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vettelsvee · 4 days

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I DON'T APOLOGIZE FOR WINNING | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | wattpad | ao3 | instagram

rbr sebastian vettel x schumacher!reader | part 2 here

summary: y/n thinks she's sick from f1 traveling stress, but what if that's not the reason of her sickness?

word count: 992

warnings: hints of having sex. mentions of wishing to die (because reader is sick af). use of y/n

you can send your one shots requests here! feedback, as well as comments and reblogs, are truly appreciated!

It was barely five in the morning, and the sun was beginning to rise on the horizon of the city of Berlin. Sebastian and you, without having been able to rest after the German Grand Prix that had taken place just hours ago, were at the airport of the German capital, ready to head to Hungary, where the next Formula 1 competition would be held.

You were aware that following the lifestyle of a high-level racing driver was not easy. However, you didn't think that getting eight hours of sleep or having free time would become privileges that you would have, in part, during the holiday period. Despite the excitement that filled you every time you embarked on a new destination, you had been feeling unwell for several days, and no matter how hard you tried to remedy it, all you did was worsen it.

Seb, who knew you well enough to know that something was wrong, tried not to make a big deal out of it. He knew that you tended to get sick frequently, although the fact that you was quieter than usual and didn't have as much energy as usual started to worry the blonde who, at the moment of takeoff, observed carefully as your face grew paler, while you gripped the armrest of the seat tightly.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sebastian asked with concern.

You tried to breathe deeply to calm the wave of nausea you were feeling right now.

"Yes," you simply replied, faking a smile. "I just feel a little uncomfortable with takeoff, you know airplanes and I are not friends. Stop worrying, love. You'll see it'll pass soon."

Despite your multiple reassurances, Seb couldn't convince himself. Your eyes reflected how you felt, and he had no doubt that you were hiding something from him to avoid worrying him.To try to relax you, he leaned towards you to leave a kiss on your cheek.

"Sweetheart, I know you've told me you're okay, but if you start feeling worse, let me know, okay?"

You nodded, silently thanking the German for his concern.

Although he tried not to make a big deal out of it, the truth was that as the flight progressed towards its destination, you felt worse, even reaching the point where nausea turned into frequent trips to the bathroom to vomit, and constant dizziness into a desire to faint and not wake up for a few days.

"Seb, I swear… I can't deal with this anymore."

After suddenly getting up from your seat, hurrying to the bathroom trying not to cause too much commotion among the other passengers, you quickly locked yourself in the small cubicle, bending over the toilet to empty everything you didn't know you had inside yourself. Sebastian watched with concern as you fled, trying not to lose his composure under the curious gaze of those present, including a few Red Bull engineers.

“Y/N!”, Seb called out as quietly as he could, anxious because you weren’t responding. “Are you okay? Please, open the door.”

You didn't answer him, which only heightened Vettel's anxiety. He fixed his gaze on the bathroom door, waiting for you to come out and give him some explanation of what was happening.

After what felt like an eternity, you emerged from the bathroom with a completely pale face and a tired look. Sebastian simply pulled her close to his chest and held her tightly in an embrace.

"Love, what's wrong?" he said anxiously. "I need to know what's going on. Things can't continue like this if you're going to keep accompanying me. I'm sure it's getting to you: everything is overwhelming you and..."

Suddenly, you began to cry from the helplessness you were feeling, causing Sebastian to hold you even tighter, stroking your back to help you relax as much as possible.

"I can't take it anymore, Seb. I feel awful. I want to die right now."

"We should seek help," he said, wiping your tears away. "We'll see what we can do now to keep you as relaxed as possible for the remainder of the flight, okay? And when we land, we'll go to an emergency room to see what's wrong with you."

Sebastian then called one of the flight attendants in their area and explained the distressing situation, emphasizing that he wouldn't want anyone to find out to avoid conflicts with both the media and his team. The flight attendant simply nodded and informed them to return to their seats, immediately assisting the world champion's partner.

"Mrs. Vettel, here's some water and an aspirin," the woman kindly offered you. "Additionally, I've informed the crew about your wife's situation," she said, now looking at the blonde, "and they confirmed that if she gets worse, there's no problem in making an emergency landing at the nearest airport."

"I'm not Sebastian's wife..."

"Thank you very much," the driver interrupted, thanking the flight attendant for her assistance.

The German began to laugh at your reaction as soon as the woman left.

"You should have seen your face, Y/N. You can't deny that you didn't mind being referred to as my wife," Seb said, stroking your hair and opening the water bottle for you to take a sip.

The flight continued, and although the nausea had been brought under control, the discomfort persisted. The couple was aware that there was only, thankfully, about half an hour of travel left.

"Darling," Sebastian whispered sweetly. "Close your eyes and focus on your breathing: inhale through your nose, and exhale through your mouth. I'm here, hold my hand."

You followed your partner's instructions, allowing yourself to be guided by his voice, which was truly comforting in those moments, in each inhalation and exhalation. Gradually, you began to feel calmer, and you would even swear that you hadn't felt this way in several days.

Finally, the plane reached its destination. You felt greatly relieved that the flight, which had caused you so much distress, had come to an end as it had left her physically and mentally exhausted.

As soon as your feet touched Hungarian soil, Sebastian made sure that you felt as comfortable as possible before heading to the hotel. Despite the rush Britta, Sebastian's PR, took a moment in some small seats to rest and, as much as possible, recover from the turbulent journey they had just endured.

Although he knew he might hurt your feelings, Sebastian decided to broach the subject with a mischievous smile:

"Love, don't you think we've had enough intense Sunday nights celebrating my victories? Because I think it's led to something good."

At first, you were a bit confused, but a few seconds later you let out a shy and sweet laugh. The driver wasn't lying: sex had become your ritual to bid farewell to the weekend and, above all, as a celebration of Seb's victories that season. Now that you remembered, there were quite a few occasions where you didn’t use protection, so you thought that the possibility was even more up in the air now.

"It could be, Seb," you said with a knowing smile. "If I am, we could have a pretty big problem..."

"Please, love, don't say that," Vettel drew closer to you, taking your hand and gently tracing small circles on it with his fingers. "If you're pregnant, I'm sure you'll be an amazing mother. Besides, I know we haven't talked about this, but I've always wanted to be a father and I can't imagine anyone better than you to fulfill this dream."

Tears began to form in your eyes, and you hurried to wipe them away to prevent your boyfriend from noticing.

"So, what do you say? Should we tell Britta that we need to go to the pharmacy and buy a test? That way we can find out, and if it's a no, we can keep trying," you clarified eagerly. "What do you think about tonight?"

Feeling excited, after you explained the situation to the woman who had become another member of the family, and who, obviously, had been thrilled at the possible news, headed to the nearest pharmacy to avoid arousing suspicions among the journalists and paparazzi, who were lurking around with the intention of getting the latest scoop on the man of the moment.

Alone together and holding the small bag containing the test, you began to feel nervous as they approached their room. Upon entering the suite, you both sat on the edge of the bed, taking a moment to calm themselves before checking whether you would become parents.

"Okay," you said, taking a deep breath, "I'm ready."

After that, you opened the box containing the test and went to the bathroom, where you followed the instructions carefully. Once finished, you placed it on the surface of the sink and returned to where Seb was, waiting for the indicated time to pass to see the result.

You approached your boyfriend, who gently stroked your back once again to comfort you. He knew you were nervous and scared. He felt the same way.

"Whatever the result is, I'm grateful to have a woman like you in my life. I'll be by your side no matter what, ok?" Sebastian reassured you.

Tears filled the your eyes again, and as you looked at your watch and saw that the waiting time was over, you ran as fast as you could to the bathroom, followed by an anxious Sebastian.

Quickly, you took the test in your hands and saw the result:

"It's positive!" you shouted, your voice trembling. "I'm pregnant, Sebastian!"

A wave of emotions engulfed you both, not knowing what to do except to embrace tightly as you felt a mixture of astonishment and joy, as well as uncertainties about what could happen from that moment on.

"Well, it turns out that in the end I'm not just good at pointing with my index finger when I win," Sebastian teased you mischievously.

"I find it surreal that you're making dirty jokes after finding out we're going to have a child."

"I guess," the driver continued playfully, "we'll have to tell this little one that his dad is a two-time, for now, Formula 1 world champion, and that his mother is a champion in other aspects."

You laughed at your boyfriend's quips, finding them unbelievable.

"Come on, Seb, don't act modest now saying you didn't have merit. You know perfectly well that I motivated you quite a bit during those baby-making sessions."

"Of course, I'm not saying otherwise," the German continued jokingly. "I'm sure the baby will become the royalty of Formula 1. Who wouldn't want to have Vettel and Schumacher genes?"

Both of you burst into laughter, filling the room, giving way your thoughts on how you would tell your families, the media, your respective coworkers... Especially, you spent a few minutes sharing your expectations about what your life would be like from that day on.

"Miss Schumacher and future Mrs. Vettel, let me tell you that now that we know we're expecting a little miracle, I propose we celebrate it in a more... intimate way."

"You can't even give me a day's break, can you? I don't know about you, but I'm convinced my father wouldn't find it amusing to hear his daughter screaming to ask her boyfriend for more," you said, knowing your father would be in the adjacent rooms.

"I know," Seb simply said, "but I’ve won in life, and I don't apologize for winning."

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marjansmarwani · 4 years

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The Boss’s Son (Part 2)

Role Reversal AU continuation

[Ao3 Link]

[Part 1]

Firefighter Carlos Reyes and Officer TK Strand get to know each other a little better and fall a little harder for each other. But the course of true love never did run smooth – Shakespeare definitely got that one right.

So this ended up being over 6K and there is more angst than I was expecting but it’s fine, they’ll be fine. I’ll tag @buttercupstrand because this was all her idea in the first place, but if anyone else wants to be added to the tag list for future updates, let me know!

---

Carlos grinned down at his phone as yet another message from TK popped up. He was apparently having a slow day at work, and if there was one thing Carlos had learned about Officer Strand it was that the man hated paperwork.

Hence all the texts complaining about it.

You know if you just did it, it would be done, he replied.

A response popped up almost immediately.

False. Paperwork breeds at an incredible rate. It’s like rabbits. Or amoebas. There is always more paperwork.

Carlos laughed aloud at that, drawing the attention of his crewmates who were sitting in the lounge with him. He hastily slid his phone into his pocket as their questioning eyes fell on him.

“My sister,” he lied, “she was just telling me about my niece’s newest tactic to avoid naptime.”

The others seemed satisfied by this response, though Paul gave him a raised eyebrow before returning to his book. Carlos resisted the urge to heave a sigh of relief and to check his phone, which was vibrating again. There was no reason exactly he couldn’t tell his crew about this thing with TK, but dating his boss’s son still felt taboo. It wasn’t a topic he was looking to approach just yet.

Plus, dating might even be too strong of a word for what they were doing. No, whatever this was it was definitely not something he wanted out and examined under the microscope of his crew’s gossip just yet. Maybe not ever. They’d been out once, had hooked up...more than that. They texted during the day and called each other once in a while. It was good. Nice, simple. They were taking it slow.

When Carlos was sure all the eyes were off of him he pulled his phone out of his pocket to see what TK had to say.

We just got a call out, guess the paperwork will have to wait. What a shame.

The paperwork doesn’t know what it’s missing, he sent back.

I think I’ll struggle through.

Yeah, Carlos reflected as he chuckled and slid his phone back into his pocket and picked up the magazine he had been idly pursing, it was going pretty well - whatever it was.

---

The station alarms had blared shortly after his last exchange with TK, so Carlos was not all that surprised to see him when they arrived at the office building. He was surprised by everything else though, from the woman who had apparently jumped through a tempered glass window right down to the man TK was currently restraining from stabbing himself with a fork. In short, chaos.

TK handed his charge over to an officer who had just arrived and met them at the door, nodding to his dad before starting with the rundown. “I was first on scene,” he explained curtly, “In addition to the jumpers, there have also been 4 people trying to stab themselves and various others that just feel generally unwell. We’ve cordoned off everyone still standing over there,” he paused to gesture over towards the cubicles beyond the conference table, “and out special response teams are on their way. You should also know that all these symptoms came without warning,” he finished grimly.

Carlos exchanged a look with Marjan as he pulled out the chromatograph. It was standard procedure, but there was no way this was airborne. But he still needed to check because, on the off chance that it was, they could all be in serious danger.

A quick scan confirmed his suspicions that nothing was airborne. Marjan nodded as he relayed the news, “if it were airborne there’d be 40 people down, not 9.”

“So what’s causing it?” he asked as he stowed the chromatograph back into its case.”

TK shrugged as he walked past them, hurrying to help his partner with another victim, “that’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?”

The next few minutes were like nothing Carlos had ever seen before. He had been a firefighter for almost 6 years now, and while that may not be very long in the grand scheme of things, he had always felt that he had seen his fair share of strange happenings. This though was one for the record books. At one point he found himself next to TK, helping him to restrain a woman who was trying to dig her own veins out with her nails.

“I bet that paperwork sounds pretty good right now,” he said lowly to the other man as Tim tried his best to bandage her arms securely.

TK gave a dry chuckle, “I don’t know, it might be a tie.”

Carlos rolled his eyes but lost his chance to respond when the woman tried to lash out again and he was forced to move around to get a better grip and prevent her from gouging Tim’s eyes out as well as her own arm.

He was changing his gloves a few minutes later when TK popped up at his shoulder again, eyes narrowed as he watched Paul poking around by the conference table, “Why do I feel like he’s doing a thing?”

Carlos followed his gaze to see Paul examining the debris left over from the lunch meeting, “he’s totally doing a thing,” he confirmed.

TK nodded and watched, not taking his eyes off of Paul even as he responded to his radio, confirming that yes, he really did want the building locked down. When Paul announced that he knew who did it, TK glanced at Carlos but followed Paul back to the conference table without a word.

Carlos could see Paul reach for a sandwich and gingerly remove the top half of the ciabatta roll. His voice was grim when he announced, “mercury.” Carlos glanced over at Michelle, who did not look pleased to have her suspicions confirmed. He heard TK swear softly before speaking into his radio, “Dispatch, be advised we have a suspect in the incidents at 701 Brazos. Details for an APB to follow.”

Once he switched off his radio he turned to face the CEO, “I’m going to need to know everything about your catering today,” he said curtly, “including why someone from this restaurant would want to poison your entire staff.”

The CEO looked baffled but began rambling off details about the restaurant and their catering contract. Carlos exchanged a glance with Paul, who was still holding the poisoned sandwich. His crewmate merely shook his head, replacing the top of the sandwich and setting it back on the tray.

The next hour passed quickly. Now that they knew what they were dealing with, they knew what to look for and how to address it. It was well-controlled chaos, commanded by the combined brilliance of Captains Blake and Strand. Carlos clapped a hand on Michelle’s shoulder as they got the last of the victims loaded onto gurneys. “Nice work Chica,” he told her with a smile.

She returned it, even if it was a bit strained. “I just can’t believe anyone would do this,” she said with a shake of her head, “what kind of person does this?”

Carlos shrugged, “I don’t know, but I’m sure we’ll soon find out. It sounded like APD had a plan to draw whoever it is out.” He looked up to see Marjan gesturing for him to come over from the doorway. “I better go see what she wants,” he told Michelle, “I’ll see you later Chica. Remember, you did amazing today.” She gave him a grateful smile that he returned, before heading over to join his teammate. Marjan was impatiently waiting for him and grabbed his arm as soon as he was closer enough, dragging him behind her.

“Come on,” she said as they headed towards the lobby, “Officer Strand needs our help.”

Carlos was too stunned to ask questions, even if he had been given a chance to. Next thing he knew they were outside, waiting by the ladder truck. “What are we waiting for?” he asked.

Marjan grinned, “We called in an order to the place where they got their lunch. We’re going to wait for the delivery guy here and as soon as we can confirm that he’s the one who did it, Officer Strand and friends will swoop in and arrest the guy.” She was practically vibrating with excitement. Carlos raised a skeptical eyebrow at her, “Adrenaline junkie much?”

She didn’t even bother to deny it, they both knew it was true. “Oh c’mon Carlos,” she said instead, “do you want to help catch a killer? Or at least,” she added with a devilish grin, “see a certain police officer in action.”

He rolled his eyes at her and sincerely hoped it was too dark for her to be able to see the blush creeping up his cheeks. He was saved the trouble of responding by a sedan pulling up. A man in a green polo with the restaurant logo embroidered on it climbed out, hands full of bags. He glanced down at the paper in his hand, “I’ve got an order for Ladder 126?”

Carlos spared a glance at Marjan who shrugged before walking towards the man. He adopted his “polite phone voice,” as his sister called it, and called out “That would be us, thanks.”

The guy grinned as he handed over the bags, “No worries, always happy to help out our first responders.”

Marjan flashed him a winning smile, “That’s so sweet of you. What would really be helpful though would be not poisoning people with mercury. It would save us a lot of time and trouble, you understand.”

Carlos studied the delivery man as his face fell and fear spread across his features. He turned to bolt towards his car and Carlos was about to make a move to stop him when he heard TK’s voice ring out through the night air, “Freeze, APD!” Carlos tracked his voice to find him emerging from the shadows of the rig flanked by two other officers, gun drawn and expression serious.

Carlos fully understood the gravity of the situation at hand. He was painfully aware that the man in front of them was responsible for the death of several people, and the injury of many others. He had seen the devastation that he had caused firsthand, but that did not change the fact that he could not take his eyes off of TK.

He looked like an entirely different person. The person in front of him was a world away from the sweet and funny guy he had been getting to know. This man was focused and stoic. There was not a trace of his easy smile or quick humor. There was only determination and disdain for the person who could do this, could cause the destruction they had seen here tonight.

It was really hot.

Carlos wanted to feel bad for even thinking that at a time like this, but there was no denying that Officer Strand was sexy as hell. Carlos could think of a few ways they could maybe spice up their nights, but he pushed those aside. Appreciating the sight before him was one thing; fantasizing about his boss’s son on the job was entirely another.

He turned and walked away, heading inside to begin packing up their equipment. The sound of the cuffs clicking on the wrists of the irate delivery man brought a smile to his face. This may be a disaster unlike anything Carlos had ever seen, but at least the man responsible would be facing justice and would never be able to do this again.

Once the victims had been transported there was little to do but pack up. They did so quickly, and once they were back in the truck, Carlos pulled out his phone. He opened his messages and considered for a moment before he started typing.

Good work today Officer, he typed out. He paused for a minute but hit send. A response came almost immediately.

You didn’t do too bad yourself. See you tonight?

This time, Carlos didn’t hesitate. He knew exactly what he wanted to say.

Count on it.

----

Carlos anxiously checked everything on the table one more time. TK was due to show up any minute, and he wanted to make sure everything was perfect. They had been keeping things casual, but Carlos would be lying to himself if he didn’t admit that his feelings for the officer were anything but casual. He wasn’t sure exactly when it had happened, but he had fallen hard for TK Strand.

That realization had led him to another: he barely knew anything about the other man. He knew that he was a cop, he knew that he was from New York, he knew that he was his boss’s son. That was it.

Well, that and the fact that he was amazing in bed.

Still, it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted to know more about this guy that made his heart race. He wanted to make a real go of this thing they had, and this was the first step in that direction.

Grand gestures, right?

The knock on his front door startled him so badly he almost spilled the bottle of champagne he had just finished pouring into glasses. He set it down gently and crossed to the door, smoothing his shirt as he went. He opened the door only to have the other man latch onto him immediately, his mouth finding him and his hands sliding down his chest, pulling at his shirt.

Carlos smiled into the kiss, returning it with almost as much vigor. He let it happen for a few more moments, savoring the rush that he felt before gently pulling away. When TK made to follow him and continue, he put a hand on his chest and used the other to gesture towards the table.

“Why don’t we have something to eat first?” he suggested.

TK grumbled but allowed himself to be led to the table. He took the seat offered and gazed at Carlos with suspicious eyes as he rounded the table to his own.

“What is all this?” he asked.

Carlos settled into his seat, “I figured it would be nice if we actually spoke in person for more than 4 minutes at least once. Don’t worry, we can have mind-blowing sex later, but I’d like to get to know the person I’m sleeping with a little bit.”

“Why?”

The question was harsher than Carlos had been expecting. Actually, a quick survey told Carlos that TK’s body language was a whole lot more hostile than he had been expecting. He could feel himself stiffening in response. He hadn’t known how TK would respond to this, but openly hostile had not been on his list. He continued on though, picking up his glass of champagne. He looked significantly at TK’s glass, but he didn’t move. If anything, his expression hardened.

Carlos’s glass was still held aloft, so he trudged ahead. “To new beginnings,” he said, raising his glass. His heart sank when he saw that this was clearly a one-sided endeavor. He set down his glass and looked at TK expectantly, “Are you going to say anything? Maybe comment on the fact that I clearly spent time on this, or that the table is set well?”

He tried to lean into humor, to use it as a shield. It was a weak one as TK’s next words shattered it with one blow.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly, standing up from the table, “I think we have clearly gotten our signals crossed.”

He stood up and was about to walk away, but Carlos wasn’t about to let this happen. “What, you’re just leaving?”

“We clearly want different things Carlos; I don’t see much point in staying.”

“Different…” Carlos couldn’t believe what he was hearing, what he was seeing, “it’s dinner TK, not a marriage proposal.”

Carlos knew it wasn’t his imagination this time when he saw TK stiffen.

“I thought I had been perfectly clear,” he said coldly, turning to face Carlos, “this is not what I wanted. I just hadn’t realized you were living in a fantasy. Sorry to say that I’m not in it. Actually, not that sorry, come to think of it.”

They stood in silence for a while, the echoes and ramifications of TK’s words bouncing around them. Finally, Carlos spoke, “I’m sorry,” he said clearly, deliberately, “if I wanted to take the time to get to know the guy I was spending time with. I’m sorry that I wanted to do this right, that I expected some buy-in to this relationship considering the risk I am taking in dating my boss’s son.”

When TK’s laugh came it, was cold and hollow.

“I don’t even know where to begin with all of that. Let’s start with the fact that no one asked you to date me. We were just meeting up, who cares that you work with my dad? Secondly – and I want to make this painfully clear – there is no relationship. It was just sex, nothing more.”

He was quiet after that, letting his words sink in. After a few moments, he shook his head, “I’m sorry you went through all the trouble, but this is not going to work for me. Call me if you ever feel like rejoining me in reality. Otherwise, lose my number.

And just like that, he was gone.

Carlos sank into his chair, mind reeling. What the actual fuck had just happened?

Keep reading on Ao3

#911 lone star #911 lone star fanfic #tk strand #carlos reyes #tarlos #role reversal au #my writing #i was tipsy and pissed off while writing parts so see if you can spot those

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fromthewifecage · 4 years

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Kombatants and a clumsy S/O (aka: Oh shit I just dropped my sandwich on the floor)

This idea for some headkanons came from a silly chat with @gojihime99, and I just had to write something. Also I’m suffering from pretty horrendous PMT this month and occasionally, amongst the anger and annoying fits of sobbing, I become even more clumsy that normal. I’ve almost fallen down the stairs so many times in the last 2 days that I have no idea how I haven’t seriously hurt myself. This includes Erron Black, Johnny Cage (mention of Younger!Johnny but focused on Dad!Johnny), Nightwolf, Bi-Han, Kenshi (yes @malicedragoness, I finally included him for you, sorry it’s not full on filth), Kabal and Kano (again Kano is last so if you don’t like him you can ignore the end). It’s aiming for humour and fluff, with a hint of smut. Hope you like :D It’s quite long so do keep reading after the cut! Erron Black: This man has the reflexes of a magician. He’ll be relaxing with you, an arm slung around your shoulders, one hand stroking through your hair, whilst his other hand will be dancing a coin across his knuckles. You’re not complaining, talented fingers are very useful after all, but it’s unfair that he never seems to drop anything or even have to concentrate on making sure he doesn’t spill his drink when he’s carrying it, your drink, a bowl of snacks, and some napkins because it’s inevitable that you’ll spill said drink at least once. “Noooooooooo!” Erron appears in the doorway, thumbs hooked into his belt, feet crossed nonchalantly and a massive smirk on his infuriatingly sexy lips. “What you dropped this time, darlin’?” “Sandwich.” He snorts and saunters away, spurs jingling, the noise only half covering his low rumbly laughter. Sexy bloody bastard. Well the floor is clean, he knows you drop stuff occasionally (all the time) and so he takes time to mop the floor, all so you can take advantage of the 5 second rule. And he mops topless because it means you’ll get all hot and red and then your clothes will fall off and you’ll both end up fucking on the kitchen worktops. “Noooooooooo!” This time it’s Erron yelling and you running into the bedroom. There you find Erron sprawled on the bed, his smirk even smirkier. “You ok?!” “Looks like I fell on the bed. Gosh darn it.” His smirk curls into a predatory grin that sends a deep aching pulse to your core. Ugh. Stupid sexy bastard. Then ‘oh nooooo’ you’ve fallen too. And your clothes soon fall to the floor. Gosh darn it. Keep reading for more idiocy after the cut...

Johnny Cage: Younger!Johnny has no time for clumsiness and will roll his eyes whenever you trip up the stairs (how is that even a thing? Surely gravity should stop that? Stupid science). He’s a bit of a twat, let’s be honest. It’s when baby Cassie comes along that he experiences his own clumsiness for the first time. Being woken countless times a night and surviving for months on little to no sleep turns the once smoothly graceful man into a stumbling mess. It also shows him how dangerous a home can be and after he’s tripped over a dropped baby bottle seemingly 100 times in one night that he calls in his PA and has the apartment (Penthouse) baby (and sleepy Dad) proofed. Dad!Johnny is a much more understanding and kind man. “Noooooooooo!” Johnny runs into the kitchen, hair wet from the shower and sticking up in every possible direction, towel flapping, fists held in front of him, his entire body radiating green light. “You ok, baby?” You’re speechless, scared and he’s now worried. It’s after a good few minutes of him searching the kitchen, spouting off threats of serious bodily harm that you find your voice. “I’m sorry, please don’t be angry with me I didn’t mean to I’m sorry please don’t Hulk-out!” He’s puzzled at first, and kinda worried you’re unwell. that’s when he notices the green glow lighting up the kitchen. His face flushes red and he’s so damn adorable that you can’t help but pull him into your arms, and when you finally get him to tell you about the ‘glow’ you just about die with happiness. You wake him up the next morning wearing all the green clothes you own. “You ‘Hulking-out’ now, sweetheart?” “It’s my way of glowing, you know, cos I love you too.” Maybe you didn’t need to dig out that ill fitting green shirt, because he has that off you in mere seconds, and everything else you’re wearing. Neither of you leave the bedroom until you really need a sandwich. And he offers to make it this time. Nightwolf: He’s not one to comment on any clumsiness, that would be mean and the last thing he’d ever want to do is make you feel uncomfortable or ashamed of something you can’t really control. If you repeatedly drop or squish things he’ll rearrange his home to make it easier for you to move without bashing your hip into the edge of the table, repeatedly. He’ll think about why you might be clumsy, are you not paying attention, or is the table possessed by an evil demon who likes to watch you hurt yourself on it’s sharp corners? Maybe you’re overly stressed by your job? He wants to help, he wants you to be happy and besides, if your hip is sore then that might get in the way of rolling about naked together in the forest and that is not ok. “Noooooooooo!” Nightwolf runs into the kitchen in the most heroic way, hair loose and majestic, an axe tightly held ready to vanquish whatever is making you shout. He finds you pouting at a happy Kiba licking at the floor. “Are you alright, my love?” When it comes out that you’re sad because you dropped your sandwich on the kitchen floor and Kiba snaffled it in one big bite, Nightwolf is stunned. He puts down the axe and pulls you into his arms, stroking your back and trying oh so very hard not to laugh. “I’ll make you a new one, and we can go outside and watch the sunset whilst you eat it.” Nightwolf is the best. Especially when he’s butt naked and howling with pleasure into the night as you ride him, sandwich forgotten and uneaten in the picnic basket he put together. Bi-Han: The man can move as silently as smoke and as fluidly as water, so honestly, your clumsiness does annoy him. But he does admire that you don’t make a big deal (usually), that you clean up any mess, and you don’t ask him to modify his home to suit you, rather you accept you’re going to bash your hips against the edge of the table, or hit your head when you open a cabinet when looking for his secret chocolate supply (he’ll deny he has one). If you’re living together or at least spending time together out of bed, then he has actual feelings for you, so accepts your clumsiness as part of you, and wouldn’t dream of asking or trying to get you to change. He loves you as you are, clumsy dork or not, and you love him just the way he is, a big scary (sexy) assassin. “Noooooooooo!” Bi-Han saunters into the kitchen. He’s an exceptionally skilled assassin, he can tell if there is someone else is in the house, and it’s just you, and from the sound of it, you’ve dropped your sandwich. He leans against the doorframe and watches you sulk. “You’re cute when you pout.” You have to stomp over to the fridge to hide the smile that tries to erase your pout. When you find you’ve had the last of the cheese you really do pout. Bi-Han just grins that infuriating gin of his and nods towards a bag on the table. Inside is cheese, crisp salad leaves and your favourite bread from your favourite bakery, all the way over the other side of town. He knew you were running low on supplies and didn’t want you to go hungry. You reward him with a long lingering kiss and don’t even mention the blood smear staining the bag. Best not to. Plus Bi-Han has his hands under your top and you’d really rather not distract him from that. Kenshi: He would never deliberately intrude upon your thoughts without your express permission, but sometimes, especially if you’re thinking hard or are emotional about something, your thoughts project too loudly to ignore. There are also times that Kenshi feels he has to read your thoughts, for example if you’re upset or he’s genuinely worried about you. Your clumsiness confused him at first, he’d hear shrieks or thuds, you’d wince if he pressed against a bruise as his hands explored your body, and it took him breaching his own rules on telepathy and reading your mind to see what really happened. So he was relieved to find that you were not in danger, no-one was hurting you or making you anxious enough to lose focus and hurt yourself; you just lost focus on your surroundings, weren’t spatially aware of your own body or were paying attention to something else enough to walk into the wall, again. “Noooooooooo!” Kenshi strolls into the kitchen as the sandwich levitates off the ground and back onto the plate you’re holding. “My hero!” You squeak and rush to hug him. He’s a fantastic hugger so you barely need an excuse to wrap your arms around his wiry frame. The sandwich starts sliding off the plate again so Kenshi calmly hovers them both onto the table to let you hug him tighter. “Was this just a ploy to get me in your arms?” You laugh and hug him tighter. “No, but would you object if I tried it in the future? Or we can just pretend I’ve dropped my sandwich and you can still be all handsome and heroic and save me from possessed food?” His laughter is silenced by your lips pressing to his own and hands that tug at his crisply pressed shirt. His smile is too beautiful not to kiss. Kabal: Not only is he a speed demon, but he’s graceful as well. Quite how he can zip around at speeds so fast Sonic would be jealous AND manage not to knock anything over and avoid pedestrians is frankly unfair. At the start of your relationship he’ll zoom around moving things out of your way, but after you explain it feels overly protective and nannying, he stops (unless you're in serious danger). He understands your need to feel free, to grab onto any small chunks of personal freedom that you can, and admires that you can accept your ‘flaws’. He does tease you about it if you bump into something, but gently and with a smile, and he knows you can’t resist his smiles, so it’s doubly good, right? “Noooooooooo!” He’s there before you finish groaning out your frustration. “You ok?” “Dropped my sandwich.” He can’t help but laugh. “And there was me thinking it was a monster. Kinda hoped it was a monster so I could show off and slice it into pepperoni so you’d swoon and offer me anything I wanted for being your saviour.” “Oh, is that how it is?” You grin and grab a hold of his shirt, tugging him to press against you. He raises an eyebrow and grins, eyes sparkling. “You want me to get on my knees and show you how grateful I am for you rescuing me from the big bad sandwich?” It’s after you both breathlessly get to your feet having rolled around on the kitchen floor, that you notice what happened to the sandwich. Kabal jokingly offers you the bum-flattened bread. You both end up on the floor again when you tell him you’d rather eat his ass. Kano: Drop his stuff and he’ll get pissed off, drop your own and he’ll laugh. And if you drop food then he’s fully into the 5 second (or minutes/hours) rule. Food is food, and when you grow up dirt poor then a little bit of floor on your sandwich isn’t enough to throw it away. If you’re in a casual/fuck buddy thing with him then he’s not going to see you enough to witness your clumsiness, but once he develops feelings for you and wants you around, he finds pretty much everything you do cute and lovable. “Noooooooooo!” Kano barrels into the kitchen like a sexy (sexier?) crocodile Dundee, knives out, tits out, red eye glowing menacingly. He’s used to all manner of fuck off deadly shit in Australia, and in Russia you may not have ‘death on eight legs’ or Jaws waiting mouth open in a puddle, but you do get bears, wolves, and angry bastards who’ve run out of vodka. “You ok, love?” You pout and point to the floor. Your meticulously made sandwich (and you’d been thinking about it all day) lay on the floor. “Well, whilst you’re down there, love?” His grin is filthy and despite the horrendous line, you laugh. “Oh no, think it’s my turn, don’t you?” “Don’t have to ask me twice.” For a man his size he is far faster than you’d imagine, and he has his tongue inside you before you can really catch your breath. He even gives you the bigger half of the sandwich afterwards. He’s a softy really.

#Erron Black #Johnny Cage #Nightwolf #Bi-Han #Kabal #Kano #Mortal Kombat #Mortal Kombat Headkanons #Mortal Kombat Headcanons #Younger!Johnny Cage #Dad!Johnny Cage #noob saibot #OG Sub-Zero #Sandwich

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jokeringcutio · 4 years

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Debunking Arthur Fleck Fluff HC’s

As a reply to questions I have received about Arthur’s ideal partner, his mental state, living with him, and much more, here’s a little background to the darkness in my tales and some thoughts on the matters.

Oh, look, he’s so sweet. So romantic. Such a good boy. He would be such a great boyfriend, such a good partner, such a nice protective father. He just needs cuddles and lots of love.

Welcome to my *essay*. Ever wondered why my depiction of Arthur Fleck is as gritty and dark as it is in some of my recent fics? Oh yes, I have written fluff and kind fics as well. But here are some reasons why I think that if Arthur Fleck were real, you’d better seek yourself a different guy to fall in love with.

Hold your horses:

1. Arthur Fleck’s mental health issue. 2. He is unpredictable. 3. He doesn’t see reality. 4. His humour is dangerous. 5. You would be emotionally and physically drained. 6. He murders people, including his own mother. What guarantee do you have he won’t kill you or your child? 7. And would you truly want a man like that to be the father of your children?

Warnings: This post contains sensitive content, such as topics of self-harm. Be aware of this and decide whether you wish to continue reading or click this away. This is purely explaining my own experiences and how they effect my view, explaining rather than convincing you how I got to this point of view I use in some of my darker fics.

My main points:

Let’s break it down.

1. Arthur has a real bad mental health issue, which is said to involve self-harm, negative thinking, hurting himself, hurting others, having delusions. Now why would that be a bad thing that you can’t overcome? - I’ve seen a large amount of Joker fans on Tumblr thinking that if they were there, they could help fix Arthur. And perhaps, they could. If they can, Arthur would not transform into Joker. But realistically, he would still need to take his medicine every day to keep his mindset as docile as it is at the start of the film. _ > Dangers: People who are on meds for their mental health have the tendency to, once they feel normal and happy, stop using their medicines and have a relapse. Which is very hard to see and you will have to use all your energy to help them back on track. _> A medicine can stop working. A mum of a friend of ours had this happen to her, where she became immune to her meds and had tried so many, some being taken off the market, others losing their effect after months or years of usage. She was tired of having to go through the whole process of finding a new one that worked. When it stopped being effective, she killed herself. _> A medicine can be taken off market. And whenever something happens to the meds, will your love be enough to keep Arthur standing tall? Because it might be bad luck, but the instances I have seen where people have had a serious case of reoccurring depression, or borderline syndrome, it always ended with the loved ones, despite giving it their all (their time, losing their jobs loving and taking care of them, their money, all of their possessions, their body and their soul, giving up friendships, other family members and what not), only to end up with it never being enough. That is to say, yes, there are many different mental conditions and each has different levels of severity. That is to say, every level can be severe, but while some give hope that the person suffering from it can function normally, or can find happiness, I think with all that the film has shown us, Arthur is at such a stage that we can assume it will not be cured miraculously. And you should wonder if anything you do could ever be enough.

2 & 3. He’s unpredictable.

This is part of his mental health issue. He has delusions as we noticed from the film. He doesn’t see reality. He imagines an entire relationship with his neighbour, who makes it quite clear she hardly knows the guy.

_> Danger: No matter what you do, you have no grip on the image he has of you in his mind. His reality differs from whatever it is you do. It will put you in immediate danger. -- Now why is this a terrible, terrible problem? Someone very close to me has mental issues and delusions. So I have first-hand experience. It is frightening! For years on end I have been careful about what to say, never to say something that will upset them, always say yes to whatever suggestion they give. Even if it ruins your own life. Even if they tell you all sorts of things that are wrong with you, or with people you love. You accept it out of fear because they are so instable and you want to help them forward. To give them the space they need, to look after them in times of need. And it is FRIGHTENING. Because this person I know changes personalities as well. In a way that we can argue Arthur changes personalities when he becomes Joker, but this person I know has over ten personalities and you never know who is coming out next. One personality is capable of doing normal grown-up things, the next is a small child, but all of them are angry, jealous and mean. -> Which is a big difference with Arthur. Let me make it clear now, I don’t think Arthur falls in this multiple personality disorder category. There’s a clear transition between him and Joker, possibly helped by the lack of medicine available and the effects of it waning. Arthur is unstable and unreliable because of what his own mind makes him perceive, not necessarily for being different personalities in one body.

To expand on my personal experience: This person imagines the weirdest and scariest things and to them, this is reality. Now this person is a very extreme case I won’t expand on, but they see things that didn’t happen. In a quiet room, they imagine a fight. People talking about the weatherforecast are in their mind plotting this persons death. Someone showing kindness is often in their mind someone doing something horrid or lewd and they can flip about it and shout, and throw stuff, and cause a whole scene.

So yes, no matter how kind you will be to Arthur Fleck, if his reality of you watching television is a contorted delusion of you telling him you want to walk out on him, and he places you inside his ‘bad people’ box, you might be up next for the chop. It’s how family drama’s occur, it’s one of the reasons why some people kill their loved ones because they don’t want them to get together with someone else, or live without them. Only, you don’t even have to actually want to walk away from him. He just needs to imagine it and your safety is gone. Another thing I like to think this person I know and Arthur might have in common is the obsessive and possessive way they would deal with partners. This person slowly made a web around their partner, isolating them from friends and family, making them even have to give up their job for them. They control their mobile, their email, stalk them online, send messages out of their partner’s name. Nothing that reaches the partner hasn’t run by this person, and this person takes their partner out of groups without telling them. They control everything of this persons live, and it grew so silently, so slowly, that the partner didn’t notice until it was too late. And now the partner doesn’t care. No one matters to them, no one except this person who they try with all their might to keep happy.. Which is incredibly sad. Because we can see the partner fading away, ill, unwell, with little to no joy left. And that is the bleak reality I have been faced with and still am faced with. And which I can’t ignore when looking at Arthur. The idea that he too could and would slowly create a web around the one who has taken his fancy, isolates them, makes them dependant and care only for his well-being. 4. A sign why he is dangerous. His jokes include murder, giving a glimpse of his brain. And though some might find his morbid humour funny, how would you feel if you were happily married, had a beautiful son you loved dearly, and someone would say “knock knock, your son is dead” and hold up the dead body of your son. Because think about it, his humour isn’t just humour. His humour is part of his fantasy, it is part of what he starts doing. It is a mirror of the darkness in his mind. And we have seen reasons why the murders he commit can be ‘justified’. But if you have to be realistic, can any murder be justified? A murder is still a murder, still bad. He still kills people. People we happen to know little about except that they took the piss off someone (or did they? read the note underneath this paragraph). But they have family members, friends, a mother and father. They have people who love them, who wait for them at home. How would you feel if your child, your brother or sister, your best friend, your lover, would not arrive home one day because someone thought they were bad because they ...let’s say... accidentally bumped against them in the street, or happened to look them in the eye, and were killed for it because the one they bumped against or looked at thought it was his right to do so. You would not laugh about it. You would be fucking livid.

- note: As the film is an account by Arthur, do we even know if the guys on the train actually abused him? What if they were just minding their own business and Arthur imagined being struck down by them? I mean, we do see bruises on his body, but it is his ambiguous account. Has anyone considered the possibility that the abuses took all place in Arthur’s head and he killed these men because of his own fantasy running wild and dark and morbid? I don’t think it went this way (I mean, there’s the textual evidence of Arthur having been abused in the past and what-not), but suppose for a moment that even that evidence is what came from his mind as he tells the tale, his reality. In a way we can’t trust anything that we’ve seen in the film..... 5. Ever lived with a borderliner? Then you will know how draining it is emotionally and physically. (Now, if you are diagnosed or consider yourself a borderliner don’t instantly take offence. I am talking about severe cases here, and as always there are gradations. And I do hope for you and everyone who loves you that your gradation isn’t as bad as the one I am about to describe. And if it feels it is, know you ARE LOVED.) Because if you know Borderliners you know this: They are usually the most glorious people you’ll ever meet. They shine bright, you can’t help but to instantly fall in love with them. And as such, I have never understood why they feel the need to be this self-destructive or why they never seem to understand how much they hurt all those around them who love them. But I’m not here to dwell on the hows and why’s and my own thoughts and experiences in this. I bring this up because people who are self-destructive, they suck the energy out of their loved ones. Or rather, if you love someone who wants to hurt themselves, it is emotionally draining. Because every time they want to hurt themselves, it feels like you failed, like you are not enough to them either. You can try to help them, keep them on track, and they can use your energy to keep standing. And with some people it works, with others unfortunately not as much. But now take Arthur Fleck who is an extreme case. He wants to hurt himself as well. You need to keep in mind that you will have to use every trick up your sleeve to stop him. Often. It can be little things as well. It can just be that he feels down and you have to tell him things to make him see the bright side again. But keep in mind, this won’t be once. This might be several times a day. It can be he has had a delusion that upsets him. You will have to put time and energy in to get him out of his dark mindset continuously. And if he’s anything like people I have experienced in the past, you might expect for him to bring extra drama when you’ve gone out and have a fun day, or part of a day, without him. Because he will be jealous, or feel left out, and he will probably have ruined the pans in the kitchen and burnt his own food and without words show you that you actually can’t leave. He might make hurtful or embarrassing comments when other people are around and his behaviour might scare of others, slowly isolating you from your friends. Until you are dependent on him, and constantly busy with him. And constantly trying to help him exist, and be sort of normal and sort of happy. Or in the worst case, you are constantly trying to keep all triggers away that will make him relapse and fall back into his dark thoughts. From experience, you’d think no one can handle that for long. But reality is that quite often, they persist, because they love the other THAT MUCH. Even if the one they love doesn’t understand, doesn’t seem to see, how much they sacrifice for them. But almost always they stick together till the end. And people can last for years like this. Years and years. It would count for you too. Once you’re in, you don’t want to get out because of your love for him. But you are constantly tired, you are isolated, you miss all the opportunities life offers you, you are always setting aside everything to make sure Arthur won’t flip. And even then, he flips. Constantly. But you don’t see how odd the live is that you stumbled into. After several years of slowly slipping into this life, you don’t see reality anymore. You don’t see what you miss. You are just surviving. And taking his hand to survive along.

That is what I have seen and still see. That is the basis on which I analyse a character like Arthur Fleck. That is why I can’t imagine you could have a truly happy ever after with him. 6. But worse than what I am witnessing in real-life, where the person I know who reminds me of Arthur’s mental quirks a lot is known for talking about murder, is the fact that we know Arthur Fleck is actually capable of it. And we also know that no matter what you do, if something in his brain makes the flip and he suddenly thinks bad of you, you might be up the chopping block next. This has nothing to do with whether or not he loves you. At this point we assume his love for you is real, it is strong, it is probably a lot like an obsession because once he has found you he doesn’t want to let you go again. And if he so much suspects you want to leave him, he might just make the choice that you won’t get away from him. Or if he thinks you have turned against him, what then? So consider this, are you truly save with this man? Because I don’t think you are. 7. Now, you have chosen to risk all above. You help Arthur take his meds and they work. He is sort of stable. He has his occasional sudden outbreaks where he is upset, tries to harm himself, laughs uncontrollably, and if he’s fine he makes morbid jokes. And you want a family with him because hormones and all of that stuff. Now imagine you are a child and you grow up in this small flat. Imagine it like this: You grow up. Now replace Arthur as your father with someone you don’t find physically attractive. Replace him with your own real life dad for instance. Imagine that you are born from your actual parents, but you live in a crappy small flat and your father wastes his money mostly on cigarettes (so the place stinks, but hey, if you can stand it kuddos). Imagine that your father has this laugh like Arthur, whenever he is upset. It comes out at random and sometimes unexpected times. And since you grew up with it, it frightens you, because it means your father is either sad or angry. And a kid’s initial reaction is they want their parents to be happy, so if a parent cries they cry along. It’s imbedded in children. Your father being upset upsets you too. He’s unpredictable and suffers from moodswings. One moment, he smiles at you and says he is proud of something you did, the next he is angry and shouting. Sometimes he snaps at you for something you didn’t do. A lot of the times he ignores you as he’s caught up in his own mind. When you are smaller, it is easier for him to be around you and he doesn’t show his ugly side as much, but when you grow older it gets worse. He is so familiar with you and your mom that he shows his bad side, his sadness, his irrational side, all of it, whenever he wants to. How will that make you feel? Scared? Uncertain? Not worthy perhaps, because of the way he snaps at you and blames you for things you didn’t do? Scared to say the wrong thing, to react in the wrong way. But as you grow up you discover that there is no right way to say things. When he is in one of his moods whatever you say is wrong, because a lot of the things are going on in his mind and he won’t or can’t share them with you. Sometimes you think he doesn’t like you because he’s distant, you can’t get him to respond to you and you might think he ignores you. He puts a lot of attention on himself with his unpredictable mood changes and the way he can be very dramatic about wanting to die, which can come out of nowhere and gives you the feeling you, as a kid, are not good enough. And it SUCKS. It sucks to feel that way. To be scared of your own parent all of the time. To be scared of what you say to him, what you do.

But the bright side, when you grow older you recognise parts of him in you. And if you can get through to him, he will recognise them too. And when you reach your twenties you’ll be able to talk. At first, it won’t be easy. But when it is, it is because you say you understand how he feels and you describe it to him so well, he believes you are pretty much a failure like him. He will say so in his own words. And you will accept it, but you won’t think you are a failure. Not anymore. Because you learnt how upsetting his behaviour can be, and you’re determined not to be that way. You show some of the symptoms, but not nearly as bad as him. And he reflects himself on you, thinks you are worse than you are, sees himself when he looks at you and takes it for a fact. Another of his delusions in which you play along because finally, finally, you two can connect.

You’d be so thrilled to leave the house and move to a place of your own.

Anyway.

TLDR;

- Accept the fact that you can’t change Arthur, which also means you can’t erase his negative thoughts.

- Would you be safe in this relationship? If you can’t control the reality he makes in his mind, and he actually starts murdering people, who can guarantee he won’t kill you next?

- Even if you don’t care dying by his hands, the relationship will probably be physically and emotionally draining for you.

- Still want to settle down? Do the test: Imagine your own father in Arthur’s role, behaving his way.

In conclusion: I don’t think anyone would live a happy live with Arthur Fleck. I think probably the most stable relationship, that will last the longest and have some semblance of a happy life, would be with a partner who is quiet, innocent, unexperienced, and who would sacrifice everything to keep him from tumbling into his dark mind. And he will tumble, even with all the best efforts. And it will still be a tiring, numbing and draining experience. But such relationships do exist in the real world, and unfortunately, I am still witnessing one that has been going on for years. And that’s why, I can’t see, from this distance, how anyone would be happy with the character of Arthur Fleck. He is too far gone. On the aspect of love: I feel I need to make it clear that love is, in all cases above, not a point of issue. Love will not diminish because someone has troubles of body or mind. For this, I imagined the love between Arthur and the other, both-sided. And no matter the hardships, I believe that once love is there it won’t falter. By the way he might ensnare you it might even feel as if it’s deepened, strengthened. And if you recognise yourself in some of the points I have mentioned above but struggle with yourself or your feelings, then know that no matter what ails you, there will always be someone who can love you, and health issues don’t equal the end of relationships. Not at all. From what I have seen, most partners stick by their loved one till the end. So don’t ever think that you could not find love for having a ‘fault’, or for simply being somehow different.

On my personal view of Arthur: He is still hot as f*ck though and I understand fully why people wanna tap that arse >) Arthur Fleck is a character that has not only his appearance going for him, but also all the mystery and complexity that make him interesting to write, read and fantasize about. Joaquin brought something alluring to the character, not just by the dubious glances and the paradoxical character he is playing (sweet and helpful caretaker versus revenge seeking murderclown), but the fraility of his character, both his emaciated body and his compassionately brought complicated emotions, are enough to lure anyone in. Because he makes us believe he is vulnerable. And he makes us want to get out there and hug him. While at the same time, all of us know that he can stand up for himself and that he is stronger than you would have given him credit for at the start of the film. And I believe, his character of Arthur Fleck / Joker would be stronger than most of us clown lovers. But that will not detain me. And I will continue to write about him doing smutty things and stuff, just because I can. And I will fantasize good things happening to him, and him being fluffy and ok as well, and write that down too. But in reality, we all know it probably wouldn’t be ok. Hence why I bestow you a few Dark Arthur Fics to balance against the pile of fluff I occassionally drown myself in. We can’t take just the good side of him, when there’s the complicated less prettier side to take into account as well. And perhaps, perhaps I can show us that we can love him for it just the same. We’ll see....

. . . .

And now I pose the question to you: We base a lot in life on assumptions. We are extra sensitive to the emotions of those we love the most. Keeping all this in mind, Can you truly be happy with Arthur Fleck?

#very long post #I'm so sorry #Arthur Fleck #Answers to anons #Joker

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inforapound · 4 years

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Ease The Dawn P.2 Ch.10

A/N - Thank you so much for reading and thank you for your awesome comments. I really appreciate your love for Aethelswith. I think this will be the last chapter for awhile.

Pairing - Ivar and Aethelswith Words - 1,800

Warnings - ANGST

"Aethelswith?" Harald's smooth voice rumbled softly as he placed his arm around her lower back, his other hand delicately taking her wrist. His bearded face and rich voice sounding, suddenly, so close to the side of her neck.

"Princess," he whispered, "are you alright?"

"I..." she started to respond but stopped as awareness rushed back overwhelming her, realizing she was leaning against his side, braced by his arm.

A sharp voice cut through her fog like a blade before she could say anything further.

"Would you care to explain why you are embracing my woman?"

"Ivar..." she breathed out, narrowing her eyes, seeing his angry face floating toward her. Squinting, she watched the way his torso dipped and rose as he crossed the hall using his crutch as leverage.

"Aethelswith seems unwell," Harald explained with his body still bend forward, looking down at her with concern.

Reaching for her, Ivar grabbed her waist, snatching her from Harald's grasp like a doll, using his other hand to slide his leg forward to complete his step.

"She is mine," Aethelswith heard him say but his voice sounded strange. Everything around her sounded strange; the footsteps of others, the slaves clearing the tables.

"That... I am aware of," Harald replied stepping back, raising his hands as if to surrender. His face was stern but there was a glint of something indiscernible in his eye. "We were talking about her homeland and she seemed to lose her line of thought. The colour drained from her face, so I was walking her to a bench to sit. In the spirit of amity, of course," the corners of his mouth lifted in an intended smile as he subtly bowed his head.

"Spirit of conquest, perhaps," Ivar replied, lowering his eyes to her. "Aethelswith?" he tipped his head back to better see her face. "What is going on?"

"Yes, I just..." she stammered, sounding dazed.

Pulling her close against his chest, he pressed his lips to her forehead, his eyes drifting back up to Harald. "Are you unwell?" he whispered into her hair.

"I.... I did not intend to stir.... um...," she sighed, frustrated with her confusion. "My mind was somewhere else."

"Where was your mind, Aethelswith?" Ivar asked in a soft voice.

"I..., I am not certain." Blinking, she raised her eyebrows, disorientated. "I must just be tired tonight."

"My sweet," sliding his hand down her back, he pulled her tighter to his front. "It is morning. We have just finished first meal."

"I believe so," she closed her eyes.

"What are saying?"

"I will take my leave then if you have her," Harald spoke from where he waited, standing to the side.

"Yess," Ivar hissed, sounding like a snake. "I have her." Running his hands up and down the backs of her arms, he watched Harald turn and make his way out through the hall doors and into the muted, morning sun.

"My love," she uttered against the leathers of his chest. "The light in here is too bright. I will retire if I am not needed this evening."

"Aethelswith? You are making no sense. I am taking you back to our room and calling for the healer."

"Do not fuss. I am sure I am just tired."

"You are shaking and your skin feels damp. I will take you back regardless."

"No, Ivar." Pushing away from him, she peered up at his face. Focussing, with effort, not to appear as unsteady as she felt. "I will just go to sleep anyway," she dropped her voice to a volume only he could hear. "I believe.... yes, yes he was...Harald was asking questions about my brother's army and land. Many questions. Stay with him...stay with the men....yes, with the men," she repeated, nodding her head. "I will be fine. Wake me later if I am still asleep and I am sure I will feel fresh again."

Looking down at her, he eyed her carefully, noticing the dark skin below her eyes. Pulling her hand to his lips, he kissed her fingers before nodding his concession. "You look like you have not slept." His eyes settled back on the group of men outside the hall doors, Harald included, deep in discussion. "Do you need..."

"No,' she interrupted. "I can make my own way. I am fine."

"Very well, my sweet. I will check on you shortly." Bending down, he kissed her balmy lips, squeezing her hand before she turned and made her way to the corridor.

—

"My Lady?"

Opening her eyes, she saw Freydis kneeling on the floor beside the bed. Her arm was extended, holding what felt like a damp cloth to Aethelswith's forehead. The room was barely lit and she struggled to make out the details of the young thrall's face.

"Is it night?"

"No, my lady, the evening meal will be served soon. The light is shuttered...for your eyes."

"My..."

"The light was bothering you."

Digging her elbows into the bed, she attempted to push herself up but weakness and nausea forced her down flat, souring the backs of her cheeks and puckering her mouth. Lowering her head to the pillow, her eyelids felt too heavy to keep open.

"Oh, my lady, please. You must try and wake a little. See if you can eat or try some more water."

"More?" she wasn't following. "I had.... honeyed oats and milk...." the thought faded away as a peaceful feeling lulled her back to some nowhere place.

"But, that was yesterday, my lady. You do not have even a crumb left in your tummy. Please."

"Ivar," she murmured.

"He was with you all night and most of the day. He is outside now speaking with the healer."

Sighing, she heard her own breath leave her dry mouth, the suspended feeling making her mind drift, sweeping her back into oblivion.

—

"Aethelswith? Aethelswith?"

Scrunching her brows together, she could hear Ivar's voice echoing as if he was calling her from the end of a long, long corridor. "Wake up, my little one," he said softly. The tenor in his voice rippled in her ears like the rolling waves she felt she was riding.

Squeezing her closed eyes tighter, she worked to pull herself up in the direction of his voice.

"Get the healer back in hear," be snapped at someone.

Her eyes flickered open, tenderness causing her to recoil as her painful eyes were met by a wall of blinding light. Closing them, she tried again cracking them slightly and peaking through her long, thick lashes. Slowly adjusting, his startling blue eyes came into her line of sight. Blinking hard, she attempted to sit up but was met with his cool hands on her bare shoulders, pressing her back down. Struggling to find words in her disarrayed mind, the only thought she could string was that, for the first time, his hands did not feel warm.

"Is it night?" she tried clearing her dry throat but started to hack, coughing hard.

Ivar's face lowered to hers as if he was suspended over the bed. It did not make sense. Nothing did. A thought like a plume of smoke entered her mind that perhaps he was not there at all and this was a dream. The idea evaporated as quickly as it formed and in various directions, she could hear the sounds of whispers but she was too tired to care.

Fingers touched her face, pushing the skin of her eyelids apart. Something grabbed her tongue, pulling it out, tugging it to either side.

Irritation forced her eyes open again and she could see Ivar standing over someone's shoulder. Someone who she would have been able to see if she turned her head to look but that seemed exhausting. It was all too much, but something must have happened. She recognized the helplessness on Ivar's face.

"It is midday. First meal is done."

Had she asked a question? Letting her lids shut once again, she felt herself slipping away.

"Aethelswith!" Ivar said sharply. "Stay awake."

Something poked her finger, making it sting... or had she just been bitten? A snake? A rodent? Was any of this real, her loose thoughts danced, undecidedly.

"Freydis said supper was coming," she heard herself speak.

"That was days ago. You have been sleeping since then. Sleeping or being sick. Do you recall nothing?" he asked.

"Pardon?"

She wanted him to stop talking. The brightness, the noise, none of it was helping. She wanted to be left alone. Swallowing again, she choked out a cough, her throat felt raw and swollen.

"Get that fucking slave in here," Ivar yelled, making her turn away and press her face into the pillow. The bed and room, the world around her felt like it was spinning.

"My king," a brittle voice came from somewhere beside. Her thoughts were just lucid enough to recognize it as the woman who had stitched her head. "My king, we will try getting her to suck a damp cloth. Freydis?" the lady seemed to speak in another direction, her voice sounding further away. "Lift the covers off her feet, we need to drive this heat down and out of her body."

There was another noise sounding much closer. Suspended, in and out of consciousness, she observed it without attempting to try and decipher where it was coming from. Realizing after it continued on that it was, in fact, her mumbling.

"Ivar?"

"I am right beside you," he answered.

Attempting to swallow, she lurched and then heaved, her stomach knotting painfully. Without any idea who was touching her, there was a hand holding something cool to the side of her neck. Suddenly aware she was retching onto her pillow, she was too weak to care.

"I am here, my sweet." His voice suddenly sounded like it was inside her mind. "You are sick, Aethelswith. Dangerously sick. You must fight to wake up and try and eat or drink something. You must."

Her stomach spasmed and she was only partially aware that her mouth was wide open, with her eyes rolling back in her head, gaging with no sound coming out.

"She cannot breathe!" he shouted frantically.

"Her body is doing its job, ridding itself of the illness," someone answered as she felt unknown hands touching various parts of her body.

"Do something!" he cried out again.

Cool air filled her lungs as she gasped loudly, her eyes still closed. Her mind was floating disconnected from the toils of her body. In the background, Ivar's orders rasped on, sounding like he was commanding his warriors. The sound seemed to fade, becoming lighter and soft until quiet replaced it; pure stillness filled the space around her. She did not attempt to fight the darkness, just exhaled softly, finding her way back to black.

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eerythingisshaka · 5 years

Text

The Coffee Prince Pt. 9

(T’Challa x Reader)

*Part 1* *Part 2* *Part 3* *Part 4* *Part 5* *Part 6* *Part 7* *Part 8*

Word Count 4.6k

Okoye looks at you with heightened concern. Looking from your belly to your strained expression she continues to walk you away. “(Y/N), please, sit down and calm yourself. We cannot risk you miscarrying at this moment. Breathe!”

You stop in your tracks, staring at her with a deadly expression. “Then take me to him now. I won’t interfere and I’m not glass, I’ll be fine. I just need to see his face.”

Okoye locks her jaw looking around a moment to think, switching her spear from one hand to the next. “You are brave to talk to me like this.”

You swallow hard but remain steadfast. “I don’t meant to, I just want to know he is alright...ugh…” You bend over clutching one side of your stomach.

Okoye tuts at you, helping you to standing position. “Ok, ok. You get five minutes; less if things are...out of hand.” Okoye holds you up slightly as you both walk towards Shuri’s lab facility.

Voices are raised as the elevator opens to the floor T’Challa is on. They’re distant so you and Okoye follow them as they become louder. Passing one examination area, you see Erik lying peacefully on bed with an oxygen mask on his face. He didn’t even look like he was hurt, just taking a nap from the looks of things. Two Dora Milaje stand outside his area on guard. Okoye whispers something that didn’t sound nice in tone in her native language as she rolled her eyes at him and carried you on.

The journey to where T’Challa laid is a strenuous one as your stomach contracts relentlessly.

“We are almost there…” Okoye whispers, nodding at you in encouragement. You were starting to regret your stubbornness to see T’Challa immediately during this unknown fit of pain until you finally see him.

Shuri and a couple of others were working overseeing him, laying bandages across parts of his body, checking his vitals around his bed. The woman in green is beside her too, questioning the numbers on the board. Shuri instructs one of her assistants when you catch her peripheral vision. She clenches her jaw as she says a few more words to the others before coming out.

“Okoye, what is she doing here?” Shuri says strongly.

“I can speak for...myself Shuri. How...is he?” You gasp between the twists happening in your guts.

Shuri looks you over, laying a hand on your shoulder. “You do not look well. What is happening? Are you in pain?”

You try to wave off her concern, pushing past her. “I don’t care about that right now, I want to see him!”

Shuri blocks the way to T’Challa. “I need to get you in a room and examine your pregnancy. You are obviously experiencing trauma to the point of a possible miscarriage.”

Okoye steps between you two. “Princess, I suggest allowing her to speak her peace with the King at once. Delaying her request only makes the situation worse, she is so very determined to do this. Forcing her otherwise could make things worse, in fact.”

Then, the woman in green appears from behind Shuri. “Hello, I know we have not met but I am Nakia, a friend of T’Challa’s. I am so sorry you have had to go through this today, but I assure you everything is fine now. Shuri, are you letting her see him?”

Shuri puts her hands on her hips defiantly. “You only get-”

“Five minutes, yeah yeah. I’d have seen him by now at this rate.” You say sarcastically. Nakia smiles at you before walking down the hall. Her walk is elegant, voice like butter on bread, just smooth and flavorful. You hold it in your mind to ask about her when things calm down.

As you approach T’Challa the assistants notice your presences, stepping back to give you access to him. You feel yourself calm as you lean on the bed, looking over him. One eye is swollen, lip cracked from a hit. A bandage covers one area of his chest; the cause of the wound you’d rather not know.

As he lies down with his eyes closed, you don’t even notice the subsiding of your pain, getting caught up in the image of your love lying there helplessly.

“He should be fine, I assure you. Luckily with the Heart Shaped Herb, he has a fast, regenerative healing ability. We are just helping the process along.” Shuri says from a distance.

You nod mindlessly, only wanting to watch him rest, wanting so badly for him to awaken.

“Ohh, T’Challa. What have you gotten yourself into?” You whisper to him. Your hand travels to his face, lightly caressing his widow’s peak as you love to do. Your throat starts to feel tight as your eyes burn with tears. This is why he didn’t want to tell you. If this was the kind of life he was living, you would be feeling this way for who knows how often. You rest your head on the pillow space not occupied by him as tears ran across the bridge of your nose.

“Ahh, umhle…” he croaks.

Your head pops up at the exact moment he speaks. “T’Challa? You’re awake?”

His face looks strained as he stirs a little. “Maybe a little too soon…”

Shuri rushes in to look over his vitals. “Good to have you with us, brother. You’ve given us quite a shock with your condition. Worse than usual.”

T’Challa groans. “I must be ok if you have time for jokes.” T’Challa peers over at you, stretching his bruised hand out. “(Y/N), what happened to you? You have a mark on your head.”

You reach up, forgetting about the remnants of the crash you still display. “Oh, right. Don’t worry about it, I just got a little banged up during the whole thing at the club.”

T’Challa tries to sit up.

“Lay yourself back down! You are not properly healed yet, and I really need you to talk less. (Y/N), two more minutes.” Shuri reminds you.

“Enough! You get so bossy when I’m away.” T’Challa tells her. “I’m so sorry you got in the midst of all of this, my love. It shouldn’t be this way.”

You shake your head, holding his hand tightly, playing with his ring. “You couldn’t help what that asshole was planning. You did all you were supposed to, and with Shuri and Ayo’s help, I am alive. This scar is nothing for what could’ve been.”

T’Challa nods, blinking slowly. “That is good to here. But what about…” His voice trails off as his eyes linger on your midsection. You look down, taking his hand to spread it across your stomach. All you could do is nod for the amount of emotion stirring underneath the surface of your calm demeanor. T’Challa’s head falls back on his pillow as he closes his eyes.

“Thank Bast. I prayed I wouldn’t awake to a loss.”

You swallow, keeping your voice as level as possible as you spoke. “I was not sure about this before, ChaCha, I really wasn’t. With all that has happened, I felt even less like I wanted to bring a child into this world if it meant its father was doing this stuff. But, seeing you just now and thinking over all the good I have experienced with you and your family supporting me…” Your voice cracks as your vision blurs. T’Challa caresses your face, running his thumb over your edges comforting you.

You lean over to kiss him softly. While chapped and cracked, it was still electrifying for you as ever.

When you part, T’Challa says, “You continue to lift my spirits whenever I am with you, a feat I will never ignore.” Suddenly he goes into a coughing fit.

Shuri lays a hand on your shoulder. “Guys, let’s go ahead and take a break so we don’t get worked up again. (Y/N), I’ll let you know when T’Challa is ready for another visit, but it’s time for him to rest now.”

T’Challa takes your hand, kissing it. It takes everything within you to walk away from him, but you took solace in the fact that he is getting well.

Heading back to the elevators with Okoye, a man with scars on his face in a blue patterned blanket stands outside the area Erik is laying.

Okoye slows her pace calling out to him. She and the man talk back and forth rapidly, voices sharp and strained at certain parts of the conversation, but no way could you decipher.

Okoye looks back at you. “Apologies this is my significant other W’Kabi, emphasis on the ‘other’ at the moment.”

W’Kabi side eyes Okoye. “Do not make my first impression an ill one, love. I hear you are the apple of our King’s eye at the moment, eh?”

Okoye answers for you. “She is not a moment, do not be rude. And don’t even think about hounding T’Challa about Klaue, he is not our concern anymore.”

W’Kabi perks up. “T’Challa killed him?”

Okoye sighs. “He died during the fight.”

W’Kabi squints at Okoye. “T’Challa didn’t kill him? Why? Who did? How?”

You were over W’Kabi’s attitude and decide to take control of the situation. “Ughh, ohh, I don’t feel well…” You clutch your stomach, heaving.

Okoye holds you, walking around W’Kabi to the elevator. “I have other obligations W’Kabi, let us be for now. Keep watch over your men at the border.”

Finally you and Okoye make it into the elevator to travel to the intended destination.

“Thank you for breaking that up. I know you weren’t actually unwell. I appreciate that.” Okoye says, maintaining her gaze straight ahead.

You nod, relaxing. “Sooo...what is his deal?” You ask.

Okoye’s shoulders drop as her eyes look around for an answer. “His history with the man that worked with the outsider that is here is extensive. Klaue was the cause of many deaths here in one day, including his parents. He has wanted revenge for as long as I can remember and T’Challa promised that.”

“Sounds like something he would do. Are they friends?”

Okoye nods, smiling slightly. “Since they were boys, pranking each other and messing around with the rhinos. W’Kabi holds him to high esteem.”

You tuck your lips, feeling silly as you ask your next question. “And what about you guys? How long have you been together and shiiiit?”

Okoye turns to you wide eyed. “Excuse me? Your language needs to be clean around me, understand?”

You shrink within yourself. “Sorry.”

Okoye shakes her head straightening up again. “But to answer, we have known each other since I started training to be a Dora, so 15 years? A couple for six.”

“Woooow, that’s good. The best one start as friends, I always hear. And I like you seem to wear the pants and all.”

Okoye’s mouth opens and closes a couple times before continuing. “We balance each other out, (Y/N). So, even though I could kill a man an infinite amount of ways before he could blink, W’Kabi has as much say as I do in what matters to one another personally. He is not weak, and I am not expected to remain strong at all times...which can be nice…”

The elevators open to a floor with low lighting. It appeared more lowkey compared to the bright and bustling vibe of Shuri’s lab. Okoye goes up to a door typing in a code to unlock them. As they roll open, you are lead into a living space.

“This is where you will be staying.” Okoye announces as you continue to look around.

You were impressed by the space; tall ceilings, large windows covered by heavy curtains. You could see parallels between the style of T’Challa’s condo and this room.

“Thank you, Okoye. I really do love it!” You walk over to sit on the couch, lounging back on it.

“Well, like it or not, this is it. I will come by in the morning with word on T’Challa’s condition. You focus on resting yourself, it’s been a long day, eh?”

“You can say that again.” You say as Okoye dismisses herself from the residence. You basked in the comforts of a soft surface to lay on, looking at the sunset through the cracks in the curtain parts. The exhaustion from the last two days catches up to you as you lay there, feeling pressure on your eyes as you fight to keep them open. Your hand rests on your stomach, followed by a fluttery feeling.

“Ohhh, you caused me a lot of trouble today, so don’t even right now.” You scold your belly as you lift your shirt a little to see. Your stomach still looked like it’s usual self, but you felt better staring at it knowing a little you and T’Challa rested inside.

“So I have decided to keep you, little one. Wow, saying it out loud is a revelation. But it’s true so flutter if you’re happy.” You wait a moment before being greeted by a tickle. “There you are….yeah I just don’t think I can give you up after all of this. Your dad is pretty damn cool, lemme tell you. But you already know, you’re super cool already, growing all fast. Don’t grow too fast though, huh? You’re my first, I wanna savor this, and tell people about it before you get here.”

Your eyes can’t keep up with the conversation as they drift. “I might be crazy for this, but I want you to see all of this for yourself. I need someone else to see this so I know I’m not dreaming. ChaCha makes everything feel like that though, you get used to it…” You meant to make it to the bedroom to rest properly but that’s just how good the couch is. You probably said a few more things but they became lost in the dreamscape of your mind as you fell asleep.

Your mind is busy while you’re sleeping, replaying all of the days events over and over again with varying outcomes. One dream consisted of you running through the holding area Tavia’s in, being chased by something you couldn’t see. The voices were loud and clear though, cursing you and demanding you to stop as gunshots rang out. You called for T’Challa in vain as the voices came closer, shots ringing right by your ear until suddenly a hand wraps around your waist.

You sit up quickly, hyperventilating and sweating in the calm of the living room.

“(Y/N)?”

Your heart stops as your body jolts away from the voice looking in its direction.

T’Challa looks at you empathetically, laying a hand on your knee. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you, umhle.”

Your chest heaves with breath, trying to calm down as you stare at him feeling your forehead for fever. “You’re warm, do I need to call Shuri to examine you?”

“DO I NEED TO CALL SHURI TO EXAMINE YOU?? You were just laid out in that hospital bed on your last leg, and you’re wondering what’s wrong with me?!” You exclaim in confusion. Looking him over, turning his head back and forth, amazed by no sign of a black eye or swollen lip. Pulling at his shirt roughly to look down and find no bandages.

T’Challa just smirks, unphased by your outburst as he sits next to you on the couch with one arm wrapped around you. “I missed you too, my sweet.”

As his arms came around you, you felt the flutter in your stomach again, as if to remind you to be kind and calm to its father. Laying a hand there, you snuggle to T’Challa, closing your eyes and sighing deeply.

“I have missed you T’Challa. I’m just so confused and in shock, I couldn’t bear doing all of that alone.”

T’Challa’s head rests on top of yours. “I’m so sorry I lost you. Erik kept me pretty busy and I just couldn’t keep up anymore, but you have my word that won’t happen again, you are too important to me.”

“You don’t have to promise me that. I know your intentions are good and things will happen, but you aren’t to blame.”

T’Challa sighs, holding you tighter. “I have been kicking myself for not letting you in since I met you. Maybe if I was more forthcoming, you would’ve been more prepared for something like this-”

You look up at him, laying a hand on his chest. His eyes moistened but resisted any tears from falling. “Stop beating yourself up! You got enough of that already today. ”

T’Challa smiles weakly as you lay your hand to the side of his face. “I understand why this would’ve been difficult to tell me about now. I probably would’ve laughed in your face, especially describing your suit, cuz that leaves little to the imagination, ok? But whatever could’ve changed from telling me, it doesn’t matter now, because I am safe, lying here with you ok?”

T’Challa shakes his head, eyes twinkling in admiration. “That’s why I am crazy about you. You know just how to reset me when I short circuit.”

You giggle before stop short. “Wait, that is a joke, right? You’re not part robot, or something?”

T’Challa chides you as his hands find your sides tickling you into submission. “Fine, FINE! You’re not a robot, staaaahp!”

You share a hearty laugh together, the first good one in what felt like ages. “But what did Erik do to you to make you so bruised and shit? You did not look good at all ChaCha.”

“He got his too, trust me. And he gets up a lot slower, might I add. But it’s a blur really, at some point he tricked me playing dead and when I retracted from my suit, he got ahold of my necklace, so that’s when the bruising really occurred since I had no armor.”

“Wow, were you trying to kill him?” You asked cautiously.

T’Challa shrugs. “Not necessarily, but if it had to happen so he would stop, I was willing. Especially after he shot me.

“YOU GOT SHOT!?” You exclaim, ready to tear into him for details.

Suddenly your kimoyo beads light up, interrupting the good time you were having. It was Shuri.

“Hey! How are-”

“Where is T’Challa?!” Shuri asks rather rudely.

Before you could speak, T’Challa sticks his head around. “Hello sister! I hope I haven’t worried you!”

Shuri rolls her eyes aggressively. “Your monitors made it look like your heart had stopped, and then I check on you to see you’re gone, OF COURSE I AM WORRIED!”

T’Challa sighs. “I am well, just catching up with (Y/N). Erik is still knocked out?”

Shuri nods. “Yes, contained and under sedation until we go to question him. Well, let me not keep you two. (Y/N), since he is feeling so well, remind him to make you a proper meal in the morning for you and the baby, ok?”

T’Challa responds, “Oh, if you could put in an order for me with the kitchen staff? We would like-”

“....umntu ovila (lazy person). Boy bye!” Shuri says followed by a swift hang up.

“T’Challa, stop giving your sister such a hard time. The girl has done a lot since you were gone, and patching you up too! I still cannot believe...”

T’Challa crosses his arms. “Ohh, she has a high tolerance, built up by years of experience. But I’m glad you are so chumy with her. Did you make your acquaintance with anyone else?” T’challa asks, changing the subject.

You roll your eyes but continue. “Yes! Actually, I did. I met couple Dora Menage’s, Ayo and Okoye. They all are so damn cool, with the bald heads and spears and strength, it’s dope!”

T’Challa chuckles. “Dora Milaje, my love. And yes, they are Wakanda’s most trusted protectors for centuries, so they are indeed awesome.”

“They are hundred of years old?? Oh my God, do they get a serum too for immortality?” You ask excitedly.

“No! What are you- I meant that their position has been around for years, not them specifically. We aren't immortal, that’s crazy.”

You side eye T’Challa. “Oh ok, of everything I’ve seen THAT is the craziest, cool.”

T’Challa rubs your back tutting at you. “It’s ok, you get used to it quickly. Now what else happened while I was under.”

“Umm, I met your mother, Queen Mother to be specific. She is soooo beautiful T’Challa, and a personality to match. We had a great talk about things going on, and the baby, she really spoke to me like we knew each other forever.”

T’Challa’s face smiles warmly. “Yes, she is great. I’m happy to hear that.”

“Other than that, just a bunch of people here and there, but those were the main ones.” You pause before continuing. “T’Challa, what’s going to happen with Erik and Tavia? I can’t imagine they will be treated lightly for what has happened.”

T’Challa looks away from you as his face drops. “Well, we don’t have to talk about that tonight. I have kept you up long enough.”

You shake your head vigorously. “No, I’m up now, we can talk some more.”

T’Challa gets up, taking you by the hand. “Can we just go to bed?” T’Challa raises his eyebrows suggestively. You scoff at him, crossing your arms, not moving.

T’Challa looks up to the sky before sitting down by your legs. “Bast and the ancestors. Listen (Y/N), I have plans to see them tomorrow to question them and their motives and from their, I honestly have no plans yet for them after that, ok?”

You marinate on his words. Tavia told you of some of the plans they had, but you weren’t sure if you should tell him or wait for them. “I spoke to Tavia the other day, before you and Erik came back together.”

T’Challa’s expression turns serious as you spoke. “What did you all discuss.”

“The obvious: how could she do this to me as a friend and to you as my boyfriend. How could a guy make her so crazy to even be down for this.”

“And? What did she say?”

You hesitate. “T’Challa, if I tell you, you won’t have any reason to question them tomorrow.”

T’Challa holds up his hand in surrender. “I plan to give them a fair trial either way, please, tell me. This is important.”

You think he sounds calm and collected enough, so you did. You told them about Erik planning to take the throne from T’Challa and even that they were possibly related.

T’Challa shakes his head. “That is not possible, my uncle had no children and has long been presumed dead.”

You shrug. “That is what she told me. Shuri could just run a blood test for that, right? And then you both could-”

T’Challa shakes his head, holding his hands together in frustration. “That’s not going to happen. It’s impossible, so why waste the time.”

You peer at T’Challa. “ChaCha, this isn’t something you should brush under the rug. At least consider it.”

T’Challa looks at you with an unreadable expression. He may not have even been looking at you exactly, just your direction while his mind was elsewhere. You sit up, scooting towards him laying your hands on his shoulder. “Don’t go into this with a heart overrun with unchecked emotions. You hold the cards now, so look at this objectively. I wanted to keep this from you for these reasons, I tell you, it’s tough keeping secrets.”

“Tell me about it.” T’Challa says flatly.

You reach for his widow’s peak, stroking it gently as your belly flutters. “We are counting on you to be a great man, which you already are. Don’t overcompensate where it’s unnecessary.”

T’Challa takes your wrist, bringing your fingers down to his lips, kissing their tips. “You have my word, and my heart...and my undivided attention.”

T’Challa reaches for your hips, snaking his hands down your thighs to bring you across his lap facing him as you straddle.

“Shuri said I am 6 weeks at least.” You whisper in his ear.

T’Challa beams with pride, grabbing your waist and rolling small circles over your stomach. “My Bast, our little bean must be excited to see the world.”

“Little Bean, that’s cute ChaCha.” You feel at home in his lap, those big beautiful eyes looking up at you is the best view you can imagine. There had to be a reason for falling for him so fast, one that was not in vain. Maybe your future child is one but your inner confidence being fortified by T’Challa’s cosigning and being exposed to a new world, much better than any you have known so far, seemed to help to assure you were on the right path as well.

You rest your forehead to T’Challa’s feeling a need build inside of you that he must have felt himself as his hands dipped between your legs to feel you through your bottoms. Kissing him deeply, it felt good to express your love without worry, as the night concluded with passion uninhibited.

---

The next morning, you look over to T’Challa laid across the bed, out like a light. So much for breakfast, as you check the time reading 11 am. Getting up to get dressed, you take your time, feeling more and more at home with the Wakanda lifestyle. The closet was filled with choices, all in your size of the latest Wakandan fashion. You smile to yourself feeling the sturdy yet soft fabrics of all sorts of colors, thanking whomever (most likely Shuri) for being so accommodating. You stay conservative, in a maroon colorblocked top with a tail in the back and some black leggings and sandals.

Looking around the living area, you find a clear glass door with food behind it that appears to be the fridge. You have an apple with a chocolate spread that is even better than Nutella, and if the label was right, carried enough nutrients for a balanced breakfast.

You rubbed your belly or ‘Little Bean’ as your body digested and began to grow restless. You decide that you want to see what Shuri is up to, just to get out and do something until T’Challa wakes.

Getting on the elevator, you make you way to her lab floor, still buy but way more normal than yesterday. As you walk down you pass the area in which Erik is located. You would’ve missed it since no Dora were guarding at that point. He looks as rested as T’Challa is, still sedated as he lays. No one was in the hall to stop you as you walk towards his bed. Looking him over, you can see his attractiveness. T’Challa wasn’t wrong though about getting his licks in; one eye blackened, the other has a decent gash above his eyebrow. There was bruising around his nose, and a similar cut on his lip like T’Challa had. The locs give him an irresistible edge to his symmetrical features nonetheless. A sheet covers most of his body, but you notice some keloids along his shoulder that put you off.

Moving the sheet carefully, you notice they travel a long ways down his torso. Did T’Challa do this? No, couldn’t be, these are healed scars, right? How did he get them in such abundance? As you move the sheet back, you notice a necklace laid across his chest with a ring on the end. Deja vu hits you as you reach for it, picking up the ring to study it. Your mind flashes back to the ring that T’Challa has, the one that is on his hand as he caressed your belly while wounded. Why would they have the same ring?

Quicker than you could react, Erik’s hand snaps out from the sheet to grab your wrist hard making you yelp.

His face is maniacal as he sits up pulling you towards him. “Hey princess. Bout time you brought your ass back around here.”

Part X

Masterlist

My Ragtag

@sweetpeachjones@scrumptiouslytenaciouscrusade@universalbri @therevolution-willbelive@you-like-this-chain @sarcastic-sunshines@airis-paris14@afraiddreamingandloving@kreolemami@lalapalooza718 @syreanne@thiccdaddy-mbaku@she-is-golden @wakanda-inspired@90sinspiredgirl@bidibidibombaclaat@sithlordslut@brujademente@chaneajoyyy@slimmiyagi @lewatigress @shesakillerkween @queentearra @fiercedeception @yaachtynoboat711 @yofavcocoa @katasstrophey @zxddy-panther @babygirlofwakanda @destinio1 @heyauntieeee @ambthegamer

#shakafic #t'challa fic #black panther au #black reader #t'challa x reader #t'challa x you

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ginger-and-mint · 6 years

Text

Halloween Party

This is just a more readable / reblog-friendly version of this post, which was prompted by @fattyatomicmutant and @bellysoupset.

In which a very scary vampire eats way too much and needs a little help to feel better!

Previous things with Theo and Darren: [1] [2] [3] [4] (this takes place before the most recent one ^^)

“I swear to god I’ve never felt stupider in my life.”

“Never? You’re sure? I can think of a few times you might wanna consider.”

“Very funny, Darren. And yes, I’m sure.” Theo tugged at the high-necked collar on the cheap polyester cape his boyfriend had forced him into. “This is not what vampires look like. Vampires look like me.”

“Yeah, well, you usually look more like a homeless screamo fan than than Count Dracula,” said Darren teasingly. He leaned towards the bathroom mirror and began clumsily applying the black eyeliner they’d picked up at Walgreens that afternoon.

Theo watched him with a mix of affection and exasperation. He’d never seen a grown man get so excited about Halloween. Darren had been talking about dressing them both up as silly horror-movie vampires for weeks, ever since they’d gotten the invitation to his co-worker’s party. As much as Theo didn’t get appeal of wearing a stupid costume, he hadn’t been able to say no in the face of his boyfriend’s adorable enthusiasm.

It could’ve been worse, really. At least the billowing cape hid the shape of his body. Darren had taken him out to feed only yesterday and he was still pretty swollen from it. Better that Darren’s colleagues didn’t wonder why he’d spontaneously sprouted a beer belly.

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna let me put some of this eyeliner on you,” Darren mused as he moved on to his other eye.

“Absolutely not. You’ll poke my eyeball out.”

“Huh! Well, you don’t need it anyway. You’ve got your all-natural eye bags.”

“And I’m not wearing those plastic fangs you got either,” Theo added.

That made Darren’s face fall. “Aw, really? But how are people gonna know you’re supposed to be a vampire?”

“I could just leave my actual fangs out.”

“No you can’t. Not unless you can think of a good way to explain how you got your hands on Hollywood-worthy mouth prosthetics.”

“Okay, true, but I’m not wearing the plastic ones. Do you know how uncomfortable they’re gonna be? It’s hard enough to talk when the stupid long things in your mouth are your actual teeth!” Theo made a face. “I don’t know why everyone wants to be a vampire so bad. I’d be perfectly happy dressing up as a normal human.”

“Aww, cheer up, Theo! It’s the one day of the year that I can actually tell people my boyfriend is a vampire! And the one day of the year I can match you. Ah-ha-ha!” Darren spun around, striking a pose with his cape raised in front of his face. “What do you think?”

Theo felt his heart going all gooey in his chest. “I think you’re the world’s biggest dork,” he said, and the last of his resolve crumbled at the boyish delight that lit up Darren’s face. “All right, fine – give me the stupid fangs.”

The party was actually fun. Darren’s co-workers were a friendly, relaxed crowd, and surprisingly dorky for a bunch of fitness nuts. There were board games scattered around, and little pumpkins to carve, and an old-school horror movie planned for later in the night.

There was also an enormous amount of junk food. Bowls of candy sat on every table. Beer and soda was freely poured into jack-o’-lantern-patterned plastic cups. Cookies, brownies, and other themed treats sat on table against one wall, and after an hour, a delivery car drove up with nearly a dozen boxes of pizza.

Apparently being ridiculously in-shape meant you could really let loose on special occasions, Theo mused. He laughed when Darren pulled a bowl of candy onto his lap and begin fishing out all the Reese’s peanut butter cups for himself, and laughed harder when he took out his plastic fangs in defeat, realizing how difficult it was to eat with them in.

Theo was actually finding the fake fangs pretty comfortable. They were only a little more awkward than his real ones. And he couldn’t eat any party food himself, of course. He accepted the plates people handed him, pretending to nibble at their contents before sidling up to Darren and handing the food off.

It was a few hours into the party that Theo was passed a brownie on a napkin and scanned the room for his boyfriend. He found Darren standing in a corner, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Hey,” said Theo, pushing the napkin into Darren’s hand. “Got something for you.”

“Um…” Darren took a short breath. “No thanks. I really can’t eat that.”

“Well, I sure can’t.”

“Just throw it out then.”

“What? You don’t like brownies?”

“Theo, do you realize how much food you’ve been giving me all night? How much food everyone else has been giving me all night?” Darren shot him a forlorn puppy-dog look. “I’m really, really full…. I’ve probably had like, a whole pizza to myself at this point. Not to mention all those peanut butter cups. And those cookies. And like four cups of soda, and those pumpkin cupcakes, and both of our slices of cake, ugh…. Seriously, my stomach’s done.”

Theo couldn’t help laughing. Usually he was the one whining about fullness as he struggled the get the last of his livestock feasts down, while Darren egged him on. How the tables had turned!

“Well, you’ve gotten this far!” he said cheerfully, echoing Darren’s words to him only the night before. “What’s a little bit more in that tummy, huh?”

Darren hiccuped as Theo patted him on the back. “Ugh. I dunno, I think it might – oh, hi Mark.”

Mark – a big, burly man who was one of the gym’s strength trainers – grinned as he saw what Darren was holding. “Hey, I baked those brownies myself! What d’you think of ‘em, Darren?”

“Oh….” Darren cleared his throat and took a big bite. “Mmm. Really good.”

“Course they are.” Mark turned his attention to Theo. “I was looking for your boy, actually. Darren’s told us you’re good at word games, Theo. Want to join a round of Scrabble?”

Theo agreed and let Mark steer him over to a side table, his heart swelling a little bit at being included. What a funny thing that here, dressed as a vampire and wearing fake plastic fangs, he felt more like a normal person than he had in months.

He didn’t see Darren again until everyone began shuffling towards the TV for the movie. Seating was limited, and some partygoers were plopping down on the floor, but Darren had already commandeered a big armchair. He was sprawled out in it, head flopped back, his silly cape pooled around him.

Theo wedged himself into the chair beside his boyfriend. “Hey, sleepyhead. How’s it going?”

“Mmm…” Darren mumbled. “Theo, I don’t f–”

“All right, everyone!” the party’s host shouted. “Tonight, we’re going to watch the 1968 horror movie Night of the Living Dead! This cult classic is one of my personal favorites, and so I thought I’d share a little history about it before we get started….”

Theo was pretending to pay attention when he felt a weird rumbling sensation against his side. Beneath him, Darren shifted and groaned.

“Are you all right?” Theo whispered.

“Ughhhh,” Darren moaned quietly. “No. My stomach really hurts…”

Theo slipped a hand under his boyfriend’s cape to feel his belly. He expected to find it a little bloated – but to his shock, Darren’s stomach was sticking out like a ball, hard and packed solid under his stretched abdominal muscles. “Oh my god, Darr. You’re stuffed.”

“Ughhh, I know. I’ve eaten way too much…” Darren burped quietly as Theo’s fingers pressed gently into his tight stomach. “Doesn’t feel good.”

“Poor thing.” Theo shifted in the chair so he could wrap his free arm around Darren’s back. “I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have laughed at you earlier if I realized you were actually feeling sick.”

“S’all right. I was the one who shoved so much food into my stupid face. Should’ve just told you to throw your portions out.” Darren leaned into Theo’s touch, sighing. “Oof. God. I swear, I can feel my pulse in my tummy.”

“Do you wanna go home?”

Darren let out a strained chuckle. “And tell my co-workers what? That a grown man gave himself a tummyache eating too much Halloween candy?”

“They know you. They probably wouldn’t be surprised.”

It relieved Theo that Darren wasn’t feeling too unwell to laugh. “Well, I dunno if I could walk to the bus in this condition anyway. How about you just keep on rubbing my belly?”

Theo obligingly circled his hand over the big warm curve, smiling as Darren shifted and sighed in relief. As their host finally shut up and the lights went down, Theo nestled his cheek against Darren’s chest and gave his tummy a few gentle pats. “Try to digest before the movie’s over, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Darren mumbled sleepily. “Whatever you say.”

The movement of the bus seemed to be making everything worse. Darren had gone stiff and quiet, and he was hunched over in his seat, his forehead pressed against the cold glass of the window.

Theo reached over to rub his back. “Stomach still bothering you, huh?”

“Mm-hmm.” Darren winced as the bus bounced roughly over a pothole.

“Is it any better than it was earlier?”

“Not better. Different though. I don’t feel so much like I’m going to explode, but my belly is just… cramping so bad….” He sucked in a pained breath. “Oohhh….”

“Aw. Like indigestion, maybe?” Theo gently slid a hand under Darren’s arm where it was folded around his middle. It wasn’t hard to feel the grumbling and churning going on in his still-bloated belly. “Oh sweetie. It was just so much junk food at that party. No wonder your tummy’s upset.” He pressed his fingers in gently, trying to relieve some of the ache.

Darren groaned and flinched away. “Aah, don’t – hurts too much.”

“Sorry.” Theo went back to rubbing his shoulders instead. “Hang in there, baby, we’re almost home.”

Luckily the walk from the bus stop to Darren’s apartment wasn’t very far. The poor guy was almost bent double the whole way, and Theo had to help him up the stairs.

“Can’t believe I did this to myself,” Darren grumbled as he fished his keys out of his pocket. “I’m such an idiot.”

“You say it like we didn’t already know that.” Theo squeezed his arm reassuringly. “Come on, let’s just get you feeling better.”

He helped Darren strip off the stupid costume and got him into bed, where he curled up into a ball like a potato bug. Theo could hear his soft groans from the next room as he searched through bathroom cabinets for something to help.

“Can you sit up, sweetie?” he asked when he returned to the bedside.

“Yeah.” Darren struggled upright. The movement made his stomach grumble, and he let out a difficult-sounding burp. “Ughhh. Gross. Sorry.”

“Hey, whatever helps.” Theo passed him a pink cup of Pepto Bismol. “Drink that. I’m gonna go get that heat pack thing of yours. Be right back.”

By the time Theo returned with the fabric sack of rice, nice and warm from the microwave, Darren had sunk back into the pillows. He stirred as Theo came in. “Can you come here? And just cuddle the hell out of me?”

Theo laughed. “Sounds like a chore, but I guess so.” He tucked the heat pack against Darren’s tummy before climbing into the bed.

They lay like that, silent and snuggled together. Darren still whimpered whenever his stomach was touched, so Theo rubbed gently at his sides instead, trying to help the relax the tightness there. It took some time, but slowly, Darren’s breathing evened and his body relaxed.

“Stomach settling a little?” Theo asked.

“Yeah.” Darren sighed heavily, then chuckled. “Jesus. I haven’t had a bellyache so bad in a long time. Makes me think of being a kid again. Like when I’d eat all my trick-or-treating candy in an hour and get sick as a dog.”

“Oh my god, Darren. Your parents didn’t stop you?” Theo’s own parents had always subjected him to a strict limit on how much of his haul he could eat on Halloween night. Three pieces only; the rest had to be saved.

“Nah. My brother tried, sometimes. He was always the sensible one. My sister was always right there with me.” Darren shifted in Theo’s arms. “God, that was a long time ago. We were such good kids back then, before all of the–”

“Hey. Don’t think about that,” Theo murmured in Darren’s ear, drawing him in closer. “You were a good kid and you grew up to be a good man.” He patted Darren’s stomach as it broke in with a low gurgle. “A stupid man, sometimes, but a good one.”

Darren laughed, although there was a little sadness in the sound. “Yeah. Guess so.” He pressed into Theo’s touch. “Thanks, Theo…. I love you.”

“Love you too.” Theo kissed his cheek softly. “Try to get some sleep, all right? You’ll feel better in the morning.”

#I need to work out a better tagging system for these guys #and make them their own index #stuffing #stomachache #belly rubs #Theo #Darren

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aliceslantern · 5 years

Text

Beyond this Existence: Counterpoint, a Kingdom Hearts fanfic, chapter 2

Summary: After being recompleted, Ienzo vows to do everything in his power to atone for the atrocities he committed in the past. But this life hasn't been easy, and he's plagued with memories and nightmares. When Demyx suddenly reappears, the two discover that they have more in common than they thought, though the secrets in their past might tear them apart. Zemyx (Demyx/Ienzo), post kh3

Read it on FF.net/ on AO3

It kept raining.

Ienzo choked down some food. His stomach was still sour, but he had to stay nourished. And then after that he went back into his room, in search for the copies of the old reports he had written and printed out meticulously. Nothing seemed to be in the right place. How had he been so disorganized?

Ienzo heard muffled conversation in the hallway; Ansem’s familiar deep timbre mixed with Demyx’s slightly higher, younger one. Ienzo gathered what he had and steeled himself.

“I’m all set, Master. I seem to have misplaced some of my papers.” He was so incredibly exhausted. He tried to smile, but it slipped a little when he saw Demyx. It was bizarre to see him in civilian clothing. I am so tired of this life feeling strange. “Shall we get started?”

Demyx looked a little pained, embarrassed, even. “What are you guys up to?”

Ansem looked towards him. “Tying up some loose ends.”

His lip twitched. “Well. Have fun I guess.”

Fun. Ienzo shook his head.

“So you would like to look into the metaphysical behind Sora’s disappearance?” Ansem asked. They started walking towards the lab.

“Yes. I believe I read that, even when Roxas was in simulation, away from this world, his heart was still very much in connection to others’, right?”

Ansem sighed. “That was all discovery in retrospect,” he said. “It… was incredibly callous of me, but for the longest time I did not believe Roxas hada heart. But I know better now.”

“Sora’s heart is special. I know Riku said he no longer feels connected to Sora’s heart, but if I could somehow explore those connections, or at least approximate them in data, then maybe we can trace his presence so far.” He bit his lip. “It’s all very nebulous. But I feel I owe it to them to at least try.”

“That’s my boy,” Ansem said. “Yes. I think that’s a good jumping off point. And luckily we have plenty of data of those connected to Sora.”

“The replicas?” Ienzo asked.

“Quite.”

“Yes. I see.”

It was slow, painstaking work. They had to wait for the data to download from Twilight Town’s terminal to receive Roxas’s, which naturally took time between worlds. Then there was gathering the old Castle Oblivion and World That Never Was research all into one place, unpacking it from tiny .zip files from a thumb drive Even had always carried with him and lent to Ansem. While all this copied, Ienzo pored through what he had on paper. He truly did not know where to begin. Was this all in vain? Was this at all possible?

“You look unwell,” Ansem commented. “It would do you some good to try and banish these anxious thoughts.”

“Thank you, you’ve cured me,” Ienzo muttered without meaning to. His hand shot to his mouth. “I… I apologize for such impudence.”

To his surprise, Ansem was smiling. “You no longer need to be so formal,” he said. “After all we’ve gone through, there is no reason why we can’t talk and joke like equals.”

“I have not earned that privilege,” Ienzo said. He watched the progress bar roll ever so slowly across the screen. The approximate time for completion was hours from now, and the computer’s fans were whirring wildly.

“Then treat it as a favor to me,” Ansem said.

Ienzo’s face burned. He could hardly believe what Ansem was implying. The words were meant to be kind, but they twisted a sort of pain within him. Everything, every little thing, sparked some bizarre emotional reaction.

“You’re doing enough,” Ansem said kindly.

“Maybe that time will come someday,” Ienzo said. “But for now I am not ready.”

“You’ve become quite wise. Yet I hope that you will not forget that you still have the right to grow, and learn, and seek happiness of your own accord. I would not blame you if you chose another path in life. Goodness knows I’ve tried.”

Ienzo floundered. Happiness? A change in profession? Both seemed equally unlikely, and that sat oddly within him. “This is what I know. This is what I love.”

“I’m merely advising that you don’t let any doors close behind you.”

He sighed. “Yes. I suppose.” He glanced back to the clock, feeling antsy. “Well. I did not figure I would have the time, but I may cook dinner for us. It would be good to have everyone in the same room. We’ve been so scattered.”

“I rather like the sound of that. You go on. I’ll make sure things are running smoothly.”

In Ansem’s quarters, he shed his lab coat. Even in the chill, it felt overwarm, and constricting. He tried to lose himself in the ease of cooking. Ienzo allowed himself to make a cake. Thankfully he’d thought ahead to buy the dry ingredients, the vanilla and almond extract. This took skill, and finesse, and the result made people happy. He found the tension within him infinitesimally easing, but all too soon the prep work was over, and all there was left for him to do was watch the roast cook.

He set the broad mahogany table for five and stood at the china cabinet for a moment. To not include Demyx would be rude, and inconspicuous. Ienzo sighed and set a sixth place at the table.

Once he had set out all the food, he set about rounding up everyone. It felt good to see their faces when he asked them all to join together. It lifted the weight a little, made the anxiety bearable.

Demyx was farthest away in the castle. He didn’t answer when Ienzo knocked at the door, and at first he wasn’t even sure Demyx was there. But when he opened the door he was curled in the small old bed, fast asleep. Ienzo considered letting him sleep. After all, it would be even ruder to wake him up, wouldn’t it? But then he caught the sharpness of his cheekbones reflected in the light, and could not bring himself to leave. He approached him warily and gave him a gentle shake. “Demyx?”

He stirred, flinching a little.

“I’m sorry to wake you. We’re all having dinner and Ansem was wondering if you might like to join us.”

He rubbed his eyes and sat up. He looked almost as exhausted as Ienzo felt; Ienzo could see the veins through his pale skin. “Yeah. Thanks.” Demyx paused, and then said all in a rush, “I’m sorry if what I said bothered you.”

That caught him off guard. “That’s alright. You meant what you said. You just don’t understand.” How could he? He hadn’t had the same life as Ienzo, the same perspective. He could not be as acutely aware of every little mistake he made. This was Demyx . He was barely aware of his own presence most of the time.

Demyx blinked, looking stung. “No, I guess I don’t,” he said.

They headed up towards Ansem’s quarters. The silence between them was pulling Ienzo taut. He could reach for small talk--but what was there to say?

They passed through the raggedly breezeway. A smoky-smelling wind blew through the curtains, ruffling the old lace.

“Swanky place,” Demyx said cautiously.

Right, he wouldn’t know. “Master Ansem’s quarters. He likes the northernmost light.”

“Why do you call him “Master”?”

This puzzled him. “Because I am his apprentice, and he deserves respect.”

“Are you, though? I mean, you’ve been doing this all on your own. Feels kinda like he just slipped back into place and took all the credit for the work you did getting Roxas and Naminé new bodies.”

A finger of anger welled in his throat, and he regretted waking Demyx. Against his will, he recalled the day they’d woken Naminé, after hours of preparing and reprogramming the replica. Ienzo had prepared himself to say something to soothe her, knowing very well that to her perspective she was surrounded by three people who had always treated her poorly. But Ansem had spoken to her first. “Not to be rude, Demyx, but if I sought your opinion on the matter, I would ask for it.”

He flinched. “Sorry.”

Ienzo relented. This brassiness was just par for the course for Demyx’s personality, and there wasn’t any offense meant in it. “That’s quite all right.” He pushed open the heavy doors and crossed over to the table, to his seat by Ansem’s side. He could see Demyx looking at the space and for a moment saw it anew, the simple opulence of it, and yet its state of disrepair. He seemed shy, unsure of himself, and finally settled down at the last empty space.

“Sorry. I didn’t know I was holding you all up,” Demyx said.

“No harm, no foul,” Ansem said. “Please, everyone. Help yourselves.”

With their recent conversation in mind, Ienzo couldn’t help but feel a slight ping of frustration. Ansem had not spent the day cooking. But these were his quarters; by default, he was the host.

They all ate. The awkwardness in the air was obvious. They hadn’t all gathered like this in a long while, nearly since they’d reunited. Nobody seemed to know quite what to say. At least the meal had come out okay. Between bites, Ansem advised him of the progress of the downloads; some of the files were corrupted, so he was going in by hand to see what he could recover.

“Who made this?” Demyx asked. “Everything’s really good.”

Ienzo turned away, trying to remind himself to be patient. It was a compliment, after all. “That would be me. Thank you, Demyx.” He did look like he truly appreciated it.

Even recommended a certain file conversion which might recover some of the corrupted data. They talked about the efficacy of this for a little while. The unexpected familiarity of the conversation eased the knot inside Ienzo’s breast. Maybe they just needed time to readjust to each other. It wasn’t completely hopeless. But there was so much bitterness, so much regret and guilt, that it seemed to choke the air.

Plates empty, he started to clear the table for the cake. But to his surprise, Demyx offered to do it for him. Ienzo nearly refused, but there was a strange, unreadable glint in Demyx’s eye. “The kitchen is through that door there.”

Even raised his eyebrow. “Would you look at that.”

“He does seem a touch uncomfortable,” Dilan said. He sipped at the sweet wine that was a favorite of Ansem’s. “It is odd. We can’t pretend it isn’t.”

“This is his home now, as much it is any of ours,” Ansem said. “We must all be patient with one another, and welcoming to our guest. Even if this situation is… unorthodox.”

“Yes,” Ienzo agreed. His voice sounded more affable than he felt. “Are we feeling ready for dessert?” Seeing the affirming nods, he crossed back to the kitchen for the cake.

Demyx’s left hand was covered in blood.

“What on earth--” he started.

Demyx spoke carefully, though his teeth. He gripped his elbow tightly. “Knife in the sink. There’s no towel or anything--”

Right--he’d brought all the linen down to be washed earlier. “That must’ve been my mistake. I am so sorry.” He glanced around quickly to find anything to staunch the blood, but there wasn’t a scrap of fabric or paper. He untied his ascot. He had several more, and could very easily make some from his younger self’s clothing. But Demyx didn’t take it.

For the first time Ienzo fully recognized the wild, desperate look in his eye from earlier. He’d never seen it on a person other than himself. The kitchen, well insulated, made it easy to hear Demyx’s shallow, heightened breathing. His hands trembled. He feels it too, Ienzo thought. An odd, but not unpleasant, feeling seeped into his bones. He turned on the tap and guided Demyx’s bleeding hand under it. Thankfully the cut wasn’t as bad as it looked. He bound it tightly. “I think you’re having a panic attack. Try and take a deep breath for me, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

He struggled to do so. Ienzo tried to hold his gaze, knowing all too well how terrifying it was to be in that moment, utterly alone. But doing so was difficult, and he very nearly felt anxious himself. Ienzo took his uninjured elbow and helped him sit.

It took time. He shut his eyes, focusing hard on something. Ienzo hoped whatever it was grounded him. Once his breathing became less audible and forced, Ienzo tried to speak gently. “Was that the first time it happened?”

Demyx couldn’t make eye contact. Ienzo knew that embarrassment well, the shame of losing control. “I had one yesterday.”

And he was also having them often. Again, he felt his resentment and frustration at Demyx unraveling. Things were just as uncontrollable for him. And he didn’t have the same awareness of his own mind that Ienzo did. “Do you have a history of this happening?”

He shook his head a second time. “I don’t think so. But a lot of that time is hard to remember.”

“What time? When you were human?” That was unusual. Was it a coping mechanism gone awry? Was it something to do with the fact that he’d been a vessel?

He nodded.

Ienzo would have to puzzle this out another time. Speaking of missing memory would only destroy Demyx’s tenuous control. “Do you know what it is that triggered you?” Maybe if he could help him gain an awareness of it, it would help in the future if this happened again.

He was silent for a long moment. “No,” he said at last.

It wasn’t always possible to tell. “That’s alright. None of this readjustment is easy. It’s most likely stress you’re not used to feeling. I don’t think this sort of thing is permanent.” Even as he said the words, he doubted the truth in them.

Demyx’s eyes were glassy. “I’m sorry.”

Ienzo softened a little. “You’ve nothing to apologize for,” he said.

He was withdrawing into himself; Ienzo could see it. He didn’t know if he should stop it, or if Demyx needed it to recover. He stood, cradling his injured hand. “I’m going to go lay down,” he whispered.

He nodded. “You must be exhausted.”

Dazedly, Demyx left. Ienzo watched him go. Part of him wondered if he should follow, but he himself wanted nothing more than solitude after his own attacks, so he let Demyx go. He stretched, picked up the cake, and went back to the table.

“Everything alright?” Dilan asked.

“Demyx was feeling faint. He’s gone to rest.” He took the cover off the simple cake. He would try and save a piece for him.

“I thought he was looking a little peaked myself,” Even said. “He was in hiding an awful long time. It was difficult enough for me to cope when I hid too. I can only imagine.”

“Well, your sacrifices are not in vain,” Ansem said. “Here’s to a full recovery.”

When Ienzo ate, the sweet cake tasted like paste.

#beyond this existence: counterpoint #ienzo #demyx #zexion #zemyx #demyx/ienzo #beyond this existence

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lostincalum · 6 years

Text

Ridiculous Afternoon- Ethan Dolan

AN: Idk what this is, and very few people asked for it, but imma post it regardless (p.s. this is not proofread) ((p.p.s. pls give me some constructive criticism))

TW: none

Word count: 1175

Other parts:

Winter Mornings (part 1)

LA noon (part 2)

The Last Night (part 4)

People that wanted to be tagged: @anotherawkwardaustralian @bestfriends-0212 @dropdeadhood @curlsfthemmings

The LA beach was bustling with people. Since you and Ethan had talked after the flight, you had gone out on a sort of date. The first one since you had admitted that you loved him. He had not said anything back, and you were alright with that. Because you knew he was not completely ready yet. But you did notice that he had become clingier and a tad bit quieter than usual. It was all in the way he laced your hands together while driving there, and squeezed every so often.

"You okay, Eth?"

You were standing at the back of the car unloading two surfboards from the roof. It was a strange contrast to the morning you had. It had been quiet and cozy, this was more wild and serene. It felt a lot like the two of you. The winter had always felt like it matched your personality more. Filled with evenings in front of the fireplace after a day out in the snow. Ethan was definitely summer, with warm skin, road trips and summer antics. Like surfing.

"Yeah, just a little lost in thought."

He gave you a loving smile, and continued to pull on his wetsuit.

"Hmm, just don’t do it while were out there, wouldn’t wanna wipe out now do we."

Nothing in the world made you laugh as much as Ethan wiping out, it was not because you wanted to see him suffer. He just came up with the most ridiculous excuses as to why he wiped out. Pervious examples consisted of not enough wax on the board, blinding sunlight and other stupid people, trying to steal his wave.

"Psshh, I'll be fine, I always am."

You gave the zipper of your own wetsuit a tug, until you felt it reach the top, giving you the slightly claustrophobic feeling. You always felt a little self-conscious about your body in this tight garment. And like clockwork Ethan gave you your board and a kiss on the cheek.

"You look so hot right now."

The smile that came to your lips was a little wry, but appreciative enough. So, when you put the board under your arm, you stretched the other out to your boyfriend and started walking down the beach, everything felt kind of perfect. The cold temperature of the water made your toes curl deeper into the sand. The leash came on to both your ankles fast.

Wading into the ocean, you put the board down and laid down on it, always with Ethan by your side. Paddling out to the line- up you gave a little wave to the people already there. It was pretty heavily dominated by guys, but there were a few girls too.

Spotting a set was not hard, even less so when there were so many people there. A couple of people started paddling for it, you included. Ethan sat back and watched with admiration as you caught your first wave of the day, giving a small yell of encouragement along with the other guys still in the line- up. There was one guy who seemed to yell a little louder and be a little rowdier, as Ethan noticed, but after your little confession earlier in the day he felt pretty confident.

When you came back to the line- up, you paddled straight to the little trio of girls that sat there.

"Ayy, that was such as good wave!"

One of the girls spoke excitedly as you neared them.

"Thank you! It felt good, I haven’t been out here in a while"

Surfing was definitely higher up on the list of things that made you feel at peace.

"Who's the guy you're here with?"

The same girl as before asked, while the others chimed in that he looked familiar.

"Oh, it's actually my boyfriend, Ethan"

To be honest you almost said it was just a friend, just out of instinct. It felt good to say to other people who he really was to you.

"His last name doesn't happen to be Dolan?"

This time it was the girl on the left who talked. The question made you a little unwell, but you decided to go with honesty either way.

"Actually, it is."

Your smile was not the most authentic, although they did not seem to have bad intentions.

"I thought it was, that makes you Y/N, right?"

A blush made its way to your cheeks and you could feel them heating up. To hide it, you turned to see who the next person in the line- up was to catch a wave. Ethan, of course it was. He caught it and almost made it through, just as he turned your eyes met and he wiped out.

You were rinsing off the saltwater with Ethan, just goofing around and splashing water on each other, when a guy from the line up walked up to you.

"Heyy babe"

If you were to be honest, you could feel your eyes roll into the back of your head with annoyance. So, you tried to ignore him, but you had no had no such luck.

"I was watching you surf, and I was thinking to myself, this girl could use some lessons from me."

Now this was where you had it, you knew you were not the best, but this was insulting so you turned around to look at the cocky boy. You heard Ethan snicker behind you though.

"Excuse me?"

"I asked if you would like some lessons in surfing, your buddy here obviously doesn’t know how to teach you properly."

A smirk was plaster on his face, he obviously felt proud of the supposed insult.

"First of all, stop grimacing like that, its creepy. Second of all, that is my boyfriend and I think you know that very well. Third of all you're low if you think that is an eligible way to approach someone you're interested in."

The boy seemed bewildered. He looked left, then right, then left again. His blond hair hung down in his face and a blush was quickly covering his cheeks and neck. You just watched as the boy trotted away.

"Ouch, that was harsh-"

Ethan had put his arms around your shoulders and pulled you back into his now naked torso. You could feel every rumble deep in his chest when he talked.

"But also kinda hot."

Stopping the giggles that came from your mouth was practically impossible. He gently pulled the zipper down to reveal your bikini top that was underneath. Ethan placed a gentle kiss to your shoulder. Turning around you gave him a little wink.

"Come on buddy, let's get going. If we're lucky Gray hasn't tried to cook yet."

Ethan laughed, but nodded in agreement.

"Anyhow, why did you wipe out this time?"

You asked out of curiosity, also because you wanted to hear what ridiculous reason he could come up with.

"I was blinded by your beauty."

He said it like it was so simple.

"And also, because I realized I love you."

#ethan dolan #ethan dolan imagine #ethan dolan preference #ethan dolan fic #ethan dolan blurb #ethan dolan series #dolan twins #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins blurbs #dolan twins fic #dolan twins preference

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unfolded73 · 7 years

Text

This Graceful Path (4/19)

Summary: Emma has just moved in with Mary Margaret and started working as a deputy in the Storybrooke sheriff’s department when she meets Killian Jones, the town’s introverted harbormaster. When a prominent Storybrooke resident is found murdered, Emma tries to juggle solving the case with new friendships, parenthood, and romance. A Season 1 Cursed!Killian AU.

Rating: Explicit per CSBB guidelines (violence, sex); more of an M on unfolded73’s scale. The sex, when we get there, is not extremely graphic in nature. Same with the violence.

Content Warning: This fic contains two major character deaths, one canon and one not. (You’re already past them.)

Total word count: ~ 75,000

Acknowledgements: Thank you to @j-philly-b for betaing this monstrosity. Thank you to @caprelloidea for all of the read-throughs and cheerleading; not sure I could have written it without your excitement early on. Thank you to @teruel-a-witch for the original prompt on tumblr which sparked this fic. Thank you to @pompeiiablaze for the wonderful art which accompanies Chapter 3 and also will accompany later chapters. Thanks to the CSBB mods (@sambethe in particular, who had to look at my check-ins) for your support and for enduring my neuroses.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 – AO3 Link

Chapter 4

She hadn’t had anything to wear to a funeral.

Mary Margaret had only had one black dress in her closet (she wasn’t really the type to wear black), so Emma had gone to one of Storybrooke’s clothing shops and bought the only vaguely appropriate things she could find on such short notice: an itchy blouse which she kind of loathed, and a black blazer that didn’t really even fit her, that she had to cuff the sleeves of so that they didn’t engulf her hands.

After Graham’s burial, she and Mary Margaret returned to the apartment, collapsing onto the sofa.

“This sucks.”

“Yeah,” Mary Margaret agreed, taking her hand. They sat in silence together.

“Did I tell you what Dr. Whale said about his heart?”

“That he had a congenital heart condition? Yeah, you told me.”

Emma turned to face Mary Margaret. “That must be why he had that weird idea that his heart had been taken out of his chest, right? He must have been feeling that something was wrong with his heart. Why didn’t I insist he go to the hospital? Maybe they could have caught it and saved him—”

“You did the best you could, Emma; no one could have done any better. When someone is in denial that they’re sick, there’s not much you can do.” Mary Margaret gave Emma’s hand a comforting squeeze.

“Do you know the first thing I thought while I waited for the ambulance that night?” Emma said. “I thought that somehow Regina was responsible. He’d been so convinced for a moment that Regina had stolen his heart; like literally stolen it, and then they had this big fight and he dumped her, and that whole night was so weird that I started to have this paranoid fantasy that somehow Regina had killed him.”

“But she didn’t, Emma. He was just unwell.”

“I know.”

“Although… I mean, I know you can’t talk about the investigation of Mr. Gold’s death, but do you think Regina…”

Emma grimaced. “I thought of that. Not that I had any reason to think she killed him, other than that she’s an evil witch. But Henry was with her that night; there’s no way she could have been out murdering someone in the woods without him knowing. Besides, I don’t think she would have had the strength for that kind of stabbing. It was… vicious.”

“And Graham? I mean, if he wasn’t in his right mind, if he was under Regina’s thrall somehow…”

“You’re suggesting Graham killed Gold?” Emma let go of Mary Margaret’s hand and shifted on the sofa, sitting forward. “What possible reason would he have—”

“None, of course, but he found the body, and if he was mentally unstable like you described—”

Emma shook her head. “He was sick, and it was making him confused. That’s a long way from murdering someone. Besides, whoever did kill Gold would have gotten blood on their clothes, and I think I would have noticed if Graham had been covered in blood when I met him that night at the crime scene.”

“True.” Mary Margaret gave her a sheepish grin. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be trying to be an armchair detective.”

“Please, I need all the help I can get. I took this job to help Graham hand out parking tickets and, I don’t know, deal with Leroy for being drunk and disorderly. Instead, I get a murder investigation? I don’t know the first thing about investigating a murder. I’m this close to googling ‘how to investigate a murder’.”

Mary Margaret patted her arm. “You’re clever, so I’m sure you’ll figure something out. In the meantime, you should at least take it easy the rest of today.”

“No, I can’t, I’ve gotta do something, I can’t just sit around. All I do is think about the way he collapsed in front of me.” She stood up, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to block out the sickening crack of Graham’s head connecting with the sidewalk. “It gonna be such a huge job now; I can see why Graham wanted to hire a deputy.”

“You could hire your own deputy.”

Emma rubbed her eyes, exhaustion pressing behind them. “Yeah, I might do that if I can figure out who I can trust in this town.” She glanced at her roommate. “Do you want to be a sheriff’s deputy?”

Mary Margaret laughed. “I think I’ll pass. So what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to start interviewing people, establishing who had motive, who doesn’t have an alibi for the night that Gold was killed. And, much as I hate it, I guess I should start with Regina’s prime suspect.”

~*~

Killian sat across from her at the metal table in the interrogation room, looking around at the walls and at the big one-way mirror over her shoulder (not that anyone was on the other side — it was only her here now). Emma didn’t want to admit that this was the first time she’d been in this room as well. She leaned forward, her elbows on the table, hoping she looked more at ease than she felt.

“I’m sorry to have to call you in here, Mr. Jones. I’m doing all of these interviews in front of a camera,” she said, gesturing at the video camera she had set up, “for your protection as well as to keep a record of your answers.”

“Not sure why you’re choosing to interview me, but all right.”

She smiled tightly. “I’m working to establish who knew Gold, how they knew him, if they saw him the day he died, things like that.”

“I knew him,” he said, holding up his index finger, “I saw him monthly when he came by my office to pick up the docking fees I collect,” — he held up a second finger — “and I think I may have seen him coming out of his pawn shop a week or two ago.” Finger number three. “Can I go now?” He leaned back in a lackadaisical pose, but his eyes told a different story. He was nervous. But then again, who wouldn’t be nervous in his position, being interviewed by law enforcement about a murder?

“Can we back up a second?” She pointed at the video camera again. “Can you state your name and occupation for the record?”

He sat up and put his hands in his lap almost primly, which made Emma feel like he was making fun of her. “Killian Jones, harbormaster, Storybrooke, Maine.”

“Thanks. Now you say you handed over the docking fees to Mr. Gold? Not to the mayor’s office?”

He shrugged. “Mr. Gold owned everything in this town, I’m sure you’ve been here long enough to learn that.”

“And that includes the harbor?”

“Aye, I suppose it does.”

That seemed odd to her, that a town’s harbor would be privately owned, but she let it go. “How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Gold?” Emma asked.

“I didn’t have a relationship with him. He showed up, I handed over a bag with money in it. We barely exchanged a half dozen words each time. That’s it.”

“There was never a time you didn’t have the money or had some dispute with him about the amount? Anything like that?”

“No.” He frowned at her. “Why would you ask that?”

“Word is that there was bad blood between the two of you. I’m trying to figure out why that was.”

“There wasn’t,” he said, his jaw clenching. “Why would anyone say there was? I’m telling you, I barely knew the guy.”

Emma watched him carefully. He seemed to be telling the truth but hiding something from her at the same time. Regina may have had her own reasons for pointing the finger at Killian, she knew that, but there was something that made Emma want to keep questioning him. She decided to change tactics.

“How did you lose your hand?” she asked, glancing down at his prosthesis where it now rested on the table.

“Sailing accident.”

“When?”

“A long time ago, lass. Long before I came to Maine.”

“And how long have you lived in Storybrooke?”

His eyes drifted up and over her shoulder like he was trying to look through the one-way mirror.

“Killian?”

He shook himself, wiping his hand over his face. “Yes?”

“How long have you lived in Storybrooke?”

“Several years.”

She was sick to death of the vague answers she got from people in this town. “How many years?”

“What does it matter?” His jaw clenched again.

“It matters if you don’t want to answer a simple question for some reason.” She huffed in frustration and decided to veer to another topic. “Do you ever walk in the woods? For a hike, maybe?”

“No.”

There, she thought. That was a lie. She could almost always tell when someone was lying if she was paying close attention, and that had definitely been a lie.

“So you weren’t in the woods last Tuesday night?”

“No.”

Another lie. “Where were you? Between, say, three p.m. and ten p.m. on Tuesday?”

“My office and then my apartment,” he answered. She could feel the jiggle of his knee bouncing under the table, and a fine sheen of sweat had appeared on his upper lip.

“Did anyone see you in your office?”

“Not really.”

“What about after that? What time did you go to your apartment?”

“I don’t know, exactly. Five o’clock or thereabouts.”

“Do you drive or walk from your office to your home?”

“It’s barely a quarter of a mile. I walk. I don’t own a car.”

“Did you see anyone on the walk?”

“No.”

“What about in your apartment building. Did you see any neighbors? Any friends stop by?”

“No.”

“Call anyone on the phone? Use your computer? Watch Netflix? Play a video game?”

He threw up his hand in frustration. “No, but why does it matter?”

“Because if you were logged into some kind of account like that, it would help establish your alibi.”

“Why do I need an alibi for the stabbing of a man I barely knew?”

Emma’s heartbeat accelerated, and she tried her best to school her expression into neutral territory. “How did you know it was a stabbing?”

“I read it in the paper,” he said, his fingers drumming on the table.

“We didn’t release that it was a stabbing, Mr. Jones.”

“Well, I heard it somewhere! I don’t know!” He was very agitated now, spots of color high on his cheeks, sweat on his forehead. Had Regina been right? Had she caught the killer already?

“Where did you hear it, then?” It was possible that the information had gotten out via Dr. Whale or one of the paramedics who had handled the body, but if so she should be able to trace it back to them.

“I don’t remember!” Killian shouted. He seemed to fold in on himself, his face getting suddenly pale. “Saw the Crocodile. Know him anywhere,” he muttered.

“The what?” First wolves, now crocodiles?

“A man unwilling to fight for what he wants deserves what he gets.” His eyes were unfocused, almost like he had forgotten she was sitting in front of him. It reminded her eerily of the way Graham had behaved when he was convinced his heart was missing.

“Mr. Jones,” she said in a loud, clear voice. His eyes seemed to swim back to her from a long way away. “I’m going to let you in on a little secret,” she murmured, softening her tone. “I’m pretty good at knowing when someone is lying to me. Now, I’m asking again. Were you in the woods on Tuesday?”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Why?”

“I went for a walk, like you said. And I saw…”

She waited several seconds before prodding him. “Saw what?”

“I saw the Crocodile.”

“What’s the crocodile?”

He shook his head as if to clear it. “I saw Mr. Gold. He was already dead. I swear to you, I didn’t harm him.”

Emma studied him. That appeared to be the truth. “Why didn’t you call the police?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t feeling well, and I ran. And later I thought… Honestly, I thought I imagined it.”

“Do you know what time it was when you saw Gold?”

He shook his head. “Maybe around four o’clock? I don’t know for sure.”

“So you were out for a walk in all of those miles and miles of woods, and you happened to come across a dead body that was a half mile off the hiking trail?” Just as Graham had happened to come across it, chasing after some wolf. How busy were those woods that day?

“I guess so,” he answered. “Miss Swan, I swear it, I didn’t kill anyone. Why would I?”

Emma narrowed her eyes. Again, he seemed to be telling the truth, but the circumstances were certainly suspicious. “I’m going to need to search your office and your apartment. If you’re really innocent, then you won’t have anything to hide, right?”

Nothing in his demeanor indicated any fear at that prospect. Still, she wanted to do it now, before he had a chance to get rid of any evidence. “I assume you walked here to the station?” she asked.

“Yes.”

She stood up from her chair. “Then you won’t mind riding with me. Come on.”

Leaving him for a moment in the main part of the station, she stopped by the supply closet to pick up the bag of evidence kits she’d tossed back in there the night of the murder. She scanned the shelves again. The other thing she’d learned (because as it turned out, googling ‘how to investigate a murder’ had been really pretty useful) was that luminol would have come in handy for looking for blood traces, even blood that had been pretty thoroughly cleaned up, but the sheriff’s department of Storybrooke didn’t seem to have any. She’d ordered some, but fat lot of good that did her now.

The car ride over to the harbor was quiet. Killian unlocked the harbormaster’s office for her, gesturing and giving her a shallow bow to indicate she should precede him into the office.

His office was really just a small room that was part of a building where it looked like boats could be brought in and repaired. It was neat and organized, with a shelf full of logbooks behind a simple metal desk. The desk itself was dominated by a large radio which she assumed was used to communicate with ships out on the water. Other than that, the only other things she saw were a pen cup, a stapler, and a travel coffee mug.

“Where do you keep the money you were talking about?”

He thumbed through his key ring and unlocked a desk drawer, showing her the blue vinyl zipper bag. In it was a mixture of cash and checks, with the pink copies of some old fashioned carbon-copy receipts. She spied a receipt book on the shelf and pulled it down to see that it was filled with matching originals, filled out in what must have been Killian’s neat penmanship.

She looked around a little longer, but there was really nothing else to see. There were no personal items: no pictures, no cards, no nothing. It was a depressingly spartan place to spend time.

“Okay, let’s go on to your apartment, then.”

After another short, silent car ride, they got out at a small duplex building near the beach.

“Who lives on the other side?” she asked as he unlocked his door.

“Guy by the name of Billy; he works down at the auto repair place in town.” Once again, he politely ushered her through the door. “Good neighbor; he’s quiet as a mouse.”

“That’s lucky,” she said, looking around his small living space. Like the office, it was tidy and spare. He had a small kitchen that was open to the living area, and then a short hallway that presumably led to a bedroom and bathroom. From his main window, she could see the ocean. “Does it cost a lot to live down here by the beach?”

He shrugged. “It’s a little more, but the apartment is tiny so it balances out. I like being near the water; I find it calming.”

“Fan of boats, are you?” The only decoration in the room was a framed charcoal drawing of a tall sailing vessel, the sails unfurled and full as it was tossed about on a choppy sea.

“Ships,” he corrected. “And yes.”

She headed back toward the bedroom. Other than a discarded t-shirt on the floor, it too was clean. A few books were stacked on the bedside table, and the bed was neatly made. There was a laundry hamper half-filled with clothes, and she pulled a pair of nitrile gloves out of her bag and put them on before starting to sift through it. Killian watched her. “Was Gold your landlord?” she asked.

He nodded, looking uncomfortable. “Sure, like everyone else in town. Wasn’t he yours?”

Emma stopped, thinking about that. “I guess; I just moved in a couple of weeks ago. I give my share of the money to my roommate and she takes care of paying the rent. Did you ever have any kind of contact with him about the rent, or this apartment?”

Killian shook his head. “I rented it through the broker in town, and I mail my rent to a post office box. There have been a few maintenance issues, but I take care of them myself.”

Emma looked at each item of clothing, blushing faintly at the fact that she was rifling through a strange man’s underwear. She dropped each item on the floor as she examined it.

“May I ask why the fascination with my unmentionables?” Killian asked, a small smirk on his face.

“It’s not your… unmentionables in particular,” she said as she dropped a pair of dark blue boxer briefs. “I’m checking for blood on any of your clothes.”

“You think my master plan was to murder Gold, and then put the bloody evidence in my laundry hamper?”

“I don’t know; people have done stupider things.” She looked in each drawer, rifling the clothes, remembering the fact that Whale had written ‘short sword or dagger’ on the medical examiner’s report. Same story with the bathroom, the closet, the kitchen. She even checked the air vents and stomped around looking for a loose floorboard. No luck. If he’d hidden a sword somewhere, it wasn’t in his apartment.

“So, do I pass inspection?” he asked as her search wound down. “And more importantly, can I offer you a drink?” He held up a bottle of brown rum and a short glass, grinning at her in a way that she was sure most women found charming.

“I’m on duty,” she said with an eye roll, running her gloved hand along the back of the ship picture frame.

“After what happened to Sheriff Humbert, you must be working long hours. Surely you can knock off a little early today, having so thoroughly pumped me for information.” His tongue darted out and ran along his bottom lip.

“Gross,” she said, making another circuit of the apartment. “I don’t drink with murder suspects; it’s kind of a hard and fast rule of mine.”

“Surely I’m not still a suspect anymore; you’ve found nothing to implicate me.” He hooked his thumb in his belt, leaning back against the kitchen counter. Whatever had come over him during the interrogation, he seemed perfectly fine now.

She raised an eyebrow at him. Admittedly, the drink was tempting, as was the man. Which was exactly why she shouldn’t get anywhere near either. “Don’t get too cocky; I haven’t ruled you out.”

~*~

The Thanksgiving holiday intervened to take Emma’s mind off the murder case for a few days, leaving her free to fret over the fact that she was spending the holiday without Henry. She imagined him shut up inside that big house with no one but Regina for company for four days, imagined the two of them at either end of a giant table laden down with a huge Thanksgiving feast, eating silently. Emma at least had the boundless optimism and perfectly roasted turkey of Mary Margaret, and as she sat sipping from a glass of port and nibbling on a piece of store-bought pecan pie, she had to admit that this may have been her best Thanksgiving dinner ever.

On Monday she was finally able to see Henry again, resuming their semi-regular afternoon meetups at Granny’s after the end of his school day, before Regina expected him home.

“Did you have a good Thanksgiving?” she asked.

Henry shrugged. “It was okay. Mom let me stay up late and watch a movie, so that was cool.”

Emma felt a stab of jealousy in her gut. She wanted to be the one to let him stay up late, it occurred to her suddenly. She wanted to be able to sit with him and watch a movie. She wanted to be the one he meant when he said ‘mom.’

Henry was fiddling with the sugar dispenser, and he knocked it over, spilling sugar onto the table. Emma sighed, sweeping the sugar up and into her saucer.

“Sorry,” Henry said.

“No worries.”

The door to the diner rattled and she glanced up, seeing Killian Jones walking in. It was a bitterly cold day outside, but he only wore his simple leather jacket.

When he spotted her, his face lit up with a smile and he walked over to their booth. “Hello, Swan. Hello, Henry.”

Awfully friendly for someone I interrogated last week, she thought. And also—

“Wait,” she said. “You two know each other?”

Killian looked slightly sheepish. “Aye, I met Master Mills last summer. We don’t have an open library here in town, so with his mother’s— er, the mayor’s permission, I lent him some books.”

She did remember the set of bookshelves in his apartment that had been packed with books. She’d looked behind every one in her search for a murder weapon.

“Also, Killian taught me to tie some knots. He’s going to teach me to sail when I get bigger.”

“Is he now?” Emma looked back and forth between the two of them. “And Regina’s okay with this?”

Now it was Henry’s turn to look sheepish. “There’s no point in asking her until I have to,” he said.

“I would never take the lad out on the water without your and Mayor Mills’ permission, of course,” Killian hastened to add. “It’s just an idea I had since Henry seemed interested.”

Emma appreciated his inclusion of her in the decision-making process, but she really didn’t have any standing to offer permission as to whether Henry should take sailing lessons or not.

“Your order’s up, Killian,” Ruby called.

“Good afternoon to you both,” he said before leaving them to go pay at the register.

“What do you think of Killian?” Emma asked when he was out of earshot.

“Why, are you going to go out with him?” Henry asked.

“What? No!” She felt her cheeks flush. “He’s a little strange, that’s all.”

“I think he’s nice. He’s one of the few adults around here that talks to me like I’m a person.”

Emma turned around in her booth and watched him leave the diner.

“He’s Captain Hook, I think. I mean, he’s not in the storybook so I don’t know for sure, but that’s my best guess,” Henry said.

Emma swung back around and stared at him. “Killian is Captain Hook? Why, because of his hand?”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t have a hook, you know. Just a prosthetic hand,” she pointed out.

“Well, yeah, but that’s because of the curse.”

“Wouldn’t that make him the bad guy? You said he was nice.”

“I don’t know, I always thought Peter Pan was kind of creepy. Maybe the bad guy in Neverland isn’t who you think it is.”

~*~

“I can’t help but notice that Killian Jones is still walking around, free as a bird,” Regina announced as she marched into the sheriff’s station. The two of them hadn’t spoken since Graham’s death almost two weeks ago. Emma wondered if Regina had cared enough for him to even grieve.

Sighing, she put her pen down. “If you’re referring to the investigation into Gold’s death, I did question him. I also searched his office and his apartment. There was no evidence that he had anything to do with the murder, so of course, he was free to go at the end of it.”

Regina’s mouth pinched, highlighting a thin scar perpendicular to her severe lipstick line. “Not good enough.”

“He didn’t even seem to know Gold that well; he certainly didn’t have any kind of dark feud with him like you implied.”

“He’s lying,” Regina said through clenched teeth.

“I don’t think he is.” Emma thought about Killian’s initial lie that he’d been in the woods and seen the body, but she elected not to share that with Regina. That alone didn’t make him guilty. And when he flat out said he hadn’t killed Gold, she got no sense from him that that was untrue.

“You aren’t the sheriff, you know,” Regina said. “There will be a new election, and the townspeople get to select a new sheriff to succeed Graham. If you think that’s going to be you, an outsider with a criminal history, then you’re in for a rude awakening. Good day, Miss Swan.” With that, she stalked back out of the station.

Chapter 5

#csbb #cs ff #captain swan ff #this graceful path fic #cs s1 au #my fic

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suchawonderfullife · 7 years

Text

1. The silver lining..

For those who know me personally, you may be wondering why I’ve called this blog “such a wonderful life”? Well, “Wonderful Life” by Hurts is a song of significance to me. The lyrics start with:

“On a bridge across the Severn on a Saturday night, Susie meets the man of her dreams. He says that he got in trouble and if she doesn’t mind He doesn’t want the company But there’s something in the air They share a look in silence and everything is understood Susie grabs her man and puts a grip on his hand as the rain puts a tear in his eye. She says Don’t let go Never give up, it’s such a wonderful life Don’t let go Never give up, it’s such a wonderful life”

It’s about a man about to commit suicide, when he is stopped by a woman, she grabs his hand and assures him it will all be okay. The lyrics continue with her seeing his pain, they fall in love and he starts to believe her words. She saves him.

I used to listen to this song through my sickest and darkest days. This song still evokes strong emotion when I listen to it, I think because of the memory of how sick I was when I needed to hear these words the most. I remember countless nights in my early 20′s, feeling such immense loneliness and emotional suffering. It would be 2am or some ridiculous time, my insomnia in fine form and I’d just spent another day (like hundreds before that) home alone, too sick to watch tv, talk to anybody or do anything relatively normal. My level of pain and suffering was incomprehensible and honestly, I’m astonished I survived it. I used to meditate lying down, for hours on end just to try and alleviate some of my symptoms, then I’d lie on the couch listening to classical music as that’s all my body could cope with. If I wasn’t on the couch listening to music, I was in bed in complete silence and darkness, just breathing, hoping to fall asleep (but unable to) and waiting for another day to pass. So at 2-3-4am, when the magnitude of my isolation was felt the most, tears streaming down my face and all I could think about was falling asleep and hoping to never wake up, this song spoke to the deepest part of my soul. The part of me that knew life was worth fighting for and that I needed to try and hold on a little longer. You can listen to the song here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TB1x67Do5U

I have to tell you how glad I am that I did hold on. I survived years of suffering that I would not wish on my worst enemy. When you have no hope outside of that fire that burns within you, when doctors tell you you’re too sick to be treated and they don’t know how to help you, that you may never get better, the majority of your friends abandon you from lack of understanding and judgement and there is nothing in your day that brings you joy, distraction or relief. When you’re isolated beyond comprehension and left feeling like a worthless burden to those selfless enough to stick around and love and care for you regardless. I’m glad my multiple suicide attempts through those times were never successful. I’m glad the universe has kept me here. Now I have hope and the possibility of returning to a life where feeling joy, having the ability to participate in society and achieving my goals, will outweigh my level of suffering. I may even feel somewhat “normal”- now that’s a dream i’ve had for almost a decade.

In just over a month’s time, I will be travelling to the Hansa Center in Wichita Kansas for life-saving treatment for Late Stage Nuerological Lyme Disease and many other conditions this illness has graced me with. This trip has been a year in the making. Over 8 years of trialling endless treatments, a multitude of tests, dozens of doctors, anecdotal evidence from friends and fellow sufferers on their own journey and lastly a years research solely on this clinic and why this is my best shot at helping my body fight such a devastating disease. A disease that has robbed 12 years of my life, taken away my dreams and life plans, has control of all my organs (including my brain), nervous system and tissues, causes dozens (even hundreds) of debilitating symptoms and has actually made me grateful to be the person I am today.

I don’t want this blog to simply be about me harping on about how sick I am/was, treatments and other sad or challenging things. To me it’s about finding hope and positivity in whatever your circumstances and learning to be grateful for the lessons through things you cannot change or do not have control over. I want this blog to change the way you see the world, to inspire you to never give up, to fight for what you want and to face whatever it is that’s holding you back.

There is always something positive to come from any experience. A silver lining if you will. So here is mine: In my 2 years of “remission” (ages 18-20), though I didn’t know it was remission at the time, I was a very different person to who I am now. I was still kind-hearted, thoughtful, loving and a decent human being (in my opinion). But I was superficial and possibly too driven. I prided myself on how hard I could work and how much I could achieve. Rest or down-time was not something I cared for. I studied full-time and worked 2-3 jobs. Working less than 20 hours a week was not acceptable to me. I would head out with friends on weekends for big nights out, I was extroverted (still am) and very likeable. I found it easy to get along with anybody and make new friends. My looks were very important, as a personal trainer, exercise was my life and I loved being known as a “gym junkie.”

I valued myself on how I looked, men finding me attractive, my achievements and status of profession and how likeable I was to others. Basically, I sought value within myself through superficial and tangible parts of my life (as most of us do). So when I became ill, I lost everything that gave me a sense of purpose and made me who I was. A year into being diagnosed as chronically ill (age 21) and I became severely depressed, even suicidal, partly due to my ongoing isolation and grieving the loss of everything I once had. It took me a long time to learn how to re-build my self-worth from nothing. But I did it.

I slowly learnt the value of being grounded, the importance of genuine connection and meaningful relationships over going out and being liked by whomever I may meet. Now I’d rather have quality time with one good friend, than head out with 10 friends where the conversation is potentially shallow. I’ve learnt how to value myself despite my looks (I haven’t been able to exercise in 8 years and putting makeup on is only possible on really “well” days), despite being unable to work or whatever profession I may have in the future and despite being unable to contribute or participate in society like people expect. Those are the things society TELLS us are important, but if you take them all away, you’re left with nothing. Imagine losing all that shapes you as “you,” becoming a lifeless shell of your former self, how would you get through that and rebuild who you are?

So what’s important to me now above all else, is my integrity, morals and how I treat others. I’m a good person, I know this and that’s what matters. I also learnt how to say no. How to set boundaries and make sure that I take care of myself first and foremost and others second. I used to bend over backwards for people, but when I put people’s well-being before my own, it was usually for them to like me, to keep the peace, or out of fear they would abandon me if I didn’t help. So my intentions (although from a good place) were actually not genuine. I’ve learnt how to be true to myself and only say yes to things that serve me or things I am capable of doing whilst maintaining my own physical and emotional health. “You can’t pour from an empty cup,” remember that. I also learnt through counselling that you do yourself a disservice every time you step outside yourself and your core values, to simply please someone else. You become inauthentic and are essentially hurting yourself.

I’m still extroverted, but I’ve learnt how to be alone and embrace simply doing nothing. At 18 I couldn’t even sit through a yoga class, I thought it was “stupid” to waste time breathing deeply and relaxing. I used to get anxiety if it was a Saturday night and I wasn’t out doing something. I hated being on my own with nothing to do. However now, I actually enjoy time alone, doing nice things for myself like having a bath, cooking a healthy meal, going for a walk, sitting in a cafe drinking a coffee just watching people, spending a whole day on the couch binge-watching whatever show I am obsessed with at the time and more. It’s OK to do nothing and this took years for me to accept. But don’t get this confused with severe isolation when you are bedridden. That is when I wanted to die and being that sick, for that long with very limited social contact is beyond challenging and heart-breaking. I am very fortunate to not be THAT sick right now and to have the (although limited) freedom of making some choices on my better days.

Moreover, I learnt that my circumstances and life need no explanation. I don’t owe anybody anything. I used to justify and explain myself out of fear of judgement. The looks I get when I park in a disabled spot, or get pushed around the shops in a wheelchair, yet would hop out of it to look at something. Feeling unwell at an event and needing to go lie down or leave and not knowing how to tell someone, cancelling plans or suddenly becoming too unwell to speak, move or tolerate a normal sound or smell. It’s exhausting to feel the need to constantly justify your circumstances to people. So I don’t and I don’t care if people don’t “get it.” They’re not people I need in my life.

I’m also more than happy to put people in their place who feel the need to comment on my circumstances to which they know nothing about. Such as the social injustice warriors fighting for the rights of the disabled and their parking spots. I acknowledge their comment by telling them to go look at the VALID sticker on the dashboard that is registered to me. Ignorance is bliss and good for them, but I certainly won’t be a sitting duck to morons who think their opinion actually matters. I know people sick like myself who would benefit greatly from a disabled sticker, yet are too scared to get one because they may get nasty comments from onlookers as they are not in a wheelchair, of prehistoric age or missing a limb. This may mean the difference between them able to go to the shops or leave their house, something many take for granted. A friend once said (towards people like that) “It must be nice to have such a privileged opinion on disability when you are in full health.”

My point is, my view of the world and what I thought was important was guided by what society was telling me. Working hard, always being busy, looking good, putting others first and caring what people think. Being so sick from Lyme Disease gave me the time and necessity to build myself back up from nothing and to be able to think for myself. I don’t buy into superficial connections, fakeness, striving for things that will help my social status, people liking me, or doing something because “it’s what you do” or “society says,” because life is too short. What an absolute waste of time and energy that is.

I’m am empath and I’ve been fortunate enough to find the ability to listen to what my soul really needs in order to be authentic. I have honestly found my true self through all my heartache and I may not ever have had the chance to do that, if I didn’t get sick. You’ll see that I am unapologetically honest about who I am, my life, my desires, interests and dreams. I own who I am and what I want because I am at my happiest when I am true to myself. I don’t believe in filtering my life to ease others discomfort. If you’re uncomfortable, that’s not my problem and I gravitate only towards those who “get me” and embrace all that I am. I can’t tell you how elating that feels. I’ve lost friends because of who I am and choices I’ve made, as they were judgemental and couldn’t see past their own social conditioning and bubble of reality. Don’t get me wrong, that hurts, but they don’t deserve me in their life if that’s their mindset towards someone simply being who they are. This is an outlook people in their 40′s or 50′s start to tap into, when they get tired of living their life how they think they’re supposed to and they just want to be happy. I found this in my 20′s and what a beautiful gift that is.

If you meet me or have met me, I hope you feel that my energy is genuine, that I have depth, an ability to listen with intent to understand and not simply reply and that I honestly care for people. I have an outlook of positivity, I’m a solutions person and I always find a silver lining.

How did I get there though? Through my chronic illness journey I have studied Buddhism, found the benefits of Reiki, healing crystals, meditation, detoxing, mindfulness techniques, sought counselling for deep-seeded emotional traumas, read many self help books and more. I got to a point where my physical suffering was so severe and I had nothing to alleviate it, that I decided I needn't suffer more with emotional or mental pain. If I could at least control my mind and learn how to be happy or at peace through my suffering, then maybe I would either get through it, or at least die with some peace. Your mind and the way you view things has such immense power. This kind of growth didn’t only help me “find myself”, but I learnt that it is paramount to long-term recovery. My recovery didn’t start until AFTER I tapped into all these things.

So I need to express to sufferers out there, that you will NEVER get better if you do not deal with your “shit”, work on yourself and learn how to find peace through your suffering. We all carry trauma and if you’re sick, then it is a part of your chronic illness story. Don’t try to simply fix the physical. I’ve heard this from multiple practitioners and health experts as well, so it’s not just my anecdotal evidence or personal belief. The Hansa Center focus on emotional healing and (from my understanding) adhere to this same belief.

Thanks for reading. Next I will discuss the journey that led me to choosing Hansa and why I did. Make sure you hit “follow” for future updates.

Love xx

#lyme #lyme disease #chronic lyme #chronic illness #spoonie #hansa center #hansa #lyme treatment

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sogoodishouldchargeadmission · 6 years

Text

Thanks for Listening Ch. 1

There’s nothing like the threat of dismemberment to get you moving, I’ll tell you that much. So even after witnessing the oh-so tragic passing of Sergeant Jacob Bower and his squad, I still put together the quickest escape plan of my life, followed it to a minimal extent, and got the hell out of dodge.

The following hours turned out to be problematic for a few people. Those problems include (but are not limited to) a high-speed collision, rampant dishonesty, anxiety for a friend, a preventable skull fracture, two injuries to the same arm and one very pissed off little girl.

While I will be the first to admit that poor choices were made, not all of them were mine. So how is it fair that five of those six problems fell on my shoulders?

You’re probably wondering what you’ve just gotten yourself into by reading this. Well tough shit. It’s not my idea to give written statements every time something goes wrong out on the battlefield. Hell, it’s no wonder you have so many of these things sitting on your desk; everything goes wrong nowadays, be it a little or a lot.

Also, there’s really no point in keeping paper records; the building across the street went up in flames two weeks ago. I’m pretty sure this one doesn’t have much longer. Not to mention our very real paper shortage; starting out, I thought I’d try to write as small as possible, but screw it--I’m doing this with my non-dominant arm, and coming down off morphine. You get what you get.

I digress.

For the (apparently precious) record, my name is Corporal Damon S. Baird. Delta Squad. The following statement chronicles the events of the 28th day of Frost.

Spoiler Alert: It sucked.

***

Was I supposed to say no to a superior officer who requested help? I didn’t think I had a choice. Shit, if it was as simple as making up an excuse every time I didn’t feel like doing something, trust me, I’d be on my own private island by now. But a long time ago, I was given an angry lecture by an angry man about ‘Gears following orders’, and I was trying to do just that when Sergeant Jacob Bower of Theta Squad came to me for help that morning.

A few things on Ol’ Jacob. He was a cobweb of a man in looks and old age temperament. You know the type; wispy white hair and fragile composure, all bark and plenty of bite.

Had I heard things about him that were questionable? Yes. Did his squad have a reputation for being morally flexible? Yes. Did that make me apprehensive about getting in a vehicle with them and traveling miles away on assignment? No, and for two reasons:

Said assignment did not, in any way, contradict my own internalized code of conduct. I’m a mechanic. They wanted me to fix a truck. How could they, right?

2. I was bored, and the prospect of getting away from the congested shithole this little city of ours has turned out to be seemed like a blessing. That I could get my hands dirty under the hood of a truck was an added bonus, not that anyone reading this cares what a forgettable soldier like me actually enjoys doing. You know, what he’s especially good at, what makes him feel fulfilled. Not to point fingers or anything, (I’m actually only pointing one; front and center) but if I’d been allowed to help more often in departments that actually applied to me, maybe this whole mess wouldn’t have happened. I’m aware of the fact that I’m in demand, but forgive me for not seeing “fixing a civilian washing machine and/or toaster oven” as my one true calling.

So yes, I was easy to the guy who offered me the possibility of grease under my fingernails. Funny how no one argues about you all sitting with your thumbs up your asses all day long. I guess we’re good at what we’re good at, and we like what we like. Let’s laugh collectively. Let’s move on.

Here was the plan: the five of us take a Packhorse to the city of Hale. I’d fix a downed Centaur that had, according to them, been grounded for a few weeks now. They’d scavenge for other supplies, and we’d be back in lovely Jacinto before dinner. Easy-peasy, if only it went that way.

Some of you will remember Hale as being the city everyone wanted to see before they died; lights, cameras, and movie star shit making the place a gimmicky tourist trap that brought in crazies from all over Tyrus. Today, you can visit for the affordable price of your sanity, and bring back such souvenirs as lice and tetanus.

In other words, it’s run by Stranded--above-mentioned crazies who never left.

I wasn’t thrilled to hear that that’s where we’d be heading, but like I said, I had a bad case of cabin fever that week. You might be rolling your eyes or shaking your head at the mechanic who wanted a change of scenery during the end of the world, but guess what? I stopped giving a fuck in grade school.

I didn’t tell anyone where I was going because I assumed Bower had that covered. Grizzled officers like him usually like to feel in charge, and--believe it or not--I wasn’t in the mood for a pissing contest. He was the sergeant. I was the private; best behavior, stiff upper lip, all that jazz. Figures, the one day that I try on a sheep costume, the wolves of the world were wearing theirs too.

I got in a Packhorse with Bower and his crew; three male Gears named Miles, Lester, and Castle. We were at Jacinto’s limits by 0800, and entered Hale maybe two hours after that. The ride there, however uneventful, was punctuated by nervous energy. Bower’s people were loud and twitchy, and even with their helmets on I could guess their ages by conversation and body language alone: Rookies, all of them, which kind of made me wonder more about Bower.

Not to speak ill of the dead or anything, but he seemed like the type of potato-faced old guy that would have an established group of lackeys more his age. God knows Hoffman plays favorites.

(Kidding!)

So the fact that Theta Squad consisted of individuals mostly under the age of twenty-five had me questioning; was Jacob Bower a wanna-be desk jockey vying for promotion by looking after the little ones? Had he lost his own crew through tragic circumstance, and was trying to redeem himself by teaching the younger generation? Was this some sort of late-life crisis?

I was thinking of a way to ask him these completely appropriate questions right as we made it to Hale. At that point, my attention was pulled elsewhere.

To put it bluntly, “The City of a Thousand Possibilities” was looking more like “Hell Froze Over, Twice.” Not that war had been kind to it these past twelve years. And the Stranded certainly weren't employing sanitation workers regularly. Or ever. But when I say we drove up to a shit-show that day, I mean a complete and utter Shit Extravaganza. They rolled out the red carpet alright, but it wasn’t made of polyester.

What I saw was Stranded men and women fighting for their lives and losing quickly against a melting pot of Locust, Wretches and Tickers under a Nemycist-riddled sky. They were along the outskirts of the city, on the freeway. Their blood looked dark, reflecting the inkspot clouds.

Bower made a sharp turn, taking us on the ramp into downtown. Through the back of the truck, I watched a Stranded woman get blown to pieces by a Boomer and suddenly wondered what the fuck was going on. We were still driving? While humans were still dying? I’m hardly an advocate for people of the Stranded variety--I have lots of colorful nicknames for them, actually--but turning our backs on admittedly preventable death seemed...inhuman. Maybe I’ve been hanging around Marcus “Mother-Hen” Fenix too much for my own good, but at the end of the day, humanity is endangered, and it seemed ignorant to act like we didn’t notice.

At that point, Bower wasn’t being very communicative, and his kids’ nervous chatter had died down to jagged breathing at the sight of the grubs. I opened my mouth but he cut me off, using the rearview mirror to look at me instead of the carnage behind us.

“They’ve been offered help, Private. We’re here for a cause that wants saving.”

I couldn’t argue with something I knew was right. The Stranded population see us as monsters no better than Locust. And twelve years ago, they might’ve had a point; the government hasn’t always made the best choices when it comes to things like basic human decency. I was there when the hammer strikes sent millions into an ashy grave. So they’re angry, I get it. But holding a grudge isn’t exactly solving anything. If it’s an apology they want, it might be a good idea to survive long enough to hear it.

Several blocks in, the sound of battle diminished. By the time we got to the inner city, the gunfire sounded like morse code in a padded cell. Only particularly loud screams were heard. The sky was still inked to shit, though, and maybe it was those dark clouds above our heads that made my next exchange with Bower so problematic.

It’s at this point I’d like to remind you about my list of problems, specifically ‘Rampant Dishonesty’.

We parked. I didn’t see a Centaur. The only things in that town center were a few dirty tents and sleeping bags, empty food crates, five emaciated Stranded, and string lights connected to generators, illuminating the whole ugly picture for us.

Do you know which of those things Bower made a beeline for?

With the rest of Theta suddenly pointing their guns and barking orders like they weren't scared shitless, he ushered me over to the generators.

(Gold star if you guessed correctly.)

“Get them safe for travel,” he’d said.

“Sorry, what?” I’d said.

“Those don’t belong to you!” a woman said, and the desperation in her voice outweighed the anger. I turned to look at her. She was probably younger than the fifty or so years her face painted. All of the people in that group looked particularly unwell, too pale or too old or too skinny, but they were the only one’s there to protest.

It was classic urban militia; take the fight to the threat, and leave home base defenseless. It’s definitely a strategy more stupid than noble, but I still felt like a dick to take advantage of a mistake like that. Yeah, ‘all’s fair’ etcetera, but let’s remember that this war isn’t against people.

A pang of unease settled in my chest. Bower, on the other hand, seemed pleased--like he couldn’t have planned this to happen any better. I say again, planned.

“So you want me to steal them?” I asked, incredulous. We haven't seen Kryl in months, but don’t tell me that you don’t still sleep with a light next to your bed. The idea of leaving those people in the dark made my skin crawl.

“They’re for a cause, Private. Something more important than you or me, or them.”

“So, what, you’re Robin Hood now? Stealing from the poor to give to the rich? Oh, wait…”

“I’d hardly call the COG rich.”

“Yeah, but we’re better off than this.” I gestured to the skeletal individuals in the corner, who flinched at the movement. Eyes wide, faces dirty and desperate. “You’re asking me to take everything they have.”

“No private. Not asking.”

I swallowed. “Are you serious?”

And Bower leveled his pistol at me. “Quite so, I’m afraid.”

I should have seen this coming.

Blah, blah, blah.

#Gears of War #Fanfiction #Damon Baird #Marcus Fenix #Agustus Cole #Dominic Santiago #Delta Squad

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