#and overal i was battling art block and numbness in my head

[foxssie]

February ruined february 2020

#february #art block #fox #vent art #doodle #cartoon #art #mine #i feel like i wasted whole february art wise #i haven't draw something good with which i was satisfied #and overal i was battling art block and numbness in my head #i don't like it #i hope march will be better for my art and brain

[lillianastras]

“Hit Me With Your Best Shot” -- The Darkling x Reader

Pairing: The Darkling x Reader (no surprise here)

Warnings: none, I think

Summary: The Darkling and his second spar in the morning, after he starts to doubt her abilities have worsened over time.

A/N: I feel so great that I actually used my own experience in martial arts for writing this. Also, I’m so empowered by all the great feedback I’m getting from you guys. If anyone has requests, please send those my way!

“Rule number one,” he says, “Only take a break after saying you need a break. Otherwise I won’t know and will wipe the ground with you.” Her eyebrows shoot up and he has to fight a smile, glad he caused the reaction. “Rule number two,” he continues, hands behind his back, his wrists wrapped in cloths, to numb the harshness of his blows. “No Small Science. Whatever you do to me, you do it with your own two hands.” “That was just plain filthy.”

This time Aleksander grits his teeth, not appreciating the interruption. She is standing in the middle of the training grounds, arms crossed in front of her chest, the same irritated expression on her face since she had woken up. He could tell she was looking around, looking for an opportunity, an excuse to leave. Yet, there is little chance that anyone else is up this early, except by the pair of guards by the gate.

“The Drüsskele attacks are getting more aggressive than ever,” he hisses , trying his best not to raise his voice at her. “You need to know how to defend yourself when they hold your hands apart.”  It’s not happening again, he thinks. The years have passed, but even time didn’t manage to blur the memory of Luda bleeding out on the ground. “I know how to defend myself!” She hisses back, and the Darkling gives her a cold stare.

“Ivan said he managed to tackle you to the ground several times yesterday.”

Her lips curl in disdain, but not for Ivan, he knows. She likes the Heartrender probably as much as he does, which came as a surprise at the start. He is rude and harsh, but even he manages to crack the occasional smile to two in her presence. That’s just how she is.

No, he thinks, the grimace just proves the truth in his words. Her skills had deteriorated, and she needs to get herself together. For her own good.

“Ivan is bigger than me,” she mumbles, but her eyes are staring at the ground. Even she realises this is a poor excuse, if any excuse at all. 

“They are always going to be bigger than you. And I might not be there to have your back at all times.” It might not matter, he thinks bitterly, and his hands ball into fists, even if I am.

“Alright.” The easy agreement comes as a surprise, although easy might be an understatement. She gave her best efforts to keep him in bed this morning with gentle caresses, suggestive whispers and kisses down his neck. But still, he had dragged her outside as quickly as he could and she was sour ever since.  “Let’s see if you get to wipe the ground with me.” She adds and he knows he managed to annoy her.

She takes her battle stance, her guard up and the Darkling sighs, eyes turning to look around. The sun is starting to rise higher in the sky and he realises he has little time left, just because no, Aleksander, you cannot ruin my reputation by throwing me around in front of everyone. Soon, people would start waking up, ready to start the day and they would have to leave training for tomorrow, when he would have to bring himself to say no to her advances again and… No. They have to start today.

She raises her eyebrow at him, challenge barely veiled, and he takes a deep breath, letting the thrill of the upcoming fight wash over him.

His first punch is not that fast, he knows, and she manages to dodge it with ease. Her elbow slams in his chest in return and was most probably going do force the air from his lungs if he hadn’t tensed. He is forced a step back. When he looks at her, there’s a small cold smirk growing on her face. She isn’t that out of practise after all. The Darkling squints his eyes and starts to pay more attention.

This time she doesn’t wait for him to charge, and when she aims her foot for between his legs, he knows he had touched a nerve. He blocks the kick with his forearm, but he doesn’t bother stop the grin that is slowly stretching on his face. Quick as a cat, he closes the distance between them, taking a tight hold of her wrists, their faces so close she could head-butt him in the nose if she wanted to.

“Is that why you’re so irritable all morning,” he asks, letting out a quiet grunt when she stomps on his foot, but he doesn’t let go. “Because I wouldn’t sleep with you?” This time he manages to move his foot in time and she groans as she misses. “For real?”

“No,” she answers quickly, too quickly, and he grins even wider, because her reaction is so petty, that he can’t really help himself. “You’re putting way too much faith in your ability to —” 

He doesn’t let her finish and puts his foot behind hers, giving her a harsh push. She looses her balance and falls ass first on the muddy ground, shock written on her beautiful face.

He grins down at her, reaching out a hand to help her up. She finally comes back to her senses and looks around, her pants and shirt far from clean, mud covering her hands. She grits her teeth and whispers something under her breath, and Aleksander recognises Ivan’s name, followed by a string of curses. She then glares up at him and stands up on her own, ignoring his open hand. 

“Again,” she demands, squinting her eyes against the reddish strays of the morning sun. The Darkling attacks again, this time not holding back as much as the first time. 

He doesn’t realise how much time passes, punches delivered and blocked from both of them, until they are both panting messes, sweat dripping from their foreheads and sticking strands of hair to their skin. Aleksander allowed himself a moment of distraction, glancing around the training grounds. The palace was slowly coming back to life, voices heard from inside and the occasional kefta-clad figure running around the place.

“Scared someone will see that you’re getting your ass kicked?” Her guard is up and he can’t see the shit-eating grin that is plastered on her face, but he can practically hear it. It’s amazing what an hour of good sparring can do for one’s mood.

“You wish,” he calls back. “Final round?”

“I thought you’ll never ask.”

A smile creeps its way on the Darkling’s face. He takes slow, careful steps to the side, circling her, and her eyes follow him, not even blinking. Yet she is too focused on his movements that she doesn’t notice him close the distance at all. Just like he intends. 

She is so surprised by the sudden attack, that she barely fights back when he grabs her wrist and gives her a harsh tug. He bends it behind her back in a swift motion, enough to trap it between his body and hers. 

His free hand goes straight for her throat, fully pressing her back against him.

She tries to wriggle out of his grasp, but he presses her forearm slightly upwards and she hisses in pain, giving the hand that is wrapped around her throat a few quick taps, to let him know she surrenders. He stops the pressure on her arm, but doesn’t let go just yet. He leans in, his breath tickling her ear. “Not too bad,” he whispers, and he has to remind himself that they are out in public, “but you still have much to learn.”

She finally releases her, and grins when she turns around and her eyes are a little hazy. She takes a deep breath and when her gaze finds his, she shakes her head at his smirk, her hand rubbing her wrist to dissolve any pain.

“Careful General,” she lowers her voice to a whisper and theatrically looks around, as if to make sure no one is listening. “Someone might actually see you smile.” She sighs. “Can we call this a draw?”

He outright laughs at her audacity. “A draw? You didn’t win even one round!”

“I disagree.” She shakes her head and gives him a cocky raise of her eyebrow and a wave of her hand.“Plus that last one was hardly fair.”

His gaze hardens. Even though the last round really was more playful than aggressive, he had managed to disarm her and have the upper hand after all. If it wasn’t his hand around her throat, she’d be dead. She needed the practice.

As though she reads his mind, she rolls her eyes. “I won’t admit that you were right.”

He snorts a humourless laugh. He doesn’t really expect her to.  “But we continue tomorrow.” It’s neither a request, nor a question. It’s an order from a General to his warrior.

She sighs and he knows she’s about to murmur some complaint. Shockingly, gives in with a shake of her head and after a long observation of her clothes, ruined from the mud, she mutters a quiet. “You’re the boss.”

He grins. “I’m the boss.”

#shadow and bone #sab #shadow and bone fanfiction #the darkling #the darkling x reader #the darkling imagine #aleksander morovoza #aleksander morozova x reader #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #six of crows #six of crows fanfic #soc #ben barnes #ben barnes imagine #ben barnes fanfiction

[loving-all-for-loki]

Can you write one where the Rogers is assigning a new recruit to each avenger for training? Loki gets the new girl and he’s irritated thinking she’s just some normal human that hasn’t a clue how to fight properly because of her petite size. When it comes time for them to spar, she gives him hell. She fights with swords and is very skilled in the art. He says something to piss her off and she ends up blasting him away with powers she never told anyone about. Loki realizes what she is since he knows the magic she used. She’s part light elf but being half human she was abandoned and left to die just like Loki was. They end up bonding and work together on the team.

A/N: I hope you like it! I didn't focus a whole ton of them working together, but I feel like you get the point. It's a bit longer than my other one shots.

The Moon And Her Darkness

Summary: Y/N, the newest avenger, starts her first day of training. An unimpressed Loki’s doubts are proved to be wrong when she reveals herself to be stronger than he knew.

Word count: 2744

Warnings: angst, dick Loki

Forever Tags: @mm2305

-

Your blood pumps fast through your body as you stare at the raven haired god. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been giving you dirty looks and eye rolls. You tried to not pay attention to it since you know of his past (and have been warned by Tony), but as the newest Avenger trying to prove herself, you find yourself longing for his approval.

It has been a week since Nicky Fury showed up at your home, extracting you from it, and throwing you into the lion's den you called the Avengers. You never signed up for it, but given that you were on the government’s radar for a long time, you’re not surprised. A couple mishaps here and there made them take you on their own terms. They’ve decided that having super powers is not something to be normalized and that you couldn’t live like a normal civilian.

Although you want to be home, the Avengers have already shown to be a great family. Nat and Wanda have already taken you shopping while Steve gave you a tour of the tower. As far as the others, they have been out of sight. Bucky avoids everyone, Sam with him because they’re glued to the hip, and Tony is somewhere else working on new technology with Bruce. Clint? Thor? Who even knows. You’ve been thankful for the attention they have given you.

Except for Loki.

You remember the attack in New York and you won’t lie when saying that approaching the god is intimidating. He stands with great pride and power, it’s hard not to feel small, but when he stares at you the way he does, it’s harder. He doesn’t stop looking at you as if you were a rat he found in a sandwich. Disposable. Replaceable. Disgusting. You don’t expect much from the God being that he’s only staying here out of punishment for the attacks, but you had hoped for a little something more. Even a prank or two.

When Steve told you that you were going to start training, you expected hand to hand combat like the rest, not whatever involves Loki being in the gym at the same time as the two of you. He hasn’t said a word, but just stared at you as Steve goes over some basic disabling techniques and defense. Most of it is already burned in your brain from your childhood, being a warrior and all, but you still manage to learn some new things.

But learning as to why Loki is there, that still remains unclear. Everytime you throw a punch or try to block one of Steve’s, Loki scoffs at you and rolls his eyes. He looks completely relaxed on a bench in the room, yet he could not be looking at you with a more tense gaze. He looks worried, as if you’re going to get beaten to a pulp.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” You yell at him.

Panting, you block Steve’s last hit and turn to the younger Odinson.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, don’t sorry me. Cut the crap, Loki. What’s up?”

“I believe the sky is.”

You grab a knife off the wall and aim it in his direction, startling him slightly but not even shocking Steve.

“You stare at me with daggers in your eyes and judge my every move. You have yet to even talk to me since I joined the team. What do you have against me, you ass?”

“Y/N-”

“Shut it, Steve!” You yell, quickly aiming the dagger at him before returning to Loki, “You. Talk.”

“It’s just pathetic, that’s all.”

“Pathetic? You’re calling me pathetic?”

You start to charge at Loki, but Steve quickly wraps his arm around your waist, holding you back from gutting the god.

“Y/N, I wanted you to spar with him after me,” he cuts in.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because he's a skilled fighter who matches your level.”

“Oh, so I spar with the tricker who decides I’m too pathetic to fight. He’s going to teleport or some shit and stab me like he does with Thor.” Loki’s eyebrows raise at the mention of Thor getting stabbed. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories. I’m not that naive, Steve.”

“I won’t leave you alone with him. I’ll be here to watch and guide.”

“What do you know about fighting with me? I have magic beyond belief” Loki asks the both of you.

“I know more than you think,” I spit, turning back to Steve, “Can we do something else?”

“Well, you coud-”

“I am not sparing with Loki.”

“Okay, then how about weapons? Whatever one you want to start with?”

Loki scoffs again at the mention of you fighting any other way than hand to hand combat. He’s lucky you’re on the same team as him or else you would have decapitated him by now just because of annoyance. How can a man so attractive be so obnoxious?

You walk over to the wall of weapons were Steve and quietly discuss which ones you’ll practice with. He recommends knives so you can spar with Natasha when he’s gone, but the swords are more up your alley. They remind you of your childhood, the weapon of your people. Some days, you miss them, but you know they are fighting their own battle that is too dangerous for you.

Picking up the swords, Steve warns you he is not good which makes Loki laugh again. He has the right to this time because how do you practice with a man who doesn’t know what he’s doing. You can’t last ten minutes with Cap before you’re tired of his flailing. He’s really not good.

“Loki, you wouldn’t happen to know how to use swords would you?”

“I have some experience. Asgard knights and Valkyrie used them, we were forced to learn.”

He stands and takes Steve’s sword from him. Turning to you, he smirks, taking you in. Your frame looks so small compared to his, nothing but a mortal. He’s never admit it, but he finds you slightly adorable, in a helpless baby sort of way. You take proper stance and stare at Loki dead in the eye, determined to prove him wrong.

The two of you run at each other, swinging at any unblocked area you can, yet never hitting. He blocks your swing, pushing you back but not down. Looking up at him, you scream and run, thrusting your sword towards his neck and legs. He blocks you again, but not without stumbling. Before he’s able to get up, you land a blow right to his chest, knocking the air out of him. He hooks his foot around your leg and flips the two of you over so he hovers above you, sword to throat.

“I’ll admit it, you are good, but not great,” he laughs.

He stands up and walks off, setting the swords back on their holder on the wall. You gradually stand up, fury in your bones for the way he speaks to you.

“You… are irritable!” You yell.

Right before Loki gets to the door, he turns to face you. Steve rushes to your side.

“Y/N, stop. He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, he’s not worth it, alright,” you mutter to Steve, “He’s not worth the pride. The praise. Whatever the ‘glorious purpose’ he thinks he has. He’s just an insecure little boy who needs to prove himself over others, make them feel small so he feels superior. Just a bully.”

“I’d watch your tongue,” Loki warns.

“Or else what? You’ll challenge me to a words competition? See who has the best insults or can sound like the biggest douche because I think we all know who would win! Another check mark for your book of things you’re better at than ‘midgardians’ or ‘mortals’ or whatever degrading nickname you think of next.”

Loki’s chest heaves in anger. You’ve never seen someone so angry or heard anyone yelling at you with concern like Steve. Nothing he says registers in your head as Loki’s daring looks fill your mind. You’d almost be scared if you didn’t know he’s full of empty threats. Just a scared little god boy.

“You imbecile, think you can scare me?”

“Actually, I think anything can.”

“I can take words from someone who does not know me, but to be called a coward is not something I take lightly.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Huh?”

“Nothing, I don’t waste my time on people like you.”

“Oh, people like me? Because the great Frost Giant Asgardian is sooo superior.”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

Loki rushes to your side, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you up against the wall.

“Loki, stop it!” Steve yells.

“This is not about you, Rodgers. I suggest you leave before getting in the crossfire.”

“I can’t do that. The safety of this team-”

“Is your priority. I know you are honorable, but I highly suggest you leave.”

Steve hesitates at the sound of you gasping for air. You cling onto Loki’s hand, tightly wound around your throat. His veins pop out of his hand like a dehydrated man. Steve looks back at you, eyes now closed to focus on your breathing.

“Put her down first,” Steve orders.

“Fine, always have to be the hero.”

Loki sets you down and your body goes numb. Everything hurts, your throat swelling. You gasp for all the air you can, feeling it go down your throat and enter your lungs. It’s fresh, comforting, healing. Leaning your head back against the wall, you barely open your eyes to see Steve by your side.

“Are you okay?”

Not energized enough to speak yet, you nod your head and place your hand on his shoulder. Steve looks over at you with worry before turning back to Loki.

“Leave, now.”

“Gladly.”

Loki turns to walk away, but doesn’t. He stands there to listen to you and Steve. At this point, neither of you care. You’re too focused on not dying.

“Can you breathe?” Steve asks.

You nod your head.

“I can get you help. We have a hospital room.”

“No,” you choke, “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t listen. He gets up and leaves the room, rushing down the hallways to get a nurse, leaving you alone with Loki.

“Why haven’t you left?”

“No reason.”

“Please, just go. I’m tired of fighting. You’ve done enough.”

Loki turns to look at you. You look weak, but actually weak this time. The purple tint to your skin is fading as your lungs self regenerate as you keep breathing. Gripping onto the wall behind you, you stand up. Your knees are weak, making you wobble as you do. You’re not lying. You’re tired of Loki. You’ve barely spoken to the man and he’s made two attempts on your life in ten minutes. Sure, you teased him, but doesn’t he deserve it for being an ass.

“Weak.” He mutters.

That was the last straw. You look up at him. He stares at you as if the devil himself has entered you and your eyes glow bright red, but you know what is wrong. Holding out your hand towards Loki. A glow erupts from behind you, bright yet dark. It’s dark blue like the night sky and Loki watches it in awe. In seconds, Loki’s body is flung through the training room doors, blasting him into the wall of the hallways. He feels his rib breaking, his head hitting the wall. He yells out in pain as you slowly approach him, the anger seeping through.

“Never call me weak.”

Loki flips his head up to look at you, shock running through his body. At the sound of his body collapsing, the other Avengers come running forward. They look upon the sight of you towering over the trickster god with a look they’ve never seen before. Ethereal. Godly. You look as if you’re a queen staring at her peasant handmaid. Anger. Controlling. Power.

“What the-” Bucky mutters.

“You,” Loki gasps.

He struggles to stand as the team tries to help but he refuses. You two locked eyes but nothing was said. “You’re an elf.”

Everyone looks back at you with confused faces, but you don’t say anything. Your body goes hot at the mention of the word ‘elf’. The fire inside you fades out as anxiety places it, waiting for Loki to continue.

“I knew if someone was here to figure it out it’d be you,” you whisper.

“Light elf yes?”

“Yes, moon elf to be exact.”

“How are you here? Aren’t the-”

“Yes, they’re away. I was left to die. Our town got ransacked, everyone fled. No one stopped for me.”

“Then how are you here?”

“The Air elves. They got word of what happened and came. Found me. Took me back, but-”

“You weren’t suited. They found out.”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence between you and the god. His eyes shine with sadness, tears coming to the corners. He looks at you with great pity as the wall inside you breaks.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Steve asks.

“Can you tell?” You ask Loki.

He nods, “Yes. Y/N is a moon elf, a tribe of light elves. They’re as high up as Asgard in the nine realms, powerful warriors. They’ve been at the center of every creature out there. People have been after them for their weapons, gems, and wealth. A landmark for every thief and warrior in the universe.”

“My town was destroyed when I was a little girl. Nobody wanted me because I was a child. I was a burden to them.”

“She was left for dead to be found by the Air Elves. Another tribe. Not as powerful. But they didn’t want her and there’s only one reason why they wouldn’t want a moon elf. She’s a half-breed.”

“Moon elves are the only ones who tolerate them. Half human, half elf. Considering many of them come from moon elves, they’re not despised, but Air Elves.”

“They dropped you off on Midgard to be picked up by someone else. I assume you hid your powers?” “I had to. I acted out once when I was little and my parents freaked out. They sent me away. I lived in a orphanage before some group took me, trained me, helped me hone in my powers. They saved me.”

“Until you got to old and left.”

“Didn’t know where to go. I became a waitress at some back alley bar, lived above it in an apartment with my manager. Lived paycheck to paycheck.”

“Then?”

“Nicky Fury came to me. I was on SHIELD’s radar and they wanted me on the Avengers.”

The room goes silent. Throughout your talking you missed the way Loki got considerably closer to you. You practically stand right under his nose. Loki raises his hands and places them on your shoulders, getting your attention. You two look each other in the eye for a long moment.

“I am… so sorry.”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes as Loki pulls you into his chest, holding you by your waist. The team watches in awe as the closed off god embraces you. Slowly, everyone leaves you two in the hallway. An hour goes by as you cry in Loki’s eyes.

Eventually, Loki picks you up bridal style and brings you to your bedroom. He helps you get dressed for the night and settled in bed before you grab his hand, making him turn back to face you. His eyes are no longer riddled with anger or hatred, but kindness and pity. He looks at you like you’re a little lamb to be protected.

“Yes, darling?”

“Stay with me?”

He nods before undressing and getting in bed with you. He pulls you close, your head leaning on his chest, and places an arm around your waist.

Every night goes on like this. No matter what happened in the day, even if you two got into an argument, Loki always found his way back by your side in your bed. You would have never expect it from how he treated you at first, but after the last few months since you met him, you find yourself growing closer to the god.

Loki slips into your bed for what feels like the 1482nd time. Resting your head on his chest, Loki pulls you close to his body.

“Goodnight, darling.”

#loki #loki fanfic #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki fluff #loki x reader one shot #loki one shot #loki laufeyson #loki layfeyson x reader #loki laufeyson fluff #loki laufeyson x reader #lovingallforloki #themoonandherdarkness

[remmushound]

Curse of the Clan part 8! @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @digitl-art-monstr @selfindulgenz

Michelangelo didn't have the slightest idea where he would find a time seamer. He wasn’t even sure he knew what a time seamer was! He assumed it was something to do with time, since it was right there in the name, but beyond that he had no idea. When he was faced with the possibility of having to do such a daunting task alone, his brothers all busy with their own missions, it only served to make his mind even more blank. He couldn’t do this alone— not something as important as this! So he decided to call the most knowledgeable yokai he knew to help.

“DRAXUM! HI!” Michelangelo ran forward, hugging Baron Draxum’s bony body and giving quick, excited chirps. almost like a kitten who wasn’t quite sure how to meow yet.

“Hello orange turtle child.” Draxum sighed and brought his hands to rest on Michelangelo’s shell, though it wasn’t quite a hug. “What’s the problem this time?”

“How do you know there’s a problem?”

Baron Draxum raised an eyebrow. He pulled away and crossed his arms, tapping his right pointer finger on his left bicep as he waited. Michelangelo, knowing he had been called out, decided to just get to the point before Draxum judged him even harder.

“Okay, sooo…” Michelangelo explained everything quickly, which seemed too fast for Draxum to keep up with. Several times he asked Michelangelo to slow down or repeat words. Both parties were relieved when Michelangelo finally reached the end of his story. “...and now I need to find a time seamer! Do you know of any yokai it might be?”

“Hm…” Draxum tapped his lip, his eyes staring off into the distance as the cogs churned in his mind. “The… name sounds familiar, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. There are so many yokai with so many variations that it would be impossible to deny such a creature’s existence. Some yokai are known to be able to manipulate time, but such creatures are the old yokai and they still live in their homelands. There are certainly none here in the city that I know of, but I doubt I know every yokai.”

By then, Baron Draxum was practically ignoring Michelangelo as he started to pace, lost in his own thoughts. If Michelangelo hadn’t moved out of the way, the faun would have trodden on him. The box turtle was used to the lost look and calculating eyes, so he just stood by and patiently waited for Draxum to get his words out.

“Hm… I am of no use to you on my own without knowledge of such creatures, but I suppose I could aid in your search by increasing your chances of accidentally running into someone who does know...” Baron Draxum’s eyes sparked to life quite suddenly and he snapped. “And I know just the place!”

***

Donatello had wanted to fly in a helicopter, but he always imagined it would be with his brothers and April and Splinter. Not alone thousands of feet in the air with a bunch of armed guards he didn't know and didn't dare try to. For all his confidence and ambition, he was just as anxious as Raphael was in new environments, except without the violent outbursts of uncontrollable aggression. Donatello had his fair share of outbursts, sure, but his were more controlled than the snapper turtle could hope to achieve, and he only ever let himself stoop so low once or twice in his life. He tried not to think of that.

They passed over an ocean, the Pacific from what Donatello could tell. After hours of waiting, ocean turned to mainland as they passed over villages and cities that shined even brighter than New York. Though Donatello had no anxiety looking down upon the cities far below, his hand still went to grip at his carapace to reassure himself he had the hover shell with him in case he did happen to fall. He leaned as far over the edge as he dared to watch the blurred, bright buildings, and he felt sad when they passed over the city and came to a forest blanketed in beautiful white snow.

Donatello leaned back inside. His hand went, of course, to grab for his bo staff before he remembered it wasn’t his. Even if it was his by ownership, the wood finish almost as smooth as his tech bo had been, he still forced the bubbling hatred of the weapon to the front of his thoughts. This was a primitive weapon from a culture lost to time! Why should he be stuck with something so old, something so simple? Something that was such a downgrade from the tech he knew!?

Donatello gave a loud, long sigh and slumped. His hand went to his neck and gripped at the necklace hanging down over his plastron. A sea-turtle shaped chamber protected the fragile and beloved memory chip within. The heart of his dear Shelldon. He could feel the gentle mystic energy pulsating from it and closed his eyes to better feel the life energy within.

“Soon…” He whispered to the necklace, bringing the chamber up to press it gently to his lips. “You’ll be back soon, Shelldon…”

The journey took another half hour before one of the armed guards stood up to address Donatello, yelling over the scream of the blades as they worked to keep the helicopter in the air.

“This is the drop point!” The voice called.

Donatello peered over the edge of the helicopter. “I don’t see any places where we could land.”

“Exactly!” The guard called.

Donatello turned to the guard just as a parachute was shoved against his chest.

“Put this on! You’ll have to jump! When you reach the drop zone, there will be a path. Follow it toward the mountain until you reach a cave.”

“What do I do when I get to the cave?” Donatello easily slipped into the parachute.

“You wait for us to come back to get you.”

“Aight, bet.” Donatello went to the edge.

“Wait— let me make sure you’re properly secured—“

“BON VOYAGE!”

Donatello fell backward out of the helicopter. The rush of air and adrenaline was always one of Donatello’s favorite sensations. He closed his eyes to enjoy the rushing chill, one hand holding Shelldon’s Heart securely while the other groped for the pully of the parachute. He pulled it after several passing moments and his body immediately jerked up as the parachute bore him into the air. Only then did he open his eyes, his free hand going to grab at the wires holding him.

Donatello looked down at the forest under his feet and up at the helicopter still hovering in place. Once he was sure the brunt of the wind was over, Donatello dare let go of his necklace to grab the wires on the other side of him to help guide his path.

By the time his feet touched down, his entire body was already numb from the weightlessness and the chill of the atmosphere. He was used to flying, sure, but not for so long without landing. He was relieved for a moment when his feet touched down, but quickly became just as uncomfortable with the cold wetness of the snow. Before heading off, he opened the supply bag that Bishop had provided him with. To his relief, tucked safely inside was a hoodie and hats and gloves made specially for his hand. He wished he had put them on before he had started to freeze, but it was better late than never. More importantly, there were shoes. He suited up and swung the supply sack over his shoulder, abandoning the parachute in favor of traveling light.

He supposed he had deviated a bit from the intended drop site, since it took a while for him to find the path that he had been told about. He did find it eventually though, and he followed the instructions to head toward the mountains. The trees reaching up to the skies blocked out most of the light around him, but the trail seemed surprisingly well-kept for something so hidden from the rest of the world. He couldn’t imagine anyone would spend their time coming out here to trim this one particular trail in this one terrifying forest. It was something so surreal it made Donatello get tingles up the spines of his shell and he grabbed once more for Shelldon’s Heart to comfort himself.

Donatello almost screamed when the silent forest rustled. Something jumped onto the path, and Donatello grabbed for the bo staff. No matter how rudimentary, it could still get the job done if it needed to. Then Donatello was almost glad that his brothers weren’t around to see him scream, because the creature certainly wasn’t scream-worthy.

It was a fox. A small, ginger fox with black ears and legs, it’s underside and muzzle as white as the surrounding snow. Eyes of amber stared back at Donatello, the fox hardly reacting to the shout beyond tilting its head in a question.

“Ugh.” Donatello scrunched up his nose, pulling his bo back to his body and waving his foot at the fox trying to get it to run away. “Go away. Shoo.”

The fox stood up. Donatello immediately pulled back, grabbing his staff and holding it in a ready position as the fox advanced on him. Yet, even as it continued to get closer, Donatello made no attempt to hit it. He fell against a nearby tree, still holding his staff out in front of him. His eyes squeezed shut and he pulled his head deeper into his shell as he tried to keep the fox away. He opened his eyes after several long seconds and blinked the tears away. The fox was just sitting there innocently, head still titled it stared at Donatello like he was insane.

“Oh uh… hello.”

Donatello yelped as the fox jumped to prop its legs on the bo staff, snapping at Donatello’s head. Donatello covered his head with his hands trying to protect himself, but he soon realized the fox wasn’t after mauling him. He realized it a few seconds too late, however, as the fox snatched his goggles from off his head and ran off with it.

“Hey! My tech!” Donatello jumped up to chase after the fox as it disappeared into the forest. The minute he stepped from the forest trail, two heavy weights landed on his shoulders. Donatello screamed for the third time, trying to swat whatever the animals were away. The animals gave what could have almost been a mocking giggle as they grabbed the shoulder straps of his battle shell and lifted it off of his back. “MY BATTLE SHELL!”

The tanuki gave another chuffing giggle as they disappeared deeper into the forest with the precious gear. Donatello was near tears— no, he realized, he was crying. He hugged his supply sack tightly to his chest and rubbed his thumb across the smooth chamber of Shelldon. He fell into the snow, hugging both supply and his precious drone’s heart and praying his brothers would hurry.

#more Draxum! #Bon voyage!

[cassiabaggins]

Never Let Go

A/N: @pistachiozombie makes beautiful bofur x leanna art, I have to write something. It’s a symbiotic relationship. Anyway, here’s more bofuranna fluff because I have writer’s block on my main wip. Please leave a comment and reblog if you enjoy this :)! Check out my masterlist, btw!

Warnings: nah

Word Count: 694 

Pairing: Bofur x Leanna (Kiliel, Fili x Cassia, Thorin x Ember mentioned)

Taglist:  @demigoddesofchimichangagod @pistachiozombie @swoopswishsward@d3-iseefire @moony-artnstuff @legolasesboo522 @sage-willow-raven @underthemoon-n @legolaslovely @guardianofrivendell @avaria-revallier @miss-nori85 

The thing you don't expect about battles is the stench. The blood and the sweat and other things soaking into the ground, into the very air… 

Leanna can't bring herself to care. As soon as the eagles had come, she had run out of Laketown to find her friends. In the chaos, she had lost both her cousins and she doesn't recognize any of the faces she passes. But Bofur is out there somewhere. Alive. He has to be alive. Oh, Yavanna, please let him be alive! 

She runs past Ravenhill, and in the shadow of the tower, she sees Kili and his elf lass. For a brief, horrifying moment, she thinks her friend is gone, then he mumbles something that makes the elf laugh wetly and wipe her eyes. Leanna doesn't stay. She's glad he's alive, but she's on a mission.

"Have you seen Bofur?" She asks Kili, clutching her chest. "Is he all right?"

"You're asking me?" He grunts, shifting around a little. "I very nearly died. I've no idea where he is now, but last I saw him, he was perfectly fine. Riding a troll I think."

Tauriel places her hand on his forehead and tells him to lie still. 

"A troll?" Leanna says breathlessly, "oh my stars." She sprints off again, dodging around elves and men and dwarves, leaping over bodies, not even seeing the gore surrounding her. She doesn't even care. She's looking for one person and one person only.

She runs past Thorin and Ember making their slow way back toward the mountain, past Cassia and Fili, sitting on the ground and clinging to each other like they're afraid someone will try to tear them apart. Leanna is glad they're all right, but she also doesn't care.

"Bofur!" She screams. "Bofur!"

She can't see him! She can't find him! The battlefield is too big, the number of dead too large, and Bofur is undoubtedly one of them. Oh, please, she cannot lose him. Not now. Please don't let him have died!

"Bofur!"

Her voice is going hoarse from screaming and her heart is going numb as the time passes. Tears sting coldly on her cheeks. "Bofur!!!"

"Leanna!!!"

That's his voice! She whirls around and around, slipping on bloody mud. "BOFUR!!!" She screams. "WHERE ARE YOU?!"

Two dwarves and a man are shoved to the side, and, oh, joy of joys, Bofur bursts out toward her. He sprints to her and suddenly, she can't move. She desperately, desperately wants to run to him and throw herself into his arms, but it's like her feet are bolted to the ground, her hands trembling, tears burning her eyes. 

"I'm here!" He calls as he reaches her, arms outstretched. "You're all right, lass."

She stumbles forward into his arms, landing up against his chest. He cups her head in his hands and the kiss he places on her lips is both sweet and desperate at the same time. 

"You're all right," he murmurs. "You're all right, amrâlimê. You're all right."

"I thought you—" she gasps, "I thought— oh, Bofur."

"Shh, shhh, no, don't you think like that, lass. Don't you think like that. Everything is just fine." He nuzzles his nose to hers, lips brushing over her face. 

"I don't know what I would have done if I had lost you." She sobs. 

"But you didn't, and you never will. I'm not going anywhere."

"But—"

"Marry me," he blurts, "marry me and we never have to be apart."

"I— what?! Are you sure?!"

"I have never been more sure of anything in all my life." He looks intensely into her eyes. "So, what do you say, lass?"

"Yes!" She blurts, her voice catching in her throat. "Oh, yes!" 

A beaming grin breaks across his face, more beautiful than anything she has ever seen, more beautiful than stars and sunrise and spring flowers. Its pure, unadulterated joy. 

"Mahal," he breathes. "That's the best news I've heard all day."

Leanna chokes on a sob and throws her arms around his neck, and he lifts her off the ground in a hug, tight and firm and safe. And she knows he’ll never let her go.

#my writing #oc #oc x canon #bofur #bofur x oc #lotr #the hobbit #botfa #the hobbit botfa #thorin oakenshield #thorin oakenshield x oc #kili #kiliel #fili #fili x oc #lotr fic #hobbit fanfic #hhhhh its been a while lol sorry

[currentfandomkick]

JL confronts Marinette

From bio!dad Strange au, where they made her kryptonian to keep her alive. This is post-Hawkmoth (debating using a random and revamping Gabriel altogether tbh)

“Don’t.” Marinette was tired of heroes, tired of being one. She had to handle hawkmoth’s fallout, keeping so many secret identities (hers, JL, miraculus team, her gotham family’s) and she just wanted to sleep.

Flash found her first, but Superman grabbed her and put her in the air for a ‘talk’.

“Don’t what?” She knew superman wasnt a detective. She knew he was a reporter though and she could see baiting and needling just under the surface. He’s an interrigator then, she decided.

“Don’t come in and try to fix what the miraculous team already handled. Paris was abbadonned by your league.”

She figured this was about Ladybug. Paris is always going off the the miraculous holders and ladybugs were always deemed the defacto leaders. She liked that Daesuqa (Talia) took over leading long term missions for the most part, handled meetings and politics so her and Chat and the others could be more like the teens they are in theory.

And everyone knew Marinette was Chat Noir’s favorite after she got how many akumatized people to release their akuma on their own? And that she supplied mirauclous users with kwami food (though it was common for many other civilians). It was common knowledge to all, but Hawkmoth apparently, that if Chat or his miraculous team or the entire team was needed, you went to Marinette.

Superman furrowed his brow at that though. “I didn’t know there was an active team here.”

So it wasn’t about the miraculous or years of magic terrorism her city endured?

“Been here for years. Hawkmoth’s sentencing is in a few hours.”

She hoped it was the kwami’s choice. Tikki murmured that people were surprised by what they could live through, and she is thw kwami of life. Tikki would make him wish he was dead routinely. He deserved it for regualrly slaughtering the city.

“No, that’s...” superman shook his head. “I came here to talk to you about...” he gestures to her then. She didn’t get it until she realized she was floating on her own.

When did he let her go?

“I know you’re Princess.”

Marinette’s blood stopped then. No. He can’t. They can’t.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I know Chloe changed my handle to Princess of Paris a few years ago but indont think heroes can stalk teens for that.”

Good, play into that. Distract until someone you trust can come. She hit an alert on her phone while he wasnt looking.

Pegasus should be here soon.

“I know you know it only as the Chimera project.”

Wrong. It was the surgery that kept her alive.

“And i know you’ve been poisoning yourself to stay hidden.”

Antidotes came from venom. It was fone to ise the stickers, they kept her human. The crystals were for emergencies only.

“What I don’t get is why.”

Why would she want him to kidnap, or abduct her? Take her from her family? Her life?

Don’t show that you’re who he thinks, anvocie whispered. Keep being the Paris Marinette from social media. The savage who snarled Weredad into submission.

“I really think you have the wrong girl. Its listed under my file as a volunteer flyer that i’m a flying meta, like most of the flyers.” Good, keep it up.

“And superman, if I had to guess why some girl that i look like would supress their powers, its becuase this is France and until the Miraculous team came clean about some being meta, you were imprisoned on suspicions of being meta, even infants were, are in the rest of France. Paris is the only place you arent imprisoned for it.”

Superman paled at that. “I. I wasn’t aware.”

“why would you be?”

Superman did respond to that.

“And if this Princess of yours is still hiding, she might be protecting her loved ones. Or maybe she thinks you’d steal her away from her life and home? Everyone knows about the fortress of solitude and i dont think anyone besides you would like living there, especially so far from people.”

Marinette watched him process. As long as Red Robin didnt see her, didnt confirm her identity, she was in the clear.

“Now if you’d excuse me, I’m needed to finish filling out a report on the final battle.”

That had superman’s attention.

“Final battle.”

“Yes, we just took down Hawkmoth a week ago.”

“He already has his trial, in a week.” Disbelief. Not worng either.

“It took the citizens of paris a week to finish voting. Finally tallies come in tonight if we try him as humans or if the kwami—gods of various concepts—are the ones to try him for his crimes. Afterall, he enslaved one kwami and abused another.”

Superman was not doing well, far too pale. Shock? No, they sent so many videos before the JL banned them.

Guilt. Regret, too. Probably.

“Now can you put me down somewhere? I’m not out as a meta and indont plan on being out anytime soon. Any supporting the miraculous teams do have their enemies too, and i dont want to be targetted.”

Superman nodded. Numb? Possible.

She let hersef be taken down.

Pegasus was there, Flash on his way. Another person who could make her.

She had to move fast.

“I hope I cleared things up?”

Superman nodded.

Max was ready to fight, glaring at the blue boyscout.

“Ready to go Miss DC?”

Marinette nodded, letting him guide her to the portal.

Flash didnt make it in, but he didnt see her face either. She’s take the narrow victory.

They exited in the Paris Grande Hotel. The Mayor had Batman and Red Robin with him. Crap.

“Is this...”

“Our civilian contact, Miss DC,” Pegasus stated almost too professionally. Great, now Red would know they know each other as friends. batman too.

“Batman, Red Robin, correct?”

“Yes. We, we just found your heroes videos and came to help. I see we’re too late too.”

Marientte nodded, avioding eye contact with Red. She wasnt sure if he learned to act infront of Batman yet, and wasnt risking it.

“I heard you came up with many of the emergency procedures and built the comms system with Pegasus.”

“As a flyer, yes. As Miss DC I just make sure the team stays fed and Chat doesnt forget to sleep.”

Batman shot Red Robin a look as he said, “I know the feeling.”

Marinette didnt fight the smile then. Yes, that was her Hero Stalker Tim alright.

“Would you two be interested in helping the league develop a better system to sort incoming messages?”

Pegasus moved first. “If we do, Miss DC is to be left alone. Her mother is very atrict about her not getting involved in science, and refuses to believe that her daughter has been actively helping the miraculous team.”

Batman turned his attention to Marinette then. “Is that so?”

Marinette nodded. “My birth father and her left on... terms i never got the jist of. He and his friends teach me in secret. Mama,” not maman, she forced herself to say, “she said something about it being destructive and dangerous, so she wants me to stick to the arts instead.”

Batman nodded. “Experiments can be, but that doesnt undercut the good you’ve done. I’ll tell the league you will work off-site should you accept.”

Marinette nodded along. “I can help where Pegasus gets stuck, and be contacted through him but otherwise would prefer not to be contacted by the League. I’m a civilian, and no offense, but there ahve been leaks before.”

“Understandable. The league thanks you for your help, and apoligizes for what you went through.”

Marinette could feel the hole Red Robin was burning into her. He earings. And the fox miraculous. Shit. He knew.

Marinette wanted to punch the league in their face collectively.

“All May i go now, i have a meeting to get to.”

“Of course.”

Pegasus opened the portal and escorted her out.

They both waited five minites, Max feeding Kaalki, for the call.

“So why didnt you tell me?” Tim was pissed.

“Media blackout. Any time i tried to call it was blocked.”

Tim swore. “Alfred!”

“You are so lucky Pegasus doesnt know anything about gotham.”

“He’s there?”

“I work with him alot.”

“So when you visited Gotham...”

“French government would know. Not hard to connect the dots of girl leaves to see gotham fmaily and suddenly the league shows up after banning all of Paris from contact.”

“I. When did it happen?”

“Before Chrismas. I would have had Nonna tell you but she didnt know either until after the fact and they said if she told anyone itd be me going to jail for her.”

“That’s. What hellscape do you live in?”

“I died so many times i don’t even know now.” She stopped keeping track after she got into the eighties. That wasn’t even a full year into being Ladybug.

“That’s not comforting.”

“Please tell me that you’re not outing me to Bats. I just got two leaguers off my tail.”

“I won’t tell him, but if the new Robin does i’m not stopping him.”

She almost forgot Talia’s son was a Robin. She didnt see him in uniform yet—as Damian (not wayne but damian who was mourning lost family, damian who didnt know how to talk to people his age). She knows he’s a bit thick with social cues, and his detective skills need work in her opinion but he’s skeptical and has good insticts. He might make her as Marinette if he’s there.

“Is he...”

“He’s with the Titans now, but theyre debating coming here to yell at the league.”

“Videoing it?”

“Obviously. Want a copy?”

“Ill make popcorn before watching.”

“Rkc are doing well by the way—stopped a human trafficking ring and i think they took the victims.”

“Harley’s working with them,” marientte got he update earlier. “Hood and zsasz took out the lower and mid tier that woudlnt snitch. The case should be smooth sailing—the sirens put out a blanket hit on anyone trying to touch the witnesses.”

“So managing two teams this whole time,” red murmured, almost... bitter, or disapointed in something—no someone. Himself?

“Just tweaking things. Daesuqa handles most the team since she found me and Chat. Apparently she was compatible enough to do a lot of the non-fighting work. I still did battle strategy and all but,” Marinette shrugged.

“She focused in survival aspects here, and long term stability for Gotham. Daesuqa has handled most of non-kwami work here outside of kwami and candidates,” Max added. “On top of her work as a student and designer and inventor.”

Red Robin groaned. “When do you sleep?”

Marinette hummed. “I have meds to make me. And angry family to make me take them.”

“Her... what are we calling him now?” Mac was asking about Felix, adiren’s gremlin cousin who’s mom isntryign to adopt her. Also a fellow reverse theif and possessive friend.

“Uh, gremlin.”

“Her gremlin calls to let is know if she does get rest on the weekends and we trade off on weekdays.”

Red robin hummed into the phone. “So staying to the shadows?”

Trixx and Tikki looked up at Marinette at that. tikki wanted her to be the Ladybug, the be seen and everywhere and she...

Trixx knew why Marinette liked the shadows and background. Trix understood that bit.

“Yeah, i’ll still play in between and have some kwami things for life now.” She and Chat were working out gaurdian duties still.

She wasnt interested in the JL.

@emeraldpuffguide @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @mystery-5-5 @weird-pale-blonde-person @dast218

#maribat au #maribat #bio! dad au #bio!dad strange #bio!dad au #ml au #my au #my idea #marinette strange dupain cheng

[searchingwardrobes]

This Girl Ain’t Going Anywhere: 4/4

Here it is, the exciting (I hope!) conclusion! @katie-dub​, I can’t believe it took me almost a year to finish your gift. I really wanted this to incorporate things I know you love, strong female heroes topping that list. I hope you like it!

Summary: The Brothers Jones have built a reputation as the most feared pirates in all the realms. When they hear of the bounty on the heads of two princesses – The Princess of Fire and The Princess of Ice – they don’t hesitate to set sail on the Jolly Roger to hunt them down. But have the Brothers Jones finally met their match?

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Words: 2,000 and some change in this chapter

Tagging: @snowbellewells @kmomof4 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @kday426 @winterbaby89 @nikkiemms @teamhook @bethacaciakay @thislassishooked @jennjenn615 @distant-rose​@scientificapricot @snidgetsafan @tiganasummertree @resident-of-storybrooke @stahlop @shireness-says @spartanguard @optomisticgirl​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @welllpthisishappening​ @wellhellotragic​ @superchocovian​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @courtorderedcake​

The land of the Quapah was typically still, the only sounds the wind whistling eerily. The people themselves were reserved and had a mysterious gentleness about their way of life. So when that quiet was broken by the clanging of steel and shouts, the Jones Brothers were on their feet and racing into the center of the village with swords drawn.

Killian had no idea what kind of warriors, if any, this ancient race possessed, but he shouldn’t have worried. The Quapah wielded swords of blue flame that met steel with a clang and a hiss. They moved with grace and ferocity, and combined their sword play with magic - lifting stones from the earth and hurling them at the enemy.

“Knights of Camelot,” Liam called out to his brother.

“I noticed,” Killian quipped, parrying a blow from one knight as he sent another sprawling with a kick to the stomach. “The red seal of the round table was a bit hard to miss.”

Killian’s blood ran cold as a broad, confident knight galloped into the fray atop a black steed. It was King Arthur himself. Stories of his obsession with the dark arts had become the thing of legend. His wife’s betrayal with the knight Lancelot had only sent Arthur falling further into madness. It wasn’t a foe Killian was keen on facing.

The Quapah hurled magic in Arthur’s direction, and it was a kind of magic Killian had never seen before. The earth trembled, sending rocks spraying in Arthur’s direction. A geyser of water followed after, hitting Arthur square in the chest and knocking him off his horse. The horse reared in terror, then galloped back down the mountainside. In the chaos, Killian saw Arthur race towards the path that led to the temple.

“Liam, the princesses!” he shouted as he took off after the King of Camelot. Liam followed at his heels.

Yet several of the knights of Camelot saw the brothers chasing their king, and soon Liam was battling three of them at once, leaving Killian to face Arthur alone. The king’s face blanched when he saw the hook at the end of Killian’s left arm, and the pirate smirked.

“Never faced a pirate before, your majesty?”

Arthur’s only response was a growl as he swung his sword. Killian met him stroke for stroke, but the king was forcing him up the hill ever closer to the temple that hid Emma and

Elsa. Killian had to draw Arthur away from there, so he spun and swiped at the man’s legs. Arthur anticipated the move, however, dodging to the right. The rocky, hilly terrain threw Killian off balance, and Arthur took advantage of it. Before Killian knew what was happening, he was tumbling down the hill, his cutlass flying from his hand. Well, at least I’m drawing him away from the princesses he thought dryly. His shoulder slammed against a large rock and he groaned as Arthur drew near, laughing. Killian turned his head to see his brother dispatching a knight, but two more were closing in on Liam.

“You shouldn’t bring a hook to a sword fight,” Arthur sneared, grasping the hilt of his sword with both hands.

“Well, I brought a sword,” Killian replied with sarcasm, “but I seem to have misplaced it.”

Arthur brought his boot down on Killian’s shoulder, which he had apparently injured in his tumble down the hill. Killian cried out in pain. Arthur’s sword was coming down on him, and he held his breath -

Suddenly, another sword met Arthur’s with the ring of metal hitting metal. Killian gasped to see Emma standing over him, her face contorted with rage. She had saved him! With a cry, Emma flung her other arm out, and as she did, her entire body became luminescent, her hair glowing like embers. A ball of fire hit Arthur and sent him sprawling backwards.

Killian looked up at her in awe, her name slipping from his lips like a prayer. She looked down at him, eyes ablaze and intense. Behind her, Killian could see more knights of Camelot descending on them both. Where was Liam? Emma flung both her arms out in front of her, dropping her sword. The earth beneath them shook, water spurted up, and the soil beneath Killian undulated like a wave, carrying him backward. Emma turned one palm up and flung her arm skyward. The geysers followed her movement, and Killian’s view of her was blocked by a wall of water.

“Killian!”

No voice had ever sounded sweeter, and Killian turned to see his brother being deposited by another wave of earth right next to him. He noticed Elsa on the other side of Liam, but then she flung her arms outward and ice flew from her fingertips. The wall of water instantly froze, and before Killian or Liam could process it, they were completely surrounded by walls of ice.

“No!” Liam shouted, scrambling to his feet and rushing forward. He pounded on the ice wall, yelling Elsa’s name.

“I don’t think that’s going to help,” Killian said, unable to keep the humor out of his voice.

Liam scowled at him. “Why would they do this?”

Killian arched a brow. “To keep us safe, it looks like.”

“But that’s . . . but we’re supposed to -”

“We’re supposed to save them?” Killian laughed. “Hate to break it to you, brother, but it looks like we’re the damsels in distress in this little drama.”

Liam scowled and kicked and pounded at the ice wall. He finally let out an irritated breath and turned on his brother, his hands on his hips. “They do realize we can freeze to death, right?”

As if the princesses could hear Liam Jones, a crackling fire suddenly sprang up in the center of the ice fortress. Killian threw his brother a lopsided grin before plopping down before the fire and rubbing his hands before the flames. He rolled his shoulder as warmth spread down his entire arm. Hm, Emma had even taken care of his injury.

“I don’t know about you, brother,” said Killian smugly, “but I thought Emma looked incredibly sexy saving my life.”

*******************************************************

There wasn’t much one ship could do when surrounded by multiple fleets. The Jolly

Roger had no choice but to fly the white flag of surrender.

Yet the attacking fleets had no interest in the codes of war. Anna’s knees buckled and Henry’s face turned white as the enemy ships prepared their canons. Kristoff hugged them both close, praying to every god he could think of as explosions rocked the air. They all braced for impact.

An impact that never came. When one pregnant moment faded into another, those aboard the Jolly finally, hesitantly lifted their heads. Smoke and embers float upon the air around them, as if the cannonballs were disintegrated before they found their mark.

“Look!” Henry cried, pointing.

Through the smoke, two figures seemed to hover above the ocean waves. Elsa seemed to skate across the water on a sheet of ice, wind spinning through the air around her. Walls of water poised to crash turned to ice in her wake, Emma rode along an updraft, fire at her fingertips, turning the sea water to vapor. Her hair writhed around her, her skin sparking, yet she was not consumed. Elsa’s eyes were of arctic ice - blinding, fiery, and piercing. She was a blizzard incarnate, roiling across the sea. Emma obliterated canon balls then absorbed the fiery explosions, the green of her eyes brighter and sparking like emeralds.

An inferno surrounded the enemy ships, Emma in the midst of them, luminous, incandescent, yet the vessels were not consumed. Elsa rose beside her upon a glacier rising slowly from the sea, hailstones raining down like diamonds. Each crystalized weapon disintegrated, however, on impact, the intent not to harm, but to warn. The ocean bit, chilled, blazed at the hands of the two princesses, pushing back the fleets until finally, each ship flew its own white flag of surrender.

Anna realized she was trembling against the railing, scarcely feeling Kristoff’s arms around her. She was numb, stiff, chilled to the bone. Was her sister now the monster everyone claimed?

“Look!” Henry cried. “They’re leaving! All of them!”

“Ann,” Kristoff whispered to her gently, “Anna, it’s over.”

She shook her head, pressing her face to his shoulder. He gently pulled her away, forcing her chin up to meet his eyes. He grinned broadly.

“They saved us without harming a single ship. A battle without a single casualty, Anna, it’s a miracle!”

She blinked and looked around in awe at the suddenly calm seas. Kristoff helped her to her feet and pulled her close. There, across the water, Elsa calmly walked towards them, snowflake shaped crystals of ice bearing her weight. Emma glided next to her, streams of fire pushing her against the waves. They approached the Jolly Roger with elegant ease, then clambered up the ladder to board. When the princesses’s feet hit the boards, Emma ran immediately to embrace her son, and Elsa stood before her sister, confident and with a peaceful smile upon her face. Anna blinked before words spilled from her lips in a rush.

“How did you do that? And you’re not freezing - I mean, of course you froze things, but you aren’t freezing, and . . . oh gods, how did you do that?”

Elsa laughed as she threw her arms around her sister. “We’ll explain it all soon, I promise.”

“Where are Killian and Liam?” Henry asked worriedly.

Emma bit her lip sheepishly. “Yeah, about that . . . “

Elsa laughed. “Liam will probably want to strangle me for literally putting him on ice like that.”

Emma gave a shrug and tilted her chin. “I think Killian thought I was sexy.”

*********************************************

Killian growled, yanking the tie from around his neck and tossing it to the ground. Liam chuckled and bent to retrieve it.

“Those things are designed for people with two hands,” Killian muttered. “I don’t see why I have to wear it anyway, Emma likes my chest hair to breath.”

“This is a royal wedding, little brother,” Liam countered, “I don’t know that chest hair needs to be on display.”

“It’s younger brother,” Killian corrected automatically, but he didn’t protest when LIam took over fixing his tie. It was a bit odd to be in their naval uniforms once again, albeit this time in the colors of Misthaven and Arendelle, respectively. Killian was proud of his new career, yet he would miss his brother. He arched a brow at Liam teasingly. “Do I call you Admiral Liam or King Liam?”

His brother rolled his eyes. “Technically, I’m Prince Consort Liam Jones. Queens under Arendelle law do not share sovereignty. You, on the other hand, little brother, will be king along with Emma when she takes the throne.”

Killian snorted. “I don’t think either of our lady loves need our help to lead their people.”

“No,” Liam agreed, voice laced with pride, “they surely do not.”

“Are you nervous?” Killian asked, feeling like a lad again.

“There, your tie is perfect,” Liam said, patting his brother on the shoulder, “thank the gods you’ll have a wife to do it for you after today.”

Killian was still getting used to doing things one handed, and normally it would rankle that he couldn’t handle a bloody tie. Yet having Emma at his side to help him through it all? Somehow that didn’t bother him quite so much.

“You dodged my question,” Killian pointed out.

“Am I nervous about standing up in front of two kingdoms to declare my vows? Yes. Am I nervous about declaring my vows to the woman I love? Emphatically no.”

Killian smiled in complete agreement with his brother. Watching the women they loved work so hard with the Quapah to balance their powers by calling on all the elements - earth, wind, water, and fire - and then fight for peace between all the realms had only made them fall deeper in love.

“They’re ready for you,” a voice called from the doorway.

The brothers shared a smile, scarcely able to believe how far they had come from their days of servitude. They followed the Arendelle castle steward into the great hall and took their places on either side of the priest. Killian’s heart thundered in his chest, his eyes intent on the large double doors at the end of the hall. Soon, a trumpet sounded, and the doors opened. His breath caught as he saw Emma in a long, filmy white gown, her golden curls tumbling down her back, and flowers in her hair. Elsa was there too, he knew, but he only had eyes for his own bride.

There wasn’t a dry eye in the house as the crown princess of Misthaven and the queen of Arendelle pledged themselves to their childhood sweethearts in a double ceremony. When LIam and Elsa were declared husband and wife, he lifted her off her feet when he kissed her, the queen throwing her arm around his neck in a very undignified manner.

His little brother, of course, had to outdo him. When the priest announced Killian and Emma husband and wife, he dipped his bride as they passionately kissed. The crowd laughed, hooted, and cheered with joy.

Later, the royals greeted their subjects who crowded outside of the Arendelle palace. They stepped out on the balcony, greeted by cheers and shouts. Instead of fireworks, Princess Emma sent sparks of fire racing across the sky in a rainbow of colors. Queen Elsa then sent giant multicolored snowflakes floating down upon the crowds. The people of Arendelle and those who had traveled from Misthaven celebrated into the wee hours of the morning.

The Queen of Ice, however, slipped away with her husband far earlier. They had their own beauty to create. The Princess of Fire also slipped away with her husband to create fireworks of their own. The Brothers Jones had, in fact, met their match, and they were entirely okay with that.

I've searched the world to find my heart is Yours

Oh, my heart is Yours

#cs ff #frozen jewel #enchanted forest au #lieutenent duckling #captain duckling #brothers jones #frozen swan brotp

[misswildfire]

Imagine if Mikey ran away

I haven’t written in just about forever but I got the urge to write a TMNT imagine after getting back into the fandom this week. I didn’t want to write a full fic, I had intended this to be just expanded bullet points yet somehow it ended up being more fic like just with not a whole lot of dialogue lol I don’t even know what this is anymore to be honest, but I hope you enjoy. 

I’ve been reading a lot of fics where after the fight with Krang, Mikey is upset and I just wanted to do my own version of this. 

The walk back to the lair was one of the quietest in history, each of the brothers lost in their own thoughts. The words his brother had said to him earlier flying around his head. No brains, useless, they’d be better off without you. If he was being realistic with himself, what did he really contribute to his family? He wasn't focused, fearless and dedicated like Leo, he wasn’t strong like Raph who could protect their family, and he wasn’t smart like Donnie who was their doctor and inventory, creating all sorts of things for them to use to keep them safe. 

And what did he do? He goofs off constantly, pesters his brothers to no end and he wasn’t the greatest fighter. His injuries after their battle with Krang were proof enough of that, severely bruised ribs, one that was actually broken and a small crack in his shell from when the giant brain had decided to give him a hug. 

If I was a better fighter, if I wasn’t so useless, I wouldn’t have gotten caught and my brothers wouldn’t have had to come and rescue me. He sighed quietly to himself as he looked around the lair. Each of his brothers had taken off to their favourite corners of the lair, each lost in their own thoughts. Maybe they would be better off without me... Suppressing a yawn he decided to head to bed. His normal boundless energy gone, leaving him feeling tired, achy and numb. 

Over the next few days he became increasingly more quiet and withdrawn, spending time away from his brothers with his art. He tried to seclude himself, not to be a bother to his brothers, not that any of them seemed to notice anyway, each still caught up with how the battle went. Better off without you. The thoughts never left him alone now, his constant companion as he tried to block them out, concentrating on his art. They didn’t notice, they don’t care that you haven’t been around much. They prefer it this way, able to do what they want without being constantly bothered by you. It couldn’t be true, could it? His brothers, his mates, they loved him, didn’t they? Then why haven’t they noticed if they love you so much? 

--

Raph grabbed his towel as he wiped the sweat off his brow from his latest work out. The need to be stronger, to protect his mates had been a constant buzz for him since their fight with Krang. Taking a gulp of water, he listened, trying to hear what his mates were up to. He frowned as he realized the lair was quiet, too quiet. This time of day he could normally hear his youngest mate listening to music or watching something on TV, or even pestering him if he was bored. The last thought had the red banded terrapin frowning. When was the last time his youngest brother had bothered him during a workout session? 

Spotting his youngest sibling making his way into the kitchen, Raph follows, intent on getting to the bottom of what’s going on. It wasn’t like his sibling, who hated being alone, not to bother at least one of them to spend time with him. Not that Raph minded spending time with the youngest, not that he would ever admit that out loud, lest it go to Mikey’s head and make him heaven forbid, more annoying. 

He grinned to himself at the thought. However, luck wasn’t with him this day and before he could say a word to gain his youngest brothers attention, an explosion sounded, focusing everyone’s attention towards the lab. Pushing his youngest brother from his mind, Raph raced towards the lab, only to find Donnie stumbling out coughing with a lot of smoke billowing around him. Thankfully it was a minor explosion that caused a lot of smoke and no one was hurt, with the exception of Donnie’s pride perhaps, but it did cause Raph to fret about his purple clad brother and forget about his orange clad one for the next few days. 

--

Leo always prided himself of being aware of his surroundings and being aware of those around him, as well as their moods. It helped him gauge any situation and find a way to deal with it. It didn’t always work, especially when Raph pushed his buttons, but it allowed him to easily deal with his two youngest siblings. So it was to no surprise that Leo was aware of the shift with Mikey on their way back to the lair after their battle with Krang. He kept shooting the youngest concerned looks throughout the drive home. It wasn’t like him to be so quiet, but Leo hoped it was just exhaustion caused by the fight and his injuries and he would be in a better mood in the morning. 

He was wrong. It didn’t happen often, but it did happen. Mikey’s mood did not improve the next day. He stayed silent during Don’s examination and patching of the injuries (Mikey’s injuries had been deemed non life threatening the night before and other than a small patch on the crack on his shell to stop anything from getting into it on the ride home, he had been deemed okay until morning so Donnie could get some sleep). He kept watch silently, wondering if he was taking the right approach. He trusted that if something was bothering Mikey, he would go and talk to one of his brothers. While Leo secretly always hoped it was him, at this point, he would accept if Mikey talked to anyone.

The few times he did try and approach his youngest mate, he eluded him. When the orange clad turtle had his mind to it, he had the best stealth skills of all of them. What Leo, wasn’t realizing was that his youngest brother was going out of his way to avoid him, believing that Leo was going to yell at him about how much of a failure he was in the fight against Krang. 

-- 

While Donnie usually got caught up in his experiments and tinkering, it didn’t mean he didn’t care about his brothers, it just meant he was the last to realize that something was going on, most of the time. He knew that his youngest lover was quiet the night they returned to the lair, but he chalked it up to him being exhausted. They all were exhausted. The fight took a toll on them each in different ways. Donnie himself had trudged back to his lab and fallen on the cot he kept there when he needed sleep. He had intended to start upgrading their security measures, but his body simply wouldn’t allow him. 

Looking back, he should have realized more was going on. Mikey didn’t complain on the ride home about Don checking over his injuries enough to patch him up for the night, or at his one week check up or at his two week checkup. So when Donnie noticed something was going on, you know at that point it was bad. Making a mental note to talk to Leo and Raph in the morning, he headed to bed. He wanted to be well rested and able to give his only younger brother his full attention. 

-- 

As the days turned into weeks, and none of  his mates noticed that he continued to withdraw into himself, Mikey began to make a plan to leave. They obviously didn’t need him and were better off without him. Liability, useless in battle. 

It took him a few days to stealthy gather the supplies he needed, a few things he couldn’t leave behind and some food to get him started. Finally, one night when everyone was sound asleep he decided he would leave tonight. Grabbing his backpack, he made his way to each brother, eyes hungrily drinking in their form, committing to memory every little detail. If this was the last time he wanted something to remember them by. 

Pausing at the entrance of the lair one last time, he gazed at the place that had been his home for so long. He didn’t know where he was going or what he was going to do but he knew this was for the best. Hesitating, his eyes shifted towards where Leo slept. If he was being honest with himself, he was hoping someone would wake and stop him. His eldest brother, always aware of his surroundings, slept peacefully though, no indication that he was waking anytime soon. Choking back a sob, he turned and left. Once he was far enough away from the lair, he began to jog at a good pace. He needed to put as much distance between himself and the lair by sunrise. 

Useless. No Brain. Better off without you. Don’t need you. Don’t love you. Alone. Monster. Freak. 

Thoughts swirled in his head as he continued, heading to the surface to find shelter for the day. He couldn’t stay in the sewers, his brothers knew them too well. Not that they’ll be looking for me at all. Coming upon an abandoned shed on a rooftop, he silently broke the lock and made his way inside. His breathing shallow, he slid down against the far wall, trying to stay hidden as much as he could. 

Perhaps  he had pushed his pace a little too much, Donnie having told him the other day at his checkup that he still wasn’t able to do anything too strenuous as he was still healing, but it would be worth it in the end.  They would be better off without him, he wouldn’t be there to annoy them any longer, they could get their tasks done faster without him pestering them and they wouldn’t need to rescue him or worry about him being the weak link when they fought. Closing his eyes, Mikey tried to ignore the throbbing in his sides and the burning in his lungs and tried to get some sleep. He needed to be able to leave as soon as the sun went down enough. 

-- 

Rising with the sun was something Leo had done for such a long time that he couldn’t imagine not doing it. He loved the quietness in the lair. It was still in a way it wasn’t when everyone was awake. It also gave him a chance to check on his brothers without them knowing. The leader smiled softly to himself seeing Donnie in his own bed for once rather than the cot  he kept in his lab. Shutting the door softly, he made his way to his remaining two siblings. Raph, snoring away on the top bunk and Mikey bed empty. He blinked, checking Mikey’s bed once more. 

It was empty. His youngest brother tended to like to stay up late and sleep in, so for his bed to be empty at this time of the morning was very unusual. Leo couldn’t help the small swell of panic he felt rising. He knew something had been wrong with his youngest mate, but he had let it go, hadn’t pursued it, had played the hands off game for once in his life and now all of his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong. 

Getting his emotions under control,he thought about it logically. During the last two weeks he had spotted the orange clad turtle hiding in some tucked away corners of the lair, working on his art. It was quite possible that he had  simply lost track of time. Quickly, he searched the lair, coming up empty handed again and again with every spot that he looked, panic rising with every spot yielding no signs of his youngest brother. 

Something was wrong. 

The feeling filled every inch of his body, spurring him into action. He quickly woke both of his brothers, demanding to know if they had seen Mikey, if their youngest had mentioned something to them. Maybe he went for a ride on his board? The small ray of hope was quickly dashed when both confirmed that they hadn’t seen Mikey since the day before. 

“His bag’s gone,” Raph murmured, his voice filling with concern.  Donnie’s eyes widened before bolting to his lab, leaving his two older brothers staring at him in bewilderment. Sharing a look they followed, wondering what could have caused the tallest turtle to retreat to his lab. They found him, fingers flying over his computer, a map of New York on up the screen. 

“I can track him,” Don explained hastily. “I had put trackers in all of our bags in case they got lost or we were injured and separated.” 

“That was a really smart idea,” Leo said, his eyes tracking the movement on the screens. If Mikey had his bag with him, they could use the tracker to find him and bring him home. 

“Got him!” Don exclaimed, a location coming up on screen. It was on the edge of their usual area they patrolled, and by the looks of the map, his brother was topside rather than in the sewers below. It would be risky getting to him, but having their brother home safe was well worth the risk. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” Raph demanded, his need to do something, vibrating off of him in waves. “Let’s go bring Mikey home.”

-- 

Mikey sat propped against the wall as he tried to draw air into his lungs, pain shooting from his ribs with every breath. Sleep hadn’t come for him despite his exhaustion. Heh, shouldn’t have pushed myself so much, he thought, as another wave of pain left him gasping for breath. He definitely had made his injuries worse, probably setting back his healing time by who knows how long. It’ll be worth it. He had kept telling himself that as the hours had slowly ticked by. 

What kind of ninja are you? You should have made it further than you did. Weak! Leo wouldn’t have allowed his injuries to stop him. He would have gotten further.  So wrapped up in his thoughts, he didn’t sense his brother’s approach and didn’t hear the door until it was halfway open. His hand dropping to his weapon at his side out of habit and instinct, his eyes blinked in confusion as he met the blue eyes of his eldest brothers, eyes he normally loved to stare into and get lost, but one’s he found he couldn’t meet, his eyes dropping to his lap. Was Leo here to yell at him, to tell him to never come back?

Leo couldn’t be here for anything good, could he? Trembling slightly, he braced himself for what was to come.

-- 

The relief that Leo felt upon finding his youngest mate didn’t last long as he took note of the others condition. Sweat dripping from his brow, laboured breathing, his eyes downcast and he seemed to be trying to make himself as small as possible. What was going on? This wasn’t the confident, joyous bubbly Mikey he knew and loved. Something was wrong and he was going to get to the bottom of it. Calling over Don, they maneuvered Mikey between them, getting him out to the open roof so they could get a better look at him. 

“His injuries have gotten worse,” Don said a few moments later after having quickly examined his brother, Raph’s nearby pacing coming to a halt. He came over and knelt beside his brother, where Leo and Don had placed him after exiting the shed, rubbing his hand along his brothers shell soothingly. 

He hated seeing Mikey injured and hurt and he hated even more seeing him upset and distressed. The urge to beat whatever hurt him into a pulp simmered at the edge, but he tried to keep himself calm. He had been watching as Don had checked over their brother and it hadn’t passed his notice that Mikey flinched every time Don moved too quickly. Is he expecting us to hurt him? The hothead didn’t know what was going on, but he didn’t like what he was seeing. Meeting Leo’s eyes over Mikey’s head, he found the same worry and concern there. Had they missed something in the fight with Krang? 

Sharing a look with both of his younger brothers and seeing them both lost as to what to do, Leo decided he would do what he did best, take the lead. Shifting, he moved so he was in front of the orange clad turtle, so he had no where to look but at him. 

“Mikey,” he said softly, waiting for his youngest brother to look up and meet his eyes. It took a few moments for Mikey to raise his head and look up from the spot where his gaze had been fixed on the ground for the entirety of Don’s examination, only for it to drop almost immediately, his body trembling. Reaching out, he gently cupped Mikey’s jaw, tilting his head until his youngest met his eyes once more. “What’s going on?”

“Be better off without me,” the youngest murmured, so low Leo almost didn’t catch it. 

“Why would we be better off without you?” Raph asked incredulously from where he was still rubbing Mikey’s shell soothingly, being mindful of the still healing crack on the shell. Leo shot him a quick looking, forcing him to bury his anger for now. Now was not the time to get angry, he could take it out on his punching bag later. By the looks of his little brother, anger was the last thing he needed. Taking a deep breath, he forced himself to stay calm. 

“Cause I’m stupid, I have no brain, I’m annoying,  I mess up and you guys always have to rescue me,” Mikey murmured, trying to hold back his tears. Why were they here? Wouldn’t it just be easier to let him go? Raphs soothing rubbing on his shell felt good and all he wanted to do was lean into it, but he was afraid to make anyone mad. He didn’t want his hot headed brother to think he was needy. Annoying. Useless. Waste of space. 

Leo inhaled sharply as the words he had said in anger came back to haunt him. Donnie shook his head as his mind turned over his little brother's words. Did Mikey truly think they thought him annoying? Sure, he annoyed all of them at times, but living in such close quarters, they all got on each others nerves from time to time. 

“Dove, we don’t find you annoying,” Donnie explained, hoping he could talk some sense into his younger brother. There was still one more thing that he had said that was bothering the purple banded turtle. “What do you mean by we’re always having to rescue you?”

“With Krang,” Mikey explained, the tears that he had been holding back finally escaping, rolling down his cheek in fat droplets. “I screwed up and couldn’t do my job and you guys had to rescue me.” 

“Mikey. Michelangelo. It’s not you that screwed up, it was us. We failed at distracting Krang well enough that he was able to grab you and injure you and for that I’m truly sorry. We should have apologized sooner and never let you believe that you were at fault in any way.”  Leo ran his thumb soothingly across Mikey’s cheeks, wiping away the tears that had fallen. He had failed his youngest mate in so many more ways than he had realized. 

“But.”

“No buts squirt,” Raph cut him off, not wanting to hear him put himself down any longer. “You’re family, you’re our mate, there is no way that we wouldn’t want you with us. You do so much more for us than you realize. You are the glue that keeps us together.” He could feel a blush tinging his cheeks. He wasn’t prone to being mushy, or sentimental, but he did tend to be a lot softer with his two younger mates, and if this is what Mikey needed right now, needed to hear, then he would shove his pride aside for the moment. 

“We love you Mikey and we want you at home with us, where you belong,” Donnie added in, kissing Mikey’s head. 

“I think it’s time we all went home.” Leo stood up, offering his hand down to Mikey. He waited as the youngest looked up to him, indecision still warring in his eyes. He wanted this to be Mikey’s choice, to believe what they were saying and to come home with them. If push came to shove however, he would simply throw Mikey over his shoulder and bring him home and do everything in his power to make the youngest believe the words they were saying. 

Mikey held Leo’s gaze as the eldest waited for him to take his outreached hand. He could feel Raph’s presence at his back, the hot head never having stopped making comforting soothing motions on his shell. Donnie was to his right, still kneeling beside him, hand resting comfortably on his thigh. He was surrounded by his family. They had come for him. They wanted him. Maybe, just maybe the voices in his head were wrong. He reached up with his right hand, grasping Leo’s hand in his, allowing the elder to pull him to his feet. He pushed the twinge of pain the movement caused in his ribs aside, focusing on the feeling of being surrounded by his brothers, his mates. 

“Let’s go home.”

Maybe everything would be alright after all. 

You are loved. You are desired. You are wanted. Family. Heart. Brothers. Mates. Home. 

--

Wow, this came out way longer than I had intended or planned. It was originally going to be a bullet point style imagine, but the inspiration bug bit and it bit me hard. This is the first fic I’ve written in almost 4 years. I feel like it’s a little bit all over the place, but that’s okay. I’m a tad rusty but what can you do.  I want to make a sequel to this almost, following after they return to the lair and following what Leo, Raph and Donnie do to reassure Mikey and bring his confidence back. When you have depression this bad or very negative self talk like Mikey did, you don’t just bounce back right away. It takes time and it can be a very uphill battle. I want it to almost be like cute bonding scenarios. Maybe a fic per brother? 

I don’t know, what do you guys think? Anyway, hope you enjoy! Feedback is life. 

#tmnt bayverse #tcest #tcest warning #leonardo #rapheal #tmnt imagines #ot4 #michelangelo #hurt mikey #hurt comfort #injuries #low self esteem #bad self talk #depression #donatello #leo #raph #mikey #donnie #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt donnie #tmnt mikey #teenage mutant ninja turtles #series: healing the runaway

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Without Question (12)

Steve Rogers x fem!Reader

Content: the...walking dead? Like in a good way.

Warnings: …yes Steve!

Word Count: I wasn’t kidding when I said I want to live in a quiet town with my one cat and one dog and oh so fucking hopefully my lover. Lover! Wherefore art thou, lover? What seas must I cross to have ye look for stars in mine eyes and rest thy head in bosom? Huh, Lover?

MASTERLIST & Taglist in bio, my love

The peace that comes with the silence of the compound is not as comfortable as the residence had measured it would be in the past. The battles have been won. The deeds have been done. The ones who are lost have been mourned and the ones who have survived have walked past their guilt. The ones who keep the threads together now sit under the trees in the garden, looking into nothing, waiting for news- any news- that might stir them in some way that makes them figure out for themselves whether they're alive. But none comes in through the gate whatsoever.

Yet Natasha sits in the garden, her hands mingling with each other because they're not sure what else to do for now. She considers it a true miracle to have survived this much inactivity, still feeling herself jolt up in the seating under the tree when she sees Loki walk into the garden towards her.

"Any updates?" No one does it better than the Balck Widow bringing her composure to a still when required. Even Loki admires this of the redhead. You don't find such humans. You don't find such creatures anywhere for that matter who can replicate a perfectly functioning life form even when they’re broken to smithereens inside. Loki’s knows it all too well.

"I contacted Rocket and Danvers. The entire species has been annihilated throughout space. No sign of survivors. Even if there are," he mentions matter-of-factly, permitting himself to sit at a decent distance beside her, "they won't be enough to go about destroying planets."

She breathes. Her hands have paused the torture on each other, the fingers nearly running red from all the unwanted pressing and rubbing onto each other. Loki notices it too. Not that she’s trying to hide it.

“How is he?”

Natasha blinks, looking at the horizon- or maybe even further than that.

“He thinks it’s his fault,” she nearly croaks, “again. He thinks he could have stopped it. Even though he knows she would have still found a way. The fact that she turned to dust makes it worse.”

“And she did not want to lose any more of the love,” he mumbled in deep thought, making Natasha turn towards him.

He read her mind, she remembers the God’s ability before passing a soft smile. Loki sighs and looks out at the compound. The sunny weather with clearest of skies is bringing in birds on their road to migration, travelling by in perfect sync in the sky. The breeze carries with it the fresh and sweet scent of spring.

“I’m guessing he is keeping his promise?”

Natasha silently chuckles, the back of her index finger wiping something off the corner of her eye. “Yes,” she nods, turning to Loki with a tender smirk on her lips, “yes, he is.”

Both of them sit there for some more time, enjoying the silent yet fulfilling company, watching nature heal itself like it always does, while wondering what the future holds for them now.

.

The last bit of loose soil is patted by gloved hands into place. Untamed drops of sweat drip over the very ground, mixing in with the dirt before the hands break contact with the freshly prepared field, standing up to finally take a breather after a long day’s work.

The sun reflects sharply over Steve’s face as he watches the cherry blossom tree stand in its full glory right where it was always supposed to be. The breeze is already playmates with it in their playground, making it swing and dance under the bright yet soothing sun.

She’s beautiful. Steve chuckles to himself, if only so faintly in comparison.

“It’s stunning, I must say.”

Steve turns to find Loki standing a few feet away from him, admiring the little cherry blossoms tree, giving him a nod. “It is,” he acknowledges.

“How are you doing, Captain?”

Right to the concern. I like him. Steve gives a faint smile, removing his gloves, throwing them into the toolbox before keeping his hands on his hips. “I’m fine, Loki. What’re you doing here?”

Loki shrugs. “Just making sure you’re not wallowing in survivor’s guilt.”

Even though he is sharp and straight to the point- which pricks, really- Steve can’t help but find a shade of honest concern in his eyes. “As I said, I’m fine,” his words are nearly a whisper as he bends to gather the tools in the box, “and I’m sorry.”

Loki’s brows crinkle. “For what?”

Steve stands back up with the toolbox in his hand. “Sorry, there was no one when you were suffering through survivor’s guilt.”

The breeze passes between them, running an invisible hand through their hair, caressing their unspoken wounds and winding around their allyship, doing all that deemed it not necessary now to be spoken in words.

Steve walks back towards the house and a bark makes Loki turn to look in the direction of the forest. Stacie comes running through the wild field towards the God, barking her happy bark before coming to a halt at the tree, sniffing it to her heart’s content. He can hear a low whimper from her throat when she smells something familiar off the tree. Her paw scratches the trunk a little, her head snuggling with it for a few moments before coming to stand by Loki and sniff him.

“You miss her too,” he states, down on one knee to pet her, an involuntary smile finding its way on his lips. “I think she left you in charge of that one. Make sure he’s okay.”

Stacie huffs and wags her tail, happy to receive a scratch behind the ear when suddenly both she and Loki pause where they stand before standing in high alert.

Steve comes out with Stacie’s bowl and two beers, pausing at the porch on seeing both Loki and Stacie in defensive stances.

“What is it?” the Captain is curious now. 

Loki is still looking at the forest while Stacie has started to growl. All he does is raise his hand for Steve to stop. “Stay here,” Loki declares before vanishing into a light of gold and green.

Steve, reasonably, is left shocked and confused, walking to Stacie’s side, who is growing agitated, jumping and barking at something in the direction of the forest that he cannot see.

“What is it, Stace?” he asks softly, not peeling his eyes from the trees in front of him till a brilliant streak of gold and green out of space has Loki standing in front of him with another figure supported by his left arm.

A gasp escapes Steve when he recognises the long dark hair and metal that bounces the light off its surface, finding it hard to believe what his eyes are seeing.

 “Bucky!”

.

At first, it is a microscopic sensation which slowly turns into a coherent vibration. It is not comfortable until it is an unnecessary shiver running up and down your skin, forcing you to go into the fetal position. Still, the cold does not stop bothering you, gnawing at your skin, your flesh, every corner of your insides, even your heart.

Heart.

But it was not supposed to be cold in the void.

The shiver forces you to draw your limbs closer and makes you feel this unspoken rage at not being able to feel any heat.

Why?

Y/N.

I’m dead. I’m not supposed to feel cold.

Y/N?

Sleep. I am supposed to sleep now.

Y/N! Wake up!

No, let me sleep for a w-

“Y/N!”

A scream escapes your lungs at the jerk as your eyes jerk wide open at the sun way too bright for the shocked pupils before being blocked by a familiar face.

“Loki?”

You look at the God in question. Is he dead too?

“Yes,” he answers with a careful nod. “Can you get up?”

“Why?” As soon as the question escapes you, you know it does not make sense except for the fact that maybe your body just doesn’t want to. “Wait. Where are w-”

You stop yourself short when you notice the forest clearing- looking somewhat brighter and less murder-y under the spring sun.

“You’re home.”

Home.

But I was supposed to be…

“Oh no!” The sudden panic confuses Loki. “No no no! I am supposed to be dead!”

Loki tilts his head at you.

“I’m supposed to be dead! She promised she’ll bring Bucky back! Bucky’s the one who’s supposed to be alive.”

And suddenly it all makes sense. Love- makes us do the most outlandish things.

“I think we should go home,” he mentions gently, grabbing your full attention before inhaling a lungful and unclasping his cape, “and not to mention you are stark naked right in the middle of the forest, darling.”

You look down at your figure that is letting the sunlight dance all over it before feeling the heat rush to your cheeks as Loki covers you up.

“Oh.”

.

Natasha, Clint and Sam are already here as soon as Loki informs them of the news- never telling Steve they were already on their way to see how he was doing- not believing their eyes when they see Bucky sitting on your porch, taking in the sun and sounds like a newborn man. The hows and whats are set back for future interrogation, for right now, tight hugs and misty eyes take the room. 

The smile on Steve’s face is incurable. How many people can say their best friend gets to live even after death. Twice! What more could he want?

His heart knows.

So does some mysterious force in the universe, testing his emotions, when another streak of gold and green rips the space apart by the cherry blossom to give place to Loki and you resting all your weight on the former, wrapped in green.

Everything stops.

Every sound is on mute, every change is on pause, every inch of his skin that the breeze touches is numb. Nothing is sensed in the way of him taking you in. The y/h/c hair strands float in the breeze while your eyes glimmer in the direct light, looking at Steve. Only Steve. The hitch in your breath gives him hope that you are real when he starts to walk towards you. The movement of your feet towards him raises it even more. The lone tear escaping your eye sets the truth in stone, forcing him to take two long steps to cover the distance and have you in his arms. “Y/N,” he nearly sobs your name, finally making it a reality for himself.

His arms. You wrap your arms around his torso as tightly as you can, breathing in the familiar scent. His scent. This is real. The heartbeat. The relieved breaths and deep kisses in your hair. Real. You are back. You are home.

“Steve,” your voice softly reverberated through each other’s existence, making them hold on to each other tighter, bringing everything that was on pause- majorly his entire life- back to normalcy.

His arms break the hold they have on you to take your face in them while yours try to keep the cape in place, something that doesn’t miss his eyes.

“Are you-” he lowers his broken voice when his eyes see it- “are you naked under there?”

You nod, smiling sheepishly through the tears. “I love you,” you don’t waste any time. Not this time, getting on your toes to get closer to his lips.

He reciprocates with a deep kiss, letting go of your jaw from one hand to secure his arm around your waist. His lips, soft and supple, tasting of apples and cinnamon, slowly turn a little rough to push his tongue through your chapped yet tender lips. His hand goes into your tousled hair to bring you closer when the tongues discover each other once again with a need to declare their love for each other, only letting go when there is no more room for air.

“I love you too,” Steve breathes as soon as your lips part, his calm ocean gazing directly into your eyes. “God,” he closes his eyes and rests his forehead on yours, never letting go of you- not this time- “I love you so much. Please don’t leave me like this. Ever.”

You chuckle, the tears never stopping. “I won’t,” you sniffle, “I promise.”

You wrap your arms- this time with the cape- around him, closing your eyes to rest your head on his chest.

Home.

“Not this time.”

The rest of the gang sits on the porch appreciating the relief you have brought them and their Captain and yet looking everywhere else with stretched smiles on their faces, holding a very excited Stacie in place.

“So, she’s the reason I’m alive?” a very curious Bucky asks the rest of the group.

“Yup,” Clint answers, opening the beer bottle Steve left on the ground, “she’s the one. The reason all of us are alive, I guess.”

“She’s the reason he’s alive,” Natasha hums, sharing a knowing look with Loki- who simpers in return, “again.”

#Steve Rogers #steve x reader #steve fic #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fic #steve rogers x reader #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x female reader #steve smut #steve fluff #steve rogers fluff #captain america smut #captain america fluff #captain america fic #smut #fluff #marvel smut #marvel fluff #mcu smut #mcu fluff #marvel #mcu #Marvel MCU #MCU fanfiction #mcu fanfic #fanfic #Without Question #maladaptive-ninja-returns

[out-of-this-dimension]

For writing prompts: Fox and Krystal, water

SORRY, I went a weird direction with this one but bear with me.

---

They walked the rugged Cerinian shore, the sand beneath their feet ebony and vaguely damp from the aftermath of the lethal storm.  The ocean had calmed now, leaving a disquiet that sent a shiver down her spine.  It was hard to think that just hours ago, this land had been bathed in darkness-- both from the seas and the skies both.  A tsunami had struck, crashing through a seaside village and obliterating any who had not been fortunate to seek higher ground in time.  

This was not an accident.  This was what happened when the balance of power shifted-- when the elements were not aligned.  This was an unnatural occurrence and she could taste the lingering effects of water magic in the air.  The vixen stepped around part of a small wooden boat that had been splintered by the rocks and gales both.  

“It’s so hard to think that water could do this,” Krystal said, looking over her shoulder to her mentor.  “Water is a bringer of life.  And yet… I’ve never seen this level of destruction.”

“Just as water can bring life, it can take it away.  The calm pool and the raging ocean are but two sides of the same coin,” Randorn replied.  “Just as fire can destroy, it can also be the lively warmth that banishes winter’s cold. Nothing is ever simple in this world.”

The vixen stared out at the ocean, watching the stormy gray waters recede and surge forth.  Each wave was topped with white foam.  She could see rubble adrift in the water.  No doubt there were bodies there too.  The vixen felt nauseated at the thought and averted her gaze from the wreckage.  Barely anything still stood of the village.  The only sound in the silence was the gentle roar of the waves yards away.  

“It’s just as the elders said.  There’s someone messing with Cerinia’s elemental balance,” Randorn said after a few long moments.  “Only someone practiced in the magic arts could do this.  We had best return to deliver our report.”

“Shouldn’t we search for survivors?” Krystal asked, ears perked with alarm.

The brown wolf looked at her sadly, then turned away. 

“You know it as well as I do.  Search for any thoughts or emotions here, Krystal.  You will find none.  There’s no one left.”

---

They ran in tandem down the ruined hall of the EarthWalker ziggurat.  Fox outpaced her just a hair, his blaster held in both hands.  Crackling over the communications channel let them know that they would lose signal if they kept to their current path.  Krystal tapped a button to reload her connection to the channel but it did nothing to help with the buzz of static.  A few steps later and she turned it off.  The noise was distracting her far more than it was helping.

“Tricky!” Krystal screamed down the hall, desperately feeling out for the EarthWalker king as she turned the corner.  She couldn’t sense him. She couldn’t sense anyone but Fox’s own festering fears as they ran.

Three aparoid grunts stood in the halls, clicking as they turned to greet them with their sharpened feelers.  Fox was first to open fire and Krystal quickly followed.  The aparoids were reduced to scrapmetal after a few seconds and Fox turned to her.  His uncertainty was clearly written across his face but she could sense it.  It dug deep into her heart like barbs and hurt.  Spirits, did it hurt… She could feel his memories of the EarthWalker threatening to bubble over and overwhelm his mind.  

“Can you sense him?” the vulpine asked between pants.

“No,” Krystal shook her head. 

Memories filled her vision.  She saw Fox fending off blue-scaled SharpClaw in the snow as Tricky hid behind his leg.  She saw Fox freeing him from a cage in a lava-filled mine.  She saw Fox hugging him just before he left Sauria.  His anguish was unbearable and she withdrew her telepathy.  The vixen rubbed her forehead, feeling the humidity cling to her azure fur.  

“It’s possible they fled before the invasion got here,” Fox said.  Krystal knew he wasn’t just trying to reassure her. 

“We’ve got to keep going.  The main chamber’s walls could be thick enough to block out my telepathy,” Krystal replied. 

Fox nodded and they were off again.  The ziggurat had been carved similarly to the rest of the EarthWalker structures-- layered with nearly identical levels cut in a square-like pattern.  The same sun and moon patterns flashed by as they ran.  It felt like they were getting no where until light broke through the ceiling and the two foxes soon found themselves nearing the top of the ziggurat.  

Above, a battle raged on.  Slippy and Falco were fending off the aparoids as best as they could but even at a glance, the vixen could tell they were sorely outnumbered.  If they did not act fast to repel the aparoids, the entire planet could be lost.  With her heart racing, Krystal ran for the door into the central chamber.  She grabbed near the bottom of the sun emblem, trying to force it open.  It would not budge.  Fox ran to help her and together, they were able to force it upright.

Inside was a grim sight.  EarthWalker corpses lay scattered about, their blood staining the white stone floor.  Aparoids were crawling everywhere.  Small orblike sacs were clustered in the corners of the grand room.  An aparoid was digging into the flesh of one of the EarthWalkers, clearly trying to merge with the lifeless body.  The vixen felt a gasp fall from her lips.  Fox was deadly silent next to her but she could taste his horror like a numbing freeze of ice.

When the nearest aparoid soldier took note of them, Fox leapt into action.  He hurled a grenade inside and opened fire.  Krystal found herself following suit-- firing into the room as the aparoids made their charges towards them.  As their lasers blazed through the violet metal that made up their insectoid bodies, the vixen felt a rush of hatred that blinded her.  She bared her teeth in a snarl as she fired into the nearest soldier.  

It took her a moment to realize that the searing rage was not just her own.

Fox lunged forward at the soldier, rolling another grenade under the creature’s feet.  It exploded, its body shooting towards the ceiling before crashing back down.  He pivoted on his right foot then spun around to blast through the nearest cluster of aparoid larva.  After the last soldier had fallen, Fox continued to fire until the eggs had become nothing but smoldering ash.  He rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand, glaring down at the destroyed aparoids with such intense loathing that the vixen flinched for a moment.   

Krystal ran to the nearest EarthWalker body, putting a hand on his flank and feeling for any sign of life.  There was none.  Tears flaking her lashes, she looked at the others-- the ones with the torn throats, the lifeless eyes, the blood that pooled in impossible amounts around them.  There was nothing.  It had been a complete bloodbath-- one that had likely happened just moments before.  Too late, the vixen cursed quietly.  They had been too late.  

“Damn it all,” Fox seethed.  He turned and punched the nearest wall with such ferocity and suddenness that Krystal jumped.  

“Is… is he…?” Krystal managed to ask, looking at Fox as he hung his head.

“No,” Fox said after a moment. “Tricky’s not here.”

She breathed a shuddering sigh of relief, wiping her tears away as discreetly as she could.  Though she had not personally known any of these EarthWalkers, she felt their lingering fear taint the air.  Their regrets twisted her emotions into knots and she tried her best to detach from the situation.  But spirits was it hard.  It was so, so hard… She forced herself not to cry.  She pleaded with herself to stay alert.  They were still in the middle of a battlefield.

“Krystal, we need to go.  There’s no one left,” Fox said to her.  “The others are gonna need our help soon.  The skies will be overrun.”

“Y-yes…” the vixen replied with a nod.

They departed the room with the massacre in silence.  Silence that felt all too familiar in a situation that just felt more and more terrifying.  The vixen stared ahead, that numbness never quite going away even as they departed the ziggurat.  She readied her blaster as soon as the waning sunlight came into view, but her breaths were shaky.

“What is it?” He asked her.

“I just… I’ve never seen you like that before,” Krystal said quietly.

“Like what?” Fox asked with concern.

“So angry,” the vixen answered breathlessly, her words trembling.

“I…” His tipped ears went back for a moment.  “I’m sorry if I scared you.”

“It’s fine,” she answered, steeling her words. “Even the most gentle person can get angry sometimes.”

Like water, she realized.  Fox was like water.  His tide pulled people in.  His resolve, his current, moved his team forward.  He could be as calm as a serene pool.  Or as wrathful as a tidal wave.  

She continued, shaking herself back into focus. “And that… that was awful.  But he could still be out there.  We just need to keep trying.”

“We’ll find him,” Fox said confidently.  He gently touched her shoulder for a moment.  Then, they were off once more-- plunging through the humid jungle with the sounds of war all around them. 

#i def listened to the ori soundtrack when i wrote this #Krystal #Fox McCloud #Randorn #Cerinia #starfox #star fox #writing #Tricky #Sauria #blood tw #i almost wrote a fluffy ship piece but i'm in a GRITTY MOOD so we get GRITTY CONTENT #chewpacabras

[mikrowrites]

all hail the magic man

•part five•

Doctor Strange x Apprentice!OC(platonic)

Why did the sky have to be so blue? Why was it such a beautiful day in Wakanda?

Charlie stared up at the sky in a daze, her ears ringing. The intense pain in her nose and head had numbed to her, her eyes becoming glossy as a tear slipped down her cheek.

This was not how her day off had gone planned.

- - - - - -

Charlie kept her gaze on the doorway, refusing to look out the window to see the battle rage on. She knew her post, knew what was expected of her.

Her thoughts began to wander to Stephen. What was he doing? Where even was he? Is he safe? Probably not, knowing him.

Charlie heard Wanda gasp, finally turning to the battle where several razor gears flew across the terrain. The young girl bit her lip before turning to Wanda. “Go. They need you. I will do everything in my power to protect Vision.”

Wanda looked nervously at the table before she glanced back at the battlefield. Charlie was right. “Okay. I trust you.”

Charlie summoned shields on her fists, watching Wanda leave. The girl was on her own now, to protect the Avenger and the Wakandan Princess.

Suddenly shouting broke through the room, an alien with a strange spear quickly ridding of the guards. Charlie burst forwards, knocking him back with a shield and kicking out his knees before attempting to make a forcefield while Shuri sent blasts of light at him.

Charlie’s arms shook as she used every bit of her power to form the large forcefield before she was knocked back, her nose flaring with pain as the alien used the handle of the spear to break her nose, kicking Charlie to the ground as the orange sparks of the forcefield disappeared.

By the time Charlie could process what was happening, there was a crash as the alien and Vision went falling out the window.

“Shit!” Charlie spat, wiping blood from her nose on her sleeve. She ran over to be sure Shuri was alright before forming a portal, running through it at full speed.

Charlie wrapped her arms around the waist of the alien, who was poised over a shouting Vision while trying to remove the stone, pulling him to the ground. The martial arts skills Mordor had taught her were kicking in, as she pulled his arm around behind his back and wrapped her left leg around his right, which seemed his right side was his balance of power.

The alien snarled at her, writhing as Charlie rolled with him on the ground, slamming his face into the Wakandan dirt. “Stay. Away. From him.” Charlie hissed, before using orange sparks to wrap him and detain him, standing up from the ground out of breath.

Charlie looked up to see Vision staring at her with his jaw dropped, the girl giving him an amused smirk. “What, never seen a girl wrestle befo-MRRFPH!”

Suddenly Charlie was grabbed by the throat, thrown back. The alien grabbed it’s spear, thrusting it towards her as she blocked it with her shield, the point embedding in the orange sparks.

The alien was tackled down again by none other than Steve Rogers, who rolled on the ground with him. The alien began to choke him, and before Charlie could make a move Vision was standing over them, the spear plunged through the alien’s chest.

The three stood out of breath, Charlie and Steve helping Vision stand. “You okay?” Steve asked Charlie.

“Yeah. Just peachy.” Charlie replied, wiping her nose again as the blood began to dry.

Everyone began to convene in the clearing as a wind whipped through the clearing.

“Everyone on my position.” Steve spoke into his comm. “we have incoming.”

Charlie’s breath hitched in her throat, turning to see a blue smoky portal begin to form and a large figure step out. Her eyes widened as she saw him, her hands trembling. “No...”

Thanos.

Everyone each began to attack him, Charlie frozen in place as she debated what to do. Stephen would want her to hide, she needed to run, she—

Everything around Charlie froze.

Her eyes were fixed on the gauntlet that adorned Thanos’ hand.

And the glowing green stone that was placed upon the thumb knuckle of it.

No. She wasn’t going to run.

Charlie burst forwards, forming a shield in one hand and using the other to form an illusion. Three other Charlies surrounded him, the mad titan smirking and opening his mouth.

“How amusing. You’re just like him.”

Charlie let out a shout, running and jumping towards him as a big purple fist came at her shield, connecting with it and falling through the illusion as he stumbled, Charlie jumping from behind and pushing against his back with feet.

She held him in a headlock, twisting around as she formed an orange knife in her hand, ready to slide it across his throat, until he clenched his fist holding the gauntlet, the power stone glowing as a force of purple energy sent Charlie to the ground, the back of her head slamming on the dry soil.

Charlie let out a dry gasp, trying to get up but her head screamed in pain otherwise. She collapsed back down onto the dirt, staring ahead.

Why did the sky have to be so blue? Why was it such a beautiful day in Wakanda?

Charlie stared up at the sky in a daze, her ears ringing. The intense pain in her nose and head had numbed to her, her eyes becoming glossy as a tear slipped down her cheek.

This was not how her day off had gone planned.

She was supposed to be sitting in the Sanctum with Stephen and Wong, eating their sandwiches and chatting. They’d maybe visit Kamar-taj, sight-see around Nepal. Then they’d go to bed safe and sound to start another new day.

Charlie was pulled out of her thoughts by a flash of light, everything silent. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, finally biting through the pain and sitting up. Steve and Thor looked like they had just seen a ghost, and Thanos was no where to be seen.

“What’s... what’s going on?” Charlie stammered.

Thor looked up at Charlie in surprise, rushing over to her and helping her up. “Charlie? What are you doing here?”

Charlie opened her mouth to respond.

“Steve?” They all turned to Bucky, who in front of them just... collapsed and turned to dust.

Charlie stumbled away from Thor, looking at the pile of ash confused. She turned to see Wanda, T’Challa, hell, even Sam disintegrate into nothing.

She fell to her knees, Thor solemnly placing a hand on her shoulder as he darkly stared ahead, his mind drowning in his failure.

“Thor...” Charlie turned to look up at the god with a blank expression. “Did... did we just lose?”

Thor lowered his head, the teen’s eyes filling with tears as her ears filled with the mumbles of the distraught Avengers and distant cries of Wakandans as it all sank in.

They lost. They lost.

Death comes sneaking up like a thief in the night. It comes silent and disguised.

But this was different. Charlie watched death take it’s victory. She could hear it in the cries and final words of people as they fell into nothing.

Charlie and death stood nose to nose, the two regarding each other coldly and impartially.

But it spared her.

And for the next five years, she would be left to wonder if it would’ve been better if she had died instead of live a life of guilt.

Thor helped Charlie stand, the girl turning towards him. She flicked on her sling ring, looking up at the god.

“I have to leave.”

- - - - - -

A/N: I’m not going to lie to you, I totally used this chapter to show that lil Charlie is actually a total badass xx

Taglist: @knightofreaders @imabookworm31 @lizlil @viarogers

#avengers x teen reader #avengers x oc #avengers imagine iw #avengers x teen!reader #avengers x reader #avengers imagine #doctor strange x platonic oc #doctor strange x platonic!oc #doctor strange x apprentice!reader #doctor strange x platonic!reader #doctor strange x oc #doctor strange x reader #doctor strange imagine #stephen strange x platonic oc #stephen strange x platonic!oc #stephen strange x platonic!reader #stephen strange x oc #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange imagine #dr strange x oc #dr strange x reader #dr strange imagine #marvel x oc #marvel x reader #marvel imagine

[jj-lives]

Sweets - bmblb valentines short.

Okay a day late for Valentines, oops.  Hope you all enjoy anyway. 

@technicallyblakebelladonna 

———

Blake was eight when she was forced away from the safety of her home and thrust into an environment altogether unknown.  Absent from her home, friends, and family everything had an unpleasant sinister feel to it.  She was the only faunus in her new school which meant she became the target of ridicule all due to her oddities she could not control.  The words, insults, and slurs she’d only a half-grasped meaning of delivered with the angry voices of her peers upset her. The physical torment was worse, however.  Words she could ignore, become numb to, but the sharp elbows, the quick feet shoved to block and trip her and rough, unmerciful hands that grabbed for her ears, just to make sure they were real, had Blake running to find a hiding spot at recess.  

There was only one spot on the playground secluded and hidden enough. Blake rushed to the ball diamond’s furthest dugout wishing only to hold her tears off long enough for her to out of sight from her tormentors.  

She hadn’t expected the spot to already be occupied, but it was too late to turn to look for another.  Her tears broke free, salted streams tickling their way down her cheeks.  The blonde girl remained, sitting in the grass cross-legged, leaning back on the metal of the dugout.  She observed her unexpected visitor silently and all Blake could do was wait for the slurs, the names, the hurtful words to fall from the other girl’s lips.  

Instead she raised her hand, reaching out to Blake.  It took her a moment to blink burning tears from her vision enough to realize the girl was holding something.  Blake tentatively took the offered gift; a fruit gummy. Blake stared at it for the longest time, expecting a trick, not believing anyone in the school could be so kind.  

The other girl held out another one, refusing to drop her hand until Blake grasped it as well.  New treasure in hand Blake gently sat beside her, taking in the girl’s blonde hair and violet eyes now that her vision was returning as her tears dried.  She smiled gently at Blake before popping a red gummy into her own mouth.

Blake took her time chewing both gifts, savouring the fruity, sweetened taste.  

When the bell rang they made their way back to the school.  Blake hung a few steps behind wondering if she should ask the girl’s name, but as they stepped through the doors she turned the wrong way, leaving Blake to make her way to class alone.

————

She doesn’t care if it’s past curfew or that she’ll more than likely be in shit later. She just can’t stay here one more second.  She rushes out the front door, slamming it hard behind her on Mary’s demanding voice calling her back.  Blake starts running, letting her legs carry her through the familiar streets. Her vision is blurred by angered tears and she blinks them away furiously.  They aren’t worth it. But the more she repeats the phrase in her head the more her eyes burn.  

When she slows she finds herself at the elementary school.  She’s not sure why she always seems to find her way here, why the tightness in her chest unravels just a little bit at the sight, why her breaths come just a little easier as she takes in the grass smell making her way across the field. She’s not sure completely sure why this place is able to unburden her a little but she’s glad her feet keep carrying her here.

Blake drops to sit on one of the vacant swings and kicks her feet out.  The world gently sways around her as she focuses on her breathing.  The wet trails on her cheeks dry and Blake shivers int he coolness of the night air.  Her eyesight clears about the same time a pair of yellow converse shoes come into view.  

She’d recognize them anywhere, but their presence confuses her.  How would Yang know where to find her. But Yang answers at her questioning gaze before Blake can voice the query.

“Your last message…” Yang takes a deep breath before calmly sitting on the swing beside her. “I had a feeling you might need to escape there for a few hours. So I thought I would see if you were here.”  Yang is silent for a few long moments before quietely broaching the subject. “How bad is it really?”

“He ruined all of them.”

“All?” Blake can hear the anger in her voice, but she’s so far past angry.

“Every last sketch. He ripped every single one.”  Her breath hitches and she takes the time to wipe his face from her mind.  “My whole portfolio is ruined.  I’ll have to start all over again.”

“That took you months, he ca-“ Yang cuts herself off and it’s so unlike her that Blake finds herself turning to her neighbour for answers.  “You’re keeping your new portfolio at my house from now on but I can’t believe Adam would do that even after what you did for him the other day?”

“I think in some twisted way he did it because of what I did for him.” Blake sighs.

“You saved him from a beating and he ruins your entire art school portfolio?”

“I made him look weak.” Blake’s jaw tightens and her teeth clench painfully together.  “He was teaching me a lesson.”

Yang’s mouth opens and closes as she sways side to side, chains of the swing rattle above her.

“Blake, I want to help.”

“You can’t!” Blake takes a deep breath knowing she’s trying. “He’ll be eighteen in a month and will no longer be a ward of the state and I’ll never have to see him again.” She kicks at a small pebble on the ground, watches as it skips thought the grass. “And in a few more months time you won’t have to worry about me anymore. I won’t be a burden to you after I graduate.”

Yang sighs.  She stands taking Blake’s hand leading her across the field.  They round a familiar corner and suddenly Blake is taken back.  It seems another lifetime, yet she remembers the exact fear she’d felt their first meeting.  The comfort and happiness every other encounter elicited in her back then; the same feelings Yang has always, and still makes her feel.

“You always let me have the red ones.” She says head shaking side to side gently.

“They were your favourite.” Blake shrugs.

“But they were yours too.” Blake hadn’t ever told her that.  It was true of course. She always had a preference for the same ones as Yang, but it never felt right to take a single one, especially when it was Yang who chose to share them with her in the first place. “I made a vow back then you know.”

“A Vow?” She asks, confused at what an eight year old could possibly know about vows.

“I had this romanticized notion that because you let me have the red gummies…” She chuckles. “That it meant you were the love of my life.” Her smile is gentle and reminiscent of those recesses spent in near silence together.  “Can you imagine?” She asks, though Blake knows she’s not expecting an answer. “Basing a feeling as strong as love on a snack.”

“That would be too easy.”

“True,” Yang looks to the spot where the ghosts of your past selves can almost still be seen sitting side by side, passing fruit snacks between tiny hands. “My vow.” Violet orbs meet yours. “Was to always be at your side.”

“Yang.” Blake’s barely able to choke out, consumed by Yang’s words.  She’d like to brush them off as a child’s fantasy but the way Yang keeps her gaze and the resolute tone to her voice tells Blake that she still means it.  Yang still believes in her eight year old self’s vow.

Before she can find an argument to bring forth Yang is pulling her back around the dugout, hand still firmly gripping her own.

“I may have first thought I’d love you there, but that’s not where I fell in love with you.”

“Yang?”

“You were gentle and caring enough to give me every one of your favourite snacks, even though - had you asked - I would have given them to you freely. But you were also strong and determined enough to walk back into that house every night, even though you knew how much pain awaited you there.”  Yang’s voice lowers and Blake has to focus to not miss a word. “And you never let that kill your gentle side.  When you stood up for him, your tormentor, where he deserved none of your protection, just because it was the right thing to do… I couldn’t not fall in love with you in that moment.” Her feet halt and Blake’s follow a split second later.  “Right here.” She turns to smile brightly at you. “This is where you stood, berating and chasing off those stupid boys. This is where I fell in love with you… or where I finally realized that I had fallen at some point.”

“Yang, I-”

“I don’t have to say it back Blake.  That’s not why I’m telling you.”  Yang runs her hand through her hair. “I just want you to know there’s someone in this world that loves you and will always be here for you.” She makes a point to meet Blakes eye before continuing. Turning to pull Blake back to the swing set they’d vacated not long before “That no matter what, no matter what demons you’re battling or pain you’re in, I’ll always do my best to keep you safe…and happy if I can.”

“You do make me happy, Yang.” Blake pours all the emotion she can into those words. She wants Yang to know how important she is to her.  But she’s never been very good at verbally expressing her emotions. “You’re about the only person on this God forsaken planet that does, or that I do feel safe with.”

It’s then, as she bends to retrieve it, that Blake notices Yang’s backpack is leaning up against the pole of the swing’s rusted metal frame.  Yang grabs for it, loosening the ties to allow her access.  

“I was going to wait the two days until Valentine's Day but this seems like as good of time as any.” Yang says as she pulls a small container out of the bag.  It has a pink bow wrapped around it.  Yang hands it to her with a smile. “Happy early Valentine’s Day, Blake.”

This is the last thing Blake expects to find when she left her foster care home.  Even if she’d been expecting Yang to show up, she never would have thought she’d bring her a present. Carefully she pulls on the ribbon and watches as the material easily fell away. Lifting the lid she couldn’t help but giggle.  Inside was filled to the brim with gummy candy, all of them red.

“I wanted to ask if you’d be mine?” The hope in her voice is palpable and Blake knows it would kill her to refuse.

“Of course, we’re always eachother’s Valentines.” Blake smiles grabbing one of the gummies bringing it to her lips.  It has been an unspoken rule as far back as Blake can remember.  No one ever seemed to catch either of Blake or Yang’s attention during the holiday.  They’d each had their fair share of offers that they’d turned down, nothing seeming more favourable than a day spent in each others company.  

“That’s good to know.” Yang ducks her head, staring at herr shoes before she gains the courage to look Blake in the eye again. “But I didn’t mean as just my Valentine this year.”

“I don’t g-“

“Will you be my girlfriend?” Yang asks hurriedly.  She scratches the back of her right wrist with her left hand, a nervous tick she’s had for as long as they’ve been friends. “It’s really okay if you’d rather not.  I understand why you wouldn’t want-“ she winces at whatever she was about to voice. “I mean if you’d rather just stay friends than I won’t have a problem keeping everything ju-“

Blake can’t take it anymore, her rambling although cute is only working Yang up into a more nervous state.  Her poor wrist was going to be sore with how she was worrying it.  Blake’s hand gently falls to still Yang’s fidgeting and not a second later her lips descend to stop the others running mouth.  The surprised sound that Yang makes the second their lips meet might just be the cutest thing Blake has ever heard.  When she pulls away Yang’s eyes are glazed and she has the most adorable grin playing on her lips.

“Does that mean-“ Blake presses her lips quickly to Yang’s once more.  She was always better with showing than telling.  When Yang just stares at her but doesn’t say anything more Blake starts to worry.  “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, just thinking is all.”

“About?”

“How I’m going to miss those red sweets.”

Blake rolls her eyes. “We can share them, Yang. Just because I’m your girlfriend doesn’t mean I’m going to demand all your favourite snacks.”

A tongue pokes out from Yang’s mouth and brushes slowly along her lower lip. “But they taste so much better on your lips.”

Yang’s laughter fills the night air as Blake’s face heats up.  She wants to be mad at Yang for poking fun at her but when strong arms encircle her she can feel the mirthful spasms transfer from Yang’s body to hers and it pulls a smile from Blake instead of a scowl.  

Besides how can she be mad at Yang when she was willing to give up her candy in hopes of using the excuse to kiss her more?

“Happy early Valentine’s Day, Blake.” Yang whispers into her hair.

Blake tucks her head more firmly under Yang’s chin. “Happy early Valentine’s Day, Yang.”

#bumbleby #my writing #Au fanfic #for valentines #but it’s late

[branch--chief--faba]

Branch-Chief--Faba

It's me, the former owner of branch-chief--faba. 

Someone I know pointed out the post @trash-troll made and after reaching out to them they did imply me with their post. So let's start out with the obvious; me writing this post means I'm alive.  Though I should add 'barely' to that. 

Trash-Troll showed me screenshots of people talking about me. And after them convincing me to do it I've decided to write my version of what happened or more importantly.. how I feel about the whole thing. I am not here to debunk anything.. because it will become a he said/she said thing. Let’s just go into this wall of text by saying both parties fucked up.

The end of 2017 and all of 2018 were pretty bad for me, mentally. I was hurt and lost and I didn't know what to do. A year prior to that I made the blog.  It was fun! I never had so many people reaching out to me and willing to spend time to me. That was a whole new experience and in hindsight I didn't know how to deal with it. This isn't me debunking or saying something did or didn't happen but I guess I was in over my head. I had never been popular or even had friends before. Or friends who weren't forced to hang with me because of college or them being co-workers. You know how proud I was that people found me cute or pretty when I posted a selfie? Yeah that never happened before. It boosted my self esteem sky high. 

I did some things that in hindsight weren't smart or downright stupid. I let people play me. I fought battles for people I should have never fought. I was just so afraid that if I didn't do it- they leave and I'd be alone again. I didn’t purposely stick my nose in other’s business. I just wanted to help and now i feel that some people really took advantages of that. In that sense this blog was both a blessing.. and a curse for me. I was so obsessed with keeping everyone happy that I forgot my own happiness and I forgot to look further than the tip of my nose and to please some people I hurt some others, unintentional at the time.. but I understand now and I’m sorry.

I can only apologise for it now. I am to blame for my actions even though they were inspired by others and sometimes it was peer pressure.  I admit that I should've been stronger when i was in a discord made to slam a group of people. I've been a fool and absolutely stupid. You know those PSA’s when they tell you doing nothing is as bad as the bullying? Yeah. At times i was the bystander... and I wish I could undo it but I can’t. 

I feel like (now that I've seen screenshots..) that sometimes I was set up to vent about a person only for it to be shared. Was it fair for me to vent? Yes and no. In my eyes- I was hurt by a few people and I thought the person i was talking to (this venting only happened one on one, never in a group.) was someone I could trust. I know better now and I feel stupid. I said things in pure emotion and in confidence. I was angry and hurt and I just wanted to vent those feelings. Again, I'm the fool for walking into such an obvious trap. I don't blame anyone but myself. I should’ve know better. I really should. However, this isn't just about me. 

There are things people did that are wrong too. Things that hurt me. I will never forget me finding the courage to call someone out on how their actions harmed me mentally and them saying that 'It was my own fault for being too emotionally attached to them'. That's painful and that hurts, even today it haunts me to my core. 

I won't forget that I was doxxed, that i got daily anons to kill myself, that they wish I had cancer, etc.  Even though I enjoyed writing Faba up till that point I just had to slow down. I had up to 1000 asks at the end of it and a lot of them were nasty anons. I deleted one and two came in it's place. Eventually I just had to stop for my own sanity.  I know people suggested and would suggest now that I just should’ve turned the anons off but again. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought that turning them off would mean people wouldn’t like me anymore, because there were good anons too! I figured ‘why should they suffer because of a few’ and in hindsight.. I should’ve just turned the anons off. I know hindsight is 20/20 but.. 

It was around that time almost everything went sour and I still don't know why. This is not me being a idiot, I really don't know why. I am still so socially awkward and figuring out human emotions is hard for me. Sometimes I don't understand until someone tells me 'Hey I'm mad at you because you did X or Y' I'm working on it though but it's not easy.

I won’t forget how a duo of a cis man and a cis woman reached out to someone and pretended to be a gay couple. And I will never forgive myself for not stopping it.  And if you were the victim of this and if you read this then I’m so sorry. Know that I am absolutely disgusted with myself.

I will not forget how a new discord was made without me.. and the reason I wasn’t welcome? I was a supposed transphobe. I am not. Since deleting I’ve had A LOT of time to myself and I came to few conclusions about my gender and my sexual identity. DO NOT even think about use my dead name. I can’t believe someone would say that about me. 

I know people think I’m just some money hound and out for that but I’m not. I don’t give a single shit about money. I care about happiness and I’m not getting it and because of it I’m not growing as a person.

I won’t forget how hurt I was by the actions of a few. And I can’t forget because I feel it .. even today. It consumes me and I already hear people laughing about it. Because ‘haha look at this dumb fuck, right? It’s been a year.” but I just can’t. It’s etched so deep inside me that it makes me sick. 

I know you know who I'm talking about it. And I know you know it's you. I’m doing a favour and not tag anyone I’m going to leave the responsibility to owe up to your actions to you and if you don’t.. then that also speaks volumes about you as a person.  And those people I'm talking about need to take a good hard look at themselves. Instead of posting that 'the evil is defeated' gif or celebrating someone deleting out of despair. Because this is not the only story to tell. There are LOADS more. Trash-Troll showed me. Please just be kinder..

I cannot change the past and I will never deny myself having some part in it.. but no one should feel like I do over fandom stuff. NO ONE. And no one can really help you if you see someone get doxxed, bullied or threatened and you sit back thinking 'eh they deserve it' no one deserves it. I know we live in an age where internet is part of our lives. But for many the internet is a safe space where they can just be a little looser than usual.  Just block people.

What happened after I left this blog? I started by deleting my Discord, there were too many bad memories attached to it so I just dumped the whole thing out. I send a message explaining why I did it and send a few people who I thought I could trust my new discord. That not a single soul accepted my new friend request.. yeah that stung pretty hard. So, after keeping it up for two months and resending the friend requests.. I just deleted that one too. 

I stopped using my other socials, Facebook, Twitter, Instagram. I had to quit my job. If you can recall it wasn't a job that required a lot of thinking so my thoughts were allowed to run wild. Sometimes I started working and I just didn't know how I got to the end of my shift. It was just.. there. I'd black out thinking about the whole mess. I was feeling numb for months, nothing would bring me joy or sadness. It was like I was stuck in the ocean. Just below the surface and not being able to reach out. I could see people on the shore and I could swear they could see me too, but it was safer to let me drown. 

I deleted all my tumblrs too. All of them. I didn't want anything to do with this place. I moved to twitter for a bit when I got lonely but that didn't stick. I had a few odd conversations but Twitter isn’t really the best place to talk about things I figured. 

I tried to get myself to draw and write again but I couldn't.. I just couldn't.  I tried but every time I opened a word document or put pen on paper I'd get antsy and panic-y.  I couldn't bring myself to create anything at all. Not writing, not art, nothing. Even drawing original characters or other fandom stuff. I couldn't. 

I was and still am too afraid to share anything with anyone.  My brain goes through a whole series of 'what ifs' when i'm trying to write or draw. "What if they like it and we get talking and I mess up again." or "What if I put a lot of effort in a work and people will ignore it on purpose because they know it's me?" those kinds of thoughts.  

My whole memory is warped. What really happend and what did my brain make up. I am not saying I’m not to blame for things, either partly or wholly but I NEVER had the intention to hurt people on purpose. I’m not hiding behind anything but fact remains that I am socially malformed. I don’t understand things. I spend the first 16 years of my life basically talking to no one and when I did.. I was the ‘weird kid’ or I heard my peer saying ‘Don’t talk to the freak.. so weird!’  I was never raised to be social and then I was dropped in a very social group full of very colourful people.I didn’t know how to handle it and it drove me literally nuts. 

I feel into a deep depression and the last two months of 2018 are a haze for me. I barely remember anything. I don’t remember Christmas, I don’t remember New Years. It’s a blur.  I almost died a couple of times, it's no secret. And for that I have the permanent reminder...  I'm glad I didn't do it though.

Now it's 2019 and 2019 is almost over; how am I doing now? 

Not much better. I still have the fear to create. I want to but I can’t. I still barely touch my socials because of my paranoia of people finding me and the whole circus starting again.  I use my instagram because of cosplay commission stuff and I only use my Twitter to support some artists on there. Even then I keep this ‘neutral-someone-everyone-can-like-persona’ just this safe ‘brand type’ posts. 

I'm only back on Tumblr for this and I won't be coming back. This isn't a revival tour. It's like one last song to send everyone on their way. 

Please leave others alone. I truly am not on Tumblr and do not plan to come back not now or ever. I do not have a sneaky hidden blog. All the blogs I used to own are either dead or I just gave it to people who used to own blogs with me.

It's very painful for me to write this all out. I know I'm missing a lot of parts. To summarise;  while I did some things that I'm not proud of. I cannot believe the lengths people went to to make me feel horrible about myself. 

I cannot believe you guys would share some things about me that I wanted to keep private. That I thought was pretty private and you would understand.  I'm sickened by the lies told about me and disgusted that it's still going in 2019, almost a year after I deleted everything. 

I gave my new discord to people and those people never accepted and that's fine, it hurts but it's fine. I never bothered them or sought contact. I will admit that I once accidentally send a snapchat to someone.. but I promise that was an honest accident. I didn’t mean to. But I just don't get the feeling the same thing is happening and I have proof from people that I'm right.  

Can you not post my trauma for all to see? That's not justice that's just being a dick... I have no other word for it. Being an evil dick. I never spoke badly about any of you after the whole thing. I will admit that .. in my anger when it all was going on, I did vent to people and TRUST me I regret that. I thought it would stay between us but it leaked.. 

Do the same for me and please have the decency to apologise for the things you did and just..  stop putting my private shit online without my consent. What I shared, I shared because I felt I could trust people. It was never about sympathy because I do not want it. 

You gain nothing except the satisfaction that you gave me a kick again by sharing it. Which is a horrendous move. You’re not getting even, you’re winning at being a dick.. 

I want to be left alone. I want that confirmation of 'hey we're leaving you alone now'. I want to go back before I was paranoid. It’s not a fun thing. It’s maddening to think something behind EVERYONE’s action. Deep down.. I know better but I can’t stop. It’s a problem and I’m working on it.

I want NOTHING to do with Pokemon OR it's fandom.  I won't be purchasing games or other media from it. I just gave away my copies of the 3DS games to people who wanted them. The whole thing is too triggering to me. 

I wish I could pick up a pencil or pen and draw and write again without having a panic attack and I wish I could show myself on my private social media again without people watching me. 

I know you guys doxxed me before using my Facebook- It's not weird of me to think people could do it again.

I don't mind it, if you hit me up and talk to me via this blog. You can reply to this post or just us DM.  My only rule is to be civil. I am being civil too even though I feel empty, numb and sick. 

And finally.. I apologise for EVERYONE who people thought were me. You don’t deserve that. No one does. 

Well I guess this mystery is solved, what happens next is wholly up to you. I am not going to reach out myself. I made that promise. 

I’m posting this because I have nothing else left to lose. Please show me you’re capable of human decency.  And some things only God can forgive. That goes for me too. 

And just to proof it’s me; I will be tagging this post as I always did; using my old tags. 

#branch-chief--faba #spring bean text #faba #branch chief faba #pokemon #pokemon rp #pokemon rp community #aether foundation

[zuraoftheblack]

Devoid

My eyes opened, gaze slowly focusing amidst the shock and confusion. Shards of glass, fractured stone and fragments of swiftly evaporating aether were scattered across the unstable ground all around me. The gate was closed, broken... but despite my wounds, I could only think of Lua. She had been here... where was she? I attempted to stand, only to fall before getting even to my knees, my face roughly returning to the solid ground. An inexorable tide of exhaustion weighed upon me as though a mountain was upon my back. I couldn't even stand... My silent pleas were finally answered after several excruciating minutes of uncertainty as I felt myself being picked up by another. I knew her hands, and I knew her warmth. It was Lua, and I didn't have to see her to know. Even before she had fully lifted me into her arms, I had succumbed to the fatigue, going limp and losing consciousness... 《Previously》

"...at the Crystal Tower..." "...way to the First..." "...throw wide the gates..." The conversation was still fresh in the minds of Lua and I as we compared all we had just experienced since our collective fall in the battle against Zenos. While we shared many dear embraces and expressed much relief at each other's wellbeing, a tension ran beneath the surface. It didn't take words to express that we both felt that our fight was cut short; our victory not yet complete, not while an Ascian still walked in the crown prince's body. Thus when our next and only lead was the man with the crystal arm, we dove headlong into research as soon as we left the Rising Stones. Already, we possessed the choicest morsels of knowledge from the Gubal Library in our home- something we both helped with- and we set to work accumulating what we knew. Through the archives we tore, until finally we discovered what we had been searching for. In a personal record of our travels, Lua found where she had met with Minfilia, who was taken by Hydaelyn at the time. The journal reminded us of the worlds outside our own, of the thirteen surrounding the Source- the star in which we resided. In the ensuing discussion about the potential to cross over between worlds, I suddenly remembered an endeavor that I had looked into many moons past, and dug up the dusty scroll upon which I had written my findings. I had never put it into practice due to a substantial risk and no definite success, but suddenly it became our best bet. Tataru and the remaining Scions may be doing their best to discover what kind of beacon may be around the Crystal Tower, but Lua and I would not simply sit idle. We would make our own gate. It's difficult to recall how it all started to go wrong... At first, everything was just as we had planned. By combining Allagan aetherology with Sharlayan astromancy, we were able to pinpoint this "First World" we had heard of. With the combined disciplines we could search not only across that which exists as we can see it, but also across a more subtle dimension between which all things exist. For lack of a better term, I call this "the gap." I know not whether this truly exists or if it's simply the empty expanse across the cosmos- indeed, from Omega, we learned it was possible to physically traverse the beyond from one star to another. Either way, we located a world of similar size and dimension to our own, and with uncanny swiftness as well. We may not have found the beacon proper, but it could very well have pointed us in the right direction.

Soon, it came time to test our discovery. Using my previously written methods, we took control of the teleportation gate at the broken Eight Sentinels that overlooked the Crystal Tower. Some engineers of the Ironworks who were far more adept at Allagan technology were happy to lend us a hand with the technical details. With a massive amount of aether in the crystallized landscape around us, we began to override the original destination of the Labyrinth and set a new course to the First.

Immediately, the gate began to shift and fluctuate, the Ironworks’ devices sparking and buckling under the strain. Lua dashed to our helpers’ side, leading them away and ensuring that none of them would come to harm while I ran to the devices. If anything was going to explode, I would do my best to keep the damage minimal and away from those who couldn’t easily defend themselves. As I checked the equipment, a blast of blinding, debilitating light overwhelmed my senses and sent me reeling back. The gate had opened. No words can describe the sensation that flowed over us as light flooded from the gate. It was so intense as akin to staring into the sun, yet it felt... cold. Indifferent. Emotionless.

Then, as I struggled to see, a creature emerged from the gate. Shrouded by blinding light as it was, I couldn't make out many details, and those that I could were terrible and unnatural, beady black eyes that looked at me from a curved, inhuman frame that seemed not to follow the limits of nature. From its head dangled writhing tentacles that were uneven in shape and number, and two gangly, emaciated arms clawed at the stone ground in stark contrast to its smooth and elongated body. If there were other details, they were lost to me in the light. Immediately, I moved to defend myself, harnessing my dark arts and giving way to my darkside. It wasn't until later that I realized the creature struck me in that instant in a way I could not see. The familiar bursts of pale static and swirling red lights burst from my form in a display of dark power... only to vanish but a moment later. Try as I might, I could not harness even the smallest shadow to fight back. The arts I wove did not react, and the sword suddenly felt heavy and unwieldy in my hands, forcing me to let it drop, scraping against the ground as I struggled to lift it with my menial physical strength. I was weak, and I called out to my darkside for answers. There was no response. So much had happened to me so fast, the attack was coming for me before I noticed it. I looked up, a weaponized beam of light heading straight for me. Stripped of my power and kneeling, I was to be erased then and there. I lowered my head, having no time nor energy to do anything else. I closed my eyes, and darkness enveloped me. ...and then I opened them to see the bringer of that darkness standing before me, shadows blocking out the light and bringing to me a distinct sense of comfort... like warm blankets and hot cocoa. Lua stood between me and the pale creature of light, her darkness peeling away and returning to her, shreds of red swirling in sync to a deep cadence within her. Even while I could not see her face, firmly pointed towards our enemy as it was, I could imagine it well. Teeth gritted, eyes ablaze, her razor-sharp gaze cutting deeper than the blade in her hand. To see her- no, to *feel* her drinking so deeply of the dark and brimming with an untamed force in my defense was enough to distract me from all the woes of the moment. But only for a moment. Lua launched herself towards the fiend, her blade wreaking havoc on the ground as the creature twisted and dodged in impossible ways. It fixed its gaze upon her, perhaps seeking to strip her of her power in the same way it had done to me but received only a fist to the face for its trouble. Darkness followed through with her blow, passing over the creature, causing it to writhe like a beheaded serpent in pain. Lua struck it again, this time with her blade, managing to slice off a handful of the tentacles from its face. As I watched the battle unfold, I pulled myself to my feet and limped over to a crate of supplies, keeping both eyes on Lua and the creature. Digging into the crate, I quickly withdrew a rough crystal to use as a focus; not an ideal one, but I had no desire to prolong the conflict for the sake of a more perfect tool. If I could just destroy the machines holding open the gate, it would close and hopefully kill the fiend in the process.

I held the crystal aloft and shot a quick burst of lightning towards the gate mechanism. I gasped in surprise as the blast left my hand... and an overwhelming pain cascaded from my extremities to my core. It felt as though I were consumed by a terrible fire for only a second, only for it to jarringly subside into a cold numbness. I was utterly bereft of strength. I couldn't so much as break my fall as my body went limp and my vision blurred. I heard sparks flying mixed with otherworldly screams, catching only the most distant sound of Lua's voice as I toppled over, passing out before I hit the ground. ... I don't remember anything that happened for a few days, but I'm told that I was bedridden and rarely conscious. As I awoke, the numbness was still pervasive. The first thing I saw was Lua looking back at me, tired and teary-eyed, and I was pulled into a careful embrace. As I settled in and she helped me get comfortable, she told me of all that had happened. My plan had worked, the gate beginning to close after losing a vital component and dealing significant damage to the creature. However, it managed to escape back to its own world before the gate collapsed entirely. The gate itself suffered significant damage, but when I wasn't waking up, she concentrated only on keeping me safe. Once home, Lua used some connections in Gridania to get the services of a Padjal when her own healing bore little fruit. What they sensed confirmed Lua's fears, and she took a moment to steel herself before giving me the verdict. Where there was once an inexhaustible fount of aether within me, nary a trace remained. The very source of my strength, of my black magic and dark arts both, was stolen in an instant. That alone was enough to force the breath out of me and drop the blade from my hands, but it was when I cast the bolt that I truly endangered myself. With no aether left, the magic I wove drew upon the closest thing it could find- my very essence. Long ago, I had overexerted myself in a similar way; a haphazard cast had begun to affect me and the color that drained from my hair was symbolic of my fate. This time I had come close to exhausting every last onze of my being- or more accurately, my soul. Looking in the mirror, I'm almost unrecognizable, even to myself. My hair is completely white, drained of color as I was nearly drained of life. Even my eyes are colorless, vacant as a blind man's.

... Given time and rest, I will slowly recover, but the well of aether I had possessed for so long is gone, and with it, any hope of spellcasting; but even more than that, the way that I function must change. I used my aether to get from place to place, to pull back a bow, to lift a sword. As an individual I'm surviving, but as a Warrior of Light... I won't stand a chance. What's more, my mind has become an awfully lonely place. My darkside has gone as well, missing at the same time as my aether. Try as I might, the abyss will not heed my call. It's an odd sensation; I hadn't known until now just how much comfort there was in having my darker half to talk to and rely upon. There, however, lies the detail that I brought up to Lua as we sat together, talking this over. My darkside isn't with me anymore, but I believe it isn't gone. We are two halves of a whole, connected to each other's very existence. If one of us were to be cast into the void, then the other would surely follow... and yet, I remain. I don't know where he is, the darkness of my soul, but I know that he's still out there. We may be a world away, but I'll find myself again, one way or another. I've gone through too much- waged wars and made peace with myself- to give up now. I will reconcile again with the abyss, and when I do, I will hunt down the creature that did this to me with Lua at my side, the abyss in my grasp and a blade on my back. All I have to do is stay alive until then. To Be Continued...  ...in Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers

#short story #ffxiv #ffxiv spoilers #4.5 spoilers #4.56 spoilers #a requiem for heroes #Shadowbringers

[amemixfan]

As agreed: Alain is rescued by Tired Millenial Too Done With This Bullshit

(Some spoilers) This takes place during Saerys’ route following the Witch Queen’s invasion of Chicago.

It is much too early for this shit.

The thought registers in my head as my phone begins to ding with incoming notifications. Police sirens and the wail of ambulances is deafening as I hurry through the streets of Chicago. My first thought this morning, when I saw the headlines playing across my phone, was that there was a mass shooting of some sort or an earthquake, yet I know now this is not the case. The explosions rocking the ground below is not an earthquake, the screaming and pushing people are not the result of a shooting, and the bright lights visible in the skyline are not man-made.

My phone buzzes in my hand with another news headline as I run. “CHICAGO ATTACKED, PRESIDENT TO DECLARE STATE OF EMERGENCY”. Accompanying the article is a shaky cellphone video captured by someone in the middle of the fray. Police officers run from place to place in the video and something resembling a storm of ice shards rains down from a nearby high-rise. The video cuts off when the camera person is shoved by a human stampede running away from the scene.

More articles follow in quick succession after that one until my phone grows hot in my hand and permanently buzzes with more notifications. I have no time to read them before I arrive in the middle of Downtown Chicago. The sounds of police sirens and bullets is deafening. My blood freezes in my veins.

There are police cars everywhere forming a defense around the street, SWAT vehicles unload squads into the streets, and emergency barricades are erected blocking bystanders from skyscrapers. Orders are shouted in every direction in quick succession and the entire scene resembles that of a low-rated action movie.

This entire scene resembles a Hollywood set up, a movie or college art project, yet the screaming and panic is very real. People push past each other to evade something from above. I see people in business attire run as fast as they can away from the scene. A particular high-rise is awash in blues and whites, lights and smoke pouring out of its top, and something swirls around the roof like a vortex of energy and power. The startled employees escape from it in droves and soldiers shove past them to charge into the fray.

My phone falls from my hand and the screen shatters on the sidewalk. Shock numbs my entire body and I feel like a deer caught in headlights.

This can’t be real, it all seems like special effects, yet I know it is. Chicago is under attack by something major and I have no idea what to do.

Police officers push people away from the area and shout orders. Behind them, the military is busy fighting something off. I can see our soldiers in uniforms firing off bullets and dodging blasts of something potent, but they seem to be losing a major battle. Men and women donning blue and white armor face them off with medieval weapons and swords.

If I couldn’t smell the smoke in the air, feel the fear charged in the atmosphere, and taste something acrid and bitter with every inhale, I would almost laugh. The entire thing seems larger than life or comical. I half expect a director to scream “Cut” and stop the mad scene playing out before me.

A blast hits the cement nearby and blue magic explodes in a shower of sparks. The ground trembles from the impact and I can taste something incredibly bitter in the air. The explosion knocks some sense back into me and I find I can move again. Adrenaline flares under my skin and I follow the frenzied crowd away.

I was caught outside this morning, on my way to work when the entire thing broke out, and now I am stuck in Chicago as the world plunges into chaos. Survival instincts kick into overdrive and I weave past the stampede around me. I haven’t run in years, my college track days are over, yet I can still make it far away. If I can at least get back to my apartment and away from all of this, I can go from there-

Another impact rocks the ground below and I have to steady my balance as the world shakes. Blue energy pours from the sky in the form of ice and rains down on the soldiers. Magic, something I was sure did not exist up until five minutes ago, swirls around the world and blocks the sun from view. Although it was barely 8 in the morning when I stepped out of my apartment and into the Chicago streets, now it seems like midnight. The entire city is under darkness and only the lights from nearby businesses illuminate the scene.

I glance at the chaos before me once more and catch sight of someone nearby. American soldiers and soldiers in blue armor clash everywhere, it is hard to keep up with them as they square off and fire bullets at each other or levy swords in different directions, yet I see someone slumped on the ground.

He is dressed in blue armor, an enemy soldier from the looks of it, yet his eyes are closed and blood pours from a head wound. His chest rises and falls slowly, too slowly, and he is in incredible danger of being trampled where he lies.

If he belongs to the tealed soldiers, he seems to have been abandoned. His army men jump over him in attempts to fight and no one bothers to check up on his injuries. Almost weakly, he moves in place and attempts to drag himself away from the chaos of the fight. Something about his form seems repentant, terrified, and I wonder if he truly intends to be here. He is wearing blue, like the attackers, yet something in me doubts he belongs to them.

Another burst of magic hits the pavement near him and the ground pulses. If he does not move, he will be hit by an ice shard or a black tendril. I wait for him to drag himself away or move, but he just lies on the ground. It seems like he has resigned himself to his fate, surrendered his life to whatever is happening around us, and something flares up under my skin.

Without even thinking about it, my body is moving in his direction. I have no time to dwell on what I am doing, no second to even consider the ramifications of my actions, as I dodge a barricade and rush at his side.

“What’s wrong with you?” I breathe it out quietly and reach him just as another magic spell hits the ground. It misses me by a few inches and the blast blows my head to the side. A cold rush of air hits and I shiver. If I am hit by one of those things, I am sure the impact will be deadly.

I grab the man’s arm and jostle his shoulder. He makes a noise under his breath and his eyes open briefly. A startling blue-gray gaze blinks back at me with disorientation before he fades from consciousness again. He is too weak to even remain awake.

I hiss a curse under my breath and glance at the scene around us. We are in the middle of a battlefield and people sidestep us in an attempt to fight. My heartbeat is a dull roar in my ears as I grab the man by the torso.

Why am I doing this? This is crazy and unlike me. Every instinct in me tells me to run, to flee from the scene and go to safety, that is the most logical and smart thing to do, yet my body refuses to comply. As if by some higher force, a stronger power, I am compelled forward. The universe seems intent on making me help.

Without even thinking, I brace myself and lift. The man is heavy, much taller than me, and I almost buckle under the weight of his armor. My teeth grit and I manage to push him up until he is almost standing. He sways as I wrap one of his arms over my shoulders and use my body to prop him up.

This is crazy, insane, probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, yet something in me tells me to do it. A voice inside my head orders me to obey, the universe seems intent on turning me into a puppet, and I am powerless to resist it.

“Hang on,” I hiss under my breath. I have no idea whether I am talking to myself or the stranger I am holding up.

He’s heavy and much larger than me, the scene we make must be comical. I am barely past 5 feet and he is a full foot taller, yet I manage to hold him steady. The back of my neck begins to sweat and I take a few painful steps away from the chaos.

Mercifully, the stranger begins to come to his senses. Blue eyes open again and he blinks wearily at the scene below. His body, on autopilot, begins to cooperate with me and he limps at my side.

Our eyes meet and he looks almost startled for a second. It seemed like he was intent on dying tonight, perhaps yearned for it, and is surprised he is being given the chance to live.

“Why?”

His voice is barely above a whisper and it is a miracle I can hear it with the wail of sirens and screaming all around me.

I grit my teeth and tug him along with me. He easily steps over the police line and finds his footing. His weight becomes less heavy as some of the strength returns to his body and he follows me without resistance.

I bite the inside of my cheek and feel irritation simmer under my skin. ‘Why’ is a good question.

“I don’t know why,” I snap, “Because the fucking universe compelled me.”

My words make no sense but the entire world is plunged into chaos. Sanity and order are nonexistent. I doubt I have to worry now about speaking clearly.

The stranger at my side says nothing. I glance at him and realize he is starting to lose consciousness again. I shake him lightly to keep him awake and huff under my breath as we make it away from the chaos and into a quieter back alley.

“Don’t pass out on me, you’re too heavy,” I warn.

Ignoring me, he loses consciousness and slumps against the ground. I manage to avoid being caught under him and slip from under his arm. He slides down the alley wall and is out like a light. I huff and glance at the array of streets I still have to drag him down to reach my apartment.

It is much too early for this shit.

 —-

It feels like hours by the time I make it back to my apartment. Away from the Downtown area with the fight underway, everything seems quiet. I make it to my door and manage to shake the person awake once more.

I slam my apartment door behind me and bolt it for good measure. The stranger regains consciousness as I shove him on my couch. He makes a weak noise as his injuries begin to ache. I can see blood running down a side of his head, platinum hair turning red, and his armor looks like it has seen better days. I can’t imagine what possessed anyone to think that attacking America in renfare cosplay was a good idea.

There is a first aid kit under my sink, I pull it out and take a moment to catch my breath. I can see my reflection in the metal. My hair is a mess from running, my face is covered in cement dust from the explosions, and my cheeks are flushed with the strain of lugging a 6-foot-something guy behind me through Chicago.

This entire thing makes no sense, I feel like I plunged down the rabbit hole and entered a world distorted and out of order, yet I have no time to dwell on anything. My phone is lost somewhere in Chicago so I dive for the TV and turn it to a local news station as I make my way to the stranger.

“Are you alright?” I ask. I can’t keep some of the irritation and worry out of my voice.

He is awake, I realize, and he takes in my apartment with shock. He curls in on himself as far as his armor will allow and flinches away from my hand. He seems terrified, confused, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I raise the first-aid kit in my hand and show it to him, “Let me look at your injuries.”

“Who are you?”

His voice is quiet, raspy from misuse, and he presses a hand to his head injury disoriented. By the way he looks at me and the quick blinks he takes, I have a feeling he expects this to be some optical illusion. Perhaps he hit his head and believes this is some bizarre dream he will wake up from soon.

A part of me also wonders if this is all a dream. Perhaps I rolled out of bed in the middle of the night and hit my head on the nightstand. Maybe if I close my eyes real tight, I will wake up with a welt on my forehead the size of a golf ball and Chicago will be back to normal. None of this feels real and everything seems so dizzying and confusing.

The TV plays the ‘Breaking News’ sound effect and I turn at the same time the stranger does.

“CHAOS IN CHICAGO, CITY UNDER ATTACK” reads the headline. Cellphone video from the fight plays at a low volume and I see magical spells being lobbed back and forth. The army rolls into the city in tanks and the entire world trembles as the battle continues.

Streets away from downtown, far from the fight, I still feel the tremor of the earth as another blast rocks the city. This isn’t a dream, I realize, my imagination is not that impressive.

I remind myself to breathe and keep going. Something is happening out there, something that makes absolutely no sense, and I have to keep going forward. A shark that stops swimming sinks to the bottom and I have no desire to drown just yet.

“Let me look at you,” I repeat. My voice sounds a little harsh so I stop and make it sound softer. The stranger is already frightened of me and I do not want to give him a reason to be even more afraid. “You’re bleeding.”

I interned over the summer as a camp counselor for preschool aged kids, I know how to make myself seem soft and kind when I need to. I inch closer slowly as if the stranger were a frightened deer encountered on a trail, and I make sure he has a plain view of my hands. He eyes me wearily as I grow closer.

When he does not shrink away, I take that as my cue to gently move his head to the side. There is an ugly gash obscured by his hair and I almost wince sympathetically. It looks like someone roughed him up before leaving him to die on the floor. Blood continues to run down his wound and I tilt his head back further to get a good look at it.

He won’t need stitches, I realize with some relief, but he does need some bandages ASAP.

“What’s happening out there?” I ask. The TV is still blaring more cellphone video and reporters are talking rapidly into the camera. I half listen to it as I open the first-aid kit.

“-Army deployed to Chicago in what appears to be an attack. President declares State of Emergency. The city of Chicago is being placed under Martial Law until the threat is neutralized-”

The stranger winces as I press a bandage to his wound. He still seems a little out of it, so I make my voice seem even kinder. The last thing I need is him losing it in the middle of my apartment. If the city is under attack by the people in his armor, I need to be careful.

“What’s your name?” I inquire. I tell him my name first, just to break the ice, and wait for him to reply.

He inches back from my touch once I finish securing the bandage on the side of his head and brings his knees up to his chest. His entire body is quivering and I have no idea if it is from pain or fear. Perhaps both.

Whatever he has gone through, I have a feeling it is more than just the battle that is playing on his mind. His eyes are distant, red-rimmed, and I wonder what kind of demons are locked up in his gaze. Something awful must have happened to him if it reduced him into a shaking leaf jumping from every little noise. A feeling of pity settles over me and I press my lips thin.

“Alain,” he replies. He says it slowly, as if he needs a reminder of his own identity, and I clench my fingers into a fist.

What does a person go through to be reduced like this? The stranger, Alain, seems like an empty shell of something human. He jumps when the TV makes another noise and glances at the door as if he expects someone to break in and drag him away.

I block his view of the television and glance at his armor. There must be more injuries underneath it, I just need him to remove it.

Taking a deep breath in through my nose, I lower my voice. It is very, very insane that I have brought a complete stranger into my home, especially when he is dressed like the ones attacking Chicago, but something in me whispers that I am doing the right thing. The Universe or whatever compelled me to drag him away from a burning city and into a safe place now tells me that there is something larger than me at play here. Me helping this stranger seems almost fated somehow, destined, and I have no idea how to feel about it.  

“Alain,” I test out his name slowly and he blinks almost as if he had forgotten I was still here. It seems, for a moment, he had receded into some dark abyss in his mind. His body shakes and some of the color further drains from his face. Whatever he had been remembering, it was awful.

I tap his armor and feel how cold it is. Ice crystals have collected over the front and there are markings as if someone had hit it repeatedly. Maybe I was right, maybe he was roughed up before being abandoned.

“Can I see your injuries? I need to treat them,” I raise my hands before me to show him again that I am not going to hurt him. He reminds me of a frightened animal and I know I have to be gentle. Whatever he went through to get here, whoever hurt him, he needs time to gather his bearings.

Without saying a word, he undoes the binds of his armor. His gaze is distant and I follow his eyes to the TV. Live footage from the fight is playing on the screen and a woman’s blurry image can be seen heaving spells left and right. The image of her makes Alain seem pale.

Abject horror spreads across his body and a weakened noise leaves his lips. His body curls in on itself and he squeezes his eyes shut as if the very picture of her is enough to reduce him to tears. The news station has no idea who she is, they alternate between calling her the mastermind of the plot or just another fighter, yet I feel a part of me turn to ice when I look at her. Even from a blurry cellphone video, I can make out the pure evil on her face. Whoever she is, she is something ungodly.

“Hey, you’re fine,” I flick the TV off so that he can no longer see her. Once she is gone, a part of him almost relaxes. He still looks frightened out of his mind, but he moves out of the fetal position at the very least.

Underneath his armor is a blue overcoat with more dark splotches. Blood.

I am grateful I decided to take that first-aid class in high school because he has so many injuries that need tending to. With the fight and everything occurring outside, I doubt the hospitals are in any place to treat the injured.

“What exactly is going on?” I voice out. Some of my earlier confusion and annoyance bleeds in through my voice and I see the stranger wince.

I busy myself tending to his injury. He has a gash on his side as if a knife had cut through. He winces when I examine it but I feel relieved when I see it is superficial. His wounds do not seem life threatening or serious. It seems that whoever hurt him did so in a way that would allow him to live.

A little shudder runs through my spine when I dwell on that. Did the person who hurt him want him alive so that he would continue to suffer? My heart begins to race again.

“She made it,” Alain murmurs under his voice, “She got what she wanted. I couldn’t stop her.”

His voice screams of self-loathing and guilt. His eyes take on another faraway tint and he looks away from me and out the window. My apartment looks over the Chicago skyline and I can see the swirling clouds obscuring the sun from view. Night seems to have fallen even though the clock on the microwave says it is just a little past 9 in the morning.

She. I wonder if the woman on the TV is who he refers to. His words make as much sense as the scene outside, yet I keep going. When the world goes to Hell, trying to make sense of it is useless.

“What country do you belong to? Is this a war? An invasion?”

My voice rises a pitch at the end and some of my earlier fear comes washing back. Without meaning to, I press too hard into his wound and he hisses in pain. He squeezes his eyes shut and some of the color bleeds out of his cheeks. When he next speaks, his voice is scarcely above a whisper.

“Neither. It’s a carnage. She wants it all.”

He does not elaborate and I think it best not to pursue the issue. After I am done patching him up, he begins to slump against the back of the sofa. It seems like staying awake took the last of his energy. Before I can get another word in, he fades out of consciousness.

 —- 

“-The United States has asked its allies for help but so far other countries are hesitant. No one seems to know what is happening and Chicago has been placed under a mandatory curfew. Do not leave your home if it is not vital. We are under Martial Law-”

I flick through the TV channels but they all repeat the same thing. Every major news outlet is puzzled as to what is happening and social media does nothing more to help. My computer pings every few minutes with a friend on HeadBook checking in safely in Chicago or a Tweeter notification. Everyone is panicked and no one knows what is happening.

I pinch the bridge of my nose and take stock of what I know.

One, Chicago is under attack.

This morning, when I woke up to the sound of my alarm clock, the world was normal. I got dressed, forgot to put on a pot of coffee, and was out the door before the clock struck 8. I was running late for work and my only concern was getting to my desk before my boss decided to fire me.

I didn’t know about the attack until I made it to Downtown and saw the chaos. Somewhere between my home and my work place, we were attacked. Something, someone, is barricaded in the skyscrapers and the lights and smoke can be seen from my window. The entire sky is pitch black despite the fact it can’t be more than 4pm.

Two, A stranger, Alain, is passed out on my couch.

For some bizarre reason, I thought it would be a good idea to help a man passed out on the ground in enemy clothing. He is slowly bleeding into my couch and I know all the vinegar in the world won’t get the stains out of my ottoman.

I have no idea what possessed me to help him, and I am mad at myself for it. Some strong force had compelled me to do it, the Universe had pulled me along like a marionette for its purpose, and now I am barricaded in my apartment streets away from a carnage outside with a man who can barely get a word in before passing out and is wearing medieval armor that matches the one the Chicago attackers wear.

None of this makes any sense and I keep closing my eyes and opening them expecting to wake up from this bizarre nightmare.

A sigh leaves my lips and I stand up. The Chicago skyline is still pulsing with magic and a dark blue, swirling vortex crowds around a skyscraper. A portal of some sort opens and closes deploying more blue and white armored soldiers. Our American Reserves are no match for them.

Every so often a military helicopter will fly overhead and the sound of gunfire will follow it, but it is gone in a crash almost as soon as it happens. All military branches have been deployed and no one has any plans to evacuate the city. Whatever happened today, it is something major.

Alain stirs in his sleep and begins to wake up. I help him sit up and hand him a bowl of something hot before he can ask what it is. It’s nothing major, just an old can of Spaghetti-O’s I found tucked away at the back of my pantry, yet he wolfs it down.

He must be starving, I realize, and I wonder once more what it is he went through.

Anticipation courses through me and I clench my hands at my sides. My teeth bite into my lower lip and I can’t help it anymore. I need some answers, something to make sense of everything going on, and I can barley hold in my questions as he sets the empty bowl down.

“Who are you? And I don’t mean your name,” I take a seat in the chair before him and press my hands to my knees. He still looks like a frightened animal and I don’t want him to feel threatened by my presence. I need him open if I want some answers.

Alain moves his arm and winces, his muscles are sore and bruised. He takes time answering, I can see him trying to decide how best to phrase things, and I latch on to his every word.

“I am her Knight General. It’s all my fault, I can never escape it.”

His voice is scarcely above a whisper yet I can hear the sheer self-loathing in his tone. Like Atlas, he seems to be carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. I frown to myself.

“Who is she? You keep mentioning a her and you reacted to that video on TV.”

At the mention of whoever ‘she’ is, Alain winces. His entire body tenses up and he clenches his hand into a tight fist. As if her memory has triggered something in him, he gets to his feet. He sways in place and makes it one step before he falls forward. His hand on the back of the couch is the only thing keeping him standing.

“I have to go, I have to stop her. It’s my fault, I failed.”

He makes a sound at the back of his throat as he hurts his injured side and the bandage slowly turns red. His face loses color and he falls back into the couch. I am out of my seat before I realize what I am doing and I narrow my eyes.

“Yeah, you aren’t in any shape to move,” I scoff. I jab my finger into his chest away from his injuries and he is forced back into the sofa. My arms cross before my chest. “You’ve passed out more times than I can count. You can hardly walk down the stairs much less go off fighting.”

Alain tries to argue, opens his mouth, but another movement of his arms sends a new wave of pain through him. He gives up and leans back against the couch cushions. Further self-loathing fills his features.

“Useless, always useless,” he closes his eyes. I can practically hear the gears in his head churning as he thinks. “They should be here soon, Saerys saw her open the portal. Have they arrived?”

He glances out the window where another array of sparks flies off the high-rises. Magic coils in the air and the ground gives another rumble. Somewhere above, an air force plane falls from the sky and is consumed in a massive fireball.

I force myself to look away and try to reel in my panic. The army will take care of it, I tell myself, they have to. Still, the image of the carnage from earlier and the disarrayed soldiers fills me with doubt. They’ve been fighting all day yet nothing has changed. Is the American military prepared to fight off magic?

A tension headache begins to form and I press my tongue to the roof of my mouth. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that, that helps. It takes me a moment to think of something else to say.

“Alright, alright, let’s move on. Who hurt you?”

He’s covered in crudely fashioned bandages. At some point, my tiny little kit ran out and I had to use some fancy towels I bought on sale. They’re taped to his body and already look red despite the fact that I’ve changed them twice. It is a miracle he has not bled to death yet.

Someone hurt him badly, someone left him for dead in the middle of a battle. A large scar runs jagged across his front, years old, and I know pain is second nature to him. A tiny pinprick of sympathy fills me and I swallow painfully. How much pain does someone endure to come out a frightened shadow?

He doesn’t answer right away, mind miles away, and a shudder passes through his spine. For a moment, he looks like he is going to be sick and I wonder if I should dive for a trash bag, but then he regains his senses and exhales slowly.

“I tried to stop her, I tried to save her. I-All my life I have only ever wanted to stop her. She wasn’t like that, not always, I was so sure there was something left of her. I stayed by her side for so long, but I was never enough. I promised to protect her, and now I must save her from herself. I defected, I tried, but I couldn’t stop her.”

He closes his eyes for a long moment. When he opens them again, there is a world of pain there. Sorrow clouds his gaze and he looks haunted for a moment. In the dim apartment lights, I finally take notice of his face.

His face is pale, dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are white. He’s suffered more than just a few beatings, I realize, this is the face of a man who has seen the worst devils of humanity.

A shiver runs down my spine and I wrap my arms around my torso. Outside, another military helicopter crashes down. I watch the explosion burn bright and can scarcely comprehend that this is real. This is really happening, this isn’t just a Hollywood movie. The world as I knew it is gone and this is my new reality.

“You still haven’t answered who she is,” I comment. I glance at the muted TV and see some more breaking news updates. A live video footage is playing as a news helicopter circles around the tower where the most of the battle is happening. There are people on the roof fighting and lightning spells crackle from every which way. A woman dressed in blue with bloodless skin cackles and sends a blast of ice from her hands. It collides with the news helicopter and the video turns to snow. The anchors back at the studio press their fingers to their ear in an attempt to reconnect with their coworkers in the sky but they get no response. Moments later, another fireball blazes in the distance as the helicopter crashes and burns.

We should move from my apartment, I realize. The area here is quiet, most of the fighting contained to the downtown area, but it won’t be long before it bleeds here. It can’t be safe to stay so close.

“Do you work for her? You’re wearing armor,” I nod at the armor discarded to the side. It’s ruined by now, bent out of shape, and I try not to think about the sheer force that would be needed to dent metal armor. Whatever Alain went through, it was bad.

“Used to,” Alain comments, “But I defected. Once I realized that the path she walked down was dark, I left. Someone has to stop her before she further destroys herself.”

He pauses, swallows painfully, and stares out the window. Lightning bolts rain from the sky and they do not appear to be normal. They’re tinged with blue and they come down in droves. Car alarms blare when they meet their mark. Alain tears his gaze away as if the sight is too painful.

“Or perhaps it is much too late. Perhaps there is nothing more worth saving.”

None of his words make any sense, but I am getting better at deciphering crazy. I breathe in quietly through my nose and count to ten.

“Okay, start from the beginning,” I pinch the bridge of my nose, “For all our sakes.”

Alain bites his cheek and lowers his eyes. He presses a hand to his side and winces when his fingers brush past the bandage. He seems to be delaying having to speak.

I wait patiently for him even though my patience ran out long ago. The last thing I want is to startle him. If I snap at him, he will shut me out and I’ll be left even more confused.

After a long break, he meets my gaze. His eyes are dark with thousands of swirling thoughts and muddled emotions. There is pain there, guilt, heartbreak, self-loathing, and worry. I have to look away because the intensity in his eyes is too depressing. Whatever he’s been through, it’s something no human being should ever have to endure.

“You would never believe me. You are not from my world.”

He sounds resigned as he says it, heartbroken, and I feel annoyance creep into my voice. I glance out the window where a blue ball of magic erupts once more. The entire window is awash in blues and whites for a fraction of a second before the lights to my apartment go out. The air lingers with the bitter taste I’ve learned to associate with magic and the intensity of the energy makes the hairs at the back of my neck stand. My laptop, open to a live feed of Chicago, shows dark crosses of magic raining down around the city. It is a sheer miracle my apartment building escapes most of it.

I feel frustration bubbling up inside me and a humorless laugh leaves my lips. I rub my eyes with my hands.

“Try me.”

 —- 

Magic is real. There are portals that open into fantasy dimensions. An evil sorceress named the Witch Queen is attacking Chicago. Alain used to serve her.

I pace the length of my apartment after Alain is done with his story. My head is racing in millions of different directions and I wish my thoughts would just quiet down for half a second. I run my hand through my hair and shake my head.

“That missing girl ended up in your world then?”

I had seen the news report about a missing Chicago girl. Her photo had been spread around social media but the case had grown cold. She had disappeared after a lightning storm, and, if Alain is to be believed, she ended up in his world.

I brace myself against the back of a love seat and take a long breath. The world is already plunged into chaos, so I figure his story is not any more unbelievable than the magical battle playing out outside.

Alain stands slowly, sways on his feet, but remains upright. He straightens out his back and hisses in pain. When I move to help him, he shakes his head. He forces himself to keep going and makes it from the sofa to my love seat before grimacing and taking a seat. He still seems intent on trying to leave.

From what he explained, he thinks this is all his fault. He worked for her, the Witch Queen, and tried to stop her. Apparently whatever plan they had didn’t work. When the Chicago girl and the demon he had mentioned tried to restore their bond, the Witch Queen had opened a portal and decided to take her war into our world.

I close my eyes. Why does every fantasy story have to have a villain? Why can’t a story just be full of unicorns and fairies?

I clap my hands together and shove aside the last of my frustration. Night has fallen across Chicago and the sky seems even darker. The watch on my laptop reads 9pm and the battery icon notifies me that it is close to dying. I turn it off before looking out the window.

The battle has grown quiet now, yet the sky is still lit up in blues and whites. I can’t hear police sirens any more or army fighter jets. It seems like there is a standstill in the battle. For some reason, the quiet is worse than the loud noise. If it is so silent, does that mean it won’t be resolved quickly? Is the American military truly not a match for a female Voldemort?

I chase that thought away and let out a loud breath I wasn’t aware I was holding. Alain stares at me with concern, waiting for my reaction to his words, and I grind my teeth together. His story makes no sense, it sounds like a shitty movie I’d skip out on, but nothing has made sense all day. I believe him without even thinking twice about it.

A yawn leaves my lips and the sound is contagious. Alain echoes it and I notice how tired he is. He has been passed out all day, yet he needs more rest. He stopped bleeding a few hours ago, thankfully, and the ibuprofen I fed him seems to have helped him with his pain. He wraps a blanket around his shoulders and closes his eyes, exhaustion is evident in his posture.

I finally realize how tired I am too. I half-carried him, half-dragged him all the way from downtown to my apartment, my arms and back ache. I wish for nothing more than to curl up in my bed and pass out, but I force myself awake.

“Okay,” I sigh, “Okay, I believe you. Your story is crazy, but it’s too crazy to make up.”

I press my fingers to my temples where another tiny headache is forming. I need a long shower and an even longer nap.

“Here’s what we’re going to do…” I run through different ideas in my head until I settle on one that doesn’t sound too suicidal. “You are going to stay here and recover-don’t argue with me you can barely stand up, and we are going to find a way out of Chicago. This entire city is going to fall apart soon. If your friends from that other dimension show up, we’ll go from there, but, until then, we need to get out. I am not dying with you here.”

I close my eyes and think about my family. I want to see them more than anything, they must be worried sick. Without my cellphone to call them and let them know I am fine, I know they must be panicking. I need to get down to the first floor and use the landline-if the black out hasn’t knocked it out yet.

“You are letting me stay?” Alain murmurs. He sounds surprised. I wonder if maybe he expected me to kick him to the curb after everything.

And perhaps I should. Perhaps I should send him on his way with ibuprofen and bandages and tell him to leave me alone, I am under no obligation to help a stranger who claims he is responsible for the attack on my city, yet I can’t bring myself to do it. Something strange happened to me this morning, a higher power compelled me to help, and I feel like something has been kicked into motion now that I have. The Universe, or whatever drove me to help Alain, has plans for me. I may not know what they are, may not even understand what is happening, but I know Alain needs my help and I can’t bring myself to deny it.

I exhale slowly and move to the kitchen where the tea has long since cooled. I pour us both a cup and hand it over to him silently. He stares at it almost as if expecting it to be a trap. Every little thing that I offer him is met with suspicion. It is almost as if Alain believes he is not worth saving or helping. That is as sad as it is pathetic.

“You are staying,” I nod, “Because you will die if I kick you out and I do not want that on my conscience. We are going to stay here for as long as we can then we are leaving the city. Stay on the couch, let me know if you need anything else, and don’t try to leave. You won’t make it far.”

I give him a quizzical stare. Inviting a stranger into my home sounds suicidal, but I doubt Alain poses much of a threat. He has nothing to his name but bent armor and he almost passes out from just standing up. If it came down to it, I could out walk him.

“Are we agreed?” The question needs no answer. I spin around from him and start heading for my bedroom. I want nothing more than to just crawl under the covers and bury myself in my blankets. Maybe if I go to sleep, I will wake up tomorrow and this will all be over.

Alain interrupts me before I can get more than a few steps in. His voice is soft, hesitant, and I can all but hear the doubt and self-hatred in his heart.

“Why did you help me? You could have let me die.”

The way his voice grows quieter near the end, I have a feeling that’s what he wanted. He wanted to die this morning. He had laid down on the sidewalk expecting to be killed.

A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down painfully. What does a person have to endure in order to see themselves as worthless? What drives a person to death? Alain truly did intent to die today and a part of him wonders if me saving him was a mistake. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, he thinks he does not deserve to live.

I pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Honestly?” I stare up at the ceiling and count the tiles as I try to think of something to say. After a long pause, I draw a huge blank and lower my head. “I don’t know. I don’t know why I saved you, it would have been easier for me to just leave you there, but I couldn’t.”

It is not the answer he needs nor wants, but he takes it in stride anyway. He looks away from me and eases himself back into the couch. He is too tall for the sofa and I wonder if he will spend a good night tonight. I almost offer to trade him my bed for my couch, and perhaps I should due to his injuries, but decide not to. His presence already screwed up my day, I won’t let him screw up my sleeping schedule too.

“Goodnight, Alain,” I turn away from him and hurry to my room. Softly, he says it back.

I close my bedroom door and lean against the wood. My breath leaves my lips in a very slow exhale and I blink up at the ceiling as if I could stare at whatever mysterious force compelled me to help him. I have a feeling there is a larger picture here, some type of fate controlling us, but I dislike being a puppet to something I know nothing about.

“I’m too tired for this shit,” I repeat for the hundredth time, frustration gnaws at me and I pinch the bridge of my nose, “Fuck the Universe.”

#request #alain richter #love and legends #lovestruck voltage #voltage amemix

[waywardnerd67]

Burning the Past

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Description: Dean struggles with the aftermath of a decision the Reader makes.

Warnings: Angst (I think… my first go at writing angst), fluff at the end, depression, mentions of self-harm, suicide attempt, abusive parent

Word Count: 2263

Song Choice: “Numb” – Linkin Park

A/N: @rosethesupernaturalhunter Rose500challenge. “Numb” by Linkin Park is a very personal song for me. This song and music video explain a great portion of my teenage life dealing with Major Depressive Disorder and Self-Harm. This story is personal for me as well. It is a piece of fiction based on real events in my own life dealing with depression, self-harm, suicide attempt and a verbally abusive father. Please read warnings before reading since this may be triggering for some people.

**Please know that if you are dealing with any kind of mental health illness you are not alone in your struggles. There are many people who are out there ready to listen and help. There are many organizations out there as well including IMAlive and National Suicide Prevention Lifeline . If you don’t feel comfortable talking to someone from there then my blog is always open for anyone who needs it. As Jared Padalecki once said, “If you’re out there and need help, please seek it. Be proud of your valiant day-to-day struggle. There is no shame in needing support.” 

Dean Winchester set the bottle of whiskey on the floor next to him. Leaning up against his bed with the same song blaring in through his headphones. He glanced down at the journal opened on his lap running his fingers over the delicate handwriting. Her handwriting. Her words. Her tormented soul. He never knew she was this bad. He never knew how dark it had gotten inside her head. From his point of view, (Y/N) was happy, joking, bubbly woman he admired. She was strong, courageous and a badass hunter. He should have paid more attention to her. Noticed the little things that were different in her actions, in her words. He gripped the bottle holding it up to his lips letting the amber liquid warm his insides and with a thud set it back down. He picked up the journal and reread the last few entries she had written. 

Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow

Every step that I take is another mistake to you

Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow 

“May 11th – 1:32am

I can’t take it anymore. My father’s words are floating in my head more and more each day. “(Y/N), concentrate on your target! If you can’t focus then you die!” “You’re worthless. You’re useless. Why did I ever have you?” “Get up you, lazy pig! The longer I wait the longer your training will be.” Now that he is gone, all I have left are those words. No matter how many times Sam and Dean tell me what a badass hunter I am, my father’s words ring truth in me. I’m supposed to save everyone. I’m supposed to kill the monsters that haunt people, but I’m too weak. I’ve done a great job hiding my true feelings from the boys but I can tell Sam knows something is up. He won’t say anything to me, but I can tell by the way he looks at me. Dean acts no differently around me, which is comforting. I wish I knew how to express my feelings to Dean. Confide in him the thoughts inside my head. If anyone could understand me it would be him, but I’m afraid that my head may be too dark even for him. I’m alone in this and I need to deal with myself alone.” 

I'm tired of being what you want me to be

Feeling so faithless, lost under the surface

I don't know what you're expecting of me

Put under the pressure of walking in your shoes 

“May 20th – 6:10pm

I met a hunter today that knew my father. It took everything in me not to scream out loud as this man talked about how great he was. “Your dad was a great hunter. One of the best, just like John Winchester. It’s good to see you are following his footsteps and becoming a great hunter as well.” All I did was smile and nod. Luckily, Dean swept in and saved me from hearing more from the man. Nowadays it takes all my energy to put on my happy façade around Sam and Dean. I thought writing would help me get my feelings out but it doesn’t anymore. I even went to get art supplies while Sam was getting some supplies in town. I always used to feel better after painting, but nothing is getting these feelings out. I thought sparring with Dean would help but I just felt useless as he defeated me repeatedly. I feel like I’m drifting and I’m losing faith that I will ever get better. There’s was only one thing that made me feel better and if the boys ever knew what I was doing then they would be so disappointed in me. Just the thought of seeing Dean’s disappointed face makes me tear up. I never want to disappoint him but I just can’t take the pressure building up inside me anymore. I have to let it out somehow and this is the only way I know how too.” 

Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control

'Cause everything that you thought I would be

Has fallen apart right in front of you 

“May 26th – 3:24am

The feeling of pain releases all my tension. It is so hard to describe how causing myself pain makes me feel better if only for a few fleeing moments. It’s getting harder to hide my scars from Sam and Dean especially on my arms. Dean noticed I took his red and black flannel shirt to wear. I told him it was my favorite of his and I liked how big it was on me. Which is all true, but also the sleeves come all the way down past my hands easily covering the marks and scars on my arms. Sam caught me the other day walking from the shower room to my room and saw the marks on my lower legs. I quickly told him I had been walking in my favorite spot and got a little cut up from stumbling. Thankful he couldn’t see the marks up close or he would be able to tell they are too straight for random cuts. It’s not only that either. Sam noticed me not blocking Dean’s punches or kicks when we were sparring. I played it off that I had no idea what he was talking about, but honestly, I like the bruises. I can push on them causing small amount of pain to ease tension in a pinch. I hate that I’m using Dean like that but it the end it helps me. I wonder how much longer I can keep this façade up around them. I’m needing a release more and more throughout the day and hunting with the boys doesn’t give me the privacy I have in the bunker. They will suspect something if I ask for my own room. Speaking of hunting I need to try and sleep since we are leaving in two and half hours. Here’s to trying to keep my dark thoughts at bay. 

And I know I may end up failing too

But I know you were just like me with someone disappointed in you

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there

Become so tired, so much more aware

By becoming this all I want to do

Is be more like me and be less like you 

“May 28th – 10:54pm

Dear Sam and Dean,

By the time you come back I should be gone, hopefully I did not screw that up. I should have never came hunting with you this time. I screwed up. My father always told me if I wasn’t focus I would get dead. I haven’t been focused and today that cost a little girl her life. I’m just a huge disappointment to everyone and you both are better off without me. I can’t feel anything anymore. I’m just floating through the motions and I don’t have the energy to do that anymore. I don’t have the energy to do anything anymore. I would apologize for leaving you like this but I know it won’t help either of you process this. Please don’t blame yourselves for this happening. You both were amazing partners and friends. There’s nothing you could have said or did to help prevent this. This was a battle I had to fight on my own and I loss. We all know that happens, it just so happens this battle was within myself that I loss. I expect you both to burn everything of mine with no exceptions. You both will move on from this sooner than you think. I will just be a faded memory in the back of your mind that one day will fly away. 

Sam, please make sure Dean doesn’t do anything stupid to try and bring me back. I know you won’t do anything stupid, but keep an eye out on your brother. I left my copy of Grimm Fairytales on my desk in my room. I want you to have it since one of my fondest memories is the two of us discussing it. 

Dean, I love you. I have loved you since the moment you and John showed up at my house that cold December night. What started as just a teenage crush on an older guy changed the moment you dropped everything and came to my side when my father died. I fell in love with you and I always knew I would never be good enough for the great Dean Winchester. You deserve a woman who is strong and fearless. That is obviously not me, but I want you to know that I love you deeply. 

Goodbye.

'Cause everything that you thought I would be

Has fallen apart right in front of you

Caught in the undertow, just caught in the undertow

I've become so numb, I can't feel you there” 

Dean watched as his tears darken the pages of her journal. The images of finding her flashing in his mind. Hearing Sam scream for him from the bathroom and seeing her laying in the bathtub. The metallic smell hitting him like a Mack truck. Sam wrapping her arms with towels and for the first time seeing the damage she had caused to herself up and down her arms and legs. Scars neither of them knew about that had healed and been opened again. To see her normally vibrant lips being ghostly white. Sam calling an ambulance after finding a faint pulse. The only thing Dean could do was hold her and wonder who did this to her. Watching the paramedics working on her and not being able to leave her side as he rode in the ambulance while Sam followed in the Impala. Once at the hospital, the harsh reality hitting them both that she had done all of this to herself. As they waited for the doctors to come out and talk to them Sam handed him (Y/N)’s journal letting him read what he just had. Seeing Sam crying openly as he walked away made Dean’s stomach churn. Then he read her letter and his world stopped. 

Dean jumped out of his thoughts feeling a hand on his shoulder. He pulled off his headphones as he saw it was Sam stand there. “We should get going.” He simply said as Dean nodded. He closed her journal setting it on his bed and shut off the song she had written the lyrics down at the end of her letter. He grabbed her favorite flannel of his out of his closet and laid it next to her journal. He gathered his coat and her items walking out to the library. Sam was setting a few things of (Y/N)’s in a cardboard box. Dean set his shirt and her journal in the box along with everything else that was hers from the bunker. Sam taped the box shut and the brothers went to the Impala making the trip out to an opening in the woods (Y/N) loved the most in Kansas. As Dean drove he remembered the last time he and (Y/N) had come out to this her favorite spot. They laid on top of the Impala’s hood looking up at the stars. His arms around her as she gazed up into the night sky. She looked so peaceful and happy. He knew then he was in love with her and was going to tell her but then Sam called with a case. The moment lost. 

Sam and Dean gathered all the wood they could to build a pit. Sam placed the cardboard box in the center of the pit. Dean opened the back door to the Impala helping (Y/N) out of the backseat. She pulled her sleeves down over her scars on her arms and wrists. It had been six months since she had tried to take her life. In those six months she went into treatment for depression and self-harm and the boys would visit her every chance they got. When she was released from her program she began going to a support group making friends to keep her accountable not that she really needed too. Sam researched everything he could about depression and self-harm. He talked with people online who had loved ones dealing with the same issues and found many ways to help (Y/N) constructively. Dean never left her side for too long. They never talked about their feelings for one another but everything between them had changed. He laced their fingers together as they walked over to the fire pit. 

(Y/N) decided she wanted a fresh start once she moved back to the bunker. “Dean, I really don’t think you need to burn your shirt. I have all good memories of it.” She chuckled as he shook his head. “Nope, you said everything from the past and that includes the shirt.” She rolled her eyes but he noticed her smirking. Sam lit the end of a large branch and handed it to (Y/N) saying, “Burning the past.” She looked over to Dean who nodded, “Burning the past.” (Y/N) walked over to the pit and threw the branch onto the box immediately lighting it up in bright yellow and orange flames. “Burning the past.” She whispered as Dean put his arm around her shoulders and Sam held her hand. As bright as the flames were, they stood in front of, so was her future and for the first time she felt hopeful to see what was in store for her and the life she was given a second chance to live.

#Rose500challenge #dean x reader #angst #dean winchester fanfiction #writing challenge #song lyrics #numb linkin park #a little fluff #akf #you are not alone #mental health awareness #suicide prevention #self injury awareness #personal story