. he really is built like a greek god. shamelessly, you rake your eyes over his body, observing the contraction of his muscles; the way the light reflects from his skin. sakusa kiyoomi truly is beautiful. catching your stare, he pokes your stomach.

"stop looking at me."

"what? i can't look at you?" foam flies everywhere.

"not like that."

"like what?"

"like you want to eat me."

"i do." you spit out the toothpaste, rinsing your toothbrush and putting it away.

you straightforwardness makes him blush, "tomorrow. i'm all yours tomorrow, but for right now-" he approaches you, his lean frame towering over your own, "-let's get you in bed."

you don't have to ask him to carry you; he does it anyway, throwing you over his shoulder and laying you on the bed.

"are you going to tuck me in, oomi?"

"what kind of question is that? of course i'm going to tuck you in."

i know i reference sakusa picking the reader up a lot but this man is 6'4" 176.8 pounds (192 cm, 80 kg) and could therefore bench press you without breaking a sweat, no matter what your weight is. my baby is strong. periodt.

[bruhlsbees]

it was real enough || baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

summary: heike zemo spends her last moments with her son, carl, and father-in-law, heinrich, before the battle of sokovia

pairing: baron helmut zemo x heike zemo

warnings: i always say angst but this one is for real gonna rip your heart out, major character death, heike clinging to carl in their last moments, sad phone call that ends too soon

word count: 3,502

a/n: based on this set of sentences specifically "it was real enough", in mcu zemo's wife's name is not said, so i went with her comic name of heike, also according to his mcu fandom wiki - zemo's son's name is carl!

May 4, 2015.

“Don’t worry. They’re fighting in the city. We’re miles from harm.” Helmut whispered, holding his wife’s delicate face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones before resting his own forehead against hers.

Heike grasped onto Helmut’s hands, closing her eyes as she embraced her husband, “I know...I know, but the sounds of gunfire- the screaming, Carl can’t sleep well, Helmut...I don’t know what to do.” She didn’t try and hold back her tears as Helmut kissed her face, peppering slow and gentle kisses as he listened to her sniffle, crying quietly, “I wish we could leave...go somewhere...anywhere!”

“I know, I know. I wish we could, but it’ll be over soon. Yes? You and Carl will be safe here with my father. He will take care of you while I’m gone and until I return, and then we will leave. Perhaps Latvia? Carl enjoys the sun there.”

Running his hands down Heike’s arms, Helmut squeezed her elbows, watching as she slowed her breathing, calming herself down before nodding in agreement, “Yes, I would enjoy that.”

Helmut leaned forward, kissing his wife once more before letting out a shaky sigh, not wanting to leave her. “Please, Helmut...please come home. I can’t lose you.” Heike admitted, her voice cracking.

To him, Helmut thought this was just a temporary departure, hugging his wife tight against him as he whispered sweet reassurances into her ear as he always did. Little did he know, this would be the last.

Before Helmut left to join the others of the EKO Scorpion squad, he stood in the doorway, doing his best to stay strong as his father held his wife and son, doing his equal best to stay strong. Heike and Carl, on the other hand, were not holding themselves together - he couldn’t blame them though, if it weren’t for his own bundle of nerves that were forcing him to stay calm, he probably would be in the same boat as them.

Kneeling to his son’s height, Helmut pulled Carl in for one last hug, holding him close as he cradled his head in his hands, “You look after your mother and grandfather for me while I’m gone. Can you do that, my brave boy?”

Nodding, Carl squeezed his father tight, his sniffles calming him down for the moment, leaning into his father’s kiss against his head before pulling back with him. Watching as his father stood, Carl stumbled back into his mother’s grasp, squeezing her tight as he buried his face into her side, crying into her shirt.

Helmut wished he could stay, to be with his family, but he knew that he had to go - he had to help protect Sokovia and make sure that his family would see the end of this. Feeling the tugs on his heart as he turned, Helmut forced himself to exit the home, closing the door behind him. When the door clicked shut, he heard Carl’s sobs break out, flinching at how painful they sounded. He wanted so desperately to turn and run back inside, but his walkie crackled on, turning his attention back to joining the other members of his squad.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 6, 2015.

The night had been filled with screaming and crying throughout the city of Novi Grad. Heike tried so desperately to ignore the sounds of gunfire and explosion, but it seemed the harder she tried, the louder they became.

Sleep for Heike did not come - not since the beginning of the fallout. Laying in bed with Carl, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back and kissing his head as he slept, flinching occasionally. Heike tried to hold back the grunts as Carl would kick her in his worst fits.

If Helmut were here, he would know what to do.

Blinking away tears, Heike sighed and looked over Carl to see the sun begin to peek through the curtains. Deciding that she wouldn’t be sleeping anytime soon, Heike pulled herself away from Carl who was clinging to her, gently moving out of the bed and down the hall to the kitchen.

Heike avoided looking out the windows, not wanting to see the damage the city endured in just the one night. She knew it couldn’t be good, judging by the troubling noises that were heard all night and into the morning. If she were to look out the window, her mind would go to Helmut - wondering where he was in all this and if he would return.

Opening the cupboard, Heike pulled down a teacup and prepped to make a pot of cherry blossom tea, blinking away tears as the water boiled.

“So, what is your poison?”

Heike smiled at Helmut from across the table, the light tune from the piano brought the atmosphere down. The restaurant would soon be closing, but the two didn’t have any plans to leave anytime soon.

Scooping a slice from the cake the two were sharing, Heike, put the fluffy chocolate dessert in her mouth, blushing and shaking her head. “It’s silly...but...I love cherry blossom tea.”

Helmut couldn’t help but smile at the confession, not expecting it to be so innocent. Here he was, planning on inviting her to go get drinks, only to find out that her own personal poison was not liquor, but tea.

“Cherry blossom tea? I would have never taken you for the cherry blossom type of lady.” Helmut teased, stealing the last bite of cake before placing his spoon on the plate.

Heike couldn’t help but giggle, putting her spoon on the plate as well before shrugging, “I never was too fond of hard drinks. I always enjoyed a warm cup of tea. Sometimes with a turkish delight, if I was feeling adventurous.”

She couldn’t believe it, but she actually got cheeky and winked at him. They had been going on a few dates now, so this wasn’t too forward, but for her, this wasn’t in the norm. Heike was rather reserved, but with Helmut, something came out in her.

Reaching across the table, Helmut took Heike’s hand into his, squeezing her soft hand into his rougher one, “Turkish delights? My, aren’t you the rebel.” He teased, grinning at her when he noticed her cheeks going more red.

The sound of the kettle whistling pulled Heike from her thoughts, quickly pulling the kettle from the stove to calm down before placing on the cooler burner. Placing a cherry blossom tea bag in her cup, Heike poured the boiling water over the bag and felt her body relax when the scent of cherry blossom hit her.

When she settled the kettle back down, she picked up the tea cup, not noticing how shaky she was until the light clattering of the cup hit against the plate. Choking back the sob, Heike felt the tears rolling down her cheeks, unable to take a drink of the tea.

She pushed the tea cup back onto the counter, burying her face into her hands to muffle her crying, not wanting to wake up Carl or Helmut’s father, Heinrich, as it was still fairly early. She had been holding in her tears for so long, her worries over where Helmut was at that moment stuffed down. Heike only wanted to make sure that Carl was okay, forgetting her own delicate state of mind.

Heike’s tears continued to fall, soon unable to even bite down on her lip to muffle her cries. What she was not expecting, however, was to be pulled into such a tender embrace.

When she recognized that it was Heinrich, Heike wrapped her arms around the larger man’s middle, sobbing into his chest as he held her, stroking her hair.

“Shh, Heike, it’s okay. It’s okay. He will be back soon.” Heinrich assured, humming lowly to try and take her mind off of the situation. Heinrich was very fond of his family, adoring his daughter-in-law and grandson. He knew this was hard on the both of them, with Helmut being gone, and he felt it was only fair to do what Helmut would do if he were here for them.

After a few long moments, giving Heike the time to calm herself down, Heinrich felt Heike pull back, sniffling as she wiped away her tears from her face and her nose. “Thank you…” She whispered quietly, her voice cracking from the painful sobs.

Smiling, Heinrich tucked Heike’s hair behind her ears and kissed the top of her head, “Carl needs his mother now more than ever, but that does not mean you cannot have your moments to break down. Even the strongest still need their moments.”

Nodding in understandment, Heike looked up at Heinrich and smiled, looking down at the counter to collect her tea once again, this time taking a sip of the warm liquid. The warmth calmed her down enough for her to catch her breath, processing what Heinrich had told her before taking another deep sip, finishing the cup. Heike set the empty cup on the counter before making her way towards the window. She knew she shouldn’t have looked out the curtain, but her curiosity got the best of her.

When she saw the damage unfold beneath her, her heart sank. She couldn’t imagine the lives lost, the damage it caused for everyone, all while the Avengers were doing what they thought was for the best. She didn’t hate them, no, she knew they were doing what they thought was best - but she couldn’t help but wonder if they ever stopped to think about how their actions would affect the towns they fought in?

“Carl will probably be waking up soon, perhaps I should make us something to eat?” Heinrich offered, approaching Heike and placing a gentle hand onto her shoulder, pulling her away from the window.

Pulled from the window, along with her thoughts, Heike looked up at Heinrich and nodded, ��Yes, that sounds lovely, I’ll go get Carl...I just- I have to make a call first.”

Heike excused herself from the kitchen and made her way down the hall and into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her before she sat on the toilet, opening her phone and scrolling until she found Helmut’s contact, pressing the ‘call’ icon and putting the phone to her ear.

She knew that Helmut wouldn’t answer, couldn’t answer, she had tried just last night, asking when he would be home and trying to pretend in some sad way that everything was fine. This time, though, she knew she wouldn’t be able to pretend.

“Helmut...my love...it’s me again,” Heike began, steadying her voice before continuing, “I know you’re not able to talk right now and I’m sorry if this is interfering in any sort of way but I-” She paused, feeling herself being to choke up before she took a deep breath, “I just wanted to call and tell you that I love you. It’s silly to say over the phone, through a voicemail, but I fear something might happen that we both did not see coming...I know, I know I shouldn’t be talking this way, but one of us has to be realistic. Of course, I am praying, praying to anyone out there that this nightmare will be over, and soon you’ll be back in bed with me, but so far nobody has heard my prayers.” The tears that fell from her cheeks began to fall freely now, unable to be contained. Heike did her best to try and stop, to collect herself for the remaining seconds she had, but she just fought through them. “My only prayer now is that you return home safely...alive and well. I don’t care if you come back with a missing leg or in a coma - I’ll take care of you Helmut, I will, I just want you back. I need you back. Okay? I need to go now, but I just wanted to call and tell you how much I-”

The call dropping made Heike’s stomach sink. Pulling the phone away from her ear, she stared at the screen and stared mortified as the voicemail timed out. Her face contorted, squishing up as she let out another cry, holding herself tight as the emotions took over her body.

The knock at the door was drowned by the sounds of her cries, it wasn’t until she heard Carl’s sweet voice that brought her to.

“Mama? Are you in there?”

Sniffling, Heike wiped her face and moved to the door, unlocking it and opening it up before staring down at Carl, his hair messy and still in his pyjamas. He had a concerned expression on his look, one that matched Helmut’s all too well.

“Were you crying?” He asked innocently, reaching his hands up to feel the wet spots on her face. Heike could only sigh, dropping to his height as she knew lying wouldn’t help him, “Yes, my dear. I was...but I’m okay now. Okay? I am just missing your papa is all.”

Pulling Carl in for a hug, Heike held her son close, rubbing his back as he squeezed the fabric of her shirt, “When will Papa come home?” He asked sweetly.

“Soon, my dear, soon. Once he is done helping Iron Man and the rest of the Avengers, he will come home.” She smiled, feeling Carl grow giddy at the mention of the Avengers and specifically Iron Man, before clinging to his mother tighter.

“Your grandfather is making us breakfast, why don’t we go join him so he doesn’t eat alone?”

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

The night came quickly for the Zemo family - along with the growing destruction of Novi Grad. The streets below began to pile with cars and waste from the buildings and Heinrich went so far as to board up the windows after witnessing someone fall to their death. Whether it was purposeful or not, Heinrich wouldn’t allow Carl nor Heike to see the horrors of war - ‘least not more than they already saw.

The three of them were laying in bed together, watching old movies that were on some VHS tapes that Heike found in the closet. Carl, fast asleep in her arms, clung to his mother’s waist, while Heike, slowly began to doze off. She hadn’t been paying too much to the movie, in fact, she didn’t even know what exactly was playing, but she was happy to have enjoyed the peaceful moment, despite everything going on outside their home.

Unfortunately, the horrors did not end, and their peaceful night was soon ruined. The blood-curdling scream woke Carl awake, sending him into a crying fit while Heike held him, doing her best to calm him down while Heinrich held them both, consoling them as what he feared most soon approached them.

“I don’t want to die…” Heike whispered, tears rolling down her cheeks as she kept Carl’s face buried into her stomach. She looked up at her father-in-law, eyes red as she shook her head. Heinrich could only frown, not knowing what to say other than pull her close, letting her cry into his chest. As a realist himself, Heinrich knew the possibility of the building they were in to be targeted was high, but there was still a part of him that wished for the alternative.

The flames that flickered outside the windows signaled that there was sadly no way out. He didn’t want his grandson, nor daughter-in-law to have to go out in such a painful way, so he did what he believed was the only thing he could do - hold them close and sing a lullaby.

Heike’s face was buried tightly into Heinrich’s chest, Carl’s in his mother’s. The sound of Heinrich singing an infamous Sokovian lullaby calmed them enough to not think so hard as to what was going on around them. As the flames rose and the song continued, what came next was more painful than seeing a child cry - but the death of a child itself.

While the heavy concrete collapsed on them, they were fortunate enough to not feel the pain, dying on the direct hit. Even though there was no pain, the three still lost their lives, not having a single chance of survival - which perhaps was harder than the hit.

⋆ ⋆ ⋆

May 8, 2015.

Helmut had been digging for two days. Two days since the initial end of the battle when he returned home to find the building in pieces and when the smoke cleared enough for him to be able to search. He had been told that there was no use in searching, that it would take too long to find them and he didn’t need to go through that pain...but Helmut had to be the one, he wouldn’t sit back while some stranger dug to find his family’s bodies for him.

He ignored the painful cuts that dug into his palms, the numbness in his body a shield against the physical pain he was enduring. Helmut picked up piece by piece, tossing it over his side as he furiously dug deeping into the rubble, searching for any sign of his family. He hardly slept, continuing to dig deeper in the area he imagined his family to be. The surviving members of his squad became worried quickly, unsure as to what to do in this situation. They hadn’t lost families, ‘least not in the way that Helmut lost his. Nobody could understand what he was going through, and while they wanted to help, it became clear that Helmut found it worse to have help than do it on his own.

By the early afternoon of the second day, his motions began to slow, becoming weaker as the time went on. Helmut knew he couldn’t give up though, he wouldn’t, not until he found their bodies. It was a sad prayer really, asking whomever to let him at least find their bodies, but it was one he partially wished never came true - for he wished that his family had never died in the first place.

What stopped his movements was the arm sticking out of the rubble. He recognized the watch as being his father’s and his breathing stopped, catching in his throat. This was it, this was what he had been searching for, yet at the same time was dreading. Quickly moving the rubble off of them, Helmut let out a cry when he finally uncovered the bodies, seeing his father holding his delicate wife, and his wife holding their precious son.

He didn’t know who, but one of his squad members quickly rushed to him, pulling him off the bodies as he Helmut threw himself over them, ignoring the painfully obvious state they were in. The squad member held Helmut in his arms, letting the man cry as medical members carefully made their way up onto the rubble, doing their best to carefully collect the bodies and placing them in bags to be taken away.

Helmut’s eyes stayed on the bags, watching as they were loaded into trucks and taken to the nearest area for body collection and identification after the war’s aftermath. He felt his heart racing, his head resting against his friend’s chest as he blood soon boiled.

This was their fault. The Avengers, of all places they could have chosen, decided to come to Sokovia, their home, and destroy it. Destroyed their city, their homes, and families. Glaring into the distance, Helmut continued to let the tears run silent down his cheeks. He could picture his family’s death playing in his head. How scared they must have been and for him to be where? ‘Helping’ the Avengers as they hardly helped them.

And where were they now? The Avengers? Gone. Back to their own cities, their own homes, and families. And where did that leave Sokovia? The place they decided to play war at? In ruins...destroyed into nothing - leaving Sokovia and it’s people lost and without a home.

Closing his eyes, Helmut turned his head and rested his face against his friend’s chest, clinging to the front of his shirt before letting out a painful scream, soon faltering back into sobs.

Helmut would miss Heike’s hair, how soft it felt when it finally dried after being washed.

He would miss the sound of Carl’s laughter, how eager he was to be ‘just like his papa’.

Helmut would even miss his father’s awful snoring, and how Heike would always do her best to not be frustrated in the morning when Heinrich would ask how everyone slept.

No longer would he be able to kiss his family and hold them close, but only have the memories of their souls and the voice messages to hear the sweet sounds of their voices.

This was the only way now that Helmut had any way of being with his family, through the memories. It was real enough to get by, to feel comfort while alone, but it wasn’t real enough to move on.

[rosiehunterwolf]

two halves of a broken whole

Prompts: Scars and Free Space (stealing Post-Fight from the twixt board)

Word Count: 2,191

Characters: Nya and Zane

Timeline: Immediately after season 9

Trigger Warnings: Blood, Needles, Brief Swearing

Summary: The Sons of Garmadon have been defeated. Garmadon is in prison. The city has been saved.

In the aftermath of the battle, Nya is more than ready to take a much-needed break. But the life of a ninja is messy. Recovery is never that simple. Although the wounds may have healed, the scars still remain.

Zane’s scars seem to match up, though. And maybe together, they can begin to heal.

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Tumblr work under the cut

Nya stumbled through the dark kitchen, searching through the cabinets. She gritted her teeth as pain flared in her arm. Where are those painkillers? Ugh, how does Skylor find anything in here? There’s no system!

She gasped in relief as she finally found the medicine cabinet, but as she reached out to grab a bottle, she bumped her bad arm against the cabinet door. Crying out in pain, she jerked her arm back, and the bottles came tumbling down and clattering loudly to the floor.

“Damn it all,” she groaned, leaning her head against the cabinet. “Stupid, stupid arm, why do you have to be so weak-”

“Nya?”

Nya jumped, hitting her head against the cabinet door. “Ow! Zane, what are you doing here-”

The nindriod crossed the small kitchen in two steps, yanking off the damp towel she had draped across her upper arm, revealing a long, bloody cut stretching across the length of it.

“I knew it,” Zane muttered. “Nya, why would you hide something like this?”

“It’s not that big of a deal, I-”

“Not that big of a deal? Nya, this is serious! You need stitches! Next time, say something!”

She winced. “I didn’t want to bother you guys- Lloyd was way more hurt than I was, you guys had your hands full with him.”

“You could’ve gone to Skylor.”

“I wanted to prove I could do it, okay?” Nya snapped. “Skylor was so strong, walking off Garmadon’s power corruption like it was nothing. And she was being so generous, letting us all crash in her house like this- I didn’t want to bother her anymore, but instead, I just ended up bleeding out all over her bathroom floor.”

Zane shot her a sympathetic glance. “Nya, don’t worry about that now. Skylor will understand, and I can clean it up. The only thing we care about is that you are safe. Here, go sit down.” He gestured towards a kitchen chair and headed towards the cabinet. Nya slumped over into the chair, still clutching her arm, and Zane rooted through the medicine bottles, finally pulling out the painkillers and handing her three large pills and a glass of water. She eyed them warily.

“Isn’t this a little much? I mean, it hurts, but not that bad.”

“I still have to give you stitches, remember?”

“Oh. You’re doing that now?” Zane turned away, and Nya took the opportunity to down the pills, using the cheap coffee she had made herself to help her swallow instead of the water Zane had given her. “Nya, if I don’t do this now it will only make the cut worse.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know- ow!” she yelped as Zane rubbed at the wound with a wet, antiseptic-soaked washcloth, the fabric quickly staining red.

“I need to clean it, Nya. This would’ve been much easier if you hadn’t spent so long walking around with an open wound.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, I won’t do it again.”

“I’m going to go get a needle and thread, I’ll be right back.” Nya sighed, slumping back against the chair. This was exactly what she had been trying to avoid. The guys had been through hell recently. The last thing they needed was having to worry about her, too.

“Nya?”

Nya jerked her eyes open, turning her gaze towards Zane. What happened? Did I doze off?

Stupid coffee, not doing its job.

Zane seemed to catch on to this too, and frowned. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“I don’t need sleep, I have this magical liquid called coffee.”

He shot her a stern glance. “Nya.”

“Fine! I don’t remember, okay?” She reached for the paper cup again, but Zane snatched it from her hand.

“You can’t live off of coffee. First of all, it’s horrible for your health, second, it can never replace a full night’s sleep.”

Nya crossed her arms, grumbling. “Hey, at least I’m better than Lloyd. He dumps like five pounds of sugar into his.”

“Yes, well, Lloyd is sleeping. Like you should be.”

“Which is so not fair,” she huffed. “I spent weeks trying to get him to sleep and the second you guys get back, he does it instantly.”

Zane smiled, but his eyes were sad. “Kai’s always kind of had a way with him.”

“I know.” She turned her head, sighing. “I wasn’t trying to sound ungrateful, I’m so glad you’re back, but-” Nya let her hand fall to her side, where it bumped against Zane’s. Gently, she rubbed her fingers across the smooth metal, her heart pounding in her chest. Suddenly, she squeezed Zane’s hand, her breath coming in heavy pants as she closed her eyes.

“Nya?”

Her eyes snapped open. “I’m fine. Let’s just get this over with.”

“Nya, it’s okay if you’re not fine.”

“I am.”

“I’m sorry we left you as we did.”

“It’s not your fault, okay?” She tugged away from him. Her hands were trembling now- from the coffee? The painkillers? The fear? She didn’t know. “It’s not your fault.”

Zane closed his hands over hers, steadying them. “No, but it still wasn’t fair to you. I’m sorry you had to go through all that.”

“You don’t know,” she whimpered. “You don’t know what it was like. I wanted to give up so bad, and Lloyd-” she closed her eyes, breathing out slowly. “I don’t even know how I got him through it. He was so depressed. I can’t go through that again.” She turned sharply towards Zane, grabbing his hands. “I can’t. You hear me? That can never happen again.”

Zane squeezed her hands back, his eyes sad. “Believe me, Nya, I will do everything in my power to make sure it never does. But we are ninja. Dangerous things are going to happen, and if we spend our whole lives fearing that, we’ll never get through. We need to live life one day at a time. We need to trust in each other.”

“I do trust you!”

“Good.” He placed a hand on her arm, just below the wound. “Then you’ll let me patch you up?”

Nya glanced at the needle and swallowed, looking away. “Just go ahead. Don’t make me watch.”

“We really don’t have the proper numbing medication,” Zane said. “The painkillers will help some, but this is still going to hurt.”

“Believe me, I’m sure the sword going in felt a lot worse.”

Zane pressed his lips together. “Yes, I suppose it did. Ready?”

“Stop asking me if I’m ready and just do it already!” Zane flinched away, and she quickly added, “Sorry. I’m just a little on edge.”

“You’re going to be fine. Just hold still.”

The needle was cold on her skin, and then suddenly it was piercing through her flesh. It took all of Nya’s willpower not to jerk away, and she bit down hard on her lip, forcing back a scream. “Holy shit- Zane!” she broke off in a whine.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon.”

She tried to focus on her breathing as the needle pricked her again and again, Zane’s tugs quick and tight.

“Augh, remind me to visit Kryptarium later and go scream at those assholes for doing this to me.”

“We could’ve gotten you to a proper hospital if you had spoken up earlier. This is your own fault.”

“Oh, yeah, blame the victim. Besides, I hate hospit- aaugh, Zane, are you almost done?”

“Done.” Zane neatly snipped the thread, and Nya slumped over onto the table, grinding her teeth together and clenching her fists.

She felt Zane’s hand on her back. “Are you okay?”

“Gaugh, I will be, but son of a bitch, that hurt!”

“Alright.” Zane’s voice suddenly sounded cross. “It’s over now. That language is no longer necessary.”

“Are you seriously scolding me for swearing right now?” The table muffled her yelp. “I’d like to see how you cope when your arm stings like hell.”

“Nya.”

“You’re impossible!” Sitting up, she told him, “If you’re going to be such a goody-two-shoes, could you at least get me an ice pack?”

Zane got her the ice, and after about half an hour, the pain had finally dulled to something she could sleep through.

Exhausted as she was, though, she wasn’t done yet.

“Come see me in the morning,” Zane was saying, cleaning up the last of the bottles and putting them back in Skylor’s medicine cabinet. “It should be fine, but I want to check just to be sure. And try not to sleep on that side. I don’t want the stitches coming out during the night.” As he turned to walk out of the room, Nya grabbed his wrist.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He blinked. “To bed? Like any sensible person should be at this hour?”

“Not so fast, now it’s your turn.”

“My turn?”

“You patched me up,” Nya told him as she turned and rustled through Skylor’s junk drawer. “It’s only fair that I return the favor.” She pulled out a few screwdrivers, some scrap metal, and- score, a circuit board. And in pristine condition, too! Skylor always had the best stuff lying around. When you could find it, that is.

“But Nya, I’m not injured!”

She put a hand on her hip, glancing him up and down. Scratches and dents littered the ice ninja’s skin, and if she knew Zane, that was usually an allusion to something bigger going on.

“Oh please, the four of you came back a mess.” She walked around him, inspecting him. “Don’t tell me you came out of that whole ordeal unscathed. And I didn’t see anyone check you over today. Aha-” leaning forward, she rapped her knuckles against a spot on his back, near the shoulder, and the panel shuddered beneath her touch. “I knew it. This section isn’t sturdy. Take off your shirt so I can get to it better.”

“Nya, I am a nindroid, injury is inconsequential-”

“I said, take off your shirt! Or are you going to make me do it for you?”

Zane sighed, pulling off his pajama top so that Nya could see the damaged area better. The panel appeared cracked and loose, so, gently, she pried it off, revealing several frayed and broken wires. Part of the exposed circuits were fried.

“And you were telling me off for hiding my injuries?”

“It’s hardly the same. Human bodies cannot withstand the amount of force that a nindroid’s can. Plus, you are susceptible to infection.”

“Zane, I don’t care!” She got to work snipping at the wires and pulling some of the damaged parts out. “You’re still one of us. Just because you can take this sort of damage doesn’t mean you should!”

“I know. I was just worried about the others.”

“Well, it’s about time you thought of yourself for once. You can’t properly care for us if you’re not functioning at full capacity, anyway.” Sticking the tweezers between her teeth, she readjusted the wires and got to work on the circuits.

“I… I don’t like asking for help.”

Nya’s fingers paused.

“‘E ei’er.” The tweezers muffled her words, but Zane got her point clear enough.

“Sometimes we do need help, though. We are part of a team for a reason, after all.”

Nya removed the tweezers and wiped her grease-stained hands on a towel. “You’re forgetting that I was Samurai X before I was a ninja. I didn’t need any help then.”

“I didn’t forget, I just remembered the important parts. We were still there for you afterward, even on your solo missions.”

Nya was quiet for a moment. “Maybe that was why it was so hard with you gone. It was like a piece of me was missing. I couldn’t fully uphold the Resistance without you guys there to help.”

Zane’s fingers skirted across his heart. “I don’t know how we went on, with part of our souls realms away.”

Nya put a hand over his. “But we’re here now.”

“But you weren’t. We have all the pieces again, but they feel… broken.”

“Hey.” Nya pressed the metal against the gap in his back, using the screwdriver to secure it into place. She leaned back, admiring her work. Good as new. “I fixed you, didn’t I? Nothing will stay broken forever.”

“I can fix a car,” Zane sighed. “Or the Bounty, or the oven, or myself. But I have no idea how one goes about putting pieces of a broken heart back together.”

Nya sat down next to him. Their eyes met- stunning, electrifying blue against deep, gentle brown. “Neither do I. But maybe… we can figure it out.” She leaned her head on his shoulder. “Together.”

“Together is good,” Zane agreed, putting his arm around her. “I think I like it a lot better than being alone.”

Sitting there, on the hard wooden chair, raw stitches in her shoulder, with Zane’s hard metal arms wrapped around her, she couldn’t have been in a more uncomfortable position. Yet Nya felt more at ease than she had in weeks.

For the first time since the guys had gone to the First Realm, Nya’s sleep was peaceful and uninterrupted.

[id-rather-be-an-outsider]

Just Coping

Reiner Braun x femme!crush!Reader

word count: 2406

summary: y/n’s mirror breaks while Reiner hears her crying, and Reiner is on damage control. emotional support ensues. angst and fluff.

a/n: I relapsed a week or so back, so this is my therapy writing. I was abused by my biodad as a child and this contains some irl examples of my feelings and experiences. Given that it’s pretty personal for me and lots of tears and vulnerability went into this, please keep feedback positive, respectful and constructive.

tw: mentions of abuse, assumed self-harm, depression, self-hatred, self-isolation

I can hear y/n sobbing again. Is that all she does now? Being a soldier is supposed to make you tough. Granted, I’m not any better. I knock lightly on the door. She must’ve covered her mouth, because her cries sound a little muffled, though the volume is still there for the most part. “I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.” She calls. Suddenly I hear glass shatter and a shriek.

I quickly push the door open, and find y/n in her bathroom, standing with her legs against the tub, trying not to step in the broken glass. Her mirror somehow fell off its’ hinges despite being newly installed. I’ll have to report the renovation error. “Are you okay?” I ask, trying to be polite even though the direction of the question could provide two very different answers.

She looks down and whimpers, “I’m sorry.” Since I’m wearing boots, I trudge over through the mess, the crunch of the glass almost sounding like that of snow. “It’s alright. Let me carry you out of the room?” She nods in understanding, and I sweep y/n up bridal style, placing her on the carpet. I grab the standard broom and dustpan behind every door and start sweeping. “So, mind telling me what those other noises were about?” I ask, and hear her footsteps and the creaking of the door closing, the handle clicking into place.

“You would think it’s stupid.” Y/n says. I can tell she’s trying not to start crying again.

“I think you think I would think that, but I still would like to hear it.” I push. “You’ve been crying every day at this point. You’ve been missing from our group for so long that Porco stopped being an asshole to me. It worries me.”

She sniffs. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Well, I care about you, so I’m going to worry anyway. It’s kind of my job,” I state, “As your friend, and as your superior. I need you around, no matter which role I’m playing.” I deposit the swept up shards into the waste bin, put the tools away and cross my arms, leaning against the door frame in wait.

“I-“ She starts, then pauses, taking a deep breath. She looks up at the ceiling, exhaling slowly. A fruitless endeavor, really - sorrow is a wild river, flowing of its’ own accord, without regard for fragility of mind - she squeezes her eyes shut as if to dam the water, keep it from overflowing. “I’m not trying to cry, I’m sorry-“

“Don’t apologize.”

“Sorry, I just- I mean- um.” She fidgets, rubbing the inside of her wrist awkwardly. I notice faint scratches. My stomach flips, and I reach out to grab her hand before she can hide it.

“What is this?” I ask, already knowing the answer. I feel my throat tightening, tears forming at the corners of my eyes. “Why would you do this to yourself? Do you have any idea how many people care about you? Do you have any sense of self-preservation? I- what?”

She’s murmuring something quietly, the tears she tried to trap spilling down her face like rain on a windowpane. She speaks up, just a whisper louder than she was before. “P-p-please l-let go of me.” I realize I’m squeezing her hand and let go, snatching my arms back and stuffing them in my pockets. Why am I so angry? That’s not the kind of person I’m supposed to be. Who am I supposed to be?

Y/n gasps, the sadness too much for tears alone. She starts shaking. “I’m sorry, I just- when I look in the mirror every day, I- I hate myself. I l-ook like him, inside and out, and, and I see-“ She swallows as if she’s trying not to drown and got water in her mouth. “I see what he did to me. I didn’t-“ She looks down. “I didn’t do that to myself, I-“ Another gasp, like she’s struggling to breathe. “It was done to me. When I was in trouble. So were the other marks. Not that I ever got to know what I did wrong.”

So stupid of me. Why did I just assume? Is it just because of my own ideas? God, this is why everybody thinks I’m selfish. “Other marks? He? Who is he? Is he still around?” I ask.

She sits on her bed, tucking her legs beneath her and hugging her knees, making herself visibly small. A whisper: “My dad.” The two words sting like white-hot iron. The gears are spinning in my head - how to find him, how to make him feel the pain his actions caused and then some for good measure. She must notice, because she says, “Please don’t do anything. It’ll just come back around to me.” The fog in my mind clears when I see her scooting away from me, physically distancing herself from my anger. I sigh, calming my violent thoughts.

I climb onto the bed, crawl toward y/n, and wrap her up in the biggest hug I can manage. Partially to comfort her, partially so she doesn’t see my face while hers is buried in my chest. “I am so sorry,” I say. “For what happened to you, about your mirror, and for getting angry. That’s not helpful to you right now.” I can feel her sobbing quietly into my shirt, the tears making it wet. “None of this is your fault.”

Her voice is muffled, but I can make out: “How can I possibly be good? How can I love myself? How can I not hate everything I see when all I see in that stupid, broken mirror is him, and everything he did to me? Why did he do it? What did I do wrong?”

I sigh, holding in the tears belonging to my own eyes. “Because you’re not him. Even if you look like him, that doesn’t mean you did what he did. You’re so kind, y/n, you’re too kind to even let anybody worry about you. You have so many friends and comrades who respect you, respect your integrity, your thoughtfulness, your contributions to not just the mission but to the entire world. Even if you don’t get a fancy plaque or title for it, you stay late, you do extra, you take the time to do your homework when you have an idea, and people look to you for leadership. You make the unit a family, not just an army. You’re more of a warrior than I am, y/n. You fight, every day, to overcome something so huge, and somehow you still have enough left in you to fight a couple other battles for our people, and for humankind. And you do it for all the right reasons. I envy you. I may be a warrior, but you’re a commander, a ruler, an Emperor, yet for some reason, all you want to do is help other people.” I pause, taking a breath. “He did what he did because he, a small minded, selfish excuse for a man, saw something in you that he knows he will never have for himself. That thing is your heart, your spirit, your character. It attracts all kinds of people to you, and he wanted to break your spirit, because he knew he would always be lonely and miserable. You are a good person, with a good heart, and there is nothing you did that places any blame on your shoulders. You were a child, and he was an adult who made choices of his own accord, and he will suffer the consequences of those choices by never feeling your warmth, never feeling your love.”

She looks up at me, shakily raising one of her hands to touch my cheek. Her fingers feel like the sun, dancing on my skin. She really is light, heating everything she touches. I want to close my eyes, lean into her touch, but her e/c eyes bore into mine, sharing this moment with me in its’ fullness. “Thank you.” Y/n says. “I-I don’t know if I can believe everything you said yet, but I want to try. And thank you for being a good friend.” She looks away and lowers her hand, doubt filling her features with lines. I immediately wish it was back where she had it, but I know this isn’t about me right now. She needs a friend. “I just wish I didn’t have to look like him. After he’s done such ugly things-“ A quick glance at her wrist- “I can’t help but feel...” She trails off, burrowing deeper into my embrace.

On cue, I hold her tighter. “Well. I don’t know how much help it is for me to say it, but when I look at you, all I see is you. You truly are beautiful, and no matter the marks he left on you, his efforts will never hide that beauty. I see a person who can gentle any horse, can make any jerk nice-“

She laughs, “Don’t talk about Porco like that!”

“-And you make the people around you better people. You don’t need a Titan form to be powerful. You already are.” I smile. I’m pretty sure Porco likes her, otherwise he wouldn’t mind his manners and his attitude around her. Something stirs in me - what is that? Jealousy? Or just the usual hatred? Whatever. Doesn’t matter right now. “I just wish you could see you through my eyes. You’d realize why everyone cares so much. So, stop keeping your problems to yourself, we’re called your friends for a reason.” I order.

Her face gets a little red. “Oh. Right. I just... didn’t want to bother anyone.”

“Bother everyone. You owe yourself that much.” I say, getting up after giving her one more squeeze. “Will you be coming to dinner later? No one’s seen you in public for a week.”

She looks at her feet. “I probably should, just so everyone thinks I’m okay.”

“You don’t have to be okay, you know,” I respond, “Just alive, so we can be of help. If you do come, I promise I’ll be nice to Porco. Also, Pieck has been asking about you.”

She smiles. “I do miss Pieck. And Porco. And I missed you, too, Reiner.” Something flutters inside my chest at hearing my name on her on her lips. “But, um. I’m just curious.” She says.

“Hm?” I prompt, giving her my full attention.

“How did you know what to say?” She asks.

I shrug. “I didn’t really know, I just... went with what I would want someone to say to me. I... I can kind of relate. In a way.” I turn the doorknob, but before the door opens, I hear her climb off her bed, rising to her feet. I wait.

“Reiner, I-“ Silence. Her feet pad across the floor, and I feel her arms wrap around me. I let go of the knob and turn to hug her back. “I really appreciate you,” She says quietly. “I’ll come to dinner, if that’s what you want.”

I say, “It’s what everyone wants, but yes, I admittedly, specifically, am hoping you will feel okay enough to show up. Plus, I don’t think staying alone in your room is super healthy.”

“It’s not so lonely when you come to visit.” She says to the buttons of my shirt.

“Perhaps I’ll visit more often, then.” I smile. “Just to check in, of course.” She nods her head and releases me, even though I wish she could’ve held me for just an eternity longer. She really does have healing hugs. I smile one last time, then make my exit, closing the door quietly behind me.

I sigh, the usual tension I feel missing from my shoulders. Even if I didn’t say much, opening up even a tiny bit about my feelings felt... nice. Maybe I’ll start visiting y/n instead of sitting alone in my sadness. She has a way of making me feel better, even when she isn’t trying. And she said she appreciates me! That makes one person, at least. I don’t let the smile I feel ghosting my lips stay for long, but it lingers a few seconds while I head down the hallway to the main corridor.

[ashtreehollow]

Crastle Comfort

Hi I wrote a 3rd Life fic?? I had an idea and ran with it. Warning: Does contain spoilers for this week (week 6)’s session of 3rd Life!!

Pairing: Bdubds & ZombieCleo (platonic) Word Count: 1560 Summary:  When Bdubs comes back to the 3rd Life server, he isn't quite sure what to expect after the chaotic session he missed. He isn't expecting Ren going full Red King, or the fallout over Pizza's death, but he's certainly not expecting a changed Cleo.

You can also read it on AO3!

When Bdubs returned to the 3rd Life server, he was fully prepared to hunker down and fortify the Crastle even more, and make good on his new status as a Red Life (he’d even pulled out his trusty red bandana for the occasion). When he spawned into the server, near his bed on the second floor, he was raring to go, a sort of something thrumming through his veins just under the surface. In the back of his brain, he paused to wonder if this was the bloodlust he and Cleo had joked about, if this hunger lay within all the other Reds. Distracted by his thoughts, Bdubs was surprised when he felt two cold arms wrap around his body, and a panicked thought crossed his mind.

Was this it? Had someone spawn-camped just to kill him, to take his final life right as he made it back to the server?

“Bdubs, you’re back!”

Oh. Of course it was Cleo, waiting to welcome him back with a hug! How sweet of her.

“Cleo, I’m back! How are y-?” The question died on his lips as he pulled away and finally got a look at his teammate. For a moment, he was worried she was on fire, and shuffled through his inventory for a water bucket before realizing no, she wasn't actually on fire - he thought?

Cleo’s hair, already naturally fiery red, seemed to be glowing now. The ends of her hair ended in flame, and crackled gently as the flames flickered; the once-green leaves in her hair now resembled embers. He finally made eye contact with her and dread filled his stomach as golden-yellow eyes stared back.

“Oh Cleo...what happened?” Bdubs asked as he pulled her in for another quick hug. Cleo pulled back, one hand coming to clutch the fabric of her blouse, right next to the now-yellow glowing heart brooch. Her eyes hardened as she looked at him.

“What happened, Bdubs, is that I died.” Came her reply, anger thinly-veiled in her voice.

“Well, yeah, I figured, but- how?” He asked, before a thought came to mind. “Was it Grian and Scar? Did they do this to you? Cleo, I swear I’ll go out there right now and-”

“No Bdubs, it wasn’t them.” Seeing his confused look, Cleo took a deep breath. “I’m technically in an alliance with them now.” Her gaze shifted to the side, away from her teammate’s crimson gaze. A wave of shame washed over her.

“What?! Cleo, how could you?? They killed me!”

He didn’t mean to raise his voice, but anger and betrayal had him near-shouting. He felt the something (the bloodlust) thrum in his veins, heart beating in his ears.

“I had no choice Bdubs!” Cleo retorted, eyes and hair blazing. “You left me, alone, with broken alliances. I was desperate!”

“What about Ren and Martyn? Aren’t we friends?” Confusion painted his voice. Would Cleo betray them like that?

“Apparently not!” Cleo shouted, throwing her hands in the air. Huffing, she turned away from him, arms coming up to hug herself as she glanced out the window.

“Cleo…” His voice was softer than she’d ever heard it. “What happened?”

Taking another breath, she sat on the chest in front of her, facing Bdubs.

“I tried to make friends, y’know? I figured it’d be good to do some damage control and apologize to Joel for sort-of killing him, even if he’s the one who jumped into the fire.” She shook her head as a small smile pulled at her lips and a chuckle left Bdubs’ mouth.

“He accepted my apology, he did. I gave him a crossbow, and I figured I’d try to talk to Ren, explain and find out where I stand with His Majesty,” her voice dripped with sarcasm. “I found out, alright.

“He’d already put us in his little Black Book, all because I’d burned Joel’s house. He and Martyn didn’t even give me a chance to explain that we had made up. Ren wouldn’t listen to reason, he-!” She locked eyes with Bdubs again, fear swimming in her gaze.

“He’s gone mad, Bdubs. He calls himself the Red King, for Void’s sake!”

Bdubs was shocked by the fear and anger in her voice, the wateriness of her eyes hinting at the beginning of tears. He approached her slowly, taking the spot next to her upon the chest and tentatively resting an arm around her shoulders. He felt her sag against him.

“I had no choice. We have the weaponry, but I can’t defend the Crastle by myself. I had to join Scar.” Bdubs’ heart broke at the waver in her voice. To see and hear Cleo cracking like this, he hated himself for leaving her in that position.

“So then,” he started. “Grian and Scar didn’t do..this to you...did they?” She dropped her gaze as she shook her head.

“It was the last battle of the session. Joel had shot at the Red Army-” Bdubs’ eyes widened at the name. “-and we were defending Bean Hill. I’d gotten hit a few times and was already on fire and low health when the last arrow knocked me off the roof.” She spat a rueful laugh. “I landed on the stupid fence and that was it.”

Bdubs swallowed thickly, the dread in his stomach morphing into a growing ire. He had a feeling he knew the answer to the question he was about to ask, but he had to know, had to hear it from her.

“Cleo,” she met his gaze, yellow amber meeting steely crimson. “Whose arrow was it?” He asked.

…

“It was Ren’s.”

It took everything in Bdubs not to explode and go out for vengeance right that second. The only thing he could hear was the blood pumping in his ears, his heart pounding so loud he was sure Cleo could hear it. A voice in the back of his mind told him to go go go get revenge kill the King he deserves it he needs to pay-

But looking at Cleo - his teammate, his friend, his bond - he knew where he needed to be. The pounding in his ears died down as he brought her into a proper hug, and he felt her hands grip his shirt as he ran a hand gently through her hair. He noticed distantly that while Cleo always ran cold, she was warmer now. Still well-below a safe body temp, it felt less like hugging an actual corpse and more like hugging someone who’d been outside without a coat.

Ironic how the zombie felt more alive the closer to death she was.

“Bdubs,” they pulled away to look at each other. “I understand if you want to split up. I know Scar and Grian killed you, and I get it if this alliance won’t work.” He stared at her in shock.

“Cleo, I don’t care if you joined the Desert alliance, I- well, okay I care a little and I’m still kinda mad at them but- THAT’S not the point!” he shook his head.

“What does matter, is you Cleo. We’re Day One gang, Team Crastle, and that matters more to me than what alliances we have.” He could feel his voice getting thick with emotion.

“Cleo, as long as Team Crastle stays together, I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Even the Nether?” She asks, a smile finally gracing her face, laughter in her voice and her eyes.

“Okay, well, I don’t know about all that,” They both laughed. “I mean it Cleo. While I can’t promise I’ll always be there, I’ll try my best.”

“Me too Bdubs.”

They sat there a moment, just existing in the comfort of each other’s company. It was a few minutes later that Bdubs stood up, hands on his hips and walking over to another chest to check inventory.

“Alright Cleo, we got some planning to do if we wanna take Ren down a peg. What and who are we working with?” His tone was light, a grin back on his face and a mischievous look in his eyes. Cleo shot a smirk back as she stood to open the chest that had served as their seat.

“Well, the Hobbits I think are pretty solid allies right now, and we’re all with Grian and Scar. Joel is sort of with us, but he’s a wildcard and could flip at any moment.” She pulled two crossbows and a handful of hurty arrows from the chest, noticing that several were missing from the supply.

‘May have to go ask for repayment from someone.’ She thought.

“What about Impulse and Tango?” Bdubs asked with a grimace as he took an offered crossbow.

“I think we’re okay with Impulse, but he’s with the Red Army now. Scar took Tango in when he told us Etho and Impulse didn’t trust him anymore, but I caught him reporting back to them about Scar.”

“Oho, double agent! We’ll have some fun with that!” Bdubs responded as the two of them made their way downstairs, adjusting armor and stocking their bags with weapons and food, before leaving the safety of the Crastle. The two could be heard as Bdubs loudly mourned the loss of his crenellations at the hands of Etho. Cleo only laughed as the two set off to meet with their allies to plan the fall of the Red King.

[worminstuff]

The moon is beautiful, isn’t it? pt.2

Dream x oc

dreams got a new infatuation with a new member of L’manburg

no warnings:)yet

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Fin took a deep breath, the smell of baked goods flooding her senses. It was a brisk morning and Nikki had woken finley up to take her to the bakery with her. She wanted company and she really wanted to get to know her new friend.

The night prior, Nikki was excitedly talking to Wilbur about how it was going to be so nice having another girl around, so Wilbur suggested she ask Finley to tag along with her the next morning knowing Fin would be more than happy to do so.

“So you go by Finley only?” Nikki asked the small girl to sit at the table behind her.

“Well I used to. But now Tubbo decided he wanted to call me mags, and I couldn't say no.” Fin traced the lines of the wood table.

“Tubbo is hard to say no to in general. How come you don't like maggie though? I think that's a very cute name.” Nikki turned to face fin.

“Well that's the point. It's too cute, you know? Don't want to seem all soft.” Finley waved her arm as if she was brushing away a fly.

Nikki gave her a sceptical look. Fin was small, wearing black patchwork overalls and green turtleneck shirt with a little duck embroidered under her collar. She wasn't exactly dressed tough.

Before she could reply, “Good morning women!” Tommy strode in, a grin adorning his red cheeks.

“Morning Tommy.” Nikki grumbled back.

“Hello Maggie!” he plopped himself down in a chair across from Finley, she glared. “You know, Maggie is more fitting than Finley I think. It just fits you better. I would still like to know your first name.'' Tommy leaned on the table staring her down.

“I'll be keeping that to myself.” Fin said, earning a snicker from Nikki behind them.

Tommy huffed. “What do you have a tragic backstory with?”

“No, I just don't want you to call me it.” she said frankly.

Tommys brows furrowed. “Then I wont. I just want to know what it is, I'm a curious boy. I'll have you know.”

Finley huffed. “I can't tell you why.” she looked towards her hands on the table. “it’s Magnolia.”

Tommy started a moment, no laugh, no gin, no tease, just staring. Nikki stared at Tommy, a spatula in hand ready to hit him with.

“Thats a beautiful name.”

Both nikki and fins eyes went wide, fins head whipping up to look at him.

“It's very beautiful. Magnolia.” he repeated to himself. “Shame you're not a fan of it, i love it.” there was no trace of a lie in his features, he was being honest.

Tommy turned around momentarily to look at Nikki, “A word of this to the others and i'll burn your house or something.” he turned back to Fin. “I want you to know that I may be rude sometimes, and i'm aware of it, but you're one of us. You're family, and I'm by your side. Im glad you trust me enough to tell me your name, I really do like it by the way. Beautiful flowers magnolias are.” Tommy stood, holding a hand out for her. She stood wearily.

“C'mere flower.” he joked, gesturing her closer. He pulled her into a brotherly hug. A quick one. He let go, waving to both girls as he left the bakery.

Both girls stood shell shocked for a moment.

Fin looked at Nikki, “Does he-”

“No. I’ve never.. Ever seen.. Tommy be that kind.” nikkis eyes were still wide.

“Well.. I think i'm gonna go walk around some. Explore a bit.”

“Of course! It was wonderful hanging out with you, I'd love if you hung out here more. If you'd like of course.” Nikki said, a comforting smile on her face.

Finley nodded, matching her grin,”I will! it’s very nice here. i like it a lot.” then made her way out.

She followed the wooden path down to the docks she went to days prior, listening to the faint swishing of the calm water below the wood her feet walked across.

Once she made it to the end of the longest dock, she pulled a pen and paper from the front pocket of her overalls, sitting on the dock. She placed the paper on her leg, starting a response to the anonymous letter she received last night.

I don't particularly know why I'm doing this, because I'm almost sure Mr. Soot would advise against it, but it's quite exciting i think.

Hello mr letter writer! I'm Fin! You already know what i look like apparently, since you're a stalker and a burglar, so I won't describe myself that way. I don't really know what to tell you.

My favorite color is green, and I really like knives. Not in a crazy serial killer way, I just think they're cool. I like that you told me to look at the moon, cause I really like the moon. And the ocean.

My favorite place so far is the docks.

So far I've met most of the people of L’manburg. Tubbo and nikki are my first friends. Today I met tommy for the second time, and he seems actually very nice. I told him my full name, which only tubbo knew before. Wilbur as well, but I didn't tell Wilbur.

I asked Tubbo who on the smp he was afraid of, and he mentioned this guy's dream. I haven't heard anyone else mention him though, so I wonder how scary he really is. Have you met him? You seem creepy so maybe you hangout with the scary people.

I saw two guys on the way out this morning, one was wearing sunglasses at dusk, which was strange. The other had a cool headband on. I wanted to say hello because they seem cool but Wilbur didn't introduce me to them so i don't want to talk to anyone he'd be angry at me for talking to. I don't feel like rebelling too much just yet, you know?

I hope you have a nice day mr. burglar.

Fin folded the paper in three, and stood to place it in the box at the end of the dock. She wondered how long it would take to see a response. She knew she was going to check the next morning.

This person seemed..strange. Yet she was very intrigued. She just won't be mentioning this to Wilbur any time soon.

~

“It's not an obsession.” Dream huffed to his fiery friend.

“It seems like it. She's all you've been thinking about since you saw her, and you don't even know her name!” Sapnap’s arms flailed above his head.

George snickered behind them. George was sitting on a couch in the room across from them as they argued while sitting at the dining table.

“Dream you are being a bit..strange about her. I mean, what's the deal? She doesn't exactly seem..extraordinary.” he shrugged.

Dream shot him a deathly glare to which George flinched. Yeesh.

“Okay okay i'll take it back” he held his hands up in surrender.

All three of them paused for a moment, and the dream took a deep breath.

“Maybe.. I should ask Wilbur about her.” a devilish grin spread across his face.

Sapnap and George groaned loudly.

“Why the hell would that be a good idea, Dream?” George said.

“Think about it, he thinks he's got a new fighter of some sort. Another soldier. But he also seems like he has some sort of connection with her, he cares. So if he knows i've got an eye out for her, there's no way he'd put her in battle. Who knows what she's capable of so that only benefits us!” Dream stared at Sapnap excitedly.

“You're insane. Absolutely bonkers.” he shook his head standing up abruptly to make his way to his room.

Dreams' shoulders sank. It was sort of a poor excuse, but his mind was set.

“Where are you going?” George asked dream just before he was about to pass through the front door.

“I think you know.”

He at least needed to know her name. At least.

Dream didn't often is it l’manburg when there wasn't some type of damage about to be done, which is why he understood the wide eyes and stiff stance of wilbur as he stepped into what wilbur referred to as his “office” just inside the walls of L’manburg.

“Relax, i'm here to ask some questions. That's all.'' Dream tried to show him he came in peace by attempting to seem as relaxed as possible. Limp shoulders, loose hands.

He reached behind his head, unclipping the clasp holding his mask on. He held it in front of hi a tad, “See, I’ll even take this off Mr. President.”

Wilbur stood only staring. What the hell? He's barely spoken to in dreams, especially like this.

He hummed, “Alright.. What questions do you have for me then?” he hesitantly clasped his hands together in front of himself.

“About the new girl.” Dream tried to hide a grin.

Wilburs eyes narrowed and his shoulders squared. Dream had already hit a nerve.

“Ronny?..” he mumbled. What could Dream want with her? “Not quite sure what you're on about.” he tried to shake it off. Dream wasn't buying it.

“Oh come on. short, “ dream held his hand up around his middle, “freckles, had overalls on. Who is she?” his question sounded more like a statement in a way.

Wilbur sighed, “That would be FInley. She's the sister of an old friend of mine.”

Dream let it simmer for a moment. Finley. That's adorable. Not the first name he said, though.

“If her name is Finley, why'd you say Ronny?” Dream asked, a tilt to his head.

“That's what I call her. She goes by Finley. I call her what her brother always called her. I don't quite see how any of this is your business?” wilbur was starting to get annoyed. What could he want with Fin? Nothing good he was sure.

“I was just curious that's all.” he pulled his mask to his face, clipping the clasp behind his head. A brother. Wilbur knew her brother, why would he be here though?

“She is technically under the jurisdiction of the smp. As “L’manburg” “ he held up his hands in air quotes, “isn't independent quite yet, Mr. Soot.”

Wilbur stayed silent. He figured this was a time that he should stay silent rather than speak his mind.

Dream saluted him with a slight bow of his head as he ducked out of the doorway, leaving without a farewell.

As Dream left L’manburg his head was swimming with thoughts of the small girl. Finley. He wondered if she liked his letter, if she would write back. He didn't know what he'd do if she didn't. Maybe another trip to L’manburg would be made, he thought.

[tigerkirby215]

5e Olaf, the Beserker build (League of Legends)

(Artwork by Phroilan Gardner. Made for Riot Games.)

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Olaf sounds like ProZD’s Archibald voice. Especially Olaf’s voice lines for using his Q it sounds exactly like ProZD’s “Huah! I think that enemy got the point!” Like I’m not crazy right? Please tell me I’m not the only one who hears this.

Anyways Olaf has been on my To Do List ever since I realized that I haven’t made a single champion whose name starts with the letter O. My desire to make Olaf was only further accentuated by the Sentinels of Light event, even if his inclusion in that event could best be summed up with...

But I won’t ignore Olaf just because the Sentinels of Light event was a flop. He’s still a compelling character that I have actually gotten some requests to make. After all: the dual-axe wielding Barbarian is an iconic image!

I mean, Olaf is probably just going to be 20 levels in Beserker Barbarian so I don’t know why you need me to make a build for that.

GOALS

C'mon, I won't hurt you - We’ll need ways to heal when we harm in the middle of combat.

Death by steel! - Swing axe, throw axe; unga bunga me play Olaf.

The might of Lokfar approaches - I didn’t manage to do so with Mundo but Olaf is going to need to have CC immunity.

RACE

Olaf is a human; feel free to pick a different race like Goliath or even Custom Lineage to justify him being Iceborn but Variant Human is still the best option. Increase your Strength by 1 as well as your Constitution, grab any skill proficiency of your choice as it honestly doesn’t matter much for Olaf (maybe you should’ve been Custom Lineage for Darkvision after all?), and the Primordial language because I’m sure you picked up on the language of the wild.

For your feat you have a choice: Dual Wielder will let you wield two d8 Battleaxes (instead of d6 Handaxes) and also increase your AC by 1 while dual-wielding, but the Fighting Initiate feat will let you grab Two-Weapon Fighting which will let you add your Strength modifier to your second axe’s swing. I persually opted for Dual Wielder as it gives you more benefits overall, and we’ll be getting ways to throw axes without having to hold onto them first.

ABILITY SCORES

15; STRENGTH - I mean, you’re a shirtless Barbarian running around with two axes. You thought this would be a DEX build?

14; CONSTITUTION - The reason you can’t die is because you’re so hardy. Sucks!

13; CHARISMA - Despite Riot’s great attempts at writing you as poorly as possible you do still have some sort of Charisma. Remember that Charisma is force of personality, not necessarily good looks or personal hygiene. Charisma is needed for Intimidation as well as multiclassing.

12; DEXTERITY - You need to be quick on your feet to run at your enemies with reckless abandon.

10; WISDOM - If you were wise you wouldn’t be trying to kill yourself.

8; INTELLIGENCE - You stopped caring about education the moment you were born. Battle is the only thing in your blood!

This build is also quite viable with Point Buy, going for a stat array like 15 / 12 / 14 / 8 / 8 / 14 if you want lower mental stats but higher combat stats.

BACKGROUND

The Uthgardt Tribe Member background from the Sword Coast Adventurer’s Guide is basically the Outlander background but you actually belonged to Freljordian society once. Regardless you do get proficiency in Athletics as well as Survival (”Survival” as in finding food to eat, not as in keeping safe on the battlefield!), a musical instrument or artisan’s tool of your choice (choose whatever you fancy and make your own Olaf, as long as it’s something a warrior would do! I personally opted for Smith’s Tools to sharpen your axes), and a language of your choice (pick whatever language they spoke back in the villages.)

Your background Uthgardt Heritage is the Outlander’s Wanderer feature with extra steps: along with being able to find food and water you are also treated well by nomads and wanderers who have heard of your glorious battles!

(Artwork by Marie Magny and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

THE BUILD

LEVEL 1 - BARBARIAN 1

Starting off as a Barbarian because what else would we be? You get proficiency in two skills from the Barbarian list: Intimidation is an obvious must and Perception will help you find good fights to take!

As a Barbarian you get Unarmored Defense equal to your Dexterity plus your Constitution, which is currently a 13... Well Medium Armor is an option if you want to finally put on a shirt. And of course as a Barbarian you can Rage to deal more damage and resist incoming damage! You can’t cast spells while Raging, but that won’t matter, right? It’s not like I’m about to give you caster levels.

LEVEL 2 - FIGHTER 1

Quickly hopping over to Fighter to further your martial skills. You can grab a Fighting Style like Thrown Weapon Fighting to draw weapons in the same action you make to throw them, and also do +2 damage with thrown weapon attacks. See? Told you we’d be able to throw axes easily!

You also get Second Wind for some not-quite-Lifesteal to keep you in the fight to claim even more glory! Certainly not to stay alive.

LEVEL 3 - FIGHTER 2

Well another Fighter level for Action Surge is certainly worth it, as you can push yourself to destroy your foes!

LEVEL 4 - FIGHTER 3

But we need one more Fighter level to be able to get our axes back after we throw them. Eldritch Knights get Weapon Bond, allowing them to always keep two weapons on hand and never lose them. While bonded with a weapon you can’t be disarmed of them, and you can use a Bonus Action to recall a weapon if it’s not in your hands. My suggestion would be to bond to a Battleaxe and a Handaxe, so you can’t be disarmed of at least one of your main weapons and can also call your thrown axe back to throw it again!

You also get Spellcasting as an Eldritch Knight: You learn two cantrips from the Wizard list, and three spells as well. You may be thinking “wait; didn’t you dump Intelligence?” That is correct, but you don’t need Intelligence to cast Light to see with your dumb human eyes (I mean technically you need Intelligence if you want to cast Light on someone else but it’s probably easier just to light up your axe and throw it at them) or Prestidigitation, which is a better spell for creating bonfires than the actual Create Bonfire spell.

Your leveled spells have to be from either the Evocation or Abjuration schools, but thankfully Absorb Elements and Shield are both from the Abjuration school and also don’t need Intelligence. Protect yourself from damage to have a truly glorious death! Because it’s not like blocking attacks will keep you alive.

You can also learn one spell from any school and uhhhh... Pick your poison between Jump and Longstrider, to make it easier to chase your foes. Are there probably better spells? Yeah, but do they fit Olaf?

(Artwork by Xiao Guang Sun and West Studios. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 5 - PALADIN 1

Jumping over to Paladin for a few abilities, such as Divine Sense to find some things that will put up a good fight like Fiends, Undead, or... Celestials? I’m sure they hit hard! You can also find a good desecrated (or consecrated) battleground with this ability, as I’m sure there will be good enemies there! You only know of an enemy’s type however, not their name. And if they’re hiding from you this ability won’t make it any easier to find them.

You also get Lay on Hands, which is like lifesteal you can give to allies! You have a pool of hit points equal to your Paladin level times 5, and you can use it to either heal (at a rate of 1 point per hitpoint) or neutralize a poison or disease affecting a target. (5 Lay on Hands health to neutralize one poison or disease.) Dying to natural causes isn’t a glorious death, brother!

LEVEL 6 - PALADIN 2

We’ll also need second level in Paladin to get a Fighting Style, but since Wizards of the Coast hates fun you can’t can’t take Two-Weapon Fighting, and since we’re running around in our birthday suit Defense also isn’t an option. The best official Fighting Style you can take is Blind Fighting (Blessed Warrior is okay too if you want Guidance I guess) but talk to your DM about potentially letting you take Two-Weapon Fighting? It’s not like it’s OP or anything (in all honesty it’s kinda shit.)

Paladins also get... more Spellcasting?! Disgusting! Well this spellcasting is based on your Charisma modifier instead of your Intelligence, which might be why we have it at a 14. But even so you can’t prepare that many spells: Divine Favor will let you empower all your attacks with more damage for some Vicious Strikes, Cure Wounds will again be acting as life-not-quite-steal, and Shield of Faith will let you or an ally absorb more blows, not that you want to live or anything. Also remember to check the Player’s Handbook to see how many spell slots you’d have after mixing two casters together.

But I still think the best course of action for your spell slots is to use them for Divine Smite! Throw caution and magic to the wind to make a Reckless Swing that does extra Radiant damage (depending on the level of the spell slot used.) The Smite deals 2d8 of damage for a first level slot, and an additional d8 of damage for every slot above first. (The simple way to remember this is that you roll a number of d8s equal to the spell slot used plus one.) If the enemy is a Fiend or Undead the damage increases by a d8! The maximum level spell slot you can use for this is a 4th level slot (for 5d8 damage, or 6d8 against a Fiend or Undead), but I doubt we’ll get spell slots that big.

LEVEL 7 - PALADIN 3

We may as well take a third level in Paladin for a Sacred Oath, and you swore an Oath of Glory in battle! Along with Guiding Bolt and Heroism being added to your spell list (as if you can cast spells lmao) you get two Channel Divinity options: Peerless Athlete turns you into... well, a Peerless Athlete with advantage on Athletics and Acrobatics checks. You can also carry, push, drag, and lift twice as much weight as normal, and to top it off the distance of your long and high jumps increases by 10 feet. This boost lasts for 10 minutes which should be more than enough to give it your all in battle!

Alternatively for some more not-quite-lifesteal Inspiring Smite can be activated after you Smite to give yourself or nearby allies within 30 feet temporary hitpoints. The total number of temporary hit points gained by this ability equals 2d8 + your Paladin level, and you can distribute them amongst yourself and your allies however you wish. Technically the most gameplay-accurate way to split the Temp HP would be to take it all yourself but being helpful has its benefits. A battle is truly glorious if fought alongside an army of companions!

You also get Divine Health, because Glory doesn’t die on sick days!

LEVEL 8 - PALADIN 4

It’s about time to take that 4th Paladin level to finally get an Ability Score Improvement: +2 to Strength for stronger axe swings is an obvious choice!

You can also prepare another spell like Bless, which will make it easier for you and your allies to smite your foes and survive their blows! Wait, what was that about surviving?

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 9 - PALADIN 5

Since it’s so close we may as well take the 5th level of Paladin so you can finally make an Extra Attack. That means you have two attacks normally and a third attack with your Bonus Action thanks to Two-Weapon Fighting!

You can also prepare second level Paladin spells now, and the Oath of Glory gives you Enhance Ability and Magic Weapon as spells you can cast. Believe it or not these are actually useful, even with your low spellcasting modifier!

LEVEL 10 - PALADIN 6

The 6th level of Paladin is honestly too good to pass up: even though Aura of Protection is only adding +2 to all your saving throws (since your Charisma is kinda uhhh... not good?) that’s still +2 to all your saves, as well as the saves of your allies within 10 feet. That’s like, two whole Rings of Protection!

Speaking of rings: Warding Bond was added to the Paladin spell list thanks to Tasha’s and it’ll let you take damage for your allies to die in their place! As long as you don’t mind wearing some platnium rings in your beard, at least.

LEVEL 11 - PALADIN 7

What we’re really here for is the 7th level of Glory Paladin. Aura of Alacrity will increase the speed of you and your allies within 5 feet (not 10, because Wizards of the Coast are weird) by 10 feet, so you can charge at your foes with the might of Ragnarok!

LEVEL 12 - PALADIN 8

But we may as well take the 8th level of Paladin for another Ability Score Improvement: cap off your Strength for the deadliest strikes possible.

You can also prepare another spell but it would be wise to wait for...

(Artwork by JoJo So. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 13 - PALADIN 9

9th level Paladins can prepare third level spells like Crusader’s Mantle to give all your nearby allies the Divine Favor buff to rush into battle with you! But the main reason we’re dipping this deep into Paladin is for the two spells from the Oath of Glory: Protection from Energy perhaps isn’t all that fitting, but Haste is insanely useful and powerful. More attacks, more speed, more... armor? Well, it’s no matter. More glorious battle!

LEVEL 14 - PALADIN 10

10th level Paladins won’t be swayed by magic swaying their hearts! Aura of Courage will let you (and your allies within 10 feet) laugh in the face of death as you gain immunity to the Frightened condition!

You can also prepare another spell like Aura of Vitality: you can use it to heal yourself but healing your allies will lead to a far more glorious story to tell of your death.

LEVEL 15 - PALADIN 11

I promise that we’ll go back to Barbarian levels soon but 11th level Paladins get a huge boost to their damage output thanks to Improved Divine Smite. This ability affects all your attacks (not just your Smites despite the name) to give them an extra d8 of Radiant damage. This has obvious synergy with your choice to swing two axes since your Two-Weapon Fighting attack will also get that extra d8 of damage!

LEVEL 16 - PALADIN 12

Okay but let’s quickly grab the 12th level of Paladin first. You can either increase your Constitution for more health and AC, or your Charisma for better saving throws and spellcasting. I personally opted for Charisma but if you value health and AC then Constitution is good too!

Oh and yeah you can prepare more spells, but there aren’t really that many other third level spells I want.

(Artwork by Alvin Lee. Made for Riot Games.)

LEVEL 17 - PALADIN 13

That’s because 13th level Paladins finally get 4th spells which most importantly means Freedom of Movement! There you go you finally have Ragnarok’s CC immunity! You also get Compulsion which sure would be a good spell if you had any Charisma to actually cast it.

But you can also prepare more spells like Aura of Purity so you and your allies can shrug off whatever your foes might throw at you to stop you from reaching them, or Death Ward which you ABSOLUTELY WILL NOT USE ON YOURSELF.

LEVEL 18 - PALADIN 14

Okay but the 14th level of Paladin gives you Cleansing Touch, letting you cleanse spells without spell slots to cast Freedom of Movement. You can use this feature a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier and regain all expended uses at the end of a Long Rest.

You could also perhaps prepare another spell like... Aid? I don’t know really by this point the magic is secondary. We’ll be going back to Barbarian soon anyways.

LEVEL 19 - PALADIN 15

But 15th level Glory Paladins get Glorious Defense, and we can’t pass that up! When you or another creature you can see (technically an enemy if you so desire!) within 10 feet of you is hit by an attack roll, you can use your reaction to grant a bonus to the target’s AC against that attack equal to your Charisma modifier. If the attack misses you can make one weapon attack against the attacker as part of this reaction, provided the attacker is within your weapon’s range. You can do this a number of times equal to your Charisma modifier, and regain all uses at the end of a Long Rest.

LEVEL 20 - PALADIN 16

But since it’s so close one final level in Paladin would be good for one final ASI: again more Constitution means more health and AC, but more Charisma will boost all your Paladin abilities!

Speaking of Paladin abilities you can prepare one more spell before we start taking more Barbarian levels... honestly you can pick your poison as it won’t matter much when your Raging!

...Wait.

WHY NO BARBARIAN LEVELS?

There’s a lot of things that I can’t do as a Barbarian. The most notable option that would be restricted if I went pure Barbarian would be Freedom of Movement, and while crowd control is somewhat rare in D&D being able to ignore it is far more important to Olaf as a character.

There’s also no Barbarian that has lifesteal besides Path of the Beast, and the only Barbarian that can throw its axe easily is Path of Wild Magic. Obviously neither of these fit Olaf.

Ultimately Paladin gave us more of Olaf’s abilities. The only ability that Barbarians have which fit Olaf other than Unarmored Defense and I guess Unarmored Movement would be Feral Instinct. But even the Barbarian subclasses don’t fit Olaf with the only ones which make any sense being maybe Totem Warrior? (Despite Olaf’s title Berserker wouldn’t fit him well, mostly because Berserker is a bad subclass.) But we miss out on so many of Olaf’s actual abilities by making him a Barbarian.

tl;dr Barbarians can’t do magic and Olaf has a ton of abilities that can only be recreated in D&D with magic

FINAL BUILD

PROS

Urge to kill rising... - Two-Weapon Fighting really doesn’t get the respect it deserves by the D&D community. You wouldn’t be able to get three attacks as a level 11 Paladin in any other way, meaning that you can truly capitalize on Improved Divine Smite. Not to mention the general increased DPS of 3 attacks and 3 chances to Smite!

Faster to battle! - It was not my intention but Glory Paladins are surprisingly good team players with a variety of spells and abilities that can keep your team alive and increase their strength in battle.

Obliteration! - You’re fairly hard to kill... oops. But between decently high health, spells to defend yourself, and damn high saving throws no matter how you increase your Charisma you’ll be quite a challenge to eventually take down! Sure your AC might suck... we should probably talk about that.

CONS

The worth of a man can be measured by the length of his beard, and the girth of his belt buckle - Hey remember that one Barbarian level I took pretty much entirely so you could have Unarmored Defense? Yeah honestly it’s gimping you hard, to the point that even Mage Armor would give you more AC. Honestly playing this build as Fighter 4 / Paladin 16 would be far better as you’d get one more ASI at the cost of actually having to wear armor. Hell going full Paladin 20 would give you the Living Legend capstone which is crazy strong, and while the loss of Action Surge would hurt you can grab the Thrown Weapon Fighting Style with a feat. (Or just take Two-Weapon Fighting style with your Variant Human Feat and run around with Hand Axes.)

If you’re really dead-set on going unarmored beg your DM for a Barrier Tattoo: either a Rare one (you’ll still need 14 DEX for something something legally-not-Medium Armor) or a Very Rare one (so you don’t even have to worry about Dexterity.) You can even go the Tahm Kench route and grab Eldritch Adept for Disguise Self to look unarmored if it’s really that important to you.

Well that was a pretty long con to say “Barbarian Olaf bad.” What else is there?

Chop chop! - Who would’ve guessed that dumping both mental stats would make you a dummy? While Aura of Protection saves you to some extent the party won’t be turning to you for any History checks.

Finally, some fun! - You have a rather silly amount of spells relative to your spell slots, and a good number of them are Concentration as well. Throwing all your slots to the wind to Divine Smite with reckless abandon sounds fun but managing both your Concentration and your spell slots will take some effort.

But your choice to go in without armor is just a self-handicap after all: you really want to die, and prove yourself in death! Fight the toughest fights and take down the strongest foes until you finally prove your prophecy wrong and fall before the blade of the mightiest foe! But perhaps you should instead sit down and have a muffin, and think about why you truly want to die die die.

(Artwork made for Riot Games.)

[pjoseries]

“i bear it so they won’t have to” + curse of achilles percy

oh this one’s a doozy, thank u emma 😋

(TLO AU)

══════════════════

Percy doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it—the bloodlust. It starts out as a whisper, a simple low hum drifting across the nape of his neck. It crawls in his ear and settles inside his brain and every time he uncaps Riptide, a single persistent thought crosses his mind: Show no mercy.

And he doesn’t. Not when a hoard of monsters comes barrelling through their ranks. Not when he sees the other campers on their feet, but flagging, exhaustion bogging them down as monster after monster charges at them. Percy holds his own on the front lines, raising his voice to be heard, “Fall back!”

He repeats it again for good measure and the piercing, confused stares from them quickly fade as he gains the attention of every monster in his vicinity. A grin slides across his face and he gives Riptide a twirl. 

“How many of you do I have to kill before you get with the program,” Percy taunts. He lets one of them come close enough to sink their claws into his skin, but it just slides right off, ripping through his shirt instead. 

The monster gapes for a moment and attempts to slice through him again, but Percy just tsks and tilts his head. “Nice try, but no dice, man.”

He impales the monster in a quick movement, leaving him in a shower of dust. He grimaces and looks at the others. They march towards him, but Percy doesn’t even think. He blocks and jabs and slices his way through the dust and the dirt and he feels nothing. The curse really works. 

He doesn’t know how long it takes to slay the last monster. He just knows that at the end, he’s drenched in monster dust and sweat. Percy finally rolls his shoulders, taking in the damage. The borders are safe for now. He spots a few campers a ways away limping and handing each other ambrosia. Footsteps come towards him and he whirls and points Riptide at empty air. 

It takes him a moment, but even that’s too long, before he lowers his sword. It’s Annabeth, of course. He furrows his brows. He knows it’s her. She wipes the sweat off her forehead and tucks her cap into her back pocket. 

“Percy, what was that?” she asks, gray eyes glinting in the afternoon light. 

“I, uh,” he says, pocketing Riptide back into his jeans. “I’ll tell you later. We have to check on—”

Annabeth stomps towards him and grips his arm. Logically, he knows how tight of a grip it is, but it’s weird that it doesn’t even sting. “Did you… gods, you didn’t. That trip with Nico… Percy, that is stupidly dangerous.”

She knows. Of course, she figures it out. Percy’s just a fool for thinking he could have broken the news to her later. 

“I did what I had to do.” Percy grits his teeth and steps back.  

She tugs him closer. “You could’ve died.” 

Percy makes the mistake of looking into her eyes again, shiny with unshed tears and he falters. He can’t stand to see her cry. He musters up a wry smile and shrugs. “I’m here, though.”

He tells her nothing of what he saw as he made his way out of the River Styx, doesn’t say a single word about how the first time he ever felt like he would drown that her voice was the only thing he grabbed onto. All he does is loosen her grip with his free hand and gives it a small squeeze. 

“I’ll tell you more about it later, okay?” Her hand is warm and callused from training and it takes him a few seconds to remember he has something to say. “We need to go to the Big House.”

Annabeth just nods and he lingers for a moment before he lets go. As they make their way to Chiron, their hands brush and all thoughts of the fight vanish from his mind. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

It’s on the bridge when he gets an inkling that something is wrong, not with the curse or with the battle itself, but him. It’s similar to the last fight, Percy yelling at the Apollo campers to retreat, but the last of the monsters are dead. All that remain is Kronos himself and his demigod army. 

He slows himself down, aiming to knock them off their skeletal horses and send them running, not maim. Their swords bounce off his skin harmlessly and Percy vaguely notes that he’s ruining his already low supply of shirts. 

The voice is louder now, but still the same. Persistent as a tic: Show no mercy. 

Shut up, he wants to bite back, but he already looks insane just charging through a swarm of demigods and coming out completely unscathed. They make their way almost to the middle of the bridge when Percy freezes, like a lightning bolt just jolts through his body. Then: Annabeth screams. 

“Annabeth!” he yells and turns. A guy stands over her, his knife bloodied and dripping. Percy sees red and the voice persists louder again and he’s almost tempted to take its advice if it isn’t for Annabeth’s weak gasps. 

Percy would’ve died, if not for Annabeth and Annabeth’s dying because of him. Because he’s too damn focused on that stupid voice in his head that makes him want to tear the bridge apart and everyone in it. She doesn’t even know that’s his weak spot. 

He locks eyes with the demigod—Ethan, his mind supplies—and stalks towards him. In a beat, Percy slams his sword hilt into his face and feels a bitter sense of satisfaction as he grunts out in pain and moves away. A couple of other demigods try to come closer, but he swings Riptide as a warning. 

“Get back!” he growls. “No one touches her.”

Kronos merely hums. “Interesting.”

Percy just scowls and steps closer to Annabeth. Suddenly Achilles words come back to him: The heel is only my physical weakness, demigod. He was dumb enough to ignore Achilles’ warnings and now his weakness is staring him right in the face, her face turning ashy as her breaths weakening. Annabeth. His tie to the mortal world. He should’ve known. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind, he always knew, but the war took precedence. Now look where it got him. 

She’s dying and he’s surrounded by enemies. 

“Bravely fought, Perseus Jackson,” Kronos says. “But it’s time to surrender, or she’ll die.”

Annabeth sits up and groans. “Don’t.”

Percy clenches his jaw and bites back the panic at the sight. Her shirt is soaked in blood and he has to get her to a healer. His mind swirls for an escape route and, in a second, he yells out, “Blackjack!”

The pegasus swoops and carries her out and away from any immediate danger. Percy’s glad he knows what to do because he doesn’t have any time to explain. Luke—Kronos’ face twists. 

Percy meets the scythe with Riptide. 

Then their battle begins. And for once, Percy lets the voice in his mind take over. 

Show no mercy.

Percy smiles. He won’t. 

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

The voice stays with him, long after the war ends. Despite how many hours he’s clocking in that affects his sleeping schedule, or the lack of one, he notices that he’s itching for a fight. 

It makes no sense. He wants to rest, but the voice tells him he has the curse for a reason. What use is he to his friends, to his family if he lets them go off on dangerous quests to get injured or worse? A couple of extra more hours of sleep is a petty consequence when it means saving everyone the trouble of getting hurt. 

So despite Annabeth’s warnings, he volunteers to guard the fleece, or to head training, or to do any of the more dangerous missions. There’s an undisputed agreement amongst the campers that they’ll let Percy do whatever he wants which is kind of weird but it works in his favor, so he’ll take it. Well, unless their names are Annabeth and Grover, that is.

But after this one quest—if he can even call it that, maybe just a favor for his father—Percy lands back on the shore, sitting with his knees tucked to his chest. His hands tremble as they flex over his own legs. The water rushes to his ankles, an attempt to calm him down but he just flinches. It just makes things worse. 

Percy’s no better than the monsters he fights. 

He wonders if monsters never exploded into dust, if they bleed like he does. He wonders how much blood he’s spilled, how much it stains his hands, his heart, his soul.

“Percy?” Annabeth says quietly. She pads over to him, settling down right next to him. The water drenches her shoes, but she just places a warm hand on his. “Percy, hey. Are you… okay?”

Her tone is awkward, but there’s an earnestness to it that makes him soften slightly. So he lifts his shoulder in response and stares out into the water. 

“You don’t have to do this, you know.”

Percy clears his throat. “Do what?”

“Go on all these quests. Try to save everyone. The war’s over, Percy. You can just enjoy camp like everyone else, too. You don’t have to do everything. You’re not Atlas.”

“Annabeth, this curse… I have a responsibility. Why let everyone else get hurt if I can do it? They’re just kids.” Percy unfolds his legs and lets Annabeth’s weight ground him. It’s like the voice gets muffled when she’s near. “And besides, I bear it so they won’t have to.”

Annabeth’s fingers find his cheek and he crumbles under her touch. He turns and Annabeth has this expression on her face that he can’t parse out. He closes his eyes and lets her smooth out the wrinkle between his brows, lets her trace a swooping pattern on his cheek. “You’re sixteen, Percy, not sixty-five. You have to let yourself take a break, Percy. The others need to know how to survive out there without you. You’re not always gonna be there to protect them. You’re gonna run yourself to the ground and I’d like to see my boyfriend awake once in a while.”

“Guess my eyes have to be open for that.” Percy smiles into her fingertips and blinks exaggeratedly at her. She giggles and it sends warmth all the way down to his belly. She stands up and brushes off the sand from pants before she holds out her hand. 

Golden light shines behind her, circling her like a halo. He’s suddenly reminded of his dip in the Styx, the way dream-Annabeth held in her laughter as she grabbed his hand and pulled him up. Real-Annabeth wiggles her fingers and he lets her haul him up. 

“Promise you’ll take it easy?” she asks. 

And his answer is an easy one. He kisses the side of her head. “Promise.”

Then they walk back to camp, their hands swinging between them. 

[bravo-four-seal-team]

Demons and Help?||Part 1/2

Co-written/Proof read: @disasterfandoms

Summary: Ashley is finally in Virginia, battling her own Demons, what could go wrong with being out at 5am? She did not expect to run in to the people or person she’s been trying to avoid A/N: Trigger warnings added, torture mention, blood mention, argument, captivity mention. (yes I know its early in the morning)

Tag: @rebelwrites @chibsytelford @galaxysanduniversesinmymind @velvetcardiganbucky @supervalcsi @abby-splace @itsonautopilot @thegirlwhoisalwayswriting @pinkrockstar19 @softi92 @mrsmarvelous1995 @jayhalsteadfan-2417

“Tell me why you are in my country,” the figure asks, slowly walking around the area she was hanging from.

“For the view,” Ashley smirked, spitting blood to the floor, head snapping to the side as a hand connected hard with her cheek.

 “Get the wires,” the figure smirked as another two men moved in. She knew it was a battery; she’d been through this for the past two days. “I give you one more chance to tell me,” the figure said.

 Ashley spat in his face. “Bite me,” she snapped. 

The next few minutes were agony. She screamed as the wires came into contact with her skin, leaving behind marks of where they were being placed. Wheezing when it finally ended, “Get her down” the voice snapped, her arms unhooked from above her, the pain shooting through her shoulder, she was dragged over to a tub head shoved under, again and again, each time she struggled, causing her to swallow more water. She would be held as she was repeatedly struck in the stomach, then her head shoved back under the water. 

“She want to play savior, then we let her,” the figure laughed, selecting the whip on the table, the light reflecting off the metal shards in the leather. Ashley tried to break free as the whip was brought closer to her. Hands gripped her, holding her in place on her knees as the weapon came down on her back. She bit down on her lip, trying not to scream. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, her blood beginning to stain her back as the metal did its job in taking chunks out of her back. Eventually, she was thrown back into the small dark room, her hands bound. 

Ashley woke with a jump, soaked in sweat, shaking, and breathing hard. The ticking of the clock seemed so loud. At 5 am, she was trying to calm herself down. The shaking began to subside, breathing calmed. She was back in Virginia, hiding out in her apartment, staring at the ceiling, her neighbors arguing again, something smashing against the wall. She kept replaying everything, she got Trent’s email, but she never opened it, too scared to see the ‘Don’t contact me again’ in the main body.

The notification there on her phone and laptop haunted her, beeping every so often to say she had something unread in her inbox. Sighing, she swung her legs off the couch, getting up, looking about the table, beer cans lying around. That made more sense. It has been two months since the email. Nightmares plagued her, but she was clear for deploying again; the next place would be the Philippines, on base, helping training, nothing too serious. 

It took time for her to get ready. She was still stiff, pulling her shirt off the mirror, catching a reflection of the scars littering her back, still healing, slowly, eventually, she got washed, wrapped fresh bandages around herself then dressed in her civvies, grabbing her baseball cap, glaring at herself in the mirror. Her lip was stitched, that picture stuck in the corner of her brother and her, before she went off for her first deployment, quickly turning and grabbing her keys then leaving, door slamming behind her. 

Food shopping for the next few days...no coffee, coffee first. She had returned yesterday, finally clear to fly home correctly, so didn’t have any food in the apartment, part of deploying, get rid of food that would spoil, she never saw the point of even buying any personal items, the place came with a sofa and bed anyway, along with a TV, all she needed to do pay the bills and rent and buy food. 

“You know what, Trent, Fuck you! All you see is what she wants you to!” 

“Ashley, you are out of line.” 

“I thought you learned from the first one! Look what happened! Every single time I try to get to know them! They pull this shit!” 

“Ashley C Sawyer! Enough!” 

“No! You always believe what they feed you! Just like the first one, this one is spinning lies!”

“Are you shitting me? Watch where you are going, asshole!” Ashley snapped, eyes narrowed at the man who walked into her. 

“What did you say bitch” he snarled.

 “You hard of hearing or what?” Ashley countered, squaring up to the taller man, not in the mood to deal with anyone. 

The man huffed and walked away, grumbling about psychopaths. 

“Don’t even bother contacting me until you learn to grow up!”

“Oh, come on! You're gonna support her?! After what she just said?” 

“Get the hell out of my life.”

“I’d rather die than be in your life, Trent. Good to know my brother doesn't even have my back!”

“Get the hell out!” 

Pushing the door open to a small coffee shop, walking over to the counter, the Barista smiling and greeting her. “What can I get you?” the woman asked. 

 Ashley sighed “large, strong coffee with cream,” she said, getting her wallet out of her coat pocket, handing the money over. “Keep the change for whoever does not have enough to get something,” she stated; it was usual for her to say this as she took the to-go cup and left. 

Phone beeping again, that unread email haunting her still and walking along the street thinking about what she needed to get. It was quiet. She was glad; no one was around this early in the morning. She could hear footsteps behind her. She went on full alert, moving to the side to let the person go. 

As they ran by, she heard “Thanks!” being called back to her.

“Yeah, no problem,” she muttered, never looking up. Moving to continue to where she was going to go, she didn’t know where but walking around aimlessly customarily worked. 

“Sawyer, you good?”

“I’m fine, Cole.”

“He responded, are you going to open it?”

“Knowing him, he’d respond to tell me how much Bullshit I spouted and to keep away from him.��� 

“You don't know that. People change.”

“Cole, keep out of this” 

“You can’t avoid it forever. Better to open it at some point.”

“Better to ignore it than being crushed, Gunny.”

She walked down the street, hearing a couple up ahead, someone complaining about night shifts, the man chuckling, she couldn’t make out what he said, but again she stepped to the side, allowing them to go past.

What she did not expect to hear was the woman to speak up and say, “Ash?” her stomach dropped, head hung low, she couldn’t do this, trying to focus on not shaking, trying to hide her face. It was too early for this.

 “Ashley,” that was Trent, now she needed to get out of there. 

Why of all the days did it need to be the one morning she was dealing with her things?

“You look like hell,” Amelia said. “Are you okay?” she asked, and Ashley snorted. Was she okay? Three months in hell, now seeing the people she was trying to avoid for the majority of her life? No, she wasn’t okay. She was in a literal nightmare. 

“Fine, just tryna get to the base,” Ashley lied with ease, glancing at the two. Trent still was not saying anything; he kept his expression neutral. He was trying to think what to say. He hadn’t received a response. He could see the way she held herself; he knows pain; he knows that haunted look she has all too well. 

“Sorry, I ugh, gotta meet Cole for target practice,” Ashley mumbled, moving around them quickly. She needed to make sure she got away from them. Her chest was tight, her head hurt. She stumbled around a corner, making her way to a bench and sitting down, setting the coffee on the ground and leaning forward, head going between her knees, trying to calm herself down.

Trent had walked Amelia back to her apartment, with her telling him to talk to her and something was off. He agreed with her, not wanting to argue, memories of their previous fight still in his mind. He did not want to be on Amelia's wrong side again. 

He walked back towards where they had seen Ash and then proceeded towards the way she had taken off. Glancing at the time, 6:30 am, which meant it would still be quiet. Walking the quiet streets, it wasn’t long before he located her. It was clear she had just got herself down from a panic attack, so he didn’t want to spook her.

 “Ashley,” he called out. If she had reacted any quicker, she would have got whiplash. 

“You good?” He asked, walking over. Ashley could be what many described as a deer caught in headlights. “Mind if I sit?” 

Ashley shrugged, trying not to react. This is the one thing she wanted to avoid, looking ahead as Trent sat beside her. “Didn’t read it, did you?” he asked quietly, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned forward slightly.

 “Didn’t have to, knew what it would say,” she whispered back. 

“What would that be?”

“To keep away from you, people you know, and your life.” 

He supposed he deserved that response; the argument was ugly. When things came to light about what happened, a year later, when wife 2 wanted a divorce, it was too late to repair anything. 

“Ash, it never said that,” he says, looking out across the park. “You were one of them... one of the Marines captive?” he says, not getting a response. “Whole base heard about it; no names are given out to anyone not in the Marines. I was deployed at the time. Our base was chaos. The Marines on base were talking, whispering about what happened,” he sighs, “I expected to hear on the news you were dead,” he said calmly. 

“That makes your life easier?” Ashley says, voice going cold, fist-clenching on her lap. 

“No.” he sighed. “Would make life a lot harder. I got back from a spin up, lost a brother, then a few days later, you emailed.  All I could think was that it was a joke, realized it wasn't.  Amelia and I argued about it.”

“Why are you here?” She snaps; looking at him, he could see the extent of damage to her face. Her black eye is still healing from having her nose broken and set correctly, along with stitches and minor cuts littering her face.

 “To make sure my baby sister is okay. If you had read the email, you would have seen me offering to meet you at the airport, along with wanting to help with your recovery-”

“I don’t need your help; done fine without it.” 

Trent stood up, Ashley mentally preparing herself to walk away again, only for him to kneel in front of her. “What happened in the past happened, okay? We both said things we regret. I'm here now to help, and I can guarantee that Ames will help out as well,” he said, watching her reaction. “Got time for coffee, and I can wrap those wounds properly.” 

Of course, he’d notice when someone hadn’t correctly changed dressings or wrapped their wounds properly. He deals with Bravo and them not treating injuries properly daily, so it was easy to spot. He was grateful it was warmer than it had been the past few days, so being outside for this long, he didn’t mind.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” Ashley muttered, pulling her sleeves down. “Look, I’m not...I ain’t expecting you to play big brother Trent, or give a damn,” she muttered, tugging her cap down to try and hide her face more. She was not in the mood to be poked, prodded, or questioned.

“I don't need to play it when it's my job.” he states with a frown, “Come on, get up,” he said, carefully getting her up. “You look like shit. Have you been sleeping?”

“This is just my face, Trent.”

“You look exhausted. You’ll come back to mine. I can check those wounds, then you can grab some sleep after you take painkillers,” He said, frowning. 

“Hell no, you aren't!” Ashley stated, her eyes going wide. “Not happening at all! No way,” she said, not moving from her spot. Shaking her head, she did not want anyone near the wounds on her back. She would keep those as quiet as she could. The look she was getting from her brother was telling her she would need to give him an answer as to why. 

“Look, I just want to go to the range, go home, sleep, and get ready for a deployment in a few weeks, that's it,” she says, binning the cold coffee.

 “Do you want to talk about what happened, Ash?” The SEAL asked, worried that she would end up worse if she shut down more than she already was. He finally got her moving, leading her to his truck. 

“No, I don’t want to talk about it, not with you,” she states. “I got a shrink,” she lied. It was easier than saying, ‘oh yeah, goes from being tortured to you laughing at what happens at me.’

 Ashley fell into a light sleep 5 minutes into the drive. 

The water was dripping on the ground; she’s lying on her side staring at the door. She's tired of fighting. She wants to sleep, but when she sleeps, bad things happen. The metal door opened, men entering with weapons, another one entering and hauling her up, dragging her out. 

Arms being hauled up over her head, the restraints being hooked onto the metal hook hanging from the ceiling. 

“Shall we do this again” the man smiled. 2 months, 25 days, this had been going on. She’d begun learning to keep track of how many times she would be left alone, along with how the temperature dropped in the evening and warmer during mornings. 

“Who are you?” 

She was tired, mumbling “Marine Staff Sergeant Sawyer” everything was blurry. The dim light seemed brighter than anything she had seen. Her senses were being overloaded with different things: light, sound, the smell of decaying flesh. 

“Very good,” the man smirked, looking at the tools on the table. “Why are your people in my country?” he asks, smacking her when she didn’t answer. “I asked you a question!” 

“Dunno,” she muttered “why are we anywhere” she slurred, fighting to keep awake. Her body needed the rest to recover; she caught a glimpse of one of the rookies being dragged in, a gun being held to his head. 

“Shall we try that again?” the man asked, the rookie pleading for his life, but when she didn’t, the gun went off, and the young man fell forward, blood beginning to form a puddle, lifeless eyes staring at her. 

She ended up back in that small room. The dripping, she focused on that, zoning out, the screams of her teammates fading into the background.  

Ashley woke with a jump as Trent turned off the engine. Running a hand over her face, she cleared her throat. Trent chose not to comment on it; he’s seen friends, brothers who suffered from sleepless nights, hell he had them himself, so he knew what it was like.

He still wished she had spoken to him before signing up. He couldn’t figure out why she would even want to join the Navy after seeing the type of injuries that could be sustained. 

They remained quiet, Trent helping his sister inside, telling her to sit on the couch. She did so, the haunted look back in place. He was concerned about that. He wasn’t sure exactly what went down, but the stories circling base were all the same: unit ambushed, multiple dead, three alive. He moved to his office, walking to the shelf where he kept his kit then returning out. “Easier to get this over with, kid,” he states, surprised that she removed her jacket without a fight. “So, you spoke to Amelia a few months back. What do..you think of her?” 

“Don't matter what I think.” 

“Sure it does. You’re normally asking a bunch of questions that I can’t get you to shut up about.”

“That was past me; new me don't give two shits, head down don't ask questions.” 

He was not expecting that response. Quite frankly, he wasn’t expecting her to be so shut down. Starting on her upper arms, he frowned, noticing the burns.

 “Electrical?” he asked; at her nod, he just knew it was going to be worse.

 “They don't like the ones who fight back, Clarkes got off light:  a broken arm, a few broken ribs, was running a fever. Cole had about the same as me, just a bit better. I kept fighting: not giving information, get told not to. In the end, I was just tired.”

Trent made a mental note to speak to Amelia to see if she could spend a few hours with her; get to know Ashley better, see if she would open up more about what happened. “Nightmares keep you awake? It’s normal, you know, you can ask your doctor for some sedatives to get some sleep.” 

“Allergic,” Ashley muttered, “Learnt that one the hard way after being sprung from the confines of hell.” She made a hissing noise, “Ow! Take it easy,” she snapped, jerking her arm away 

“You haven’t been cleaning these, have you?” 

“Medics on base did before we were sent home here,” she grumbled, glaring at the swabs he was using, and whatever the stuff was that was burning the wound, the last person to use that stuff got a broken nose as a reward. 

“Stop being a baby.”

“Or what? Going to tell me to leave and not come back until I grow up?” she grumbled.

Trent stopped and looked up. “That was a low blow kid,” he said but left it; she was in pain. He was 100% sure he would call Amelia after she got a few hours of sleep to come over and help out with this situation. 

The dripping of the kitchen tap is all Ashley could focus on. 

‘He doesn’t hate you, you do know that, right? He told me stories about how you two were when he was still at home. You should reach out to him.’

 That's all Ashley could think about from her conversation with Amelia. She frowned, the last person to probably ever see her alive; she should have listened, should have reached out to her brother; this could be her last moment alive, and she’d die without getting the chance to say sorry. To let him know she didn’t mean what she said. 

As if on cue, the door opened: dragged out, chained, hung, beaten. This time they left her hanging there.

 “He told me he worries he’s going to see your name in the obituaries one day, that he won’t be called when you die. You think if he hates your guts, he would be worried for you?” there was Amelia's voice in her head again, her mind creating an image of the woman leaning against the wall watching her as she spoke. It was like she wasn’t allowed to die in peace; what was so wrong with that? 

Her arms and shoulders were killing her. They trick you into believing you have people who care, keep you fed and hydrated. They did it to Clarkes and Craig, who submitted to their tricks, thinking the men who offered the food were kinder people, but they weren't; they had given their names to them. Their beatings had stopped, but Ashley didn’t fall for their tricks. She’d heard enough about it, questioned SEALs who were on the base during her first few deployments about what not to do. She wasn’t going to let them break her, sure she gave up her rank and second name, but that's all they would get. 

One man came back in. This person was different, new; she had never seen him before, he never spoke. His specialty was using a cattle prod in open wounds, making her scream out in agony. 

“Ashley, I need you to focus on me.” 

Looking around, she couldn’t find the voice. 

“Ashley, you’re ok. Just focus on my voice. It’s safe.”

Trent. 

Blinking, looking confused, “You with me?” she heard Trent ask. He was sitting on her right side now, dealing with the dressings there. She could see the concern in his eyes. She kept silent for a while, not wanting to talk about anything, just happy to be in her brother's presence without a fight hanging over them. She wasn’t sure how long it would last. 

“I called Amelia. She’ll be by in a few hours. Want to tell me where your mind went?” he asked, finishing her right arm. “Need to look at your torso to see what needs to be done,” he calmly explained. 

“I was back there,” she whispered, “I don’t like being there, but I always end up there, or the argument,” She states, not moving at all. “I don't want you seeing Trent. Base Docs can deal with it,” she mumbled, looking away from him.

“I have dealt with all types of injuries, Kid.” He sighs, watching her. This was the reason he never wanted her signing up. “I'm not going to judge,” was all he said, but Ashley shook her head. This was one thing she was determined to hide. Trent decided to leave it for now. “You still take your coffee with a shit load of sugar?” he asked. 

“Strong with Cream, no sugar,” Ashley muttered. “I'm just gonna call a cab head to base.” 

“No, you aren’t. You’re going to sit there or lay down and get some rest. When Amelia arrives, you let her check those wounds you won’t show me,” he stated. Removing the medical gloves and throwing them in the bin, he headed to the sink in the kitchen to wash his hands. “You know which people got you out?” he asks, putting the used medical supplies in the trash along with open packets.

“Marine Unit with a SEAL Team...Alpha think Gunny said,” Ashley was blinking to stay awake. Trent just sighed.

 “Kid, get some rest. We’ll talk about everything once you can keep your eyes open.”  He walked back over, getting her to lay down. He shook his head at the fact she had pretty much passed out, then unfolded the blanket at the back of the couch and placed it over her. He would talk about everything, though right now, he’d need Amelia's advice on it all. 

[anthropwashere]

deadfic: Get Out, Get Gone

Yet more deadfic for @goodintentionswipfest! And also another giftfic I never finished, because that’s just who I am as a person! \o/ 

@ghostfiish did this truly excellent art of Danny’s transformation rings as a galaxy way back when that I promptly lost my whole entire shit over, and also took it as an opportunity to get some kind of manic with the writing style. That, combined with my sort-of accidental, sort-of intentional smashing yet more rad headcanons into it until the whole thing collapsed under its own weight. Still, I remain very fond of this one and what I was trying to do back in 2014, so here we are. 8.7k’s nothing to sneeze at, at least.

Oh, and! While we're at it, have an old Danny playlist I never got around to sharing that fits the mood this fic is going for. Title comes from To Kill a King's "Bloody Shirt (Bastille Remix)," which is unfortunately not included on the Spotify playlist.

=

There’s a weight to you now that wasn’t there before. You’d think with your powers—

(and doesn’t it feel strange to call them that, when you shake and shiver at the sight of your bones under your meat, when you walk down the stairs and your feet don’t touch anything at all)

—you’d weigh less, be less. A thing of smoke, and ectoplasm, and all that awful electricity arcing through your nerves. But that's not what happened. 

You remember that day with a surreal nightmare quality, memories fuzzing and skittering like white noise in your skull. Pain and green light and being so, so certain that had been it. Zap! That’s all she wrote. But it wasn't, and here you are, hovering three inches off the grass and praying no one will see, that no one will know.

You aren’t less for all that’s changed, for all that’s changed in you. Tucker and Sam haven’t said anything about it, and it’s clear they don’t have a clue. Your first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight against the Lunch Lady knocked you right out. They had to carry you all the way home from school after you failed to stop her. It’s a wonder nobody stopped them, dragging your sorry carcass across town. If either of them had noticed, if either of them could have noticed, they would have told you. Or worse, they wouldn’t have managed to get you home at all.

You noticed it when you changed. Not the first time, in the shadowed, silver throat of the Portal—

(electricity cooking you from the inside out, the Portal writhing, burning, tearing itself into existence, a physical hole ripped so cleanly between realities even your parents don’t understand it and they built the damn framework, boiling ectoplasm splashing on you, over you, inside you, changing you forever)

—but after. Changing back and forth without any control, cringing behind dumpsters and hedges, tossing desperate prayers skyward that nobody had seen the light, that nobody had seen you change from kid to freak. So much of you changes when this strange, alien light stretches across you, not just your clothes and eyes and hair, no, you’re different now down to your cells, down to the very structure of your DNA. You know, you’ve checked. So much of you is different, it’s a wonder you didn’t figure it out sooner.

When you change, you’re heavier. Heavier. Not like ten pounds or something any normal kid might stress over. You become the kind of heavy that leaves brushstroke smears in asphalt, reduces sturdy brick walls to dusty rubble, punches craters through solid ground. It hurts when you fall, god does it hurt. But your bones never shatter. Your guts never liquefy. Your brain never dribbles out your ears. How? How can you possibly survive the beatings every new ghost is so eager to give you? 

Ah, but there's never any time to think about it though, not really. No time for anything but a raw, thready panic and clumsily scrawled homework copied five minutes before the bell. Your chance to tell your parents came and went, and now there’s always another ghost attacking the city.

Mom and Dad are so happy now. You’ve never seen them happier than this, with the stuff of your grade school nightmares on the rampage. It’s proof they aren’t crazy, proof they haven’t wasted their whole lives on a pipe dream, proof that everybody who ever called them quacks were wrong. Good for them, you guess. Meanwhile you’re picking yourself out of the wreckage of another storefront, glass needled all down your spine, and you can’t help but marvel at the damage your body has done. Can do. Will do.

Because you’re stronger, you’re getting stronger every day. The weight in you that your Sam and Tucker don’t—

(can’t)

—notice grows more noticeable, and after a few fights you're quicker, too. And perhaps you're changing still, perhaps the accident isn't done with you yet, because one day there’s sickly green light at your fingertips, and in no time at all you can manipulate the energy buzzing inside you—

(the electricity and hot ectoplasm from the accident screaming through you, out from your palms and striking down the things that used to scare you as a little kid, back when door knobs and faucets were out of reach of your tiny fingers and there was so much dark in your big big house, and now your hands trail light like after images from staring at the sun too long, now you can patch your hurts up by the light of your own blood, now you're learning that you don’t need to be afraid of what hides in the dark anymore)

—in ways you never thought possible. Sure, lots of what you do is learned the hard way, mid-battle against sizzling green things with teeth like hunting knives, running on instinct and adrenaline and terror all tangled up in your throat. Lots more is later, when it’s quiet and safe again, practicing things you’ve seen other ghosts do again and again and again until you can mimic it, improve it, make it yours.

But no ghost you fight has the same heaviness as you do. No improbable weight that defies the logical mass of their ectoplasm. If it’s big, it’s heavy. If it’s small, it’s light. Unexpected logic from creatures that defy logic in every other way. 

There’s a lesson you learn the hard way, testing the strength of these invaders against your bruised and splitting knuckles. You learn caution. You learn restraint. If you punch them hard enough, some ghosts, the little formless ones your parents have captured once or twice now, burst like water balloons—a hard pop of searing green, an overwhelming smell-taste of citrus and hot pennies. Too much of your supernatural strength pressed into the soft hide of a monster and the end result is a glowing puddle where someone used to be. 

You learn this lesson quickly. You learn that even when you’re fighting for your life, you’ve got to hold back. You defend, you protect. Death scares you too much to risk killing—

(is it killing when it’s already dead, where does a ghost go when it dies, is there something more to the Ghost Zone than what you’ve glimpsed with your own eyes or is that it, is that all, have you erased someone from reality forever, these are the questions that make your stomach hurt, that make it hard to breathe, that make it hard to fake a smile when Jazz asks if something’s wrong)

—something so much like yourself. Even if it’s got teeth like hunting knives.

You think you’re an anomaly, a freak, the only one stupid enough to walk into a Ghost Portal and zap yourself full of juice that by rights should have killed you—

(and a little part of you wonders if that isn’t just what happened, if you’re just a dead thing walking around in your body, wearing it like a meatsuit and waiting for the rot to show, but it’s been a month, it’s been months, and you eat more and you sleep less, not because you don’t need it but because there’s never any time, and you’ve grown another inch and there’s new definition to your muscles, and that all must mean you’ll be okay, that you are okay, it has to)

—until Wisconsin. Until Vlad.

He’s in the same boat as you, plus twenty years of experience and enough self-made loneliness to turn him bitter and crazy and dangerous. He wants Dad dead and Mom his, like she’s some kind of carnival prize he can win if he throws his weight around enough. Swing the mallet, hit the bell, and congratulations! The woman you haven't spoken to in twenty years who has made her own life without you is now yours to take home! Ugh.

But god, he can hit hard. Lightning, real lightning, nothing like the weak little zaps of electricity inside you, rattles at his fingertips like a living thing, furious burning strikes of pain, and he knocks you aside like he’s bored. You have a thousand questions, but he won't give you a single answer unless you concede defeat or whatever he wants, so it looks like you’ll just have to beat the answers out of him instead. Who cares if he’s got twenty years on you? He’s not out most nights pummeling wayward ghosts back into the Ghost Zone. He’s not out most days saving people from ghosts with bloodthirsty, power-hungry vendettas. What you lack for in time and experience you make up in rooftop fistfights and stolen first-aid kits. 

Sure you managed to outwit him—

(barely, hardly at all, he just wanted to save face in front of Mom, if he hadn’t cared about that, if he’d just tried overshadowing Mom instead it all could have turned out so differently, and doesn’t that thought make it hard to sleep the first few nights back home)

—but you can’t stop thinking of what it had been like to fight him, of what it was like to see another person do all that you can and so much more. You remember every second of each fight, like it’s been burned across your eyelids. You replay it all every time you blink for days, for weeks. It’s easy as thought to recall the light arcing around his waist as he’d transformed. Just like yours, and yet nothing like yours. The color, sure, that had been the obvious difference. When you change it’s a white light, sharp and searing enough to leave stars in your eyes if you look at it. His transformation—

(black like cave darkness, black like a power outage, black like the vastness between stars, sucking in light like a hungry thing, like it’d swallow you whole if it had had the chance)

—had been like a punch to the gut even before he’d buried his fist in your gut. You’d known without words, known in some primitive bit of brain that still looked up at the night sky and thought magic before science, you had known. You and Vlad were made out of the same mess, but maybe, just maybe, those twenty years were stacked against him.

Trouble is, the transformation is so quick you can’t make much out but the light/non-light of yours and his, and luckily—

(unluckily?)

—he’s all the way in Wisconsin so you don’t have many opportunities for a closer look at his. You ask Sam and Tucker to take pictures and videos, change back and forth so often you almost forget which side of you is which, but the quality is never good enough to see what you know is there—

(but can’t explain, not with words, even though you try for the benefit of your friends because they’re the ones there for you when everything else has gone topsy-turvy, but you’re just a kid who leaks green when dead people hit you too hard, just a kid with bad grades and a lot of questions to evade, and what you’re trying to pinpoint frame by frame is something so beyond your vocabulary you can only shrug, can only say you want to know more about your powers and hope this is one of those white lies nobody catches you in the act of)

—so you stop.

Do you give up? No, but there are more important things to focus on. It isn’t shelving your questions so much as putting them on the backburner. There are ghosts to deal with. Ghosts that want to hurt you, ghosts that want to hurt humans, more and more ghosts with strange and terrifying abilities pouring out from the Portal all the time. Closing the Portal doesn’t slow them any, which doesn’t make any sense to you. Then again, Dad was up to his elbows in most of the Portal’s guts and wiring, so applying logic to any inch of it is pretty pointless. You’ve learned not to ask too many questions about anything with a Fenton sticker slapped on it.

You’re busy now, busy all the time, bruised and burned and even stitched up all the time. Super strength is only so good when you’re fighting things with teeth like hunting knives. But it’s whatever, it’s no big deal, really. Because you’re keeping people safe. You’re learning more about the Ghost Zone and the things that inhabit it. You’re learning more about yourself; your powers, your weaknesses, how quick you can be with a snarky quip. Yeah, your parents are aiming guns and questions at you. Yeah, teachers with red pens and detention slips are hounding after you. And yeah, you’re fourteen years old bare-knuckle fighting monsters and no one ever says thanks because they think you’re just like every other ghost out there or maybe that you’re some human-loving freak—

(and when you think of your life like this, in lists of who wants answers and who wants to see you bleed, it sounds so bad, it sounds like you should be one inch away from a complete breakdown, but is it weird to say you’re happy, is it weird to say you couldn’t imagine your life any other way)

—yet you grin through a mouthful of red-and-green and keep going. Elated? Maybe, sometimes. Scared? Absolutely, sometimes. You’re just a kid with eyes that flare like headlights when somebody’s pissed you off. 

It’s only right to be scared, sometimes.

Still, it’s the weight of you that keeps you grounded, keeps you human when you need to be. Sit in a chair, walk across a bridge, it all makes the same creak under you as it would for Sam and Tucker. But take one of Skulker’s shoulder rockets to the face, you leave a crater in Central Park so big they decide to just turn it into another duck pond. A permanent new addition to the park, and all your face gets is a nasty bruise Dash takes the credit for. You let him, because Lancer overhears. Dash is the one getting detention for once, and there’s a nasty satisfaction to be found there.

You and Jazz share a bathroom, and she’s got a scale she keeps in the towel cupboard. Curious, you take it out one day after school and try to weigh yourself. Last time you checked, you were somewhere near 120, puberty stretching you faster than your appetite can keep up. This time, the numbers whirl past 280 pounds before the scale makes a metallic groan and crumples like tissue paper under your sneakers. Sheer reflex launches you into the air, and you bounce off the ceiling with your knees hugged so tight to your chest you can hear tendons creak, your heart a thundering jackhammer in your chest. Thank god you’re home alone, because you hover there for who-knows how long, too scared the floor will crack under your illogical, impossible weight, too scared you’ll plummet straight down to the hard steel of the lab if you try to stand, too scared you might plummet even further.

When you finally do scrounge up the courage to touch down, an air bubble in the old linoleum crackles under your heel and you damn near jump out of your skin. After that, all you can do is laugh and laugh until your sides hurt. You throw Jazz’s scale out in a dumpster a block away and never tell her what happened to it.

What does this mean? Is the weight of you optional? If you think about it too hard, does it become real? What about when you’re fighting, causing all that property damage the city hates you for? You’re not thinking of the strangeness of your mass during a brawl, you’re thinking in terms of survivability. Punch this hard to win, get punched this hard to lose. What about when you’re thinking about it at school? Why don’t you break your desk, or the floor, or the stairs?

You don’t know. Your parents might be able to figure it out if you told them, but you don’t. Knowing about you, about what you really are—

(a freak, a monster, an accident, an anomaly bleeding out energy with every burst of green light you bury into the spiny hides of other monsters, who knows how long until your white rings burn black, if one day you’ll look in the mirror and be no different than Vlad, not because you didn’t try your hardest but because there was never any biological choice, what kind of choice can a species of two even make)

—would just scare them. It’s easier, keeping them in the dark, even if it means they’re trying to hunt you down and take you apart molecule by molecule any time you’ve got white hair.

But it’s not just flying and invisibility and energy you can summon with a thought—

(ray or bolt or fire, you don’t know what to call your power, you never really did pay attention when your parents got going even before you had to worry about all their blinking tech going nuts around you, but sometimes your green light is cool and wispy and other times it's hot and sizzling, sometimes you know which one will bloom between your fingers and sometimes it’s a surprise, sometimes it’s almost like your body knows what to do in a fight better than you, sometimes it’s easier to stop thinking and just let it happen, to just be the freak that you are, to burn white-hot and damn the consequences)

—you have to worry about. You’re stronger every day, stranger everyday too. You feel a little bit more at ease as a ghost as time goes on. It stops being a strain and starts being an ease, even a comfort, and some days you dread the thought of going to school because a ghost might not attack and you’ll be stuck as a human all day. 

That kind of thinking should worry you, probably. 

But so what? You could sneak into your parents’ lab in the middle of the night and try more tests, more experiments, but really, what would that do? You’re a freak, plain and simple. You and Vlad poked your noses in places you shouldn’t have and paid the price, and that’s that. 

Eventually you get sick of worrying and just let it be. You’re a freak who can walk through walls, disappear, and fly. You’re the freak protecting a town full of people who pretty much hate you. Really, what can you do? The same old same old, that’s what. Try and get a little more sleep outside the classroom, maybe. As for the townsfolk? Well, you can’t always avoid the property damages, but you can at least save a few lives along the way.

People even start to say thank you, even if it’s from a distance, even if they think you're some crazed vigilante ghost, and doesn’t that make this whole superhero thing worth it?

But then of course something has to come along and ruin even that much, ruin this budding chance at gratitude, at finally feeling like a real life superhero. And it isn’t a ghost this time. It’s a human. You hadn't ever considered humans to be dangerous the way a ghost can be.

Freakshow happens, and all that hard work is undone in just a few short days. Days you can’t remember with any clarity, just blurs of color and noise, your hands full of stolen money and no matter how hard you tried you couldn’t let go, you couldn’t stop. Attacking the cops when they pursued, terrorizing any humans that got too close, puppeted by that grinning, painted maniac who treated you and the other ghosts like animals, like slaves—

(minions, he’d called you all, and he didn’t even bother to learn your name before he sunk his fingers into your brain, and you never did find out who any of those other ghosts were, what their names were or who they had been before that crystal ball had pulled them under, and they were gone before there was a chance to even ask)

—and tanked Invis-o-Bill’s reputation to a whole new low. Trashing nearly every car the Amity Park Police Department has and robbing the city blind at the behest of a psychotic ringmaster would have done that even if you’d been considered the hero you try so hard to be. Oh well. At least nobody was hurt in all that, unless you bothered counting Mr. Lancer getting left in the custodial closet for a weekend. You mostly don’t feel guilty about that. Mostly.

Sam says you ought to count yourself too, but you try not to think about any of what happened—

(all that time spent exhausted and hungry, he never let you rest, not once, because ghosts don’t need sleep, ghosts don’t get tired, ghosts don’t need friends, but it’s over, it’s all over now, you don’t have to hear yourself laugh as the little humans scream below, you’ll never have to watch Sam fall and wonder if your body will listen to you in time, you’re yourself again, you’re in control again, everything’s alright, you’re alright, you’re safe, you’re home, you’re yourself again)

—and try to pass yourself off as fine afterwards instead, just confused, just tired, just sorry for everything that’s happened.

For weeks after the police shoved Freakshow into the back of a car, your dreams are red. Not with blood, thank god for that. No, it’s like a filter. A stain. Strawberry candy red, saturated fire engine red, the color Sam said your eyes were when you were under his control. It doesn’t matter if you’re having nightmares—

(more common than you’d like, but you’ve never been one to shout after a bad dream and you don’t intend to start now)

—or regular old brain dump dreams. It doesn’t matter if you’re dreaming of broken bones and monsters or forgetting to study for a test; it’s all filtered through that darkroom shade of red.

What does it mean? You don’t know. You don’t bring it up to Sam or Tucker. They’d just worry, and they worry about you enough as it is. Besides, you’re fine. The Circus Gothica billboard is up for two weeks after Freakshow’s arrest, and it doesn’t do anything to you, not like before. You don’t lose time, you don’t say anything creepy. Your eyes stay blue or green, depending on whether or not there’s a ghost in need of wrangling nearby.

It’s just a weird, harmless after effect, that’s your best conclusion. Then you do your best to stop thinking about it. Who you were under Freakshow’s control wasn’t you. It wasn’t. You tell yourself that until you almost believe it. Eventually, you dreams return to their factory settings. Huzzah.

Meanwhile everywhere you go, people badmouth Invis-o-Bill like they’re getting paid to do it. They call him—

(you)

—thief and monster and dangerous, they call him—

(you)

—a menace and a bad influence on the children. A liar. Traitor. Conspiring with other ghosts to earn the trust of humans to terrorize Amity Park all the better. Kids at school spread awful stories about Invis-o-Bill, say he—

(you)

—was probably the ghost of a troubled teen who got in too deep with bad people and paid the price, and now he—

(you)

—spends his afterlife seeking revenge on humans and ghosts alike. They say a lot of bad things about you, for a while. You try not to pay much attention. You’re getting pretty good at that.

After Freakshow, there’s a lull. That doesn’t mean ghosts don’t stop attacking or causing havoc, it just means that, for a handful of weeks, it’s just the little ones. Hungry animals and disoriented blobs and the Box Ghost. Easy stuff. You actually have time to unwind, time to let the tension bleed from your bones, time to catch up on all your late homework and even squeak your grades up to passable. It’s nice. You’d almost call it relaxing.

Of course, the lulls never last. You know this, you’ve learned this, they made you understand this from your very first—

(disastrous, embarrassing)

—fight with the Lunch Lady. You have one fight with Sam the wrong ghost overhears, and everything that’s happened is wished away. You are wished away. For a couple of days, you never walked into your parents’ ghost portal. You were never torn apart and melted back together by heat and light and pain. You were never Phantom at all. Worse still, you have no memory of your erased past, not so much as the slightest disquiet to niggle in the back of your brain when Sam walks up to your locker and starts going on about imaginary monsters like they're real. 

Sam Manson—

(a stranger, a total stranger, just a bottle-black pretty girl you stare at because you’re fourteen and desperate for a connection you’ve never had and don’t understand, she’s nobody else, she’s nothing else to you but a chance at your first kiss and later you will hate yourself for thinking of her like that, not as a girl because of course she is that, but as a prize you might earn, and who cared if she was crazy because she just might have kissed you for some unfathomable reason, and Sam is so much more than the sum of her body, Sam is worth so much more than that, Sam is worth so much)

—is the vehement Goth girl who's in half your classes and is [unfinished]

=

In those stumbling, halting days of dismissal followed by doubt followed by a desperate curiosity to believe that there might be more to life than growing up and settling for less, that movies haven’t lied and there really is something beyond the disappointment growing up has been for you so far. Sam’s purple mouth is a thin, grim line of—

(worry, guilt, fear, shame, envy, panic, uncertainty)

—complicated emotions you can’t parse as you zip up the jumpsuit your parents got you for your birthday. You’ve never worn it before, the fabric stiff and reluctant to bend at your joints. You don’t know how they’re comfortable wearing theirs all the time [unfinished]

=

Sometimes after a fight wears you out, leaves you bruised and smeared with shining green, you don’t fight the transformation. Not because you can’t, but because it feels good to have that fake pulse vanish, to hear real blood pounding in your ears. The weight of you shifts too, and even though you’re so much weaker when you’re human, it’s easier to sink your fingers into the dirt, to haul your meat out of the mess your ghost left behind, easier to duck out of sight before the news vans and curious bystanders get too close. Nobody ever sees you. Nobody ever puts your bruises and Band-Aids and the trashed Dunkin’ Donuts together. It helps that nobody’s ever heard of a half-ghost, that Vlad was cunning enough to hide his powers. Everybody’s heard of the Wisconsin Ghost, but Wisconsin is a big damn state and unlike you, Vlad and Plasmius hardly look like the same man.

Everybody at school just thinks you’re the football team’s personal punching bag, which is definitely true. Thing is, after spending a couple months fighting ghosts, a gut-punch from a junior is kind of a joke. You’re getting ganged up by a bunch of guys in letter jackets behind the auto shop and you have to mime pain to get them to leave you alone. 

Is this real life? Yup, and it’s hilarious.

Time passes, as it does. You get stronger, faster, heavier. You hone your powers. You stop losing control, mostly. New ghosts terrorize the streets. Old ghosts do too, they’re just smarter about it. They all know who you are by now. Hell, a whole other plane of reality knows your name by this point, knows who Danny Fenton really is. Funny though, none of them ever spill the beans to any humans. What better way to take down the one person standing in their way of world domination or an army of hypnotized teens or whatever they’re trying to score than to oust his secret identity?

You don’t ask. Maybe they haven’t caught on that humans have no idea you’re trying to keep a secret. Maybe there’s some kind of code among ghosts; don’t spill a guy’s weakness, even if you hate his ectoplasm. Maybe especially if you hate his ectoplasm?

You’ve had a couple more run-ins with Vlad too. Each time he changes, transforms, you breath hitches, because you can almost see it. Whatever makes up the both of you, piecing the mystery together through the differences—

(light and dark and it’s cliché as anything, it’s so transparently Star Wars, but maybe there’s something to clichés, because you might be the one wearing mostly black but he’s the one with a sucking core, a void, something more horrific for its absence, like he used to be full of stark white light too but it’s all been burned up and whatever’s left is just playing through the motions, pretending at being something else, who knows what it means but you know that it scares the hell out of you)

—between you and him. He goes on and on about how you’re more like him every day, but he’s wrong. He’s so wrong. You’ll never be like him, and it isn’t just a matter of morals.

What you are, down to the complex disaster of your DNA, is different than what makes up Vlad, and you don’t need to slide a piece of him under a microscope to see that. You thought differently once, but now you know better. A glance is all you need. What you are and what he is, has become—

(powerful yes, but ugly and hating and cruel, the rings that flash at his waist are just shadows reflecting light, trying to hide a black mouth brimming with hungry teeth)

—well, you might as well be different species.

Vlad’s crazy and Vlad’s a jerk, but he is right about one thing. There’s so much about the Ghost Zone you don’t understand, and it’s this ignorance that just might get you—

(or somebody else, and isn’t that an old favorite in the nightmares)

—killed. You don’t know if it was fate or a simple coincidence that your parents were working on the Ecto-Skeleton when Pariah Dark woke up. You’re fourteen years old and you can shoot lasers out of your fingers; you don’t have the wherewithal for philosophical theology. You’re just glad they got it functioning in time to stop the King of All Ghosts from overrunning the city, even if the stupid thing nearly kills you.

You don’t fret much about the Ecto-Skeleton vanishing after you pass out. You do, however, remember Pariah’s nasty grin—

(having that much power, it’s a burden, isn’t it child)

—when you stumbled under the strain. You don’t know if he meant what the suit enabled you to do or if he meant the power in your own two hands. Either way, you remember those words, like they’re branded onto your brain, and you don’t have a choice but to hear it over and over every time you try to sleep. They rang in your head like bells in the days after you’d pushed him back into that sarcophagus, stuck in bed aching and weaker than you’ve ever felt in your life.

Because it is a burden. Everybody hates and fears you, but at the same time they happily expect you to protect them from hordes of skeletal ghosts. Sometimes you panic, so aware of how young you are, of how little comic books and video games have prepared you for a life like this, hiding bruises and spinning bold-face lies to everybody from your parents to the U.S. government. Teenagers are supposed to rebel, sure, but if you ever come clean you’d be thrown in a cell and they’d never, ever let you go. Not just because you’re a criminal—

(and you are, thanks to Freakshow and thanks to dozens of ghosts, and you’ve left an imprint of your tiny, impossibly heavy body all over the city, and you’ve done your best to protect everybody but you leave rubble and shrapnel wherever you go, ambulance sirens wail through the streets every day, and everybody’s just as scared as you are, just as fascinated as you are, and yet so many students and teachers have left Casper High, so many faces you used to see everyday in the hallways have vanished, so many business and restaurants and homes sit empty, gathering dust and graffiti, and it’s your fault, if you hadn’t walked into the Ghost Portal none of this would be happening, none of this would ever have happened at all, and you’re too much of a coward to show your face, to tell anyone but your best friends what kind of a monster you really are)

—but because you can phase through solid objects, you’re considered a monster with less rights than a dog.

Sometimes you wish Sam wasn’t a budding ghost-rights activist. You’d probably have an easier time studying if she didn’t rattle off all these statistics and news articles, stories of government agents in white suits quarantining whole city blocks to purge the ghosts inhabiting them, of ghost attacks stopping all at once in little towns after strange men with guns and knives and felonies like grave robbing and murder slunk through in the night. Ghosts are dangerous, there’s no questioning that. But so are bears. So are people. Just because something is dangerous doesn’t mean it should be destroyed.

Maybe that’s why the ghosts have never spilled your secret. You’ve never tried to kill them. You just want them to leave Amity Park alone. Who knows for sure though? You don’t have the guts to risk asking any of them.

Still, this whole mess is worth it. It is. You can fly, for god’s sake. If you’re careful you could juggle minivans, mimic all your favorite action movies and outdo even the craziest Hollywood stunts. What kid hasn’t dreamed of doing any of that? But you’re not being selfish. You’re not. It’s like Dad says; you can’t make an omelet without breaking a few eggs. Progress is a disaster when you’re living it, when it isn’t past tense, when it isn’t all tidied up in a few short paragraphs in a high school history book. What’s happening now is worth it, for the future.

If you ever do tell Mom and Dad—

(you’re not afraid of what they’ll think, you’ve never worried about that, not really, they’re your parents before they’re scientists, and any experiment or test would be to ensure your safety and your health, because that’s what parents do, that’s what good people do, and they’re the best people you’ve ever known)

—you know they’d be able to break down your powers into reams of clinical data in no time. They’d figure out how you survived the accident, how your abilities generate and develop in power, maybe even pinpoint the how of your strange, mutable weight. They’d tell you what that light is, when you change, that light that reminds you so strongly of the stars. After all, just because they’re too oblivious to realize their son is the infamous Ghost Kid doesn’t mean they don’t know what they’re doing. They aren’t known as the leading scientists, engineers and weapon smiths in the paranatural fields for nothing. Mom’s practically got more letters after her name than there are in the alphabet, and while Dad may only have a fraction of that he thinks like nobody else out there. Most Fenton tech are his designs, wild and absurd and covered with stickers of his beaming face, and Mom’s the one who works out the bugs with fond exasperation.

Still, they have to get their knowledge from somewhere, and you’ve seen what they do down in the lab to the formless, red-eyed ghosts, the ones too weak to do much more than snarl wetly. Sometimes they snare something bigger and stronger, something fond of curling prickly tendrils around the nearest human and squeezing. More often than not it’s Dad that’s the unlucky one, always so eager to parse the secrets hidden in each fanged little beastie they’ve fished out of the Ghost Zone. He’s got nearly as many as bruises as you do, some weeks, but he’s never happier than when he’s holding a bag of frozen peas to his head.

After a good wrestle with something that wailed and whistled like a boiling kettle, Dad’ll limp up to the kitchen and settle heavily into a chair, grinning and running his mouth nonstop, talking about how much progress they’ve made today—

(wait ‘til the boys over at the GIW hear about that one, he’ll say with a bray of laughter, makes the piddly little Class Threes look darn near cuddly, didn’t it Mads, why Danny you should’ve seen the fangs on this fella, nearly bit through the exam table in one bite, y’oughta come down to the lab more often, Danny, seeing these spooks up close and personal’d be a great way to help you get over that silly fear of ‘em, and there you are, smiling meekly and holding up your hands and making up any excuse you can think of off the top of your head to keep you out of the lab when your parents have all their equipment up and humming, just in case, aw Dad I dunno, I’ve got this essay due, not today Dad I’ve got like six pages of algebra I haven’t even started yet, sorry Dad I’m sleeping over at Tucker’s tonight and his mom insisted I come early for dinner)

—and every time, Mom will smile indulgently, like she’s falling in love with Dad all over again. She’ll push him back into the seat and tell him to quit fidgeting so she can clean up the nasty cut behind his ear, and every time you smile behind your hand and think, how could Vlad ever hope to break your parents up? They only thing they might love more than each other would be you and Jazz and ghosts, and you’re all so much of their lives they can’t help but love you all completely. How they love each other and their kids and the ghosts they’ve studied all their lives, well, that’s like saying they love breathing. They love each other because without each other, they wouldn’t be themselves. It’s sappy as hell and like any kid you hate seeing your parents get all lovey-dovey, but you can’t help that secret smile as you walk out of the kitchen to give them a little privacy.

Seeing Mom and Dad so hard at work, so happy at work, is why you don’t tell them. They think you’re slacking off, they think you’re getting bullied, and they’re worried about you sure, but better they think their son’s lazy than a freak. If they knew what you did, what you could do, if they knew you were the one facing up against ghosts that made the ones they picked apart in their lab look like kittens, if they knew you’d heard all the awful things they want to do to Phantom once they finally nab him—

(you know they wouldn’t say it if they knew you and him were one and the same, you know you know you know, but sometimes you can’t help but be hurt anyway, to see all that fierce dedication focused on seeing whether or not Danny Phantom has bones, and if he does, how much pressure could they withstand before breaking)

—they wouldn’t know what to do or say or think. They’d be so eaten up with guilt, why hadn’t they known, why hadn’t they realized, what if they’d finally gotten a lucky shot in, what if one of all those cruel ghosts had gotten a luck shot in, what if what if what if—

(and you’ve pictured it a hundred times, it’s so easy to imagine the looks on their faces, the horror the shame the fear, and you know they’d love you all the same, you know this like you know the distance between the Sun and every planet, even little Pluto they just declared wasn’t a planet at all, but you’re young and selfish and definitely some kind of stupid because sometimes you can’t help but feel they’d shun you for the freak you are, turn you over to the GIW because they couldn’t bear to look on the thing their son’s become, and you know that couldn’t ever ever ever happen but still, it’s so easy to imagine)

—and you couldn’t do that to them. You won’t do that to them, no matter how many times Sam or Tucker try to convince you otherwise. How it is now, secrets and lies and detention slips and broken curfews, can’t last forever. You know that. But until then, it’ll have to do, and you’ll have to parse all your growing weirdness without all of Mom and Dad’s knowledge or experience, fingers crossed that their ticking and glowing machines won’t reveal your secret before you’re ready to do it yourself.

=

But you’re turning out stranger in ways you can’t even recognize, and for all that Sam and Tucker are by your side to help you as you change and burn brighter and hotter and faster and heavier, they don’t see it either. Jazz is the one who points it out, one day not long after the Spectra… thing, all out of the blue. She’s been noticing lots of things lately, and acting so strange, like she might have pieced it together. But she can’t have, of course not, you’re so careful, you are always so careful. Jazz is just clever, Jazz got all the brains and you got the leftovers. Everybody knows that. Even you know that.

She comes into the kitchen one morning with a curious little spin to her step, craning her head around and around like she’s running late for school and can’t find her keys, but it’s a Saturday. You’re there by the fridge, cobbling together something that might resemble an edible breakfast, moving slow because you’ve got a bruise all down your right side that makes it hurt to do more than breathe shallowly or raise your arm more than a couple inches. You sniff the milk and instantly regret this decision, and while you’re pouring the lumpy mess down the sink Jazz asks if the kitchen’s always been on the second floor.

You stare at her, too tired and baffled to give her the proper what the hell a question like that deserves, but she drags you over to the kitchen door and pushes it open, and since when has there been a door to the kitchen and oh my god the kitchen is on the second floor.

She gapes at you and you gape right back, and the rest of that morning is spent going over every inch of the house and seeing what else has changed compared to your shared memories.

Everything has, in some way or another. Doorknobs have shifted, cupboards have lowered, doors moved from one part of a room to another. Even chairs have changed their heights. There’s a whole new door neither of you can remember ever existing before connecting the upstairs bathroom directly to your room. Thinking back—

(staggering through your open window, mouth thick with the hot penny burn of ectoplasm and blood, your right hand pressed against the throb all down your side, and aren’t you grateful for your weight, your sturdiness, because before you finally peeled the faceguard off of Skulker’s exoskeleton and sucked that little jerk into a Thermos he got a good shot in with a rocket that hit you hard right in the ribs, and if you’d been normal there would have just been a dark wet hole where your torso used to be but lucky you, you’re every inch the creepy little freak Spectra called you, so you get to limp home and clean up as best you can on your own since it’s four in the morning and no way are you gonna wake Sam or Tucker up again, and you have to be quiet, you have to be so quiet, biting down pain, you can’t make a sound or Jazz might hear, grabbing the first-aid kid from your underwear drawer and slipping into the bathroom, and for once the hinges didn’t squeak, thank god, you think, thank god)

—you hadn’t even noticed last night or even this morning that a door had sprung up where there’d just been NASA and Nat Geo posters before. And your windows have moved, and your bed has moved, and you and Jazz just stare and stare. Why had neither of you noticed any of this until now? Why haven’t your parents? How long has this been going on? 

What could cause something like this?

It takes half an hour to convince your mom that something’s off about the house, and even longer to get your dad to grasp what you both are trying to say. Their eyes just keep glazing over the differences, even something as huge as the kitchen being on the wrong floor. Once they finally do see though, it’s a whole other story. After the initial shock, they drop all their experiments and spend the next week measuring and scanning every inch of the house.

Their conclusion, a week and some change later? The Ghost Portal leaks. 

Even with the huge steel door locked up tight, it seems there’s enough residual energy slipping through to warp, literally warp, the house. Somehow. The way your mom’s lips thin as she says all this means she’s not satisfied with this conclusion, but she puts on a wide smile when Jazz asks if you’re all in any danger. A smart question, one you think you might’ve asked yourself. Y’know, if you still needed to worry about something like exposure. Your dad just laughs big and loud and says not to worry about it, says if there were going to be any creepy side effects they would have manifested by now. Everything’s fine, they assure you both, but you look at the crease between your mom’s eyebrows and you wonder.

Later, when they’re out taking readings from the ectoplasm-damp wreck you and the Lunch Lady made of a McDonald’s and Jazz is studying at the library, you creep down to the lab and pull up all their documentation of the house. Most of it is dry as dirt; neatly typed spreadsheets and tidy, color-coded graphs (clearly your mom’s handiwork), but there’s also nearly a gigabyte’s worth of photos. Clicking through them, you can see Dad’s sloppy angles and the occasional square pinkie slipping into the frame. Most of the first hundred photos have been untouched, but the two hundreds have been filtered all to hell, like Mom and Dad went through the house a second time, trying to find something the human eye can’t see. Just shy of 300, the photos turn a dusty black and white, splattered in places with an all-too-familiar starkly glowing green.

No. Not splattered. A few spins of the scroll wheel zooms in on a crooked picture of the kitchen. There’s green all over everything; the fridge, the microwave, the drawers and cupboards, cluttered thickly at the kitchen table. These aren’t splatters. They’re handprints, slapped in layers and layers over themselves, like somebody dipped their hands in neon paint and went to town.

Every photo taken in that black and white filter shows the same thing. Handprints on doorknobs and railings, footprints on tile and carpet, green smeared and stamped everywhere, tracking the movements of something—

(somebody)

—for what must be as long as the Portal’s been active.

Why didn’t Mom and Dad say anything about this? Why haven’t you sensed it? There’s a ghost, an entity, some thing lurking around your house like it has every right to be there! Green gathered on the couch, on every table and sink, even the upstairs shower and your room and—

(the pictures of jazz’s room are nearly clean, the pictures of Mom and Dad’s room are spotless, but your room is practically bathed in green from floor to ceiling, your bed and desk nearly washed out by a poisonous haze, and no wonder Mom had looked so worried and no wonder Dad had laughed so loud, they know something’s wrong with you, they’ve always known you were messed up thanks to the accident but now here’s irrefutable proof, how can you lie your way out of photographic evidence, how can they look at you and not see you for the freak you are)

—oh.

You close the files, power down the computer, and walk quietly out of the lab. That’s… that’s all you can really do. Sooner or later your parents will knock gently on your door and ask you to come downstairs. Just a few tests, they’ll say. It’s for your own good, they’ll say. We’re worried about you, they’ll say.

But they’ll find out. They’ll find out what you are, and it’ll go one of two ways. They’ll either accept you as the freak you are, or hate you for the freak you are. Either way, there will be no more hiding. It’s… it’s almost a relief, to know the other shoe is finally going to drop.

Except it never does.

You wait, quietly, patiently, expectantly. They don’t treat you any different. They never say a word. When they call you down to the lab, it’s just to show off the latest in Fenton ghost hunting technology. Why? Why don’t they ask? Why don’t they administer tests, if not on you than on the house and the Portal? Why does nothing change?

=

They’re wrong on nearly every count, sure, but you’ve got hurts aplenty to hide. Sam and Tucker have seen the lightning splashed across your skin dozens of times by now, and when they hear the A-listers spreading this bad joke of a ghost story and see you laugh, they laugh too. There wasn’t much chance of hiding it for long from them, after all, when it’s so much easier to patch up the nastier cuts when you’re bleeding sluggish ectoplasm instead of blood pumped by a heart full of adrenaline.

The first time Sam had insisted on unzipping your suit to get a good look at the slash on one shoulder, Tucker cracking a half-hearted attempt at a dirty joke with hands shaking so bad the first aid kit rattled like a live thing, they’d both stopped cold. For ten long seconds, they just stared, pinning you down with matching expressions of horror. It was the longest ten seconds of your life. You’d been scared before, of being found out for the freak you are, of being overwhelmed by powerful ghosts, but this, you’re pretty sure, was the first time you were ever terrified.

But then Sam hugged you, and Tucker had smiled and squeezed your good shoulder, and that had been enough. There wasn’t anything to worry about after all.

They understand now why you gasp when your ghost sense goes off—

(shock like plunging feet first into a frozen lake, shock like drowning with a chest full of dead air, shock like electricity buzzing hot and cold and terrible through your nerves, leaving you breathless and tingling, your fists clenched so tight your knuckles burn white, teeth clenched and grinding as you dart for the nearest lonely corner to gather up your heaviness and summon the starlight in your heart)

—and they know why it took you so long to realize you don’t have a heartbeat when you’re a ghost. The first few times you changed, you’d felt it, felt it like a rush of blood flow to a sleeping limb, but it took weeks to put it together. To realize the stinging, cool pulse radiating from your hand to your chest wasn’t your heart but something else altogether. All that star-bright scar tissue pulses. Involuntary, but without any reaction to how much energy you exert. A constant, steady [unfinished]

=

Breathing is optional too, when you’re a ghost. You’d found that one out the hard way, choking on mud in that stupid duck pond and tangled in one of Skulker’s nets.

[elisajdb]

GoChi Week 2021: A Fulfilled Life: Part Three

GoChi Week 2021

A Fulfilled Life

Day Three Prompt: ChiChi and SSJ4 @gochi-week

“Are you sure you and Dad don’t want to see the fireworks show in Satan City?” Gohan asked. “It’s going to be a lot of fun.”

ChiChi scrubbed her brush over the grill gates in heavy strokes. She smiled at Goten carrying Pan on his shoulders as he followed Mr. Satan and Majin Boo in the airship. She checked on Goku laying in the hammock as he recovered from his food coma. The family had a big barbecue to celebrate the spring holiday. Goku and Gohan hunted meat of wild boar, bear and dinosaur. Goten skinned and cleaned the animals. Videl and ChiChi seasoned and cooked them with the traditional burgers and hot dogs on several grills. Since Mr. Satan bought the extra grills, he felt his contributions were done and relaxed drinking beer and serving Majin Boo and playing with Pan.

After the barbecue, plans were for everyone to go to Satan City to see the fireworks show but seeing how comfortable Goku was on the hammock, ChiChi knew Goku had no plans to leave and thought it will be best she and Goku spend the evening at home. She wasn’t too keen on going to Satan City anyway. Satan City was a ninety-minute commute and after hours of grilling and now cleaning, all ChiChi wanted to do is nap on the hammock with Goku after everything’s done.

“No. You and everyone go have fun. Your Dad and I can catch the show on TV.”

Gohan frowned at his Dad puzzled at his sudden need to take a nap after the barbecue. It put a wrench in the family plans. If Dad took a nap, Gohan knew Mom wouldn’t want to disturb him which meant they weren’t coming to the fireworks show. Gohan initially thought his Dad was pretending to sleep to get out of the cleanup but his Ki was so low Gohan knew he had to be sleeping. “Well, Videl’s Dad will probably invite us to stay at his home after the fireworks so we won’t be home until tomorrow.”

ChiChi dipped the grill brush in a bucket of hot and soapy water before scrubbing the grill grate again. “Okay. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

*****

When Goku opened his eyes, he saw ChiChi placing the plastic covers over the grills. He stretched out to feel Gohan’s Ki. He felt Gohan with Videl, Pan, Goten, Mr. Satan and Majin Boo. All four hundred miles away. He and ChiChi were alone which meant he can finally tell her about his latest transformation: Super Saiyan Four.

Goku wrestled when he will show ChiChi. She hated his form as a Super Saiyan Three. The missing eyebrows disturbed her. Goku didn’t have high expectations of ChiChi liking this form. Super Saiyan Four really made it known he’s an alien and he worried the animal nature in him will frighten her. Goku also knew he was on borrowed time. One thing ChiChi hated is everyone knowing everything about her family except her. It’s happened far too many times and everyone, including Pan, knew he could transform into a Super Saiyan Four.

The barbecue came at the perfect time. Goku knew he only had to go to sleep and ChiChi will decline them both going to the fireworks show. Alone, he can tell her.

“Goku, are you still sleeping?”

Goku turned his head to see ChiChi approaching him. He stretched his arms over his head and feigned a yawn. “Just woke up. Where is everyone?”

The hammock dipped slightly as ChiChi climbed in. “Probably landing in Satan City now.” She snuggled against her husband and laid her head against his shoulder. Her hand slipped in his karategi shirt to caress his chest. “Very rare we are alone these days.”

As ChiChi’s nails grazed his chest in seductive strokes, Goku had an idea what mood ChiChi is in. He wanted it, too, but he had to tell her about Super Saiyan Four. “Yup. Feels good.”

ChiChi’s hand dipped down his shirt to stroke the muscles on his stomach. Oh, yeah, she was in the mood and at the worst time. “With everyone gone, our options tonight are really limited.”

“Limited?” He jumped feeling ChiChi’s teeth nibble his ear. Oh, boy. She really was in the mood.

“There are three things we can do. One,” ChiChi tugged his lower lobe. “We can stay here, watch the sunset and watch the stars twinkle in the skies as we fall asleep under them.”

That was a nice idea. “It’ll remind us of the camping we did. What else?”

“Two.” Her tongue licked the shell of his ear. “We can go inside and watch the fireworks on TV.”

Goku’s eyes rolled back. ChiChi and her tongue could bring him to his knees. If he gave in to the rising need of his body and have sex with ChiChi, he won’t tell her about Super Saiyan Four. “What’s the third?”

ChiChi left a tender trail of kisses from his ear and down his face. “We could go inside……” Her hand dipped past his stomach to under his pants. “Take off our clothes……” Her fingers glided over soft curls as it kept moving south.

“Yeah…..” Goku exhaled. He resigned himself to making love to ChiChi tonight and telling her about Super Saiyan Four another time. “Nngh,” he groaned as ChiChi’s fingers wrapped around his member in soft strokes. “What else?”

ChiChi’s warm breath fanned his skin. “Or…. you could….” She gripped him tightly. “Tell me the real reason you pretended to go into a food coma and get out of seeing the fireworks tonight!”

Uh-oh!

ChiChi no longer looked like the seductress that always made him lower his guard. She looked like an angry woman holding him in a very vulnerable position who can bring him real pain! ChiChi’s gripped tightened. Oh, boy. He needed to be very careful with what he says next.

“You knew?”

“Goku, you didn’t eat enough to put yourself in a food coma. I know how much you can take.” ChiChi squeezed him tighter, causing Goku to wince. “So, what’s going on?”

ChiChi was the one he always let his guard down with and she often used that to her advantage. In the past it benefited Goku but now Goku realized it could be very bad for him. “I did wanna tell you. I was waitin’ on the right time.”

ChiChi squeezed again. Goku howled. “Tell me what?”

Her voice was tight and on edge of snapping. If he said the wrong thing, he will pay for it. “I have another transformation.”

“Another one?” ChiChi eyes rolled, exasperated. “What does this make? Four? Five? I’m losing count. Never mind,” she released Goku. “Let’s see it. What do I need to prepare myself for? A spike updo? A long spiky mane? You’re going bald? How far do I need to stand back?”

ChiChi took the news of another transformation better than he expected. It gave him hope she wouldn’t be repulsed by Super Saiyan Four. Goku carefully got out of the hammock. The last time he got out with ChiChi in it with him, ChiChi was flipped out of the hammock and face planted on the grass. “No. You can sit here. I’ll transform in the sky so there’s no damage to our home.”

ChiChi’s eyes went up as Goku flew into the sky. Almost immediately, ChiChi felt the usual side effects of Goku transforming. Goku was far enough that when the ground shook, it was a tiny tremor and not enough to topple the grills or picnic table. She could hear Goku’s battle cry and see gold light covering him. It was near blinding that she had to turn away until the transformation was over. When the tremors stopped, ChiChi looked up again. Goku began his descent and ChiChi’s mouth dropped. Slowly, she rose to her feet and walked to him as he touched the ground. ChiChi expected Goku with gold hair in a spiky updo or something in a long mane. She even thought he will be bald this time but not this.

Goku’s hair was black but longer and wilder like a lion’s mane. His pupils were yellow with a deep red color surrounding his eyes like eyeshadow. In his previous transformations, Goku’s clothes never changed. It did this time. His shirt was gone and his arms and his chest except his pecs were covered in a red covering that looked like fur. His pants were goldish and not the dark green he wore at the picnic. ChiChi leaned to the side when she saw something wiggling behind him. He had a tail, too?!

“Oh…. my…..” ChiChi breathed.  

Goku didn’t know if that was a good ‘oh my’ or a bad ‘oh my.’ “Well…. what do you think?”

ChiChi snapped her gaze from his tail to his face. That voice. That deep, seductive bedroom voice. “Your voice…..” Goku didn’t sound like that unless they were in the bedroom when his body was over hers as he slid in and out of her and her hands were clutching his body while she screamed under him.

“What’s wrong with my voice?” He smirked as his tail wrapped around ChiChi’s waist and pulled her against him. He smelled the fresh scent coming from between her legs. ChiChi might be trying to hide it but he knew how she felt about this transformation. “I thought you liked it.”

“Nothing’s wrong. Ooo,” she exhaled as his tail moved to her right thigh and up her dress. She caught his naughty smirk. Oh, he was confident now and inducing some payback for earlier. “You’re very bold.”

“It’s the transformation.” He pulled the zipper down from the back of her dress. “It makes me more aggressive and in tuned with my needs.”

“I…..” her voice was breathy as she felt his need poking against her stomach. “I can feel it.”

He pulled her dress down and exposed her breasts. “I was nervous I’d scare you but you like it.” His tail went higher. “You like it a lot.”

“How do you know ….?” She gasped as the furred red tip teased her through her lacey underwear. The tantalizing caresses created a surge of liquid heat to her core.

“Just a wild hunch.” ChiChi threw her head back as Goku pushed aside the lace and slipped his tail inside. Her insides clenched his tail and nails dug into his arms as Goku’s tail went deep in her, withdrew and plunged deeper again. “Make that a big hunch,” he shrewdly guessed as his mouth closed over a nipple and suckled hard.

“Ahh!” ChiChi’s hips bucked against him. Her moans told him she needed more and he rewarded her by wigging his tail deeper in ChiChi and rubbing his hips against hers. She rewarded Goku with more of her viscous juices seeping his tail.

“You’re really enjoying my tail.” ChiChi was so tight, wet and slippery. The more she bucked against him, the thicker he grew in his pants. “Which is better, ChiChi? My front tail or…..” his red tail shoved deeper in ChiChi, stretching her longer and wider than ever before “Back tail?”

ChiChi answered with a sharp cry of his name and convulsing as she came on him. She sagged against him as her legs buckled. Goku held her steady with an arm around her waist. He was hard as a rock and needed relief but pushed it aside to comfort ChiChi.

“Goku,” ChiChi panted, “you know how I said I hate Super Saiyan Three?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I’m gonna love Super Saiyan Four.”

[ryosei-hime]

Sex and Therapy: The Mending

Cog begins the extensive repairs on Fizz and Concord grapples with the fear and rage battling for his attention. Waiting for the new episode slowed me down in writing this one as I was way to excited to be too productive. Also available on AO3.

Concord burst into Cog’s apartment without knocking. He’d run the whole way and fell several times on the stairs. His knees were skinned, the thin pajama bottoms he’d thrown on ripped, and he clutched a blanket around his shoulders. He hadn’t the patience for a shirt but still tried to retain some sense of modesty in his panic. 

He found Cog elbow deep in Fizz’s chest already. He ran to his other side which gave him a good view of his crumpled chest plate. He put his hands to his mouth as he kneeled beside him. He had blood on his face and for a moment Concord forgot it couldn’t be his own. 

“Fizz! Oh, Fizz, no.” 

Tears were already streaming down his cheeks. One of Fizz’s arms had clearly been broken,  longer than normal as he brought the hand up to Concord’s cheek. His thumb tried to wipe away the tears there, but it seemed glitchy in its movements. 

“No crying.” 

Concord grasped the hand on his cheek and hid his face in the palm. He couldn’t stop the tears. He’d been so afraid Fizz would be hurt while working and now it had come true. He knew it would and he’d let him go out there every night just because he’d been depressed. 

“Who did this?” Concord sobbed. “Who hurt you?”

“Can’t say. Confidentiality.” 

Concord’s eyes dried up suddenly and widened. Him. He’d kill him! Pure rage washed away the guilt that had been threatening to eat him alive, a dark overlay of a cross shape in his pupils as the wrath imp in him came to the forefront. 

“Tell me where this happened!” 

Fizz shook his head softly. 

“You can’t fight him. Look what he did to me. And, Concord, he has my paperwork. He still...technically owns me.” 

“No one owns you!”

Fizz’s eyes flickered and Cog pulled her arms out of his chest. 

“Concord I need you to...just go make some tea or something. I need to concentrate!”

Fizz smiled at him. 

“Go on, baby. Cog’ll fix it.” 

Concord let the anger seep from his limbs, the rage in his eyes abating. It left him tired and scared. He kissed Fizz’s hand and reluctantly released it.

“I love you. Please be okay.”

“I love you, too, my sweet Concord.” 

Concord pulled himself away and did as he’d been told. He puttered around in the kitchen but never got around to making the tea. He just watched the water boil down to nothing and eventually turned the stove off. He paced back and forth, absently wandering back towards the living room from time to time. Cog told him to get out each time without taking her eyes off her work. He felt like a puppy being scolded. 

After hours of work, Cog met him in the kitchen. He tried to run by her and to Fizz’s side, but she grabbed him by the shoulders, pushing him back. 

“Wait, Concord. I need to talk to you.” 

Concord’s face screwed up in agony as he backed up and fell into a chair. Oh, no. He knew that tone. Something bad had happened. He’d died. 

“He’s alive,” Cog stated pointedly, recognizing the fear in his eyes.

Concord choked out the breath he’d held and clutched the blanket to his chest. He tried to give Cog his full attention as she went on, but he also kept trying to peek around her to get a look at Fizz.

“But the damage is extensive. It’s more than just the chest cavity and the arm. A lot of very small, delicate, and important bits got broken when his chest collapsed. It’s gonna take me a while to get him back to full functionality and I don’t know if I’ll be able to find what I need here in the Pride Ring. I won’t get technical but there’s a very important piece that needs replaced as soon as possible. It regulates his power source. He’ll be experiencing power drops and surges. If he doesn’t respond, he’s not dead. Don’t panic.”

Concord pulled the blanket up to his mouth at that. 

“But what if he...does just. Shut off and doesn’t wake back up because I can’t tell the difference between a power drop and...and….”

“Calm down. I’ll show you how to check. But, Concord, you should know, there is the risk that his system does a factory reset with all the fluctuations he’ll be experiencing. And if it does...he won’t remember you.” 

Concord felt the tears spilling down his cheeks again, a hollow feeling digging out his insides. He darted around her and she didn’t try to stop him this time. He rushed to kneel beside Fizz once more, taking his hand. He tried to get his tears under control and put on a brave face. 

“See,” Fizz said, smiling up at him. “Cog’s got everything under control.” 

Concord nodded, fighting back more tears. Fizz had so much confidence in Cog. He thought of her as some kind of miracle worker. But no matter how good a mechanic she was, she couldn’t do everything. Her resources were dictated by their location and their status. He knew how being an imp could limit your business.

“Did Cog tell you anything about your condition?” 

He shook his head. 

“Okay. You’re….you’re going to have some power surges and drops, she said. And there’s parts you need that will be hard to get. But you’ll be fine. Everything will be fine. We’ll get you fixed up.” 

Fizz squeezed his hand. 

“I know, baby. I’m not worried.” 

Concord wanted to yell that he should be. Things were so bad. And he was so scared himself. And so angry. He rubbed his face against the back of Fizz’s hand, letting the anger pull him back up from the sea of despair that threatened to overwhelm him. 

“Fizz, I need to know who he is. You have to find a way to tell me.” 

“No.” 

His voice was sharp. 

“Please, Fizz. He can’t get away with this.” 

“Oh, he didn’t. I bit that bastard’s nasty dick before I got away.” His teeth were particularly sharp as he grinned evilly, blood still staining them. “Hope the fucker bleeds to death.” 

He looked tired suddenly and his eyes began to dim. A power drop! Concord felt his system kick into panic mode.

“Too bad he’s so…..high status….has the best doctor. Probably come out with a bigger dick.” 

Even in his panicked state, Concord’s mind filed that clue away. High status meant visibility. He’d be in the public eye. Something to use later. Right now, he had to pay attention to Fizz. He leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek, a tremble in his voice.

“Don’t go, please?” 

“Just tired. Not going anywhere.” 

Fizz slipped his hand behind his neck and pulled him down for another kiss. Somehow he missed his lips and ended up sucking on his neck, teeth scraping across the skin lightly. Concord smiled shakily as he gently coaxed him away so he could sit back up. 

“You’re determined to bite me no matter what, aren’t you?” 

Fizz’s tired eyes glowed a little brighter as a small bit of energy came rushing back. 

“Mm hm. My Concord.” 

“Oh, is that what that’s about?” Concord joked, trying to keep his own spirits up as well as Fizz’s. 

Fizz took Concord’s hand in both of his, fingers sliding up his wrist before bringing it to his mouth. He bit down lightly, pressing his teeth into Concord’s soft skin for a moment before kissing it gently. 

“Mine. My beautiful Concord.” 

“All yours,” Concord assured him, tears threatening to return. “I’ll always be yours.” 

Fizz smiled groggily and pulled him down onto his chest. Concord felt his whole body seize up as he tried not to put pressure on his injuries. Fizz pressed kisses against his horn between assertive murmurs. 

“Mine, mine, mine.”

He could see Cog standing in the door of the kitchen wincing as a hand reached futilly towards them. He pushed himself off as delicately as he could. 

“We have to be careful of your chest.” 

Concord laid down next to him carefully and curled in towards him, hoping that would satisfy him. Fizz tried to turn on his side as well. Cog actually stepped out of the kitchen this time, but Concord sat up to stop him. 

“You have to stay on your back for now.” 

“Mmm but I wanna fuck ya,” Fizz moped. 

Cog blushed and retreated back into the kitchen quickly. Concord laughed a little. 

“We’re really getting to the core of your psyche today aren’t we?” 

“You’re so cute, it makes me wanna wreck ya.” 

Fizz made grabby motions at his face and Concord leaned in to let him have it. 

“Is this what every power drop is gonna be like?” 

“If you’re lucky, baby.” 

Fizz winked at him and Concord had to kiss him again, his own fingers ghosting over Fizz’s cheek to cup his jaw. 

“Silly robot.” 

“You love it.”

“I do,” Concord whispered, brushing the circle on his cheek with his thumb. “I love you .” 

Concord stayed at Fizz’s side, Cog joining them when Fizz’s power had evened back out. Concord was worried that while he witnessed several drops over the next few hours, he wasn’t seeing any of the surges Cog had talked about. Cog was of two minds on this. She agreed it was troubling in that it meant the regulation was skewed dangerously low. But she also had concerns that surges would make him hard to control and he might hurt himself further. Either way, there was nothing they could do about it.

She eventually bid them a good night and headed to bed, leaving Concord some blankets on the couch. But Concord couldn’t find it in himself to leave Fizz’s side. He clung to Fizz’s good arm, eyes locked onto his face, watching for any sign of another power drop. He couldn’t let Fizz out of his sight for even a second. If he looked away, he would die or reset. He knew it. Fizz’s free hand rose to his face, fingers tracing his jaw softly. 

“Go sleep on the couch, baby. I’ll be fine.” 

Concord shook his head, tears flowing once more just at the sound of his voice. Tears of relief or fear, he wasn’t sure. He pressed his face against his arm. 

“No, I want to be with you.” 

“You need to sleep.” 

“I can sleep here.” 

“You know you won’t.”

Concord was surprised to find his arm coiling around him. He lifted him and brought him close enough to kiss before depositing him on the couch. He even pulled the cover from the back of the couch and tucked him in. 

“Goodnight, Concord.” 

Before Fizz could even get his arm entirely retracted, Concord hopped off the couch, bringing the blanket with him, and cuddled up to his side again. 

“No. I want to be here with you. Please? I’m so scared.” 

“Okay,” Fizz sighed, wrapping his arm around him.

He pressed his face against his side gently before hearing a slight shuffle from the hall. 

“Get on the damn couch, Concord,” Cog commanded. “What part about not jostling him did you not understand?” 

Fizz tried not to laugh, but it got away from him. 

“I’ve been overruled.” 

Concord pouted as he sat up, keeping his back to Cog. 

“Okay, fine.” 

He waited until she’d disappeared back down the hall before leaning over to kiss Fizz on the forehead. 

“Goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning.” 

“You will, I promise.” Fizz ran a hand down his arm.

When Concord woke in the afternoon, he immediately scrambled off the couch and across the floor. He hadn’t actually opened his eyes yet so he didn’t make it far before he cracked his head on the coffee table and had to fall back to nurse his wounds.

“Careful, baby.” 

Fizz’s arm wrapped around him and lifted him over the table to place him at his side. The hand came up to check his head as his arm unwound. Concord almost started crying again between the pain and the gentle touch of Fizz’s fingers in his hair. But he held it together, wiping the sleep out of his eyes. 

“See,” Fizz assured him as their eyes met. “I’m still here.” 

Concord nodded, taking the hand as it slipped from his head and pressing it close to his cheek. He could hear movement from somewhere else and the sound of tools being shifted around. Was Cog up already? Before he could gather the energy or wherewithal to look, she came over with her tools again. 

“Outta the way.” 

Fizz decided to save Concord the trouble of moving and simply picked him up and placed him on his other side. Cog dropped down next to him and immediately started working again. 

“Did you eat?” Fizz asked and Concord was a little surprised to see him do that to someone else.

“No. I can eat later.” 

“Eat.” 

“Sorry, I’m not Concord. You can’t tell me what to do.” 

“Well, it was worth a shot,” Fizz said with a smile. “What are you doing now?” 

“Stabilizing some more. Once this is done you can move around again. But only a little. At least enough to get home and sit up.” 

“Don’t want me on your floor for another night?” 

“Yeah, I’m not interested in babysitting. If you two want to ignore my warnings, you can at least do it where I can’t see you.” 

Concord cleared his throat and excused himself, leaving Cog to continue her work. He retreated to the kitchen and sat down at the table, putting his head in his hands. He let himself cry for a bit before wiping his face with his arm and sucking it up again. He had to focus on something else. Something that made him feel like he was getting things done. 

He took out his phone and called Lannah.

“Lannah, I need a favor. You know how I always asked you to recycle the magazines from the waiting room? Yeah. I need you to get them from wherever it is you hide them and bring them to me. No, Lannah, I’m not mad. No...Lannah...Lannah! I need them. It’s an emergency. Yes. An emergency that requires a ton of magazines. Thank you. I’ll text you the address. Just bring them when you can.” 

Concord hung up and carefully placed his phone on the table, hands shaking. Tears were gathering in the corners of his eyes as he stared down at the picture Fizz had taken of them on the couch. The two of them, smiling, no idea what would happen in a few short hours. 

The darkened cross shape slipped into his pupils again. He’d find this monster if it was the last thing he did. He had to appear in some article or news story somewhere over the course of the past six years. If Fizz couldn’t give him the name, even if he couldn’t tell him yes or no, Concord would know when he saw him. He knew the look of trauma well. 

Once he’d managed to calm himself down, he returned to Fizz’s side to wait for Lannah, watching Cog work. While she was in there, she also showed him how to check the regulator to make sure it wasn’t dead, though she assured him that was highly unlikely to occur. She seemed to be carefully avoiding any mention of the possibility that he’d reset but they shared a few looks as she skipped around the subject.

Just as she was explaining a more technical aspect that Concord, honestly, wasn’t grasping, there was a knock on the door. Cog looked up in surprise and Concord realized he’d never filled her in on his plan. But she had already moved to answer it before he could speak up. She opened the door to reveal Lannah holding a very large stack of magazines in one hand and a can of soup in the other.

“Hey, did you guys know there’s like a million cans of soup in the stairwell?” 

Cog stared for a moment before reaching out and taking it from her slowly, the look on her face saying “don’t you judge me.” 

“...Soup is easy and affordable. Who are you?” 

Lannah looked her up and down with a smirk and Concord could feel his secretary’s attraction from where he sat. That’s what they needed right now. Although Cog didn’t seem to react to it in the least. 

“I’m Lannah. That’s my boss on your floor with his sexbot boyfriend.” 

Cog took another long moment to respond as Concord covered his face with his hands. 

“I really wish I knew how this became my life.” 

Lannah slipped by her with a giggle and let the magazines fall on the floor next to Concord as Cog closed the door.

“There’s one stack. What do you need these for anyway?” 

“Identification.” 

Concord held up the first magazine so Fizz could see it and pointed to the cover, finger landing right in the eye of Lucifer himself. Fizz gave him a tired look. 

“Concord, I did not belong to the King of Hell.” 

“I’m not skipping anyone,” he replied. “I’d die trying, but I’d still try.”

Fizz reached out to hold Concord’s chin in his hand, bringing his face down to better stare into his eyes. 

“That’s sweet, baby, but don’t be crazy.” 

Concord kept his face serious as he opened the magazine and pointed at the next famous demon without even looking, eyes locked onto Fizz’s. But Cog snatched it from his hands before Fizz could respond. Concord’s eyes snapped to her in shock. 

“Do you mind if I finish what I’m doing first?” Cog demanded. He could see she’d been pushed to her limits and shrank from her a bit. “You know, the life-saving stuff? It’s bad enough we can’t get the regulator in the pride ring. Who knows when I’ll be able to get it, and the longer it takes, the more dangerous this becomes. You’d think you’d be a bit more concerned with his survival than your revenge.”

Concord’s cheeks colored as he bit his lip and tried not to look at anyone. Cog had never gone off like that before, and Concord felt bad that he’d pushed her this far. She was also right. And now he felt ashamed of himself. How had he let his priorities get so skewed? 

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Cog. I’m not thinking straight.” 

Cog settled down next to Fizz to finish her work without responding and an awkward silence fell over the room. 

“I have a car, you know,” Lannah spoke up suddenly. All eyes turned to her. “If you need to go to another ring to pick something up, I can drive you.”

Concord wanted to agree immediately, but he looked over at Cog as she closed Fizz back up, a tired look on her face. She sighed and sat back. 

“If we leave soon, we can probably be back in three days.”

“Thank you, Cog, thank you.” Concord grabbed her hands but released them immediately. He didn’t think Cog appreciated her personal space being violated.

“It’s fine. I don’t want this idiot to die either.” Fizz stuck his tongue out at her playfully. “All right, Lannah. Go pack a bag and we’ll drop these two off on the way out.”

Lannah gave Cog a wink and a couple of finger guns before hurrying out the door. Concord could see a shadow of confusion on the mechanic’s face, but it was overtaken with exhaustion as she stood. Fizz sat up and as Cog headed for her room to pack a bag, he stretched his arm out to grab her wrist. 

“Eat.” 

Cog sagged visibly before turning towards the kitchen instead. 

“Fine. I’ll have some damn soup.” 

Fizz smiled and Concord watched him with a gentle expression. He’d gotten so good at taking care of people. It made him happy to see it wasn’t just him that Fizz cared about that much. Concord put his arms around his neck and fell into him now that it was safer to do so. Fizz wrapped him up in the coils of his good arm and pressed his face into the hair between his horns. 

[whatdidimissjm]

Hamlaf Week Day 1 - Vampire

My dear friend @gagakumadraws and I have created a promt list for Hamlaf Week and this is my take on the first prompt!

--

Alex hasn´t left his flat in what feels like weeks since the incident, or at least he thinks that it has been weeks. Telling the time has become a little bit difficult. He keeps the blinds closed, so that it is completely dark in the flat, which makes it even harder to know what time of day it is. He hasn´t talked to anyone since it happened, his phone is still lying broken on the ground from where he had thrown it against the wall, after it just kept ringing. He only leaves his bed to go to the kitchen to get food, though there is a hunger inside of him, that never seems to go away; an insatiable craving.

Moving hurts, even after all this time, and Alex isn´t sure if he will ever feel alright again. He feels incredibly lonely, something that´s his own fault, but he just can´t go outside and be among people and pretend that nothing has happened. That he isn´t different. Damaged. How can he ever meet with his friends again? They will hate him, when they find out what happened, and Alex isn´t ready for their rejection, so he just avoids them. He knows that this won´t solve his problems, but what else can he do?

Alex barely sleeps, and when he does, he gets woken up by nightmares about the attack, but the sweet oblivion of sleep is still a better alternative than his thoughts when he is awake. Alexander is once again staring at his alarm clock, the time reading 1:24, though he couldn´t say if am, or pm. He is about to finally nod off, when he hears steps approaching the bedroom. Suddenly he is wide awake again, his whole body tense and ready to fight, as he listens to the steps coming closer, until they stop in front of his bedroom door. There is silence for a moment, and just when Alex starts to believe that his mind was playing tricks on him, someone knocks on his door.

“Alex, are you in there?”, he hears Lafayette asking.

Alex presses his eyes closed, while shaking his head, as if that would somehow make his friend go away. No, no, no. He can´t be here. Alex is almost paralyzed from fear, and before he can even think about what he will do next, the door gets opened.

“Alex?”, Laf asks again, and this time, Alex can´t supress a whimper.

The room gets flooded with light and a moment later, he feels hands on his chest and face, and he lets out a pained groan.

“Mon Dieu, Alex, what the hell happened to you?”, Laf asks, but all he gets in return is a sob.

“You have to go.”, Alex whimpers, finally forcing his eyes open.

He looks up at his friend, who´s looking down at him with obvious worry painting his face, what only makes him sob harder.

“Alex, what happened?”, Laf tries again, a note of helplessness in his voice.

“I´m a monster.”, Alex whispers.

He tries to push the other man away, but Lafayette is stronger than him, and instead pulls Alex into a sitting position. For a moment Alex panics and an irrational part of his brain tells him that Laf will attack him, but the expected blow never happens. Instead, Laf pulls him against his chest and carefully puts his arms around him. Alex remains frozen and tense for a few seconds, before he realises that Lafayette is hugging him. He lets out something between a sob and a groan, before he allows himself to slump against the other man´s chest, burying his face in his shirt. He is shaking with sobs and desperately clinging to Laf, even though there is a tiny voice inside his head that tells him that he has to make the other man leave.

“I got you, mon ange.”, Laf whispers, but Alex shakes his head.

“You need to go. I am a monster.”, Alex insists.

“What are you talking about? Of course, you are not.”

It breaks Alexander´s heart, with how much conviction Laf says that.

“I got bitten. I am a vampire, Laf.”, Alex says almost tonelessly.

It´s the first time Alex has said it out loud since the attack – hasn´t even allowed himself to think that word – and it´s strangely deliberating, even though it causes him almost physical pain. For a moment, Laf doesn´t react and Alex starts to think that he hasn´t heard him, but then he feels the other man pressing a kiss to his head, before gently pushing him away. Alex closes his eyes, far too afraid to actually see the disgust in his friend´s eyes.

“Mon ange, look at me.”, Laf says softly.

Alex hesitates a moment, before he reluctantly opens his eyes and looks up at the other man. He doesn´t understand why there isn´t disgust or fear in Laf´s eyes, and for a horrible moment he thinks that he must be playing a cruel trick on him.

“Alex, you are not a monster.”, Laf says firmly.

Alex shakes his head.

“You aren´t listening, Laf. I am a fucking vampire!”

“You are not a monster.”, Laf repeats, but Alex isn´t listening.

“I am a monster and I will hurt you. You have to leave.”

“Alex, you are not. I know you. We will get through this.”

“There is no “we”, Laf, there-“

“There is always a “we”. It has always been you and me against the world, non? We will get through this.”

“Why?”

“I can´t follow.”

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I love you, mon ange.”, Laf says, as if it´s obvious.

Alex closes his eyes and takes a shuddering breath, before opening his eyes again and shaking his head.

“No. You may have loved the person I was before, but not… this.”

He pulls his hands away from Lafayette´s hold, but the other man quickly grabs them again.

“You are still the same.”, Laf insists, but Alex once again shakes his head.

There are tears burning in his eyes, but he knows Laf will never leave if he starts crying again.

“No, I am different. I am hungry. I feel it.”

“It doesn´t matter, because you are still the same in here.”, Laf says quietly, resting his hand above Alexander´s heart.

This time Alex can´t help the tears from falling, both from helplessness and from how much it means to him that Laf won´t give up on him.

“I will hurt you. I´m a lost cause.”, Alex tries one last time, though he has already half accepted that Laf will stay.

“You won´t. And you are not. You just need to let me help you. You don´t have to fight all your battles alone, Alex.”

Alex is silent for a moment, pondering Laf´s offer. He is glad that the other man isn´t trying to rush him to make a decision, but just sits there and watches him with his warm and reassuring eyes.

“Okay.”, Alex whispers finally.

A tiny smile appears on Lafayette´s face, and he lifts his hand to gently brush a strand of hair out of Alexander´s face. Alex can´t quite supress the shudder at the soft gesture. He hadn´t even realised how much he had missed human contact and it feels so incredibly good. He can almost drown out the guilt. Alex would be content to just remain like this forever, but all too soon, Laf tugs on his hands and Alex lets out a disapproving whine.

“Come, let´s get you cleaned up. I´m pretty sure you did not care for your cuts, oui?”

Alex drops his gaze, but allows Laf to lead him to the bathroom across the hall. Now that he isn´t on the brink of a panic attack anymore, he feels ashamed of the state he is in. There is still dried blood on his body and he hasn´t washed his hair in forever.

“Do you want to take a bath?”

Alex shrugs, but doesn´t stop Lafayette, when the other man turns on the water and adds products.

“What day is it?”, Alex asks finally, though he somehow dreads the answer.

“Monday.”, Laf answers without turning around, and Alex furrows his brow.

“How long have I been gone?”

Laf freezes and it takes him a moment, before he turns around to Alex.

“You stopped answering my texts on Thursday.”, Laf starts, and Alex furrows his brow again. Only five days? It felt so much longer. “At first, I thought your phone had died or you just wanted some space.”, Laf continues, apparently unaware of Alexander´s confusion. “I thought I´d give you the weekend, but you never texted or called me, so I… I was very worried, Alex. We all were. We all are.”

Alex drops his eyes to the tiled floor and picks at the skin around his nails.

“I´m sorry. I didn´t know what to do and I didn´t wanna bother you… it was stupid.”

Laf lets out a little laugh.

“It really was, mon ange.”

Alex looks up at Laf with a little smile. He doesn´t really know how Laf has managed it, but there is something akin to hope inside of Alex. Maybe everything will actually be alright again.

A few minutes later, Alex is sitting in the bathtub, with Laf gently working shampoo into his hair. His eyes are closed, and he is as relaxed as he hasn´t been in days, though there is still a bit of unease inside of him, that he just can´t shake off. If he is being honest, it feels a bit weird, having Laf wash his hair, but at the same time it is nice and calming. He falls into a bit of a daze, and it takes Laf some coaxing to get him out of the water again, after he is done with washing Alex, but then finally, he is standing wrapped in a towel in the middle of the bathroom.

“You wanna sit down, so I can look at your cuts, mon ange?”, Laf asks, breaking the silence.

Alex lets his eyes drop to the floor and shrugs, flinching a bit, when he feels Laf touching his arm. The other man guides him to sit down on the edge of the bathtub and Alex reluctantly looks up at Laf again.

“Where do you have your… what´s it called?”, Laf asks, frowning confused.

“First aid kit?”

Laf nods, giving him a smile.

“Oui. First aid kit.”

“Under the sink.”

Laf takes it out and sets it down on the shelf next to the bathtub. He starts with cleaning the cuts and scratches on Alexander´s face. Alex closes his eyes and does his best not to think about the smell of blood that´s in the air, that makes that insatiable hunger inside of him flare up. It doesn´t take Laf all too long to take care of Alexander´s injuries, and Alex is glad when the last of the cuts is hidden underneath a bandage.

“Wait here for a moment, will you? I´ll go and get you a pyjama.”, Laf says, and Alex nods.

Laf squeezes Alexander´s hand one last time, before he hurries out of the bathroom. For a moment, Alex just keeps sitting on the edge of the bathtub, but then he decides that the floor is more comfortable and slides down to lean against the wall. He allows himself to feel happy that Laf had found him and that he had stayed, even though there is still some guilt left. He can´t help but smile at the prospect of curling up in his bed with Laf, hoping that the other man will stay for a while, so that he doesn´t have to be alone anymore.

When Lafayette isn´t back after a few minutes though, the happy feeling from before leaves Alex and suddenly he is afraid that Laf had left after all, and that he had used getting him his pyjama as an excuse to get out of the flat. He refuses to believe that though, and remains where he is for another minute, convinced that Laf will be back any second now. He doesn´t come though, and Alex can feel the disappointment wash over him and leave his insides cold. There are tears burning in his eyes, but he does his best not to cry, refusing to let the disappointment get the better of him. It´s what he had wanted from the start, isn´t it? He manages to hold back the tears for a bit, but once he has left the pleasantly warm bathroom, he can´t keep them from running down his face. He is softly sniffling and very much looking forward to hiding in his bed forever, but when he enters the bedroom, he almost runs into Lafayette. The other man stabilizes him with his hands on his arms, smiling down at him amused, but his smile turns almost instantly into a worried frown, when he notices the tears on Alexander´s face.

“Mon ange, what´s the matter? Did something happen?”

Alex just shakes his head and wraps his arms around Laf, who instantly hugs him back.

“I thought you had left me.”, Alex mumbles, his voice muffled by the other man´s shirt.

“Oh Alex. I would never leave you.”, Laf whispers, but Alex can hear how much he means it.

“You should though.”, he gives back. “I´m a-“

“Stop.”, Laf interrupts him softly. “I know, you think you are a monster, but it is not the truth.

Alex lets out a sigh.

“But-“

“No.”, Laf says simply, and for once, Alex is all to happy to lose an argument.

They stay like this for a bit, just enjoying the company of each other, until Alex pulls back.

“I´m kinda cold.”, he admits, and Laf takes a step back and hands him his pyjama.

He quickly puts it on, before curling up under the blanket. The bedding is new and suddenly Alex understands why Laf had taken so long. He holds out a hand to Laf, who takes it without hesitation.

“Will you join me?”, Alex asks, and Laf nods with a warm smile.

“Of course, I will. There´s nothing I´d rather do, mon ange.”

As soon as Laf is next to him, Alex presses himself against him, letting out a content sigh, when Laf wraps his arms around him.

“Thank you. For everything.”, Alex whispers against Laf´s chest, and he feels him pressing a kiss to his hair.

“Always.”

Alex hesitates a moment, before he shifts, so that he can look into Laf´s eyes. He feels his heart beating fast in his chest, but after a few seconds, he gathers enough courage to lean forward and press a quick kiss to Lafayette´s lips.

“I love you.”, Alex mumbles, when he pulls back again, resting his head against Laf´s chest.

“I love you too, Alex.”

They are silent for some time again and Alex is half asleep. Laf is stroking his hair, which helps to relax him even more.

“You are not a monster. You could never be one.”, Laf whispers, and Alex isn´t sure if it´s even meant for him to hear, but it makes a smile appear on his face.

“I know.”, he gives back, and finally, he feels safe enough to fall asleep.