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factual-fantasy · 1 year

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Yoooo 30 asks??

Look, I’m still working on it. I’ve made more progress on the timeline already, its probably around half way done. Just be patient and I’ll come back around to it soon.

Ehh.. I am really not a fan. I personally don’t like ships and that specific one I have a sour taste for. Its definitely not a part of my AU.

Of course nothing against anyone who ships it, they are fictional characters after all. I just personally am not a fan. :/

@crazy-scary-crazy

Ah, so actually I forgot to mention in that post that I changed the 1-UP story a bit.

Originally Mario and Luigi were traveling to Bowsers castle to save Peach. At some point Mario absorbs a 1-UP mushroom after trying to pick it up. Then they encounter a gang of Koopa-troopas. One of them throws his spear and lands a lucky hit on Mario and kills him. Only for Mario to stand back up. Mario coming back to life scared them so bad that they just ran.

But I realized this would mess with the story. They would run back and tell Bowser, In which Bowser would take the Mario bros more seriously and probably send more troops after them. AND Mario would be fresh out of an extra life for the Bowser fight.

Sooooo I changed it up a bit. Mario absorbed the 1-UP mushroom on the way to Bowsers castle. Bowser doesn’t take them seriously. He lets his guard down and kills Mario effortlessly.

Mario then gets back up..

@sbuggbot

I haven’t actually fully thought it through.. although I had an idea of them being lost and needing help. In which the toads take them in.

At some point they walk through a great garden of Power-ups. In which all of the Power-ups rise and open their eyes. They all bloom, stand up, and glow. All presenting themselves and making themselves visible to the hosts.

This happens in front of Toadsworth. He knew right then that they were the hero's of prophesy.

I was when I was a kid! Man I must have made 100s of Sonic OCs back in the day.

The idea I’m leaning towards is that Bowser wants Peach, AND Daisy’s land. Because their kingdoms sit on sturdy, plentiful land and it grows Power-Ups naturally. Meanwhile Bowsers kingdom is kind of a disaster..

Now the reason why Bowser doesn’t just mow them over with his troops, is because Peach and Daisy’s kingdoms stand together. He is greatly outnumbered, its 2 kingdoms against 1. He was only recently able to capture Peach and break this security that they’ve had for decades. He really thought he finally had the upper hand..

Well, that was until Mario showed up and ruined everything.

I think that would be alright. I’m sure you know the line between copying and inspiration. Just don’t cross the line and you should be golden!

@kaleschmidt

YES! Well, sort of.

The reason why they closed their eyes is because Luigi already had an Ice flower within him. So he was not an available host. And Mario in that moment was, well, dead. He did not register as an available host to expel their power.

So they just, shut their eyes. Waiting for a new host to appear...

Which is 15 seconds later when Mario wakes back up-

@ardent-38

Thank you! Also that’s an awesome idea!

Yes, the Power-ups do react to the Bros emotions. Which means no matter which one he’s using, Luigi’s powers tend to fly out of control due to his anxiety.. I don’t think there’s any Power-Up that helps Luigi keep his anxiety in check, but the ice flower is probably less explosive then the fire flower <XD

And yeah! Mario is better at managing his powers because he’s really good at suppressing his feelings. Although that doesn’t mean they wont react at all. Any spike of adrenaline, any slowly boiling anger, the Power-Ups will respond..

@kb2397

Actually, the Fire/Ice flowers are one of the only Power-Ups that don’t wear off overtime. :0 You have to use all of its power in order for it to go away.

Although the Super Shroom? Yes, it goes away either once you’ve used it all, you get hit really hard by something, or you’ve had it for an expended period of time.

AAAA THANK YOUUU!!! :DDDD

YES! That’s the first time she’s seeing Mario. And BOY was he scary! <XD He legit DIES, and then COMES BACK TO LIFE, and THEN, threatens BOWSERS LIFE.

He real spooky :0

In the AU as far as I’ve planned, sadly Mario doesn’t actually kill Bowser. Although he really wants to.

@miss-cushion-corner

Ooooooorrr, I could just make things angsty with no happy ending because I like angsty things! :D

@milk-powrit

Both! I wanted to make Bowser seem more dragon like instead of turtle like. And I also wanted him to be more royal and greedy looking.

Actually, his design was kind’a rushed.. he was supposed to have a crown and a lot more colorful jewelry. Buuut I just wanted to make the comic soo... he doesn’t look as cool as he could have :/

@ghostii-cannot-be-found-404

Thank you! :DD But also uh, The comic is unfinished if that’s what you mean- the last post probably says “next part here! :)” and then I never finished it :/

They are not twins, :/ Mario is the older brother by like a year and a half or so. :}

FireAlpaca! :D

Thank you! And yes! Wario, Waluigi and Rosalina are all in this AU! :D

Rosalina actually has a fleshed out story and a comic planned. But BOY would her comic take forever to makeee... uhggg... just thinking about all the coloring that would take makes me tired.

And as for Wario and Waluigi, oh yeah they exist. But I don’t quite know how to fit them into the story yet.. I have a couple ideas but I want something bigger for them. I want to make Wario and Waluigi important. So they don’t really have any story planned out yet.. :/

@i-only-created-this-to-read

1: I actually didn’t know Magmaargh were a thing! So I didn’t put them in my AU-

2: Sadly no, Mario does not get his own castle <XD

3: Wario and Waluigi are not human, although they are brothers. They are a very tall and strange species of critter that looks like a human, but not quite. Peach, Daisy, and Rosalina are actually the same species as Wario and Waluigi. Although they don’t look as grotesque as the Wario bros do..

4: No, Peach doesn’t have a whole castle dedicated to paintings, although there could be an art museum somewhere in her castle halls or in the kingdom itself :0

5: XD No Wario is not immortal, although that would be really funny-

6: Heck NO! XD Sure Wario is pretty strong, but his strength no where NEAR rivals Bowsers ands ESPECIALLY not Donkey Kongs! Sorry Wario but you’ve been out matched-

@retro-system

Mario and Luigi can only absorb one Power-up at a time, an exception being the 1-up mushroom. Of which they can have multiple.

If Mario tried to grab a Fire Flower and an Ice Flower at the same time, one of the flowers would be absorbed into Mario and the other one would close its eyes.

That’s about right actually. My Bowser is cruel and evil, but he’s not totally black and white. There’s a heart in there somewhere.. and although he isn’t the best at showing it, he does care about his kids. And he puts their wellbeing above his own, and above his own kingdoms, every time. with no exceptions.

@spookycolorooooo

Their life system works like it does in the games. Find 5 1-up mushrooms? You have 5 more lives! You die 6 times? Game over..

@dongpuncher-666

Nah, Luigi was so anxious that be burned through all its power within like 2 hours. It wasn’t in his system long enough to do any harm thankfully.

I didn’t write him into this AU, although that isn’t to say he doesn't exist. Maybe he’s living off in some far away kingdom as the royal scientist or something XD

1: The Boos are free to leave the mansion as they please. In fact some of them freely roam the forest instead of staying cooped up in the mansion. So sometimes yes, if you’re really fun to mess with they’ll chase you out into the forest a little ways. Although they don’t tend to actually leave the forest.

2: “Oh my gosh there’s TWO of me- Oh my gosh I’m tiny- Oh my gosh I’m a raccoon- oh my gosh I’m a lion- Oh m-”

3: They’re probably a lil spooked by these giant mushroom people. But overall they think they’re chill.

4: That’s a good question! I thought that maybe they think this Yoshi is crazy for leaving the safety of their island for these people. But some of them think “He left the safety of this island for those people.. they must be something special..” and might have even considered following him.

That’s alright, you can give Calico Jack a coat because you were inspired by mine, but you gotta design your own jacket! <XD

@yourlocalartperson

Honestly, you’ve probably heard this before, but just draw it again. And again, and again.

The first time I try to draw something it comes out looking kind’a garbo. But I look at the drawing, note what I didn’t like, and draw it differently next time.

After drawing it again, it’s bound to look better. Even if it doesn’t that’s okay! Just take notes, and draw it again.

If you’re struggling on how to draw a specific part of something, try looking at how other artists draw that thing if you can. Maybe take inspiration from them and try drawing it that way!

The weird mushroom? No that’s creepy <XD

The Super hammer? Hmm.. I’m not sure..

I haven’t gone into too much depth with Peach and Daisy, although I know that Peach is very classy and lady like. While Daisy acts classy for her kingdom, but she’s a real crazy person on the inside. She’s loud, rowdy, and isn’t afraid to get dirty.

This is probably really close to canon, but what’s been changed is mostly how Daisy feels about it. Daisy is jealous that she cant be perfect like her friend Peach, and she’s embarrassed that’s she like this on the inside..

Also yes! Peach and Daisy always comment on Mario and Luigi’s “cute” rounded ears. While Mario and Luigi low-key kind’a wish they could have cool elf ears too-

#my response #super mario bros

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xtruss · 4 months

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Truth Behind the Disappearance of Baloch Citizens in Pakistan’s Balochistan Province

Balochistan Has Been in News For a Pervasive, Volatile Issue of Disappeared People

— Durdana Najam | December 30, 2023

The Writer is a Public Policy Analyst Based in Lahore

Balochistan has always been in the news for the wrong reasons. There is never a quiet moment in the province that occupies Pakistan’s largest landscape. If not marred with insurgency or repeated natural disasters, expedient politics involving Sardars, Nawabs and local politicians threaten the province’s peace and stability. For the last many weeks, Balochistan has been in the news for a pervasive and volatile issue of disappeared people. A group of young adults, mostly, started a protest march from Balochistan’s southern Kech district towards Pakistan’s capital, Islamabad, to register their anguish over the killing of a young boy allegedly in the Counter Terrorism Department custody.

The noteworthy feature of the protest was its gender formation. Young, aspiring women were in the lead, seeking redressal of their grievances from the state. Who else would they turn to if not the state, often compared with a mother, responsible for protecting, sacrificing and looking after her children regardless of complexity or adversity level? However, like any other relationship, a mother-child relation is also reciprocal. Let’s put it this way: a state-citizen relation is a two-way street built on mutual respect and goodwill. In this context, let’s examine Balaach Mola Bakhsh’s relation with the state.

Like in any crime, there are two versions to the Balaach killing too. One is that of the law enforcers i.e. the CTD, and the other is of the victim’s family.

As per the CTD statement, Balaach was killed in “armed clashes with the militant” on the Pasni Road in the north of Kech’s district headquarters, Turbat. He was not the only suspect killed in the clash; three more breathed their last in the encounter. The clash between the CTD and the militants took place in a house at Pasni Road where a group of insurgents were hiding. The whereabouts of the house were tipped off to the CTD by none other but Balaach. During the operation in which Balaach served as a guide, a gunshot from the insurgents proved fatal, and he died.

As per the family statement, Balaach was arrested on October 29. However, he was not produced before the court until a month later. And later, he was eliminated in an extrajudicial killing by the CTD.

This discrepancy is worth sorting, and only an impartial investigation can gather the truth. The burden is on the Balochistan government and the political stakeholders of the province, who spend more time in Islamabad than their constituencies.

However, some questions are worth attending, such as: Is the state involved in the so-called forced disappearances? Is the state only behaving rogue by killing and dumping the Baloch insurgents without giving them the space and luxury of dialogue? Do bullets fired in Balochistan only target the Baloch people? Or do they also harm other victims? Who is responsible for the miseries of Balochistan?

Disappeared people can be divided into three categories. One category of disappeared people is those who have taken up arms against the state. They leave their families and start living in remote and undisclosed places. The second category of disappeared people are those who leave their homes, either due to personal reasons or to earn their livelihood, but for some reason never return or contact their families. The third category is of those who are picked up by the state on the charges of insurgency.

Their disappearance of those who voluntarily leave their families either to join insurgency or to walk out of their responsibilities cannot be blamed on the state. Any attempt to do so is a deliberate attempt to seed discord between the state and its citizens.

So far, 77 per cent of all cases of disappearances have been solved.

As for the second question whether the state engages with the rogue elements in Balochistan, the answer is evident in the number of insurgents that had recently surrendered.

Gulzar Imam alias Shambay and Sarfaraz Bangalzai were pardoned despite the fact that they had committed heinous crimes. The state has declared amnesty for all those willing to renounce violence. Even Balaach had been allowed to get mainstreamed despite being involved in spreading unrest in Balochistan, targeting law enforcement agencies and killing innocent people. He was caught red-handed with five kilograms of explosives. In 2021, he attacked FC vehicles and checkposts with hand grenades. The same year, he murdered a shopkeeper, a Baloch citizen and a resident of Ghotki in Turbat.

As for the third question: do bullets fired in Balochistan only target the Baloch people? Or do they also harm other victims? The answer is evident in the data that tells us that in the last ten months, 22 incidents of target killings have been reported in Turbat. Six labourers were killed in October and four in November this year.

Finally, who bears responsibility for the sufferings in Balochistan? The answer lies in the conduct of the Baloch ruling class, comprising Sardars, Nawabs and politicians. They bend every law and rule to their advantage, which has impeded Balochistan’s progress despite the announcement of lavish reform packages. If the Baloch stakeholders choose to stand with their people and build a robust local governance system, no external power responsible for the unrest will have any reason to meddle.

Tragically, no human rights organisations or advocates have ever expressed their condolences or demonstrated in support of the labourers who lost their lives in Balochistan.

Balochistan could be a simmering issue, but it is solvable — a right perspective and honest leadership are all required to put things in order.

— Published in The Express Tribune, December 30th, 2023.

#Pakistan 🇵🇰#Balochistan Province #Disappearance of Citizens #The Express Tribune

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r0hitdhiman · 8 months

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Comprehensive vs. Third-Party Bike Insurance: Making the Right Choice

Owning a two-wheeler brings a feeling of freedom and comfort to our lives. Whether it is zipping via traffic or playing scenic rides, a bike will become a fundamental part of our everyday habits. However, at the side of the pleasure of using comes the responsibility of ensuring its safety and safety. This is wherein bike coverage comes into play. Regarding motorcycle coverage, two common alternatives are comprehensive coverage and 1/3-birthday party insurance. In this article, we'll delve into the differences between those two kinds of coverage, supporting you're making a knowledgeable choice.

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Third-Party Liability: This coverage covers criminal liabilities from accidents, death, or property damage caused by your bike to other humans or their properties.

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No Coverage for Own Bike: One of the critical obstacles of third-party bike insurance is that it does now not cover damages to your very own motorbike. Therefore, you would have to undergo repair or alternative costs in case of an accident or robbery.

Making the Right Choice:

Comprehensive vs third-party bike insurance relies upon different factors, along with your price range, the fee of your motorbike, your risk tolerance, and your desires. If your motorcycle is new, highly-priced, or holds a sizable sentimental price, complete insurance might be the higher desire to make certain that you're financially protected against unexpected activities. On the other hand, when you have an older motorcycle and are seeking out a value-effective answer to fulfill legal necessities, third-birthday celebration insurance can be a suitable choice.

In conclusion, whilst comprehensive motorcycle coverage gives a broader scope of insurance, 0.33-party coverage serves the crucial cause of meeting prison duties. It's essential to assess your occasions and studies thoroughly and understand the phrases and situations of the coverage before you make a decision. To take advantage of similar insights into the insurance sector, with more blogs and courses, please make sure to go to BimaBandhu.In. I want you to know that making a knowledgeable choice will help you journey your bike with confidence and peace of mind.

#bike insurance #bike insurance tips #bimabandhu blogs

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anteroom-of-death · 4 years

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The Day Esme Discovered the Gibbs Slap is the Day All Those Dumbass Kids Learnt!

#personal #esme cullen #the gibbs slap #cullen clan #cullen family #twilight revival #the supernatural smacking noise raidates across the PNW #its registered as some sort of natural disaster #humans are shook #ahd the kids are behavin

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syllvane · 3 years

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muscle memory pt. 3- sylvie x reader

a/n: i said i was going to post tomorrow but i couldn’t help myself. anyways, spoilers for episode 2 and 3 of loki, minor spoilers for the beginning of episode 3. final word count is 1.7k words!

read the previous part read the next part read the series

“How is Loki doing?” You asked Mobius, walking with him to the mess hall.

“He’s doing great. Making real progress, I would say.”

“Didn’t you have to have a meeting with Renslayer this morning because of his actions?” You asked, raising your eyebrows. His face scrunched up for a second.

“It’s like every time he is making progress, he takes two steps back.”

“That sounds more believable. You still think he’s worth all the trouble though?”

Mobius sighed slightly. “I really do believe in him. It’s not just an issue of whether I believe in him though, it’s whether Ravonna and the Timekeepers do.”

“Oh, you’re on first name basis now, with Renslayer?” You turned and grinned at Mobius, who immediately flushed after realizing his mistake.

“Not a word of this to anyone.” He said strictly, although there was a smile on his face as well.

“Yeah, yeah.” You said, standing in line with Mobius as he ordered his lunch before sitting down at a two-seat table. “Ravonna and Mobius-”

“C-7.” Mobius said strictly, although you could tell he was partly amused by your antics.

You continued in the same quiet, sing-songy voice as before.

“-on a jet ski. K-I-S-S-I-N-G.”

Mobius finished taking a sip of his drink and then applauded quietly, so as to not draw attention.

“Has anyone ever told you that you truly have all the originality of a grade-schooler?”

Before you could answer, you were interrupted by a tall man with long dark hair speed walking over to where Mobius and you were sitting.

Although he seemed to be in a hurry, you could tell that he was sizing up everybody in the room, including yourself.

“I found- oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there. Would you mind moving so that me and my partner could discuss something?” He asked politely, even smiling.

You locked eyes with him, smiling back at him.

“I’m good, thanks. You can just pull up a chair.”

His smile wavered and he maintained eye contact for a couple of moments longer before breaking it, going to a different table and pulling over a chair.

(You ignored the pointed look Mobius shot at you, like he was asking you to be the bigger person here. Unfortunately for him, you had no such intentions.)

“Right. I know how the Variant is hiding.”

Mobius leaned back.

“Talk about burying the lead. How?”

Loki smiled slightly, this smile much different from his last- he was proud of himself.

“He’s hiding in apocalypses.”

There was a moment of silence. You and Mobius exchanged a glance.

“Which one? There’s like a million all across history.” Mobius pointed out and Loki took a second to compose himself before starting his explanation.

You sat back as he explained his reasoning, watching with amusement as he put more salt and pepper into Mobius’ salad, handing him your own drink when he realized that Mobius’ drink was empty.

He gave you a nod of recognition and Mobius sent you another, even more exasperated glance as Loki poured your drink into the salad (although, in your opinion, seeing Loki grin like that made it worth it).

—— “How was Pompeii?” You asked, not even having to look up from the apocalypse case files to figure out that it was Loki who was approaching you.

He stopped for a minute, almost taken aback by your observation, before continuing and taking a seat in front of you.

“I was right, naturally.”

You scoffed slightly.

“Naturally.”

You looked up at him to find that his piercing eyes were already looking at you, almost curiously.

“You’re already sorting through the apocalypse files.”

“Naturally occurring disasters with no survivors, cross-referenced with the candy that Mobius picked up. You were confident that you were right so I figured I should start looking.”

Loki raised his eyebrows and smiled slightly.

“You’re smarter than you look. Could’ve saved me and Mobius some time.”

“He forgot to cross-reference?”

He nodded, hesitating for a moment before he grabbed some of the files that you hadn’t started looking over yet.

You looked at him appreciatively, though he wasn’t looking at you anymore.

The two of you sat there, looking at the case files in a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes before Mobius walked into your office as well.

“What’s this?” Mobius asked, taking a cursory glance at the file on top.

“Kablooie.” You said simply and Mobius sighed slightly, frustrated that he hadn’t thought of it.

He grabbed a couple of files as well, standing up as he started reading.

“I think I have something,” Loki said a couple of minutes later, splaying the case out on your desk so that everyone could see. “Class ten apocalypse. Alabama, 2050.”

You looked it over and even just with a cursory glance, you could tell that this is where the Variant was hiding- you looked over at Mobius and saw pride on his face.

“You’re gonna take my job if I’m not careful.”

“Now to pitch it to Renslayer.” You said and Mobius nodded, already halfway out of your office. He closed the door behind him and you looked at Loki. “I don’t think I’ve seen him this excited in a while. In fact, the last time I saw him this excited, I think we saw a jet ski on a mission.”

Loki smiled to himself, though the expression disappeared when he looked back at you.

“And what about you?”

“Hm?” You tilted your head slightly, caught off-guard by the question.

“What excites you?”

You held his gaze for a couple of moments, feeling uncomfortable with how he looked at you, as if he knew something about you that you didn’t know about yourself.

You finally looked away, standing up.

“We should go meet Mobius. We’ll be heading out as soon as he gets the approval.”

“You say this like it’s a sure thing.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen Renslayer say no to him. Come on.”

——

The rain sounded a hundred times louder when you were listening to it hit the roof of the Roxxcart, so loud that you could barely hear the sound of your own voice above the noise.

“What are you doing here?” You asked, positioning your reset baton defensively. The man standing by the plants seemed to hesitate slightly, although he was still much too calm for this kind of weather.

“Hurricane sale. Azaleas are half-off.”

“Could that be you?” You asked Loki, your eyes never leaving the man. Although his eyes continued to look between you and Loki, his gaze lingered on you longer.

“I… mean… I would’ve worn a suit, but it could be.”

You took a couple steps towards the man and he backed up, looking at you pleadingly.

“I don’t want to do this.” He said quietly and you tilted your head slightly, confused.

You took another step towards him.

“What-”

He grabbed your arm and a warm feeling came over your body.

A woman’s voice in your head lulled you to sleep, promising to bring you home and then everything went dark.

…

“Sylv, why are you acting so weird?” You asked, taking another sip of wine.

The blonde woman across from you smiled, although you could tell that she was forcing it for your sake.

“Another one of my suitors came and visited me today.” She said. You made a face and she laughed slightly.

“Complete fools, every one of them.”

“Fools for being deeply in love with me?” She asked, raising an eyebrow, almost as if she was allowing herself to play the part for a couple of brief moments.

“No, I’m above self-flagellation. They’re fools for thinking that they could ever win your heart.”

She laughed.

“And why is that?”

You leaned back in your chair.

“I have it on very good account that someone already has it.” You said and Sylvie‘s smile faded and her gaze didn’t quite meet yours, almost as if her mind was preoccupied elsewhere.

She looked back at you, her look apologetic.

The scene around you grew distorted, nothing quite clear anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Her words repeated everywhere around you like you were in an echo chamber rather than…

Rather than…

Where were you?

The blonde woman that had been there a moment ago disappeared and with her, everything else.

…

When you came to, Mobius was kneeling beside you, waiting for you to wake up.

“C-7… are you okay?” He asked slowly, looking at you with more concern than you think anyone else ever has.

You propped yourself up and you looked around wildly for Loki or for the blonde woman- Sylvie- who had been in your head.

“Where are they?” You asked and you hated how desperate your voice sounded.

“They escaped. Take it easy, the Variant did a number on-”

“Mobius, I have to find her.” You said, trying to stand up only to be overwhelmed with nausea and dizziness.

Mobius supported you, keeping you from falling back onto the ground.

“I know. And we will, but we have more pressing issues right now. Come on.”

You didn’t protest, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to convince Mobius even if you promised to get him a jet ski afterwards.

What you had to do now, you would do alone.

He helped you through the portal back to the TVA and the rest of your team followed, all of them being immediately assigned to different Nexus events that were happening simultaneously.

You, being injured, were given the pass to stay back at the TVA.

You wondered if the Timekeepers knew what you were about to do, if they could’ve predicted it- after all, they were the ones who had made you, right?

You headed to the sector of the TVA where they issued TemPads, looking at the data of where all the TemPads were jumping to and from when you stumbled upon something odd- there was a TemPad that only had one jump registered in its entire history.

TVA to Lamentis-1, 2077.

Huh.

The Variant- Sylvie- whatever her name was, must’ve found out a way to stop the TemPad from feeding data into the system, but it must’ve reset when she jumped to the TVA.

You grabbed one of the TemPad’s that were out of commission for charging, unplugging it.

It was low on battery, but it would have to do.

You opened a portal for yourself using the exact same coordinates and time that they had put in and without any hesitation, you walked through.

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mrpenguinpants · 3 years

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Albedo HCs: Coming Home [Christmas Celebration 🎉]

For the Christmas Celebration Requests, please read this [we have 2 more days but I’ll possibly extend the deadline to Jan 10. I’m tackling all the Mondstadt rq first before moving onto Liyue]

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Ohhh, I love idea a lot (might have gone overboard anon haha). No worries about being specific, I love getting specific requests. I just finished a super depressing fic and I’m back at it again. Though I will do my best to make this one happy because that Mona fic hurt me. But I’m glad to hear you love my writing haha 💕💕

I also know nothing about Albedo and have never written this man in my life but I’m going to ignore everything because these are happy hours. I love his man so much so this is some self-indulgent stuff (if you couldn’t tell from the word count) istg hcs have turned into fics just without the dialogue. I took many liberties lol what the hell is formatting?

Also, shoutout to @asheseiler A beautiful human being that started chatting with me because we both love Childe haha. But seriously, I appreciate you 💕💕💕

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[taglist] <- if you want to be added, please read this first.

@hanniejji @mikeysbike @unionwitch @musekala @twistedsunnshiii @stanzastic @akaasea @xoneaboveallx @adoring-ghost @asheseiler @childelover

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Albedo HCs: Coming Home

As you finally reached the hill top by the Stone Gate, you could just make out the stone walls of the City of Freedom in Mondstadt. You were almost there and the butterfly’s racing through your stomach only seemed to fly faster. You had been on a long trip away by travelling between Liyue and Inazuma. From practicing your alchemy to finding new secrets, it had been awhile since you last saw Mondstadt. While it had been fun going from place to place and seeing all the new arts and techniques, you couldn’t stop the feeling of loneliness of not having an occasionally smug but talented ash blond companion at your side.

You hadn’t seen Albedo since Master Rhinedottir had left and sent Albedo to Mondstadt with a letter of recommendation. You travelled with him to the City of Freedom but you only stayed for a few nights before you departed to Liyue. Your master had different plans for you and you didn’t know how long your own journey would take but you both promised to stay in touch through letters.

He was now acting as the Chief Alchemist and Captain of the Investigation Team of the Knights of Favonius. He managed to get a lab from Alice and he even had an assistant named Sucrose. He sent over some sketches for you and even if the bottom half of “Sucrose” was just a stick figure, you were happy that he wasn’t alone and cooped up in his lab all the time. You were, however, worried about these “Klee disasters” but happy that he still had the energy to write to you. At first it was hard, you found yourself talking to the air as if Albedo was still there but even after all these years, you couldn’t help but miss him. The occasional letter you received did help to lighten the mood however and you always made sure to store them carefully.

It seemed that your dapping mood was noticeable because even the ever stoic Zhongli asked if you were okay. He was nice and easy to talk to, even if he had a problem with Mora that you sometimes had to bail him out off, but you trusted him so you explained to him your growing loneliness. Which he simply replied that if you missed someone, you should go see them.

So here you are right outside the gates. The knights at the front were nice enough and let you through with ease once they checked that you didn’t have anything destructive. Now the hard part was actually finding Albedo. The knights had mentioned that despite being a highly respectable alchemist and one of the Captains, no one really knew where he was most of the time. Originally, you were thinking of planning some sort of surprise, even had made an entire game plan, but now that you were here. You just wanted to tackle the man, pride be damned.

You began to wander around the city, in comparison to Liyue it was quite small but so much more lively and warm. Christmas was right around the corner so everyone was rushing around hanging up lights and finding presents but it was nice. Everyone seemed to know each other and unlike Liyue, you didn’t need to be afraid if the walls were listening. You looked around for a man with bright teal eyes and ashy light blond hair, even asking around, but no luck. No one seemed to know where he was and if he was even in Mondstadt right now. You were beginning to loose hope and that your trip might have been in vain when you felt a small tap on your shoulder and-

Sweet jesus, what the fuck?

You were almost jealous at how good he looked now. He was always handsome when you were both younger but now it felt like cupid decided to descend from the heavens, laugh at you, then riddled you full of arrows. Was your pulse working? Brain still computing? You knew you had a small crush on Albedo when you were younger- who were you kidding, you were in love with this man since he helped you create cecilia flowers from a dead denro slime - but this was just unfair!

“Albedo! I was looking around everywhere for you. This place is actually a lot bigger than it se-”

“You’re back.”

Albedo was surprised to see that it was really you. He only caught a small glimpse of your profile but he knew it was you. He almost suspected that his vision was tricking him or that he might have accidently set one of his sketches of you to life but you were here. Albedo has always treated friendships with a constant degree of distance, always working or traveling to gathering materials to avoid social interactions even if it wasn’t intentional. He also had no memory of any family, only adventuring deep within the domains with his master and you. But when his Master left with one assignment left for him he couldn’t help but feel a bit hollow, but you were always there to lift his spirits up even if on the outside he didn’t appear upset.

But then you had left and gone on your own journey.

“Hm? Oh, sorry I didn’t mention it in my last letter. It was a bit of an impulse trip. But I’m not intruding in on anything right? You’re happy to see me...right?”

“You’re here.”

At first he was alright with it, even encouraged you to set off to Liyue since it was the closest. Promising that you would both keep in touch even if he found relationships a taxing cycle. But when a few months had passed and it began to settle in that you weren’t anywhere near him. That he couldn’t talk to you about new discoveries, that he couldn’t hear you voice anymore, that he had even forgotten how to sketch you. It felt...weird. He knew what he was feeling was loneliness, he wasn’t deluded or naïve, but even when he had Sucrose or Timaeus it wasn’t the same. But now you were here. He could see you and how the lines in his sketchbook were wrong whenever he attempted to re-create you. He could feel your warmth that sketches he brought to life couldn’t do. He could feel your presence and how it slowly but surely filled the void in him until it was bursting at the seams.

“Albedo? Are you alright?”

“You’re here.”

You were almost afraid that the holidays had broke Albedo. You knew he would sometimes get too deep in thought and wouldn’t register his surrounding but it was just you two. With the sun slowly going down, the snowflakes dancing around you both, and the Christmas light reflecting off his unique blue eyes. You took a slow blinked at him. Once. Twice. The same way you would when you were studying something, trying to unveil its secrets. Before sighing amusingly and opening up your arms to him. He was still the same.

“I’m here.”

The final assignment Albedo received was too hard, too complicated, far beyond his own limits and he was worried that if he never completed it, would he ever see his teacher again? When you took your first step outside the walls of the city, waving back to him as you set off on your journey, he couldn’t help but feel that like his teacher, you were leaving him too. But when you looked at him with those warm but understanding eyes, opened your arms to him, he let go and stepped into your embrace. He was sure he was borderline crushing your frame but you hugged him back just as tightly.

“My apologies. I got overwhelmed. Come with me, let’s get out of the cold first.”

You tried to hold it in but you laughed at his statement. He didn’t seem to mind as you felt him smile into your neck. Even with those words he hadn’t let go or slackened his grip in the slightest. So you both stayed there outside in the cold, the christmas lights reflected off snow, the sounds of laughter and singing playing in the background as you both embraced each other.

I’m home

You’re home

---

Although Albedo was happy to see you again, he was wondering why out of all the years you had been away, all the other holidays you had missed, you decided to come to Mondstadt today. You were at his lab and marveling at all his new devices when he popped the question. You flushed a bit but quickly brushed it off, saying that after all the letters he sent you were finally curious as to what Mondstadt was like and the people he met. Plus, Liyue and Inazuma didn’t celebrate Christmas as much as Mondstadt so it would be nice to finally celebrate the holiday again.

He simply smiled smugly and nodded along before you eventually caved, because that look could steal your heart away, and revealed that honestly, you just really missed him and wanted to spend Christmas together. There wasn’t anything wrong with that was there? So what if you missed him? It was natural. It wasn’t like you were wondering what he was doing on slow days in Liyue. It wasn’t like you we-

“You can stop laughing at me. I know you’re doing it even if I can’t hear it Albedo.”

“I’m sorry you must be mistaken. Perhaps your observational skills have rusted?”

You huffed at him before turning your attention to a small but worn sketching book. It was different from the ones he had showed you and much smaller compared to the ripped out sketches he sent you. Albedo noticed your curiosity and almost flushed before striding over and showing you what was inside. It was either he do it now or you would constantly eye ball it until he finally let you see what was inside.

He took out the old sketchbook and flipped all the way to the first page. They had been sketches of you. When it had just been you, Albedo, and your teacher he would often ask to draw you but he never showed you the finished product. What was surprising was they were all full sketches. No simple lines or unfinished colours. His interest in things, especially when he draws, were fleeting leading him to always create unfinished or basic lines.

“Wow, was this your first sketchbook? Did you draw anything else? Oh, like your assistant perhaps?”

“No. I only drew one thing here. It’s been sitting here ever since but I tend to make sure it’s in good condition. Should I ever need to draw in it again.”

Albedo almost reached for his pencil to sketch your smug but bright smile. But set his hand down. While he wants to capture moments so they remain forever with him, he felt that perhaps, it would be nice to live in them. Just for a moment.

---

I never write at the bottom of my fics but I wrote too much at the start haha (plus tagging my screaming doesn’t work anymore). Not gonna lie, this was going to be different and you and Albedo would have role reversed AND I WAS GOING TO WRITE MONA IN but that didn’t happen. I made it so disgustingly sappy at the end that I want to throw up but when do I not?

But I kind of like this version more. He’s super out of character but I don’t care and you’re gonna have to take this hcs out of my COLD DEAD HANDS. But I hope you enjoyed this and I’m using this as my Albedo catalyst so come home elevator boy. (cough celebration hcs are still open if you wanna feed me 👀 this )

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin imagines #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin headcanons #genshin impact headcanons #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact albedo x reader #albedo x reader #albedo x lumine #albedo x aether #albedo #albedo headcanons #albedo imagines

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pokesplendor · 3 years

Photo

carmela’s team from my pokemon shield playthrough! not as happy with this bunch... info beneath the cut!

Graves - Inteleon - she/he - lesbian White - cis woman - age 30

Graves came from a very unconventional background prior to entering into the League circuit. Having raised since she was young by Interpol for undercover operations, she was there and experienced things a child shouldn’t for the sake of ‘justice.’ Who’s justice is really to question in this situation, as she never had a say. It’s only once she reached legal age did she take a ‘vacation’ and decide to try the league. That’s where she re-encountered Ella, who she had met on the job in the Champion’s guard. She uses her combat skills she gained from her rigorous upbringing, which you’d think would cause her to dominate the field, but that isn’t the case. She’s actually fairly bad at it.

She has a bit of a problem interacting with others. She was trained in how to act natural, friendly, and unassuming, but she doesn’t know how to not act. What’s Graves’ personality? Well, she’s a crybaby whenever she’s alone. Little things upset her, her anxiety ramps up her paranoia, and she keeps it all saved beneath the surface until she’s alone and then she cries. Other than crying in her off time, she’s a voracious reader, and particularly likes poetry.

If Graves could ever be honest with herself, she’d admit she’s fallen for Ella quite hard. That bright ball of sunshine brought a smile to her face in a way she hadn’t experienced before. But she wasn’t able to voice her feelings, and Ella is now sadly taken. She’s also a poor leader, along with a poor battler, and she doesn’t garner much respect from her team. She’s often spoken over by Crusher.

Crusher - Sirfetch’d - she/her - lesbian White - cis woman - age 34

Crusher likes to think she’s a gallant, chivalrous knight that leaves women quaking with soaked undies are her arrival and her deep, rusty voice sends shivers up their spine when she announces herself, and she’d like to think that everyone wants her around, but she’s wrong. She butted her way into Graves’ team, seeing its lack of, well, many things, leadership, power, attractiveness… They obviously would benefit from her accompaniment. She didn’t care what they had to say, she was going to be on their team and they were going to worship her for what she brings to the table. She’d like to think she’s wanted, but honestly, not very much so.

As if it wasn’t evidence enough, Crusher is extremely up her own ass, overconfident, and unfortunately, with enough power to back up her words. She’s a demon on the field, knocking enemies out with a single sweep sometimes. She works out on the regular, and doesn’t wear armor to show off her many (sexy) battle scars. Otherwise, she’s into collecting antique tea sets and little glass kittens to display back home. Her house is full of them.

Crusher likes to think (man she likes to think a lot of things) that everyone on the team is slightly in love with her, when she is tolerated at best. Goliath likes her, but Goliath likes everyone. He spots for her when they’re working out together, and she respects him for his strength. She’s especially hard on Thrasher and Maverick for not pulling their weight until they evolved, citing them as a weakness.

Goliath - Grimmsnarl - he/they - gay Japanese - nonbinary - age 21

Goliath hails from the Glimmwood Tangle, from quite a large and loving family, but he got it in his head that he had to see the world beyond the forest clearing, he wanted to see where all the people braving its endless maze to reach the gym were about, he wanted to know! A regular yearning princess wishing to see what’s beyond her tower she’s been trapped in. And this is the family business Matilda had to leave her swamp for, bringing his ass home. She got there a little too late, however, already picked up by Graves’ group and registered into gym fights. He couldn’t leave! He made a promise to help! And look at his cool new friends.

When not spent daydreaming about adventures he could be having, he likes to keep in shape. His family home requires constant upkeep, lest the magical wood overgrows anything manmade within a few days. He likes to read, despite struggling with it due to his dyslexia, and he hopes to write his own book one day about what he’s experienced, he wants to have an adventure worth filling a book with. He’s a very positive lad, a happy one, who tries to share the happiness with those around him.

Goliath is still young, but he’s pretty sure about who he is as a person, he knows where he stands on morals, and her own identity as well. He’s chivalrous and kind, always trying to get the team to work together and get along. It has varying results. Grievous loves to mother him, and he likes to think he’s pals with Graves. Despite being younger, he tries to protect Thrasher and Maverick.

Blitz - Centiscorch - she/her - queer White - cis woman - age 33

Blitz, like Graves, was raised by Interpol for infiltration and undercover work. Unlike Graves, however, while the Inteleon was sanded down to being a weak, anxiety-ridden mess, it only strengthened Blitz’ nerves of steel, causing her to become cold and calculating. She only joined the League circuit because she had a mandated vacation following losing her leg from the knee down, and she didn’t want to get rusty on her skills. Not to mention she saw Graves attempting to lead and failing at it and thought she’d stick around to demean her for her lack of anything worthy of use for Interpol’s workings.

She doesn’t have many hobbies, she likes working out, staying fit, and occasionally cooking some ultra healthy superfood, but it’s not like cooking is her passion. She doesn’t understand why people think you need to have a life outside of your work, she’s perfectly happy to just always be on the job and do as it demands. She smokes, but only the occasional cigarette so as to not negatively affect her health. She’s a woman of few loves, few words, and she thinks that’s just fine.

Blitz scoffs when the team tries to have any sort of ‘get to know each other’ exercise. It’s never in good faith, and just ends in disaster so she tries to avoid it. Grevious tries to mother her on occasion, for whatever reason, she never had a mother and she doesn’t want one, so she doesn’t understand why her face gets flushed and hands get sweaty when the dragon’s around.

Maverick - Corviknight - she/her - lesbian White - trans woman - age 32

Maverick is a failed knight from olden times; she was sealed in a tomb in the slumbering weld with her previous king as a way to protect him in the next life, only to be revived by Graves and Ella exploring the area. Being awoken in modern times, she had a lot to learn and get used to, part of it being her king is no more. The body is gone, and the tomb ransacked. She failed, and this weighs heavy on her shoulders through the journey. She agreed to follow Graves, sensing a nobility to her, Ella already having Thomasin by her side while Graves had no one. She is skilled in battle, if not unsure of herself due to her failings during both in the past, and while she was asleep.

She holds herself to high standards, almost impossible for her to meet, but no one else. She does not expect others to keep up her strict training regime, it is for her alone to shoulder the burden of being known as a failure. Despite that statement, Crusher constantly challenges her, and they’re often sparring with one another. In her off time, she enjoys weaving and is learning the modern trades of ‘sewing’ and ‘crochet.’ She enjoys making clothes for herself and others.

Her strict lifestyle doesn’t give her many moments to herself or to consider her feelings for others. She dedicates herself to a cause and thinks of little else. However she enjoys Grevious’ company. She does notice the occasional stares from others, such as Thomasin from Ella’s team, and she wonders what it could mean. Does she resent her for not joining Ella? It seemed only fair at the time.

Grevious - Dragapult - she/her - bi Vietnamese - trans woman - age 45

The ghost of a test pilot that went down during a new dirigible’s trial run over Galar. Her body was never found, believed to be incinerated by the blast, and her spirit has hung on to the area as she never got a proper burial. Graves, hearing her plight, followed her to her remains, giving her the burial she deserved. Freed from her prison, she was free to pass on, but she denied doing so, she had to repay Graves for her service. And so, she was conscripted to the gym challenge, one she had seen many travelers pass by speaking of such a thing and she was always curious just what exactly it was. She had heard things of course, but nothing is better than first hand experience.

Grievous is a very noble person, but not too stuffy either. She loves a good joke, she loves puns, and she loves giving people a good fright with her ghostly status. It’s all in good fun, she’d never do anything malicious or something that would genuinely harm others! She loves to fly, she had always loved to fly, and dying didn’t exactly rob her of that love. Now she can do it without a plane! She spent so long as spirit, she kind of forgot what having hobbies is like, and she’s trying new things!

She’s a very motherly person, and, being the oldest of the group, feels very maternal towards all the young little ones around her. She’s particularly concerned for Graves and Blitz upon hearing around their upbringing. That’s no way to treat a child! She does her best to tend to the others of the group. Though she would be lying if she didn’t say that Crusher pushed her buttons more than once.

Thrasher - Obstagoon - they/them - lesbian Black - transmasc nonbinary - age 24

Thrasher comes from a foster home full of wayward kids who grew up on the downward spiral of life, and they themselves weren’t an exception. Originally from Spikemuth, they never knew their parents and their foster home travels were rough. No one seemed to want to keep them, and at one point they got sick of it and ran away from home. They ran and ran and never looked back, and found a job working in the professor’s lab in Postwick. They didn’t ask them where they were from, nor tried to contact anyone else, so it was good for them. They met Graves early into their gym circuit and decided to join her to perform some field work for the professor.

They’re quite down on themselves, never feeling like they’ll accomplish anything of worth. They couldn’t be a good child, they’re not a good battler, it took them a while to come into their own, and Crusher needling them constantly didn’t help. In their spare time, they play guitar and sing covers of existing songs. They don’t have a knack for writing, just another thing they fail at. It’s been a tough life, and they stumble along the way constantly trying to get to a better tomorrow.

Thrasher is a shy sort when it comes to their feelings, they haven’t been engendered into showing their vulnerable side to others. And Graves’ group isn’t exactly what you’d call family. But it’s a nice change of pace and they almost feel… wanted. And Grevious is a nice addition to their life. To have such a motherly person doting on them is, well, a dream come true.

#pokemon gijinka #pokemon humanization #inteleon #sirfetch'd #grimmsnarl #centiskorch #corviknight #dragapult #obstagoon #graves #crusher #goliath #blitz #maverick #grevious #thrasher

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Danger First

Chapter 8

@pocketramblr This one is a bit shorter, but it came fast. :3

As much of a disaster as this was, it would have been about a thousand times worse without Tensei there. The Nomu guy had All Might pinned down, and as terrifying as that was, it was only made worse by how little he reacted to Shouta erasing his quirk whenever he caught sight of him.

No wonder Midoriya had been a wreck this morning. If nothing else, this confirmed his quirk was some kind of precognitive danger detection, and Shouta fully intended to get it registered as such the minute they got out of this mess so that the next time Midoriya showed up shaking in his red shoes, they could hit the problem with an army.

The hand-covered villain started reciting numbers. What was he doing? Counting something? Time?

Shouta blinked. The villain said a new number.

Oh, hell. The bastard was measuring the length of time he could keep his quirk active.

Distantly, because he was currently fighting about a dozen villains and really needed to keep his attention on not dying, Shouta registered an approaching young scream. Then something thunked into the fountain, and a line - a carbon fiber cable? - appeared between Shouta and the hand villain, giving them both pause. The pause lasted just long enough for two pairs of red shoes to plow into the side of the hand villain's head.

The momentum of impact took both Midoriya and the hand villain into the fountain. Then the fountain disintegrated. Shouta turned his quirk back on, and Midoriya log rolled away from the remains of the fountain.

"Get out of here!" ordered Shouta.

"Yes, sir!" said Midoriya, scrambling to his feet and managing to dodge several villains' attacks in a way that looked both natural and uncanny.

Shouta refocused on the hand villain, who could evidently disintegrate things by touching them. What a joy. A completely terrible match up for close range fighters like himself and Tensei. Or All Might, for that matter.

As Shouta strategized, part of his brain filed the question of how Midoriya had gotten there under 'for later.'

It would be best to restrain him while he was still disoriented-

Then the portal villain was there, between him and the disintegration villain.

Shouta found himself falling.

Izuku did not reach Ingenium in time to stop him from being pinned by the tree. Not that he'd known Nomu would throw a tree that way, but he'd been more than aware that something bad was going to happen.

From what Izuku had seen so far, All Might had been trying to keep his fight with Nomu away from others while still occasionally throwing an assist. But Nomu was strong. If Izuku didn't know better, he'd say the villain had multiple quirks-

-except maybe he didn't know better. Here was Izuku with two quirks, after all. Who was to say there couldn't be another quirk like One for All?

That could be bad.

Judging by the way All Might's direct attacks and punches barely moved Nomu but throws seemed to work normally, in addition to a regeneration quirk, Izuku would say he had something else that absorbed impact. And then possibly a strength quirk...?

All Might and Nomu rolled out of the trees. All Might was ever-so-slightly bloodied. Nomu looked unscathed.

It would be a gamble, All Might probably had already realized it, but...

Knowledge was power.

Izuku cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "All Might! I think he has more than one quirk!"

Black bled into the air.

"You certainly are a golden egg, aren't you?"

The mist villain and the hand villain were there. The hand villain, who bore a strong resemblance to a drowned rat, cackled.

"You've been trying to seal his movements, haven't you?" he said, voice scratchy. "But it's no good, he's just as powerful as you. Nomu- our specially made multi-quirked anti-All Might weapon. Kurogiri."

"Yes, Shigaraki Tomura."

More portals started to form, and Izuku started to get a better, horrible idea of what the villains' goal here was.

He needed Ingenium, and Kaminari.

He edged away, then turned to run. He couldn't directly help All Might right now, but if All Might could just hold out a little longer-

He grabbed Kaminari and Tsuyu's hands. "Help me get Ingenium free! I have a plan!"

"You have a plan, Midoriya?" asked Ingenium.

"Y-yeah," said Midoriya. "Just, we have to get this off of you for it to work-"

"Explain to me as you go."

"Well-"

"Multiple quirks," said En quietly.

"No! Toshinori killed him!"

"Never thought he was human enough to die-" started Banjo.

"Please tell me you aren't quoting pre-quirk literature at us right now," said En.

"Yoichi?" asked Hikage.

The ghosts shifted their attention to their first member.

"You don't seem very surprised," observed Nana.

"I guess it's like Banjo said," said Yoichi with a pained smile. "I just... never really felt like it was over... Even if I didn't think he'd attack Izuku of all people..."

"Well, he isn't. Clearly he's sent his goons after Toshinori. But why wouldn't you think he'd go after Ninth as soon as he realized Toshi passed on One for All?" asked Nana, putting her hands on her hips.

"Probably because it doesn't look like he has One for All?" suggested En.

"Oh," said Nana. "Yeah. Good point."

Izuku didn't miss the pain that flickered across Ingenium's face as he stood, or the way he was clearly favoring one side of his body, but they didn't have a lot of options right now. This was the best they could do. All Might was still avoiding the portals, and Nomu reaching through them, but he'd had to abandon his cape.

Worse, he was still obviously worried about the four of them, and had left himself open to injury to knock small-fry villains away from them multiple times as they levered the tree off Ingenium.

They didn't have time. They didn't have options.

(This would be a great time for reinforcements from the school to arrive.)

(They didn't.)

Izuku handed the spooled out end of the grappling hook to Ingenium, and the gun end to Kaminari. Tsuyu wrapped her tongue around Izuku and they jumped away, out of range.

Then Ingenium took off, compensating for less thrust output on his injured side. He was wobbly, and the hand villain easily dodged him, but the mist villain, with his focus on the portals, didn't. Ingenium slammed the points of the grappling hook into the man's metal collar, and ran.

Lightning struck, racing down the conductive cable from Kaminari to the mist villain. The man convulsed, the portals snapping shut.

One of them snapped shut on Nomu.

The villain's arm flopped onto the ground, and Izuku swallowed hard. That could have been All Might, if they hadn't timed that right.

Nomu roared, but its muscles bulged, and its arm, rapidly, disgustingly, grew back.

They'd gotten rid of the portal threat, but what now? Nomu and the hand villain were still very much threats, and if the hand villain got even one hand on All Might, it was game over.

Third cursed, surprising everyone.

"Ooh, are you finally acknowledging Izuku's superior skill in strategy and quirk analysis?" asked Yoichi, striking a pose.

"No," said Third, stepping away from the wall. "You can keep him to yourself. I just don't want Eighth to die." He walked over to the fiery form that was Yagi Toshinori's placeholder in the mindscape. "He's still connected."

"Well, yeah," said Yoichi. "What are you doing?"

"I'm giving him Fa Jin."

"What! He can do that?" demanded Banjo. "What about Blackwhip?"

"How the hell would Toshinori explain Blackwhip? Give it a rest already."

Third put his hands on Eighth's shoulders.

"Midoriya!"

"Monoma?" Izuku staggered as Monoma dropped both hands on his shoulders. "What?"

"The portal villain!" said Monoma, eyes wide. "He has multiple quirks!"

"It's true," said Kirishima, running up behind him. "After we were zapped to the ruins zone, Monoma was able to do all sorts of stuff."

"So, he's like Nomu?"

"That thing has multiple quirks, too?"

Normally, cling someone with a quirk that affected their appearance a thing was frowned upon, but in this case they were all going to let it slide.

"Yeah," said Izuku. A terrible idea began to rise up in his mind. But then he was distracted by Kaminari starting to wander towards the fight. "I think it has three," he said in a rush. "Regen, strength, and shock absorption if you can think of anything-" he cut off. "We need to get Kaminari."

"I've got him," said Kirishima quickly, "I can take a hit."

Izuku nodded.

"Midoriya, Ingenium!" said Tsuyu with a gasp.

Ingenium had collapsed, clutching one of his legs. Tears pricked at Izuku's eyes. There was too much going on!

A wave of ice crusted over Nomu.

Todoroki!

All Might took advantage of his opponent's temporary incapacitation and leaped back to where Izuku and the others were, grabbing Kirishima, Kaminari, and Ingenium on the way. "You kids need to get out of here!"

"But the shock absorbtion-!"

"Geez, plain kid, what are you, some kind of exposition dump?" asked the hand villain, scratching his neck. "A secret gimmick boss?" He laughed. "Yeah, Nomu has shock absorption. Like I said-" Nomu ripped itself free of the ice, "-he's a specially made living sandbag, a damage sponge just for-"

The hand villain cut off as a floating tree branch hit him over the back of the head, knocking free one of his costume hands. He staggered but didn't fall, swiping behind him with one hand. One of his own hands, that was. Hagakure yelped.

Not really thinking, Izuku picked up a rock and threw it at the hand villain, who caught and disintegrated it. "That's it, you hero brats!" He was blown back by a gust of wind.

"Go!" urged All Might. "Shock absorption quirks always have limits! So do regeneration quirks!"

So did All Might.

"If I could touch him," started Monoma. "If I could touch you-"

"Go," repeated All Might, more urgently.

"You heard him," said Tsuyu.

"Running away?" taunted the hand villain. Then, more quietly but still audible, "Wake up, Kurogiri."

All Might smiled grimly. "Not at all," he said. Then he charged the Nomu.

The silver lining to being shipped express to the location of one of the most traumatic events in his life was that Shouta had cell service. He could call UA.

Literally everything else sucked.

"Nezu," he croaked into the receiver. "Attack-"

"On the USJ, yes. I gathered reinforcements when the computer system stopped returning my pings and I couldn't contact you or Thirteen. What is your- oh, dear, how did you get all the way out there?"

"One of the villains has a warp quirk," said Shouta, he shifted and hissed. "Dropped me from over a story up." Probably more like two. Or even three. "Kinda want to know why he dropped me here."

"I'm sending a ambulance your way," said Nezu brusquely.

"There's also a guy who can turn stuff to dust with a touch - got me a couple times, but only got my skin - and really... muscly guy. Fighting All Might. Lots of cannon fodder. My kids-"

"You've done everything you can. Focus on not dying. You were always one if my favorite students. I'd hate to lose you."

"I'm a teacher."

"And? Ah! That's Iida Tenya on the road!"

"'S he okay?"

"Somewhat winded, but unharmed! Anything else we should know?"

"One of the villains was going toe-to-toe with All Might," said Shouta, blinking black spots out of his eyes. "The leader had a five-point disintegration quirk- Got me a couple times, just lost some skin though." He inhaled deeply, and groaned at the distinct sensation of a cracked rib. "Kids were scattered. Don't know where they all were. Saw Midoriya." He took another gasp of air. "I think Thirteen was injured."

He could hear sirens.

"I think," he said, weakly, "that's... no, there were a lot of canon fodder guys... Did I say that already? I think that's it."

"Thank you, Shouta. I'm going to leave you on speaker. If you can think of anything else, let us know. We need to debrief Iida, now."

"Hn," said Shouta.

By the time All Might punched Nomu through the roof of the USJ, the hand villain was shaking the mist villain vigorously, and Izuku and his classmates were halfway to the exit, carrying Ingenium and Kaminari.

Izuku was relieved, despite the danger still hanging in the air. It couldn't have been more than thirty minutes since this all started, but it was probably shorter, and Izuku knew All Might had all his time for today.

With Nomu gone, there was no way All Might would lose. Not even to someone with a destructive five-point quirk. Izuku could write a whole article on his reasoning, with sources cited.

All Might flipped a cube out of his pocket, and it unfolded into a pair of handcuffs designed specifically for restraining people with five-point quirks. It was obvious that the hand villain wasn't going to come quietly.

The mist villain's yellow eyes opened groggily. All Might moved-

-too slow.

The hand villain and the mist villain were gone.

The other villains who had come with them, however, were still very present. Which is why, Izuku would maintain until he died, he passed out when the rest of the teachers stepped through the door of the USJ and he finally felt safe.

Shouta watched as the two villain leaders stumbled out of a portal not far from him. He had the presence of mind to silence his phone, but couldn't focus enough to do much else. Hopefully Nezu still recorded all his calls, the paranoid rodent...

"Kurogiri," growled the hand villain. "Where the hell are we, and why are we here?"

The mist villain - Kurogiri? - shook his head slowly. "I am unsure, Shigaraki Tomura. I do not recognize the area." His voice was unsteady and itched at Shouta's brain. "I suspect... I suspect that the electric attack of that student has damaged my quirk control."

"Then get it undamaged, idiot. Goddamn sun... we're out in the open! I can hear sirens."

"I believe that those are ambulance sirens. Police sirens have a different pitch-"

"I don't care! Open a portal back home!"

"I am uncertain if that is-"

"Take us back to the bar. Now."

The villains left again, all without noticing Shouta. Maybe they were just desensitized to corpses lying in dark alleys or something. Not that he was a corpse yet. Even if his eyes were sliding closed.

What an illogical affair.

This was a stupid place to die.

"Alright," said En, in a tone that indicated he wanted attention. "Now that Ninth is no longer in danger of immediate death, I think we have some things to talk about. Firstly, Yoichi, I have a question for you."

Yoichi looked resigned. "Ask away, then."

"Before I ask it, I just want to preface that I've always had the utmost respect for you, and obviously there's nothing you can do to act on it from in here, but I can't help but notice that you seem... unusually attached to Ninth."

Yoichi gestured for En to contine.

"So, I have to ask... Yoichi, are you a pedophile?"

"No, I'm not rel- a pedophile?"

"Like I said, you seem unusu-"

"I'm his uncle!"

"What," said Nana.

"What," said Banjo, not quite at the same time.

"Wha- Not that I'm not pleased I won't have to figure out a way to double murder you, but what?" demanded En.

"I can't believe you thought I was a pedophile! What's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with him?" said Banjo, phantom representations of Blackwhip peeling off his body. "What's wrong with you? How are you Ninth's uncle?"

"In the usual way!" shouted Yoichi, who seemed to have gotten stuck on high volume. "I'm actually kind of shocked none of you noticed right away!"

"How could we possibly have noticed?" demanded Banjo.

"I noticed," said Hikage.

"I- Wait, what, really?" Yoichi turned to Hikage.

"Yes," said Hikage, gravely. "All for One was in the family photo on the wall in Ninth's house. The one in the living room. I thought we were just avoiding the subject to be polite."

"Hikage," said Nana, "I cannot begin to tell you how much that wasn't what was going on. Is that why you two were sulking?" she asked Third.

"We aren't sulking. We're protesting the ridiculous decision to give One for All to the son of All for One. And I'm going right back to it."

"Bah!" said Yoichi, waving him off. "Go sulk in your corner! You're just jealous that Izuku is the coolest One for All holder!"

En's eyes had narrowed suspiciously. "Those two were sulking way before we were in Ninth, let alone his house. When did they find out?"

"Like, the day after Eighth met him. I told them because I wanted advice, but I got sulking instead. See if I tell them any more secrets, ever."

"That was a year ago," said Nana. "Are you- How in the world did you know, anyway?"

"He looks just like Hisashi did at that age," said Yoichi. "Also, he always said that if he had kids, he'd name them Tomura and Izuku, so..."

"Ninth looks like his mother, though," said Nana.

"Yeah, and All for One is a grade-A narcissist," said Yoichi.

"You're saying he picked, ugh, what was her name- Inko. He picked Inko because she looked like him?" asked Nana.

"Yeah, essentially."

"Wait, wait, back up," said Banjo. "Tomura? Did you say Tomura?"

"Yeah?"

"That's what the mist guy called the hand guy that one time. Actually- Didn't All for One go by Shigaraki for a while there, too?"

The only audible sound was a heartrate monitor's muffled beep. Presumably from Ninth being hooked up to one.

"That's messed up," said Yoichi, finally. There wasn't much else to say.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #danger first #danger first au #fic #fanfic

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

I don't think people are giving lavinia enough love so allow me to start: could someone write a fic where mc gets hurt by someone and lavinia just sort of...snaps? Afterwards she comforts mc making sure she's alright? Thank you in advance!

You had never seen so much rage in Lavinia’s face, not even when she had discovered someone had trampled with the spell on her heart. You squint, dazed, mind too numb to remember what was wrong but still alert enough to recognize her expression.

There was something unhinged about it now, nothing but a murderous avalanche, and for a second you feel something spark within you at the sight. Your body is already moving, automatically seeking to match Lavinia’s rage with pure stubbornness, before your mind finally registers the fact that her ire isn’t directed at you at all.

“Oh,” you mumble, logic trying to pierce through the fog ruling your mind. “Why—”

Lavinia’s saying something. No, she’s screaming it, body heaving with the force of it, and you wonder why you can’t hear her until the raging wind that you had been somehow ignoring until now hits you with its full, frigid force, and what the hell is happening why is Lavinia so mad why is your side hurting so damn much—

“Rebecca!”

You fall into someone’s arms. It takes a second for you to recognize Nora, her expression marred by sheer terror, eyes wide and trembling like a crumbling autumn leaf under the first snow of winter.

She holds you absentmindedly, focused on something behind you before your yelp of pain draws her attention, magic already swirling at her fingertips as she murmurs something under her breath.

“You’re going to be okay, I swear,” she says — her hands are quivering. Maybe it’s from the cold. You hope it’s from the cold, and not something else, someone else.

“Lavinia, why is — what happened?”

“You got attacked by someone and—” she freezes for a split second when she sees the yellow glow on her hands before frowning, her earlier fear melting away by her usual laser-sharp focus. “No wonder you’re so out of it! The blade she used was cursed!”

“Oh, yey, another curse.”

“This is going to sting.”

“What? Wait, what are you going—?”

Nora is always prepared, it seems. Your gaze locks on the potion she’s suddenly holding, worried by its grey color, but Nora has already turned it over before you can express your concerns. For a second it feels as if someone has injected atmosphere-cold into your veins, and your mouth opens in a soundless scream before everything suddenly becomes clearer.

Right, right, you had been in the forest with Lavinia, trying to get through her — for the third time this week, by the way, because the Ice Queen was determined to avoid you and was being frustratingly successful in doing so — when there had been this flash of red and blinding pain. Nora must have been close by… collecting herbs, maybe?

You grit your teeth, forcing yourself to ignore the pain coating your side, and turn your head at the right time to see Lavinia slamming another woman onto the floor as if she were nothing but a broken doll, specks of snow thrown into the wind by the impact. At some point during the fight, Lavinia had turned the forest clearing into an ice ring, adding a whole blizzard on top. The snow swirled around her like angry, tiny knives, and you had no doubt the other woman hadn’t stood a chance.

A small shiver ran down your spine, not of fear, but of the pure awe, rushing into your soul like spring water.

“This is all I can manage. My magic is limited here,” Lavinia had explained not too long ago, blue eyes twinkling soft and distant like moonlight, and you wonder how much she is really capable of if this is all she can work with right now. What would she be able to do in her world? What could she do with the sheer force of winter at her beck and call?

You can’t help but marvel over the thought, at how your body feels light and small when you contemplate it.

But then her eyes snap in your direction, two tiny pinpricks of pure rage, her gaze carrying the power and danger of a natural disaster. There’s a small flicker of a season change — of a thaw — when she sees you’re okay, but it disappears when she focuses on the person beside you. Time seems to slow down.

For a second you think the situation is going to escalate horribly. For a second you think the blonde might have mistaken Nora’s help for another attack, and by the way Lavinia’s hand twitches that’s her first impression, but she remains frozen on her spot like a faraway, pale star. She’s still half-crunched over her opponent’s unconscious body.

Slowly — very, very slowly, as if fate threatened to cut her string as soon as she made a sudden movement — Nora edges away from you. “I— I’ll just… go.”

Lavinia’s shoulders lose their tension as if hit by summer’s heat. She nods, stiffly. “Thank you.”

Nora spares a look at you, laying on frost-coated grass and propelled by your elbows like a bad model from some cheap magazine, and seems relieved you’re no longer in danger, disappearing a second later.

Lavinia is next to you immediately, frowning at the gash there. It isn’t bleeding, even though you both know it should. The Ice Queen leans forward ever so slightly, her touch feather-soft, and you’re struck by how different she is now. A moment ago, she had been a merciless avalanche, a Wendigo wreaking havoc, but now the genuine softness and worry in her eyes make you want to melt. You can’t help but lean into her, letting her act as your anchor.

She pauses when you flinch at her gentle touch near your wound. She frowns.

“She used a Velbetro infusion? But that would mean you were—”

You catch the way her eyes flicker towards the discarded weapon that had injured you, a dark shadow falling over expression. You guess what she’s going to say. Your hand cups her cheek, applying just enough pressure to make her look at you again, and the sweet surprise that thaws any dark thoughts she was about to have makes your skin buzz with energy.

“Slowly amassing an impressive collection of curses? You bet I am.”

She blinks, taken aback, the twitch at the corner of her lips indicating she found your snark reassuring. “Might want to dial it back a little, then, chaos girl. Good thing the Velbetro neutralized this one.” She focuses on your side, again. “How’s the sting?”

Truth be told, with her so close — too close — the pain had taken a secondary priority. Now that she reminded you of it, the pain crawled back with a vengeance. Once again, Lavinia remains an anchor as your hand tightens on her arm, nails digging into her skin. To her credit, the blonde doesn’t even blink.

“That bad?” She asks, tone surprisingly kind. “Let’s wait a moment, then. We need to go back to your house and dress the wound before the effect disappears though. You’ll start bleeding then — and badly.”

“Yey, yet another thing to look forward to.”

“…I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner. I would have been able to prevent—”

��It’s fine.”

“It should have been obvious, though. Of course she’d take the chance to hunt me down when my magic is weak, and of course she’d target you—”

“Your magic isn’t weak at all, you totally schooled her!”

“Only because she was too distracted gloating. I—”

“I’m fine, Lavinia. C’mon, help me get to my house.”

Her eyes are faraway portals of grief, but she nods anyway, falling quiet as she helps you up with extreme care. The way back is silent, fast. You hadn’t been too far from your house to begin with. Lavinia loops an arm around your waist and presses you to her, expression stony and neutral, but you’re still eternally grateful to her.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #lovestruck fanfiction #ever after academy #eaa #eaa lavinia #ever after academy lavinia #lovestruck lavinia #lavinia x mc #fluff

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Rocky Assailant

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: Virgil, Scott

The rescue itself went without a hitch, but a natural disaster wasn’t the only danger in the area.

@whumptober-archive day 21 “that’s where the blood’s supposed to be” using the prompts bleeding thru the bandages and blood-matted hair. Once again, there were a lot of options for this one, because these are fun tropes that I particularly love!

Now, I have some good news for me that is potentially not so good news for you guys: Tsari now has a job, starting tomorrow. I have no idea what sort of impact that’s going to have on my fic writing, but it’ll certainly limit the time I have to do it so there might be less from me for a while (although I really want to finish whumptober).

Like most things involving Scott, it happened fast. Normally, Virgil was ready for anything when it came to Scott, because he’d spent his entire life following his big brother and could predict with reasonable accuracy what was going to happen in any given situation from sheer exposure and experience.

Normally was not always, and today appeared to feel like being one of the exceptions.

Another rescue, successful with no lives lost and leaving a happy buzz in his gut as he put the used equipment back into the module. Scott was doing his field commander role of talking with the resident authority – in this case, the land owner – about the rescue and what they’d done. All standard procedure, and the disaster had been a genuine one from all the information Virgil and John had dug up, so there was no expectation of animosity.

Virgil was, unfortunately, aware of what falling bodies sounded like. It was a common sound in their line of work – people fainting, falling over, or worse, the thud of a body hitting the deck uncontrollably was familiar. He’d even heard what Scott, specifically, sounded like when falling to the ground several times – there was a lot of Scott to fall, although a lot of it was limbs, rather than bulk. Rather like John, in that regard, although he was definitely heavier than John.

He was in the module, back to his brother, when he heard the noise. Almost immediately on its heels came a scream – higher pitched than Scott would make, if his brother ever screamed any more – and Virgil didn’t hesitate.

There was a figure running in the distance, fast and unfamiliar, but Virgil had more important things to do than give chase. Scott was on the ground, unmoving, and the land owner was on his knees next to him, hands fluttering uselessly in the familiar manner of someone who wanted to help but had no idea how.

“What happened?” Virgil demanded, falling to his own knees the other side of the slumped figure that was his big brother and immediately checking his pulse. Scott didn’t move.

“I- I- I don’t know,” the man garbled, twisting his hands together nervously and rubbing at his wrists. “We were talking then something hit him and- and-” He gestured to the limp body.

“Hit him?” Virgil repeated, starting a visual assessment as the pulse registered as present, if slightly faster than normal. “Where?”

He spotted the blood just as the man said, “his head.”

Of course, Scott hadn’t been wearing his helmet – again. In his big brother’s defence, they were outside of the danger zone, and the rescue had been over; Virgil, too, had discarded his helmet under the assumption of safety and not wanting to waste any more of their oxygen than necessary.

Blood didn’t show up well on dark brown hair, garnets and crimsons blending in until it tricked the eyes. The betrayal was the glistening of wetness, fresh moisture sitting atop the strands and catching the light when viewed just so.

“Scott?” he called, lightly tapping the visible skin of his cheek. “Scott, can you hear me?”

No answer.

That wasn’t good. Virgil checked his airways and breathing – both fine – before manipulating him into the recovery position. The longer Scott took to stir, the more worried he found himself becoming.

The blood-stained, fist-sized rock sitting innocently a few paces away wasn’t helping matters.

“I’ll be right back,” he told the land owner, who startled at being addressed. “If he wakes up, don’t let him move.”

“I- Yes, right,” the man replied, still visibly flustered. “Don’t move. Got it.”

Virgil nodded once before standing up and power-walking back to the module. “John, we have a problem,” he said as he grabbed a hoverstretcher.

“I thought the rescue was over?” his brother asked, flickering into view and looking confused. “What happened?”

“Someone threw a rock at Scott’s head,” he said as he checked the equipment over out of habit. “He’s unconscious and whoever did it ran off.”

John’s face tightened. “I’ll get Kayo on it.”

He blinked out of existence just as Virgil half-ran out of the module again, towing the hoverstretcher behind him.

Scott’s eyes were open when he got back. That by itself was a rush of relief, but it was severely tempered by the fact he was still laying as Virgil had left him. He knew that he’d told the land owner to keep him still, but a nervous man against the stubbornness of Scott Tracy meant that his brother’s obedience was highly alarming. Virgil was well aware that most people didn’t dare go against Scott, even if they’d been told to.

His big brother’s charisma and aura was a powerful thing. Resisting it took a lifetime of training and exposure.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping back down to his knees and pulling the hoverstretcher down with him.

Blue eyes blinked at him. “Ow,” his brother vocalised eloquently. “What hit me?”

“A rock,” Virgil answered shortly. His brother grunted in response. “Full name and birthday?”

“Scott Carpenter Tracy,” came the recited response. “April Fourth.”

So far, so good. “Do you remember where we are?”

“Table Rock, Nebraska.”

“Date?”

“October twenty-first.”

Virgil put up a finger in front of his brother’s face. “Follow,” he ordered. Scott dutifully did so, flawlessly.

Virgil didn’t believe for one moment that he was concussion-free. He certainly wasn’t about to assume Scott wasn’t going to develop a delayed concussion if he didn’t have it already.

“You’re still flying home in Thunderbird Two,” he told him. Scott huffed, but didn’t argue.

Something was definitely wrong with his brother. The obedience was useful, but nothing like Scott at all.

“Time to get you on the stretcher, bro,” he warned. A co-operative Scott was much easier to move than normal, and Virgil turned his attention to the land owner as he made his way to his feet again, the hoverstretcher rising alongside him.

The man still looked shell-shocked, but a disaster on his land, followed by an attack right in front of him, was a highly reasonable explanation.

“Is there anything I can do?” the man asked. “I can’t believe this happened.”

“Our head of security might contact you with some questions,” Virgil warned him. Kayo would be on the warpath, and certainly wouldn’t pass by an eyewitness. “Please co-operate if she does.”

“Yes, of course!” the man said. “Uh… get better soon.”

“Thanks,” Scott replied. He’d closed his eyes, Virgil realised.

“So, what is it?” he asked as he towed the hoverstretcher towards his ‘bird. “Not that I’m complaining, but you’re never this obedient.”

“Feel sick,” his brother admitted. “Everything’s spinning.”

Three concussion symptoms – nausea, vertigo, and uncharacteristic truthfulness. Sometimes Virgil hated being right.

Obedience or not, Virgil wasn’t going to leave him unattended, so he forewent the medical bay to instead dock the hoverstretcher in Thunderbird Two’s cockpit.

The blood in his brother’s hair caught the light and once the hoverstretcher was secured, Virgil dug out antiseptic, water, and bandages in order to get it cleaned up and wrapped.

Scott hissed and tried to move away from the ministrations, but Virgil held him in place. The wipes came away a diluted red, and Virgil scrutinised the cut for foreign objects courtesy of the rock. His brother continued to vocalise his protests but to no avail.

The cut itself didn’t appear to be that deep, once again proving the old adage that head wounds simply bled a lot, but tweezers were deployed to remove particles of dirt and even flaked-off stone that appeared to have separated from the parent rock. Virgil was incredibly relieved when he extracted the last one. Bandages were wrapped around his brother’s head, and he sidled a cardboard emesis basin into Scott’s reach, just in case.

Hopefully, he thought as he strapped his brother in snugly and returned to his pilot’s chair, giving John an update and watching as Thunderbird One lifted into the air sans her pilot to head home, it would all be something they could handle at home. While the attack might have just been a one-off, Virgil wasn’t willing to risk that there was something more co-ordinated going on and leave his brother in the hands of strangers.

He might have been a little influenced by Kayo’s paranoia over the years.

By the time Thunderbird Two settled back in her hangar, Grandma visible in the safe zone, briefed and waiting to approach, the bandage around Scott’s head was spotted with blood. It might not have been deep, but it lived up to its reputation as a scalp wound and Virgil suspected they’d need to glue it.

Scott would hate that, especially the shaved spot he’d gain in the process. Virgil could certainly sympathise, but sympathy wouldn’t stop it happening.

“How’s the nausea?” he asked Scott as he flew his way through the post-flight checks before approaching his brother. “Any better?”

“No,” his brother admitted, sounding extremely put out by that fact. If it wasn’t for the fact it was definitely caused by a concussion, Virgil would have loved this new, honest, Scott. As it was, he hoped it didn’t last too long, no matter how helpful it was. It just wasn’t right.

“How about the vertigo?” he asked as he set the jets going and released the hoverstretcher from the wall docks.

“World’s still spinning,” his brother confirmed, blinking up at him before letting his eyes close. “Urgh.”

“Don’t you go sleeping yet,” Virgil warned. The cockpit hatch lowered, and Grandma hurried across to them, immediately fussing over Scott’s head. His brother opened one eye to look at her.

“To the infirmary with you,” she instructed. “Any improvements, Virgil?”

He shook his head, beginning to tow the hoverstretcher towards the infirmary. “Still nauseous, still got vertigo, still being uncharacteristically truthful.”

It was a familiar route, as much as he wished it wasn’t, and before long he and Grandma had Scott settled in a bed, medical glue on hand and scanners lurking in the wings.

News from Kayo took several hours to filter through. In the meantime, Scott had been shaved, glued back together, scanned, and changed into pyjamas so he could rest more comfortably.

Hazel eyes flashed at the sight of him, reclined with a thankfully so far unused emesis basin still in easy reach and eyes half-lidded.

“The culprit’s been found and arrested by the GDF,” her hologram told them. “He’s the son of someone we lost in the Nemaha River a few months ago.”

Virgil remembered that rescue. It was hard not to; Gordon had hated it from beginning to end, and the body count hadn’t helped anyone’s moods.

“So it’s just an isolated incident?” he asked.

“It seems like it,” she said. “I’ll do more digging to be sure, but there are no obvious ties to a larger school of thought.”

That was a relief. The idea that Scott had a target on his back from a potentially co-ordinated movement was terrifying; Virgil was ecstatic that it likely wasn’t the case.

It also meant that, if it came down to it and Scott worsened beyond anything they could handle, they could safely consider transferring him to a hospital.

So far, however, he seemed stable, if still assailed by symptoms. Recovery would take time, and at some point Scott would remember that he was normally an uncooperative patient and start kicking up a fuss at being wrapped in metaphorical cotton wool until the concussion completely cleared, but Virgil had no intentions of leaving his side for anything short of the duration of another rescue until he was fighting fit again.

#whumptober2021 #no.21 #bleeding thru the bandages #blood-matted hair #thunderbirds are go #fic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #john tracy #kayo kyrano #thunderwhump

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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Text

part 3 of Escape Your Destiny (Star Wars Wangxian AU) - on ao3 or tumblr part 1, part 2

He had been right to reject seclusion, Lan Wangji thought grimly. The sweet siren call of calm contemplation had nearly seduced him, the Dark Side seeking to eat away at him through other means now that anger and hatred had not done the work – he would have meditated himself into a stupor, becoming little more than a vacuum within the Force, a black hole of deathly intent.

More than that, though, he would have missed – this.

This disaster.

Wei Wuxian’s lips were pale from blood loss and hypothermia. Two of his limbs were at odd angles, probably broken, and Lan Wangji feared that there were more like them beneath the body that was bruised like a tender peach – he had been shielding as many people as he could, Lan Wangji knew, because he knew his Wei Ying too well to think that he might have done anything else.

Lan Wangji still didn’t know all the details, what exactly had been the disaster or why Wei Wuxian’s starfighter had crashed when he knew (with painful recollection) exactly how good a pilot Wei Wuxian was, but it hadn’t really mattered. Xue Yang had rushed into his chamber shouting excitedly - not exactly a rare event - saying something about an alarm and a disaster and a crash and can I have one of these gadgets? possibly two, maybe, I’m thinking two but haven’t really committed yet, it’s a big decision you know, and Lan Wangji’s blood had run cold when he realized what alarm he was referencing.

(A proper Jedi would never have tagged the object of his affections like an endangered bird or a criminal, injecting the tracking chip so deep into bone and muscle that standard scans wouldn’t pick it up and even in-depth scans might register it as a naturally occurring aberration. A proper Jedi would think of such intimate surveillance as cruelty, dehumanization, the caging of a free bird –

A proper Jedi wouldn’t have known what happened.

A proper Jedi wouldn’t have been able to rush over at once, wouldn’t have been in time to retrieve the body from the wreckage, finding it still warm and breathing but swiftly fading into the Force.

A proper Jedi would have been worthless.)

“That looks pretty bad, Master,” Xue Yang said, the comm crackling in his ear, and for once his tone was almost solemn. Perhaps the lessons on empathy were working, following the introduction of the rancor Xue Yang had named Chengmei with an expression so pained and vicious that Lan Wangji had refrained from asking. Perhaps it was that he’d grown so obsessed with his pair of bounty hunters and their foundling assistant, a little not-blind Bothan girl who liked to mouth off at him. Or perhaps it was just something as simple as knowing that if Wei Wuxian were lost, Lan Wangji would have no reason to –

No reason to anything at all.

“It is within the limits of what a bacta tank can heal,” Lan Wangji said, because it was, it would be, as long as he got him there in time.

Time that was swiftly running out.

Later, when Wei Wuxian was safe, Lan Wangji would return to that obscure little space station that had nearly caused his beloved’s death and he would find out what had happened properly. He would find out, and he would slaughter every one of them that caused it, torment them for days if he needed to in order to know who to blame – it didn’t matter if their contribution were accidental or deliberate, major or slight. He would offer up a sacrifice of their suffering to the Dark Side, as solemn as lighting a stick of incense at a temple –

When Wei Wuxian was safe.

Because he would be. He had to be.

Lan Wangji’s Wei Ying would not die so easily.

“Uh, Master? We don’t have a bacta tank.” Xue Yang was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know that many people around here that do. This is Outer Rim, remember? Not even the Hutts have one.”

“There is one in an outpost in the Quiberon sector,” Lan Wangji said. His attention was split between piloting their stolen ship as fast as he could and monitoring Wei Wuxian’s vital signs. He had transferred a certain amount of energy into him already, but the Dark Side was poisonous in overly large quantities, especially if one was not accustomed to it; a pure Jedi like Wei Wuxian couldn’t tolerate it, and Lan Wangji would not risk making him worse. “Inat Prime system. I’ve entered the coordinates. Set us up for a jump to lightspeed.”

“Inat Prime,” Xue Yang repeated, instead of doing as he was told. “Isn’t that – near Rothana?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Rothana’s a manufacturing planet. Heavy engineering – warships. It used to belong to a subsidy of the Jin Engineering Corps, maybe still does, I don’t know, but either way manufacturing planets like that are where those sleemos keep their precious IP. And that means it’s going to be guarded and booby-trapped up your chubba. Who in their right mind would set up an outpost anywhere near there?”

Xue Yang was descending into Huttese slang again, Lan Wangji noted to himself, keeping his calm only by sheer force of willpower even as the Dark Side screamed in his mind that now was the time for rage and pain and blood. Given his hatred of the entire species, Xue Yang only did that when he was especially anxious and didn’t want to admit it.

Later, when he didn’t have more pressing things on his mind, Lan Wangji would have to inquire of his apprentice – which he had previously believed was as transparent to him as a sheet of transparisteel – how he had learned about things like top-secret Jin Engineering manufacturing planets and IP and such things like that.

Later. Right now, he didn’t care.

“Prepare for jump,” he said again, the threat in his voice clear, and this time Xue Yang scrambled to obey, mumbling curses as he went. This was more typical of Xue Yang, but in this case it signified that he was concentrating, and that was all Lan Wangji cared about.

The rest of the trip passed as if in a daze, time counted in the beats of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Still strong, because Wei Wuxian was strong – this wouldn’t be the end of him. It wouldn’t.

Lan Wangji would make sure of that.

“We’re here,” Xue Yang said, breaking through Lan Wangji’s extreme focus on the rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s chest. “I’m going to guess that our destination is the third planet? If you can call those other ones planets, they’re barely more than asteroids…”

Lan Wangji hummed, affirming.

“So, you going to tell me what this place is? Some super-secret Sith hideout?”

“No.”

“Smuggler’s base? Bounty hunter lair? Mandalorian terrorist cell? Clone factory?”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. Xue Yang had been reading too many historical action comics again.

“No, but seriously, Master! I deserve to know what we’re getting into, don’t I? What is this place?”

Lan Wangji was tempted to say you deserve nothing but what I give you, you filthy-tongue swamp-rat, but that was the Dark Side speaking, not him, and not only because the Gusu Lan Jedi order in which he had been raised did not permit cursing. It was simply anathema to him - he was Sith, but not a Lord, and he had encouraged this self-same insolence because it was better than having Xue Yang cringe before him like a kicked dog.

No matter how irritating it might be at times like this.

“It’s Jedi,” he said shortly, and to his amusement that actually shut Xue Yang up for a solid minute.

“I’m sorry, Master, I think I temporarily went insane due to Dark Force poisoning,” Xue Yang finally said. “But did you say that we’re planning on popping over and ‘borrowing’ the bacta tank of a bunch of Jedi?”

“Mm.”

“Master. Master. Please tell me you remember that we’re Sith, right? Sort of the sworn enemy of the Jedi? Arrest-on-sight orders? Any of this ringing any bells here? No? In short, have you lost your mind?”

Lan Wangji took Wei Wuxian’s pulse again. It was getting increasingly thready; he frowned.

“Take us in,” he ordered, and Xue Yang made a whining sound not unlike an especially agitated cat, but he obeyed, finding the planetary base and flashing them with a urgent medical attention required signal and transmitting the passcode Lan Wangji recited to him.

The base opened its doors in silent invitation.

Xue Yang took them in, apparently resigned to his fate and determined to pointedly suffer and judge him without saying a word.

This determination cracked the second they passed through the gates.

“Master!” he shrieked. “Master, Master! That’s the Qinghe Nie emblem!”

“It is,” Lan Wangji agreed. Foreseeing Xue Yang’s next question, he added, “It is here because this is an outpost of the Qinghe Nie Jedi order.”

Xue Yang sounded a bit like a rusty door when he hyperventilated, and even more so when he started laughing hysterically. How had he ever survived being a Sith before, if this was how he reacted to stress?

“Great, right, yes,” he said, nearly howling. “Sure, why not? Let’s go knock on the door of some Jedi and ask them for a bacta tank like we’re borrowing a cup of sugar, sure, okay, we can do that. Jedi are chumps, they’re all about mercy and sympathy and bantha fodder like that; we can con ‘em - it’ll be tricky, but it can be done when you’re in a pinch. I’m fine with that, up for it, it’s cool, all cool. You know who we can’t con? Qinghe Nie, that’s who. ‘Suppress evil no matter the cost’ Qinghe karking Nie.”

Lan Wangji ignored him, scooping Wei Wuxian into his arms and heading out into the saber hall.

Three grim-faced Jedi dressed in the immediately identifiable colors of the Qinghe Nie were waiting there, hands on their lightsabers and droids lingering in the corridors, but they did not attack. Instead, they led Lan Wangji, a nervous Xue Yang dogging his heels, to the medical bay, never uttering a single word.

The medical droids took Wei Wuxian from his arms – Lan Wangji forced himself to recall the Lan sect mantras on restraint and allowed them to do so without ripping out their wires for daring to touch him – but it wasn’t until Wei Wuxian was firmly encased in the bacta tank, the oxygen-rich liquid flowing into his lungs to heal him, the colors on all the screens all showing positive signs, that he was finally able to release the breath it felt that he’d been holding since he first saw the broken starfighter that encased Wei Wuxian’s broken body.

This was fine.

“Wangji,” a low voice said from behind him, and Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

This was not fine.

The Qinghe Nie were a strange order of Jedi – almost heretical, really, by any traditional measure. The orthodox Jedi order, for the most part, valued calm and serenity and selflessness, prioritizing the logic of the mind over the yearning of the heart, preaching detachment from worldly concerns and attachments…

Qinghe Nie, in contrast, valued righteousness, and cultivated rage.

Halfway to Sith, Lan Wangji’s uncle had once remarked after a glass of something stronger than tea. He’d regretted it later, of course, and tried to walk it back, smooth over his uncharacteristic rudeness, but Lan Wangji still remembered.

The adherents of Qinghe Nie were of the view that for every virtue there was a fault – that the Jedi’s emotional remove would at times render them passive, that self-control could too quickly shade into indifference. They argued that it was the duty of the virtuous to be enraged by evil, intolerant of it, and that only through that anger would they be motivated to act to eradicate it.

Their philosophy often led to their deaths, whether through reckless action or through the corruption of rage into madness, but even their harshest critics had to concede that they were devastatingly effective.

Lan Wangji had always thought that there was something heartbreakingly sincere about all the Jedi that took the harsh vows of Qinghe Nie, each one willingly trading away long lives for the sake of righteousness, for the ability to make a change in the world, each one unable to tolerate life if it meant they weren’t striving to make things better. Perhaps they did not match the Jiang for creativity or the Lan for elegance, perhaps their techniques were more brutish and less refined, their diplomacy little short of appalling, but no other Jedi order could match them for sheer power.

Very few people wanted to be between a Qinghe Nie Jedi and their target, and still less if they had allowed themselves to succumb to the beserker rage that sometimes took them on the battlefield – indeed, in a crisis that called for force of arms, most people who knew what they were about would rather have a single Qinghe Nie on their side than an entire battalion of war-droids from the Jin or Wen engineering corps.

Still, even that efficiency might not have been enough to convince the ancient sticklers of the Jedi Council to condone such a Sith-like view of the Force, but the Qinghe Nie also had an unsurpassed connection to the kyber crystals that were essential to the creation of lightsabers – the mines under their hands were far more numerous and more fruitful than any other order, and for all that they seemed to have dubious connections to the lightsabers they crafted and wielded, with their highly unusual one-sided edge, they were always open-handed and willing to let other Jedi pick freely from their stores.

With the ancestral weapon of the entire Jedi order at stake, even the Jedi Council unwillingly bowed its head to reality and compromised.

Not very happily. Especially since the fierce young head of the Qinghe Nie order – the great Chifeng-zun, Nie Mingjue – had been constantly causing trouble for them ever since he had been admitted to their deliberations.

More relevantly, though, was that Nie Mingjue was also a good friend of Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji’s elder brother by blood, and it had been the gift of his token, his passcode, never revoked, that they had used to enter through the gates.

(Look what happened to the Twin Jades you prized so much, my old clansmen, Uncle, Father, Grandfather. Look at me now. Begging for scraps from a Nie -)

Lan Wangji turned and saluted, bowing deeply and ignoring Xue Yang, who had progressed so far into hysterical laughter that he was now hiccupping.

Nie Mingjue caught his hands and raised him up, just the way he always had, and that grim face surveyed Lan Wangji from top to bottom, those searing eyes seeming to pierce into the depths of his corrupted soul.

“You look well,” he said, which surprised even Lan Wangji, who had thought himself beyond surprises. “That’s good.”

“What the fuck,” Xue Yang muttered. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck – you guys are with me here, right? This is kriffing insane…”

The Qinghe Nie Jedi ignored him.

“Chifeng-zun,” Lan Wangji said politely, and ignored the man’s raised eyebrow. He was not about to fall back into calling him da-ge the way he’d done back when he was in the Jedi crèche, no matter how tempting – everyone had called Nie Mingjue da-ge back then, too young to be afraid of his fierce and barely leashed energy. “Thank you for lending us temporary use of your base.”

There wasn’t really a polite way to say I wasn’t expecting to run into you here under the circumstances, but from the way Nie Mingjue snorted, Lan Wangji suspected he’d understood regardless.

“Checking up on the Jin,” he said, an explanation that Lan Wangji didn’t deserve to hear. “Treasonous svapers, the lot of them. Is this Wei Wuixan?”

Lan Wangji nodded. His heart was unexpectedly in his throat as Nie Mingjue studied the other Jedi through the glass of the bacta tank, though he wasn’t sure why.

He was Sith now, after all. Why would he care what Nie Mingjue thought?

It would have been easier if Nie Mingjue had been angry at him, full of rage the way he so often was. Easier if he’d turned his tongue as sharp as any lightsaber to scolding him, or turned his face away in coldness. Nie Mingjue notoriously despised the Sith, had probably meant to call the Jin Sithspawn instead of svapers earlier, had probably switched the word only in deference to Lan Wangji’s current occupation – which meant he knew, because of course he knew, there was no way Lan Xichen hadn’t told him even if his position on the Council hadn’t already entitled him to all such secrets.

He knew, and he still persisted in acting like – like –

“Cute enough,” Nie Mingjue commented, and Lan Wangji covered his suddenly burning face with both hands. “You have good taste.”

“Please stop,” Lan Wangji mumbled, mortified beyond all belief. Xue Yang was looking back and between the two of them with his jaw gaping wider than a Gungan’s.

Nie Mingjue snorted, amused. “I carried you around on my shoulders when you were knee high, Wangji. I think I’m entitled to torment you a bit about your crush.”

Xue Yang looked like he was going to forsake the ways of the Sith, convert to Qinghe Nie, and start logging prayers at the temple of Nie Mingjue, and Lan Wangji couldn’t even blame him.

“Don’t you have anything to say about –” Lan Wangji shut his mouth with a snap.

He didn’t actually want to hear Nie Mingjue exorcising him for his choices, no matter how little he regretted them.

Nie Mingjue was silent for a moment, contemplative. “No.”

Lan Wangji blinked, not understanding.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Nie Mingjue clarified with a shrug. “I can’t say I entirely understand why you chose what you did, but we all choose our own paths in the Force, Wangji. I have faith that even though your path leads you to the Dark Side now, it will eventually lead you back to us once more. If you keep your sense of righteousness about you and continue to stand up for what you believe is right as you always have – and avoid engaging in the wholesale slaughter of innocents the way so many Sith do – I will never be disappointed in you.”

…maybe Lan Wangji would allow the people in that spaceport to live.

But only because it would hurt Wei Wuxian to know that he had sacrificed so much for nothing, of course. It was pure selfishness, nothing more.

(The Dark Side hissed in his head, bitter-angry-vicious-hate-hate-hate, but Lan Wangji hadn’t been Hanguang-jun for nothing. He controlled himself, allowing for only the influences he chose to accept – it was his independence that had led him to the Dark Side, and his independence, he believed, that would allow him to forge his own path, as Nie Mingjue had said, even inside the ways of the Sith. His uncle would say that such thoughts were pure arrogance, pride before the fall, but, well. He’d already Fallen, hadn’t he?)

“Would you like to stay with him until his vital signs have recovered?” Nie Mingjue asked, and Lan Wangji nodded, grateful despite himself.

Grateful, too, that Nie Mingjue did not speak of Lan Wangji reconciling with the rest of his old order.

“I will not stay longer,” he added. “I know it must be a burden to you, opening your doors to one such as me –”

“Ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue scoffed. “This is a secret base, Wangji. If you don’t say anything about it, who’ll know? And before you ask, I’m going to tell Wei Wuxian that you saved his life whether you’re here for him waking up or not, so take that into account when selecting your leave time. And I’ll exaggerate.”

He would, too, Lan Wangji thought fondly. Nie Mingjue had always been big brother to all the Jedi younglings, no matter how grown up they eventually got, and he never let them forget it.

“I’ll consider it,” he allowed, and settled into a meditation pose at the side of the room.

“As for you,” Nie Mingjue said to Xue Yang, who straightened up so quickly that he might as well have attached a ruler to his spine. “I hear that you’re the one that’s been attacking Hutt palaces?”

Xue Yang glanced at Lan Wangji, who sighed.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, da-ge,” he murmured. “He gets into enough trouble as it is.”

“Comradery does more to defeat evil than any amount of solitary philosophizing,” Nie Mingjue proclaimed, certain as ever in his own righteousness. It would be unbearably irritating if it was anyone less sincerely bullheaded about it, earnest but full of flaws. “Anyway, it’d be good for some of our padawans to see a Sith in action without needing to go up against one right off the bat. You in?”

“…in? I don’t – there aren’t any Hutt palaces around here..?”

“They take their travelling palaces on the Quiberon Line,” one of the Qinghe Nie Jedi said, and Xue Yang’s eyes lit up at the promise of what he undoubtedly thought was an opportunity for wholesale slaughter. It wouldn’t be, of course, not when he was going to be fighting alongside the strict Qinghe Nie, but it would keep him busy for the time it took Wei Wuxian to stabilize and recover.

Maybe Lan Wangji would even stay long enough to speak with his Wei Ying before retreating to be his silent and unwanted protector again.

Maybe.

#mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #xue yang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #escape your destiny #star wars au

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echoalyssa · 3 years

Text

Attack | Jordan Baker

Gif by @specerhastings

WARNINGS: Contains descriptions of a panic/anxiety attack, and minor mentions of past trauma

You and your boyfriend had decided that today was the perfect day to just curl up on the couch together and watch TV. You had convinced him not to subject you to endless tapes of the previous football games, or because it was Sunday, some pro football game. You loved football, you really did, but you never understood how anyone could watch the same plays over and over again. Every. Single. Day.

Jordan had gone into the kitchen to grab snacks and drinks and you were thumbing through the different movies that were playing. You find a movie about some sort of catastrophic natural event and click it. The movie is a couple of minutes in, and the female character is still in her house. No natural disaster had happened yet.

You pull the blanket up higher around you. It was significantly chillier now that your furnace like boyfriend had left the couch.

“Jordan!” You call, “Hurry up!”

He yells something indecipherable, his mouth stuffed full with something. You can’t see him when you crane your neck to try to see into the kitchen, that’s what happens when the house is ginormous. You giggle, envisioning your giant boyfriend with his face shoved full of Cheetos.

You decide this movie is too slow, and switch to the next channel. It barely registers with you what’s happening on the screen but it hits you like a rock. You hear a sharp slap come from the giant flat screen TV and your body reacts first, flying away from the TV and the speakers. The remote flies from your fingers and hits the wall with a clatter. You’re scurrying over then back of the couch and pressing your back into the wall behind it.

Your chest heaves and you struggle to suck in a breath. You’re shaking, quivering violently, your heart pounding against your chest. You’re gasping for air but theres not enough coming into our lungs and your mind is racing. Sheer panic races through your veins like poison and the noise you make wracks through your body.

The impact of the remote against the wall had changed the channel to a cartoon, not that you would know, but it would almost be funny if not such a serious situation.

Jordan comes around the corner then, holding a party sized bag of Doritos and a bunch of soda cans juggled in his arms.

“Y/N?” He asks, glancing at the empty couch and then finding you curled up against the wall, the sound of your ragged breaths drawing his eyes to you.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” He drops the snacks and drinks onto the chaise part of the couch and rushes to your side. He reaches out to you, and then stop short, worried about if he should touch you or not.

You’re cradling your head in your hands, rocking back and forth and making noises that come from the depths of you.

His hands finally settle on the sides of your face, over your own hands and he urges you to look at him. Your eyes are still closed but he scoots closer, boxing you in. Making sure that the only thing you know is him. He’s never had to deal with this before but somehow he just knows.

“Shhhh” Jordan whispers, his fingers long and warm and familiar. He pulls you up onto him, the muscles in his torso flexing and its so familiar. He’s cooing softly in your ear. Whispering everything and nothing all at the same time. And slowly, slowly the panic recedes. You’re still quivering in but it’s slowing, the air slowly coming back to your lungs.

He stays like that with you, just holding you and talking to you. Until youre calm enough for him to help you and herd you towards the couch. He keeps you close to him, practically on your lap with his arms around you at all times. He’s still talking to you softly but he’s somehow gotten the remote and he flips to Cartoon Network, knowing how much you love those kid shows despite how old you are.

His lips are pressed against the side of your face and you tilt your head up, connecting your lips for just the slightest bit before you just rest against him and whisper, “Thank you Jordan, so much. I know you’ve... never seen it before but... I love you. That means so much to me.”

And he smiles, a hand sliding up your throat and then up so his long fingers are cupping your jaw as he brings you to kiss him again and again. You lose yourself in him then, it’s just you and him. Together. Not a trouble in sight and the attack only a distant memory.

#tv shows #all american #michael evans behling #michael evans #jordan baker imagine #jordan baker x reader #jordan #baker #michael #Evans #football #the cw

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wooyunhwa · 4 years

Text

𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔱𝔰 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔰 | 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 𝔱𝔥𝔯𝔢𝔢

view pinned post for masterlist!

Genre: smut (with plot), angst

Pairing: mafia au!seonghwa x fem!reader

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: violence, lots of angst

Synopsis: The truth comes to light as things take a turn for the worse. Seonghwa’s family secrets are darker than you imagined, and you find yourself caught in the crossfire. How can things ever return to normal?

A/N: I’m sorry in advance for what I’m about to put you all through. Technically still smut but mostly plot here! This is my favorite chapter so far from a writing and a reading perspective so I really hope you all enjoy!! Comments are super appreciated as always! <3 My posts are disappearing from the tags so if you read this and enjoy a reblog is really appreciated so my work can be seen!

Panic.

That’s what you felt as you gathered a small bag of your things. You felt like you were packing up your things to evacuate for some sort of natural disaster. It all happened so fast, throwing some clothes and your most prized possessions in a bag and flying.

It wasn’t long before you were in the passenger seat of his car. He peeled out of your driveway and onto the highway before you could even register the events of the past 10 minutes fully in your mind. Why was he so urgent? Why were you in danger? Where were you going?

In your state, you could only choke out a few confused words. “Seonghwa, what the fuck?”

“I guess I promised I’d explain, didn’t I?” He had his eyes glued on the road, but you noticed him shift in his seat nervously. “There was a fight... with my father. He told me he found out about you. That I’d been seeing you.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. He wouldn’t tell me. But he threatened to have you… removed.”

Your heart sunk in your chest, nausea building in your stomach. “Removed? What the fuck does that mean?”

“Killed, probably. It usually does. It wouldn’t be the first time they’ve put out a hit on someone to protect the family’s interests. And it wouldn’t be the last.”

Your limbs felt like lead as you took it in, glued to your chair by what felt the weight of the entire world. You sat silently for a while, unable to process the breadth of the situation fully. You didn’t even feel like crying, you just felt truly speechless. You were snapped back to reality by his hand stroking your thigh, the other gripped tightly around the leather steering wheel.

“It’s gonna be okay,” he comforted. His soothing voice helped to calm your nerves as you watched the scenery fly by. “I’m gonna make sure it’s okay.”

You didn’t talk for a while after that, not quite sure what to say. Your legs trembled slightly, but you managed to get your breathing under control. You made light conversation, or attempted to at least, but it felt contrived at best. Why were you so nervous to talk about anything serious? You were literally escaping from the fucking mafia, but the idea of talking about Seonghwa’s father felt too off limits. You gathered the courage to ask something that had been on your mind for a while. Seonghwa had talked very little about his position within the mafia, other than the fact that he was the boss’ son. Otherwise, you knew very little about its structure.

“About, uh… your family. There’s something I’m confused about.”

“Hmm, what’s that?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow at your sudden curiosity.

“The guys who helped you rescue me—Wooyoung and Jongho—you called them your cohorts. Who are they? In—in the mafia I mean.”

Seonghwa sighed. It was something he always did before revealing information he knew shouldn’t be telling you. “Well, Jongho is like my cousin, in a way. Wooyoung, well, that’s more complicated.”

“I have time.”

“He’s kind of like my brother, but we aren’t related. Not by blood at least. I’ve known him since we were young. We were raised together.”

“We’ve been dating for a month and you didn’t tell me you had a brother? Jeez, Seonghwa,” you teased.

“Ah, dating, you say?” A smirk pulled up on his lips and he flashed you a playful glance. “I like that.”

You wanted to ask him a bit more about his family, but you decided it was best not to push your luck any further than what he’d just been willing to divulge. You drove in a comfortable yet tense silence for a while longer, and you tried closing your eyes to maybe seize a few moments of sleep, but to no avail.

“Seonghwa.”

“Hm?”

“Can we get some air? I’m feeling a little lightheaded.”

“That’s fine. I could afford to stretch my legs a bit.”

You pulled off at the next lookout point. It was completely empty, like the rest of the highway had been since you’d been driving, and he pulled the car off in the furthest spot.

The lookout was gorgeous, much like your company. You couldn’t see much of the intended scenery in the dark veil of the night, but you could see the stars glimmering in the sky, brighter than you’d ever seen. Seonghwa’s eyes sparkled in the starlight, and you watched him in awe as he took in the view. The circumstances may have been terrible, but you couldn’t imagine a more picturesque night.

You hoisted yourself on the stone ledge of the lookout, legs straddling Seonghwa as he stood in front of you. He pulled you in closer until your waists flush were together, and you squeezed your legs tightly around him.

He stroked your hair for a bit, then moved a hand down, his fingers drawing along the sensitive skin of your neck. His touch on you felt exhilarating in the cool breeze of the night—something about the adrenaline of running away with this man had you melting like putty in his hands.

“You’re too tempting,” he purred in your ear, running his other hand along the small of your waist. “We should be getting back on the road… but I have half a mind to take you right here.”

Inspiration struck. You gave a few sensual kisses to his neck, breathing heavily against it as you spoke. “Your car.”

“What about it?”

“Fuck me in your car, Seonghwa.” That came out more forward than you intended, but there was no point in mincing words right now.

His breath caught in his throat. You watched as his expression turned from lustful to invigorated, a hot fire burning beneath his eyes. He scooped you up, your legs still cinched tightly around his waist for support. You threw your arms around his neck as he guided you back to the Bentley, tossing you gently in the backseat.

You didn’t necessarily have expensive tastes, but something about the luxury of his car was arousing in a way you couldn’t describe. The quilted leather seats felt cool against your skin, and you didn’t know much about cars, but you knew enough to know they were custom. The car smelled like fresh mahogany and leather, like the most incredible cologne you could imagine. How could he keep it so immaculate?

His lips slid against yours as he crawled on top of you. He barely fit in the tight confinement of the backseat, having to bend his knees slightly as he positioned himself over you. Your arm came up to his waistband, doing him the favor of removing his belt for him as you made out. The air in the car grew thick and balmy with the heat of your lustful breaths, fogging the already tinted windows slightly.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, his tongue dancing and sliding against each other hungrily. You palmed his dick through his pants, and he groaned needily against your mouth. His raging hard-on indicated he craved more. He followed your lead as you ungracefully unbuttoned his pants, sliding his underwear down, allowing yourself better access to his dick. You clumsily wrapped your hand around his shaft, pumping and twisting, drawing moans from his lips like music. He hoisted you by your waist up to a sitting position, settling you down on his lap. His hands explored under the hem of your shirt, lifting it over your head suddenly, and you took the initiative to clumsily remove the rest of your clothes, giggling lightly at the difficulty of maneuvering in the confined space. “Your car might be more expensive than my house but that doesn’t make this any easier,” you grumbled, and you watched him as he smiled, unbuttoning his own shirt, still entranced by watching you undress.

You settled back down in his lap, repositioning your hand around his shaft. You loved the way his dick fit perfectly in your hand, and you subtly teased him with your hand, rubbing circles on the tip, applying just enough pressure to the base to keep him wanting under your touch. He moaned against your lips, his needy grunts indicating you had him in the palm of your hand.

He reciprocated by running one finger along your folds, testing your wetness. The sudden sensation caught you off guard, and you removed your hand from him for a moment to wrap your arms around his neck. He pumped a finger in and out slowly, drawing contented whines from your lips against his ear. How had he managed to turn the control of the situation back to his favor?

His touches were just as deliberate—giving you just enough to be overwhelmed with pleasure, but not fully satisfied. You were practically dripping in his lap now, and the thought of his dick stretching you out was sounding more and more tempting.

He pulled his fingers out suddenly, guiding your shoulders away from him for a moment to take the image of you in. Something familiar glimmered in his eyes--you recognized the same expression he had on earlier, when he marvelled at the stars. His facial expression softened into wonder.

"I'm so lucky," he mused softly, and it was almost as if he wasn't talking to you, but to himself, for a moment. "I know you're scared of what's going to happen next. But it's going to be okay."

His words hit something deep inside of you, a part of your mind you had pushed far down. The part that was incredibly scared of the coming unknowns.

He stroked your hair, his eyes still sparkling as he comforted you. His voice was calm and smooth as always. "No matter what happens I'm going to protect you. I promise."

You kissed him gently, forgetting for a moment the explicitly sexual position you were in. Slowly but surely, you were falling for him. Well, more like tripping flat on your face down a flight of stairs for him. You had known that for a while, but your sudden dangerous circumstances had cemented it in your mind. He was yours, undeniably.

You smiled against his lips. "I'll hold you to that promise."

You felt his hands reposition under you, raising your hips and positioning you over his shaft. You sunk down slowly, and his nails sunk into you with a breathy moan as you pushed down fully. “You feel incredible,” he cooed softly. You moaned against the skin of his neck as his dick stretched you out slowly. The intimacy of the moment heightened every sensation by what felt like a power of a million. You rocked your hips slowly on top of him, and one of his hands came up to caress your breasts, the other supporting under your ass as you moved. Your pleasured moans harmonized with his, echoing against the interior of the Bentley. The car rocked slightly under you as you slid up and down over his hips slowly. He brought the hand on your breast down to where his cock connected with you, applying gentle pressure to your clit. The sensation was almost too much to handle. “Seong- fuck, ah-” you whined breathlessly. You trembled under his touch, barely able to move your hips up and down with the way your legs were shaking.

“I want you to feel good,” he breathed in your ear. His deep voice resonating in your ear sent you soaring, and your eyes rolled back as he rubbed harder against your clit, rutting his hips up against you. Your orgasm crashed through you, enveloping your mind in a thick, blissful fog. He held you tight as you shook, and you saw his lips curl up into a smile. “Good girl,” he praised, and you panted against him, still coming down from your high. “Tired?”

You were, you were exhausted. You came hard, harder than you could remember in a long time. But you wanted to give him the same pleasure he’d given you. You continued to rock up and down on his dick, mustering up every drop of energy you had to slam your hips down on him. He sang your praises with his desperate groans, and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer like this. You latched your lips against his neck, marking him as you gave a few final thrusts. He bucked his hips up against you, and you rocked in motion with each other.

You felt warm liquid spill over inside of you, Seonghwa grunting beautifully as he came, before pausing for a moment. “Shit, I didn’t mean to- inside-” he stuttered, his voice laced with a slight panic.

“Hwa, it’s fine. I’m on birth control,” you reassured, sliding yourself off on him. You realized that was the first time you’d called him by his nickname.

He paused, smiling a bit. “Right. I probably should have known that.”

You collapsed on top of him, still straddling his lap, arms wrapped around his shoulders, head nestled in his warm neck. Despite the circumstances, you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt so relaxed, so content, than while you were wrapped in his arms. Even in the balmy heat of the car, you felt refreshed leaning against his soft skin. It felt unbelievably intimate, the way you were pressed against each other, bodies nearly flush. He ran his fingers through your hair, combing through the knots slowly.

“You’re probably gonna have to get this thing detailed,” you laughed, realizing you were dripping sweat—and all sorts of other liquids—all over his custom interior.

“Worth it,” he grumbled, pulling you in tighter against him.

You sat silently like that for a while, both working to catch your breath from the intense session.

Seonghwa was the first to break the silence, his voice tender and calm. “That thing you said… about us dating.” He paused. “We are, right?”

You smiled against the skin of his neck as you nestled your head tighter into the crook of his neck. “Yes, I think we are.”

He pushed you away from him gently, so that you were eye-level with him. His eye contact was intense and serious, but loving. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his sudden cheesiness—you’d never been particularly good at embracing sincere moments. “Does this mean I can say my boyfriend is in the mafia?”

He chuckled for a moment before his expression grew serious. “Not for much longer. If we can pull this off, I want to start a new life with you.”

“Awfully fast, don’t you think?” you teased, planting a sweet kiss on his cheek. Then, more seriously, “I’d like that.”

You sat like that, embraced for a while. You felt remarkably safe in his arms, despite everything you’d been through with him. Your track record with him was tainted with the threat of uncertainty, and yet it felt entirely right. You debated telling him just how much you were falling for him, but you decided to hold off for the moment. This was enough.

You eventually slipped back into your clothes after nearly nodding off in his arms in the backseat. He carried you around to the front seat in a bridal hold, resting you lightly in the plush leather passenger seat. He retrieved a thin blanket from the trunk, draping it over you delicately.

The last thing you remember was Seonghwa’s hand gently stroking your thigh as he drove, and the gentle hum of the car’s tires on the highway lulling you to sleep.

Your eyes fluttered open, taking a few moments to adjust to the low light of the night outside the window. It was dark, but you could make out the glimmer of water on the horizon to your right.

The ocean? How long had you been driving for?

“Seonghwa,” you muttered drowsily, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. “Where are we going?”

“I have a private place. A beach house. We’ll be safe there for the night—my father doesn’t know about it.”

Jesus. A beach house? How many houses could one man have? you thought, biting your tongue from saying anything out loud. You still sometimes forgot how rich he was, even while lying comfortably in the passenger seat of his Bentley.

“We’re almost there,” he said, reaching over to rest his hand on your thigh comfortingly.

You nodded sleepily, your consciousness fading in and out as he finished the drive. The car slowed significantly as he pulled off the highway onto a rougher private road. It was lined with a thick covering of trees on both sides, filtering out the faint glow of the moonlight. You dragged to a halt at the end of the road, met with the sight of a clearly expensive and yet surprisingly quaint beach house. You had your hand on the car door latch, about to press it open when Seonghwa suddenly grabbed your arm.

“Wait.”

You paused, your stomach sinking as you saw his expression fall into something serious. You followed his gaze out the window, headlights piercing the front windshield the moment you looked up.

Three cars circled you, tires skidding against the sandy pavement as they screeched to a halt. You looked at Seonghwa, frozen in fear as figures began to step out into the night.

“Seonghwa—” You grabbed his arm, curling your fingers into the fabric of his sleeve as you watched the men grow closer.

“Stay here,” he said sternly. “Don’t move.”

He stepped out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He took an apprehensive step forward, keeping close as he called out to them.

“What the fuck do you want?” His expression was tight, stoic as he scanned the crowd. There were five men that you could count, standing in a loose circle around Seonghwa’s Bentley. Panic crept into your system, and you clenched your fists against the seats.

The car right in front of you swung its driver’s side door open, and a familiar blonde haired figure stepped out.

“Wooyoung!” Seonghwa called, giving a relieved sigh as he laid eyes on his comrade. “Thank god it's you, I thought I’d been caught. Why did you—did something happen?”

The expression on Seonghwa’s face was one of visible confusion. Wooyoung laughed, running a hand through his hair. He looked up at Seonghwa with eyes cold as ice.

“You’re not going anywhere, Hwa. You really threw a wrench in things, you know. You think you can just run off with your little girlfriend so easily?”

Run off? Was he trying to run away from the mafia?

“I—I don’t understand—”

“Of course you don’t.” Wooyoung scoffed, bitter and resentful.

“Did my dad put you up to this? Were you the one who told him I was—”

“Your dad? Hah, I’m not the one who told him you were leaving, Hwa.”

“Then, why…”

“Your dad is the reason I can’t let you leave. You have no idea the kind of hell he put me through. Not a fucking clue!” His voice trembled with an eerie, subdued rage.

“Look, I don’t know what my father did, but I hate him as much as you do. I have nothing to do with him!”

“You can’t possibly hate him like I do,” Wooyoung laughed humorlessly. “You’re his only son. You mean everything to him. He has everything he could possibly want. Money, power, respect… But you, you can’t be replaced.”

“What the hell are you saying, Wooyoung?”

“The agony of his only son slipping away, powerless to stop it. How it feels to have the only person you love ripped away from you, just like that… like my father was.”

“Your father? My father said he found you abandoned in a crack house, left to starve after your parents ran off!”

“Well, he fucking lied, didn’t he?”

Seonghwa stood, stunned at Wooyoung’s words.

“He lied. You wanna know what really happened? Your father put a bullet in my father’s head with his own two hands. He was murdered, Seonghwa. Not before being tortured, of course. I saw the whole thing. But your daddy doesn’t know that.”

“He… what? Wooyoung, I didn’t know—“

“Of course you didn’t!”

“If I had known earlier—“

“What would you have done, exactly? Kill him? No, see, I don’t want him dead. I want him to live his life out with his son’s blood on his hands.”

“The blood would be on your hands, not his!”

“In a literal sense, yeah. But you know what they say. Eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth. I’m just paying back what he’s owed.”

“You’re like a brother to me, Woo. You know that. You always have been.” Seonghwa’s voice was softer that time. Sadder.

“I’ve never once thought of you as a brother. I can’t even look at your fucking face. You’re the spitting image of him, right down to your fucking ego,” Wooyoung spat, closing the distance between them, giving Seonghwa a harsh shove to the chest.

“You don’t mean that,” Seonghwa said, stumbling back. He clearly wasn’t looking for a fight.

“I do mean it. And I can’t wait to see the look on his face when I bring him your fucking head!” He punctuated his words with a swing powered with rage and hatred.

“Woo, please—I don’t want to fight you!” Seonghwa dodged his blows, refusing to swing back.

“I wanna let off a little steam before I kill you. Come at me. Come on, hit me!”

Wooyoung swung again, his lips curled up into a furious smile as he aimed at Seonghwa’s face again. The punch landed, almost as if Seonghwa let it. He staggered back, wiping a stream of red across his cheek as it dripped from his nose.

“Man, you have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” Wooyoung sounded almost giddy with delight.

“Please, Woo, that’s enough—”

“Hit me. Right now.”

“No.”

“No?”

The smile faded from Wooyoung’s face. He made a nod to one of his guys, who flung the passenger door open and grabbed you by the hair. You screamed as he dragged you out of the car, kicking and thrashing against his hold to no avail. He halted, and you felt something cold against your temple.

“Fight me, or the pretty girl dies.”

You heard a frightening click next to your ear, and your blood turned to ice. You frantically looked over at Seonghwa, who met your gaze with a look of anguish you’d never seen on him before.

“Stop—Wooyoung, please! Don’t drag her into this!”

Wooyoung clucked his tongue in sympathy. “Poor thing, having to take the fall with you. I’ll be nice, at least. I’ll give you two a nice double grave—”

Seonghwa cut him off with a right hook. Wooyoung stumbled back, clutching his chin with a satisfied smile. Seonghwa grabbed him by the jacket, dragging him in so their noses were practically touching.

“You lay one finger on her and that grave is yours,” he snarled.

Seonghwa shoved him forward, giving himself enough room to cock his fist back for a punch. Wooyoung ducked out of the way, swooping in for a jab, landing it square against Seonghwa’s cheekbone, using the momentum from his dodge to power his blow.

Seonghwa caught his balance and lunged, keeping his eyes locked to Wooyoung’s face as he threw his weight forward for another attack. Wooyoung was fast, light on his feet and easily stepped to the side, delivering another painful blow to Seonghwa’s face.

You couldn’t bear to look, but also couldn’t bear to look away. You were afraid of what would happen if you closed your eyes, but you felt every punch that Seonghwa took as if you were the one fighting Wooyoung instead. Tears welled up in your eyes and spilled down your cheeks as you watched powerlessly from the sidelines.

“Stop,” you croaked, your voice lodged in your throat. They couldn’t hear you, and even if they could, they wouldn’t stop for you. You had no part in this. You felt small, useless, and utterly, utterly powerless.

“I take it back, you’re nothing like your father. You’re weak as hell, afraid to hit me with everything you’ve got. At least your father wasn’t afraid to pull the trigger,” Wooyoung taunted through his teeth.

“Shut the fuck up,” Seonghwa snarled, launching a hit to Wooyoung’s nose so hard that blood nearly splattered all the way to your feet.

Wooyoung dragged a hand across his mouth, wiping away the blood pouring down his lips from his nose. He smirked as he looked down at his hand, shaking off drops of crimson as he continued speaking.

“I’ll be doing him a favor, really. You’re not fit to take over his throne. You’re a pussy, Hwa. Always have been, always will be.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Seonghwa practically screamed at him.

It was a side of him that was brand new to you, and you didn’t like it. Not one bit. You wished you were home with him, watching the smile on his face instead of the movie on the screen, hearing his laugh like a song. Not this Seonghwa, covered in blood, dripping sweat, eyes full of hate as he swung his fists.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take over for you. I’ll stay by his side, watching the look on his face as I tell him my version of the story. He won’t know it was me, and I’ll even say I tried to save you. After all, you’re my brother, right?”

Wooyoung laughed as he dodged Seonghwa’s blows, taunting him ruthlessly, wearing a crooked smile on his face like the devil’s own.

“You’re not my brother. Not anymore,” Seonghwa spat, cold as ice.

Wooyoung laughed, shrill and joyful. “That’s the spirit. Now we’re on the same page!”

Wooyoung landed a fierce uppercut to Seonghwa’s jaw. He fell back, landing hard against the ground, reeling from the blow. Wooyoung’s foot lurched forward, smashing into Seonghwa’s ribs with all of his weight. Seonghwa wretched, coughing wetly as thick strings of red dripped from his lips. Wooyoung kicked him again as you screamed and begged for mercy.

“Wooyoung please—stop! Please!” you sobbed, trembling and gasping for breath in between cries.

“Don’t worry princess, I’ll make yours quick.”

Wooyoung planted a foot against Seonghwa’s cheek, digging and twisting his heel against his face.

“Can’t say the same for you,” Wooyoung said down to Seonghwa, who was barely clinging to consciousness. He groaned, glaring up at his former brother through heavy eyelids. Wooyoung delivered a final kick to his skull, and Seonghwa stopped moving.

“No! No, god—no!”

You screamed and thrashed against the man’s hold on you, forgetting about the hand wrenching your scalp, forgetting about the gun to your head. You screamed until your lungs ached as one of the guys peeled Seonghwa off the ground by his shirt collar. His body was limp, and you felt numb all over as you feared the worst.

Wooyoung wiped his hands together as one of his guys shoved Seonghwa into the back seat of a car. You sobbed and wailed uncontrollably, digging your fingernails into the fist holding your hair, clawing desperately to get free. The man gave a painful shake to your head, commanding you to be quiet.

Wooyoung knelt in front of you, and you froze, gasping for breath as you looked at him with wide eyes. His expression softened, and he brought a bloodied hand to your cheek, caressing it gently with his thumb. You were paralyzed, completely motionless under his touch.

“I’m really sorry, love. It’s got nothing to do with you. I’ll make it quick, I promise. You don’t deserve to suffer,” he said sweetly, genuinely as he wiped your tears away. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead as he stood. “See you soon.”

With that, he turned and hopped into his S Class, leaving a smear of blood against the door handle. Cruel hands dragged you toward another car, your screams piercing the night sky with no answer. You felt a cloth against your mouth, and everything went black.

The next thing you remembered was waking up on the cold leather seats of the car that had taken you. It took a second for you to regain consciousness, but when you did, the events of the night hit you like a truck. The images flooded in, and it was like reliving it all over again. The dull ache in your chest grew quickly into unbearable anguish, the tears beginning to flow down your cheeks without much warning at all.

You choked against the fabric gagging your mouth as you sobbed hopelessly. Your heart felt like it’d been ripped from your chest, a wide gaping hole replacing any semblance of hope you still clung to. Your cries echoed uselessly as you thrashed in the backseat of the car, muffled as you tried to scream. Your wrists stung against the zip ties cutting into them, and you quickly gave up trying to get free.

The man in the passenger seat groaned, throwing a menacing glance over his shoulder. “Can this bitch just shut up?”

“I wish Wooyoung would have just taken her out back there,” the driver grumbled.

You knew there was no getting out of this alive. Your only hope, the only one who knew where you were, was dead. At least, you could only assume he was, or at least he would be soon. You couldn’t forget the sound Wooyoung’s fist had made against Seonghwa’s skin, delivering blow after blow, or the sound of his lifeless body being dragged away as you begged for mercy. The image haunted you relentlessly, every time you closed your eyes, every time you stopped to take a breath through your sobs, you saw him lying on the pavement, cold and bloodied.

You were completely helpless, being transported in some mafia car like a lamb to the slaughter. You’d die scared and alone, surrounded by strangers, with no one left to mourn you. You tried to picture Seonghwa’s face in your mind—the Seonghwa you wanted to remember, the Seonghwa who promised he would protect you no matter what, the Seonghwa who comforted you as you panicked. You tried to picture his soft, gentle smile, the feeling of his hand on your thigh reminding you it was going to be okay, but all you could see was his lifeless body, dripping blood and sweat onto the ground.

That couldn’t be the way you remembered him. It couldn’t.

Your hopeless screams turned to quiet, choked sobs as the reality sunk in. None of it mattered anymore—nothing you could do, no amount of thrashing or crying would set you free. Even the scenery flying by in blurred streaks through the window seemed irrelevant. In hours, maybe even minutes, you would cease to exist. If you were lucky, maybe Wooyoung would follow through on his promise of a double grave, but the thought brought you not even an ounce of solace. Your fate was sealed, exactly like Seonghwa’s. It was over. You closed your eyes tight, conjuring his image in your mind the best you could. Just as he had been on the first night you’d met him, he looked entirely unreal in your mind’s eye—too good to be true. Too good to be true. What a joke. You almost wanted to laugh. It was too good to be true, after all. You couldn’t laugh, though, not with this bitter emptiness consuming you like a lost speck of dust in the void.

“What the hell—“ the driver suddenly shouted, pulling you back into the moment.

A car drifted in front of you, hurtling closer as it spun its rear into your lane, on trajectory for a collision. The driver slammed on the breaks, and a wave of inertia threw your body forward. You bit your tongue as the car swerved, tasting iron as the wheels skidded and screeched against the highway. The driver cursed as he lost control, frantically turning the wheel as the car’s flank scraped against the guardrail.

The windshield shattered, erupting into a spray of glass particles that coated the entire car. Gunshots rang out—gunshots?—and you fell against the seat for cover. Not that it really mattered if you died now or later, you thought morbidly. The driver’s window shattered next, a bullet just barely missing his face.

“Fuck!”

The man in the passenger seat pulled a gun from his jacket, stretching his arm past the driver to shoot. He pulled the trigger a few times, but the other car still had you flanked, sabotaging his aim as they forced the car against the rail. Your ears rang from the gunshots, and you squeezed your eyes shut, unable to buffer the sound with your hands.

The driver jerked the wheel to the side, ramming the car with all his might, metal groaning and screeching in the collision. They pushed and shoved against one another like a high speed arm wrestling match, your body jostling painfully with each impact. There was a sickening jolt as the tires blew, and the car spun out, wheels screaming against the asphalt before finally crashing into the guardrail.

Everything went still, and the passenger threw his seatbelt over his shoulder, flinging the door open with guns ablaze. He didn’t even fire off two shots before he went down, crumpling to the pavement as he took a bullet between the eyes. The driver aimed out the jagged remains of the windshield, screaming out strings of curse words as he furiously squeezed the trigger.

Blood splashed across the interior of the car, soaking it in red as the driver went limp. You screamed as blood splattered across your face, the man’s shattered skull a haunting afterimage on the back of your eyelids. Your heart was pounding, body trembling as footsteps approached your side of the car, and the door flung open. You didn’t dare open your eyes as a hand hooked around your elbow, pulling you out of the car against his body with a careful touch.

“You ok?” a voice asked. You didn’t recognize it, and you kept your eyes tightly shut. Your whole body shook as you hyperventilated, your lungs burning as you gasped desperately for air.

“Shh, hey, it’s ok! It’s ok, I’m on your side,” the voice soothed, rubbing a hand along your back. “I’m gonna untie you, ok?”

Your hands fell free as a knife cut through the zip ties holding them together, and he moved to undo the gag next. He gingerly untied the knot behind your head, pulling the wet fabric from your mouth. He brushed your hair out of your face, his tone soft as he spoke.

“There. Hey, can you look at me? I’m not gonna hurt you.”

You cracked your eyes open. His face was intimidating, with sharp eyes and an x-shape shaved into one eyebrow, complete with a diamond in the center. His deep blue hair was pushed back impeccably, and he wore a huge leopard fur coat. He looked like another scary mafia guy, and you’d had quite enough of those. Despite his looks, he seemed kind, his expression gentle and eyebrows pinched with concern he surveyed you for injury.

“I’m Hongjoong, Seonghwa’s best friend.” [to be continued]

#park seonghwa smut #seonghwa smut #ateez fanfic #ateez fic #park seonghwa #so sorry #posts keep disappearing from tags #troubleshooting tags #jung wooyoung #tag testing #help me plz

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spencers-renaissance · 3 years

Text

Don’t Be Scared, I Love You

Summary: JJ is shot and Emily's world stops spinning

Tags: whump, hurt/comfort, angst with a happy ending, fluff, protective emily, NO mcd

Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Jennifer Jareau

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Emily has always been skeptical of ‘slow motion’ disaster moments. She’s been an active government agent working in the field for over a decade — that’s to say, she’s witnessed her fair share of tragedy — and it’s never quite that dramatic. But when a bullet from an unsub’s gun embeds itself in JJ’s shoulder, for a split second, Emily is powerless to react.

She’s stuck in time: JJ falls slowly to the ground, her hair spreading behind her in a golden halo, and she barely registers the gunshot coming from Derek’s direction, the kill shot that takes down the man she hates the most in the entire world at this exact moment. Blood pounds in her ears as a sinking feeling of dread pools in her stomach, a cold kind of fear spreading through her body and freezing her joints, her muscles, her mind. There is only a singular thought circling through her head:

I can’t lose her.

It’s only when she hears JJ whimper in pain that she snaps back into action, protective instincts clicking into motion as she throws herself down at her fiance’s side, barely registering the impact the cold concrete has on her knees, only focusing on the beautiful woman fading in front of her eyes. Immediately, she lays her palm on the gunshot wound, applying deep pressure in an attempt to quell the bleeding. It’s the right thing to do, she knows it will save JJ’s life, but continuing feels almost impossible when JJ cries out in pain, her face crumpling.

“Jayje, Jayje, baby,” she says desperately, at a loss for words for a moment, “hold on for me, okay? Hold on. You’re doing so well. Oh, God, I love you so much. Hold on for me.” Vaguely, she hears Derek calling for a medic, but every iota of her attention is on JJ.

Deep blue, disney princess eyes meet hers. This is half a relief — JJ is still conscious, she can hear her, she hasn’t lost too much blood yet — and half a curse — JJ’s eyes have always been expressive. Right now they are conveying the pain of the worst agony one can inflict on another, and they are completely coloured with terror. Terror Emily has no way to diminish, no way to ease. How does one refute possibly the most rational fear there ever was?

She can feel herself crying. She vaguely hears the rest of her team around them, but right now her entire world has shrunk down to this moment, to the woman she’s going to marry next year, to the woman she longs to have children with. This is not altogether uncommon. Emily’s world frequently shrinks down to comprise only JJ: when they’re in bed together, small moments when they catch one another’s eyes across the bullpen or in a meeting, evening walks down the brightly lit streets of the city they love so dearly. It’s never as painful as this.

Derek has taken off his top and is moving Emily’s hand to place the balled material over the wound. He takes over applying pressure; Emily only notices this because it means she can focus the entirety of her attention on JJ’s face and not the profusely bleeding hole in her shoulder. The crimson blood dripping from her palm only serves as a reminder of how close she is to losing the love of her life. To being single again, a widow, a hopelessly miserable, never-to-recover, bereaved shell of a human being.

“Emily,” JJ whispers, and she’s crying, too. Her face is not hiding a single emotion raging through her, and while Emily usually finds JJ’s wobbly chin endearing, right now it’s purely agonising. “Emily, I’m scared.”

Emily has to bow her head for a moment and heave a single, shoulder-wracking sob that seems to tear though her throat with the same violence of the bullet that tore through JJ’s shoulder. She blinks the tears away and sniffs once before looking back up at JJ and offering her a watery smile, the absolute best one she can muster, and uses her clean hand to gently comb her fingers through her blonde hair, leaning down to press a lingering kiss to her forehead.

“Don’t be scared,” she whispers tearfully, brushing her thumb over JJ’s damp cheekbone, “I love you.”

“Don’t leave me,” JJ whispers back, tears still spilling down her cheeks, as they hear the sirens of the ambulance and a medic rushing into the warehouse, the floor of which will forever bear the stain of her fiance’s blood.

“I won’t,” Emily says through sobs she can no longer contain, “I won’t, darling, I’m here.”

“Promise?” JJ asks, visibly fading just as the paramedics arrive and ask Emily and Derek to make room.

“I promise, baby,” Emily cries earnestly, moving away just enough for the EMTs to do their job, just in time for JJ to completely lose consciousness.

⭐️

The hospital waiting room is warm, but Emily feels cold.

She stares blankly at the wall in front of her, a merciful sort of numbness taking over her body, leaving her far less frantic than the emotional wreck she was in the warehouse. It’s a kind of quiet far from peaceful, but she doesn’t have the energy to care. Her hands are so cold covered in JJ’s warm blood.

Spencer desperately tries to get her to come to the bathrooms and wash it off, but Emily refuses, just in case this is the last thing she has to remember JJ by. In which case, she has revolved to forever have a stained right hand as a permanent mark of her crippling grief. She will be branded by her devotion to JJ, and by the end that devotion came to.

Her only thought is of W. H. Auden’s poem Funeral Blues. It was read at her uncle’s funeral a few years ago. What a funny thing grief is: she could grasp the concept of such emptiness and utter misery filling your life after the death of a loved one, of course she could, but she’s never tangibly understood that kind of grief. She does now, and JJ — as far as she knows — is still alive. If she does lose JJ, though, she knows for an absolute fact that her life will forever lack meaning, lack purpose, lack joy.

Pour away the ocean, indeed, she thinks. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun.

Emily knows, academically, theoretically, the damage a bullet can do. The shoulder is a complex weave of nerves, muscles, bones, tendons, and arteries; really, it’s one of the most complicated pieces of human anatomy, so, naturally, a gunshot wound in that particular area is far from desirable.

Spencer tells her as they’re waiting that the amount of blood JJ lost indicates that instead of the bullet hitting the incredibly delicate network of blood vessels, which would have led her to bleed out in minutes, it instead shattered the joint. This is good news and bad news. JJ is still alive. But she will need reconstructive surgery. She may never regain full range of motion. She will need months, maybe years of physio. Emily doesn’t know if this is what she wants to hear or not, but she vaguely appreciates that Spencer is falling back on his academic knowledge of an incredibly emotional situation as a coping mechanism.

Not that anyone really doubted it, but Spencer is proved right by the doctor that comes to greet the family of Jennifer Jareau six and a half hours after they arrived.

“Ms Jareau’s humerus was shattered, and her clavicle and scapula did not get off scot free, either. Luckily, the bullet missed her large axillary vessels, which is the most consolation I can offer you at this stage,” the doctor explains kindly. “We’ve stabilised her condition through surgery in which we did our best to tidy her shoulder, but she will be needing a total shoulder replacement in the very near future. Though, I understand she resides in DC and is in well-enough condition to be transferred there for the major operation and ensuing recovery.

“I understand… Emily Prentiss is her next of kin?” she asks, consulting her clipboard.

Emily nods blankly, the reassurance that JJ is alive beginning to settle in, weaving its way into her heart.

The doctor smiles empathetically. “I can take you to see Ms Jareau now. Her sedation will be wearing off any minute.”

The world gradually stirs back into colour as Emily lays eyes on JJ, very much alive, blinking sleepily in her hospital bed. Her gown is carefully tucked around the bandage on her shoulder and the fabric sling her arm has made its home. She’s ever so pale, sweat beading on her brow from the pain, but she’s alive. Emily will not have to recite Auden in a Church built for a God she doesn’t believe in while the only person that made her believe in anything lies in a coffin. Alright, she thinks as she walks into the room and sits down next to JJ’s bed, the moon can be unpacked. The sun reassembled.

As JJ manages a smile, though, reaching her good arm out for her fiance, craving physical comfort and affection, Emily thinks that the stars don’t need to be relit. The one in front of her, broken as she might be, long as her journey to recovery is certain to take, is bright enough to put all of them to shame.

Emily can’t help but break down in tears of gasping relief as she clasps the hand JJ’s outstretched for her, gripping it tightly and bringing it to her face, kissing it gently before pressing it to her cheek as her crumpled eyes leak pitifully.

“Hey, don’t be scared,” JJ murmurs in her croaky, post-surgery voice as she echoes Emily’s words some seven hours earlier, “I love you.”

Emily can’t help but laugh happily through her relieved, messy emotion at that, leaning forward to press a warm kiss to JJ’s slightly chapped, pale lips.

“God, I love you so much,” she promises, so much sincerity behind her words that JJ tears up in response. “I’m gonna be here through every step of the journey ahead, you know that.”

“Yeah, I know that,” JJ whispers, as her face contorts, emotion twisting her throat in knots. “I never doubted it for a second.”

And, well. Doesn’t that just say everything Emily needs to hear.

Clasp me close in your warm young arms, While the pale stars shine above, And we’ll live our whole young lives away In the joys of a living love.

- I Love You, Ella Wheeler Wilcox

@strippersenseii @criminalmindsvibez

#my writing #jemily #jemily fic #jemily writing #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #jj #emily #jennifer jareau #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x jennifer jareau #emily prentiss/jennifer jareau

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

Text

masterpost • main masterlist • taglist & faq

previously on...

Chapter 3 is finally here. Sorcerers need their shopping done, too. Beyonce/Wong platonic ship (joking)! And finally some action, more witchy stuff. Bucky whump because I have a saviour complex. Stucky cuteness moment. Some blood/gore in this chapter.

My insides clenched, seeing the yellow and blue notice taped to my door - the building manager rarely left notes, so whatever it was, it wasn't going to be good. I had managed to wind myself up into an anxious frenzy by the time I had gone inside and locked my door behind me, immediately thinking I would have to exhaust myself by turning to magic to keep a roof over my head.

For once, the news turned out to be positive: a neighbor was being evicted and turned in to the police for stealing packages. The building manager urged the tenants to report any missing items and apply for a refund when possible, apologizing for the inconvenience. I wondered what prompted this, basically unheard of in NYC, act of kindness as my altar stared at me with mocking amusement, pointing out the obvious by its mere presence.

Grinning to myself, I texted Odette - predictably, she was happy for me, happy that my protection spell had turned out strong and steady, and added a few tips of her own for my spell to stay that way. It felt like I'd grown invisible wings, those days, with all the possibilities open - and never once did I let myself entertain a thought of getting back at an enemy of the past for longer than five seconds.

Sure, it was perfectly human to consider making the cheating ex go bankrupt or make sure the college professor, that failed a couple of students each semester as a 'reality check', trips and face-plants at least once a day... I mean, who wouldn't experience a malicious sort of joy from petty revenge?

But I found my powers were best applied with a positive result in mind. My friend's cat was the first test rat- I mean, living creature I had practiced my healing spells on. The eleven year old kitty was struggling and both me and my friend loved the critter dearly - so the short, but tiring spell I performed yielded exactly the results I was expecting. Odette said something about genuine love backing up the magic, and- well, Dumbledore much?

On humans, it turned out, it wasn't nearly as simple. I didn't know what I had expected would happen after performing nothing short of a whole improv-performace type of ritual right in front of my very puzzled but hopeful friend with chronic asthma, but it wasn't the sheer exhaustion that ran bone-deep and left me bedridden for a whole day.

Odette visited my dingy apartment with her signature enormous purse full of vials she spoon-fed me and trinkets she strategically placed in and around my immediate sleeping area. "There, there," the woman patted my head as I pitifully moaned at the ear-splitting headache. "The first one is always the most challenging. After all, if it would be easy, everyone would do it."

I understood that. But at the same time, it felt unfair that no good deed went unpunished. I told Odette so, raising my voice to the best of my ability as she rummaged around my kitchen.

"Nothing in this world comes out of thin air, whatever you decide to give has to be taken from somewhere," she explained patiently. "People like us are considered hedge witches. We do solitary work and draw most of our energy from the Earth, from mother Nature. We cannot perform miracles, however, the cost of our spells are very low," I felt an immediate peak of interest at the simple yet effective explaination she gave me. "We remain mostly human. Gaia* is kind and generous to the ones who pay respect," Odette continued over the clatter of pans and pots. "There are other kinds of witches - who take from other people, who take from the dead. But taking something by force always leaves scars and taking something from the dead means bringing a piece of them back to places it should not be."

I pondered the words as Odette brought the kettle to a boil, the whistling shriek piercing through my skull like a sharp projectile. "What about Voodoo practitioners?" I couldn't hold back my curiosity.

Odette cleared her throat. "What is left of them is mostly not human. Their gifts are great but the costs are greater. They can live far, far longer than the average witch but their souls will know no peace, just like the souls of the dead they anchor to themselves over time," Odette entered the room with a bowl of tangy, creamy liquid that smelled like pumpkin soup. "We do not bestow any judgement upon our brothers and sisters but it is our duty to inform the young." She cast a pointed glance towards me, passing me the soup and a wooden spoon I didn't know I had. "This should help you recover. Take tomorrow off if needs be."

She left shortly afterwards and I hadn't much strength than to use the bathroom, wash the rune-engraved spoon and curl up in my bed, only waking up when the meager light shone over my face from the window. Sleepy and fog-tinted, the early morning NYC was damp and windy as I stuck my head out of the window to soak my sleep-heated head in the cool air.

As uneventful as the day at the café was, I still wasn't up to 100% energy-wise, but the long walk from Jeremy's to Odette's was pleasantly invigorating. I didn't find the cold autumn moisture displeasing; the small raindrops kept me awake and alert. Odette nodded in muted pleasure as I clocked in and returned the special spoon back to her. The runes on it were interesting; I had taken a picture of them for research purposes, fully intending to craft myself something similar.

"Odette has taken on an apprentice," Wong's voice had me take in several deep breaths in preparation for the inevitable fuck-fest on my patience. "She has been avoiding me. And the girl is painfully slow."

I didn't hear the answer of Wong's companion over the rustling of the boxes I was hastily shoving in their places before the Asian man's temper grew foul. More foul. Ugh. The sharp ding of the bell had me yelling a, "Just a second please, I'll be right with you," while trying to keep my tone polite.

Wong's sour face and a list of items required greeted me as I flew out of the backrooms, noticing the locked doors of Odette's office on my way out. Wong's companion stood at the far end of the store - his robes quite different from the ones I'd seen people of their kind wear, his lithe, tall figure seeming strangely familiar. I squinted my eyes at his back. "Is this all you need?" I waved the list around, increasing the volume of my voice.

The tall man turned around and I could only gape. He, in turn, also froze, the stern, unfriendly expression losing heat and giving way to perplexed wonder. "I had placed an order, for sorcerer Strange," Tony's boyfriend eyed me somewhat sheepishly under Wong's concerned gaze.

I nodded, eyeing Wong in turn, letting satisfaction nestle a warm ball in my chest. Stephen's look of displeasure had turned onto his... Colleague. By the time I finished retrieving Strange's order and packing up the items on Wong's list, the Asian man had left, leaving Stephen to sheepishly pretend to examine the books on the furthest shelf. I waved the paper bags as he took long strides towards me, his fancy, large necklace glimmering under the lights.

"So, how long have you been working here?" Sorcerer Strange asked after I told him the total.

The cash register beeped loudly, coins clattering on the desk as I counted out his change. "Some time now," I shrugged noncommittally. I felt his magnetic eyes gloss over my adornments, the star necklace, the various rings; I could practically feel him coming to his own conclusions. "Long enough for your colleague to get an attitude with me," I had to make sure he knew I would be taking no bullshit from him - or anyone else, for that matter. Odette's opinion on his kind was firm and I was heavily inclined to agree.

"Hmm, I see," Strange was equally as keen on hiding his curiosity. It was a funny thing, really, that we, being adults that we were, treated this encounter like some sort of a dirty secret. "Don't take it personally. Wong is like that with everyone," The man briefly scratched his beard with a gloved hand before pocketing his change and picking up the bags. "Except Beyoncè, maybe," the wink he threw me was positively mischievous as it caught me off-guard, giving him a fox-like appearance.

I sighed as the door shut behind him. Pretty white boys - the ultimate human disasters.

I had no time to dwell on them, however, as something - or someone, hit downtown with all the malicious intentions to wreak havoc on the innocent civilians calmly going about their day. Mutants and people who knew Odette came in hordes, scrapes and bruises and strange wounds that required imminent healing.

My boss was no rookie, she dutifully accepted each and every single soul, looking worse for wear with each minute. Not being able to withstand seeing her drain herself, I simply took over the simplest tasks - and she said nothing, just gave me a nod, instructed to use whatever I needed and write it down somewhere along with the name of the person who required the healing.

As the battle raged, the crowds thinned but the ones who managed to come to Odette's spouted more serious wounds, obviously a result of them fighting back. Mutants covered head to toe with coats and hats and robes, for me to swallow my shock when they undressed - horns, tails and weird skin textures were on the far end of the normal. I dutifully extracted small pieces of information from each and every person I treated.

Yes, the Avengers were winning. No, there aren't many people hurt, most of the damage is cosmetic. Yes, the villain of the week is as stupid as usual. It was like a mantra. Odette poked her head into the spare room every now and then, her eagle eyes briefly scanning over me to make sure I wasn't exterting myself.

As I applied the healing salve to a tiny, pink-skinned woman, bandaging up her hands, my boss entered and closed the door behind her, setting down on the creaky chair with a loud thud. "Just got the news, the Avengers apprehended the terrorist," she sighed long and slow. "We've done all we could, the next few days I'll be handling house calls so you'll be here on your own. I'll probably see you in a few days, don't hesitate to give me a call if something comes up," Odette seemed to be barely standing up, yet when she tore off a few pieces of her jewelry and chucked them into a big tin can under the sink, the glossy sheen in her eyes melted away.

"Okay," I mumbled under the watchful eyes of the mutant woman. "Will there be more people coming in today?"

"No," the woman in front of me snorted. "SHIELD is prowling the streets. They are not fond of us, they always say we intervene unnecessarily even though we willingly do their dirty work so our children could be safe," the bitter, harsh tone took me off-guard.

I had to admit, there was reason behind her words. "Will you be able to get home safely? I have a puffy coat and a hat you can borrow." Figuring an expensive taxi ride would be a better alternative to something terrible happening to the woman, I offered her my winter clothes.

She smiled at me, razor blade teeth and large, red eyes the kindest I'd ever seen on a person. In the end, she took the clothes, promising to bring them back in a few days and Odette gave me a parka that was too small for her frame - despite it smelling like someone's grandma's attic, I found it to be quite lovely vintage. The puffy knitted scarf she added felt like warmth and safety - she had to have knitted it herself, for I knew, handmade items carried a significant amount of energy in them.

The shop was eerily quiet as I cleaned and scrubbed the stained, dirty floors and disposed of the bloody clothes and bandages in the tiny, odd fireplace in Odette's office - that was a thing most peculiar, it burned everything I put in it, but had no chimney, no place for the smoke to exit. Magic.

Something banged loudly against the entrance door. I let out a startled shriek, broomstick falling out of my hand and adding to the sudden cacophony of noise as the figure behind the stained glass slowly slid down the door, a deep, male voice groaning something incomprehensible loud enough for me to hear.

Grabbing a large serrated knife we used for mincing the bones of small animals, I made quiet steps towards the door, seeing a large, obviously humanoid figure helplessly lean on the door. The man's arm glinted chrome black and gunmetal grey in the low light. "Sargent Barnes? Bucky?" I whisper-shouted, carefully plying open the door.

He lifted his head, blood dripping down from it, his face looked like someone went to town on it with a meat mullet, his eyes were unfocused and couldn't keep a straight line. His flesh arm leaned heavily on the door frame, the prosthetic hanging limply, dragging his whole body to its side. It must've weigh a ton.

"Я должен найти капитана Роджерса," he whispered.

I didn't understand Russian at all but I could make out the name of his boyfriend. Which made sense. Bucky looked severely concussed - I idly wondered what exactly they had been fighting, what could have given a freaking super-soldier such a brain-leaking injury. "Sargent Barnes, follow me," I put on my big girl shoes and used my momma bear voice, towing the man behind me.

He, too, weighed a ton, as I stumbled, helping him into the chair in the spare room that became my healing station for today. The longer I looked at Bucky, the less lucid he grew, eyes falling shut as he murmured something in jagged Russian, slurring his words.

There was no time to think about the consequences of exposure of my witchcraft; mortar and pestle, herbs and salves flying everywhere, I assembled a healing spell and memorized the according ritual in what felt like record time. He was bleeding all over the chair, fresh crimson blood pouring out of his nose and mouth and it was all I could see.

I hadn't known true terror until the blood that poured out turned black. Whatever it was in him, it was poisonous - my protection charms grew hot, scalding as they left marks on my skin; powering through the pain and unable to turn my eyes off the convulsing Barnes, I finished the chant just as the flow of vile, tar-like liquid suddenly ceased. It pooled around his feet, dripped down the armrests and matted his long hair. It reeked, too, of copper and putrid meat.

Bucky had passed out somewhere mid-spell, the slow, steady breathing bringing me my own sense of calm. To say that I was drained would be an understatement - my vision swam and my world spun on it's axis as I unlocked Odette's office to messily rummage through a cabinet for the emergency tonic I knew she kept there. I chugged the vial, an avalanche of almost anxious, jittery energy hit me like a freight train - exactly what I needed.

I bought myself a couple hours of time. Cleaning up the sludge around Bucky's feet and removing the outer parts of his gear was easy as he remained as relaxed as a cooked spaghetti noodle. The amount of weapons he had on him was impressive, but those weren't what I was looking for - his phone. It was dead, so I plugged it in, waiting for the 5% to show and bringing it to his fingertips, hoping he used the print recognition instead of the password option... And I lucked out.

"Hello, this is Star, I found a Bucky. Tell Dr. Strange to come get him, he knows where I am." I texted the "Stevie ❤️" contact, my inner fangirl self squealing at the dorky name of his boyfriend's contact in Bucky's phone. Shortly afterwards, I went ahead and snapped a picture of myself next to sleeping Bucky, figuring out some actual proof wouldn't do any harm in this bizarre situation.

The answer didn't let me wait long. "10 minutes" came the first text, and shortly afterwards - "Is Bucky okay??????". I had to snort at the amount of question marks before honestly replying "He will be ☺️" and putting the phone back in Bucky's pocket. I cleaned up and attempted to lift Bucky up, succeeding in waking him up into a half-lucid state, probably courtesy of decades of training and whatnot, to at least drag him to the front of the store. I wasn't particularly comfortable with strangers seeing the backrooms.

Bucky leaned with his back against the counter, ass flat on the floor and a towel with a cold compress pressed to his head when the doors all but flew open, revealing Captain Rogers, still in uniform and Stephen Strange, arguing with his boyfriend, both still suited up and bloody and grimy.

"Uhh," I blinked owlishly, causing the men to stop bickering and stare first at me, then at Bucky. "I think he hit his head," I offered weakly, backing up slightly at the amount of burning eyes staring at me.

"Shortcake, that you?" Tony's eyebrows rose as he surveyed the bodega, the items on the shelves, the black and red blood stains on my previously pristine, yellow shirt.

"Now is not the time, Tony. Go with Rogers, make sure the medical is prepared for Barnes and disable his arm," Strange barked out authoritatively, shooting me a puzzled but compassionate look. "The portal is open. I'll talk to Star, find out what happened." He advanced towards me as Captain picked up Bucky bridal-style as tenderly as he could while making sure the compress stayed on.

"Keep that tone fo the bedroom," Tony's voice was more than displeased as he shot me and Strange a hurt look, but followed Steve into the golden circle right outside the door before it sparked shut.

"Now, now, what happened here?" The sorcerer's voice lowered into a soothing drawl as I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. My shoulders sagged, fingers twitching with anxious energy. The man extended a gloved hand, briefly squeezing my shoulder. "It's alright, take your time."

Damn, did I look that bad?

Taglist: @couldntbedamned @mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @mostly-marvel-musings @persephonehemingway @schemefrenzy @lillsxd @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites

#bun writes #practical alchemy #tony stark x reader x stephen strange #tony stark x reader #Stephen Strange x reader

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