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kiridarling · 3 years

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[a/n: is this a week late? yes. happy belated-valentine's day angels <3]

—ᴛʜɪs ɪs ᴀɴ 𝟷𝟾+ ʙʟᴏɢ. ᴍɪɴᴏʀs ᴅɴɪ

𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐢 𝐁𝐚𝐤𝐮𝐠𝐨𝐮; 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐇𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐥

→ Definitely went to work that day

→ Not a huge romantic but wake up to find a hot breakfast with a note left on the counter.

Happy Valentines Day, dumbass. Love you.

— k.b

→ When he returns from work, Katsuki buys you roses and shoves them into your chest with an eye roll. You thank him and he responds with a grunt before insisting you put on something nice because he’s taking you out on a dinner date whether you like it or not.

→ Katsuki takes you to the fanciest restaurant—so fancy you feel a little bad that he has to pay, even despite his Pro Hero status. But you’re his, and spoiling you might as well be his love language.

→ Halfway through dinner, Katsuki starts getting a little frisky. Sliding the rough leather of his oxfords up the inside of your thigh, winking and biting his lip. You tell him to stop but you only half-mean it, and the knowing grin on his face lets you know he knows.

"Careful, baby. You don't want the waitress to know how much of a dirty slut you are, do you?”

→ He’s condescending as fuck but you’re totally here for it, and the second he pays for the meal you two are speeding down the highway to a love hotel (per Katsuki’s plan, apparently). You barely make it to the bedroom before you’re all over each other, and if it weren’t for that family of four in the elevator, you definitely wouldn’t have.

→ He tells you to get on the bed and strip, and who are you to deny him of such a luxury? He pulls a plastic black bag out of a different bag—it’s clearly full. With what, you may ask?

→ Sex toys!

→ Katsuki’s endgame is simple—make you cum until you can’t anymore. Not that he’s told you explicitly, but he’s got a Hitachi pressed to your sex and two fingers slamming into you just the way you like it. With your wrists comfortably tied above your head, it doesn’t take him long to bring you to your climax, cheeks burning and thighs shaking.

→ Peering at you under the sweaty mess of ash-blond hair, the fire in Katsuki's eyes only adds fuel to the burning of your gut as the vibrator continues whirr. The realization settles in with a shiver. Oh. Oh fuck, he's not stopping.

“Again.”

→ So, you cum again. And again, and again, and by the time you’re on the fifth it gets a bit hard to feel your toes and you’re so sensitive your thighs burn. All you want is his cock, but for some reason, it’s fucking impossible for him to give it to you.

→ Upon voicing your concerns, Katsuki’s devilish smile only grows wider.

“You want this cock that bad, slut? Yeah? Fine then, fuckin’ choke on it.”

→ It’s basically cannon that one of Katsuki’s favorite things to do is watch you struggle to take all of him, but in this position, all you can do is lay back with bound hands as he fucks your face. It’s sloppy and your eyes and throat burn, but it's totally worth it to hear Katsuki fall apart in your mouth.

“S-So good—fuck—such a good whore, taking all of me, aren’t you?”

→ Katsuki pulls out before he cums in your throat in favor of flipping your limp body into downward dog and stuffing you full of cock in one swift move, the bastard.

→ Katsuki’s never been one to take things slow in bed—to him, it’s all hard and fast and now. You’re scrambling for purchase in the sheets as he pounds into that sweet spot he knows you love, and you feel your fully spent sex twitching back to life anyway. Fuck, fuck. Are you going to cum again?

→ Katsuki seems to catch onto this as well, sweaty chest dropping against your back and the cool of his dog tag tickling your neck as his hand rubs between your legs, muttering dirty nothings in your ear.

“You gonna cum for me, baby? Yeah? Gonna make a fuckin’ mess all over yourself like the slut you are? Fuckin’ do it. Fuckin—fuck—”

→ You two cum at the same time, toes curling and ribcage shuddering, and then—

→ Darkness.

→ You wake up in a few hours, properly clean in fresh sheets. Turns out baby boy fucked you so hard you passed out, but it's okay because he’s found reruns of your favorite show on and is fully prepared with water and snacks.

→ (And he’ll never tell you, but he fully panicked and called Eijirou. Obviously, he knew you were alive, but…what if you passed out because of a problem? A concussion? Internal bleeding, maybe?)

→ (Eijirou ensures him that though this should NOT happen every time, it can happen from exhaustion. To say Katsuki relaxes after that is an understatement.)

(Stay safe angels <3)

And speaking of Eijirou...

𝐄𝐢𝐣𝐢𝐫𝐨𝐮 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐚; 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐤𝐞

→ Definitely did not go to work that day.

→ Today, Eijirou plans to treat you like the princess you are. Cooks you breakfast in bed (after almost burning down the kitchen trying to make bacon but shhh we don’t talk about that) books you a full day spa and has Mina take you shopping for a new outfit for your "fancy date" that night.

→ The location? A surprise.

→ It’s dark by the time you and Mina pull up, but the moment you hop out the car she speeds away. Um. She could’ve at least said bye.

"[Y/N?]"

→ Looks like Eijirou brought you to a lake. You wonder who helped him bundle the fairy lights in the trees and set up the picnic because knowing your man and his coordination, it would’ve taken a forever for him to set this up.

→ But all those thoughts shatter the second you see that he’s on his knees, clutching a velvet box with a gorgeous diamond ring sat in the center. Not too flashy, but not too dull.

“U-Uh.”

→ Eijirou swallows then blinks, the only sign that he’s the least bit nervous for this.

“See…I swear I had planned something to say, but you look…holy shit, um—stunning, you look stunning.”

→ His compliment goes over your head though. Of course it does, he’s holding an engagement ring. He chuckles, averting his eyes to the ground.

“Listen, um, you can say no...B-But uh, I love you a lot—obviously—and I’ve been thinking about this a lot, kind of, because you’re like…the love of my life, ya know? I mean, I know everyone says that and everything but like, I really mean it? But if I’m going too fast o-or you just don’t wanna get married or something, I totally get it because obviously this is outta the blue and everything b-but um…yeah.”

→ You let him stutter through the whole thing because, well. It’s cute.

→ ...And then you tackle Eijirou to the ground with renewed passion and slam your lips onto his. His “babe! The ring!” is muffled but you snort anyway, blindly groping for it through the grass. The moment you find it, you shove it into his palm and stick your hand in his face, and with a (very sexy) chuckle, the redhead slides it onto your ring finger.

“I’ll take that as a yes then?”

→ No shit, Sherlock.

→ Either way, the picnic in the dark is abandoned in favor of yanking Eijirou's pants off and giving him the best head of his life. Because goddammit, you love this man so much and he needs to feel it.

→ Afterward, he insists on returning the favor. A wild Gentle Dom Kiri appears and as he eats you out, he mutters a deadly combination of the sweetest and dirtiest things you’ve ever heard.

“Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and wet. And it’s all for me, isn’t it, baby?"

“You’re gonna cum, angel? Do it. Cum all over Daddy’s face.”

→ Once you semi-recover from your orgasm, he flips you on your hands and knees and slowly pushes inside of you (though not without putting on a condom because safety first, angels). You tell him to speed up, but he denies your request. This time around, Eijirou's going to take the time to love you.

→ As he slowly fucks you under the stars, he dips his chin into your neck as his bigger hands encompass your own. As he starts to play with the ring on your finger, you watch something wet hit the picnic blanket, followed by a sniffle.

“Gosh, fuck—I love you so much. A-And I’m really happy you said yes. I…”

→ You cum first and Eijirou isn’t far behind, shuddering against your spine. Your fiancé unceremoniously rolls onto the picnic blanket next to you, his temple kissing the crest of your skull as the two of you use the comfortable silence to cool down, half-naked under the milky way.

→ In your comfortable silence, you lift your left hand to the stars, fingers splayed to reveal the twinkling diamond solidifying the bond between the two of you. Eijirou hums, hooking his chin on your shoulder.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

𝐃𝐞𝐧��𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐢; 𝐒𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲

→ Both of you are painfully single and most importantly, strangers. Strangers who think alike and had the glorious forethought to drown your sorrows at a nightclub with a lot of alcohol.

→ Denki, as he does, accidentally knocks over his liquor-filled cup, completely drenching your bottoms. He apologizes and insists on helping you clean up though getting awfully close to your crotch, but both of you are too tipsy to notice.

→ After the liquor spill, you swap embarrassing love stories and lament over the “hardships of being single.” (Denki’s words.)

→ A few hours pass. You’re tired and ready to go home and Denki requests to walk you home to make sure you get back safely. Not that you live far, maybe ten minutes, but by the time you reach your door, you feel like you've known the electric blond your whole life. After saying goodbye and almost closing the door, Denki blurts out a half-drunken confession...or something like that:

“I—uh, y-you are—uhm, no…this is—“

→ You give him a look, a half-smile at best, and it seems to churn the gears in his brain again.

“This was uhm, really fun and uh, I think you’re really cool.”

→ So naturally, when you invite him inside, he squeals.

→ After a few more drinks and a few more spillages (Denki’s never been a deft drunk), you two finally get over your inner thoughts and start kissing on the couch. It’s hot and messy, and the alcohol in your veins makes it oh, so hot.

→ Denki doesn’t expect you to offer head but when you do he nearly cries, scrambling to pull his pants off while you make space for yourself between his thighs. Due to the fact that there’s alcohol pumping in Denki’s veins and he hasn't been touched by someone else in at least a year, he’s extra-sensitive. And vocal.

"F-Fuck gorgeous, you're so good at this...o-oh shit, do that again—yeah, yeah just like that."

→ His hips quiver, and he bucks into your mouth on accident. It earns him a glare and a light slap on the thigh, and you make a mental note to unpack the broken moan that interrupts his apology later.

→ It doesn't take Denki a long time to cum—five minutes max. He plans to give you a warning but his orgasm runs up on the electric blond so quickly he doesn't even get a warning. When Denki orgasms in your mouth with a choked moan, it's only natural that you pull away in alarm, ribbons of semi-translucent cum flying just about everywhere.

→ To say you're pissed is an understatement (because your poor, poor carpet), but Denki feels terrible and is already reaching for the roll of paper towels you left on the coffee table from your cleaning spree this morning, apologies flying out of his mouth like an auctioneer.

→ Obviously, he's going to make it up to you. Not only for making an absolute mess in your living room (seriously, Denki doesn't know if he's ever come that much in his life) but for the bomb head, and he wants to make you feel just as good as you made him feel.

→ Both of you stumble to your room, the mood miraculously rekindled, and you're not sure what to make of Denki's desperation as he claws at your bottoms, pupils blown to the size of dinner plates. And though it's cheesy, you can't help but shiver when he finally gets eyes on your sex, wetting his bottom lip and the grip around your thigh tightening as he catcalls the apex between your thighs before diving in.

"Hello pretty~"

→ Like any pervert with a vivid imagination, Denki's got a mental warehouse of sex tips and tricks and burns to watch you squirm from his touch. He wants you red-faced and breathless and isn’t shy about it, actively paying attention to your reactions when he curls his fingers or uses his tongue just right.

"Oh, you taste so good sweet thing. So pretty and wet...did I do all this, gorgeous?”

→ Also, electro-stimulation? Yes please.

→ Denki's tentative about it at first because he’s not sure how you’ll react, but once you give him that pretty little moan you've been holding back all evening, you two are going nowhere but hell.

→ His dick hurts from being hard for so long and the second you cum, he’s practically begging to fuck you.

“Please? Please gorgeous? Shit, you felt so good in my mouth I just wanna—I need to—please?”

→ Like you needed any convincing in the first place.

→ You ride him per his request—and will definitely make you repeat things back to him, just because he likes how embarrassed and blushy you get. If you refuse? He’ll be an absolute tease about it. (But only for a bit, because we all know his patience isn’t that great.)

"Yeah? You like this cock? Tell me. Tell me how good my cock makes you feel, gorgeous."

→ There's no way Denki lasts very long (again)—definitely with you in his lap. When he cums, it’s cute and breathless, and his nose scrunches into his eyes. But if he came twice, you should too right?

→ The next morning, Denki's gone. But in his place, there’s a note with his number and an explanation:

had to go to work! lol i have the fattest hangover kill me now ty. either way, you should text me. i wasn't kidding when i said i thought you were cool lol.

(xxx)-xxx-xxxx

— kaminari

[a/n: gah XD my brain melted from writing that um-

also don’t worry about the family of four at the love hotel...they were...um...forced to stay there due to an emergency...lol :) see you soon, angels <3]

#— 𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 #— 𝐄𝐈𝐉𝐈𝐑𝐎𝐔 #— 𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐊𝐈 #bnha headcanons #bakugou headcanons #denki headcanons #kirishima headcanon #bnha fanfiction #bakugou smut #denki smut #kirishima smut #bakugou x reader #denki x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha smut

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and-the-paradime-shifts · 3 years

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I saw @petrichormeraki’s Poultry Man chronicles and have been low-key obsessed. So I wrote a thing! It’s based off an art submission they got, which you can find here

TW: MENTIONS OF BLOOD, INJURIES AND EXTREME GUILT

Enjoy!

Doctor Cyber grinned beneath his helmet, finally, he had Poultry Man. The weapon had worked, knocking that bird out of the sky, and sending him careening into the street below. He stood above the defeated ‘hero’, and picked him up, throwing him over his shoulder, and taking off into the sky, much to the surrounding crowd’s horror.

The creeper hybrid flew back to his base, Poultry Man not stirring even once. Perhaps it hadn’t been such a good idea to hit him with the ray while he was so high up, he didn’t want Poultry Man to get more injured than necessary, he just wanted him off the streets, to keep his friends and family safe from the feathered menace.

“Bring Poultry Man to the lab,” came Scar’s voice over the comm. “I’ve got a containment cell ready for him.”

Doc grunted in acknowledgement, and altered his flight path towards the side of the entrance closest to the lab.

“Prep the med-kit,” Doc said as he landed, when Poultry Man still hadn’t stirred. “I think the crash landing hurt him more than we anticipated.”

“Alright,” Scar replied, a tinge of worry tracing through his voice.

~~~

By the time Doc had reached the lab, Scar had both a containment cell, and a medical bed ready for Poultry Man. Gently, Doc laid the bird-man on the bed, and Scar quickly began to examine his limbs, checking the extent of the damage. Scar furrowed his eyebrows in worry when the hero continued to remain still, especially when he had to pop his shoulder back into its socket.

“This is worse than we thought.” He said to himself. “I’ve never heard anyone, not even an unconscious person, who didn’t at the very least flinch when they get a bone popped back into place.”

Scar quickly grabbed one of the overhanging machines, and began to scan Poultry Man. His gasped sharply as the scan completed, eyes wide with shock and fear.

Doc, now without his helmet and battle suit noticed as he walked over to Scar. “What’s wrong, Scar?” He looked down at the so-called ‘hero’, and back to his friend. “I know I roughed him up a bit, but he’s gotten up from worse.”

Scar, shaking slightly, merely pushed the tablet displaying the scan over to him. “No, he hasn’t.” Scar murmured, almost too soft to hear.

Doc was confused, what did Scar mean by that? And skeptically took the tablet. He too, let out a noise of horror as he realized what it read.

A full body x-ray was displayed on the screen, almost every bone highlighted with at least a break, or multiple cracks. Every rib was cracked in multiple places, at least three were broken, his left arm had shattered, a severe concussion, at least three dislocated joints. No wonder the hero hadn’t stirred. His body shut down to prevent causing further damage, and with this many broken bones? The man was lucky to be alive.

Doc finally managed to tear his eyes away from the screen, and met Scar’s gaze as he bandaged the multiple large gashes across Poultry Man’s body. “His bones are hollow.” He said solemnly. “He’s lucky to be alive.”

The realization hit Doc like a truck. In his quest to protect his friends and family, he’d almost killed someone. His legs felt like jello, but the creeper hybrid forced himself to take deep, shaky breaths and remain calm. He hadn’t killed Poultry Man. He would recover. And Doc had finally taken the menace off the streets.

Reassuring himself, Doc manages to stand up straight once more. “Do you need anything else while you’re fixing him up?” He asks Scar, who has moved on from bandages to setting the broken bones as best he can, and putting them into casts.

“I think I’m good,” Scar responds, finishing up the final cast. “The only thing left would be… the mask.” He says hesitantly. “He probably needs bandages on his head, but I wanted to wait for you to recover before I took it off.” The scarred man considers his next words for a moment. “This should be something we do together.”

Doc nods in acknowledgment, and the two move to the bird-hero’s head. Scar gently lifts his head off the pillow, and Doc, as gently as he can’t, pulls off the chicken-like headpiece. This is what they’d been waiting to do since they started this mission to end Poultry Man’s reign, something they’d been dreaming of for so long. They thought that they’d be ready for whoever was under that mask.

They weren’t.

Twin cries of shock echoed through Area 77, as Scar and Doc stared at the true face of Poultry Man. Only it wasn’t- it couldn’t be him! That would mean that they’d been hunting their friend for months, it would mean that they almost killed someone they considered family multiple times; and that he was now unconscious- potentially in a coma- because of them.

It didn’t matter that the hero’s face was battered, that it was bruised, bloody, and swollen. It was unmistakable. Poultry Man was Grian.

Grian was Poultry Man.

And Doc had nearly killed him.

Both men were in shock, just short of outright refusing to believe it. But the proof was right there, laying in front of them. Doc collapsed to the floor, sobs beginning to rack this body. And Scar was no better, blindly going through the motions of cleaning Poul- no, Grian’s wounds, hoping that by giving hands something to do, he could keep his mind off of their discovery.

It didn’t work.

Both men kept going through every interaction with Grian and Poultry Man that they could remember, the missing pieces falling into place. Grian, always sore, or just not present any time after Poultry Man had a fight, how the two were never in the same place at the same time, Grian would leave, and Poultry Man would show up. The excuses, the constant tardiness Grian demonstrated after Poultry Man showed up? It all finally made sense.

When Scar finished bandaging, he went and sat at a table, silent tears running down his face as he processed everything. Doc had started pacing across the room, guilt crawling up his throat and threatening to choke him. He looked at Grian again, the shallow breaths and stillness so unfitting on their friend.

“Scar,” Doc asked as he looked. Scar picked up his head to see Doc’s eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Are we the bad guys?”

#myctblr #myct #angst #parafic #the poultry man chronicles #poultry man chronicles au #Hermitcraft #Hermitcraft au #petrichormeraki au #docm77 #doc #goodtimeswithscar #Scar #Grian #poultry man #poultry man au #Hermitcraft superhero au

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vanderlindemorgans · 3 years

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Cross My Heart (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Agent Whiskey x Reader

Rating: Explicit/18+

Summary: A traitorous Agent Whiskey returns to the United States on the run. Being cast out by Statesman, he soon finds that you’re the only person he can turn to - the embittered former flame from years long passed

Word count: 7.5k

Warnings: Eventual smut, some references to alcoholism and drug use. Reader is in her late twenties but there is an age gap between her and Whiskey. Chapter specific warnings: one scene takes place in a hospital, some medical talk, more heavy drinking, talk of death and alcoholism (specifically related to drunk driving), mentions of drug addiction, Whiskey being a dick, lotta heavy topics in general.

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Masterlist

“Alright, so the X-Rays have come back and as you can probably already guess your left arm has been fractured”.

The news hadn’t been a shock to you at all - it was only logical that the result of being thrown off the back of a horse was your arm breaking from the impact of the fall, nevermind the sheer amount of pain that it had already caused you was even more indication that something was definitely wrong there. All things considered, it still wasn’t a pleasant piece of news to receive, causing you to let out a low groan as you settled back into the hospital gurney they had allocated to you after the ambulance had pulled you in. Dressed in only a hospital gown, you felt the chill from the room's air conditioning prick the edges of your skin, the coolness of temperature making the whole experience even more foreign to you. Of course, it wasn’t like you’d never been to a hospital before - an unlucky bout of croup had sent you to the emergency room as a little kid when you’d almost stopped breathing. At the resurgence of that particular memory you felt yourself shudder, recalling the hours spent passed out in a brightly lit room and being forced to drink gross tasting liquid that was meant to clear up your airways. At least you weren’t choking on your own breath this time round.

“Well that’s just fantastic. How long will it take to heal? I kinda got a ranch to run” you asked the doctor, who was standing off to the side consulting the clipboard nestled against his arm. Sighing, he looked up at you with a look of sympathy while he ran through the information he’d jotted down on his notes. “Usually it takes twelve weeks for fractures to heal - given the fact that a good part of your arm has been displaced you’ll need to be put into surgery to shift the bone back into place, which we’ll have scheduled for you in the next twenty-four hours. Afterwards, I’ll be putting you in a cast for a couple of weeks and you’ll have to come back in for checkups weekly. I’ll also give you a list of rehabilitation exercises you can do to ensure the recovery process goes as smoothly as possible” he explained. “After your surgery and subsequent discharge, I heavily recommend a few days bed rest due to the concussion you have sustained”.

“So I’m guessing most physical labour is out then” you muttered under your breath, sighing once you realized how heavily this would impact your ability to keep things running smoothly back at the ranch. Yes, you had employees but without you to oversee everything things would slow down and descend into madness real quickly. You wished you had allocated some sort of second in command for times like this, a manager of sorts to keep things in place while you recovered but you’d just never gotten around to it, brushing the thought aside every time it sprung up with a simple “Why would I need extra help anyway? Nothing ever happens around here”.

“You’d be correct on that. Now, I have some other patients to check on but I will be back in about 20 minutes or so to prep you for surgery, though I will send a nurse to give you some painkillers so you can stop feeling the worst of the pain for at least a little while” he replied. You went to thank him but before you could you felt a light touch graze along your right arm. Your eyes glanced over to where Jack’s hand was placed, his touch delicate and comforting, sparking that same feeling in your chest that you’d felt when he’d stroked your forehead back at the ranch. His eyes met your own for a moment, deep cedar brown looking at you with nothing more than concern and worry, somehow pulling at a single string of your heart even though you wanted to fight against it with all your might.

Snapping you focus back into place, you nodded back over to the doctor and thanked him for all he was doing, listening to his reassurances that he’d have you fixed up as soon as possible as he hurried on out of the room to his next patient in need. Once he was gone, you exhaled in annoyance and went back to staring aimlessly at the ceiling, mulling over the inconvenience of your predicament.

“Everything ok, sugar?” you heard Jack ask you, feeling his enchanting eyes study your expression, his anxiety over your wellbeing plain as day. Letting out a small laugh, you returned his question with a small smile of your own. “Does it look like I’m ok?” you joked, gesturing vaguely to your fractured arm.

He chuckled at your sarcasm, always enjoying that certain fire you had to your character that refused to silence itself. Unbeknownst to you, that was one of things that drew him towards you in the first place - his own air of cockiness and confidence was equally matched by your spitfire and sarcastic wit. Finding out the sweet disposition that lay behind that harshness the first time round had taken him by complete surprise, but only did more to endear himself to you. God, he was such a fool for losing that. He was certain that your sweetness was still there, closed behind even more layers of hurt and pain that he’d caused such a large hand in.

From the moment the ambulance had arrived, Jack had stayed beside you, refusing to leave for even a single moment. It was quite endearing, truth be told, a feeling that attempted to worm its way through your steadfast reasoning against him. He’s a liar. Don’t fall for his shit again, you repeated to yourself. Though it was becoming harder and harder to continue regarding him as your greatest mistake when he was behaving so kindly and gentlemanly towards you. Just a part of his deceptive charm, I guess, you thought bitterly.

“Y’know, you don’t have to worry about things gettin’ outta hand down at the ranch. I’m more than happy to step up and help” he spoke up, snapping your attention back to his words and out of your own contemplation. You thought about his proposal for a minute, the temptation to say yes seeming very appealing towards you, though somehow that felt like admitting to weakness. The ranch wasn’t his responsibility, it was yours, left to you by your dear parents. It was your obligation to run it in their stead - there’d been difficulties along the way, sure, including the occasional nasty cold every now and then but you had pulled through without any trouble. You didn’t need help or any sort of handout, and you were more than capable of taking care of business by yourself, even with a broken arm.

Then again, it is gonna be kinda hard to run a business while being confined to bed rest. Briefly you thought about just closing the ranch for a couple of days while you got back on track yet once you thought about the loss in profits you discarded that idea quickly. It wasn’t like you were struggling to make ends meet but a dip in profits could cause a bit of issue.

“Yeah but...It’s my responsibility. I can’t just ignore that because I got a stupid broken arm” you rebuffed, though you didn’t sound entirely convinced of what you were saying yourself. Sadly, stubbornness was your nature and even if you knew you were fighting a losing battle, sometimes it was more about the principle of having a position rather than whatever thing you were debating over. Some would say that was quite a counterproductive way to look at things, and you’d agree with them, yet you still remained stubborn in spite of them, feeding back into the cycle.

“Darlin’, with all due respect, I think what’s best for you is that you take a step back and let someone else take the reins. You need to allow yourself to rest a lil. Tell me, in all the years of runnin’ the ranch by yourself, have you ever once taken a day off?”.

“No, but-”.

“Exactly as I thought. You’ve been doing an amazing job at keeping things together for all these years, sweetheart, but you gotta relax a bit. Let me help you” he interrupted, gazing at you with those heart-meltingly sweet eyes of his, a look which made you seize up ever so slightly in minor fake annoyance. Little shit, he had to be doing that on purpose.

“Fine, only if it’ll get you to shut up” you relented, rolling your eyes in a dramatic fashion and hitting your head back down into the pillow below, eliciting a playful smirk from him in return. “That’s my girl, stubborn as always” he jested.

To that you cocked an eyebrow at him in disbelief. “Your girl? Careful there, Jack, for a minute I thought you were capable of genuine compassion and care. I may have once been your girl, cowboy, but not anymore. Or did you happen to forget?”.

His own expression softened slightly in regards to your snide remark, his mischievous grin faltering while he turned his gaze to the floor, looking somewhat sheepish towards what you had said, a far cry from his usual air of arrogance. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that” he murmured. “Tell me, sugar, do you ever think one day you’ll believe me when I say that I’m sorry?”.

“When pigs fly, dearest” you smiled with a shit-eating grin, though you couldn’t miss that momentary flash of hurt in his eyes that made you pull back, a sharp pang striking through your chest that hurt harder than the agonizing ache in your arm, which really, was saying something. Could that be...guilt, perhaps?, you thought, searching Jack’s face for any further sign of offense. If he was feeling hurt, he was doing a pretty stellar job at hiding it. Maybe it was nothing, and even if he was hurt, well, he said it himself, he deserved it. Without giving you another minute to ponder your own feelings, a welcome interruption in the arrival of a nurse found you, shifting your thoughts towards the relief of finally getting some painkillers into you.

___

The surgery had gone over well, and after a grueling day spent hanging out in that hospital room hopped up on painkillers you were finally discharged late afternoon the following day. The worst of your concussion had cleared itself up too yet you were still confined to your bed for those first few days - the doctor was insistent on that fact, saying you could never be too careful. You’d begrudgingly complied, not wanting to cause any further problems to your health, and even if you had tried to go against the doctor’s orders, you knew that Jack would be there to send you off back to bed if you dared lift a finger.

Jack had doted on you the entire time, making sure you were well hydrated and cool enough in the midst of the hot Texas summer, fetching you snacks and whatever else you needed from downstairs. In his own words, what kind of man would he be if he didn’t take care of an ailing woman. You’d rolled your eyes and insisted that he didn’t have to go all out with looking after you yet he’d insisted. It was somewhat heartwarming, and it felt nice to be taken care of again after those last few years alone. It reminded you of when you’d come down with the flu back in third grade, staying home in bed lazily watching television and barely being able to keep your eyes open while your mum made soup in the kitchen. You could feel your heart drop at the mere recollection of your parents, pain that stayed beneath the surface rising up in full force. Usually you pushed those feelings down, not wanting to become distracted from the business, but today, you allowed yourself the indulgence of missing them. What would they think if they could see you now? Would they be proud, or disappointed?

Feeling your stomach grumble, you shifted over in bed and reached your only good arm out to grab onto the half-eaten grilled cheese Jack had brought in for you five minutes before, letting out a low wince at the pain that writhed through your other arm, which had been placed into a cast and sling for the time being. Already you couldn’t wait for the day you could get the damned thing taken off - you hadn’t been able to shower and you felt grotty and gross. It wasn’t like you had to impress anyone, it was just you and Jack lying about the place. Still, you could only take so many days of waking up with unwashed greasy hair. And it was itchy too. Oh dear god, it was fucking itchy. You’d heard about how itchy the plaster could get second-hand but you never anticipated it to be that bad.

Directing your eyes to the clock on your bedside, you took notice of the time and let out a small relieved sigh. You could finally take another one of those painkillers, the fourth and dismally last one for you of the day.

Your relief quickly fizzled out into disappointment when you realised the packet of painkillers that had been sitting by your bedside was empty. “Seriously? It’s only been a few days, I couldn’t have gone through them already…” you muttered to yourself in annoyance. Nevermind, there was another packet downstairs. You may have been perfectly capable of getting out of bed and retrieving it yourself, though you found yourself not wanting to be bothered with such a task. “Hey Jack, you there? I ran out of painkillers, could ya run some up to me?” you called out.

“Sure thing, sweetheart” you heard him shout back, and no more than two minutes later he was striding through your bedroom door, carrying exactly what you had requested within his palms. “How are you feelin’?” he asked.

“No better than six minutes ago when you last asked me that. Thanks for bringing these up though, fuck that stupid horse for bucking me off” you grumbled, sniping the blessed white packet out of his hands and into your fingers. “Pain making you grumpy, sweet girl? You seem a bit more full of spitfire than usual today” he joked.

“Nah, you’re getting the discounted version today. If I wanted to vocalise exactly what I was feeling right now you’d be obliterated in a second” you laughed, chucking a tablet into your mouth and washing it down with a large gulp of water, anxious to feel some semblance of relief.

“You don’t say. How’s your head doing, though? No dizziness or anything like that?”.

“I’m fine, Jack, I promise. You don’t have to fawn all over me just because I broke my dumb arm” you assured, rolling your eyes at him.

“I wouldn’t call in fawning, I only want to make sure you're comfortable and all that. Not only because of your arm and all” he smiled gently, reaching out to brush a stray hair off your forehead. It could have been the heat of the room but you could have sworn your skin felt on fire the moment he touched you. You could feel him press the back of his fingers against your head, unconsciously allowing your breath to hitch at his touch. And just like that, the warmth of his hand was gone, leaving an invisible searing mark in its place and your own head full of frenzied and confused thoughts.

“Like I said earlier, just call out if you need anything else, alright darlin’?” he said as he was leaving, words that you didn’t care to take notice of as he left you to yourself again. Blinking slowly, you couldn’t even fully begin to describe what had just taken place, or why one little gesture was throwing your mind into somersaults. Why did his mere touch have to affect you like that? Why couldn’t he just leave you alone? Groaning loudly, you settled yourself underneath the sheet covering you and huffed at nobody in particular, cursing both yourself and him for even existing. For fucks sake...

___

Taking a sip of bourbon from your glass, you leaned against the side of the stairs of the veranda with your gaze fixated off into the distance, though you didn’t take any notice of what lay ahead, lost deep in your own thoughts that clouded your mind. It’d been a couple more days, and you’d finally been able to get out of bed and get back to helping out around the ranch - not that you were still of any use to anyone, given the state of your arm. It felt good to be back overseeing things, albeit a bit more behind the scenes than you had been in years. It’d be a good month or so before you were able to move your arm properly and have things back to normal. At first that fact did nothing short of irritating you, since you weren’t one to lie about helpless when work needed to be done. Over the last few days though, seeing the ranch go about with business as usual with Jack’s extra help had put you at ease a little. It still bothered you somewhat that you had to be asking any sort of help from Jack Daniels of all people, though really, he was the one offering it in the first place so you hadn’t so much as asked him to do anything, moreso conceding to his instistance at the behest of your stubbornness.

The pain was getting a little better too, though whether that had more to do with the painkillers or not remained to be seen. For example, you couldn’t feel anything now but you had just ingested two glasses of pure straight bourbon, so of course any type of pain would be numbed. Remember when it could numb more than just that? You let out a small snicker at the thought, sounding as hollow and empty as it felt. Once upon a time you might have been classed as relatively lightweight, a fact that changed after years of the trials and tribulations life had thrown your way. You still got drunk easy, but it took a good few glasses before you actually passed out.

“You know, you should let me sign that for ya”.

Hearing that familiar voice ring out from behind you, you swivel around so see its owner standing right in the opened doorway of your home, his hands casually resting in his pockets and his frame leant against the wall. “What are we, in middle school? I don’t want it getting dirty” you scoffed, rolling your eyes at him for good measure.

He smirked right back at you, letting out a small snicker that mirrored your own. “Why not? It’s not like you're gonna have to be wearin’ it forever. A little scribble in permanent marker wouldn’t do ya any harm” Jack grinned, taking a large step forward to descend down to your level, seating himself right next to you on the veranda. You cocked an eyebrow at him, letting your fingertips trail over the edge of the glass in your hands while you stared at him with utter audacity. “And yet I know you’re only so persistent in signing it because you’ll write something crude or vaguely flirty” you snipped.

“How little you think of me, sugar. I’d never dream of doin’ such a thing. I am nothing if not a gentleman”.

“Oh, do cut the charm, Jack. What is it you want?”.

“Please, can’t a man share a glass of bourbon with a lady without being subjected to the Spanish Inquisition?” he asked, wearing his devilish and frustratingly charming grin as he spoke, the appearance of which you swore made your cheeks flush a little bit hotter. Probably because of the alcohol...and it is hot out here after all...

“Not this lady, cowboy” you stated, gulping down the last dredges of bourbon in your glass and placing it back down to the floor with a thud. You went to go grab the bottle from beside you but found Jack had already snatched it up, pouring you another glass. Mumbling out a small thank you, you considered asking him if he wants a glass of his own, however once you caught sight of his silver Statesman issued flask in his hands you dismissed the idea entirely. With nothing else left to say, you glanced back up to the sky above towards where the moon was hanging over you two, the delicate light illuminating the stretches of countryside around your property in a soft glow, one that was both enchanting and eerie at the same time. Every now and then you would be reminded of how beautiful the Texan countryside could look, whether it be bathed in the rays of that damned blistering sun or the enigmatic glimmer of moonlight. It could pull you back to moments lost in time, years ago sitting right where you were in that very same spot, seven years younger and with the exact same man sitting beside you, head rested on his shoulder and looking out into the vast expanse of midnight black. Funny how things change, don’t they?

Out the corner of your eye you saw Jack shake his head, his eyes quiet, the sparkle of stark confidence bordering on plain arrogance missing. It was a similar look to the one he’d given you at the hospital that night, before he’d tried to cover it up with a certain facade of indifference. “What will it take for you to believe I’m sorry? What happened between us, it was all-” he started before being unceremoniously cut off by your interjection.

“In the past? I’m well aware of that. Doesn’t change how I feel” you stopped him. You’d anticipated him throwing out that line from day one and you’d come prepared. Shut it down. Don’t let him try to swindle you for a fool.

His expression changed to one more serious, a hint of him being slightly miffed that you cut him off in the first place. “Let me finish, darlin’. I’m gonna level with you for a second - what I did to you was one of the worst mistakes of my life. Letting everything fall apart like it did, I never should have let it happen” he expressed, his tone straddling between being firm and also being gentle. Cocking an eyebrow at him, you turned back to your glass of liquor, swirling the liquid around idly in a way that reminded you of that persistent thought running round your head. Did he have a point? Were you being too harsh on him?

Don’t become soft on him. Don’t do it. You shifted back into focus, pushing those thoughts far to the back of your tipsy mind while you took a couple large sips of liquor as if it were a lifeline. “Worse than whatever mistake led you to showing up on my doorstep?” you asked, eager to direct the conversation right back out of that uncomfortable territory and into something a bit more easier to stomach. Maybe later on you could ponder the true depths of your perceptions of Jack. Right now, though, you wanted to get wasted and not have to think about anything anymore. And hey, it’s not like I wasn’t wondering about the events that led him here in the first place anyway.“You never did tell me what happened. I know you said it was none of my concern but...I want to know. Call it a spate of drunken curiosity, if ya want”.

The question alone was enough to draw Jack’s face from being merely serious to an expression more cold and distant. He looked away from you entirely and rested his gaze to the few steps below the two of you, his hand clenching in a subconscious act that alone was enough to tell you his own reservations regarding the topic. “Truth is, I’ve been fucking things up for a good couple of years. What happened to lead me here, well, it ain’t a pretty story”.

“I don’t care, Jack, I wanna know” you asserted, surging with a sense of fiery confidence. It might have been the alcohol giving you a bit more moxie to push the topic. One thing was for sure though: you wanted answers, and you didn’t wanna let this go. Stretching your legs out, you finished off the glass you had while you waited for him to reply, not wanting to cave to your request even if he was looking at you like you’d threatened to kill the President.

Finally, he let out a low groan of annoyance and leant against the side of the veranda, not affording you a single look as he launched into his tale. “Basically what happened is some agents from an English based secret service came over to the states as a last resort - their base got blown up by someone and the two guys that approached us were the only ones left alive. Well, them and this other guy we had at our headquarters, but that’s a whole other story. The people behind the attack were a group called the Golden Circle, and Statesman had already been investigating them for awhile. I was called in by Champ to partner up with the Kingsman fellas, do the regular secret agent spiel of espionage and savin’ the world and all that crap. But, me and these other agents, we had an...ideological disagreement. I was covertly tryin’ to hinder them until the older guy got wise to my shit and shot me in the head. Ginger managed to bring me in and revive me, I went over to Cambodia where the two agents were confronting the leader of the Golden Circle, and to make a long story short things got nasty pretty quickly. I barely escaped with my life” he explained.

You nodded along to his explanation, the load of information being a lot to take in the first time round. You were always somewhat aware of Jack’s position as a secret agent though you were never privy to the nitty and gritty details - in fact, the way you’d found out about it in the first place was by complete accident and Jack had to beg Agent Champ to allow you to become cleared on even knowing the basics of his true work behind the front of being a Statesman investor. “And these ideological disagreements were…?” you pushed.

“Trust me, you don’t wanna know” he deflected.

“Try me”.

He didn’t reply to you straight away, instead staring at you with a stark look of confliction across his face, an inner turmoil brewing inside of him on whether or not he should tell you even more. Being cast out as a traitor, he didn’t have to worry about breaking any sort of rule of confidentiality, so if you had to wager a guess at what his dilemma was, then it must have been that he felt mildly ashamed, or even embarrassed about the whole situation. In your mind though, you’d let him keep his secrets for weeks now, but if he was going to stay in your house you wanted to at the bare minimum know what he did that was so bad that he simply couldn’t return back home anymore. “Well go on then, hit me with your best shot” you prodded further, hopefully enough to get his demeanour to crack and for him to spill what exactly the entire fuss had been about. And sure enough, crack he did.

Running a hand across his forehead, he let out a low exasperated sigh, one that would have been inaudible if you hadn’t been seated beside him, indicating the exact moment he finally decided to break his own silence and reveal everything to you. “The Golden Circle were primarily a drug cartel and terrorist organization based out in the hidden depths of the Cambodian jungle. Their leader had devised a plot that involved lacing their distribution of drugs with a new type of chemical she created that caused death. Since their supply was mass distributed over the globe, they were holding the entire populace of drug users and addicts hostage to their respective governments, demanding a payout for the antidote. They didn’t, however, anticipate the President and other world leaders not really giving a red hot shit about the lives of junkies. Being the noble men they are, the Kingsman agents as well as the rest of Statesman were striving to get ahold of the antidote to save all those people. And that, is where me and them disagreed” Jack elaborated, avoiding your gaze in what appeared to be a calculated move in order to refrain from seeing your reactions to his admittance. In the span of two minutes, your expression had shifted from intense curiosity to straight up bafflement at what he was saying. It didn’t make sense - why was he against distributing the antidote? He was a secret agent, wasn’t he meant to save the world and innocent lives and all that?

“Let me get this straight - you were assigned on a mission to try to save the lives of innocent people, and you chose...not to do that” you asked, your tone laced with judgment. Not that you had intended for what you said to have come across any different. If what he was implying was right, then that would mean...

“Well, when you put it like that, sure, it sounds awful. I will concede, it wasn’t my best move. But all the people who ingested those drugs did so willingly. They knew they were taking a gamble on their lives the moment they stuck a damn needle into their arms” Jack grumbled defensively, allowing you to gawk back at him in utter disbelief. “Jack, no, you can’t seriously believe that? So what you’re saying is that the kid that decided to get high with his mates one weekend at a party deserves to die? Is that right?”.

“No, no, I didn’t mean like that, I just…”.

“Really? ‘Cause it sounds a lot like you’re saying that innocent people should die for their poor choices” you cut in, shaking your head to further drive your point in. “Jesus, just when I thought you couldn’t be a bigger asshole you proved me wrong”.

“Sweetheart, please, I know. It was a mistake, you don’t have to keep rubbing it in”.

“You know it’s a mistake, but do you truly feel it? Do you really feel remorse? Because if you don’t then it’s just a bunch of empty words” you rebuffed, shooting him with a cold piercing glare that could make an entire continent freeze over. Around about this time, you really began to take notice of the dazed feeling clouding you, every glass of liquor draining straight into your brain and making you feel like your entire head was swimming. Maybe take it easy on the next glass, why don’t ya? With that thought, you shoved the glass off to the side with your free arm and bit your lip, debating whether or not you should even say what you wanted to next. That debate, however, did not last very long as you found yourself blurting out exactly what was on your mind within two seconds of your last thought. “Jack, look...maybe I’ll hate myself for saying this later, and maybe it’s just the liquor talking but I don’t think you’re an inherently bad person. I think you’re an arrogant son of a bitch who does cruel stupid things but probably has a decent enough heart. You just...you gotta stop with this shit. Stop with the betrayals, and the lies, and the false promises, all of it, and just be the real you. The Jack I knew may be a prick but he was never one to let an innocent die on his watch. What’s really behind all this?”.

He continued to glare from his position beside you, somewhat intent on making you recant and drop the whole subject entirely. You wouldn’t go down that easy though, and he knew it, for as stubborn as Jack was you were at least ten times moreso, so when he folded first and trained his eyes low to the ground, you knew that he’d finally conceded. You could feel a whole shift in his demeanour from where you sat, the mask of defensive anger slowly falling away to reveal what was truly underneath: hurt. Pure, raw, unbridled hurt. Anguish that felt especially familiar to you and spoke to a part of yourself that you’d been turning away from for years, and even before he said those words you knew exactly what he was going to say.

“Years ago, before I became an agent to Statesman, I was married to the young woman I’d fallen for in high school. I think I told you about her in passing maybe once, or twice, I don’t know…” Jack started, trailing off once he began to fully re-immerse himself in the past, heartache plainly sewn across his features. It was then that you felt an ache of your own in your chest, a heavy feeling of guilt descending upon you once you realised the gravity of what he was saying. “I remember. You said her name was Lily, wasn’t it?” you murmured, your voice small and unsure, with a hint of something else present too. Regret? Guilt? Whatever it was, you couldn’t quite put a name to it, but it was there, strong as anything and clearly wasn’t going away any time soon.

Jack let out a small hum in reply, everything about his composure presumably a million miles away from everything around the both of you.“So you do remember” he muttered, brushing his fingers over the edge of his silver flask that he had cradled in his handles, tracing the Statesman logo engraved on the side with the pad of his thumb. “I remember you askin’ me about her the first time you came back to my apartment in New York - you saw the photo of her I kept on my desk and asked who she was. I only told you briefly that she was long gone, but I never told you how. The both of us were only twenty-three, and she was pregnant with our first child, a baby boy. Last time I saw her she left the house to go to the convenience store a few streets over”. He stopped himself for a split second, the darkness of his eyes being the all-too recognisable sign of falling deep into his own recollection, feeling as if he was reliving every memory that he revisited in his mind. “Twenty minutes later I get a phone call from a cop, saying there’d been an incident. Meth addicts had robbed the store at gunpoint and she’d been caught in the crossfire. She died instantly, and I wasn’t there to say goodbye. I never got to meet our baby boy, I never got to hold her in my arms again and say how much I loved her, because she was taken from me by a couple of meth-addled scumbags”.

You were honestly at a loss for words, not knowing if saying something would be the appropriate option or not. He was right, you knew he was married before - the time with the picture that he mentioned was the most you had heard of her. He never brought Lily up again, and you never thought to ask, since in your mind it wasn’t any of your business who Jack loved before. Now, the pieces were falling into place, the interwoven connections of his past to his actions as an agent making all the more sense to you.

What you wanted to do most was lean forward and envelop him into your embrace, tell him that you understood more than anyone what exactly that felt like, and even permit yourself to pour out your own heart to him. Drunk as you were though, you couldn’t talk yourself into doing anything more than placing a reassuring hand on his knee, letting your touch be soft and hesitant in case he shrugged you off, since you did basically just goad him into revealing his own wounds in the name of having answers. “Jack, I...I had no idea, I-”.

“How could you have known? I never told you” he mumbled flatly. In the dim veranda light, all though it was faint, you could swear that there was a teardrop lingering in the corner of his cedar brown eyes, nudging the dagger of guilt further into your heart. Say something, you idiot.

Starting off softly, you let your hand rest firmer on his knee, trying to catch his eyes into your own. Tearing his glance away from the flask, he looked back at you with the same raw grief that you had seen on your own face so many times. “I know it must have hurt like hell losing her. And you have every right to feel angry, and hurt that she was taken, but that doesn’t give you the right to hate. Every addict in the world is not the same man who took her life. You can’t just-” you started, before the sound of Jack’s harshest tone cut through your words like a knife.

“How would you know? Do you have any idea what it feels like to hurt, to have lost everything because of someone else’s choices?” he spat, anger seething in his scowl that was directed solely at you. It had taken you by surprise at first - as a reflex you withdrew your hand quickly from him as if he were burnt, perplexed at his sudden outburst. That didn’t last long however, as soon enough confusion was replaced by your own flair of anger. Now it was your turn to get defensive.“I think I do know what it’s like to hurt and to lose. In case you’ve forgotten, dickhead, there’s two people who should be right inside this house that aren’t anymore and haven’t been for about six fucking years now!” you yelled back.

Shit. He’d forgotten about your parents. The anger that had been in him disappeared without a trace right then, being replaced by something close to resembling remorse over his behaviour. “I...I didn’t mean...fuck, sugar, I…I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say” he apologised. You didn’t say anything back to him. You didn’t want to dignify him with any sort of a response. First of all, how dare he? You were only trying to empathise with him, and here he was biting your head off for daring to suggest that he doesn't hate every drug user on the planet. Why do I even fucking bother?

The awkward silence between you hung for awhile, the two of you not wanting to break it for your own different reasons. You could feel Jack stealing glances at you, like he was trying to talk himself into saying something but never had the courage to follow through. Huffing to yourself, you took in your next glass fast enough to make your head spin. You’d have to turn in for the night eventually, and truth be told you were considering doing so right then when you heard Jack speak up.

“I never did ask...if you don’t mind me askin’ that is...what happened to your folks anyway?” he asked hesitantly, as if he knew the question was fat-witted to begin with. Not that you minded too much by then. Drunk you was a lot more forgiving than you were sober.

Taking in a heavy breath, you relayed your tale of woe to him, one hand placed steady to your side to keep you sitting upright. “It was late, and they were coming back from a friend’s 50th birthday party. Their friend lived in downtown Dallas, so they had a fair way to go to get from there to here. When they were almost on the highway, an out-of-control car barrelled towards them, smashing into the front of their windscreen and killing both of them instantly. The driver of the other car had been drinking - according to the local news he was a known alcoholic and had been out having a heated argument with his friend in the passenger seat. The only survivor of the entire collision had been his friend”.

You saw Jack blink at you in silent shock, the weight of your words falling heavily on him while he continued to process it all. “Shit, darling, I feel like an even bigger piece of shit than I already did. If you slapped me clean across the face and kicked me out on my ass after this I wouldn’t blame ya one bit” he replied to you solemnly in a way that didn’t leave you questioning the authenticity of his words - he was genuinely sorry this time round. Taking his apology in stride, you shrugged back at him and acted as nonchalant about the whole thing as possible, not wanting to ponder the topic further. As far as you were concerned, you’d felt enough things for one day and would very much like a break from it all.

“It’s fine. You had no way of knowing. But please, if you take anything from this, at least listen to my words: externalising hate towards random people only feeds your trauma. It doesn’t resolve anything, and the only person left suffering in the end is yourself”.

He furrowed his brow at you, most likely feeling a little defensive that the topic had circled back around to here, but considering his unruly display of anger earlier he wasn’t one to indulge in his own instinctual need to defend his position. “But...didn’t you want the man who took your parents away to suffer? Didn’t you look at every other drunk driving incident in the papers with a little more anger and rage than before?” he asked, earning a single eyebrow raise from you in return. “I mean...I guess what I’m trying to say is...it’s so easy to hate...why didn’t you fall into that trap?”.

“Well, I did, for a little. It was almost tempting to look at every person I saw struggling with alcoholism in red. Since the man who caused the collision was already dead as a result of his own mistakes, at times I’d externalise part of that pain I was feeling onto others, and sometimes that anger became so hot and so burning that it was almost impossible to ignore. I realised pretty quickly that hating alcoholics wasn’t going to bring my parents back and that I’d have to make peace with their passing at some point. Honestly, I still haven’t processed a lot of that shit myself yet I’m still out here living my life as best I can, and really, with my own drinking habits I’d be a goddamn hypocrite to even try to find any true hatred in my heart towards heavy drinkers” you explained. Taking one last sip of bourbon, you discarded your glass off to your side and chuckled lightheartedly. “God, If I drink another glass I’m gonna collapse on the fucking floor. Think it might be time for me to turn in for the night. At least it’s Sunday tomorrow so we can sleep in a lil”.

“Y-you’re goin’ to bed? You’re not telling me to get lost or anything?” Jack sputtered in disbelief, which in turn earned him a minorly strange look from you. “Why would I do that?” you asked.

“I quite literally just admitted to treason against my former organization to you”.

“So? You made a mistake. A pretty fucking big mistake, and a shitty one at that, but still, a mistake. You obviously have some of your own pain you need to work through, and I can get that. Doesn’t mean I agree with what you did, but I get it. I’m not gonna kick you to the curb just because you have issues”.Upon saying that, you hoisted yourself up by latching your free arm onto the veranda’s fenceline, stumbling a little as you fought to maintain your balance while being both drunk and unable to fully utilise one of your arms. Nevertheless, you’d managed to straighten yourself up, and once you’d determined that you were alright to take yourself upstairs you faced on towards the front door and grasped at the brass knob in your hands, taking a brief pause to turn back and nod softly towards the man behind you. “Night Jack, I’ll see ya tomorrow” you called out, leaving him to sit there and watch you disappear back into the house with a certain look of dumbfounded astonishment.

Tag list (lemme know if you wanna be added): @giselatropicana

#agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey #jack daniels #jack daniels x reader #Kingsman #kingsman fanfiction #cross my heart #Kingsman: the golden circle #Pedro Pascal

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shianobuff · 3 years

Text

Seven Minutes (Not) in Heaven

Written for Writer’s Pride Month 2021

Pairing: Maria Hill/Natasha Romanov

Warnings: None/Light Angst

Summary: Natasha’s mission goes FUBAR. Maria worries about her girl.

A/N: This is my first time posting a fic on Tumblr :). You can read the Ao3 version here

It was a mission gone wrong. Some rookie agent, who clearly had not paid enough attention during training, had triggered an alarm at the HYDRA base they were infiltrating. Nat looked at the monitor screen. 70% downloaded . Well shi-

She didn’t have time to complete her thought as HYDRA agents started streaming through the door. Perhaps it hadn’t been the best idea for her to split off from the rest of the group.

“Fall back to the jet,” Nat yelled into her coms,

“What about you, Romanoff?” Fields, one of the more competent agents (who Nat actually liked), asked.

“I’ll be fine. If I’m not there in seven minutes, leave without me.”

Fields started to protest, but Nat turned off her ear piece and turned to face the enemy agents. It was four-to-one. She smirked: she liked those odds.

The first agent rushed towards her, baton raised. He lacked agility, though, and Nat easily sidestepped him, slamming his head against the table. 80% downloaded . The next two tried to tag team her, but she hit one with her widowbites and side-kicked the other, sending the HYDRA agent flying across the room.

The remaining agent was clearly more experienced than the three Nat had just knocked out. She threw a punch, which he easily blocked and he retaliated with a flurry of punches and kicks. Natasha looked over at the monitor. 95% downloaded .

It was a mistake to take her eyes off her opponent. She let out a little oof as he kicked her side, sending her stumbling back a little. Nat quickly recovered as the agent stalked towards her, using his cockiness to her advantage. He was overconfident now, telegraphing his movements. As he threw another kick towards her solar plexus, Nat easily caught his leg, using his momentum to swiftly pin him to the ground. She knocked him out with a forceful hit to his temples and walked back to the monitor.

Data download complete. She set the system to wipe itself and rushed out of the room, wincing in pain as her breaths became slightly labored. Her ribs were definitely broken. She raced through the halls, firing at the few HYDRA agents who tried to stop her. The base was like a labyrinth, probably designed that way, but, fortunately, she knew her way back. She got outside and rushed towards the forest. Fields was waiting when she got to the quinjet.

“I told you to leave after seven minutes,”

“I figured you might need a couple extra seconds. Did you get the data?”

“Your lack of confidence wounds me, Fields,”

The more junior agents looked scared at the accusation, but Fields just chuckled and shook her head. Nat went up to the cockpit of the jet and told the pilot to fly them home. Sitting down next to Fields she muttered to the agent quietly,

“Hill is gonna be pissed.”

———

To say Maria was furious when the team returned would be a massive understatement. She had received a post-mission summary from Agent Fields and she was fuming. Her glare paralyzed most of the junior agents, and the more senior ones were smart enough to stay far, far away from their commander.

“What the hell were you thinking, Richards?” Maria’s voice rang out across the hangar as she berated the rookie, “You could have gotten your whole team killed. You’ll be lucky if you're not stuck with desk duty for the next decade.”

Nat tried to sneak away, hoping to avoid Maria’s tirade. Unfortunately for her, Maria had expected this and whirled around, jabbing a finger at her, “And don’t even think about trying to skip medical, Romanoff, or I will make you babysit Stark.”

Maria turned back around and went into full commander mode, making sure everyone’s injuries were tended to and ushering them into debriefing. Sighing, Nat turned to walk to the medbay, skipping a checkup definitely wasn't worth watching Tony. It wasn’t unusual for Maria to get like this, especially if she got hurt. It was endearing, knowing how much Maria cared about her. The second she stepped foot into the medbay, she was whisked away into a room Dr. Cho came in and immediately got to work.

“These two are broken,” Dr. Cho examined Natasha’s ribs, “And you might have a concussion. You’re staying overnight for observation.”

Dr. Cho had learned a while ago not to give Nat any leeway when it came to her health. If she said Nat “should” do something, she probably wouldn’t do it, so Dr. Cho gave Nat orders, and ratted her out to Maria or Steve if she didn’t.

“Fine,” Nat grumbled and pouted her lips. Dr. Cho arched an eyebrow and Nat sighed, “Thanks, Helen,”

“You’re welcome, Nat,” she turned to walk out the door, “I meant what I said about staying overnight.”

———

“Tasha?” Maria leaned against the doorframe. Nat blushed at the nickname, her cheeks tinged pink. Clint wasn’t even allowed to call her that.

“Hey Commander,” she smiled as her girlfriend entered the room. Her face quickly changed when Maria opened her mouth,

“Do you know how stupid that was? You could have been killed, I could have,” Maria paused, choking on her words, “I could have lost you,”

“Masha.”

Maria looked at Nat and immediately softened, looking guilty. She ran a hand through her hair,

“I’m sorry, I just freaked out,”

“It’s okay,” Nat reached to grab her hand, “you never know in our line of work. I’d be the same way if you got hurt. But it’s just a couple broken ribs, Maria.”

“Broken ribs?” Maria immediately pulled her hand from Nat’s and pushed up the shirt she was wearing to reveal nasty purple bruises forming on her torso.

“If you wanted to undress me, you should’ve just asked, Masha,” Nat smirked. She faked a hurt expression when Maria slapped her arm, “the betrayal. Hurt by my own girlfriend.”

Maria smiled slightly, relieved that Nat was well enough to joke around.

“I’m just glad you’re okay,”

“I know. I’m sorry I made you worry,” Nat placed a gentle kiss on Maria’s lips, “I love you so much, Maria,”

“I love you too,” Maria smiled, placing a hand on Nat’s cheek.

“You better get going before your agents start thinking you care too much,” Nat straightened Maria’s blue uniform, “Can’t have them thinking ‘Hardass Hill’ has gone soft,”

“Fine. But I’m coming back once I’m off the clock. Want me to bring dinner?”

“Is it a date, Hill?”

“Only if you want it to be, Romanoff,” it was Maria’s turn to smirk and she winked as she walked out.

Nat smiled. Near-death experiences were almost worth it to spend time with Maria like this. Almost.

#writerspridemonth2021 #blackhill #maria hill x natasha romanoff #martasha #mcu #marvel imagine #avengers imagine

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

I didn’t remember the exact words I used in the request😂, but I thank for not deleting the translator’s history (I always use it to check that my sentence makes sense) 😅🤦 I wrote: “Ok, as I love the angst even though it hurts, after the end of the Onyx season I need drama. He could request that Vinca seriously injure MC to force her to kneel and Onyx arrives at that moment and sees her injured bleeding. Thank you” Thanks again❤

Warning: Mentions of injury.

…

You’re alone, again. Alone with Vinca, right after she dragged you away. Her expression is, for once, carefully blank. A far cry from her cocky smirk, dangerous edge, and intimidating presence. She still towers over you, nails digging into the skin of your arm, keeping you in place. Her gaze is still intense and powerful, hard like ice, too cold, too sharp, too deep. But it doesn’t have the same effect it usually does, like it’s muffled, like you are facing not the almighty Pride but the shadow she casts.

She almost seems resigned. Tired.

“You really think you’re something special, don’t you?” She murmurs. The knifes adorning her dress glint under the lights, blinding you this close to her. Her voice falls over you like a heavy blanket and you find yourself incapable of ignoring her. “That you can swoop in and save Onyx, just like that? As if this is a fairytale and you are its heroine?” Her lips peel back into a silent snarl. Every word courses through your body like lighting, and you take a second to wonder how you ended up like this, slumped in her hands as if you were a broken marionette. You should be doing more than this. You should be fighting the very universe for Onyx.

Instead you gaze up at Vinca’s eyes, and feel miserable.

“Do you seriously think you matter that much?” She continues. “Don’t be ridiculous… the only one who knows what Onyx really needs is me, her sister. And believe me when I say… she’d be better off without you.”

Green eyes as clear and pure as life itself. A smile as sweet as your favorite dessert. Her melodic voice and its alluring accent, ringing inside your dreams and hopes and future. Her warm touch and comforting embrace.

You scowl up at Vinca, still miserable, hurt by her words, but refusing to back down. So what if you were in over your head? What if you were tricked in the beginning? What if you had to endure demons and magic and mind-reading? Your emotions and feelings were still true. You should – no, you would fight the very universe for Onyx. You shouldn’t hesitate.

So Vinca knows what’s best? You can only think of one thing in response to that, after recalling long nights with Onyx, her nostalgic whispers of a better time: bullshit.

“Say what you will, Vinca, but I won’t kneel.”

Vinca grumbles. Pierces you with another half-hearted glare. “All this fighting makes me sick. Doesn’t it tire you, too? Don’t you want it to be over?” She urges, tightening her grip over your arm, pushing you down, down, down. “Don’t you want her to be free?”

“She will, but not because of you.”

She dodges your punch with barely any effort, expression tight with fury. She doesn’t retaliate when you pounce on her, attempting to knock her down, to land a single kick, to show her how wrong she is.

She groans with frustration with every attempt you make, bristling.

“You can’t say I didn’t try.” She hisses, and suddenly Pride is back at the next blink. Her gaze burns your very soul with its sudden intensity, and she dances out of your reach. She’s clearly toying with you, like a cat with its prey, knowing it has the upper-hand and allowing the prey to believe it has a chance at all.

It feels like that when Vinca suddenly switches to offense and you see you never had a chance at all, no matter how good you’ve gotten at fighting. It’s the same overwhelming feeling of helplessness that convinced you to leave med school, only a hundred times stronger. You can’t land a punch, straining to keep up with her, while Vinca has enough time to flick several knifes at you, each drawing blood. You must have a dozen or so wounds at this point, if not more, and they only increase with each passing second. Eventually, your defenses fall – you are too tired – and Vinca manages to grab a handful of your hair, a sick, almost maniac smirk on her face. She smashes your head against the nearest wall at the next second. Pain explodes inside your skull, throbbing, overpowering everything else. Dazed, you try to recover, try to defend yourself, but a knee collides against your side with the strength of a raging bull and you can’t help but double over, trying not to fall. Vinca finishes your pitiable attempt with a clean hit to your exposed nape. You collapse at her feet with a groan.

“I’ll make you regret everything, Victoria.” You can barely make out her voice thanks to the ringing in your ears. You can barely see how she drops down in front of you, everything is too blurry. There’s something glinting by her hand… one of her knifes?

You shudder, trying to escape, but you’re still too disoriented and Vinca is too fast. She hums a lazy tune, as if she’s in no hurry, and you hiss when you feel how she grabs your shirt – the shirt Onyx spent so long working on – and pulls you upwards, moving your body as she pleases. You try to wriggle out, try to fight how she bends your knees and forces your gaze downwards, but she’s stronger.

You choke out a strangled gasp. Try to push her away with increasing desperation, then cry out thanks to a sudden, sharp, stinging pain in your arm… there’s no doubt Vinca just cut you, and deep. Warmth floods your arm as blood flows out. You blink down at it, trying to get your eyes to focus, to assess the wound.

But it’s over. You’re kneeling.

“How does it feel, Victoria? Still think you’re the heroine?” Vinca asks, toying with yet another knife. It hovers just over your exposed stomach.

You push her away, trembling. “Leave me alone.”

Vinca looks at you with disgust. “You need to learn.”

But before she can get any closer, there’s a blur of golden. Vinca lets out a surprised yelp, and suddenly Onyx is there, standing where Vinca had been, green eyes wide with worry as she takes you in.

“Your arm – Victoria, your arm.” She whispers, hands hovering over your skin as if she’s afraid to touch. “B-breathe, Victoria. I’m here. I’m here.”

“About time you showed up.” Vinca snorts somewhere to your right, sounding vaguely amused. Onyx barely gives her a glare. “Looks like your oh so wonderful girlfriend failed, Onyx. How does that make you feel?”

Onyx grits her teeth. Continues to ignore her in favor of reaping some of her clothes, trying to tend to your wound. Your senses are returning.

“That’s enough, Vinca!” Someone – Wrath, you realize with a relieved smile – barks. “Don’t move.”

“You just like making everything more difficult, don’t you?”

There’s a growl. Demons pour out of the shadows like rabid dogs, snapping to attention at Vinca’s command. You see Cal drawing closer to you, giving you a worried glance that barely lasts a second.

“We need to go.” He informs you, shooting and kicking any demon that gets close enough.

“Right! Right.” Onyx replies, but she’s pale. Her hands are shaking over your arm, taking in the hundred cuts you are sporting. “Don’t leave me, Victoria.” She murmurs. “Please, don’t close your eyes.”

“I’m okay. I’m okay. I didn’t… I didn’t lose too much blood.” But you definitely have a concussion. Your ears are still ringing, and the world spins when Onyx carefully helps you up. Seeing how pained she is makes you want to scream. This wasn’t supposed to happen – maybe Vinca was right, you do want to be some kind of heroine and save Onyx from everything that ever burdened her. You should have stalled. Done something else.

And Onyx looks so scared. God, so, so scared. It’s not fair to her.

Not for the first time, you curse Vinca, Dorran, and every single demon you’ve ever come across.

#Anonymous #answered #lovestruck #sin with me #onyx x mc #lovestruck onyx #onyx wren #lovestruck swm #swm #light angst #tw injury

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lelly-belly · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Day 3

Hello again, friends! its time for day three, this time featuring two new characters of mine. I’ll admit, this one got a little away from me, and it strayed from the idea I had originally planned out. But its a lot longer compared to the others I’ve written, so yay for that. A lot more dialogue too. I’m not stellar when it comes to writing in first person, so please, keep that in mind. Also, again, not edited.

Trying to tag @tinyplan3ts again because it didn’t work last time lol

No. 3 - STICKS AND STONES MAY BREAK MY BONES BUT…

taunting | insults | “Who did this to you?”

CW: violence, punching, some cursing (please let me know if I missed anything!).

Context: Mark and Thomas are both players on the school soccer team, and, in their main story, eventually get into a relationship in their first year of college. Today though, they’re in their last year of high school, and this is one of the many times an asshole named Alan makes life hell for Mark.

----------

I don’t know how, but Thomas always seems to find me when things go wrong. Always. It’s like he’s got some weird sixth sense for me, appearing at just the right time for him to witness something happen.

It happened in our most recent soccer game.

It happened in the hallway when I got shoved into the wall by a group of vaping idiots.

It even happened when I fell down the stairs at school.

And it's happening now.

I swear I don’t mean for this stuff to happen to me. It just does. Like, I try to be nice to everyone, but goddamnit, some people just suck. Like Alan. He’s this asshole on my soccer team who’s dead set on making everyone’s experience a living nightmare. He’s constantly bitching about someone during practice, talking shit like he owns the place, and he just isn't good on the field. Normally I wouldn’t be too annoyed at someone’s lack of skill, but come on! He plays like a two year old hyped on cocaine! How did he make Varsity when he’s this bad?

I’ll tell you how. It’s his stupid fucking smile. He plasters that shit on and sucks up to the coach and then suddenly he’s starting every game. I can’t tell you how infuriating he is to play with, or even just be around. His creepy little fucking smile sends shivers down my spine as he flashes it to me. I can’t help but look away, alright? Call me a coward all you want, but that smile will be the last thing someone sees before they die, mark my words.

Of course, he sees me avert my eyes, and it only makes him smile more. My class is just down the hall, maybe twenty or so feet, and Alan has stopped walking and turned to me. He makes his way through the sea of people moving to their next class and blocks me from going around him with his backpack.

“Hey,” he says, grinning wider. “How’re you?” I fight the urge to crinkle my nose in disgust.

“I’d be better if I was in my class.” He laughs, and I cringe. Luckily he’s got his eyes closed, so he didn’t catch that.

“Wanna go for a smoke?” he asks, holding up a pack of cigarettes. Now I crinkle my nose.

“You know I’m not doing that shit, I want to actually have lungs later in life.” He scoffs.

“One isn’t gonna kill you. C'mon, lets go.” He wraps an arm around my shoulder and steers me away from my classroom and in the direction of the side doors to the school building. As he makes me walk to the doors, the bell rings. I suppress a sigh.

“I have a test this period, y’know.” Alan rolls his eyes.

“You can always make it up later, relax,” he tells me. I clench my fists and stop walking. He turns to me, and that gross smile is thankfully gone. Unfortunately, it’s replaced by an equally off putting scowl. “Oh don’t be a bitch,” he growls. “Just fucking come with me.”

“No. I have a class to go to.” I turn on my heel and march back to my classroom. I can hear him coming up behind me, so I speed up. He speeds up with me. I’ve almost reached my classroom when he grabs me by the hood of my sweatshirt and pulls me back to the doors. He doesn't listen to my ‘fuck you’s and ‘lemme go’s. He doesn't even listen to me when I start choking. He just pushes the side doors open and drags me out with him.

As soon as the doors close, he drops me on the sidewalk. “YOU FUCKER!” I shout, standing up and getting in his face. At this point, I couldn’t care less about attracting the attention of some remaining students and ditchers. “I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU, YOU SON OF A—” I don’t even register I’ve been hit until I fall back onto the ground. My cheek stings, and my eyes burn with tears. I clutch the side of my face, looking up at him.

“Shut the fuck up,” he tells me, his voice tight. “Your little fucking confidence streak is pissing me off, so stop it.” I wish I could say I hit him back, but instead, I just stare up at him in shock. In all of our arguments, he’s never once hit me. This, for some reason, feels like an intense turning point.

“Do I need to hit you again to get you to fucking understand me?” he asks me. I open my mouth to respond, but someone jumps in between the two of us.

“Get the hell away from him, you asshole!” the person who jumped between us shouts. I recognize the voice as Thomas’. I breathe a sigh of relief. It’ll be okay, Thomas is here. “This is really disgusting of you, Alan,” he says, his voice low and threatening. “I swear to God, you’re off the team for this.”

Alan doesn't outwardly seem fazed. His shoulders are still rolled back, his chest is still puffed out, and his fists are still clenched. But something flashes in his eyes. It's hard to decipher, but it looks like fear. Maybe it's because he knows Thomas isn’t joking. When the captain of the team says you’re off, you’re probably off.

He’s quick to recover though, and he rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He peaks around Thomas, meeting my gaze. “We’ll talk about this later,” he threatens, before stalking away. It’s interesting to note that he walks, not into the building, but to the parking lot where his car is parked. Thomas waits for him to round the corner of the school before turning and crouching down in front of me.

“Are you okay?” he asks gently. My eyes water all over again.

“Y-yeah I… I’m fine, I just need a sec.” He raises one eyebrow and stares at me.

“Don’t lie to me, Mark. Lemme see your face.” I shake my head, only to groan at the intense dizziness that explodes at the tiny movement. He sighs. “If you have a concussion I’ll beat that fucker so hard he’ll be out for the rest of the season regardless.” If I didn’t know Thomas, I’d believe him. Instead, his hard expression softens, and he gently pulls my hand from my face. He sighs sadly.

“Jesus, he really got you, huh?” I snort.

“He did, yeah.”

“Can you open your eye?” I try to, but can only see a small sliver through my swollen eyelid. “Damn, okay, I’ve got a first aid kit in my car so we can ice it,” he says firmly. “Lets get the swelling down and maybe that’ll help with the bruising.”

“Its already bruising?” I ask. He nods, grimacing.

“Yeah, come on, lemme take your bag.” I pass my bag to him, he shoulders it, and we walk to the parking lot further away from the school. Usually, I’d complain about how far the walk is, but now, I’m just grateful I’m not in danger of running into Alan.

When we reach his car, he makes me sit in the driver’s seat and recline it as far as it will go. He then climbs into the passenger’s seat and roots around in the glove box until he yanks out a small, white box. He pulls out one of those shakeable ice packs that the nurse often uses, but, for some reason, she’s just never here anymore.

He crushes the chemicals inside and shakes it with one hand, while he digs through my bag for my water bottle with the other. Once he locates it, he makes me drink half of it before he’s satisfied, places the ice pack on my eye, and reclines his seat too.

The car is filled with him softly humming a slow, calm song, which manages to lull me into a surprisingly dreamless sleep.

#whumptober2021 #no.3 #taunting #oc #fic #violence #fighting #black eye #threats #writing #whump writing #not very proud of the ending of this #but I dont know how to end things anyway #soooo #whumptober #day 3

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detective-g-reed · 3 years

Text

(A clip from my Reed900 fic that I may or may not finish writing.)

TW: Explosion, injury, blood, gore, implied character death.

"Gavin-!"

Time didn't slow down. But when he looked back on the memory, and he thought about it over and over, it seemed like it did. And he returned to this memory. He hyperanalyzed it, going over it again and again to tell him exactly what he’d done wrong and what he could have done differently.

He fucked up. Badly.

The moment he opened the door of the car, he heard something click - and oh, god, he realized his mistake but he didn't even have time to move. But Nines, the fast motherfucker he was, did. He had time.

Gavin felt himself being ripped backwards by impossibly strong arms, and in the next second he was being crushed against Nines' chest.

He would never really know later, whether or not Nines had thrown them down, or if they were just hit by the blast. But before he could even consider what was happening, he and Nines were down in the snow. It was a shock of cold against his back and his pants would probably be soaked later, but he wasn't about to complain.

Gavin's ears were ringing and he felt like he'd just nearly gotten a concussion, but forget that…

"Nines," he croaked, looking up at him in bewilderment. "What-"

"Hush." Nines' voice was as sure and strong as ever above him - but it sounded slightly off. Like he hadn’t perfectly tuned his voice before speaking.

Another explosion shook the ground, and Gavin found himself clinging to Nines' shirt, pressing his forehead against that pale neck. Only when a minute had passed and he was sure it was over did he loosen his grip.

"Nines, let me up. We need to get the fuck out of here."

He got no reply.

"Nines?"

This time, it seemed like Nines was actually trying to answer him, but all that came out was a garbled mess of static. Then, gradually, Nines released and rolled off of him.

And stopped moving altogether.

No…

Gavin shot up onto his knees, feeling sick as he reached for Nines' shoulder. Beneath him, the snow was starting to stain blue. He was so in shock and confused, he could barely bring himself to realize what that meant.

Nines was bleeding. Badly.

A harsh smell struck his nose - his stomach twisted as he recognized it as the smell of melted plastic and thirium.

The smell of android skin burning.

There were bits and pieces of smoldering car wreckage all around them. But more than that; there were scraps of Nines' jacket, burnt and scattered over the area. Only his front was unscathed. His back… Gavin was too scared to look at it.

He'd shielded Gavin from the explosion. Saved his fucking life…

And now he was broken, bleeding in the snow.

Nines was supposed to be unbreakable. He was told before how Nines could withstand shotgun blasts, crush androids' skulls in his bare hands, and keep his systems running for up to 140 years without need for constant maintenance. Nines couldn't just…

He couldn't just… die. Right? He couldn't be destroyed. Not like this. It was impossible.

"Nines, hey," he rasped. He was choking back tears, because god, he really needed to not break down right now. Nines would be perfectly fine, like he always was. It was silly to get upset.

Reaching down, he cradled his android's head. Very carefully, so not to hurt him. The back of his neck was partially melted, but cooled from the snow. It was also slick with his blood.

Nines slowly turned his eyes towards Gavin, expression unreadable. His LED was flickering and red… but at least he was still awake. That was a good sign, right?

"You… dumbass," Gavin snarled all of a sudden, clenching his jaw. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

The android gave him a dry, unimpressed look. "I assumed you would be more grateful that I had saved your life."

Fucking… typical Nines. Gavin might have laughed if it hadn't been for his voice.

God, he sounded so bad with his throat all fucked up. Crackling with static… He sounded so much more like a machine. Like... a broken machine.

"I was also thinking… that you only had a 15% chance of surviving the blast, and you would have been badly injured even if you had survived." Nines closed his eyes. "My chances are… slightly better."

Gavin's throat tightened as he ran his fingers through Nines' bloody hair. He never realized how soft it was… had he really never even touched his hair before? "You'll be okay, right? Nines?"

Nines took in a breath. "... No," he admitted, slowly reopening his cold eyes to meet Gavin's. "Several of my biocomponents are severely damaged. I have multiple thirium vein punctures. I have pieces of shrapnel embedded in my components, and it’s… unlikely that help will arrive in time for me to be recovered.”

He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think. He found himself grasping one of Nines’ hands.

An oddly comforting gesture. Nines didn’t usually care for this sort of thing; maybe he wasn’t even bothered. But it didn’t matter. Gavin was. He didn’t want to lose Nines like this… not after how badly he treated him, how much they’d been through.

Strangely enough, his plastic fingers flexed and squeezed around Gavin’s. Comforting him right back.

“How long-?”

“Approximately two minutes.”

Gavin swallowed. His throat burned from the tears he refused to let fall. “Does it hurt?”

Another barely-there smile, just a flash of how he was feeling. Nines was always so conservative, it was just… the way he was. God, Gavin would miss that so fucking much it was a physical ache in his chest.

“No, Gavin.”

He couldn’t tell whether or not that was a lie, but it didn’t matter now.

"Good. That's… good."

Was that the best thing he could come up with? Nines had less than two minutes to live and that was all he could fucking say?

"I'll call for help," he stuttered, scrambling to get his phone from his pocket. "I'll call CyberLife, get them down here."

"I have already contacted them. They will not make it in time." Nines turned his head, leaning into the touch of Gavin's hand in his hair. "But… thank you."

"For what?" Gavin bit out. "I just basically got you killed, you fuck! If I hadn't opened the door -"

"For trying." He brought his other wrecked arm over his chest to grasp Gavin's sleeve. "I… am glad that I meant enough to you for you to try to save me."

That was what did it. The dam broke, and the tears Gavin had been trying so desperately to hold back started streaming down his face with a vengeance. His chest was wracked with gut wrenching sobs that he couldn't stop.

"Nines, you can't… you shouldn't have fucking done it, I'm not - I'm not as good as you." He could barely speak, but the words were pouring out of him without filter. "I'm half the detective you are. I can't… I can't lose you. I need you, you fucking bastard… you can't die."

"To die, one must first be alive."

Nines had a point. To die, you had to be alive. He couldn't exactly put his finger on when it happened. When he knew RK900 was alive and not just a defective piece of plastic. But now, he couldn't remember even thinking otherwise.

If Nines shut down, even if they could somehow make another one of him… it didn't matter. There was only one Nines. And if he was damaged beyond repair, he was dead.

"Yeah," Gavin finally agreed. "So don't die, you hear me? Stay alive. Stay with me."

"I -" The light at his temple flickered, never changing from its solid red color. Gavin knew from experience that it meant his systems were overstressed. Dying tended to do that, didn't it? "I'm afraid, Gavin. I don't want to leave you. I don't… I don't want to die."

There was nothing that could've broken him more than that. Hearing Nines tell him he was scared. That he didn't want to die.

It was human. And Gavin couldn't help but empathize, because he knew how it felt to be afraid. He knew how it felt to not want to die.

He pulled Nines closer, cradling his head against his chest and laying his back over Gavin's thighs.

He could feel the thirium soaking his jeans, the cold of the snow biting into his knees. He ignored it.

"I've got you. Don't die on me, alright? Do whatever it takes… whatever it takes. Stay with me."

Nines didn't say anything else, but Gavin didn't look down at him to see if his LED was still working. He couldn't. If he didn't look, he could pretend Nines was still alive. That he was still okay and was going to be okay.

He just stayed. Sitting in the snow, cradling his dying partner in his arms.

#tw: injury #tw: character death #tw: violence #spoilers for the fic #sort of #does it count as spoilers if i don't know if it'll ever be finished?#I suck at writing slow burns #and this scene was meant to be at the end of it #but it was the first thing i wrote #i am a sucker for angst #tw: gore #tw: blood #Might delete soon #my writing #fanfiction i'm writing #reed900

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kellanswritingblog · 4 years

Text

Some zoscar hurt/comfort set after the end of episode 173. I figured I should post it now before we hit the next episode and it’s just all hurt lol

tw for blood, injury, broken bones, and mentions of death

The landing was a disaster. The ship itself wasn’t too badly damaged, besides the engine loss it experienced while in the Borealis.

The real harm was in the suffering of the crew. Zolf and Cel were strapped in and managed to hold on when they crashed into the ground, and Hamid was flying a safe distance away. But Azu, Wilde, Earhart, and all the others were either sent tumbling around the ship or thrown off of it entirely.

There wasn’t much any of them could do for some of them, no matter how hard they tried. Between the height of the fall and impact with the trees and frozen ground… no amount of healing would bring them back from that.

Those who survived were tended to by Zolf and Azu, distributing magical bouts of healing to keep them alive and in as little pain as possible. Azu had been smacked into the side of the ship during impact, but her guideline stayed intact, and she was in much better shape than some of the others. Meanwhile, Cel and Earhart looked over the ship, and Hamid huddled up with the less-injured kobolds, who all held each other tight.

Zolf counted the survivors and the bodies.

“Where’s Wilde?”

“I thought…” Azu looked around and counted for herself. “I don’t know. I didn’t see which way he went.”

Zolf gestured to the injured Meerk lying before them. “Do you got this? I’m going to go look for him.”

“Yeah. Don’t go too far, though.” Her brow was furrowed with concern.

He nodded, then trudged away from the ship. As he walked, he called out Wilde’s name – it wasn’t as if they had to worry about accidentally drawing unwanted attention, since the neon crashing ship took care of that already.

“Wilde! Oscar? Come on, where are you?”

The snow came up practically to Zolf’s waist, and he sunk even deeper in spots, but that didn’t slow him down when he finally saw Wilde’s body and the seeping red that surrounded it.

Zolf sprinted to him and knelt down at his side.

“Oscar? Oscar, hang on.” There was still a pulse, but only barely. He had lost a lot of blood, and what looked like bone poked out from his arm.

Healing flowed through Zolf and into Wilde, but he didn’t wake. Instead, he gave a shuddering breath, and remained still.

“Come on, Oscar. Come on, please. You stubborn ass, why weren’t you wearing your guideline?” Zolf cried as he pressed all of his healing into Wilde’s unmoving form. “Why weren’t you paying attention? Why did you have to get hurt?”

The tears that fell down Zolf’s face were half frozen. When magic failed, Zolf put bandages and tourniquets on Wilde’s wounds, then began to set the obviously broken bone with his mundane healing knowledge, for what little good that would do.

Once that was done, Zolf continued to kneel at Wilde’s side for a moment longer to beg any benevolent power to bring him back, to make it right. What good was hope if Wilde was gone?

Then, Zolf stood and tromped quickly back to the ship.

“Did you find him?” Azu asked.

“I did. He’s alive… but barely. I need help getting him back here. I tried to heal him, but…”

Azu reached out, put a hand on Zolf’s shoulder, and gave it a squeeze. “I still have some healing left in me. Let’s see what we can do.”

Despite the optimism in her voice and gaze, it did little to soothe the terror raging inside of Zolf’s heart.

Zolf led Siggif and Barnes to where Wilde’s body lay, and they placed him on an impromptu stretcher to carry him back to the ship, then placed him before Azu.

“Oh.” She spoke quietly, her voice barely more than an uttered breath. But Zolf heard it, and whatever hope remained in him that Wilde would recover started to fade.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s not good.”

“I’ll do what I can.” Pink light flowed from Azu’s hands into Wilde’s form, then she slumped. “I need to save some healing for the others. But he’s still breathing, and you managed to stop most of the bleeding. He’s got a chance.”

Zolf nodded, though he felt despair take over. Azu put a hand on Zolf’s shoulder again, then left him at Wilde’s side to tend to the other wounded.

“You…” Zolf couldn’t even muster up the enjoyable annoyance he so often felt when dealing with Oscar. Instead, he began to cry again. “Please wake up. Please be okay. I mean, I know nothing is really okay right now, but… Wilde, I need you. I don’t know how to keep going without you. Please.”

Wilde didn’t respond, of course. Zolf picked up Wilde’s hand on his uninjured arm, lifted it to his lips, and pressed a slow kiss to the mitten that covered his skin. He didn’t know what else to do, how else to help, so he continued to stand and hold Wilde’s hand, as if that alone would bring him back.

It didn’t, though, and soon enough the cold was getting to everyone. Those who wound up relatively uninjured were tasked with moving the others inside, where they were at least sheltered from the elements and the flurry that fell around them. They also brought the bodies on board, with every intention of returning them home whenever they got back to safe civilization.

Zolf and Azu stayed up throughout the night to tend to the injured. Their own bodies were wracked with pain and exhaustion, but they had to keep going, and they were the best equipped to provide aid, even if they couldn’t muster anymore magic at the time. Regardless, sometimes a balm or a fresh bandage or even a cup of water made all the difference.

He didn’t plan to fall asleep. Zolf had sat at Wilde’s side during a quiet moment, half willing him to wake up and be alright. He could have slept all day, if given the chance; between sailing through the Borealis and landing the Vengeance as successfully as possible, he was beat. But there was still work to be done, and he didn’t plan to rest so soon.

However, the quiet croak of a familiar voice startled him awake, even from his darkest nightmares.

“Zolf?”

He practically fell out of his chair when he heard the noise and awoke with a start, then he righted himself and stood.

“Oscar? Oscar, it’s me. I’m here. You’re alright, you’re going to be alright.”

Wilde was white as a sheet and his eyes blinked rapidly with confusion, but he was awake, and he was alive.

“What happened?”

“The ship… crashed. And just about everybody got tossed over the side when we hit the trees. Why weren’t you wearing your bloody guideline, you insufferable…” Zolf’s relief poured out in more tears. “I’m just glad you’re…”

“Remind me to never let you drive an automobile if that’s how you park,” Wilde joked in a raspy voice, and Zolf let out a choked laugh.

“I should go get Azu. Together we’ll get you back up and running in no time.” His breath shuddering, Zolf wiped his tears.

Before he could move, however, Wilde’s good hand shot out and weakly held onto Zolf’s wrist. “First, I… Zolf… Thank you.”

“For what? I’m the one that crashed the damn ship.”

Wilde shook his head. “For putting up with me. For standing with me in all this chaos. I’ve never said how grateful I am to not be fighting this war alone, and if I’d… if I’d died, you would never know. So. Here I am.”

“I still would’ve known,” Zolf murmured. “And it’s not putting up with you. You’re stubborn and infuriating, sure, but… I can’t imagine being anywhere else than at your side.”

“Kiss me.”

“I’m sorry?” Zolf chuckled and hid his blushing face behind a hand. “I think the blood loss has got you a little loopy.”

“I’m tired of walking around it. We almost died, Zolf. I don’t want to pretend that I don’t love you anymore.”

For a moment, Zolf lost himself in the sincerity of Oscar’s gaze, then he stepped forward and slowly kissed him.

“We’ve got fine timing, haven’t we?” Zolf teased as he pulled away.

“If you hadn’t been so stubborn, maybe we would’ve gotten here before a near death experience in the unknown regions of Siberia.”

Zolf was relieved beyond measure that Wilde still had the health for snark.

“Yeah, because you definitely weren’t the one going all ‘oh, relationships are a danger right now, blah blah blah.’”

“They are a danger. But the greater danger is losing you.”

“You’re the one that almost died. I think it’s more about losing you right now.”

Wilde smiled. “Fair. Maybe just try not to lose any more engines, alright?”

“I’ll do my best. Now, I really am going to go get Azu. You’re in bad shape; it’ll take both of us to get you feeling better.”

He chuckled again, and replied, “Waking up to you? Kissing you? I already feel lifetimes better.”

“That’s all well and good, but your arm is still broken, and you’ve definitely got a concussion and a bunch of internal trauma. So, sit tight, and I’ll be right back.”

Before he left, Zolf pressed a quick kiss to Wilde’s forehead, and then darted off to find Azu, wherever she might be. Surely the others were working on some sort of plan, but Zolf had only one goal: to ensure Wilde survived and was restored to health. He didn’t plan on losing him now that they’d finally realized their feelings couldn’t be put off any longer.

#rusty quill gaming #rqg #rqg spoilers #Zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #zoscar #tw blood #tw injury #tw death #tw broken bones #I meant to post this last week #but got distracted by all the good good Azu week content #so here we are

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meerkyojin · 3 years

Text

FUCK YOU FLO/CH, AMORY LIVES INSTEAD. @kolossal

amory wakes with a start, gasping for air like he’s been starved from it for years. it takes a moment to catch a strand of sanity - his ribs feel as though they’ve been crushed, and his head is pounding. but a concussion and a few cracked ribs, they didn’t have any comparison to the scene barraging the grass around him. he sits up slowly, careful of newfound injuries, and his pale eyes survey the scene around him with abject horror. he remembers, in bits and pieces, the plan the commander had hatched. as far as he cares to look, there is carnage ; blood-soaked grass and gore splattering the horizon. amory takes it in, and then promptly leans over to vomit.

some time after, part of him realizes it’s unsafe to stick around, injured and dazed. he has to get back to armin and the others, doesn’t he ? and so the scene falls on a boy, walking like a newborn foal, fragile and small. his breath is harsh, strained between injuries held in blood-soaked hands. one step after another, he makes his way towards the wall so that he may find something to grasp and pull himself up with his miraculously still-functioning maneuvering gear. he can’t help but survey the faces of his fallen friends and comrades, unable to avoid seeing them frozen in fear, some missing half of their head, most bodies missing limbs. he narrowly avoids the urge to vomit once more. he’s seen death before, so many times - but this had a far stronger stench.

for a few minutes of walking, he hears nothing but the grass dragging beneath his feet, lost in the wonderment that he was alive. slightly battered, but alive, despite what he thinks he remembers as the horse he rode towards death rolling right over him. he’d been so frightened. he always knew he would die in a way that was uglier than most, but to be crushed, alone, separated from everyone he cared about was a different kind of pain. would armin have been angry at him for dying ? step. he’d just have to find out once he crossed the wall. step. they’d beaten reiner in there, hadn’t they ? step. they must have. step. If they hadn’t, amory was dragging himself through hell only to die of grief on the other side. and with that thought, his steps aren’t the only noise in the air.

he hears, for the first time, a sign of life. a quiet, pained groan, and a slip of breath. he shoots to attention, ignoring the puddles of worry in his thoughts, and looks frantically for whoever it was. he finds another person who should’ve died - of anyone to find alive, it’s the commander, the man who ordered all of the slaughter that lay around them. amory looks at him blankly for a moment, before his eyes fill with tears and his head lays low. he must take a second to prepare - carrying a full grown man, even if that man is missing some parts, is going to make his bruised ribs hurt indescribably so. but he must - he knows the captain has something to save him, and amory can’t just leave erwin smith behind. he just has to pray they’ve taken down an intelligent titan within the walls, so his struggle back won’t be for nothing.

there’s a long while of struggling, will alone keeping amory from buckling under the weight of the commander. the arlert twins were always slight in stature - though not weak, particularly, but small. getting to the top of the wall takes nearly all he has. he stands atop it to rest, and to survey the scene below. there’s no sign of the colossal titan, and no sound from a fight, so it must be over. it takes only a moment to spot figures atop a roof, and it’s hard to tell from this distance and with how foggy his mind is, but he just may recognize mikasa - and so he dives, the force of the maneuver gear piercing at his injuries, as much as he ignores it.

small hands grip the edge of the building he’d seen them on, and he tugs with all his might to get up, struggling under the weight and the pain. hands help pull him, eventually, and he looks up to see mikasa holding his arm. how lucky that his guess had been right. but something’s wrong, he can see it in her eyes, the set of her mouth as she looks at him in a way she never has before. amory sets the commander down, and wonders if maybe that’s the sight troubling her. he glances at the others as he recovers his breath ( the only others standing are levi and eren. it doesn’t yet strike him as odd ), and says, ‘ captain, the commander is still alive, i thought - ‘

he thought he wanted to save him.

he thought they needed to.

a leader was necessary, were they not ?

but as amory speaks, pieces of this confusing puzzle click into piece. mikasa has tears in her eyes. the captain looks stricken, like he’s seen a ghost, and eren stands beside someone. laid down flat on the roof, skin looking to be burnt beyond all recognition. the smell hits him first, as soon as he finally sees the body. it’s burnt, sour and repulsive as it creeps into his nose. amory reels backwards almost in slow motion, a small step away from the truth he refused to let into his mind.

‘ where’s armin ? ‘

he refuses to register mikasa’s choked noise, simply refuses to see the desperation on eren’s face. he’s seen them grieve before - it’s haunted him for years. he refuses this outcome. he can’t understand that the corpse just meters away on the roof is his brother. what have you done, armin, he wonders as he surges forward, a pained yelp leaving his lips as he falls to his knees beside his brother. please, please, no -

eren’s voice is faint through the grief burning a hole in amory’s chest.

‘ you said . . . you’d use it on armin. ‘ he can’t look. he can hardly think as it is - until eren’s words lock into place. if they’d meant to use it on armin, he must be alive. with great difficulty, he forces his eyes open, tears falling freely down, he lifts a hand above his brother’s mouth, and feels air. breath. HE’S ALIVE. they can save him, without question, they must save him - if only amory hadn’t brought the only reason not to. the captains words come to him almost muffled through an endless ringing in his ears.

‘ i’m . . . reviving the one who can save humanity. ‘

amory doesn’t remember moving after that. it’s as simple as this : one moment, he’s above his brother, unable to move through the ache and panic lacing his veins. and the next moment, he’s being held back by someone he doesn’t have the time to recognize, screaming through the anguish that threatens to swallow him whole. he should have left him there to die. It was against everything in his nature, but he wished whole-heartedly that the commander had not breathed so loud then, that he could have walked past in ignorance and they wouldn’t be here, arguing for armin’s life.

it’s impossible.

he won’t stop fighting back, he’ll go for the captains throat if need be.

someone, mercifully, hits amory over the head to knock him out long before he has the chance.

#LONG ASS POST #holy moly #emetophobia /#blood /#injury /#✧ . IC. ˗ ˏˋ ⋆#✧ . VERSE // TWO HALVES ; SAME COIN. ˗ ˏˋ #kolossal

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aizawamizuchi · 3 years

Text

The USJ Incident

Mizuchi sat in her office going over student files. Class 1-A and 1-B were filled with gifted students this year. She had met with each one of her students earlier in the week. For the next three years, she was going to be in charge of this group of students. It's important that she keeps track of their mental health. As little heroes in the making, she needed to make sure that they were mentally prepared.

While she was organizing her files, Iida busted through the door. Startled she jumped and dropped a few folders.

"Iida what's wrong?" she asked looking at him with concern. It looked like he had run hundred miles! Sweat dripped from his hair, he clung to the door catching his breath.

"Villains... at the USJ" he said in between breaths.

Mizuchi's eyes went wide, she grabbed her goggles off her desk and they both rushed out to gather the other teachers. She quickly changed into her hero suit and they all dash to the USJ.

Mizuchi was focusing ahead of her as she flew. All Might flew beside her. He looked at his old sidekick, he knew that she was worried about her husband.

"All Might, fly ahead of us. You can get there faster than any of us. We are right behind you." Mizuchi yelled over the wind in her ears.

All Might nodded and took off at top speed. Mizuchi had a bad feeling in her stomach. When she saw the USJ insight she sped up, there was a hole in the door. She flew down and zoomed through the hole, she landed at the entrance and looked around. The villains were all spread out across the USJ.

She could see All Might and a few other students holding someone, as she got closer to the scene her heart stopped. No, no, no... not him. Eraserhead was badly injured and unconscious. She landed and ran over to her students, "What happened?" she asked checking Shouta's pulse. It was faint, but it was there.

"He fought off a huge beast but he was overpowered. All Might beat the thing but..." Midoriya said looking over at All Might.

She looked as well and frowned, she understood what Midoriya wanted to say. All Might was on his last leg and needed back up.

"You kids take Eraserhead to the entrance. Medics should be on their way," she walked past the boys. "I'll stay here and help All Might," she said.

She came up behind her old mentor. The two villains standing in front of them got nervous. All Might looked over at Mizuchi, "Where are the other teachers?" he whispered.

"They will be here shortly," she said reassuring him.

All Might nodded and looked back at the Villians, "So what's it gonna be? Aren't you going to fight us?" he said calling their bluff.

Shigaraki scratched his neck, "No all my plans ruined!" he said like a spoiled child.

The man by his side whispered something in Shigaraki's ear. Mizuchi stepped in front of All Might, "Mizuchi you must be careful. These villains are not just common thugs," All Might said clenching his jaw.

She looked back at him and then back to the villains, "I suggest you turn yourselves in. Don't make things worse for yourself," Mizuchi said as she started to bend water around her body.

Shigaraki smirked, "No I don't think so," he said as he sprang forward toward Mizuchi. She quickly shot jets of water at him and he dodged them. He reached his hand out towards her, she held her arm up to block whatever attack was coming.

"NO DON'T LET HIM TOUCH YOU!"

Her eyes went wide and she placed a water barrier between her and Shigaraki. She pushed him back and he hit the ground with a thud, she looked up and saw Midordiya coming towards them. She was going to scold him, but then the sound of gunfire rang through the air. She looked up and saw that Shigaraki had been hit. She smiled and looked towards the entrance, back up finally arrived.

The teachers wrangled as many villains as they could, Shigaraki and the man that was with him Kurogiri, got away. Mizuchi made sure all the students were accounted for, thankfully there were minimal student injuries. She was talking with the police when Hizashi tapped her on the shoulder, "I hate to interrupt but, it's Eraserhead." he said with a frown.

She finished up with the officers and left the scene with Hizashi. While they sat in the back of the car Mizuchi's leg bounced up and down. She had not taken the goggles off of her face yet.

Hizashi placed a hand on her leg, "Zuchi..." he said.

She lowered her head, tears started to fill the rim of her goggles.

"So much blood, there was so much blood. His face... his... his eyes..." Mizuchi choked on her words.

Hizashi squeezed her hand, "I've never seen him this injured before," she said lifting her goggles letting the tears flow. She bent the tears off her face and wiped her nose.

"He's strong, he'll recover... he has too," Hizashi said looking out the window.

Once they got to the hospital they were lead to the 3rd floor. They told Mizuchi that Shouta had just got out of surgery. He had a bad concussion and internal bleeding behind his eyes. Thankfully the surgery went well.

He will have to keep his eyes wrapped for a month before taking them off. They were able to stop the bleeding but, they didn't know how his quirk was affected. "We will need him to rest before we test his quirk for abnormalities. Until then, make sure he does not overexert himself," the doctor told her. She nodded, the doctor opened the door to the hospital room and she gasped.

Shouta was wrapped up like a mummy, she could not tell if he was awake or not. She walked over to his bedside and grabbed his wrapped hand. "Sho it's me, I'm here," she said trying to sound strong. No response. "The kids are fine, everyone got out ok. The villans escaped, we got a few of them in custody," she said hoping he would give her any response.

Mizuchi's eyes started to water, "I know this is apart of the job but... Sho I've never seen you like that before," tears started to fall down her face. "I know you fought with everything in you. I could tell, you are such a great pro and teacher, and I admire you so much," she said laying her head on the bed.

"Say something, anything Sho, please."

She felt a heavy hand land on top of her head, Aizawa murmured something through his bandages. She perked her head up, she stood and leaned in closer to his face to hear him.

"I said, I'm ok no need to cry. I'm not dead yet."

Mizuchi smiled, she cupped his bandaged face. "I love you."

1 Month Later

Mizuchi held his hand as they sat in the doctor's office. Today was the day the bandages came off. Mizuchi had acted as Aizawa's nurse for the past month. She helped him around the house and even pitched in with subbing for class 1-A. Shouta didn't put up a fight, he wanted to get back to normal as soon as possible.

Aizawa squeezed her hand, "What if I..."

"No, don't even think about it. You're fine, you've already told me that you can see light. That's a good sign." Mizuchi said hopefully.

The doctor walked into the room and greeted the couple. Mizuchi updated the doctor on the last week and how Shouta has been getting stronger. Shouta expressed to the doctor how the pain was still there but it was less intense. The doctor put all of this on Shouta's charts and grabbed scissors.

"Alright, Mrs. Aizawa can you stand right in front of your husband for me please," the doctor instructed.

Mizuchi followed his instructions and grabbed Shouta’s hands. The doctor took the scissors and started to cut at the bandage. Shouta squeezed his wife's hand and she squeezed back.

The bandage fell off his face and the doctor took off the two cotton patches covering his eyes. "Ok, I want you to slowly open your eyes for me," the doctor said.

Hesitantly he opened his eyes, it was blurry for a moment and the he could see Mizuchi who was waiting for his response.

"It's hurts, but I can see just fine," he said.

Both Mizuchi and the doctor sighed with relief. The doctor placed a pair of shades on his face. "Your eyes will be sensitive for a while. I'll have you see Recovery Girl for the rest of your treatment," he said writing his referral.

"She will help you with quirk recovery. If you two have any other concerns you can bring them to Recovery Girl" he said reassuringly.

The doctor sent the couple on their way. The drive home was silent, both just content that his sight was intact. Mizuchi unlocked the door to their apartment. She closed the door and before she could take off her shoes Shouta grabbed her face.

He took his shades off and threw them to the ground. He cupped Mizuchi’s face with tears in his, “I just want to look at you,” he said.

Mizuchi smiled wiping the tears off his face, “Oh Sho,” she said skimming her thumb below his new scar under his eye.

“I was so scared Mizu, I was scared that I wouldn’t be able to see your face again,” he said brushing her hair.

She took him into her arms and embraced him. “I love you Shouta, more than you’ll ever know.”

“I love you too, Mizuchi.”

#mha fanfiction #my hero academia #my hero academy oc #aizawa x oc #Mizuchi Aizawa #Aizawa Mizuchi #USJ #fanfic #anime #eraserhead #Oc #class 1a #Iida #present mic #Deku

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kingreywrites · 4 years

Text

What obstacles fate may bring

Fandom: Tangled

Words count: 3326

New Dream Appreciation Week Day Five: Proposal

Summary: "I can't believe it," Rapunzel groaned, taking his hand to press it against her face, probably to feel the coolness of his ring against her skin. "I can't believe- this must be a curse. We're cursed, Eugene, cursed to never have a normal engagement."

"We're not cursed," he chuckled, ignoring her glare. "The doctor said it might not be permanent."

Read on ao3

@our-newdream

Eugene knocked softly on the door of Rapunzel's bedroom, more to warn her that he was coming than anything else. Actually, it was their bedroom now, he remembered with a goofy smiled, that immediately abated at the sight he was met with. The bedroom was completely dark which, these last days, wasn't unusual - with her headaches, Rapunzel was uncomfortable if it was too brightly lit. Considering her previous relationship with the sun, it was quite ironic, but she was too miserable and she missed seeing the sky too much for Eugene to even joke about it. No, what was unusual today was the fact that Rapunzel was not only laying on her bed, but was actively trying to choke herself with a pillow while Pascal squeaked comfortingly next to her ear.

"You okay Sunshine?" Eugene asked softly, knowing that loud sounds could also hurt her.

She moaned something unintelligible under her pillow and he frowned, unsure if she was sad or actually hurting. He went to sit next to her quickly, his hand going to her shoulder.

"Does your head hurt?" He might have sounded a tiny bit more panicked than he originally wanted, but who could blame him? Some days ago, his fiancee had hurt her head so bad that she hadn't woken up for twenty-four horrible hours. Rapunzel must have heard the genuine worry in his voice because she moved the pillow down, just enough for her forlorn eyes to appear.

"It's not that," she finally mumbled, "my head doesn't hurt that much anymore."

Eugene smiled but kept in a corner of his head the fact that it still hurt, even if it was a little bit. He wasn't taking any risks with that - he'd have to ask the physician about it. Said physician might end up asking for a restraining order in return, since Eugene might have harassed him a little the last four days but, joke's on him, Eugene was also the guy that managed restraining orders - plus, it was about the Princess' health, so he was right to go overboard.

Rapunzel stayed silent but, even in the darkness, Eugene could still feel the sadness she exuded. He glanced at Pascal but the frog was apparently as lost as he was, so he'd have to wait for Rapunzel to actually say it.

Or he could ask. He wasn't a patient man when it came to the health of the love of his life.

"Rapunzel, what's wrong?"

She sighed, pressing harder against the pillow as she lowered her eyes. "I'm cursed."

"Cursed? Sunshine, we talked-"

"No, I know, it's not a real curse, it's just… It feels like a curse," she bit out. Blindly, her hand seeked his and he was happy to help her find it, until she yanked it in front of her face without a warning. His yelp didn't faze her at all; she was too busy staring at his engagement ring.

Ah. Eugene understood, suddenly, what was the problem.

To be precise, it all started two weeks ago, on Rapunzel's birthday. It had been one of the best day of Eugene's life because he had proposed to the love of his life, and she had said yes, and honestly his heart still hadn't recovered from the sheer emotion he had felt that day. They had spent… an interesting night, to say the least, and Eugene discovered next morning that waking up in the same bed as Rapunzel was one of the greatest gift in life.

So, all in all, it sounded perfect. And it was perfect, really - they went to announce it to her parents, who were ecstatic and, together, they agreed to wait a little before telling the whole kingdom about it. At first, it had been Rapunzel who asked, because she wanted Cassandra to hear it from her first, and, for them to be sure that it was the case, they had to wait until they received the dragon lady's answer. Eugene hadn't minded at all, really, he was even quite glad for the relative privacy - and he took the opportunity to write to his father, so he'd be the first to tell him too.

So, how did it all go wrong? Well, considering that the Coronans didn't know about the engagement, they had started getting down the decorations they had put up for Rapunzel's birthday. Feeling a little bad that it would be tidied up only for them to send everyone into a frenzy again with their engagement, Eugene and Rapunzel decided to help clean up the decorations. Between chatting with citizens and going where they were needed, they had gotten a little separated during the day, which wasn't that unusual.

What had been unusual were the screams.

Immediately alert, Eugene had run toward the noise, not letting himself panic even when cries about the Princess had reached his ears. He hadn't asked to be let through but had been anyway, and then, the only thing he had managed to see was Rapunzel's prone form, and the blood coming from her head. The rest was a blur, honestly - he remembered going to her, remembered whistling for Max, remembered giving orders to panicked citizens with a calm his heart certainly didn't feel, and remembered rushing toward the castle… But it was all disjointed and out of focus, his memories tainted by his terror. He remembered the next twenty-four hours, remembered how scared he had been, how tightly he had held her hand, how long he had trembled with nervousness and exhaustion.

Honestly, he didn't care about much else than her well-being after that. He knew that she didn't share his opinion on the matter, but he wouldn't budge on it - she was alright, and the rest could be fixed easily enough.

"I can't believe it," Rapunzel groaned, taking his hand to press it against her face, probably to feel the coolness of his ring against her skin. "I can't believe- this must be a curse. We're cursed, Eugene, cursed to never have a normal engagement."

"We're not cursed," he chuckled, ignoring her glare. "The doctor said it might not be permanent."

"Might," she grumbled, "I still can't believe it. I can't believe I forgot our engagement."

"You had a serious head injury that resulted in a case of retrograde amnesia that made you forget the last three weeks," Eugene recited dutifully, in the exact same tone as Rapunzel's physician. "It's not your fault," he added, "and I'm very happy that it was the worse thing that came out of this. You scared me, you know."

Maybe his voice was hoarser than he had intended - maybe he was more vulnerable than he wished to be, but it was true. He had been scared, terrified that this was the end of their journey together and for what? A little fall? Rapunzel couldn't have survived their crazy adventures for her to… to… die like this. He remembered how happy he had been when she finally woke up, confused and bleary-eyes but thankfully okay - and, at this moment, every carefully constructed rants about climbing building without protection dissolved on his tongue, not important anymore. Nothing was more important than her, and if the engagement had been one of the greatest day of his life, Rapunzel was his life, easy as that.

"It seemed so beautiful," Rapunzel whispered wistfully, still holding his hand absentely while his other one was busy making circles on her shoulder. "I've seen it drawn in my journal-"

"How did you-"

"-that my mom brought to me because I'm under strict orders to not get out of bed," she answered without missing a beat. "Past me wrote detailed annotations, and drew it from multiple angles, and I- I just-"

"Hey," Eugene whispered, stroking her face as he snuggled next to her. "If you want, we can take our rings off and redo the whole proposal all over again once you're on your feet. Sure, it won't be your birthday, but you know Coronans - they'll be happy to have a second lantern ceremony! The cupcake won't be a surprise anymore, but-"

"That's not the same though," Rapunzel mumbled, closing her eyes. She looked exhausted, and probably was since she was still recovering from her concussion. "If I could just remember it, then…"

"Rapunzel," he said tenderly, kissing her cheek quickly in the hope to cheer her up. "if you want, I can propose to you a million times in a million of different ways. What's the most important to me is that you're fine because that's the only thing needed for us to make new memories. I want to make new memories with you all my life," he insisted, pushing a strand of her hair from her face, meeting her shining eyes.

She exhaled shakily, both emotional and in pain. "You're right, I'm sorry..."

"I- no, Sunshine, you have every right to be upset," Eugene rectified softly, seeing that she was getting too tired for the conversation - but it was important she understood. "You lost an important memory, anyone would feel bad about it. I would whine myself into oblivion in your situation," he smiled, drawing a laugh from her, "and you'd be the one to tell me that my health was the most important thing."

Rapunzel hummed, closing her eyes again, for longer this time. She would probably fall back asleep soon - and, as much as she missed going outside, rest was an important part of her recovery.

"As long as we're both okay, we can fix this," was the last thing she mumbled, before she fell asleep. She barely felt Eugene kiss her forehead as he fixed her blanket, leaving her with Pascal as her devoted guard, while he went to harass the physician some more.

-----

"Rapunzel?" Eugene called, pushing open the door of their bedroom, who was back to being sunny and brightly lit - once the sun stopped giving her headaches, it seemed that Rapunzel decided the window needed to be wide open all the time. However, right now, it was closed, and Rapunzel wasn't here.

Sighing, he went to sit on the windowsill, knowing that she would come at some point - until he saw a little note taped to the pane. It was undoubtedly Rapunzel's writing, punctuated with little hearts and a doodle of them kissing. (Eugene never managed to get rid of the notes. He loved them too much, and he had boxes full of them because Rapunzel wrote hundred of them that she always always personalised. Yes, he also re-read the notes quite often, because he was a sap and he loved her.) He took the note down carefully and started to read it, a little worried about her whereabouts.

Eugene,

I have a surprise for you! Go see Max and he'll know where to take you!

Love,

Rapunzel.

Eugene frowned, immediately worried, because it might be sweet but Rapunzel was barely out of bedrest, a week and a half after her accident. If she was all alone, who knew what- oh, there was writing on the other side too.

PS,

I know you're probably worrying about me already, but I asked the physician and my parents about it and they said yes! I have Pascal and Fidella with me, plus you and Maximus coming, plus a lot of people knowing where to come find me if we're not back in two hours. Now go see Max! I love you!

Well, what could he answer to that? He shook his head, smiling, and put the note on his nightstand, before going to see Max immediately. He wanted to leave her alone as little as was possible, uncomfortably aware of what happened the last time he did, and, seeing that Max was ready and eager to leave, it was apparently a shared sentiment. Eugene tried hard not to stifle her too much, because he knew that wasn't what she needed, but sometimes he wanted to bundle her up in blankets to be sure that she would always be safe. He didn't know what he would do if she wasn't.

Max led him through the forest surrounding Corona, looking proud and sure of himself when Eugene wondered where exactly Rapunzel intended to meet him. Why would it need to be so far away from home? Though, now that he was paying attention, it felt like he recognized some of the landmarks - it has been a long time since he really strolled through the forest but that tree looked sort of familiar, didn't it?

Maximus neighed, startling Eugene as his friend took a sharp corner and suddenly, there Rapunzel was, sitting on a fallen over tree in front of a campfire. Eugene dismounted Max absentely, his breath caught in his throat as the flames illuminated Rapunzel's face wonderfully - it wasn't even that dark outside but she was still glowing, her brown hair taking a fiery orange aspect which made her green eyes pop even more than usual.

"I remember this place," he said, chest warm as she nodded a little too excitedly - he could see that she was trying hard to stay seated, despite the nervous energy coursing through her.

Of course he remembered. For anyone else, this place was nothing more than another uninteresting spot of the forest, but for them both, this was where they made a campfire the day they met. It was where Rapunzel trusted him with her biggest secret, and healed his hand; it was where he trusted her with his biggest secret, and told the story of Eugene Fitzherbert the orphan.

It was where they both discovered and accepted each other for who they were, no pretense needed. He could never forget it.

Eugene went to sit beside Rapunzel, like they did that first day. Maximus made himself scarce, probably meeting with Pascal and Fidella somewhere, but Eugene paid him no mind. He only had eyes for Rapunzel - for the obvious joy in her own, the blush on her cheeks, her wonderful smile, and everything that made her the love of his life.

"Hi," he breathed.

"Hi," she laughed, eyes shining. "Do you like it?"

Eugene had been too taken with her to notice the other decorations she had set up around the campfire. There were flowers all around them, and a basket full of what seemed to be delicious sweets.

"I love it," he answered, his eyes not leaving hers as he took her hands in his. "But, though I'm not complaining, I'm wondering why you decided to come here today."

"Remember the letters Cass sent?" Rapunzel asked, apparently out of the blue.

Eugene frowned, puzzled, but nodded because, seriously, how could he forget? They had to send Cassandra another letter informing her of what happened to Rapunzel - and that their engagement was put on the backburner until she was recovered enough and, hopefully, got her memories back. Rapunzel hadn't recovered her memories as of now. However, they had received a response from Cassandra some days later. Yes, they had received something because, for the first time since she left, Cassandra addressed a letter to Eugene specifically, instead of making snide remarks in the ones she regularly wrote to Rapunzel.

Of course, when Eugene opened it, it was to discover that there wasn't a message, really - she had only wrote "ahahaha" on the whole page, mocking him from across the country for yet another obstacle coming in between him and Rapunzel being engaged. Oh, Rapunzel's letter had been "very sweet" and "full of empathy", his fiancee's words not his, but Eugene didn't believe Cassandra was capable of those things. (He still kept the letter. Bitterly, but he kept it.)

"Well," Rapunzel said when he nodded, "I asked her for advice on something-"

"And she told you to break up with me."

"No! I mean, yes," Rapunzel laughed as Eugene gave her an 'I told you so' look, "she did say that but she also added good advice. She told me that I needed to be blunt, and fix what I wanted to fix instead of dwelling forever on it."

"Fix?" Eugene echoed, suddenly worried - what would Rapunzel need to fix between them? He didn't think he had done something particularly wrong lately, except maybe be a little of a mother-hen because of her injury, but he couldn't help it! He tried hard to let her breathe but he was scared and-

Before he could continue his train of thought, Rapunzel got up, making him follow her movement gently. He opened his mouth, ready to ask her for clarifications, but she didn't leave him the chance.

Rapunzel went down on one knee and all the air left Eugene's lungs, his heart beating louder in his chest.

"This is me, fixing what is bothering me," Rapunzel beamed, her eyes shining. "You were right, Eugene - what matters most to me is that we're able to make new memories together, for all our lives. But we lived through so many moments together, and I treasure every one of them, because I treasure my time with you more than anything else in the world."

"Sunshine," Eugene breathed, unable to voice exactly just how much he loved her. He didn't think words were enough to describe the warmth in his chest overwhelming his senses, making his eyes water from sheer emotion as Rapunzel kept talking.

"This place… This campfire, that was the first time you let me in. This was the moment I really met you, Eugene Fitzherbert, my new dream even if I didn't know it quite yet. You make my life better, and brighter, and I feel so lucky to have you at my side no matter what."

"I'm lucky too," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion, "the luckiest man on Earth."

Rapunzel grinned and, carefully, she took his ring off his finger. "I know you've already done this… and that taking the ring from you may seem counterintuitive, but-" She took a deep breath, still on her knee, now holding his ring between her fingers, her own ring shining thanks to the fire's glow. "- Eugene Fitzherbert, will you marry me?"

"Yes," he answered, too quickly perhaps as he lowered himself and put his arms under hers, lifting her up in a hug. "Of course it's yes," he laughed, and she laughed too - he could feel her smiling against his neck and he never wanted to let her go. "It's always yes."

She moved her head back a little, to be able to look into his eyes. They were both breathless and grinning, cheeks hurting and an never-ending fondness that they didn't bother containing. Their lips met, almost against their will, love pulling them together like gravity.

They breathed, and Rapunzel took the opportunity to slid Eugene's ring back on his finger - which meant he had to kiss her again, because she was his everything and she wanted him to be hers, for their whole lives.

"Let's hope," she murmured after some time, "that our curse is over."

"Not a curse."

"Uh-uh. But let's hope, anyway."

"No more moonstone related incidents," Eugene suggested.

"No more retrograde amnesia," Rapunzel added.

"Sounds good to me," Eugene grinned, before kissing her again - he was certainly lucky. Who had the chance to be engaged twice to the most perfect woman in the universe?

Only him.

(They went back home to announce the engagement a second time to Rapunzel's parents, who were, incredibly enough, as excited as the first time. Rapunzel had to send another letter to Cassandra, to Eugene's despair - she would never let him live it down.

Some days later, Rapunzel pounced on him, startling him awake at an unlawful hour. He didn't complain, though; not when he saw the absolute delight on her face as she announced excitedly that she finally remembered their first engagement. One more than necessary, sure, but when had they ever done something the usual way?

Plus, twice the engagement meant twice the celebration, and Eugene was happy to provide.)

#the plot may be a tad... convoluted yes #I just want as many proposals as possible #and I struggled so much to write this that I hope you will like it anyway lol #tangled #New Dream Appreciation Week #Eugene Fitzherbert #Rapunzel #New Dream

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chief-of-restless-hearts · 4 years

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Chapter 2: Indentured

. . .

“HA,” Robin crowed, with one fist planted firmly on his hip while the other pointed down at his conquered foe. “HA HA HA!”

“Heh...” Joker whined from the floor, on his back, grinning blankly at the ceiling, “hh...”

Batman, tied onto the conveyor belt that would have fed him feet-first into the chomping jaws of a giant set of fake teeth, was staring with what Dick hoped was approval. Winning a laughing contest on a bet to save your partner wasn’t as effortless as he made it look.

“Robin the boy wonder, that laughing daredevil, reigns as champion! Y’see, pasty, a real clown mighta actually given me a run for my money, but y--” He broke off into a hacking cough and staggered over to untie Bruce. “Ack, B,” he wheezed, “'m done now.”

. . .

“You shoulda seen it Alfie, Joker was all like, ‘bet you can’t dodge bullets, boy blunder’, an’ then I went, ‘well I bet you can’t out-laugh me you pasty faker,’ and the--” he coughed, breaking off with a grimace. The cookie, warm butterscotch--one of his favorites, stuck dry in his raw throat. He choked it down anyway.

Bruce was still ignoring the tray Alfred had laid out by the batcomputer. Still ignoring both of them. Dick leaned closer to Alfred. “I think you should check B for a concussion,” he stage whispered. “I saved his neck using nothin’ but wit an’ derring-do and I’m still waitin’ on my thank you.”

“Perhaps he is tired, Master Dick, as you both should be at this unconscionably early hour.” Alfred directed a heated glance at Bruce’s still-turned back.

Dick rolled his eyes and wobbled toward the showers, letting the disappointment roll off his shoulders as he unclipped his cape.

“Dick. Listen to me.” Interrupted mid-yawn, Dick turned to see Bruce standing and taking a step closer; his unmasked face looked hard and stern. “Do not ever, under any circumstance, place your life on the line for mine again.”

Dick’s laugh came out as sharp and painful as the confused sting of hurt in his chest. “Gee, you’re welcome, B.”

“The same applies for any hostage,” Bruce continued, unfazed.

Dick’s brow furrowed incredulously. “But just last week you--”

“Listen!” Bruce barked. Dick blinked; Bruce never raised his voice at him--but Bruce’s expression, though strained and intense, didn’t even look angry. “Your life is not a bargaining chip,” he continued, his tone lower but still wire-tight. “In any crisis situation you are to get away as fast as possible, and if you can’t do that I want you to buy time for me to reach you.”

The finality and command ingrained in Bruce’s tone enraged him as rapidly as it always did.

“Wha--what are you even--” he broke off furiously. “Bruce, are you seriously asking me to walk away and leave you to die? Let anyone die?” His voice, high and hoarse and furious, cracked against his will; Bruce was approaching, about to shut him down, and Dick shook his head fiercely. “Cuz ‘m not gonna let you die. I’m not--”

His throat gave out, broke into coughing from deep in his chest, and he groaned, shaking his head again, not looking at Bruce. “...‘m not,” he choked.

Bruce was crouching before him, saying nothing. Dick couldn’t have said more if he’d wanted to.

“Alfred,” Bruce said quietly.

“I’ll prepare the young master some tea and honey,” Alfred replied, equally subdued. Dick had forgotten he was there.

Dick felt Bruce’s eyes lingering on him, studying, but Dick still couldn’t meet his gaze. “It’s late,” Bruce said at last. “Do you have homework, or...” He trailed off. Maybe his internal clock was kicking in too.

“School’s in like, three hours,” Dick mumbled, shrugging, and suddenly his eyes felt heavy. “Don’t think homework’s gonna be the issue.”

“This has been happening far too frequently of late,” Alfred said, with that disapproving tone in his voice again. “I am frankly shocked that his grades have not yet suffered.”

“I can handle it,” Dick croaked earnestly, “I can sleep later, it’s fine.”

“We will...discuss your patrol schedule,” Bruce said, haltingly, his expression pinched strangely as though he were hurt, but Dick had checked him over on the way back to the batmobile and he’d seemed fine-- “But not now,” he continued, and reached out to gently squeeze Dick’s shoulder. “You should get to bed.”

Swallowing the dread that was losing Robin, his only way of really doing anything worthwhile and the most time he ever got to spend with Bruce, Dick turned back to the showers. He’d have more fight in him later, but...just now he felt more tired than he’d ever been.

“Dick,” Bruce said. Dick didn’t turn this time. “I’ll meet you and Alfred upstairs in a minute. I could use some of that tea, too.”

Dick hesitated, but as he headed on to the showers the weight in his chest lightened just a little, and when at last he was upstairs on the sitting room couch with a hot mug cradled between his pajama clad legs and chest, Bruce was beside him, staring at yesterday’s half-finished chess game as though it held the answer to every question in the universe. The windows were pale, Dick still hadn’t slept, and he took another long hot sip of the drink and closed his eyes as it slid down his aching throat.

“I...need you to understand, Dick,” Bruce said, after some thirty minutes of honeyed tea silence. His tone, low and grave, told Dick what he was about to say. Dick raised his mug to disguise his scowl. Bruce cleared his throat, and now he was looking at him. “My life will never be worth the sacrifice of yours. And if...I ever allowed you to bring harm to yourself, I--” he broke off, covering his mouth, and as Dick saw the pinched look returning around Bruce’s eyes his anger slipped away. “You’re my responsibility,” Bruce said, his voice as rough as Dick’s. “If anything happened to you...”

You don’t get it, Dick didn’t say, what’s the point of me going out there to watch your back and make a difference if I can’t give it my all.

“Patrol’s gonna be a lot quieter without me,” he mumbled into his mug.

Bruce paused, and then his mug settled on the coffee table with a decisive clink. “Then we’ll work on making the upstairs louder. Starting tomorrow. You’ve earned a sick day or two--after all, it’s not every day that someone manages to take the Joker down without a single blow.”

A broad, toothy grin stretched across Dick’s face, and as Bruce met his gaze the barest hint of a smile formed on his face too. “If your teachers ask we’ll just say you have a frog in your throat.”

Dick laughed, quiet and sore but from deep in his stomach, and leaned into the sturdy warmth of Bruce’s arm. Golden light trickled in through the tall windows to join the light from the flickering hearth, and at last he let his eyes fall closed.

. . .

The clicking latch was enough. Dick snapped awake and had already flipped backward into a defensive stance on the bed when the door opened. He took in Deathstro--no, ‘Slade’s’ silhouette in the doorway, with his heart thumping in his ears.

Slade was in costume, but unmasked. “Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen down the hall,” he said.

And he left.

Dick stared blankly at the empty doorway for a moment before collapsing back on the bed with a groan. It was embarrassing to have fallen asleep and left himself vulnerable in enemy territory, but already his aching body told him that he hadn’t slept anywhere near long enough to recover from the day before.

He had spent most of the night staring at the camera built into the opposite wall. Slade hadn’t even bothered disguising it. The room was little more than a frigid cell with bare whitewashed halls, unfurnished beyond the camera and the bed he lay on--though there was a door that led to an even tinier adjoining bathroom.

The bathroom contained a shower stall, a toilet, and a sink. It was not equipped with a lock.

The door to the hall was equipped with one...from the outside. Slade hadn’t locked it.

Dick wouldn’t have expected that to make him feel less safe.

He couldn’t remember much of his nightmare, but he did remember Kory’s face, and the way she had looked at him when he--

Dick pressed his icy hands over his face and waited for his breathing to slow. He would...make it up to her. Just as soon as he got out.

He still owed her a movie night. It wasn’t going to be a date, just a movie--but she’d never been to one before, and after the whole Red X mess he had owed it to her--he had promised it to her, and...they would miss the showing if he didn’t get out soon. Of course that was assuming that she wouldn’t still hate him even after he explained everything. He wouldn’t blame her if she did--he couldn’t, not after what he’d done to her, both before and after what Slade had made him do, but...

it couldn’t end like this.

He wouldn’t let it.

Shrill beeping sent him jumping out of his skin again. It was coming from what looked like a comm build into the wall beside his bed--an alarm, then. It continued screeching into his ears as he, very bitterly, rolled out of bed.

. . .

He found Slade leaning against the kitchen counter, unmasked but still in costume with coffee in one hand and a clipboard in the other. Dick halted in the doorway and waited there stiffly until Slade’s gaze fixed on him.

“If you managed to get lost in a hall lined with locked doors, that is pretty impressive,” Slade said. He paused before taking a sip from his mug, and arched an eyebrow at him. “And in case you missed any, I did lock all of them.”

Dick only glared at him.

He had taken his time going down the hall, counting the cameras and defiantly staring into each of them as he tried every door in turn. And they had all been locked, including the unmarked door to the main room.

“Eat,” Slade said more brusquely, and tossed a small clipboard onto the counter island between them, beside the plate of food that Dick had been making a concentrated effort not to look at. “You’ll make up for the wasted time later.”

Eyeing the food hungrily but suspiciously, Dick didn’t even approach the table. Slade snorted impatiently. “If I wanted to drug you I wouldn’t use your food to do it. Eat now or go hungry.”

Dick hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, and was starved enough to risk taking Slade at his word. He held a distrustful eye on Slade as he gulped down the chokingly strong coffee and protein-rich but bland food that Slade apparently considered a breakfast.

Slade began describing the contents of the clipboard that Dick had yet to look at. Slade was outlining the day’s regimen of workouts and training down to the last minute of the day...and talked as though he were introducing Dick to the new norm, his new life.

Dick’s appetite dried up completely (but still, somehow, left his gnawing hunger completely intact).

But he had no reason to start thinking so fatalistically. Even if he didn’t find his own way out of this mess, the Titans or Batman would figure everything out before Slade took things too far. Not that Dick intended to wait around for them to clean up his mess.

Bruce didn’t need to hear about this.

If Dick was going to see him again--and now, suddenly and forcefully, he wanted to--he didn’t want to go through the humiliation of seeing Bruce proven right. What happened to Jay was...it wasn’t going to happen again. And he didn’t need Bruce to protect him.

He chewed robotically, kept his eye on Slade and maintained the appearance of listening, but his mind was already wandering the mental map of the base that he was trying to assemble. So far he had counted two possible escape routes. The front way (obviously), and the oversized fan he’d glimpsed stars through the night before during that little game of hide and seek with Slade on the gears. But his search wasn’t finished. A place this large had to have multiple vents leading to the surface. It was just a matter of finding them, and he had time, even if he did want nothing more than to get as far away from Slade as possible.

But he needed to do something first. He needed to undo all the damage he had done, all the ways that he had betrayed some of the best friends he’d ever had.

. . .

“I don’t know about you, but I am totally capable of subduing someone without crushing their windpipe.” Dick was still poised before the training dummy, gripping the staff with both sweat-slick palms and trying to ignore the fatigue tremors working their way through his body.

But he had made the grave error of turning his back on Slade, who was just behind his shoulder--and moving. Dick wheeled only for Slade to grab him by the shoulders and steer him toward the dummy again.

“For me that won’t be enough. Resume your position.”

Dick shifted his grip on the staff and stiffly resumed his stance.

“No,” Slade said curtly. He reached over Dick’s shoulder to grab his forearm. Dick jerked violently in the hold, which only tightened. “You are going to enter the proper offensive stance,” Slade said, his voice dripping condescension.

“I don’t need to--”

“Twelve point five million dollars...” Slade said slowly, deliberately. “That was the offer from the HIVE that I refused in favor of sparing the Titans, and that is what you owe me. I really am asking very little in return.” Slade’s hands moved to adjust Dick’s rigid grip on the staff. This time, Dick let him. “Now, this time complete the maneuver correctly.”

Cold spread from Dick’s heart to his fingertips.

The price placed on his friends’ lives was, somehow, at the same time too much and far too little.

He jabbed the end of his staff under the dummy’s chin in a sharp, sudden strike. The neck snapped in two, the detached head toppling to the floor with a single morbid bounce.

“Adequate,” Slade said, then added, “for a self-taught amateur.”

Dick went very still. Slade should have had no way of knowing that.

Slade was moving away, and Dick risked a look at his face while the blind side was facing him. But his expression appeared perfectly neutral, and in the few (but still too many) hours that Dick had known Slade he had grown no better at reading him.

“Now,” Slade continued, and he touched his own throat just above the armored plate. “Strike me here with that same maneuver. Just that one, no improvisation--but try to hit me.”

After an uncertain beat, Dick struck out. Slade edged sideways just before the staff would have touched him, but he was frowning. “Again,” he instructed, and Dick did. But something inside him twisted with every lunge. By the fourth time he realized what he was doing just as Slade grabbed the staff mid-strike.

“You’re faltering,” he snapped. “Try again, and this time try to hit me. Hold back again and I will show you what those attacks should look like firsthand.”

A flush spread across Dick’s face, but he moved again. Just as he had before, Slade evaded effortlessly--but by a much narrower margin. Dick hadn’t even realized that he had been tilting his strikes off-center at the last instant, and his cheeks stung with embarrassment. He had been holding back from hurting Deathstroke.

Deathstroke.

“Better,” Slade said, but had him continue anyway.

Again, and again, and again.

But Slade should not have known about that.

. . .

Dick couldn’t stop thinking about the attack on Wayne Tower.

Slade had known about his staff training, and he shouldn’t have, and if he knew about that, he hadn’t just been spying on Titans Tower where Robin had taken to keeping his mask on even around his new teammates. The possibilities were ugly. All of them.

His hands and knees were on the mat, one arm cradling his chest as he gasped for breath and tried uselessly to get his focus back. He was nowhere near in the headspace for combat training, but what only made it worse was that Slade was holding back. Those hits, if thrown with the full force that Slade had given him before, would have laid him out flat and likely crushed his ribs.

--But Dick had told Slade he already had a father and then Slade had sent him to sabotage Wayne Tower. Dick was supposed to be a detective. What was he supposed to deduce from that? And if he was right, if Slade knew, then even if Slade didn’t take advantage of the opportunity to take out his current most dangerous opponent he could just as easily destroy Batman’s crusade for good. That would prove a deathblow for Gotham, and if Dick knew Bruce--and he did--it would be one for him too.

And it would be all Dick’s fault.

A rod cracked against his ear. He reeled backward in shock, his head ringing from the blow, and his attention snapping back to Slade who was looming over him with staff in hand, masked, but there was no disguising his dark expression.

“Are you ignoring me, Renegade?”

Dick stared up at him blankly for a moment before it sank in that he had zoned out mid-sparring session. And...had Slade been speaking?

Slade continued staring down at him while Dick scrounged desperately for some kind of excuse that wasn’t an apology, when Slade exhaled and angled his head slightly. “You’ve been quiet.” he said at last.

Was that a question? As moments ticked by, Dick realized that it was. Hastily he hefted the staff that had been forgotten in his hand and resumed a defensive sparring position. He held it, swallowing anxiously as he waited.

At last Slade raised his own staff. “Very well,” he said, and lunged at him.

. . .

Slade straightened, reattached his staff to his belt, dismissed him, and the last training session of the night was over.

Dick turned away and braced himself to keep his weary shoulders squared and his posture straight until he reached the room he never would have expected to actually want to return to. But where else was there to go to escape Slade and the constriction around his throat and chest that only barely managed to trap every desperate question behind his teeth.

“Is there something on your mind?” Slade’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

“No,” Dick said hastily, his eyes only darting to and away from Slade’s.

“Renegade.” The word had an edge to it. A warning.

Dick gritted his teeth and pretended to misunderstand its meaning. “No, ‘sir’.”

The word tasted like acid on his tongue.

. . .

The alarm woke him with all the subtlety of an electric jolt. Sluggishly, he winced. The noise was weirdly abrasive, and why did the air taste like metal and his bed feel so...

His fingers curled tight around the blanket that wasn’t his and reality slammed into his chest like a hammer.

He wasn’t in Titans Tower. Wasn’t in the manor. He was buried under layers of lead-lined asphalt in Deathstroke’s secret base, and yesterday was going to happen again and then keep happening, over and over and--

No.

No, it wouldn’t.

He made himself get up, wash, dress into the uniform again, and as he made his way down to the kitchen he tried his best not to think too deeply about the spirit gum that he had found conveniently left on the sink to use for his mask.

. . .

Dick pivoted midair and caught the bar again as he fell, letting the swing of his own weight carry him up into the air again.

The bars were icy in his grip, not too different from the bars he’d spent half his life practicing on. They helped enhance the illusion, if he closed his eyes and pretended that he was surrounded by the damp but comfortable recesses of the batcave.

Slade would still be watching him from below, but Dick wanted to close his eyes and forget that. He didn’t need to look to catch the next bar and then let it carry him up again into a double somersault.

“Are you planning to spend the day up there, Renegade?”

Dick flinched, his eyes flying open to see the bar racing up toward him. He grasped out quickly--only barely hooking his fingers around it, the grip too loose to do anything but slow his descent. He tucked and landed in a roll that jarred every bone in his body, but he was still aware enough to snap into alertness as Slade approached him where he was still crouched on the floor.

He scrambled to his feet, but he hadn’t even caught his breath.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, since you were so clearly enjoying yourself, but that isn’t what you’re here for, is it?”

Dick just stared at Slade’s masked face. He couldn’t read him, not a single inch of him.

After a prolonged period of silence Slade crossed his arms. “Whatever’s distracting you, you need to be more careful. I wouldn’t have caught you this time.”

Dick scowled at the allusion to their fight the week before. Dick had gotten careless, Deathstroke had landed a blow to his gut that sent him toppling over the edge of the building--and then a hand had caught him by the wrist.

‘I’m not through with you.’

And now, of course, Dick knew what that meant.

Swallowing back another wave of dread at the reminder of how long Slade must have been planning for this, Dick turned and reached for the schedule he had left on the nearby desk.

“That’s it? Nothing?” The voice behind him almost sneered. Dick’s hand froze an inch away from the papers. “It used to be impossible to shut you up.”

This time expectancy hung stagnant in the air without any disguise of friendliness. And Dick couldn’t have held it in a single moment longer.

“Do you know who I am?” he burst out. Slade surveyed him for a moment, and Dick rephrased the question, this time trying to suppress the urgency in his tone. “Do you...know my civilian name.”

Slade laughed. Dick flinched at the short, harsh sound. “Kid, you have more than enough to worry about without wasting time worrying about your former mentor’s secrets.”

Dick nearly yelled the question at him again, and just barely bit it back. But the anger was working its way into his face. It was burning, twisting into something ugly, and he barely wheeled away in time to hide it.

“Renegade!” A heavy hand clapped over his shoulder and Slade’s voice dropped to a growl. “You do not walk away when I am speaking to you.”

Dick whirled and ripped Slade’s hand away. “You’re a monster, you know that?” he snarled at Slade’s face, and when the visible eye narrowed he didn’t stop. “You’re doing the same thing to the Titans that you always do, you do the same thing again and again and--you can’t just put price tags on people’s lives. You can’t!”

He stopped, and he was nearly shaking with rage. Slade’s face was still twisted under the mask, but the reaction Dick was braced for never came.

“Maybe not,” Slade said lowly, with steel backing each measured word. “But I’ll take what I can get.”

Dick was about to snap back, but Slade was looking at him. And then, suddenly, Slade’s meaning clicked in his mind. Dick remembered, and he went very still.

Slade turned away.

“Isn’t there somewhere you need to be?” His voice was deadly quiet. Dick stared at Slade’s back, hesitating, cold to the bone. “Go,” Slade hissed.

Finally, Dick turned to leave. Lunch break had been listed next on the schedule.

“Renegade.” Dick halted. Slade had spoken without turning, his voice flatter than before. “Remember that debt.”

. . .

A horrifically vivid image of Bruce collapsing, his skin pulsing with lethal nanotech, sliced viciously through Dick’s mind. He lurched to a stop halfway down the hall, leaning against the wall with still-tacky paint that peeled away in places all over the base to reveal plates of lead--lead, and if Slade knew enough to repel Superman, what did he have waiting for Batman--and breathe, and breathe.

He needed to move quickly. Because he couldn’t run and he couldn’t afford to wait for a rescue that might never come. Couldn’t count on them discovering the probes and saving themselves, because apparently he had some kind of stupid talent for endangering the lives of everyone he’d ever touched and he was not about to let Slade take Batman down too.

Bruce would be angry when he found out, but Dick had already gone and played himself as a bargaining chip and all those promises Bruce had Dick make all those years ago--that was just Bruce being an idiot. He always acted like his own life was expendable, like seeing him get hurt didn’t tear Dick apart. Maybe he had been Bruce’s responsibility once upon a time, but Batman was still Robin’s responsibility and he always would be. Maybe, someday, Bruce would understand. Dick knew Kory would understand--of all of them she would, because as much as none of them liked to talk about it, she understood what it was like to have your life traded away for the greater good. Willingly or not.

He could fix this in one go. He could act quickly, so suddenly that Slade wouldn’t reach him until it was already done, and then whatever happened next would be worth it. He’d try to run. He probably wouldn’t get far, and he didn’t especially want to die for anyone, but...there were worse things.

What he really wanted was a second chance. He didn’t even want to think about the serious possibility that he might have cried wolf one too many times. He had so much to make up for, to so many, and...there were some things he needed to tell Bruce, too. He’d meant what he told Slade earlier. He did have a father--a living one. And even if Bruce didn’t feel the same...Dick wanted a chance to tell him that.

And that meant that he couldn’t afford to wait on this any longer.

He just needed to reach the central computer.

. . .

The thundering in his chest drowned out the echoing clank of gears, measuring the precious seconds as they passed. Dick grabbed a fistful of wires under the computer console and slashed through them with the knife he’d managed to smuggle out of the training room in his boot to use as a lockpick.

The computers from the end of the main room overlaid with the massive display screens were wired directly into the device that triggered the probes. He just needed to penetrate the initial defense system to tap into the system’s inner workings and then he’d be on his own turf, doing a simple job that he’d done a hundred times before. He would short-circuit the devices, rendering them completely harmless just so long as he did this correctly, and carefully…

The screen flickered with static, and as soon as it cleared his eager fingers were racing across the keyboard.

It took an instant too long to notice that new images had flickered onto the screen. Familiar ones. Layouts that displayed his friends’ vascular systems flooded with the mechanical infection.

At the bottom of each screen pulsed a single word that made his heart drop like a stone into the pit of his stomach:

[[Activated]]

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Dick whirled to see Deathstroke standing in the doorway. His arms were crossed almost casually, but his gaze through the mask was hard as stone.

Dick glanced desperately at the screen again. At the flashing activation alerts.

“You seem to have made a mistake, Renegade.” Deathstroke’s eye narrowed to a slit. “Need any help?”

“You need to...stop it,” Dick faltered, eyes darting again between the screen and Deathstroke’s face, “I...it...”

Deathstroke didn’t budge an inch, not in his posture leaning against the doorframe, and not in his gaze that remained unshifting from Dick’s face.

Deathstroke had known. He had known everything, and suddenly it sank in that he must have expected him to try this from the very beginning. He’d wired the computers with a failsafe to kill the Titans, and now he was waiting for something and Dick had no idea what more he wanted.

“Please,” he forced out, the word high and desperate and painfully unnatural, “Just make it stop!”

For an excruciating moment Dick could almost feel his own flesh crawling with the same nanotech that could be eating away at his friends from the inside out while he just stood there doing nothing and it was all his fault he was so stupid--

Deathstroke was pushing away from the door to approach the computer.

“I suppose,” he said dryly, typing rapidly until the pulsing lights faded to blank screens, “that there are other ways to deal with you.”

Dick was hemmed into the dusty corner beside the computer, with only Deathstroke standing between him and the broad space where he would have a fighting chance at running.

The instant Deathstroke’s fingers stilled over the keyboard, he bolted.

Deathstroke whipped around, sweeping out a leg that grazed Dick’s shins as he leapt back out of range. The evasion forced him to give ground and then sheer survival instinct consigned his entire being to blocking, dodging, and evading even while knowing that he was being herded ever further back into the corner.

He needed more space to avoid those lightning-quick reflexes that kept pace with his speed in a way that Batman never had--space that he didn’t have--and his resistance, restricted to the defensive by Deathstroke’s rapid-fire attacks, bought him less than a minute. He fell for a feint and Deathstroke’s grip closed around his wrist, twisted, and threw him.

The wall slammed into his back. It might have forced his lungs up his throat for the way his chest constricted. He gaped uselessly for air he couldn’t take in until the tightness receded into all-encompassing burning in...his ribs...

“Honestly,” Deathstroke’s voice was saying, and approaching, “how far did you think you would get. This place is as rigged over as you are.”

He wheezed, and couldn’t breathe--and his spotty vision cleared only just in time to raise his arms to absorb the brunt of Deathstroke’s kick. He had barely managed his first fresh breath before the next blow came--a fist to the gut that knocked the air out all over again. He barely felt the blow to his jaw that followed.

A knee rammed into his middle, and that was it, he was gagging, on his side, his entire body convulsing helplessly. Blood coated his teeth, his tongue, bubbling over his lips, claws were digging into his chest and he couldn’t breathe.

“So, Renegade,” Deathstroke was bending down; Dick wanted to move, his fingers twitched instead, “you don’t want this apprenticeship?” Fingers curled over his chest, twisting around kevlar till it ripped, dragging him off the floor; his eyes cracked open and Deathstroke’s mask was an inch from his face, twisted with undisguisable fury. “Well,” he hissed, “I want my son back. So it sounds like neither of us are about to get what we want.”

Deathstroke was straightening. He was hauling Dick toward the open doorway, Dick’s feet were skidding uselessly under him, and his eyes widened with alarmed realization. Grabbing Deathstroke’s wrist with both hands he struggled against the clamped iron fingers--and then Deathstroke let go.

Dick’s back slammed into the floor. He gagged a desperate, garbled cough, blinking at new stars spotting the shadowed ceiling. And then Deathstroke was grabbing his ankle. Pulling. He was being dragged.

Just aware enough to be alarmed, he flailed weakly in an attempt to right himself. Deathstroke just gave his ankle a yank that sent him flopping back down again. Cement dragged against his ribs, left them screaming with searing pain; he tried twisting sideways off the floor. Dizzying exhaustion dropped him before Deathstroke could do it himself. Blinking through swimming vision, he barely recognized his own door before Deathstroke yanked him through the opening.

The vicious motion might as well have broken his ribs all over again from the way the breath stole out of him. His teeth were clenched so tightly he thought they might break too.

He turned his head slightly, just enough to glimpse Deathstroke’s silhouette towering in the doorway.

“Enjoy the quiet,” it said, and the slamming door’s impact against the doorframe echoed across the floor and his ribs. The room drowned in complete darkness, and a soft click told him that the room would remain in that state indefinitely.

Slowly, he rolled onto his side, gritting his teeth to hold back the keen building up in the back of his throat. He touched his mask to activate night vision, and let his arm slump back onto the floor.

For now, there was no point in moving. He could just...rest here. Close his eyes, and try to choke down the acidic cocktail of blood, bile, and shame that coated his throat and gripped it like a vise.

#here's the next one!#and the laughing contest is canon btw #bad company #dick grayson #bruce wayne #slade wilson #the apprentice #teen titans #batfam #batman #deathstroke #alfred #bat family #fanfic #fanfiction #batman fanfiction #bad company ch 2 #ta #my writing

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hamletandthegang · 3 years

Text

Reunite

Ophelia, Hamlet, Horatio, and Maggie all walked around to the far side of the castle, where there was a secret entrance they used whenever they wanted to avoid Claudius or the guards. The grass was still wet from where it had rained earlier, and they walked in silence, each lost in their thoughts.

Ophelia became more and more nervous by the second of what the reaction would be from the others. She had started feeling very guilty that she had stayed away for so long, only now revealing the fact that she was alive to her life-long friends. But she also felt like she was somewhat justified in her actions and hoped the others would understand. She mostly just didn't want to face Annalise.

Maggie was wracking her brain, trying to rapidly stitch together a plan from the pieces of the failed assassination attempt from an hour ago. She had the rebels, the police force, and now a perfect way into the castle and a clear shot to the King. All she lacked were the forces to combat the sheer amount of military and guards connected to the court…

Hamlet was still trying to process the fact that his girlfriend was still alive. He had been told she'd lost her mind and killed herself, come to find out she was alive and well and hanging out with what used to be one of his worst enemies. It had also dawned on him what he had done to her father, and suddenly her hesitation to his presence made a whole lot more sense. What had he done?

Horatio was exhausted. The last three weeks had felt like years. First coming back from England, Hamlet immediately killing Polonius and being sent back to England, Rosencrantz and Guildenstern narrowly avoiding dying out in the middle of the sea, getting a concussion and being bed-ridden for a good 36 hours, and then one of his best friends losing her mind and then dying and then NOT dying. He didn't even want to process the sheer amount of emotions he felt about her appearance- he just felt utterly overjoyed. He wanted to hug her and never let go, but she seemed very sensitive to any physical touch at the moment, so that was not an option. So instead, he was left to walk along quietly, filled to the brim with a feeling of uncontainable exhausted joy.

Hamlet helped them all into the side door then himself, shutting the door behind him and knocking into Horatio. They climbed up through the bottom of the ledge that led to the small door and then stepped out into the castle hallway. They made their way upstairs and to the third-floor window where the rebels were waiting impatiently in the car underneath and unfurled the climbing ladder to let them up. After each of them tumbled through the window and filed into the least-used wing of the castle, they continued to where they knew the others would be at this time of night.

The group had taken to playing board games in the little game room near the kitchen every night, trying to find ways to act normal and pretend as if they were simply college students hanging out together. Ophelia swallowed hard as they turned the corner and could hear the low voices coming from that room and tried to prepare herself for their reactions.

Hamlet and Horatio walked in first, leaving Ophelia and Maggie behind the wall separating the game room from the two steps up into the kitchen.

"Hey! How'd it go?" Anna's cheery voice asked, and Ophelia nearly turned around and left on the spot.

"Well, we didn't get Claudius, but- uh, we have someone here to see you all," Horatio spoke, and Ophelia took a deep breath and stepped around the corner.

The silence shot like bullets.

Rosencrantz, Marc, Anna, and Guildenstern all sat there completely stunned.

"Hi, guys," Ophelia said hesitantly.

Annalise screamed, stood up, and backed around behind the chair she was sitting in as a shield. "Is this some sick joke? Are you a fucking ghost or something? Huh?!"

"Hey, hey, no it's okay. Let's just sit down and-" Horatio tried to explain, but Annalise kept talking.

"No no no no no no this can't be real- I saw your grave! I saw your grave!" Annalise shouted, beginning to get choked up. "I saw the empty bottle- I saw it! Goddamnit this isn't real-" her back hit the wall, and before Ophelia could go over to her, Guildenstern had shot up and wrapped his arms around her, nearly pushing her over. Rosencrantz was still staring, completely in shock, and Marc had his hands over his mouth, barely taking in the information in front of him.

Ophelia could feel Guildenstern shaking, and when he finally let her go, he looked almost green. He sat back in the chair behind him and pulled a hand through his hair, staring at her as if she'd disappear at any moment.

"Holy shit-" Rosencrantz finally spoke. "Phelia? Damn! You really had me!" He started laughing, and Ophelia couldn't help but smile. This was the way Rosencrantz dealt with everything- he laughed. Ophelia had missed hearing it. As a child, his home had been extremely loud and downright abusive at times, and he had quickly developed a coping mechanism of joking to diffuse situations and the ability to laugh through almost anything.

"Marc?" Hamlet placed a hand on his shoulder, and he looked up, hands still clamped over his mouth.

"Can I…?" He motioned to Ophelia's hand, and she held it out. He hesitated, then grabbed hold of it, and once he felt how completely solid and warm it was, a hesitant grin spread across his face. "Thank Christ," he breathed, then stood up and hugged her. He hadn't forgotten about the ghost of the former King that stalked the grounds at night.

Annalise had finally started breathing again and approached her cousin hesitantly. "You died, right?"

"Nearly," Ophelia smiled out of nervousness. "I think Laertes gave me something that just knocked me out for a long time so somehow I just woke up on the sand and- yeah. I don't really know what happened, but my memory was really messed up for a while afterward so after I found Maggie, I just stayed with her for a bit while I tried to recover from it all and-"

"Wait, Maggie?" Guildenstern asked.

"Oh!" Ophelia noticed that she still was standing in the kitchen and motioned for her to come in. Annalise gasped when she revealed herself, and the room went silent again.

"It's okay," Horatio interjected. "I think she's cool." Maggie shot a grateful look at him.

"Are you sure?" Rosencrantz asked him, glaring at Maggie.

"She wants to help us take down Claudius. She also apparently saved Ophelia and let her stay with her, so yeah, I guess." Hamlet shrugged.

"Alright," Annalise said, obviously still hesitant. "I'm watching you though."

"That's justified," Maggie said.

"So, you're just- back?" Marc asked, turning back to Ophelia.

"Yeah, I suppose. Is that okay?"

"Are you kidding?! Yes! Please don't leave again," Marc said, eyes beginning to shine as the emotions of the night caught up to him. He put a hand over his face and tried to keep himself from falling apart entirely.

"I'll try my best," Ophelia said, also feeling the lump in her throat return.

"What do we do now?" Rosencrantz asked.

Ophelia thought for a moment, and after no one said anything, suggested. "We could just- play Monopoly? That sounds kinda fun." She pointed to the game that they had been playing before they had arrived.

"Let's do that," Annalise nodded and sat down, reshuffling the cards so they could restart the game.

They sat in a circle around the small table the board was laid out on and reset the game to play again. They pulled up another fold-out chair for Maggie and began to play. They didn't know what else to do. What even was 'normal' anymore?

#hamlet modern au #hamlet #shakespeare #hamletandthegang #horatio #ophelia #oc annalise #guildenstern #rosencrantz #hatg1

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joy1579 · 4 years

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Can you expand more on the clumsy MC with Jumin? Because Hi! Guilty here! 😅 I have the coordination of a shoe .One time I almost lost an eye because I was packing groceries on my backpack and I took the sharp package quickly to close to my eye (got a cut on the eyelid instead, luckily), I felt 2 times on the shower, slip on the street and felt in various occasions (and from tall places in 2, one time chasing a cat) I even choke on my own saliva, if I'm still living is just luck I swear!

sure and no worries Hun same i legit managed to crack my glasses while they were on my face. if not for them i swear i’d only have one eye. as i was writing this i asked my friends about things i could add and all i got were “do you remember when you....” so yeah all of this might be based on things I've done.

clumsy MC part 2

jumin

- when you broke your ankle stepping off a curb in heels he got rid of all your heels and made sure he had his arm around your waist ANYTIME there was a curb from then on (his grip makes it legitimately impossible for you to fall)

- when you accidentally maced yourself the one time you went out with your sister, san’s body guards, he decided body guards where non-negotiable that way you didn’t need to carry personal protection

- when you fell in the shower there was a 3-week period of showering together (he made it seem like it was something sweet and cute but you knew it was worry)

- he legit does EVERYTHING he can to prevent you from getting hurt

- he encourages yoga because it helps balance and flexibility both of which are supposed to help with clumsiness

- he also read an article about how poor memory and slow response time can affect coordination so he asks if you want to do brain games and memory puzzles together (their actually really fun and it means a consistent date night with jumin so how could you say no)

Yoosung

- when you fell off the weird scooter thing the doctor gave you for your broken ankle he was torn between angry that you where pushing yourself and sad that you where hurt and didn’t ask him for help (he gently scolds you before setting you up in the living room with everything you need and under his watchful eyes)

- when you two are enjoying a vacation and you accidentally tumble into the hotel pool you grab for him on the way down and suddenly both of you are soaked laughing at each other’s soaked and surprised faces until the horror of the situation dawns on you. you dropped your phones (and his glasses) as you fell and now they reside at the bottom of the pool

- when you trip, accidentally spilling the entirety of dinner across the floor and burning yourself in the process he’s rushing too your side only to slip himself and fall as well thankfully NOT burning himself in the process. you two spend the better part of an hour helping each other recover before you return to the kitchen and remember the mess that still needs cleaning

- he doesn’t know how to become less clumsy so mostly he just tries to disaster prove the important stuff protective cases for his lolol figures, computer and phone. shatter proof or plastic dishes things like that

- but most importantly he starts getting fluffy rugs and pillows so if you fall (at home at least) you’ll have a softer landing

- he also gets really REALLY good at first aide he knows all the home remedies (partly thanks to him asking his mom) and starts slowly but surely creating a first aid kit for the both of you

- you start calling him dr. yoosung because he tends to all your bumps and bruises and that makes the poor boi nearly implode the first few times

saeyoung

- when he see’s you slam your hand in his car door by accident you swear you’ve never seen him move so fast. he’s got ice on your hand before you can even feel the pain. you joke saying you thought he’d be more concerned about his car than you but he’s definitely not in a joking mood and he scolds you for even thinking like that he’d give every last one of his cars away for free if it kept you safe

- when rip over one of the cords for his many gadgets consequently almost giving yourself a concussion he saeran and vanderwood spend the rest of the night dedicating themselves to wire management and though saeyoung may never admit it without joking around it does make his tinkering and work much easier

- when you two where having a tickle fight on the bed and you fell off the bed hitting your head on the counter of the bedside table he got you too the hospital in 10 minutes even through the drive normally took 35 minutes he fidgets the entire time you get stitches and it takes a while for you to convince him that 1: he didn’t hurt you it was an accident and 2: you aren’t mad or even hurt that bad you’ve had stitches plenty of times it’s not a big deal

- he may be all fun and jokes sometimes but anytime you get close to ACTUALLY hurting yourself he gets right down to business

- he knows it’s impossible to protect you from everything but if he CAN fix it he will

- if he is even tangentially the cause he has a tendency to fall back into his old habits of pushing you away for your own good so you have to remind him that he’s the only one for you and explain that it probably wasn’t his fault anyway

zen

- when you tumbled off the stage at one of his rehearsals and actually had a concussion he started purposefully positioning himself between you and ledges wether it’s the edge of the stage, sidewalk, or even the bed. thankfully his history with acting and stage performance means he has experience in blocking and being aware of where exactly you are compared to other people so it’s not too hard for him

- when you crack your glasses (while they are in your face) he swears he saw his life flash before his eyes. you point out he wasn’t in danger and he says “i saw YOUR life flash before my eyes jagi!” he thanks the lord for your glasses where their to prevent what would have happened if you had hit your eye! of course he would have loved you anyway and called you his pirate princess. but there’s no way you could fully appreciate his beauty with one eye!

- when he absentmindedly tosses you a water bottle for the first time and you fumble it accidentally soaking your outfit he gives you his signature jacket and apologizes so much you eventually decide to shut him up and the resulting flustered red faced zen truly is a beautiful sight

- he wants to protect you as much as possible but he’s so used to his own grace and athleticism that he forgets you may struggle a bit more

- - still he thinks you’re the cutest person in the whole world and may even think your clumsiness makes you even cuter!

Jaehee

- when you barely managed to catch yourself but not the tray of dirty dishes you were carrying she rushed to make sure you weren’t hurt looking over your hands for cuts from the glass you were scrambling to clean she scolded you for not waiting for her to bring the broom

- when you give yourself a pretty nasty burn while frosting a cake she physically pulled you to the sink to run your burn under cool water. after about a week patching you up she sneaks off to take a legitimate first aide course she wants to do everything by the book perfect when she’s taking care of you.

- the valentine’s day dlc where y’all get locked in the storage room. yeah you accidentally broke that lock several times simply because of how often you tumble into it while trying to juggle boxes.

- she adores how hard you work to make sure you don’t spill drinks or mess up cake decorations

- she’s so confused by how you can have such a steady decorating hand and such shaky balance

- whenever you’re feeling down about messing up something at the cafe because of your clumsiness she kisses your cheek and reminds you that you’re an amazing cook and the only one that can make those cookies that sell out within minutes (it’s a family recipe that you plan to teach her next valentine’s day)

Saeran

- when you fell down the hill in the park he dropped the picnic basket to try and save you thankfully the food was only a little jostled and you were only a little scraped up. he still insisted and cleaning and bandaging your scrapes with the little kit he keeps with him (you’d be insulted but it’s come in handy more times than you’d like to admit)

- when you fall into the rose bush in his garden he completely panics he’s afraid you’ll blame him for how hurt you got because OUCH! you assure him you aren’t angry but you would like some help with all the cuts pricks and thorns. after that he looks into roses without thorns and starts replanting you feel a little guilty until you see how excited he is to plant all the different type of thornless roses he’s found

- when a stranger bumps you accidentally and you lose your balance tumbling down the stairs Saeyoung has to physically restrain him until he hears you sobbing and comes to his senses he rushes you to the doctor and waits anxiously while you get a cast. he swears he’s not crying but there’s a definite wetness to his eyes when he hugs you gently and promises he won’t ever let something that awful happen ever again

- he’s pretty hyper vigilant simply because of his past but the longer you and he are together the more he turns the focus of his hyper vigilance from “don’t upset anyone because abuse” towards “potential trip hazard protect MC”

- there’s not a soul out there that’s as gentle as he is when he’s trying to treat you. he’s mostly self-taught and it’s a lot of home remedies but the actually help a lot

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