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gutsnstuffs · 4 years

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The One Where Gundham Gets Sick

This is my first piece of writing on here, it’s short and sweet but it was a nice break from schoolwork.

Summary: Gundham falls ill, and Kazuichi is stuck caring for the lord of being dramatic. Fluff ensues

Word count: 951

“...Shit!” Kazuichi mumbles under his breath. The soup is done, pot steaming and clouding the mechanic's vision as he removes it from the burner. There’s a reason Kazuichi isn't the ultimate chef, and that's because he is hopelessly clumsy, not bothering to use any protection for his hands while removing the pot from the stove. He wipes his hands on his pants as he double checks the recipe TeruTeru forwarded him in hopes he got it at least somewhat close. Sure, it definitely doesn't look as good as it would if Hanamura were the chef behind the dish, but Kazuichi made an attempt, and he wasn’t about to hurt his own pride by asking the fellow student to come over and make the food for his own boyfriend. No, he can cater to that drama king on his own. Most of the time. As he pads up the stairs Kazuichi takes great care not to spill what took him so long, even if it does end up tasting like crap (he knows Gundham will let him know) and opens the door to their shared room. It takes Souda a second not to snort, because while Gundham does look hopelessly pitiful, he’s also just so goddamn dramatic. He requested the window be opened and now he stares outside at the white blanket of snow, covers up to his chin and a box of tissues nearby. The white light illuminates the dark room and Gundham’s face, already pale now made even paler from the sickness and the reflection of the snow. At the sound of the door opening he turns to see his beloved, whom he’s convinced himself he’s spending his final moments with.

“Ah, the soup. While I must say you should not have went through such trouble for a dying entity as me, I appreciate the gesture.” Kazuichi hums in response, moving across the room to Gundam’s side and setting the hot soup on the nightstand. “For the last time you’re not dying, stop talking like that…” Kazuichi says, looking away and running a hand through his free hair. Gundham pays the annoyed mechanic no mind as he reaches for the soup, only for his hand to be ushered away by Kaz’s. “It’s still way too hot, not yet! Geez, you’re so dense when you’re sick.” He doesn’t mean that last comment, of course, but pays enough mind to take the lid off the soup to let some of the heat out. A small cloud of steam rises, and as it does a hand grabs his. It takes the mechanic by surprise, not because Gundham grabbed his hand, but because holy shit he’s burning up and it nearly makes Kaz flinch away. Kazuichi considers checking Tanaka’s temperature again just to be on the safe side, and it takes him a moment to notice his boyfriend is inspecting his hand, turning it around in his palm. “Hmm, it seems you are being quite hypocritical my beloved. I cannot allow you to continue this futile preservation of my life, lest you end up causing yourself more bodily harm on my behalf,” Gundham informs. He keeps pretending to look at Kaz’s hand, but the pinkette knows it's just an excuse to hold it. He closes his fingers around his love’s and runs his thumb on the back of his hand. “This’ll go away in what, like a day? Man if you don’t want me here all you gotta do is just say so,” Kazuichi jokes. It's harmless, just to elicit a reaction, and of course, poor Gundham falls for it. “Of course I want you here my paramour, do not speak such lies. I would have it no other way for your being to be the last blessing I witness before I descend below and finally take my rightful place as Lord Gundha-” a sneeze interrupts him before Gundham can finish his short declaration, his body seizing, but Kazuichi is turning slightly in attempt to hide the reddening of his cheekbones. With his free hand, Gundham quickly blows his nose and discards the tissue elsewhere, When he looks back, Kazuichi notices that Gundham is looking at him with an expression that reads concern, which is ironic given their situation. “My love, you are turning red! This curse must have passed to you by the association of me! Run now, Kazuichi, run to Tsumiki before this devil sickness is onset, leave me to pass on in the comfort of our resting place before it is too late.” Kazuichi rolls his eyes and shoves back the blankets Gundham is so comfortably tucked in. “Yeah yeah I know it’s soooo tragic, now move weirdo.” Gundham only verbally protests as his love crawls in next to him, and as they settle Tanaka takes the liberty of moving to rest his head on his lover’s chest. Like his hand, the rest of his body is also abnormally warm, although it's to a point where it's almost comfortable to Souda. He acts as a heater to combat the cold outside, and as Kaz settles with his boyfriend under the covers, he thinks that maybe Gundham’s so terrible illness isn’t that bad. “You know, this could’a all been avoided if your stubborn ass hadn’t spent like a whole day in the cold.” “...No longer do I think that path would have been ideal.” Bingo. A win for Kazuichi. Gundham clings tighter to his boyfriend and falls asleep rather quickly, listening to the thumping of Kaz’s heartbeat. Snow comes down throughout the night in small flurries and the soup grows cold and unfortunately forgotten, but it doesn’t matter, nothing does, because Gundham and Kazuichi are fast asleep listening to the wind sing.

#my writing #danganronpa #kazuichi souda #gundham tanaka #soudam #Kazuichi Souda x Gundham tanaka #haha comfort characters go brrr #Kazuichi is the only person Gundham would let see him that vulnerable #and that’s love #non despair au

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wordsysayswords · 4 years

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After picking Wash up on Sidewinder, it's going to take everyone a while to get used to the new living arrangements. Especially Wash, who's a bit directionless now that he's finally free of the Project. Tucker doesn't care for Blue Team's new leader. But he can't help noticing some of the man's odd habits and wondering what caused them.

Part 2: Sleeping Habits

It hits Tucker that violently shaking the sleeping Freelancer out of a nightmare might be an exceptionally stupid idea at the exact same time Washington headbutts him in the nose.

Or, Wash wakes up swinging.

Washington is ten different kinds of weird.

First of all, after he was done being unconscious from blood loss following the shit show on Sidewinder, the man didn’t sleep for three days. Tucker knows because he didn’t sleep for two. At the time, Tucker wasn’t confident Washington wasn’t going to murder them in their beds. But the knowledge that Wash was healing from a fuck load of broken ribs and other injuries—forcing him to move around the base in a distinctly painful-looking shuffle—made Tucker feel a bit safer. That and keeping his sword under his pillow while he slept.

Then there’s the fact that Washington might be the lightest sleeper Tucker’s ever encountered. A few days after Wash starts actually sleeping, Tucker is sitting awake in his room reading. He sneezes, and ten seconds later, Wash is standing in the doorway like the creepy omen of death he is.

Tucker startles so hard he almost falls off the bed.

“Jesus shit!” Tucker hisses, grabbing his chest. “Have you ever heard of knocking? Or, I don’t know, breathing?”

“I heard something,” Wash says dully, not moving from where he stands in the shadows of the hall. Hunched and pale from his injuries, the man looks like a fucking wraith.

“I sneezed,” Tucker tells him. “You come all the way here to say ‘bless you?’” Washington’s room is at the opposite end of the hallway.

“Oh,” Wash says quietly. “Okay.”

With that, the man turns and fades back into the darkness. A few moments later Tucker hears Wash’s door click shut.

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Tucker mutters and goes back to reading.

A week into the new sleeping arrangements, Tucker wakes up to a figure standing over his bed.

Tucker lets out an embarrassingly high-pitched shriek, clawing at the blankets. He’s surprised it took Wash a full seven days to want to strangle him with his own bedsheets. For most people, it only takes about twenty-four hours—

“Tucker,” Caboose shushes. “It’s me.”

“Caboose,” Tucker growls, trying to get his heart rate back under control. He heaves a breath. “I swear to god, I’m gonna count to three, and the mustard better be back in the fridge.”

“I am not doing...that thing I did not do that time...this time,” Caboose says. “It’s Church.”

“Church?” Tucker blinks a few times before scowling. “You mean Agent Washington.”

“It’s Agent Washington.” Caboose corrects, deflating slightly. His hands wring the front of his t-shirt. “He is making noises.”

Tucker rolls over, cocooning himself in the blankets. “Then tell him to keep it down.”

Caboose prods at his back. “Nooo, Tucker. They are not good noises.” He pauses. “I think Agent Washington is not very okay.”

Tucker grits his teeth. He doesn’t give a flying fuck how “not very okay” Wash is. But Tucker should at least make sure those noises aren’t the Freelancer loading a pistol to shoot them all.

“Fine,” Tucker grumbles, tossing the covers aside. “Where’s he at?”

“His room.”

That’s unusual. It’s after three in the morning, and Wash is usually up wandering the base by now with a lost look on his face.

“Go back to bed,” Tucker tells Caboose. He stashes his energy sword in the pocket of his pajama pants and heads for the door. “I’ll take care of it.”

Caboose nods and shuffles off to his own room, while Tucker heads for Washington’s.

Halfway down the hall, Tucker hears it. Whimpering.

The sound stops Tucker in his tracks. He strains his ears because he’s gotta be hearing things but no, there it is again. A dragged out whine followed by a strangled gasp.

Tucker rocks back and forth on his heels. He’s got half a mind to turn around and go back to bed—maybe close Caboose’s door on the way so the noises don’t carry and wake him again.

“I didn’t sign up for this,” Tucker mumbles. He eyes the door at the end of the dark hall.

Tucker hadn’t thought this far ahead when he’d agreed to let Wash come home with them. In Tucker’s defense, he’d been really fucking tired at the time. It had been a long, shitty day, and he was sore, and his fingers were numb with cold, and he just wanted Caboose to stop talking (“Can we keep him? Please, Tucker? Can we? Please, please, please?”).

A high keening sound, louder than before, floats down the hall. Tucker winces, eyeing the door at the end of the hall.

Washington isn’t his friend. They’re hardly acquaintances. Wash barely speaks when spoken to, relying mostly on noncommittal shrugs to communicate. Okay, sure, Tucker hasn’t exactly been putting effort into becoming besties with the guy, but he’s a weird, spacey murderer. Who would jump to make friends with him? Well, Caboose, but that’s not the point. The point is, Tucker really doesn’t want to deal with whatever the hell Wash has got going on.

So, why’s he opening the door to Washington’s room?

Wash, Tucker thinks, sleeps like a dead person.

He’s flat on his back, and his arms and legs are pulled in tight like he’s lying in a coffin, one hand tight against his chest while the other snakes under his pillow. Even in the dim light, Tucker can see Washington’s stiff as a board. He’s on top of the covers despite the chill of the room, and every inch of him is tense and trembling so hard Tucker’s muscles ache in sympathy. Wash tosses his head against the pillow, a low whine escaping his throat. Tucker finally remembers how to speak.

“...Hey, uh,” Tucker whispers. He clears his throat and tries again louder, “Washington?”

His face screws up in pain, sweat-damp hair sticking all directions. He lets loose a long, shuddering gasp that echoes off the bare cement walls. No wonder Caboose woke up.

Tucker edged towards the bed. “Dude, are you, like, fucking dying? Cause that’d kind of suck…”

Tucker can hear his teeth grinding as the man clenches his jaw and shudders away from something unseen. His hands claw at the blankets. He’s shaking head to toe. It’s like something out of an exorcism movie—even before Wash throws back his head and screams.

Tucker jumps back. “Holy mother—fuck! ”

But Wash keeps on howling like he’s being burned alive, raising the hair on the back of Tucker’s neck.

“Hey, fuck, Washington—come on!” Tucker shouts. He fumbles for Wash’s shoulder. “You need to cut it—”

It hits Tucker that violently shaking the sleeping Freelancer out of a nightmare might be an exceptionally stupid idea at the exact same time Washington headbutts him in the nose.

Pain explodes through Tucker’s face, blinding him. Something slams into his chest so hard the air is ripped from his lungs and his feet leave the floor. He crashes to the concrete on his ass. The back of his head hits the floor, rattling his teeth.

Maybe Tucker blacks out for a second or maybe he just blinks, but the next thing he knows Agent Washington his kneeling on his chest with a hand to his throat.

“Fuck—” Tucker gasps but is quickly cut off when Washington presses down on his windpipe.

“Washin...” Tucker chokes, “dude—get off. It’s me…”

Tucker paws at Freelancer’s wrist, but the man doesn’t flinch. Washington’s eyes are unfocused, staring straight through his teammate and sending cold crawling up Tucker’s spine. Washington might be awake, but nobody’s home. His face is expressionless even as his chest heaving with every breath. Wash’s hand grips Tucker’s throat—not enough to cut off his air, just enough to keep him down. Where’s his other hand—oh fuck.

Tucker almost shits himself right then and there because Washington has a fucking knife raised above his head.

Tucker’s hand flies to his pocket, grabbing for his sword. It’s out of reach.

He squeezes his eyes shut. Where’s Wash going to land the blade? His face? His chest? Oh, god, make it quick. Caboose and Junior will be so upset.

One second. Two seconds. Tucker sneaks a peek up at the Freelancer. Wash is frozen in place, knife still raised above his head, but Tucker can see the hand shaking.

“Washing—” Tucker tries, but the hand at his throat twitches, and he shuts up. Tucker’s pulse pounds in his ears. Those hazy eyes aren’t getting any clearer, still panicked and unseeing.

Tucker swallows hard. He’s not stupid enough to think he can win a fight with Wash—especially pinned down without his sword.

Slowly, with shaking hands, he lets go of Washington’s wrist and lays his hands back against the floor. A gesture of surrender.

“Wash,” Tucker breathes. Wash shudders ever so slightly but doesn’t tighten his grip so Tucker keeps going. “Wash. It’s me. Tucker. It’s...okay. You’re okay.”

Washington sucks in a breath. It’s almost impossible to see in the dark room, but Tucker thinks there is a flicker of life in those blank eyes. Tucker keeps perfectly still, stomach-churning. He suddenly becomes aware of the blood oozing from his nose and streaming down either side of his face.

“I need,” Tucker whispers, “you to. Drop. The. Knife.”

Wash is trembling from head to toe now, gaze locked on Tucker’s throat. Tucker can’t breathe, and it has nothing to do with Wash’s grip on his windpipe.

“Wash, wake up.” Tucker’s murmurs turning into pleads. “You don’t want to do this.”

“Tucker? Church?”

Wash’s head shoots up. His eyes fly to the door as Caboose creaks the bedroom door open. Tucker makes his move.

Oh, please don’t kill me, Tucker thinks wildly as he raises a fist and brings it down on the back of Wash’s neck—hard.

It was something that kept coming up when Doc was piecing the Freelancer back together after the fight with the Meta. No one touches the back of Wash’s neck. Doc only made that mistake once, and if Wash hadn’t been suffering from a pretty serious concussion, the Freelancer probably would have snapped the medic’s wrist clean in half. The whole area is a mess of neat surgical scars, jagged scar tissue, and frightening looking metal implants that look a lot more...experimental than the tidy ones the sim troopers are outfitted with. It hurts like hell to look at.

And Tucker’s betting it feels a lot worse to have someone bury their fist in it.

The effect is instant. Wash seizes up and crumples. Tucker kicks his legs, catching the man in the stomach, and hurls him off of him.

Tucker scrambles to his feet and collides with Caboose on his way to the door.

“Fucking Christ,” he wheezes. Tucker clutches at the hulking soldier’s shirt to keep his shaking legs from giving out. “Christ fuck…”

Caboose’s eyes are wide, looking down at Tucker and then across the room.

“...Church?” He asks, voice too small for such a hulking soldier.

Tucker follows his gaze.

Washington is hunched on hands and knees with one white-knuckled hand gripping the back of his neck. His forehead is pressed to the floor as ragged gasps are dragged out of him—like he was the one that almost got fucking choked out.

“What the fuck?” Tucker wheezes, wiping at his nose and smearing blood across his face.

Washington jolts violently and scrambles away from them, pressing his back to the wall. He blinks around the room as if he’s just woken up, his eyes landing on Tucker and Caboose, and his breath catches for a moment. Then his eyes flicker down to the knife on the floor at his feet.

“O-oh, god” he breathes, voice hoarse from screaming. His arms curl around his head, and his knees are pulled to his chest. “W-what-t did I-I-I…”

“What the fuck?” Tucker says again, louder this time, and Wash flinches, pressing back against the wall like he’s trying to disappear.

“G-get…” Washington studders. He sucks in a long breath, and then,

“Get out!” Wash shouts.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you crazy fuck?” Tucker snarls back, happy to replace the fear bubbling in his chest with anger.

“Go away!” Wash screams, curling even tighter into a ball. “Get away from me!”

Tucker grabs Caboose by the arm and drags him from the room. He slams the door shut behind them, sending a tremor rattling through the base.

“Psycho freak!” Tucker yells, and he shoves Caboose down the hall to his room.

Behind them, Wash’s lock clicks into place.

#red vs blue #rvb #agent washington #lavernius tucker #michael j caboose #fanfic #fan fic #fanfiction #fan fiction #angst #hurt/comfort #wordsywriteswords #wordsy writes words

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harveywritings92 · 5 years

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This Life is mine: Jacob Frye x OC

The following is a non profit fan based story Assassin's creed belongs to Ubisoft please support the official release.

I gain no profit from this nor do I own anything other then OCs and whatever sprouts from my imagination. Thanks for reading!

[Elliott "Ellie" Addison Morgan novice assassin also a daughter and victim of a Templar wannabe. Was raised to be her father's perfect little doll, Elliott knew nothing but scorn and disapproval from her father, who viewed her as nothing more then a bargaining chip to marry off and increase his social status, just like her sister who is now missing, Elliott would be damned if she going end up like her sister, especially when she found out her father planned to wed her to Crawford Starrick, she escaped and stowed-away on a train not thinking it was occupied by a couple of Assassins...]

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She did it... she actually did it! Elliott wanted to laugh out loud and scream with joy from the rooftops that she was free! She was finally free! the brunette had her doubts that her plan would work, but it did!

She knew her father wanted Starrick's approval so badly and his bullheaded thirst to win, caused his fat head to be shoved so far up his own ass; he wouldn't have noticed that his own daughter had switched places with a maid!

Elliott slowed down pulled the brown trench coat closer to body adjusted her hat when someone ran passed her, she when she was sure the coast was clear she used eagle vision to follow the clues to the hiding spot where Clyde had hid her gear, The blue eyed girl smiled when she found it, grabbed the suitcase and ran down the street towards the train station.

Elliott's smile faltered a bit when she saw the empty terminal save for a single train, she quietly approached a man who appeared to be the repair man, Elliott hesitated before the sounds of her father's search party got closer in the distance. "Hey are there seats available?" She asked quickly causing the man to jump by her sudden appearance.

"Wha-What" the man stammered "Seats man, are there any seats available?"the blue eyed woman asked glancing over her shoulder the back at the man who looked very confused. "Uh, no this a private train ma'am it don't-" Elliott handed him a stunning sum of money about 200 pounds, the man eyes bugged out of his skull and counted it before nodding. "Alright, you can hide out in the fourth car, no one uses it. but if we get caught? you're on your own." He said leading her to the unused storage car he unlocked it and helped Elliott inside.

"Thank you." the man just nodded and closed the door leaving Elliott alone in the dark and with her thoughts, Soon she felt the train lurch as it started to move away from the station, Elliot wasn't sure how she sat there staring out the small window at the sky or how long it had been since she'd escaped, but soon she sighed contently and drifted off to sleep.

the following morning Agnes was was and ready to switch her shift with Bob when she found him looking like a kid on Christmas counting a wad of cash, her brow furrowed as she approached him "Where'd you get that money?" she demanded as he tried to hide the notes behind his back. "Uh, I found it?" the portly woman wasn't having it! she held her hand out and Bob pouted and reluctantly handed the money over she counted and gawked the amount.

"There's over 200 pounds here! where did yo-" The Frye twins who overheard the commotion came to see what the problem was? Agnes explained how she just came to switch with Bob and found him counting a wad of notes, Both were stunned at the amount and asked how he obtained it? The engineer stuck to his guns that he found it! But the twins clearly weren't buying it, After going back and fourth Bob finally gave in.

"Car four, she's in car four...Can I have my money back?"

"No." Both Evie and Jacob huffed as the male twin pocketed the cash in his jacket intending to give it back to whoever snuck onto their train...Then kick them off. "Aww.." Bob moaned dismayed before Agnes berated him that it served him right taking money from strangers and letting them stowaway on Bertha.

Both Jacob and Evie were hesitant about entering the car they weren't sure what to expect, Jacob went in first much to his sister's annoyance, they were both highly skilled assassin's she didn't need him protecting her! But that didn't stop him from trying. Both scanned the dusty car for any signs of someone life, before Evie's eyes landed on a small figure curled up between two crates, she nudged her brother who followed her gaze.

The two found the figure to be a sleeping girl around their age maybe younger, with brown wavy hair wearing a worn out brown jacket and maid's uniform sleeping without a care in the world hugging a suitcase to her side. Both twins looked at each other before Jacob tapped the girl in the ribs with his foot. "Oi you, time to wake up!" he ordered the girl gasped and her eyes fluttered opened looked around confused as Evie yanked her brother back.

"You could've just asked her to wake-up, you didn't need to kick her!"

"I didn't kick her! I tapped her, there's difference!"

The two argued hospitality methods as Elliott awkwardly watched them, she assumed Braids and Top-hat were the owners of the train she had snuck on to for the night, not really sure how to talk to them she just kind of stayed quiet, until she felt sneeze coming on she let it loose both twins turned to her and barked. "Bless you!" then went back to arguing before Jacob remembered what they were doing and shook his head. "Wait no, not bless you! Who are you?" the male twin demanded as his sister butted in "And why are you on our train?" Looks like Elliott's assumptions were correct before she could answer the door to the car opened and Henry walked in.

"Ah, So this is were the two of...Elliott?! the Indian assassin exclaimed pointing at the the brunette who in turn pointed back at him "Henry?!" causing the top-hat man to laugh "Jacob!" he quipped while pointing at himself then he got elbowed in the ribs by his sister."You know her?" Evie asked to the stunned man who nodded immediately pulled the short girl into hug. "Yes, she's Elliott Morgan an Assassin...But how did you?" pulled away then noticed her suitcase and outfit.

"Maybe we should explain this in the study?" He suggested as the twins followed them, Elliott removed the old trench coat showing off a large hand shaped bruise on her arm as she sat down across from Henry who frowned when he saw it, Elliott covered it with her over hand, the twins shifted uncomfortable. "What happened?" The brunette shrugged "A parting gift from Aric..." She hissed out her father's name out venomously, Henry told her to elaborate, the brunette sighed a slouched in her seat. "Let's see about three weeks ago..."

{My father called me into his study, I assumed he was upset about some mundane thing that his paranoid mind saw as offensive! Maybe he saw me moving some lose hair out of my face or holding a damn book wrong? Who knows! everything I did always seem to set him off...anyhow, He explained that St. James concert hall had contacted him, They invited me to sing for their 10th anniversary and charity event, and that I should start preparing for the big night.

Rejection was not an option with my father, but my suspicions were irked and he wouldn't stop trying to pick out songs that he wanted, And you course know he's never been the charitable sort unless it benefited him in some way, nor was he ever interested in my singing. So stupid me had to ask "Are you asking if I'd like to sing? or ordering me to sing?" He was not happy when I said that way he looked at me still causes me freeze up. "Don't you ever speak to me like that again...Or I'll-" I don't want to think about what he was going to say, his secretary interrupted us.

He snapped at me to go practice and when the big night came around, I found out why he had accepted the invitation, and push me to nearly losing my voice for an otherwise calm event. it wasn't just a charity event! It was also a congratulatory party for my engagement to Crawford Starrick... I remember feeling sick as my father led me to the Templar's grand master! I felt disgusted,angry and just devastated that this was happening a second time...He did the same thing to my sister...I saw what she went through and I didn't want it!

So, I took a risk! I tried to sneak away while he Crawford were talking about dates and business, he saw me and grabbed my wrist hard trying to keep me from leaving I told him I was just going to get a drink, and he let me go,Then I ran into Susanne. [ Henry grimaced hearing that name, having met that beastly bigot of a woman before; she left a very unfavorable impression in the Indian assassin.] Yes...that Susanne the snobby maid who fell in love with "Showroom Aric" as I call my father's public face. practically worships the ground he walks on, and thinks I was just being an ungrateful rotten brat to my dear sweet father! She was extra nasty that night, of course I ignored her... and was more focused on her body thought. "Ey, we're about the same size and build..."

So, I asked if she wanted to get up close to my father? She took me into a back room and we switched clothes, luckily it was a masquerade party so no one noticed. I ran out the back and straight into my butler and assassin mentor Clyde. The old man knew about the engagement before I did, he didn't tell me because I'd panic, and tip my father off that I was gonna run. Clyde knows I do my best thinking when time and the odds are stack high against my favor, He saw me switch places with the maid and knew the game was on, He gave me his hat and his jacket and told me he had feeling I going do something drastic. and told me where he stashed a suitcase I had hidden in my closet ages ago! Found it and then I made my way to the train station...}

"...And that's how I got here." Elliott said pointing at car floor as Henry and the Frye twins took in her story Henry was was obviously relieved, Evie's reaction was one pity and distrust, Which didn't surprise Elliott in the least; Since she just confessed to being Crawford Starrick's Fiancee. While Jacob's reaction seemed...Well, the brunette didn't really know what to make of his expression, There was some distrust. but it was overshadowed by fascination and zeal, Maybe? The blue eyed girl wasn't too sure as she was really used seeing someone look at her like that.

"And what of mentor McCormick?" Henry voice broke her stare off with Jacob to answer her friend "Clyde? he did a good job at hiding our lessons..." The Indian arched brow knowing full well that there was a But coming."But, father is starting to get suspicious, it would seem my odd hours of staying out and waking up late was starting to get on his nerves." She winced recalling her father throwing a tantrum for her yawning during a business meeting, one of his clients and accusing her of sneaking off with men and embarrassing the family by whoring around. "No surprises he started limiting my time outside and kept me locked in the library or my room to teach me a lesson." She hissed answering Henry's next question as to why the novice suddenly stopped taking contracts and disappeared.

"And you're sure he didn't see you leave?" Henry asked cautiously just wanting to make sure no Templars were coming knocking their door down. "Positive, Daddy dearest was so sure that his submissive little doll was nothing without him, so he let me out of his sight for that split second, it was enough for me come up wit plan A." Elliott purred with a grin obviously picturing how pissed her father must've been when he found out he'd been had! and that ice cold bucket of reality Susanne got slapped with probably shattered her image of Aric forever.

"Oh-ho!~ I'll bite Girly, What was plan B?" Jacob suddenly chimed in on the edge of his seat obviously enjoying the new girl's on the dime quick-wittedness. "Start a fire get lost in the panic and just wing it from there!" she shrugged rubbing the back of her head with slight frown causing the man the chuckle he looked at Henry while pointing at the short girl. "I like her, she's alrig-" He yanked back by his sister who was clearly paranoid about their guest.

"Miss Morgan was it?" Evie asked causing the brunette to nodded. "Though you may be one of us, you're still tied the Templars so you'll have be monitored until such time as passed-" She was cut off by her brother who clearly upset with his sister's assumption. "What the hell Evie? She escaped one cage and now you want to put her in another one?!" He exclaimed in disbelief at what he was hearing the girl obviously escaped a monster and came to them for sanctuary only to be told we don't trust you, that's just not fair!

"I have agree with your brother miss Frye, I've know Lily for-" Henry threw his hand over his mouth, Elliot blanched as Evie slowly turned to Henry clearly affronted "Jacob take your novice and go..." she hissed as her brother blinked incredulously "My novice?... Wha-" His sister's icy tone silenced him. "Now..." Jacob jumped to his feet "Right, let's go Girly!" He grabbed Elliott's arm and dragged her to his car, leaving Henry to deal with Evie and whatever crawled up her backside.

The two could hear the muffled arguing as Jacob proudly showed his apparent student off to the Rooks, before showing her around his room, the brunette looked around as the curiosity started gnawing at him "So, what exactly was that back there?" he inquired while Elliott looked through some hidden blade sketches on his desk, The brunette blushed before gesturing for him to come down to her level and she whispered it to him, Jacob's green eyes widened to the size of dinner plates.

"YOU AND GREENIE USED BE ENGAGED?!?!" he bellowed loud enough to be heard throughout the train causing a few Rooks outside to stumble or spit their drinks out. "t-That's just arg...h-How old are you? 14-16?!" he stammered Elliott looked at him oddly "I'll be twenty in three months!..do I really look that young?" She asked unsure if she should be offended or flattered?

Jacob's mouth hung open as he gave her a once over, he didn't how answer that. "I-it's that coat! it makes you look tiny!" he sputtered gestured at Clyde's jacket, Elliott brow furrowed and went to take it off, only for Jacob to to stiffen and the back of his neck heat up. He hadn't realized how short the maid uniform was [the skirt stops just passed her knees and she wearing stockings], or how tight it was in the chest area; he swallowed a lump that had formed in his throat and immediately pulled the jacket back on, causing his novice to give him a look that screamed what the hell? Jacob backed away and coughed "Let's sort that out later, and figure out sleeping arrangements shall we?"

They came to an understanding that Elliott will have his couch and half his cart; considering Evie was still pouting and wasn't a huge fan of Elliott at the moment speaking of which..."Who names their daughter Elliott?" the male Frye twin asked genuinely curious as Elliott's lips twitched "The same man who thought he had control over gender, and was sure my older sister and I were going to be boys." Jacob suddenly had the urge to apologize, But the brunette continue. "He eventually did get his boy, Issac father's favorite little parrot." She spat looking exhausted and listless just thinking about the boy.

She explained that both her brother and father had this gift of sucking the life out of someone just by sheer thought. "I think that's why Starrick hasn't initiated them into the order, but likes to keep him around, y'know? just to have a laugh at how many days Aric & his son can ruin in one hour or less?" That caused Jacob to stall.

"Wait, so your father isn't a Templar?"

"No, he more like their stooge, Starrick's been stringing him a long for years, and my father is a narcissistic fool."

"But why would he agree to marry you, if he's just playin' with your father?"

"I wondered that myself, until I remembered reading through my mother's journal, Turns out Starrick and my mother were sweet on each other back in the day, Till my father weaseled his way into my grandfather's favor and soon after forced my parents into marriage..."

Jacob stomach suddenly did flops and not in a good way, Starrick couldn't have the mother so he'd settle for his ex-lover's daughter as some kind of substitute? "I get wanting a young bride, but your ex's daughter?" He shuddered in disgust just when he thought Templars couldn't get any worst. "I'm just glad I've never crossed paths with him until yesterday." Elliott grimaced not wanting to think what would've happened if her father gotten desperate before she had joined the Assassins and tried curry favor with Starrick when she was younger...just like he did to her sister and Roth.

"I'm trying not to think about it, haven forbid if they ever find me." she muttered Jacob patted Elliott on the shoulder nearly knocking her over. "They won't touch you Girly, I promise." He assured before springing up from the couch "Now let's do a bit scouting show me how much you know little novice!" Jacob winked before leading Elliott off the train on her first training mission.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[[ Elliott's older sister is named Campbell Joseph Morgan five years older then Elliott and usually goes by "Belle" she was married off to Roth when she was only 15; Elliott hasn't seen her sister in four years and doesn't even know if she's alive or not!

Then there's their younger brother...His name is Issac Douglas Morgan, and their father's favorite he's a spoiled brat who looks down on his siblings and verbally abuses his older sister when he doesn't get his way!

Much like their father his name is Aric Peter Morgan [nee Sinclair.] their father surname wasn't Morgan he married into the Morgan family, and runs their trading and sweet company like a goddamn dictator, worker safety is at a low and equipment is in somewhat poor maintenance, their financial choices have been in a gray area as of late.

Elliott believes that Starrick is trying to manipulate her father into adding the same drug in his syrup to their candy, surprisingly her father has been as of late; very hesitant about the idea.

So when Starrick seemed like he was losing interest and going to cut Aric lose, he offered Crawford Elliott's hand in marriage! Knowing full well Starrick was his dead wife's ex lover. And has seen the way the Templar's grand master has been eyeing his youngest daughter, Starrick and Aric wasted no time cutting a deal. Good thing they didn't take into account of Elliott's cunning wit and a pair of meddlesome twin assassin's being thrown into the mix.]]

#assassin's creed syndicate #jacob frye x oc #fanfiction #evie frye #Henry Green

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ddaddsprompts · 7 years

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how the dads handle dadsona caring for them when sick?

🥃 If Robert was grumpy on agood day, he was even worse when he was sick. Honestly, you didn’t even noticehe was sick until you realised you two hadn’t seen or even talked to each otherin days, which wouldn’t have been worrying pre-rehab, but was far from the normnowadays. So you’d gone over to his house and let yourself inside, worried somethingbad had happened. You found Robert in his bedroom, buried under more blanketsthan you thought he owned. And he is absolutely miserable. “Do you want me toget you anything?” He just grunts and turns his head so it’s buried in thepillow. Since he can’t see you, you throw up your hands in frustration and rollyour eyes. “Juice?” He grunts. “Soup?” Same response. “Want me to stab you?”That, at least, got you an amused snort, which was immediately followed by acough. He coughs so badly, you worry he might choke, but then he turns on hisback and glares at you. “Don’t make me laugh,” he grumbles. His voice is roughlike sandpaper. “I didn’t do it on purpose.” Your protest doesn’t seem tointerest Robert one bit. He turns back on his side and pulls a blanket over hishead. “Doesn’t matter. Don’t.” Unsure what to do with yourself, you just standthere, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. Maybe you should leavehim alone, he doesn’t seem to want your company – or any other person’s, forthat matter. Robert is quiet for so long, you wonder whether he’s fallenasleep, but then he turns to look at you again and raises an eyebrow. Youpolitely do not tell him he looks like shit; you figure he already knowsanyway. “About that soup…” His pointed expression makes you chuckle. “Surething, coming right up. Try not to die while I’m out.” He huffs out a laugh andshows you the finger. “Wouldn’t want to do you that favour.”

🍸 You lean against the door leading to Joseph’sbedroom and sink down against it with a quiet sigh. You love the man, youreally do, but god, he’s an absolute menace when he’s sick. It’s a simple cold,but he makes it seem like he is down with the plague. Had he stoppedoverworking himself when the first symptoms emerged, things might have beendifferent now, but he hadn’t, and now he is bedridden and, if you believed him,dying. You run a hand through your hair and brace yourself. You count the facthe hasn’t called for you in the last five minutes a blessing and push open thedoor. “Hey,” you say quietly. Joseph makes a small noise in the back of histhroat and waves weakly. “I brought you soup. It’s in a thermos so you candrink it easily.” He manages a smile and makes grabby hands for the flask. Themoment you give it to him, he cradles it close to his chest. “Thank you,” hewhispers. A second passes. Then, he makes grabby hands again. “Y/N?” Josephwhines. “Can you get me some juice?” Your left eye twitches but you nodindulgingly. “Orange?” He nods and drops his hands again, burrowing them underthe blankets you dropped on him when you first dropped by. “Do you wantanything else? Some more cold medicine? Something against your cough?” Josephshakes his head and turns on his side, looking sleepy and exhausted. “Thankyou, but I don’t need anything. You already did more than I asked for, Y/N. Ilove you.” Warmth floods through your chest. “I love you too,” you say and turnaround to get his juice. As you set your foot over the doorframe, his voicemakes you pause. “Maybe some medicine would be nice after all.”

☕ You gently brush back Mat’s locks from hissweaty forehead and replace the damp washcloth with a new, cold one. His feverhas thankfully gone down from 102 degrees Fahrenheit to 101,3, so you’rehopeful he will be better soon. Carmensita had called you early in the morningbecause her father was sick and needed someone to care for him, and you’d takenthe day off work to do just that. As far as patients go, he is an angel.Whether that is because he’s too out of it to be a nuisance or just how healways is, you don’t know, but you don’t question your luck. You smile when heleans into your touch and mumbles something under his breath that you don’tunderstand, and lean down to kiss his cheek. Mat’s eyelids flutter, then heslowly opens his eyes, looking up at you sleepily. “Hey, baby,” you say, and hechuckles at the nickname. “How are you feeling?” He shifts a little and you adjustthe cloth, making him groan at the cold. “Better.” Even when sick his voicesounds soft and smooth, like honey. “Thank you for taking care of me.” Leaningdown, you kiss his cheek again. Mat turns his head and his lips brush over yourjaw. “Of course, baby. Anytime. Take it as repayment for all the free coffeeand banana bread you always give me.” Mat chuckles and hums. When he startscoughing, you help him sit up a little, offering him a glass of water. He downsit greedily and sighs at the relief it gives him. “Go back to sleep, baby, I’llmake Carmensita something for lunch when she comes back from school.” You stayby Mat’s sides until he’s snoring and though it’s gross, you find the sight ofhim endearing.

🌹 “You didn’t have to come,” Damien says weakly ashe opens the door for you. He looks even paler than he already does normally, afaint sheen of sweat making his skin look grey and sickly. He’s leaning heavilyagainst the door, prompting you to reach out and wrap a steadying arm aroundhis waist to make sure he wouldn’t fall down if his legs gave in. Where yourskin touches his, you can feel him burning up. “Of course I had to, Dames. Ican’t leave you in Lucien’s care, who knows what kind of ideas he might getwhen he’s bored.” Damien chuckles; the sound catches in his throat and beforeyou know it, you’re the only thing holding him up as he coughs violently. He’snot that heavy, thankfully, so you manage to manoeuvre him into bed with fewproblems. You pull the blankets up to his chin and feel his temperature. “Wheredo you keep your medicine?” He gestures towards the bathroom. When you return,carrying everything you could find, he propped himself up with a few pillowsand he is watching you with tired, shining eyes. “If we were living in theVictorian ages,” he says while you check all the labels, “you might haveoffered me a Cigare de Joy. By smoking them you would inhale the coughtreatment, for example Stramonium. Of course—“ He cuts himself off with asneeze and coughs. “—Stramonium causes hallucinations, but it brought genuinerelief for the sick.” You pour some cough syrup into a small cup and offer itto him. “I don’t have any of those handy, so this’ll have to do. Bottoms up.”He returns your smile and obediently drinks his medicine.

🎣 You find Brian curled up in his bed. His faceseems to be locked in a fight with his hair over who can get redder and at themoment, his face is winning. You put down the soup you prepared after Daisycalled you and sit down on the bed next to him. “Hey, babe,” you say softly. Heopens his eyes and shuffles away from you, as far as the bed would let him. “Youshould keep your distance,” he croaks out. “I don’ wan’ to make you sick. ‘scontagious.” You frown and reach out to touch his forehead. No, he doesn’t feelthat hot, it can’t be hallucinations. “What makes you say that?” He looks soupset and worried, if you hadn’t known it was just the flu, you would be scarednow. Instead of answering, he points at his phone. Confused, you take it andunlock the screen. It’s the internet app, still open. You skim over the pagethat is open, your frown getting deeper the more you read. Finally, you aredone and look up at him again. “Brian,” you say, dryly. “Did you seriouslygoogle your symptoms?” Brian snuffles and blows into the tissue. The soundreminds you of ship horns or whales. “Iwan’ed to know wha’ I got, ‘cause it do’n’t feel like the flu.” You see tearsrush into his eyes and the next moment he is full out bawling. Awkwardly, youpat his shoulder. “There, there… it’s nothing serious, Brian, you just have theflu. Don’t worry…” You put aside the phone, making a mental note to ban Brianfrom accessing the internet while he was sick.

👟 How Briar even got your phone number, you have noidea. But you’re definitely glad she did, because there was no way the twinswould have been able to deal with thisalone. This being their father, whois sick, but absolutely in denial. It takes both Briar and Hazel sitting downon top of him to stop him from getting up and even then Craig is still tryingto go to work. “Bro, stop it, I’m not letting you out of bed.” You push himdown again and feel his temperature. He’s still burning up. “I’m not sick,” hesays or rather tries to. It is only through your experience with his collegeself that you’re able to understand his mumbling. “Yes, you are. Craig, comeon, you can’t really believe I’d let you go to work like this.” Craig sniffles.You barely manage to hold the tissue against his nose before he is sneezingalready. “I’m not—“ He coughs and it sounds horrible. His immune system isbetter than any other person’s so when he does get sick, it’s bad. With a sigh,you release the twins from their duties and pull the blanket up to Craig’schin. He doesn’t protest, but that’s only because he is visibly fighting tokeep his eyes open. “Bro… please go to sleep. If you force yourself to go towork like that, it’ll only get worse and last for longer. Please?” When hedoesn’t reply, you look at his face. He’s fast asleep. Finally.

📖 You would have expected Hugo, of all people, torecognise the signs of illness and do the reasonable thing – which was stayingat home and recovering in peace. But no, here he is, already halfway out of thedoor by the time he slips up and sneezes in front of you. You narrow your eyes,take in his shining eyes, the light shimmer of sweat on his forehead and hisred nose, and put your hands on your hips. “Hugo Vega, where do you think youare going?” He, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. “To… work?” Hisvoice is at least an octave deeper than normal and he realises his error whenyou frown at him. “I’m fine, I just caught the cold that’s making the rounds atschool. It’s nothing.” His nose starts to twitch and—he sneezed so loudly theglasses in the cupboards trembled. Before he can try and continue his (futile,mind you) attempts at convincing you, you walk up to him and nudge him, backtowards the bedroom. “That neither look like you’re fine, nor like it’snothing. You, sir, are sick and sick people do not go to work.”“But-““No, no buts. You have more sick days than there are days in the calendar,there are no important tests or exams today, and your school has enoughteachers to jump in and cover your classes. If I missed any other excuse, feelfree to try it, but the answer stays the same. You’re staying at home until you’refeeling better and that’s final.” He opens his mouth to protest, but shuts itagain when he sees your expression. Once you got him to sit on the bed, youpinch your nose and sigh. If sick Hugo is anything, anything even remotelyclose to sick Ernest, you’re in for a long week.

#dream daddy #dream daddy: a dad dating simulator #ddadds #ddadds imagine #dream daddy a dad dating simulator #Anonymous

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hardcheapknock-blog · 6 years

Text

We did it! We passed the time for 50 days by providing memorable Star Wars related content for you the humble and gorgeous viewer(s). Holy craps what a ride. Well, we are on day zero and probably have seen or are seeing The Last Jedi as we speak. So for now here is some bonus goodness from some of our beloved authors before we go on a much needed holiday hiatus and Last Jedi binge. See you in 2018!

Gundy

The Audacity of A New Hope

Our 50-Day Countdown was really tough. What really surprised me about my performance during the countdown is I never really ran into a creative block. My biggest challenge was finding the time to do what I wanted in the time allotted. If it became clear that I would not have enough time to create the post I wanted, I somehow found a way to post something faster to buy myself extra time.

Each of us had to publish every four days, and with each other as our own best critics, the posts had to be solid. JERMAINE SOLID.

Sometimes an idea hit me and I had it turned around in 24 hours: “Rey Mind Trick“, “Midichlorox“, and “Chalmun’s Cantina Sippy Cups” are good examples of this. One post, “‘Made To Suffer’ by Guest Artist Edvard Munch“, actually happened by accident and I just followed it to the new conclusion which was really fun!

The Red Arm Diaries

C-3PO’s red arm was a source of hilariousness for me. It’s absurd how it is introduced, made to be an object of mystery and speculated upon, and then by the end of The Force Awakens, replaced with the normal, gold arm.

I’d planned to focus almost entirely on the Red Arm in a series called “The Red Arm Diaries”. This would include equally-absurd theories of how the red arm came to be. Yes, I am aware that the real story behind the red arm is out there to be discovered, but the average movie-goer isn’t going to do that. I had planned to create one-page vignettes around what transpired between Episode 6 and 7 that could account for the red arm.

In the end, I only did one comic, “Reunite Us, Interruptus“. I’m not sure if I got tired of drawing old Goldenrod or just lost faith in the idea. The other ideas that I did make a priority are still things I’m very happy with. In general, I just wish I’d done more comics.

The Reject Pile

Here are some ideas I decided NOT to do…

“The Red Missile”

I had the idea for a short comic where “Holiday Special” Boba Fett’s backpack missile kept getting him in trouble whenever he wanted to rent a creature to ride – by accidentally firing and choking them. So he’d have a reputation for just being a lousy customer and not the bounty hunter everyone fears him as.

In starting the research, it made me really sad to hear about all of the incidents in the 70s that led to toys no longer being able to fire missiles on which children can choke. So I scrapped that idea. I really wanted to make that pop culture reference work, but not on the backs of dead children. Well, this time.

“The Shortest Fan Cut of ANH”

I thought it would be funny to show how simple things would be if R2-D2 had simply started flying as he did in Attack of the Clones but in A New Hope.

So, the droids land of Tatooine… C-3PO mounts up on R2, they bypass the jawas and the Lars farm and simply fly to Obi Wan’s hermit hut. They fly to Mos Eisley and hire Han and Chewie AND they are able to arrive on Alderaan before it blows up! Later, they simply mount a bomb on him and send him into the exhaust port, flying, kamikaze-style. The end.

“A Christmas Falcon”

I have a lot of great photos from my childhood, opening Star Wars toys on Christmas morning, wearing Star Wars pajamas. I just couldn’t think of a way to make that slice of nostalgia into a post.

Yeah! The Imperial Troop Transport!

Christmas Falcon! PJs!

Whoa, how did this get in there!

Thanks for reading!

Samson

It really doesn’t surprise me anymore about how much back story can be created pertaining to the most random stuff in A New Hope. Case in point, the large skeleton of some beast that roamed the Dune Sea of Tatooine, which 3PO just happened to walk by, in search of rescue. I don’t know when they first started calling it a Krayt Dragon. It must have be a while back ago, cause when I was looking up images of the skeleton, I knew to look up “Krayt Dragon.” Apparently they are the apex predators of Tatooine. Too bad we didn’t see a living one in the film take down a Bantha or some Jawas.

My problem isn’t so much with all the back story stuff, be it official or fan fiction. My problem is with all the art being created hypothesizing what the creature actually looked like in the flesh. All the renderings pretty much show a traditional, elongated dragon head complete with horns around the back of the head. Even Terryl Whitlatch, who designed a lot of the creatures for Episode I, drew her dragon with fairly long snout. I really love the illustration, but that skull just doesn’t match the source material. If you look at the skull in the film, it’s a stubby head with no horns. It almost looks like a Camarasaurus (sauropod dinosaur) head, but with pointy, needle teeth. The only illustration that comes close to the skeleton on film is a painting by Ralph McQuarrie depicting two sand people hunting a Krayt Dragon. I think it was part of the original pitch art he created for Uncle George, but I’m not entirely sure about that. It may have been done much later for some book, regardless the head on this dragon looks rather stubby. Either way, there sure is a crap load of stuff for a background skeleton that only appears for a few seconds on screen. But that’s the appeal of Star Wars. All these little details, bringing the world to life, that people will obsess over and latch onto… even 40 years later.

FlippyCrap™®

Counting down origin

Well a quick tale of truth is 2 years ago I decided to countdown the days till The Force Awakens by myself despite Phil Collin’s song Against All Odds. Well take a look at me now Phil! I started at 100. That’s one more bottle of beer on the wall per the song and I don’t even drink! And without any preparation or knowledge of Star Wars(lie). Yeah in retrospect it was a crazy venture seeing how there is life. But I went with it. Using facebook as my vehicle of display, each day I posted something new. In the beginning it was just me googling the hell out of SW related items and trying to find the funniest or most interesting ones. But then I started to actually create my own. It seemed more ownable and frankly the kids (7-12 friends) loved it.

Some of those “classic” ones were inserted into this countdown because dammit I could do what I want. Those were The Star Wars Halloween Special (day 45) and Thanksgiving message from the bounty hunters (Day 22). But the rest were new, fresh and stupid! Just don’t forget to tell Kanjiklub!

So short, long story brief, my colleagues at HardCheapKnock decided to do one together for The Last Jedi. This way it was not as daunting with multi folks on it. In truth it still was tough but we frickin’ did it!

Writers notes

Some of the inspiration behind my posts:

Yoda’s Suffering (day 35) – this was intended to be a message about the struggles of children in Uganda. You should read about it on the web if you have time.

Not again Threepio NSFE (day 35) – again about Uganda

Walrus Man Discount Replacement Limb or Other Club (day 2) – This one took about a month to do. Mainly the drawings of every body and part. Actually I had this mostly done before we even started the countdown. Just tweaking it along the way.

Utini Speeder Wreckers (day 15) – This was a homage to a local CHICAGO TV commercial from the early 90’s. Took about 2 weeks to do. And if you think the quality looks shitty that was the intention so wah! Here are some clean behind the scenes photos then jerks.

Anyways God bless you if you sneezed within the hour (otherwise this is void). And God bless Star Wars.

As a reminder although the countdown is over you have 11 more days to enter the: LAST JEDI COUNTDOWN CONTEST! We are giving away a $100 Dollar Fandango Gift Card!!! We know you are going to see The Last Jedi…so we want to buy your second, third or fourth viewings! So it’s quite easy to play. You can do one or all of the following for a chance to win:

Visit Hard Cheap Knock on Facebook

Follow @hardcheapknock on Twitter

Post a tweet

List the hidden numbers you found throughout the countdown – HINT there are 7 of them!

All of the above options must be activated through the fancy little entry form below:

Entry-Form

The more options you do the more your chance of winning increases! Enter today through December 25, 2017. Must be 18 years old to play and be a resident of the USA. For full official rules click here.

0 Days to The Last Jedi! We did it! We passed the time for 50 days by providing memorable Star Wars related content for you the humble and gorgeous viewer(s).

#50 Days of Star Wars #creatures #illustration #Last Jedi #Star Wars #The Last Jedi

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