#Because an old woman wanted to save at least one child. A skeleton wanted to give an anomaly a chance to be happy
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imminent-danger-came · 6 months ago
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Soriel on a genocide run is getting to me so bad rn
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allmightluver · 4 years ago
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**bnha spoilers** I'm just sat here with renewed realisation of what All Might is going through. 40 years. /40 years/ he held and refined that power and dedicated his every waking (and sleeping if Vigilantes is anything to go by) moment towards the goal of defeating AfO and creating a society in which people could feel happy and safe. And now as it turns out AfO is still alive, society is broken and he has given a literal piece of his soul to this young boy leaving himself with only phantoms
Yes. I don’t think people quite grasp what all he’s going through.
It’s been shown recently to us that some, if not most, heroes have underlying ambitions in becoming a hero. Whether for money, glory, fame, popularity, doesn’t matter. They’re ultimately in it for themselves. Toshinori’s intentions from the beginning have been the most pure- he wanted to be a symbol that people can look to and know things will be ok. A symbol of hope. This boy was only around 14 years old when he decided this. What kind of 14 year old sees the world that clearly? Sees that people have no hope, that a veil of darkness covers them. The only thing I can think of is- Toshinori did not have a good childhood. Something had to have happened to a boy that young to stop seeing the joy in life so early, and see the world’s flaws. Truthfully, I believe he was an outcast- due to his quirklessness. Most likely an orphan, perhaps abandoned by his parents, as we’ve never seen him have any family. I do truly believe Toshinori has been alone all his life. I don’t doubt more could have happened to him as a child before he met Nana. 
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Some may argue that Izuku is the same age, and therefore it shouldn’t be that hard to see why Toshinori wanted to be a hero at such a young age. BUT, Izuku had someone to look up to, ever since he was a child of four years old, to inspire him to be a hero his whole life *cough cough* All Might. Izuku also was quirkless, much like Toshinori, and an outcast because of it (hence where I assume Toshinori was much the same). But ultimately, Izuku wanted to save people because he saw his hero do it. It really wasn’t until Izuku was a bit older, has been in UA, has been on rescue missions, has seen what the heroes see, that I think he’s truly realized how dark the world really is. Toshinori didn’t have that. He didn’t have someone to inspire him as a child, someone to look up to, a hero to inspire him to help others. At that time, heroes hadn’t become as popular as they are in present times. Toshinori saw the world for what it was, on his own, at a tender age. I think that day Nana ran into this blonde hair kid, she eyed him up, noticed his scraggly form, looked into those captivating blue eyes, and saw a man who’s lived through the world’s horrors- experienced the worst it has to offer-, and wants to save everyone he can from the same fate, all in a 14 year old boy. 
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Then after only a few short years with the woman he saw as his mother, she’s killed in front of him because of his own weakness- he wasn’t strong enough yet to protect her. The only other person his life, Gran Torino, literally abused him. He beat him to a pulp, taking his own emotions out on a teenager, and I doubt Toshinori said anything of it. He probably thought he deserved it. He’s still afraid of Gran Torino to this day, remembering the beatings and expecting more for his failures- even if he doesn’t know what they are surely he’s at fault for something, but he’s the only person who’s stood by his side for this long. Even while at a distance, and spouting nothing but criticisms along the way. But Toshinori had to put aside his own emotions to be that hope for everyone. He left everything he knew to go to a new country on his own, to learn how to be a hero, to be that hope for someone.
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Vigilantes showed us just how hard he worked. Toshinori literally stayed awake with no sleep for days on end- 3 in the chapter I’m referencing- because people needed help, people needed saving, and no one else stepped up. He fought villains, rescued civilians, repaired damage, cleared rubble, (even accept and eat food that was against his dietary restrictions after his injury) whatever the public needed, all while draining himself further. He worked himself to the point of exhaustion because he had no help, once literally falling asleep while mid-leap across the city because he simply could go no further. 
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^^These happen in succession of each other^^
No one stepped up to say “Hey, Mr. Number 1, you’ve been working hard lately. Let me help you!” No one tried to take over his position. Even the Number 2 hero, Endeavor, never tried to take some of his burden. His only goal was to try to be better than All Might in terms of power- he was never trying to be the hero that the people relied on All Might for. Everyone relied on him when things looked grim. He was the back up plan. And all of this happened before Toshinori’s injury. 
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The only thing he ever wanted to do- help people- he can’t do (at least the way he’s always known how to). The ability to save people has been taken from him in the most gruesome way. He was finally able to fight the man that killed Nana, and in a rage that I’m sure echoed with all of the emotions of the previous users, he smashed that man’s head like a grape. But not without consequence. Several organs are gone. The pain is excruciating. He wears that man’s mark on his body for the rest of his life, never truly able to rid himself of the filth.
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Then we have Nighteye’s betrayal. The man that helped him as a sidekick, the man that grew to be his only friend. Now some people may ask why Toshinori flipped like he did to Nighteye looking into his future when he was concerned about him making it through his injury. What I believe is Toshinori didn’t want to know when he would die (and really, who does). Now he knows he’s on a time limit, knows the clock is ticking. Time is running out to keep the world at peace, and with him as he is now, how long can this go on? 
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I think the betrayal, doing something that Toshinori specifically asked him not to do, is what hurt the most. How can he trust Nighteye anymore? He already can only count on one hand the people he can trust, let alone befriend.
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He’s wasted away into a skeleton, a shell of the man he used to be. He can’t over exert himself without his only lung bleeding in protest. It’s canon in the side books that he really doesn’t eat much, which isn’t good for his diet without a stomach now (he’s supposed to have several small meals a day). He is quite literally punishing himself by starving. (Granted, he doesn’t feel hunger anymore.) He’s a sick man, beyond medical help at this point. They can only stabilize him and hope for the best. For five years now he’s in constant pain, every day. He loses blood like sweat. Surely his veins are bruised and collapsed with how many times he would have needed to be hospitalized. Whether from losing too much blood, being too dehydrated or starved from “forgetting” to eat, or an organ failing as body continues to fall apart. “...even as my body rots and grows frail...” - Toshinori People are bound to stare at him as he walks down the street. A tall, willowy, skeleton with a grimace on his face and blood stains on his clothes as he coughs up more into his own hands. There would be the ones who outright ignore him when they walk by, the people who offer pitying smiles and sympathetic glances or just outright stare, and then ones who are afraid of his appearance- children screaming at the mere sight of him and running to their parents to hide from the monster. Each one is another knife in Toshinori’s side, an ache in his chest. If only they knew who I really am.
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Losing Nighteye took a toll on his hero work as well. Mirai was a huge help in the past, and took care of all Toshinori’s paperwork, while also reminding him to take care of himself. Without him, Toshinori was even more buried beneath his responsibilities. Plus, now he was on a time limit. He even snapped briefly in his first meeting with Tsukauchi, accidentally revealing himself as All Might because he was under too much pressure, and telling the detective he literally couldn’t handle doing everything by himself (who graciously took over the paperwork side of things for him). 
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He was living a double life now, having to lie to people left and right about who he was while in his small form, about how he became so sickly, why he was here in the first place who the heck is this skinny old guy. Surely he had multiple visits to the doctor while continuing to repair the damage done by AFO (there’s a limit to how much the body can handle at once. And things I’m sure continued to fail as time went on). Then he would be bedridden for as long as the doctors could keep him strapped to a bed, until he couldn’t take the people’s cries for help any longer, and would jump into action. (It’s also revealed he has something of a super hearing- able to hear danger- which may have been a form of danger sense of OFA that was never fully unlocked?. Either way, he surly could sense disasters happening while he could only lay and heal from his latest surgery. Those poor doctors must have had to re-stitch him several times). People blame him for not preparing society for his retirement, that he failed in passing on the torch so to speak, but in reality he did everything possible to keep society from falling for 40 years, doing all within his power just to keep things afloat. He is only one person. One human being, he can’t do everything despite trying to. Society failed All Might.
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People blame him for not being a good teacher. He didn’t exactly have the greatest teacher himself to learn from. He’s never had to teach anyone anything, he just punches! He’s learning. And for his own credit, he’s an incredibly wise man, he has years of experience under his belt, and an intelligence score of 6/6, scoring up there with Nezu! He may not always have the right way to bring something up, but he’s doing his best. Yet even he blames himself for Izuku not being able to control his quirk better. Every time the boy hurts himself, it’s just another tally on the chalkboard of Toshinori’s failures. He himself knows the boy deserves better, better than him. Useless. Pathetic.
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Then his friend from America, Dave, essentially became a villain trying to preserve Toshinori’s legacy after Toshinori told him about his injury. Dave went behind his back, threatened people, injured people (pretty sure people died), all for Toshinori’s sake. Something he didn’t want to begin with. Having to put your only other friend in jail for trying to help you surely couldn’t have been easy.
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Oh, by the way? All For One isn’t dead. All Might will fight him again, publicly, have his weakened form exposed to the world, and have his own emotions toyed with as he finds out about his master’s grandson in the villain’s hands. Would Nana hate him for leaving her son alone like she’d asked, and dooming her grandchild to be raised by the greatest villain? Could he have done anything to save him? But Toshinori isn’t allowed to feel, he has to smile and push his own feelings aside once again, because there’s a villain to be fought, and only he can fight him. Despite coming out on top, he’ll have suffered severe head trauma, broken left arm, destroyed right arm, and several cuts and bruises that are sure to scar. And then, his quirk, the only thing that’s been allowing him to help people, the gift given to him that he carefully held for 40 years and molded into his own until his very consciousness was permanently carved into it, blows out like a match in the wind. And he’s done. Used up. Empty. Broken. Hollow. Alone, again.
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He overhears his student, Bakugo, admit that he blames himself for All Might’s retirement. If he hadn’t been captured, All Might wouldn’t have had to save him, and he wouldn’t have had to fight AFO. Of course Toshinori knows that’s not true, his time was about to run out anyway. It would have happened one way or another. But how can he explain to this child that he wasn’t the cause of his hero, the world’s greatest hero, fighting for his sake, bleeding for his sake, being forced into retirement to keep him safe. Every time Bakugo sees the bandages covering Toshinori’s body is another reminder of the pain and sacrifice Toshinori willingly gave to keep him safe. Toshinori wasn’t held when his mentor died. He wasn’t told it was ok to be sad, that grief and mourning was a natural process, that it takes time to heal. He wasn’t told it was ok to cry. Instead his feelings were beaten out of him as he wondered if Gran Torino blamed him for Nana’s death. He already blamed himself How then, does he comfort a child mourning for him? For what he lost.
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And then he gets the call to come to the hospital. Mirai, Nighteye, his old sidekick friend, has been gravely injured, much like he himself was only a few years ago, and most likely won’t survive the night. And to his horror, Nighteye is happy to see him, smiles at him, says he doesn’t hate him for what happened, only wants Toshinori to be happy. He can’t accept that, at least let him apologize, reconcile his sins before it’s too late! But it is. Another fractured piece of his heart gone.
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Of course, seeing your students beat up and their arms completely destroyed must have hurt. Instead of being able to save these kids, they’re the ones that hurt themselves to save everyone else. And if Bakugo had kept OFA, things could have been very different (especially with what we know now of OFA and people with quirks). Toshinori wasn’t mad at Izuku for transferring it away, he’d never regret choosing Izuku, and I believe he still would have stayed by Izuku and Bakugo’s side should it have stayed in Bakugo, doing whatever he could to help.
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As he tells Aizawa, “I’ve decided to live,” -that statement seems so melancholy, besides obvious reasons. It sounds more like another task he has to accomplish. He didn’t die he was supposed to die with the AFO fight, and now the whole life he lived is over. The world has no use for him anymore. If not for Izuku, he’d have nothing left keeping him here. But because his boy made him promise to live, he’ll do so. Though it almost seems like he says those words with regret. “I’ve decided to live.” Not, “I’m going to live!” “Nothing can kill me!” “I won’t go down without a fight!” No. “I’ll live if I have to, only because you asked me to.” The man is obviously and outwardly depressed. He has so many things against him. No doubt has severe PTSD, anxiety, among others. Not to mention his own physical health. Every day hurts. It’s painful to be alive. Why would he torture himself if he doesn’t have to? For you, my boy. You’re the only thing keeping me here. The only light in my dark world.
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He tries to help Izuku find out the previous holder’s quirks, to help his boy in any way he can now that he’s worthless, and goes days on end without sleep, running his body into the ground. He even forgets Christmas. Only to find that by giving the boy the same gift he had received, he may have just doomed him to an early death, among psychological torture (danger detection). (Granted, he really doesn’t know how everything works, and he’s afraid to talk to anyone about it). His boy could live only half a life.
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It’s only been a few months since he retired, and society has fallen into shambles. People are blaming him. People are dying. He watches helplessly as his colleague fight his fight for him, and end up battered, bruised, crippled, dead. He students, his boy, battle the monster he should have killed. Children are bleeding. This shouldn’t happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Is everything he worked for, everything he fought to protect, to build up, to inspire, is all for naught?! Did he live a foolish dream and doom the world? Was all the the friends he lost, tears he shed, the organs he destroyed, the pain he endures on a daily basis from the hole in his side, and the blood he continues to bleed every day, for nothing? The public, the ones he protected for so long, mourn his absence, but surely there are those among them who also blame him. The statue from his last fight in Kamino one that he never asked for was decimated in a mock of his catch phrase- the one that was supposed to give hope.
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Now he can feel his own vestige speaking with Izuku in the OFA realm, even with out OFA in his own body anymore. His clock as nearly reached it’s limit, Nighteye’s prediction is due any day now. The only thing he wants is to see his boy smile at him, to give him some shred of hope. Yet the child remains unconscious, and Toshinori can’t even hold his hand from the bandages covering his arms. Will he still be able to fight? Is there any coming back from this now? Did I break him?
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With all Toshinori has been through, I’m honestly surprised we haven’t seen him just outright break down. Anyone, anyone, else should have crumbled under the pressure of holding up the world for 40 years alone. And instead of being able to pass it on to someone when he can no longer bear its weight, it simply falls to into the abyss. People don’t credit All Might enough for everything he’s done. Most don’t realize the sacrifices he’s made. His character is so unbelievably profound and deep, it’s more than just the “I am here!” people focus on. He’s a deeply troubled, layered, complex character. And I can’t find fault within him.
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willowcrowned · 4 years ago
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Grey Apprentice AU (Installment #4)
aka Sith!Obi-Wan AU Flavor II 
(Previous parts: x x x)
Qui-Gon paces the length of his and Obi-Wan's small sitting room, first once, then twice, then a third time. He looks up, expecting the usual dry comment from Obi-Wan on jedi masters’ peaceful bodies and minds, but he’s not there. Of course, that’s the problem in the first place: Obi-Wan is gone, off on a ship with a figure that felt like a maelstrom of darkness in the Force, and he’d left with a wink. The man must know something Qui-Gon doesn’t, but what it is, he can’t guess.
He turns, pausing at the entrance to Obi-Wan's room. He normally doesn’t enter without permission; it’s an invasion of Obi-Wan's privacy— privacy to which he is well entitled— but in this case...
Qui-Gon grimaces, opening the door. He won’t snoop, won’t do anything other than have a superficial look. At the very least it might calm him down to have tangible evidence of Obi-Wan's intention to return. When they’d left, he hadn’t taken the black bag he usually keeps with him, a velvet thing smaller than Qui-Gon's palm. Obi-Wan wouldn’t have left it if he thought he’d be gone for more than a week.
The room is just as Obi-Wan had left it, tidy and empty, with a plant on the desk next to a picture of his friends, a spare cloak hung up on the peg next to the door, and a blanket folded perfectly at the foot of his bed. It’s the room of a knight, not of a padawan, Qui-Gon realizes, and he has to push down the surge of pride and guilt that seems to swell up in his chest more and more often these days.
He frowns, for the first time noticing the odd pressure building in his brain. It’s a strange, blunt, thing— the marked absence of something, rather than its presence. He scans the room once more for the offending object, for the first time noticing an odd red glow from the closet. Qui-Gon pauses. He’d said he wouldn’t touch anything, but— The glow grows brighter, and he can hear the Force calling to him from it, not light, not peaceful, but not unkind. Qui-Gon sighs, and opens the closet door.  
The glow is coming from the floor, within the black bag Obi-Wan had left behind. Qui-Gon looks at it, a furrow forming in his brows. It’s not Obi-Wan's habit to leave things on the floor, and the cleaning crews haven’t been in their apartments since they left. When he picks up the bag, intending to return it to its place on the shelf, a white-hot pain sears through his hand, and he drops it. The bag tumbles to the floor, and out of it falls a holocron.
It’s the last thing Qui-Gon notices before the onslaught of darkness hits him, pressing him beneath a tsunami of emotion. The fury slams into him first, not so hot as the zabrak’s had been but far, far, deeper. Qui-Gon falls to his knees without noticing, forced to sustain the mental battering of his shields. He can feel them weakening even as he clutches them tighter, being torn away bit by bit like an old house in a storm.
How is no one noticing this, Qui-Gon wonders. How come no one has come in to see what this endless wave of darkness is— this storm with no light.
The first tear in his shields happens, and he works it shore it up, plugging it with whatever he can think of: random bits of trivia, a poem, a meal he shared with Obi-Wan. Stay, he tells them, give me time. The pieces do not stay, each layer being ripped away until all that’s left was the look on Obi-Wan's face as he realized the sandwich he’d bitten into was filled with candied ants. Then, abruptly, the maelstrom stops, and Qui-Gon is left grasping for the pieces of his shields, the void around them quiet once more.
“Do forgive my intrusion,” a female voice says, dry and unapologetic as Qui-Gon struggles to get control of his breathing on the floor. “You know how it is: better safe than sorry.”
Qui-Gon falls back, resting against the wall as he tries to catch his breath. “What are you?” He says, injecting his tone with as little worry as he can manage. “What are you doing here?” What are you doing in Obi-Wan's room, he wants to add. What have you done to my padawan?
Zannah’s nose scrunches slightly, halfway between amused and disgusted. “Your shields are down, Jedi.”
“I wonder why that is,” he manages.
She shrugs. “I’m not going to apologize.”
Qui-Gon patches up his shields, weaving the skeleton of the old threads of memory into a new place, beside several strong pockets of compulsion. It won’t be enough to stop the woman if she attacks him again, but it might gain him a few seconds of reprieve. It will have to be enough.
“As for your questions,” the woman says once he’s finished, “A Sith, sleeping, Obi-Wan brought me here, and I’ve done nothing to him.”
“Nothing,” Qui-Gon repeats, disbelieving, the aftershocks of her attack still filtering through his mind.
“Yes,” the woman says. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Darth Zannah. I’d tell you to sit down, but, well...” She gestures to him collapsed on the floor.
Qui-Gon shakes his head, trying to disseminate the information. “Does he know you’re here? Does he know what he brought back?” Surely not, he thinks. Surely Obi-Wan wouldn’t have knowingly brought a Sith into the heart of the Jedi temple.
“I should hope so,” Zannah says, “given that I’ve been training him for twelve years.”
“Twelve—” Qui-Gon freezes.
“Yes,” Zannah agrees, “since Bandomeer.”
“Impossible,” Qui-Gon breathes.
“Is it?” Zannah raises an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of Obi-Wan— or, no, all this time Obi-Wan must have been imitating her. Qui-Gon remembers when he picked that little habit up; it had been the months after he’d turned seventeen, just beginning to grow into his too-long limbs, still gawkish and almost awkward. Then, over the course of their mission, his gait had grown smoother, countenance more graceful, and his awkward smiles at Qui-Gon's jokes had turned into an amused raised eyebrow and half-smirk. 
It had felt odd at the time, watching the maladroit child he knew turn into a clever, subtle, adult, but he knows it now as the sign of Obi-Wan growing up, leaving Qui-Gon as a student and returning to him as a friend. He remembers the white stone of the city, remembers the late spring blossoms of the sea-roses, remembers the first time Obi-Wan had turned that quizzical look on him— and feels the taste of the memory, sweet with the blossoms, turn to ash in his mouth.
“How—” Qui-Gon starts, mouth dry. “Why—”
“I offered him knowledge,” Zannah says, not unkindly, “and companionship not to be found in the constraints of Jedi.”
“Why train him?” Qui-Gon asks, clutching at proof that she has not— could not— have trained Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan is kind, and clever, and selfless, and none of the things a Sith should be. He cannot have lied so fully for so many years. He cannot. “Why not train someone else? Someone you wouldn’t have to corrupt first?”
Zannah gives him an incredulous look. “You think I’ve corrupted him? Have you forgotten Ghé’aiit so easily? That was not the behavior of one corrupted.”
Qui-Gon feels ire stir deep in his chest, at her prodding, guiding rhetoric, but the memory springs to him unbidden.
It had begun as a trade dispute. Three families, each the head of a government and of a trade sector. The Jedi had initially been brought in to facilitate negotiations; those had lasted all of two nights, ending with Obi-Wan kidnapped and in chains— a hostage for the third family. Qui-Gon hadn’t known that at the time, of course. He’d only known that Obi-Wan was gone and the place where their bond was had turned to a jagged mess of edges before it disappeared into nothingness.
He’d found Obi-Wan again, oblivious to Qui-Gon's presence, escaped and facing the Third Peer, who was holding a blaster to his sister’s head. It would have been easy, laughably easy, for Obi-Wan to let him shoot her, claim he had gotten there too late to save her, and arrested the Third Peer with little risk to himself. Instead, Obi-Wan had lain down his blaster, and braced himself for the shot.  
(Later, when their bond was back and whole, Qui-Gon had blocked it off again, too overwhelmed by fear and relief not to yell at Obi-Wan. How could he yell at Obi-Wan, when he’d done exactly as a Jedi should do? But how could he not be angry, not be furious, that he had lain down his blaster and braced himself for death as if it were second nature? How can I forgive you, Qui-Gon had thought then, for almost leaving me? How will I be able to let you go when it’s time?)
“He scared me too,” Zannah says softly. “When I heard what he had done, I could barely restrain myself. Foolish, loving, Jedi, and their need to do the right thing.”
“I hope you don’t think,” Qui-Gon says, tired, “that I trust you.”
“No,” Zannah says. “You’re not a stupid man, on the whole. I hope you will trust Obi-Wan, though.”
Qui-Gon sits straight up, reminded of what had caused his agitation in the first place. “Obi-Wan. You sent him after that darksider?”
“Darth Maul,” Zannah agrees. “I wouldn’t fear, he’s not a match for Obi-Wan— merely the servant of the Sith Master.”
“You would send Obi-Wan to do another Sith’s dirty work?” Qui-Gon doesn’t hide the curl of his lip from her, meeting her gaze head-on. “I thought the masters were supposed to discard their apprentices themselves.”
“I do not,” she hisses, eyes flashing, “do that creature’s dirty work.”
“Lady Zannah—” Qui-Gon replies coldly.
“Lord, actually,” Zannah corrects, and all of a sudden the fire has left her eyes. “The title is ‘lord’ regardless of gender. A Sith Lady is a different job entirely.”
“Lord Zannah,” Qui-Gon corrects, making sure she can hear the eye-roll inherent in his tone, “Are you implying that not only are you embroiled in a rivalry with another Sith clan, but that you have, in fact, created your own?”
“We call them houses,” Zannah replies. “Mine is that of Athén. And you are correct, Obi-Wan is a part of it. We are a House of two.”
Fantastic, Qui-Gon thinks bitterly, and his patch-job must not be as good as he thinks it is because he swears he hears Zannah chuckle. He sighs. “Out of curiosity, what is the job of a Sith Lady?”
“A combination of cultural advisor, archivist, and magic user. And occasionally a consort.” Zannah smiles a wickedly sharp smile. “I much prefer being a Lord.”
Yes, Qui-Gon thinks, not caring that she can hear it. You would.
-
 Some notes:
-Yes Zannah did name her house after her dead wife, who is in turn named after Athena, because I am a basic, basic, bitch
-Yes, I did borrow the line about Sith jobs from the Enchanted Forest Chronicles. Patricia C. Wrede I’m so sorry I’m using your work for my nonsense AUs but also those books shaped me as a human, so. Too Bad. They’re a part of my writing now.
- I included a bug-eating joke because apparently I am constantly under the compulsion to talk about people in sw eating bugs. I have no excuses
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sineala · 3 years ago
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Holiday comics
This month I've been asked to talk about winter-holiday themed storylines! It's been miserably hot where I am; winter sounds nice right about now. I don't think many of the comics I'm going to name are going to be new to you. You can probably guess what they are! But maybe you'll have fun sitting down and reading them. Put on the air-conditioning and get some ice water.
Marvel has had a whole bunch of holiday issues over the years, and I'm not going to talk about anywhere near all of them. The most recent one I can think of is last year's King In Black Iron Man & Doctor Doom team-up, which features Tony and Doom facing off against a symbiote-possessed Santa Claus. I've never really enjoyed any symbiote-themed Marvel comics -- although I really liked the Venom movie, go figure -- so it's not one of my favorites, but it might be your kind of thing.
My favorite issue in this genre obviously has to be the Avengers vol 5 Annual. This was the annual that came out during Hickman's Avengers run. It's not written by Hickman -- it's by Kathryn Immonen -- and it has nothing whatsoever to do with the events of the run. You can read it without any familiarity with the rest of the run, I promise. It's definitely the happiest issue in that entire Avengers run. It's probably one of the happiest issues of Avengers that you will ever read. I had gotten into Steve/Tony comics relatively soon after this issue came out, and I remember seeing panels on Tumblr without attribution and not knowing if they were canon or fanart or edits. (I kind of enjoy the fact that comics fandom has this problem, actually, even if that means breaking people's hearts about that "solid dick" panel every so often.) And then it turned out they were canon!
You've probably all read it, but this particular annual is set on Christmas Eve. Almost all the team has cleared out for Christmas, leaving a skeleton crew to watch the tower. Specifically, Steve. Tony asks Steve if Steve's going to be okay before leaving for his private island. It's very sweet. But then the actual plot kicks into gear, and some kids who had been taking a tour have stayed to cause mischief, and it's up to Steve to stop them. And also, additionally, Tony and several other Avengers, because when Tony said "private island" he meant that he was shutting himself up in a bathroom with a swimsuit and swim fins and a crab floatie. Yep.
This is also the issue with the famed "Captain Handsome" line because not only is Tony a guy who has canonically used "Captain America" as his own password (good going, no one'll ever guess that) he gives everyone else their own personalized passwords to the tower, thereby making Steve identify himself as Captain Handsome, which I think says an awful lot about Tony.
Anyway. It's the best, and if you haven't read it, you definitely should.
Marvel also puts out a lot of one-off holiday specials that are usually anthologies of winter-themed holiday superhero stories. There were a few of them in the 70s under the title "Holiday Grab Bag," which I have not read. They were revived in 1991 under the title "Marvel Holiday Special." They don't do them every year, I don't think, but there have been a fair number of them.
So obviously these don't all have the Avengers in them, though the Avengers often make cameos; I skimmed through them just to check. It's also probably worth noting that although they are mostly Christmas-themed in nature, they aren't all entirely Christmas-themed; there's a story in the 2011 issue that has Ben Grimm and Kitty Pryde celebrating Chanukah, and the 1992 one has a funny story of Doc Samson attempting to tell children about Chanukah and embellishing it wildly to keep them interested, so that superheroes and nuclear weapons are now involved in it. He is not invited back.
They do have a few stories that might be of interest in the specials. The 1991 special has a story called "Precious Gifts" (by Len Kaminski, who you may remember from early-90s Iron Man) where Steve is volunteering at the VFW for Christmas (as Steve, not Cap) and meets a woman who wants to talk to him about how sad she is that her brother died in WWII and she doesn't even know how. Steve of course asks what her brother's name was. And she says his name was James Barnes, and that's pretty much when Steve's brain bluescreens.
This is Rebecca's first appearance in canon; she later shows up at the tail end of Jurgens' Cap run and then again during Brubaker's run; I haven't actually read either of those. MCU Stucky fandom really ran with her as a character, but here in 616 she and Steve don't know each other at all. He didn't seem to know Bucky had a sister at all, and she didn't know Bucky was Steve's partner, so after Steve figures it out he goes back (as Cap) to tell her about Bucky so she can at least know that Bucky died bravely, and he gives her a patch from one of Bucky's uniforms. It's very touching. I'd never read it before, so I'm glad I found this.
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(I really like the scene with Steve interacting with the children at Rebecca's house, because I think it captures two key facets of Steve's character: (1) the angst about how he will never have a normal life and a family, and (2) his terrible sense of humor. "What's Thor like?" "Big." I feel like one of the things I would like MCU fandom to know about comics Steve is that he is, pretty much, Steve "Dad Jokes" Rogers. Not, like, as pithy hero banter, but in everyday conversation.)
This issue also has a Christmas-themed splash page of Steve and Diamondback that I think is pretty cute. Steve is holding up Rachel and Rachel is holding up Steve's shield so it serves as the star on a Christmas tree.
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The 1992 issue has an Iron Man story entitled "Holidays on Ice." An ice-themed villain is angry that he can't find a job, so he decides to go ruin the Stark Enterprises holiday party, which was going pretty well until then. Tony suits up and of course defeats the villain handily and then offers him a job, because, well, he's a nice guy and it's Christmas. This is exactly who Tony Stark is, as far as I'm concerned. It's sweet.
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The 1994 issue has a Cap story where Steve is chasing human traffickers on Christmas Eve (cheerful, right?) into a farmhouse "where [his] grandfather lived sixty years ago" because I guess someone didn't know Steve was the son of immigrants. Maybe it wasn't canon yet. Steve saves the kid and reminisces about Christmas, the soul of America, human trafficking, et cetera. I would recommend the previous Cap story over this one.
I think the last holiday special I can recall that had Steve and Tony actually interacting was a Gwenpool Holiday Special, and that was way back before Secret Empire (but after Secret Wars), while Steve was still old. I don't recall much about it except that they were attending the same party.
But the one of these that you definitely want to read is the Marvel Holiday Special 2005, which has an Avengers ensemble story by Jeff Parker; if you're familiar with comics because of their Steve/Tony potential, you'll probably recognize his name because he wrote several of the first issues of Marvel Adventures: Avengers, and though this is a early New Avengers-era story it definitely has that MA:A dynamic. It's not particularly shippy as far as the Steve/Tony goes but if you enjoy Comics Being Comics, you should know that this story is called "Yes, Virginia, There Is a Santron!" and features the Avengers fighting, um. Santron. Santa-themed Ultron. Yesss.
Anyway, it has the Avengers attending a holiday party at the Sanctum Sanctorum, because why not, and it's generally amusing and has some great team dynamics and I love Santron. There is an unfortunate subplot involving all the male Avengers maneuvering to get Jess Drew under the mistletoe which I think was supposed to be funny but to me came off as kind of creepy. But other than that, I really enjoy this issue.
That's all I can think of as far as holiday special issues go, but there are of course issues of regular comics that just happen to be set in or near various winter holidays. I actually can't think of any holiday-themed Cap issues, but I can think of a couple of Iron Man ones. You probably think I'm going to talk about the second drinking arc, but I'm not -- well, okay, not directly -- because even though that definitely features winter it's not really very holiday-themed. But there are other issues that fit the bill.
Iron Man #313, published in 1995, is called "Resolutions," and I feel like New Year's Eve definitely counts as a winter holiday. Which is when it's set. It's by Len Kaminski, who you may remember from several paragraphs ago as the guy who wrote that story about Bucky's sister. Ha. He's clearly very good at winter-holiday-themed character moments, because that's what this issue basically is. If you've read it, you know exactly what I mean; if you haven't read it, I highly recommend it. It's one of the only issues from this era of comics that I bothered to track down in paper.
So the entirety of Iron Man #313, pretty much, is about Tony going to an AA meeting on New Year's Eve and recounting his entire history of alcoholism up to this point. If you need a convenient refresher on Tony's drinking problem, this is actually a pretty good issue to pick up; there are later issues that recap Tony's alcoholism, like Matt Fraction's Invincible Iron Man #500.1, but this issue features the motivations and characterization that get the most play in fandom.  This is the issue where Tony recounts a New Year's Eve he spent as a child. The one where his father forced him to down hard liquor, which Tony did in an attempt to impress him. (Tony describes his father as "not a bad man," because Tony is not a very reliable narrator where his father is concerned.) Anyway, yes, this is that issue. It's dealing with the fallout of Tony drinking during the Vor/Tex arc, though if you love yourself I would suggest not reading the Vor/Tex arc and just reading this. It's good.
The only other issue I can think of that's at all holiday-themed is the arc toward the end of Iron Man volume 3, "You Can't Always Get..." (IM v3 #62-63), which is itself a sequel to "Jane Doe" (#51-52), which I would recommend reading if you enjoy Tony funding a women's shelter and generally being a really good human being. As far as I can remember, the first arc isn't holiday-themed; the second one takes place during the Christmas season, but the women's shelter from the first arc plays a big role here.
Mostly what you will want to read here is Tony and his girlfriend Rumiko going Christmas shopping in #62. The issue opens with them going shopping and Tony carrying all the bags and also taking Ru to go see Santa Claus. After that, they're walking down the street talking about what they really want. And Ru asks Tony what he wants, being as he's The Man Who Has Everything. His reply is: "Something money and power could never buy... something I've been searching for all my life. Someone to watch over me."
Fandom tends to feel like that quote is a pretty telling look into Tony's psyche, as far as I can tell. I think we all like it. So, yeah, that's worth reading.
I'm bad at writing conclusions, but anyway, yeah, that's all of the winter-holiday comics I can think of that are Steve, Tony, and/or Steve/Tony-related; I went through the Marvel Holiday Specials so you did not have to. Definitely read that Avengers annual if you haven't, though. It's a good one.
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honeyrock43 · 3 years ago
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I just watched Turning Red for the first time today. I also came across an article talking about how a lot of parents were uncomfortable, horrified, and outraged by Disney’s and Pixar’s decision to blatantly discuss menstruation and female puberty specifically. They didn’t want to talk about those topics with young children (one parent mentioned their child was 7) and that it was sexualizing children. I would like to discuss why these parents need to calm down.
First off, to every adult saying Mei (and any other female character in Turning Red) was sexualized because of the blatant and subtle references to puberty and menstruation needs to open their eyes. The “blooming red peony” is literally the most natural thing a female body does. We bleed, every 4 or so weeks, and it is something we live with. It’s adults who make it weird, and apparently sexual when it’s literally our bodies saying “hey, no baby this month!”
For the parents of young daughters, as young as 7 or so, this movie probably did speed up the timetable of discussing puberty and menstruating. But girls as young as 7-8 can get periods. While our biological clocks tend to follow familial patterns, our environments change how early or late we start. I doubt you want to be like Ming and have to tell your daughters AFTER the fact, like she had to with Mei about the pandas. Imagine how better prepared your girls will be. How much less terrifying this change will be if it happens before you think they’re old enough. Or how they may be able to be a Miriam for their friends in their times of need (saving the day with pads or tampons and pain killers - there are I’ll prepared women everywhere and I’m one of them 50% of the time).
Now, much more importantly, imagine all the little girls who are watching this movie. Maybe they have warrior moms like Ming who will destroy the city for their daughters. Maybe they have moms who work 3 jobs to put food on the table and are either never home or too tired. Maybe they don’t have moms or a female role model they can talk to. Or maybe they’re like my mom, who handed me a book was I was 12 on the changes that would happen in my body once I hit puberty. This movie dedicated time to menstruation. To fucking sanitary pads. Hell, I’m a grown woman and I didn’t know all the types Ming brought out for her daughter (which Ming is not a role model mom but she loves Mei, she had good intentions without realizing the harm). I had to figure out using heat for cramps, and I got blessed that I didn’t need ibuprofen for it. I had to chase after my own health when I realized my menstruation wasn’t normal. Not everyone is so lucky to have an adult willing to discuss these things (I got lucky that both my parents cared when I said something was wrong, though Dad didn’t understand) or able to discuss it or to at least find a book because they don’t know how (which was more than my mom had). Not everyone is lucky enough to have an adult who will get outraged at a major company like Disney on their behalf (misguided or not).
So let it be. Let little girls see it and ask questions. Let 13 year olds see it and know that it’s ok to be Mei or Miriam or Abby or Priya or Tyler and geek out over their crushes and boy bands and draw/write embarrassing things (we all have a few skeletons. Parents, you don’t have to tell your kids but don’t lie to yourselves).
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renzu-valra · 3 years ago
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Prompt #31: Family [2]
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Character: Ietasu Takemori  ♦  Region: Ishgard  ♦  Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​     ( Family iteration [1] )
Had he made it to a chirurgeon last night..? Unable to remember much of the night previous, Ietasu laid with his thoughts for a time. The pain was still there—but rather than feeling the cold stone beneath him, he felt a soft mattress and a cushion under his head. As he slowly began to regain his senses, he realized he was somewhere with children. He heard the sounds of young voices bantering amongst themselves…and the voice of a woman hushing them as light gradually poured in through his opening eyelids. And then, he felt pressure being applied to the bed in which he assumedly laid. Little hands pressing down as they watched him awaken.
“…Shh, he’s waking up!” He heard the feminine voice whisper overhead. The first thing he saw when he awoke were her blue eyes—and the faces of two young boys looking at him in awe.
“Woah…they’re all black!” One of the boys gossiped to the other who nodded his head in innocent wonder. The three of them each with a head of ginger. “Cool…”
The blue-eyed woman then made to bat her hand at the two boys at their comments. “Now, now, you’re in the way. Let’s let him adjust first, okay?” As if their interest suddenly faded, they quickly hopped off of the bed in a hurry and went back to playing games like nothing had changed. How long had he been here? Long enough that the children weren’t too bothered with him to insist they stay and start to whine.
“How are you feeling?” She asked him quietly, her long hair touching his bandaged chest. From the looks of it, she wasn’t old enough to be the boys’ mother. At his silence, she continued to talk at him as though his reaction wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. “You must be surprised. I bet you thought you’d be in a clinic or somewhere like that. And actually, you should’ve been waking up there instead of here. But…” Her eyes darted towards his horns and down to his stomach—unsure where exactly she should be looking. “Not everyone is so accepting of things, or people, rather…that they don’t understand quite yet. And I thought, since I’m a healer in training, I could look after you until we figured out what to do with you. I hope you don’t mind.” She gave him a friendly smile at that. And when still he did not respond to her, she kept talking at him. “I made soup earlier. How about we try feeding you something first?”
Watching her as she stood up and made her way to the kitchen, he allowed himself a moment to process his thoughts. Although she said she had been a student, he had no way of knowing just how well his wound had been stitched back up. If it was clumsy, he’d tear it easily and then he’d be no better than when she found him. Or, had it only been the day after Xah attacked him, the wound would be too fresh to move around much. Situationally, his best course of action was to wait it out. Even though he wanted to do nothing else besides return to the boy’s side.
When she returned, she set down a bowl of cold soup on the stand nearby and began setting up more pillows behind his head in order to prop him upright. “There’s some vegetables in the broth…do you think you can chew?” Sitting down beside him on the bed and reaching for the bowl to bring into her lap, she waited for a sign from him. Anything to let her know that it was okay. And Ietasu relented a small gesture to her knowing he needed the food. Parting his lips somewhat, he eyed the spoon she held. “I’ll take that as a yes!”
With each bite, he felt himself getting a little bit stronger. Not that it was particularly tasty or anything, but he had felt famished beforehand. And when at last he had finished, he finally made to speak. “How…long have I been here?” He noticed it while he was eating, but the room itself had been lit up with interior lights—there was no natural light coming in from anywhere. It had to be night right now.
Her smile grew with hearing his question, surely feeling accomplished that she had done her part in nursing him back to health. “A few days. The knife missed your vitals, thankfully…but you had lost a lot of blood before we found you.” Setting the emptied bowl back onto the stand, she suddenly widened her eyes as one of the boys from earlier came crashing into her legs. She managed to keep herself balanced well enough however so that she didn’t upset Ietasu while he rested. “Eric?” The child himself was barely the height of the bed. He had heard him coming, but he could only see the ginger top of his hair as he clung to the woman’s legs.
“Sis, Jacob won’t give me back Mr. Rumps!” Distraught enough that he had been brought to tears, the woman lifted herself from his bedside and made to bend over and hug her brother close.
“Is that so? Well, then let’s go talk to him, alright?” Looking at her patient in bed, she smiled and nodded her head. “I trust you’ll be okay on your own for a while? It’s almost their bedtime.” Giving her a soft tilt of his head, he silently let her know that she could take her time. And when they left his room, Ietasu began to feel out his body. Trying to move his arms around, he found them to be unusually sluggish. The same with his legs. Whilst he was no longer too worried about his injury, the erosion his muscles had faced during his short coma would prove the real challenge. He had to get back onto his feet soon, or it would be difficult to regain his strength in time to save Xah. Who knows what the cruel lord had in plan for him…or what had already transpired during his inactivity?
Taking this time to work out the ligaments in his arms first, he stretched them back and forth until they became worn out. And when his door opened again, he expected to see the woman from earlier return. But instead, it was someone else entirely. An older woman with short blond hair. “I had heard you were awake. Eager to get back to it?” She spoke upon seeing his stretches. “I don’t know what you did to get yourself stabbed, but I hope you won’t bring us any trouble in keeping you here.” Judging her then to be the head of the house, he nodded towards her. “Good. The sooner you leave here, the better.”
He too was of the same mind as her. It was not wise to house a stranger, even with good intentions. They had found him bleeding out in a dark alleyway, after all. They did not know what skeletons he kept in his closet, or if he had any enemies out patrolling for him. That, and he too wanted to leave here as soon as possible.
“Mother, please don’t say such things to our guest.” Ah, the voice of the younger girl. So she had finished putting her brothers to bed…
“Ellabell…you should be getting yourself to bed as well. Don’t stay up much longer with him, understand?”
“Yes, mother…”
Watching them part ways, Ellabell returned to his side upon closing the door. “I hope she didn’t offend you or anything. She just has our best interests at heart. And…even though she says she wants you gone, she was the one who suggested we bring you here. So…”
Her mother seemed to be smart on both accounts then, even if her daughter only praised her on one. In any event, if she was to head to bed soon, he did not want to be left without activity. Though he knew he would soon want to turn in as well, he did not want to wake his precious waking hours from here on out. “You…are training to be amongst the chirurgeon’s are you not? Do you have any crutches that I might use?” She seemed only slightly distressed by his question. It did, after all, mean that he had plans to leave here. But even she had to know that he wouldn’t be here forever. And denying him means to get back on his legs would be a death sentence. As a student of medicine, she surely knew that. And because he brought up her training, she couldn’t deny that she hadn’t a pair laying around.
“Y-yes…” She nodded quietly, leaving to fetch them. “I’ll be back with them shortly.”
And when she returned with a set of wooden crutches, she left them leaning against his bedside. “I still think it’s too soon for you to begin moving around too much, however. Try to take it slow, alright? I want to see your progress in the morning.” He knew he would be here for some time yet. She didn’t need to worry about him leaving in the middle of the night. He was no fool.
“I will manage enough on my own. You should get some sleep.” He assured her as he tried to bring his body around and over the bed. It wasn’t easy, but he fared well enough on his own.
Perhaps it was her lingering uncertainty which kept her from leaving right away. The girl motionlessly twiddling her thumbs as she watched him hang his legs over the bed and reach for his crutches. “Wait,” She then whispered as she took a step forward. “Just one more thing…” Standing before him now, she leaned down and brushed the hair off of his face—bringing her head low so that she could kiss his forehead. “There.” She giggled quietly as she pulled away and turned around. “It’s a little sad going to bed alone, so…when you do, I hope that helps you sleep a little better. My mom used to do that for me when she worked late nights and couldn’t come home until morning. Well...goodnight.”
And with that, she was gone. Likely too embarrassed to take another peek back at him as she closed the door behind herself. As he didn’t understand the gesture, he sighed and shook his head. Such a thing wouldn’t provide him any comfort. Nor would it make bringing Xah back safe and sound any easier. But, as he pulled the crutches closer to himself, he felt an odd softness rising from his chest that made it seem like he was floating on a cloud. Rather than feel burdened by his duty, he felt like…at least for now…there was nothing to worry about. Whilst he knew that wasn’t at all true, he felt that way. Just for a second. In pulling himself onto his feet, he winced in crippling pain. Step by step, he’d fight to regain his mobility. Step by step…until he was strong enough to rescue Xah.
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scariusaquarius · 4 years ago
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en'ca minne.
Geralt of Rivia & Child! Reader
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A/n: so, of course my first fic with Geralt is with a child! reader because Geralt and children make me swoon <3 I hope you guys like this. Idk where i’m going with this fic, so any ideas and suggestions are good!
The title is ‘Little love’ in elder speech <3
Chapter One (Here) | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight (Soon)
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Genre: Angst, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Horror Rated: General Warning: Canon-typical Violence, Abandonment, Suspense,  Blood, Gore, Blood and Gore, Graphic Depictions of Rotting Corpses/Animals, 
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Author: dabisburntnut
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The province of Velen could only be described as one thing: shit.
As Geralt rode Roach through the countryside, the stench of rotting, burnt flesh, old blood, and the stench of rotting earth hung in the air. Hanged skeletons were everywhere, swaying gently in the wind as it blew, and Geralt almost cursed his sense of smell. It was one of the reasons why he hated coming to Velen.
There was no area in Velen where it didn’t stink of death.
As Geralt rode through, he shook his head slightly. There was no point in dwelling on the tragedies that had swept through Velen because of the war. After all, he was just a witcher; a monster hunter. What could he do? With a sigh, Geralt urged Roach faster, planning on getting to Crow’s Perch as fast as he could if only to get out of the clouds of stench wafting into his sensitive nose.
The smell of war always made his stomach churn, even if just for a second.
As he rode closer to Crow’s Perch, passing into the Mire, Geralt made a stop in Oreton. Tying Roach up, Geralt almost rolled his eyes as the people began their usual whispers.
‘What’s that freak doing here?’
‘Look, a witcher…must be monsters nearby.’
All the same meaningless words. Honestly, Geralt was so used to the whispers that they became just that: whispers. As Geralt looked into his saddlebags, he noticed he was out of some potions and oils, and decided to approach the merchant at his stall. As he did so, the merchant’s eyes lit up, and he waved him over.
“Witcher, what a welcoming sight!”
Geralt was taken back from the words of the merchant.
“First time hearing that. I take it you have something to ask of me.”
The merchant gave an apologetic look.
“I…well, yes…but if ye do this for me, I’ll make sure to give ye the best discount ye can find in Velen…maybe even free things that aren’t, well, in high demand.”
Geralt crossed his arms. The more crowns that he saved, the better...
“Alright, I’ll bite. What do you want?”
The merchant looked relieved before explaining to Geralt, shaking his head nervously.
“Well, I had a close friend that was supposed to be coming to Oreton from Crow’s Perch. We often trade items…makes business easier when we know what is and isn’t in demand for the towns. It’s been days since I’ve seen them…and Hrothgar is never late. Always the punctual merchant, as we all must be.”
Geralt raised his brow a bit, saying to the merchant and waving his hand a bit.
“He could have been attacked by bandits. Unfortunately happens a lot.”
The merchant shook his head.
“Aye, but this is a most worrisome case for Hrothgar was bringing his wife and wee lass with him.”
Okay, so a family possibly killed by bandits. It wasn’t exactly the worst job Geralt could take, but wasn’t the best either. Unfortunately, families were killed all the time while on the road. It was the way things were during war and even during times of peace.
The merchant could tell that Geralt was teetering on the edge of refusing the job, and he pleaded, clasping his hands together.
“Please, witcher. Ye not do much but look for them in the least? I’ll….I’ll pay ye if that’s what yer wanting.”
Geralt sighed lightly, taking the bait and nodding.
“Fine, I’ll look for them. You said they come from Crow’s Perch, right?”
“Aye, but they’re more of a travelling band. Crow’s Perch is just where they usually go. Bloody Baron makes good coin off their goods when they’re passin.”
Geralt nodded before saying.
“Alright. I’ll see what I can do, but I can’t promise you they’ll be alive.”
The merchant looked saddened, but replied all the same.
“That’s alright…just as long as I know what’s become of Hrothgar and his family.”
Geralt nodded before bidding the merchant adieu, climbing up onto Roach and beginning on his way towards Crow’s Perch. He supposed that he could wait to buy the ingredients he needed for his potions and oils when the job was done.
After a while, Geralt could see what looked like the remains of a merchant’s cart, and as he got closer, he could see the bodies of two people. Jumping off of Roach, Geralt sighed. Inspecting the male’s body, Geralt began to investigate.
“These bodies have been dead for days…male and female…both seem to have died from stab wounds. Gotta be them.”
Geralt’s brow furrowed, however, when he remembered the merchant stated that Hrothgar would be traveling with two other companions. Here, it was just him and a woman.
Where was the child?
Geralt muttered to himself, tapping into his senses to get a better look around the cart.
“I should take a better look around…can’t be too far.”
Looking at the cart, Geralt hummed. This was a horse-drawn cart, but no horse and no child…was it possible the bandits nabbed them both? As Geralt looked around, he spotted four sets of tracks.
“These are most likely the bandits…but no horse tracks.”
Then, Geralt caught sight of horse tracks running from the cart and into the woods. There were old blood spots as well, and taking a closer look, Geralt was able to confirm that it wasn’t the child but the horse that was wounded.
“Couldn’t have gotten too far…horse must have taken a beating while Hrothgar and his wife released the horse…kid must have been riding the horse at the time of the attack.”
Geralt climbed atop Roach, pulling the horse into a canter as he followed the tracks and old scent of blood. As he followed the trail, Geralt began to smell the stench of rotting flesh and felt a strange sense of dread fill him.
A small hut began to come into view, and Geralt frowned. There was the horse, rotting with large chunks taken out of the body. Geralt became alert, looking around to make sure there weren’t any monsters that might try to sneak up on him as he walked closer to the horse. Leaning down, Geralt hummed deeply.
“Horse hasn’t been dead for long…and these carvings weren’t done by monsters…meat’s been taken off cleanly.”
Definitely by human hands. Geralt frowned before looking at the hut, zoning in on the hut, and that’s when he heard breathing. It was shallow, almost sounding sickly, and Geralt silently walked his way to the entrance of the hut. 
When he approached inside, the hut seems as though it had been lived in quite recently. Whatever happened to the previous occupants, Geralt wasn’t really in the mood for finding out.
Geralt’s eyes immediately went to a girl lying in the dirty bed, shivering with her back to him. Her hair was dirty and matted, the smell of unwashed clothes and skin invading his sensitive nose, and Geralt could tell that she was sick. Her clothes were that of someone with a wealthy standing, most likely bought for her by her parents.
Rips and tears were in the once beautiful clothing, dirt and mud caked onto the material, and Geralt could see what remained of the horse meat that had been carved out of the horse, the meat rotten and unfit to eat.
‘She’s probably been starving here for a while,’ Geralt thought to himself. Now, how could he make his presence known without scaring the girl? Geralt swallowed thickly and knocked, announcing himself softly.
“Hey there.”
The girl’s heartbeat began to speed up in fear, and Geralt could hear her begin to sniffle. She hugged herself tighter, crying softly, and Geralt approached her carefully.
“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you.”
The girl slowly looked back at him, her eyes bloodshot as she whispered.
“That’s what the bad men said to mommy and daddy before they hurt them.”
Geralt promised her, raising his hands.
“I promise that I’m not here to hurt you. In fact, I’m here to take you somewhere safe.”
The girl blinked at him, shaking visibly, and Geralt wondered if it was from the fear or the sickness. She became quiet, and Geralt asked her.
“What’s your name?”
“(Y/n)…what about you?”
Geralt smiled kindly at her to try to put her at ease, sitting down on the old bed beside (Y/n).
“My name is Geralt.”
[CHAPTER TWO]
Tagging: if you would like to be tagged in this work, please send me an ASK <3
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everyoneprotector · 4 years ago
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Forest SMP Backstory (my character)
They were hungry. It’s the first thing they noticed, waking up that morning. Of course, they’re used to the hunger that eats at their soul, driving them further from the safety of their pond. They’re worried, they don’t want to eat the dead. They are the last of their siblings, the only survivor of their family. They have to leave the pond. They have to find food that isn’t the bodies of siblings who were not strong enough to survive the hunger.
They drag themself out of the pond, shivering in the cold air. They don’t like it, above water, but they suppose it will have to do. They have to leave, they have to find a place to stay. Somewhere with enough food to sustain them. Somewhere safe. 
Deeper. A cave lower will have more fish.
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The lower caves don’t have more food. It gets colder and colder as they move down, and the thin shirt and pants that their parents had left (the only thing their parents ever gave them, they bitterly think). The clothes are too big for them, but the clothes are theirs. The pants fall over their feet and are held up by glow lichen, and the shirt sleeves are rolled over several times but still fall over their hands.
They clamber over a block of deepslate, having to pull themself up. They naw on a piece of rotten flesh that an enderman had given them, though they don’t know where it had gotten the meat from. They’re too small to just walk over the block, so they have to climb. They can’t help it, they’re only a foot taller than the block.
An arrow plants itself firmly into the stone wall, and they bark softly, in shock. The eight year old scrambles down the block, running deeper into the tunnels. They panic as more arrows are shot at them. Hostile mobs have never liked them, either because they are an easy meal or because they’re a player.
They don’t know.
But they still flee, barks erupting from their throat in panic. They turn, running into a deep cavern. The cold is painful here, making their limbs freeze up, but they can’t stop. They have to continue.
Something echoes through the cavern, erupting from the ground where their feet land. The ground is soft, although slightly slimy, and every time they bark a little glowing line falls from their mouth and goes to the other sensors. They bark softly, letting the light from their noise guide them deeper into the cave.
A skeleton shoots them, and they scream. Hurts. Hurts hurts hurts, their arm hurts so much.
A roar cuts off their whimper, and then they see it.
The light from the candles disappear for a split second, and then the skeleton is gone. Standing on top of a pile of bones, the skull caved in, is a large creature. Possibly 8 feet tall, maybe taller. It’s chest is hollow, except for the souls that float around in it, and it has two antenna that wiggle as they move.
They bark at it, and it walks towards them. They back up for a moment, but their axolotl half relaxes. Safe. This eyeless thing is safe.
It picks them up, gently holding them, and takes them to a room, lit with candles and filled with chests and a bed. It sets them down, growling gently at them. They bark, stubbornly, before entering the room. They rummage through the chests, pulling out a bottle that is bright pink and smells like sour candy. They drink it, curiously, and watch in amazement as their wounds disappear. They pull out some warm clothes - a black jacket with a delicately embroidered rose on the back, and they throw it on. They begin to layer up clothes until they are warm, and then they pull the thick blanket off of the bed, wrapping it around themself as they walk out to the large creature.
It warbles at them, picking them up and cradling them. They bark, weakly, before falling asleep. Safe. This warden is safe.
----
The warden kept them in the deep dark for almost five years, teaching them to fight and to survive, but both of them knew it would not last for long. 
There wasn’t enough food for the young axolotl, and though the warden hunts it is never enough. Hunger pangs, something the child is used to, is not something the warden accepts. There were fights, small barks and loud roars shaking the cavernous walls as the child tries to allow the only parent they ever had to let them stay, let them stay home with them.
Inevitably, the choice was made for them.
A group of players, wearing armour that glows purple, though it's made of a grey metal, enters their cavern. The child’s parent hides them, in that original room that their clothes came from, as the fight goes on. 
Two players fall, but the final one cleaves the wardens head off. 
The child barks, running out from the room. They bite the player, crying as the long haired one frowns at them. They’re picked up - still so small, so weak from the malnourishment of their childhood - and she walks out with them in her arms, humming a song.
The woman walks with the small hybrid, climbing out of the cave system. A bright light blinds the child, and they bark weakly before they pass out.
Though, a lone rose dances on the wind.
---
They don’t know how to feel about the players on this world.
They seem kind, kind enough to help them choose a name, kind enough to teach them to speak, to read, to write. Kind enough to feed and house them, to teach them how to make farms and how to hunt.
But they killed their parent. They kill so many kind mobs. They use them to heal their wounds, and ask them to fight in battles against drowned and guardians.
Protector doesn’t like fighting.
They’re 14, and they’ve fought battles against players and mobs alike. They know that they have a name on the battlefield ‘The angel of healing’. That's what their allies call them, at least. 
‘Demon from the deep’ is what their enemies call them.
They don’t know why they have to fight. They don’t know what they are fighting for. The players who stole them claim that the fight is against evil people, but these players always seem so scared. 
They are small. They are young. They remain a healer until someone threatens their makeshift hospital. They wont fight unless it is needed. They heal. They heal. They ignore the screams of the players that were captured. Of those that the commander has deemed important enough to hold information. They don’t have to heal those players. They want to heal them.
They aren’t allowed to.
----
There are moments, where they are forced to fight. They hate it, they hate the fear and the blood that coats them. It’s always painful, always hateful. They don’t want to kill, they don’t want to die. They have to kill, or they will die.
The priest stands in the middle of the field, calling the void to the battle field. They’ve seen the injured after the void infects them. After a priest of acolyte sends the void to fight them. They know what they have to do, what they must do, to stop their allies from melting. From disintergrating into the void.
They run up to the priest, and stab him clean through the heart. The void falls to the ground around them, and the battle ends.
----
It’s night, when they leave. Darkness envelopes the camp, but they were raised in caves, and they were raised by wardens. They know how to disappear, silently, into the dark.
They hide their gills in a dark beanie, and they wear their black jacket, the rose on it kept clean even after all these years. They wear dark pants and fingerless gloves. Taking a deep breath, they escape through the portal and into the world hub.
A single player world will keep them safe.
Maybe now they can live up to their new title. Maybe now they can be Protector, saving themself first so that they can save others. They are 16. They will be safe. They have to.
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dommexbritt · 4 years ago
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FONDUE FOR TWO W/ SUE SYLVESTER // Fri. Feb 26th release
Hello, and welcome to the first ever and extra special edition of Fondue for Two on the Fondue Pot Podcast. A show where I, your host, Brittany S Pierce will ask the burning cheese melting questions so that you don’t have to. Today we have a line up of parents to shed a little light on their feelings on campus, school policy, and their terrible children... 
Now, first we have a well known alumni, renowned cheerleading coach, and all around bad guy... according to a whole slew of lawsuits but don't expect her lawyers to say so. 
Hello, welcome, I hope your time here this week has been as exciting as it used to be back in your day. Just as a background on you and to start, can you please introduce yourself to our listeners?. Let us know how many children you have attending the school and because you're an alumni, anything about today's campus that looks a little different now than how it used to....
Sue: It's good to be here, Miss Pierce, and thank you for the warm welcome.  First off, before I introduce myself, let me just say that none of those allegations were ever proven in a court of law. 
To the point, though, if your listeners don't know me then they should.  Sue Sylvester, cheerleading icon, one of the most successful coaches in the history of our sport.  I have two children attending this school, although whether I acknowledge them as such depends on their grades.
As for this campus...well, Brittany, frankly it's hideous.  This used to be a place for the elite.  The best of the best.  Scholarships?  What is this, Communist Venezuela?  I'd be willing to accept the kids who can pay for themselves, because why not let them spend their money, that's the American way.  But a scholarship?  Embarrassing.  Those kids drag this entire campus down.
B: You heard that Devereux? Sue Sylvester herself, coming at you. 
I know your daughters. 
SHOUT OUT TO TEDDY SYLVESTER ON THE TINY ECHO MIC~~   
As far as the rest of the campus and scholarships, that seems like a totally weird thing to be bothered by but I know a lot of people in your generation have a lot of anger issues from the prohibition days. I'll try not to ask too many rage inducing questions, to be accommodating. 
But while we are on the topic of progressive and dynamic school changes... In regards to the retesting that has been and continues to be issued, do you have a stance on the new tests validity? This has been a hot topic on campus for months since the holidays last year, and I'd love to get some parent perspective on it.
S: Prohibition?  How old do you think I am, exactly, Brittany?  That was repealed in 1933, and I certainly wasn't around to see it.  Tragic day anyway, this country would have been far better off it weren't filled with alcoholic louts. 
See, a person might think I'd be against something like that - after all, your mark is your mark and it's as simple as that.  But I am in favor of tests.  If someone really doesn't have what it takes to be a Dominant?  Tell them so.  Make them a submissive, slap some cuffs on them, and go on with your life.  And those people who show that they're more than just a submissive?  Good for them!  Upward mobility, Brittany, that's what this country was built on.
B: 1933. Yeah I totally know. This campus must have been, like, an entirely different walk of life back then. 
That is really understanding of you. I bet a lot of the students who are listening that might of retested feel pretty reassured that you think so. 
Follow up question, if you were still a student and faced with a retest yourself do you suspect it would impact your current role?
S: I...was not here in 1933, Brittany.  I wasn't even born. 
As they should be.  They should understand, like everyone else in this great country, that testing is the backbone of education.  If you test well, it means that you're a good student, and simple as that. 
Absolutely not.  I was born a Dominant, I will die a Dominant, and there is no test on Earth I could take that would ever say otherwise.  Sue Sylvester does not fail.
B: Uh-huh.  All of that is a totally interesting theory. 
It's pretty cool to be secure in your role. Would you like to share a fist bump with me on it?
S: A theory?  Brittany, unlike the president I can show you my birth certificate.
 Yes, of course - much more hygienic than a handshake, I believe.
[ * muffled fist bump sounds ] 
B:  Moving on... 
 Any feelings on the class list not including French courses or modeled under typical French curriculum here at Devereux Academy?
S: It's the best decision they could have made.  What was a student in Florida going to need French for?  I'm sure if they wanted to say "I surrender," or ask for cheese and a baguette, they can do that just as easily in a proper language.  And what did their curriculum ever teach them?  How to cut the heads off of women who were only enjoying a delicious piece of cake?
B: OH! Thank you for saying CHEESE.
 [ * buzzer sound ]  
That is the HOT WORD today and lined up perfectly with the fondue pot being just warm enough. Please help yourself. It's my own cheddar gouda blend and there are plenty of dipper items to dip. I recommend the marshmallows... 
The HOT WORD [ * buzzer sound ] brings the focus in on you personally and I have one very burning question for you that I'm sure a ton of our listers who know anything there is to know about you are on the edge of their seats wondering. 
 Is it true that you are legally married to yourself?
S: I haven't had a proper fondue since the seventies.  And now that I think about it, Dick Cheney never did pay for the vegetables.  
[ muffled chewing sounds ]
 [ loud swallow ] 
That is completely true, in fact.  I have some lovely pictures from the ceremony here, if you'd like to look them over.  Isn't that tracksuit stunning?  I mean, it's more me that's stunning than the tracksuit, but still.
B: Wow..it.. it actually is super good looking. Did you save it for any of your daughters to wear at their wedding?
S: Thank you - I'm glad that you can appreciate how tasteful it was.  I did save it, but not for them - it's in a glass case on a mannequin of my exact proportions in my office at home.
B: Oh, right of course. 
I'd like to also ask, since you're solo-married, would you ever consider entering into a long term claim with yourself as well?
S: Oh god no.  I would never wear a collar for anyone, not even myself.  I can't even stomach the thought of it.
B: Thank you for answering those. That was the HOT WORD [ * buzzer sound ] and a dip into Sue Sylvester. 
Now, we're nearing the end of our time here, there are just a few more things I feel we should cover while I have you here. 
As a Legacy I'm sure you're super aware of the type of pressures that can bring but, do you have an idea or a guess of what it might be like for a child of a well known individual like yourself to be wading through gossip and the literal meaning of the word legacy in your wake?
S: Of course - it's been a true pleasure knowing there are talented journalists like yourself on campus, Brittany. 
I have no doubt that it's the most difficult thing in the world to follow someone like me.  Knowing that everyone who looks at them is constantly comparing them to me, wondering when they'll follow in my footsteps and become more like me, I cannot imagine that sort of pressure.  But I trained them, molded them, just like any legacy parent should do, and I believe they're capable.
B: Thank you Sue, I super appreciate you saying that. I'm going to save it as a sound bite to play later. 
You heard it here folks, one Sue Sylvester believes her daughters to be trained an capable. It totally sounds like you're super proud, that's amazing. Speaking of when you were attending though, there is one more personal item my assistant has pointed out to me that I have yet to touch on and I think everyone would like to hear your side... 
I heard that when you were here at Devereux the then Intro to Dominance teacher reportedly had a public breakdown and resigned. Through the help of school records I have tracked down and reached out to said retired teacher and although they sounded ancient like the skeleton from tales from the crypt. They had this to say about it, and I quote:
"I never thought that the devil walked on Earth, and then I met Sue Sylvester.  How Devereux managed to survive her long enough to let her graduate, I'll never know.  That woman tried to kill me on at least three occasions, and whether anyone could prove it or not I know the truth.  She said on day one that I sounded like a Hippo wheezing in a desert, and from then on she had it in for me." 
 Do you have a comment?
S: Oh, them being capable doesn't mean that they'll actually put in the effort. Only that I gave them every tool possible to help them on their way.  What they do with that is up to them. 
 [ sound of Sue, laughing uproariously ] 
I can't believe that old bat hasn't keeled over in her study, surrounded by her little ceramic figurines and being gnawed on by the eighty seven cats I'm sure she owns.  I do have a comment, actually.  Now that the statute of limitations has expired, I'll say that I actually tried to kill her on at least seven different occasions, and she must have missed the other four.  And with the benefit of hindsight, she sounded less like a hippo wheezing than like the musty specter of death in a Vincent Price movie.
B: Seven.  Well. I don't know if legally I should air that but I bet your lawyers will be on it if there is any trouble. 
I also want to take a moment and add a disclaimer here, this podcast or any part of Devereux administration does not condone the use of violence or bullying against their employees. 
Well, that has been a ride. And I'd really like to thank you for taking the time to talk with me and give us your sizzling take on current goings on of our school. 
Before we go, and last of all... off the top you your head, what’s the hottest dish you have to serve up for us? Any context.
S: I, on the other hand, absolutely condone the use of violence.  How else do people learn? 
It's been a genuine pleasure, Brittany, and thank you for doing the good lord's work and getting the news out to your fellow students. 
The hottest dish I've got for you...oh, I've got just the thing.  I bet no one who goes here has ever figured this out, so consider this a Sue Sylvester exclusive.  If you find just the right brick to press on in the library, you can open a secret door.  Inside is a private gym and training facility that I dubbed "the room of pain."  The first one to find it will find a one hundred dollar gift card for Bullwinkle's Restaurant hidden somewhere inside.
B: WOAH. Completely unexpected dish!! You heard it here first people, a treasure hunt on our very own campus is now afoot. 
That was Sue Sylvester, this is Fondue For Two, and I am Brittany S Pierce. 
Signing off.
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prince-toffee · 5 years ago
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Okay so I’m not sure how this happened, it kind of just did. I had this moment in my head, I wanted to write, of Adora and Hordak have a father daughter bonding moment while drinking beer. It’s not like something I do (hate beer), but I couldn’t get it out of my head.
It was nothing formal. No big celebration or festival or parade, they were saving it all up for Etheria Day next week, the fifth annual planet-wide celebration of the defeat of Prime and the Horde. In the eyes of the Etherian public that is, of course there were still hundreds apon thousands scattered Galactic Horde cells all across dozens of galaxies. But shhhhhh, let the heroes have a breather.
Glimmer very clearly stated she wanted the gathering to be casual, a small barbeque. Her father gladly working on the grill. Only close friends were invited, or at least that was the plan, but when each of the princesses know each other it gets crowded fast. And everybody felt bad not inviting Entrapta, but obviously that meant she’d bring Hordak, which was a big no go for most of the attendants. Ex-conqueror and all that.
But not inviting Entrapta felt wrong. And so the party was in full swing, while Entrapta was educating the others that she was in fact just an adult woman with dwarfism rather than a child, her partner chose to relocate to a far corner of the royal garden and sat down on an old log near the hedges under the shadow of trees. He hoped he’d manage to disappear, hide in plain sight. Hoped he’d be forgotten if he didn’t interact, he only came for Entrapta.
Unfortunately for the alien, he was remembered. He felt weight descend apon the log a few inches away from him. He turned his head to the right just to be eye level with a fellow extra-terrestrial. She-Ra. Adora.
The golden Valkyrie warrior gave him a weak smile, it was clear that she had no idea how to approach small talk. Neither did he, that’s why he walked off, but there was no person on Etheria more stubborn and hopeful than her. God bless her heart.
“Sooooo, I don’t exactly know how to hit the ground running, so I resorted to the best conversation starter,” Adora held up two green tinted glass bottles, “You’re a beer guy right?” Hordak took one of the bottles, accepting the kind of gesture, he’d drink anything, anything would taste better than the purification pool. Adora was about to hand him the bottle opener to help with the cap, knowing Hordak wasn’t exactly made of muscles. But to her surprise the skeleton man didn’t require it, as he simply bite down on the cap and tore it off and spit it out. He sniffed it for a moment and proceeded to take a sip. He found out he didn’t hate it.
A small shiver escaped Adora as the chilly wind danced across her back. She currently didn’t have her jacket on her, because she gave it to Catra to keep her warm, a real - what one would call - serious power move. “You’re not cold?” She swore Hordak was the one most strangely clothed. He sported his iconic black dress, metallic knee high boots and forearm gauntlets, with dark red stained bandages pocking through underneath, and something that resembled a turtleneck without sleeves.
The silence returned. Hordak stayed quiet for longer than Adora expected, he took and another sip. His head bowed down in what Adora could only describe as anguish. “I can’t feel the cold.” He followed the statement with another gulp.
The Princess’ eyes widened slightly, “Oh... I didn’t know. I- I kind of thought you’re defects were healed, when Prime... you know... I should go.” In that awkward pause she decided that mentioning a person’s disability maybe wasn’t the greatest idea, between you and me, he is really sensitive. You should see him crying in bed after a night terror. Heh, what a looser.
“You aren’t incorrect.” Hordak admitted to her, which she took as a permission to stay. “Defection isn’t a path you can avoid. It simply happens. You may slow it down, but you can’t get rid of it. It simply... happens. That’s why Prime never bothered keeping defects around. Our ebb in efficiency is inevitable.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Really? I think it’s quite funny. A broken nobody faced against literally the strongest woman on the planet. Funny how the universe works.”
“Hey, I’m sorry. Cheer up.” She placed a hand on his shoulder, but removed it immediately as Hordak gave her a death glare. No touchy. She got it. “Ah, sorry again. W- Hey look I know it’s hard, and it’s tough to get the right words out. When I left the Horde I had a lot on my mind... C-... Castaspella runs private therapy sessions. Catra goes to her all the time, I went to her when I first got here. You should try it.” The girl gave the used-to-be warlord a reassuring smile, Hordak attempted to hide his own, pesky smiles, Hordak found that those kinds of gestures were infectious. He couldn’t count the number of times Entrapta made him turn into a, and I quote, ‘blushy-mushy’ puddle.
He cleared his throat, “Thank you for the advise. I will take it under consideration.”Satisfied with herself she extended her bottle to him, he indulged in a victorious clink of the glasses. And they both downed their drinks as if in a rush.
“What made you take me?” That was unexpected, but well, it had to come up eventually.
“What.”
“You know what. In the field.”
He looked down, trying to find answers somewhere in the empty bottle, no such luck. “I do not know. Shadow Weaver said she was potential in you. But I didn’t know what I saw. You were new. You were a completely unknown variable. Maybe there was - what you call - ‘good’ inside me all along, maybe you fascinated me on the level of a third grade science project, maybe there was nothing - I just did it and there’s nothing behind it.
...Or maybe everything was behind it.”
“Alright, I- Thank you for the ‘strongest woman on the planet’ complement, but it’s kind of undone by the ‘science project’ comparison.”
“My apologises. I have been told before I lack social skills.” He said eyeing the inside of the bottle checking if there was anything left inside. There wasn’t.
“It’s fine. You’re on par with Entrapta’s morbid space fascination. We kind of got used to it.”
“No one’s on par with Entrapta. She is unequalled.”
“You really fell head over heels for her didn’t you?” Adora stated as she attempted to slap the bottom of the bottle to get the last drops of the drink. Hordak couldn’t hide the smile that emerged at the mention of her name. “I know what you mean. When you find that someone, you’re other half, a soul mate. It’s a dream.”
“Is it? A dream, is that what it is?” Hordak massaged the bridge of his nose. Adora turned to him, all ears. “I- do not know how to put it into words. I have memorised the entire Etherian dictionary, and yet.”
“Really? Wow, who has the time? Wow. How? Wha- Nevermind, carry on.”
“I think I was going to take you in no matter what. It is not that I believe in a higher power, I can’t. But I feel like it is all set in stone, like it is all written out. Like no matter what, for better or for worse, it was always going to go the way it did. The exile. The formation of the Etherian Horde. You. The portal. And through that me dooming this world. It is as if it all needed to happen. All my life I wasn’t alive, I was asleep. In a dream. And then one day, I woke up.” 
“Ho-”
“I- I can’t tell when, the defection, coming to this world, meeting her. But... the world changed. It all for the first time felt real. Like I had weight. Like my footsteps had impact. I awoke to reality. And for the first I’ve been looking around, sleeping things, taking it all in.” 
“Hordak.”
I have had people interact with me. And I have done things. It all feels so real. Too real for a dream... but... Everything I thought was right was wrong and everything wrong was right. I look around at the things I notice them and I don’t know if they’re right or wrong - or if there even is such a thing. Or maybe it’s a matter of opinion, but can opinions be right or wrong.” 
“Hordak, breath.”
“Are there any rules, qualifications, and conditions necessary for one thing to be itself, the way it is or does nothing matter? Is it all meaningless? Formless? I- I mean is an animal that obeys the laws of nature and the food chain right, or is it wrong?” 
“Calm down. Slower. I ca-”
“My entire reality has been flipped on it’s head! I feel like I’m walking on a black and white chess board, but I can’t tell the colours apart. And if I misstep, I fall. But everything is upside down, so I don’t know where I’ll land. It’s all so different. I am imprisoned. Caged. Trapped. Am I falling into reality or into another dream. I just d-” 
“Hordak!” Adora placed a hand on his shoulder, this time firmly, and it didn’t move away. “Bud, you’re on a loop.”
“My apologises, again. I just thought- I just thought after Prime it’d be all perfect, but it’s not.”
“...I know what you mean.”
Right. Of course she did. Hordak knew he dragged her and her fellow cadets into the loop. He kept walking in circles - he never broke the cycle, it was Adora. Because she was stronger and he was weak. Heh, funny how the universe works. Without a word the two looked down at their empty bottles and stood up simultaneously and went over to the barbeque for another drink, however stayed for Micah’s surprisingly good burgers.
They sat opposite each other, at the picnic bench. Hordak sank his fangs into the meat of the burger, bite off a large chunk, and found that he quite enjoyed it. He became more keen on the meat groups. No one in the history of Etheria had ever seen The Evil Horde’s Hordak eat. And next to She-Ra, it was like seeing bigfoot riding a unicorn. He greeted with an all too familiar bush of purple hair puffing around his shoulders. Entrapta had returned from her personal lecture session and looked tired because of it. “Umm, your burger looks good. Can I have a bite?” Her partner handed her the half eaten burger without a word. She yanked it out of his hand and began to nibble on it, despite her adoration for tiny food, she managed to make quick work of it. She just turned to face Hordak with puppy eyes silently.
“[sigh] Want me to get you another one?”
“Please and thank you.”
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xparadisexlostx · 3 years ago
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So this is a little drabble in my verse with @stcriestcld. We never did really talk too much about how Beck got to SHIELD. There’s some dialogue in here I am not in love with because I tried to cut some length down. I might go back in an tweak it.
For some back story Beck works with a group who helped save her from her brother/mother (verse dependent). They masquerade as nuns under the name The Sisters of  Holy St. Marciana of Mauretania but another common name is The Sisters of Emily, which pertains to their founder as well as some of their coded language. They operate out of several “churches” as well as a convent that is a front for their headquarters. This is just a glimpse into how Beck interacts with them that I thought was fun to write out. Plus it helps me get my mind around how Beck came to work for SHIELD despite zero qualifiers. 
Exchanging favors for favors was always messy. Beck had known that from the time she was small. Witch’s deals weren’t unheard of in the magical community, but it would be a stretch to call them common. Her people didn’t tend to enjoy being held to anything--not laws or contracts--but Beck had always found that in a tight spot a clever witch could twist her words and strike a deal that wouldn’t turn around to bite her in the ass. In hindsight she should have realized that her silver tongue was bound to turn to lead at least once or twice.
When she’d picked up the drop she figured it would be the same as any other job: meet the client, make a plan, execute, and run. She’d done it dozens of times. Almost all of them, apart from the occasional retrieval of a magical artifact, were domestic violence cases. The wife of some asshole cop that no one was ever going to hold accountable for his violence, the queer kid being beaten down by their devout and religious parents, the foster teen tired of being abused in the home that was supposed to provide them refuge. The Sisters, and Beck in particular, were very good at helping people who wanted to disappear do just that. Beck agreed not because of a contract or any kind of payment, but because she’d been those kids. The difficult child with the saintly, blameless parent. That’s what most people had seen… but only because they didn’t want to see the truth. If she could help anyone trapped like she had been, she was happy to do it. After all, if it weren’t for the Sisters, her mother would have likely killed her years ago.
Beck pulled open the enormous oak door to the convent chapel and entered silently. Wood pews without cushions lined the barren stone walls up to the front, where people knelt with clasped hands murmuring softly. Wayward souls seeking the kind of religious guidance that places like this were meant to offer. They didn’t know---couldn’t know---what this place actually was.
She stepped out of the way as a small party of nuns walked two-by-two down the aisle in perfect sync. They positioned themselves in front of the wooden altar, fanning out so that there were six on either side of the entrance to the dias. A clock chimed in the distance, low and solemn, the bell sounding three times in total before beginning to echo off into the early night air. By the time the ringing had left her ears, the room was in total silence, and without looking at one another, the nuns began a slow, harmonious chorus in a language Beck didn’t understand.
Once the song began, she knew she was free to wander back into the aisle. She kept her head down, her hands clasped in front of her, and cautiously approached the left side of the chapel where dozens of flickering candles lined the wall. There the abbess stood, rosary wrapped around her aged fingers as they pressed together in prayer. Her eyes were closed, and Beck didn’t want to startle her. The witch lit a candle, mimicked the sign of the cross she saw them make a thousand times, and knelt at the altar beside the feet of the abbess in waiting.
It felt like she knelt there for an hour, struggling to sit still and quiet. Finally the singing stopped, and a gentle hand reached down and squeezed her shoulder.
“What can I do for you, child?” The abbess asked, and even in the silence, Beck scarcely heard her.
“Revered mother, I have come in search of a miracle.” She didn’t look up. Staring into the flames, she summoned tears to her eyes. 
The abbess hummed. “What would you ask of our Blessed Mother?”
Beck didn’t particularly enjoy the song and dance, but she knew the script well. “God’s eyes are so much greater than my own. My sister has gone missing, but I know none of us can stray from the Lord’s gaze. Can he see her? Can he see my sister, Emily?”
The hand on her shoulder squeezed, and raised her head to look into the knowing grey eyes of the abbess.
“Dear child, you must be so tired. Come, we will pray together.” 
Beck accepted the hand up and let the woman lead her out into the halls. There was a gate that separated the private quarters from the public area of the abbey, and she unlocked it with a skeleton key that looked older than the abbess herself. The metal groaned as the gate swung open, and Beck followed closely behind as they crossed the threshold and into the old stone corridors. They were dark, only lit by an occasional lantern hung from an iron hook.
When they came to a room near the end of the hall, the abbess opened the door and led her inside. 
Beck waited until the door shut behind them to speak. “Out of all the people to contact me, I didn’t think it’d be you.”
She could hear the older woman shuffle through the darkness fearlessly, and then the sound of a match being struck, before a vibrant flicker of firelight came to life at the end of the little wooden stick. Abbess Fina transferred the flame to a candle and took a seat at a little wooden table. She unraveled her rosary and pulled off a bead, which she rolled between her fingers until it began to glow. It clicked quietly against the wood of the table, and streams of light shot up into the air, creating a picture.
“New target?” Beck tried not to be irritated by how cagy Fina was being and how long this whole thing was taking. It was why she rarely took jobs directly from headquarters. 
The man in the shimmering picture was pale. His eyes were brown, similar in shade to his hair, from what she could tell, which appeared to have been disappearing for some time. His expression was deathly serious, and it looked like he was holding something. A file, maybe? She couldn’t be sure with the distortion. 
“Your new boss.” Abbess Fina said. She saw the way the younger witch’s jaw clenched and the dark shadow that passed through those blue eyes. “Eleven years ago my people brought you here to this abbey. We hid you for months while you recovered, and when we gave you the choice to run off into the darkness or stay in contact and help us on our mission, do you remember what you did?”
Beck pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. “I asked you to make a deal with me.”
“I tried to tell you no. Said I didn’t want to extort favors from you in the state you were in.”
“And I told you that you saved me, and if it ever came down to it I would return that favor… at any cost.” Beck didn’t like where this was going.
“Beck, I’m in trouble. We all are. Ever since New York was attacked the humans have been foaming at the bit, looking to punish anything or anyone they don’t understand because they never got to string up the idiot responsible for the whole mess.” Fina said. She looked older than Beck remembered, which was odd for a witch. Eleven years meant nothing to a skilled practitioner like Fina… but stress could kill anything, she supposed.
Beck fished in her pocket for her packet of cigarettes, her noise snarled up a little as she spoke. “Asgardians have been fucking things up since the vikings. Can I smoke in here?” 
A wave of the abbess’ hand and the little window over the barren cot on the far wall flew open. Beck extended the box to Fina first, and the old woman gladly took one and lit it off the candle on the table. Beck followed suit, looking back at the image the bead was still reflecting. 
“So what is this, exactly? And how do I fit into it?”
“The mortals have made up this---organization. They call it SHIELD. It---keeps track of us and-”
“No.” Beck said, her voice taking on an immediate edge.
“Listen to-”
“No.”
“Beck-”
“No!” She wasn’t one to yell, but the venom in that word made it echo around the room. Beck lowered her voice to a whisper again. “Are you out of your mind?! Out of all the witches on Earth you think it’s a good idea to feed me to these fucking wolves? Have you forgotten that my brother is still out there, half mad off sacrificial blood magic and looking for me? You saved me from him, and now you’re going to sell me out to a bunch of suits that will dig into my ugly past. He’ll find out. He’ll kill whoever he needs to, and he will drag me back to Cali and throw me in a hole so deep I’ll never get out.”
“Beck! Listen to me!” The abbess grabbed her hand and pressed it to the table. Her grey eyes blazed with intensity as they locked with Beck’s. “That is not what this is.”
“Then what is it?”
“SHIELD’s director has made contact with a few of our agents. I wouldn’t call him pleasant to talk to, but he says he doesn’t want any trouble, and for the most part I believe him. He’s well aware that the---sensitivity of the mortals could result in another witch trials and if that happens it won’t just be you that has to fear the wrath of your brother. Or your ex, for that matter.”
Beck put her head in her hands and groaned. It was true. Fenris and Harper both wouldn’t hesitate to go to war with the humans if they started killing witches. The other clans would have no choice but to get involved. It would be a bloodbath---and one she doubted the mortals would win. Witches didn’t fight in mobs of mindless hordes, converging on a single city, fighting out in the open. Cities would burn with no indication of who started the fire. Crops would shrivel no matter how well tended. Assassins would carefully pick off anyone that mattered. Chaos would be carefully cultivated, and when people were at their weakest, then armies would rise. Their only hope would be Asgard stepping in, but they’d be breaching a treaty thousands of years old with the witches. Even if they were willing to do so, it’d likely be too late.
She had a very limited love for mortals, but she loathed war.
“So what does your new friend suggest to stop this impending chaos?”
“Our visions aren’t unaligned, Beck. Director Fury has agreed that it’s best the magical world stay in the shadows where it is. At first he asked us to submit all our agents to this index he has, but I refused. Instead, as a gesture of good faith, I agreed to send him a handful of agents to aid SHIELD in its different departments. No--wait. Before you get upset.” The abbess squeezed her hand, and Beck looked back at her. Concern was writing lines into her tired face. “I made my own witch’s deal. With him. That I would send him aid, send him some of my best people, but with my own files. The deal forbids him from digging any further. Even if he suspects the information on them is nothing but lies. In return for your help, SHIELD will pay you and help protect your identity as best they can. Just like with any other agent. I’m just asking for a couple of jobs, Beck. After that, consider our deal fulfilled. We’ll extract you, and you’ll be free to do as you please.”
“But they’ll have my face.” She said, still not convinced she wasn’t marching off to an early grave. 
“They can’t be any harder to shake than Fenris. And the deal explicitly states they aren’t allowed to track you or listen to you without consent. Please… I don’t have a lot of people I’d trust to be smart enough to swim with these sharks and walk out whole.”
“I want Boda to look at the file.”
Fina nodded. “Of course.”
This wasn’t going to end well for her. But she reached out her hand anyway, and Fina smiled as she shook it.
“Right then. So who is this guy?”
“His name is Harry Pearce. He’s in charge of the anti-terrorism department based out of London, England. He’s expecting you there in seventy-two hours.”
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secret-engima · 5 years ago
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Like,, I know u only know the fma and undertale fandom through absorption but like imagine, Edward Elric and Alphonse are the ones to fall down the hole instead of Frisk. Or, them having the save point/resets powers. Ed is Determination Personified u can't convince me otherwise. This Kid got trapped in a mine shaft with a pole through his stomach and was like,, yeah, I need u to pull it out and I'll heal myself with Experimental Powers and, with a hole in his back, fucked off to beat Up kimblee.
That would be terrifying and amazing holy cow. Imagine, also, if their Undertale adventure happened BEFORE the main plot of FMA. Like- when they did the Forbidden Alchemy and Truth yote them through his gate, something went sideways and wrong because of Ed’s sheer levels up Stubborn and so they both wound up IN the underground. Al with his body and Ed with … most of his? I still kinda want him to be missing that initial arm. Just cause.
Anyway cue Toriel finding the possibly covered in blood and crying children and her rushing to heal them and stuff and Al and Ed going on a grand Undertale adventure and TOTALLY doing at least two runs (neutral and then pure pacifist to make it right), Ed learning to abuse the HECK out of the save point system and determination over alchemy while Al … honestly I want Al to learn monster magic. Like- he and Ed obviously find a way to save the day but like- they totally figure out a way to use monster magic. Perhaps in a slightly more alchemic way but STILL something that isn’t “in the norm or rules” of basic alchemy.
Also also if I REALLY super wanted to AU this then it would JUST be Ed who falls into the underground and his brother Al isn’t his original little brother at all (he would be an only child in this au) but would be ASRIEL who Ed un-flowey-ed and turned into a human by like- using alchemy to build an inert human body (because that doesn’t break the Laws of Alchemy) and then using his own Determination to help build/stabilize Asriel’s soul and stuff it in there so boom. New bby brother he is monstrously overprotective of after they get back to his world which is like-a separate dimension from the Undertale dimension.
…. you know what that is amazingly interesting.
DARNIT I HAVE A NEW AU.
-Ed loses the only person in his life he loves and he is smart and desperate and has no sibling to even moderately hold him back. He studies under Teacher and he plans and then he-
-Makes the biggest mistake of his life.
-And he is going to lose everything for it, he KNOWS this down to his Soul as the thing called Truth laughs at his hubris and the gates yawn wide. But just before it can take him, just before it can UNMAKE him he-
-Refuses.
-His Determination burns and
-He
-Falls
-He wakes up, sobbing and in pain, the stump that was once his arm pounding with his heart. There is a face over his, a face that isn’t human, but he has no time to be afraid because the blackness takes him.
-He wakes up in an unfamiliar bed that smells like cinnamon, with a bandaged arm and the monster he will soon know to be Toriel sleepingly fitfully in an armchair by his bedside.
-He doesn’t take it well. He is a hot-tempered child prone to violence, he is a grieving child who does not take boundaries well. But … he is still a child, and he is hurt and grieving and scared. He spends months in Toriel’s care and he … loves her.
-He discovers save points day they fight in the basement and he screams-screams-screams with her dust on his hands.
-(there are two ways this AU might go at this point, one is that Ed snaps and goes on a Genocide run until he meets Sans in the Hall of Judgement(? I think that’s what it’s called) and there Ed has a change of heart and performs a True Reset, OR he just reloads the save point from before his fight with Toriel without leaving the ruins at all. Because I’m an Angst Lover™, my personal HC is the first option).
-Toriel can never get him to tell her why he sometimes stumbles into her room in the night and sobs apologies into her nightshirt, clutching at her with his one hand.
-His run after that is a True Pacifist run (yes yes I’ve read that has to be the second run after a Neutral but this is AU). He’s already got the blood of one mother (one run, one world) on his hands, he refuses to add anyone else’s). He meets the monsters of the Underground, and he is awed by their magic just as they are awed by his alchemy, and Alphys makes him a shiny new arm to replace his old one after they figure out that he CAN learn monster magic for some reason (the Gate, blame the Gate, humans in this world don’t have a Gate).
-And he learns things, and befriends people and sometimes he watches Sans and Papyrus and feels an ache that isn’t his arm and wonders why he feels like something is Missing™, like that should be a mirror of him and another when he is an only child. But he loves the brothers anyway, and he treats Papyrus like his hero, because he remembers this skeleton who was so very very SURE he could be a good person if he just TRIED, and he gives Undyne water because she may be scary and angry but she’s also kind of cool and he wants to be friends.
-But sometimes fighting is inevitable, no matter how much he refuses to kill and so when everything unravels and Flowey becomes his adult Asriel form … Ed fights. He fights and fights.
-But he does not kill
-He choses Mercy.
-And in the end, when Asriel insists he cannot rejoin the monsters as himself, Ed, being the stubborn genius he is, says, “Then be my brother.”
-And there among the flowers, using materials scavenged from the Underground and supplemented with magic, Ed makes an empty shell that looks a bit like him, but not quite. Younger. Gentler. He fuses magic and alchemy and pure unrelenting Determination to give this boy a second chance just like he was given one and…
-And the boy in the flowers opens his bright gold eyes.
-He wiggles his fingers in awe and Ed laughs until he cries.
-“What should my name be?” The boy (Ed’s little brother) asks shyly, “I don’t … think Asriel OR Flowey fit me anymore.”
-“How about Alphonse?” Ed asks, the name sitting easy on his tongue, “It’s a name from a book I read in the aboveground. I can call you Al!” And the boy named Alphonse smiles shyly and hand in hand they stumble up the path to the door that leads to the outdoors, to freedom and light and life-.
-They step over the threshold and the world crumbles.
-The Underground was magic, and magic had kept Truth from finding the wayward Edward, but once they were outside-.
-They tumble back through the gates on a burst of magic so strong Truth cannot stop them and steal anything more.
-They wake up on the bloodstained floor of Ed’s old family home.
-Winry’s grandmother (I forget her name atm) finds them when she comes to check on Ed, having seen the brilliant flash of light that came from the transmutation circle. She comes to … conclusions … when she sees Ed huddled there with a boy who looks like him but Not clutched in his arms, one arm now METAL like automail and an older haunted look in his eyes as he stares at her like he hasn’t seen her in a long, long time.
-She doesn’t ask. She just takes them home. When Winry asks who the other boy is, Ed says “That’s Alphonse. He’s my brother.” And something in his tone brooks no argument.
-It’s a small town, but the Elrics have always been Odd, so no one really questions it when Winry’s grandmother says that the boy’s father showed up late one night and dropped off a child from another woman (even Winry is told this story, though she … has suspicions as she grows older). Ed’s arm is explained as an alchemy accident, and if the “automail” that is a foreign design and strange makeup well … the Rockbells are eccentric mechanical geniuses. It’s probably just a new design.
-Roy Mustang knows none of these things when he comes looking for a genius alchemist. He finds the bloody circle like in canon, he talks to Ed about the military.
-Ed quietly tells him no.
-Funnily enough, the world still has a happy ending. Because Alphonse has never been aboveground save that one tragic time and he is curious about the world, so Ed and Al take to traveling, doing odd jobs with Alchemy to get by, and this somehow leads them getting dragged into the plot and probably Ed still joining the military just to get nosy people off his back.
-But the Homonculus are going to get a NASTY shock when they try their plot, because Ed and Al have already seen the end of that Run and they are not going to do it again and for all Alchemy is a known factor that Father can control.
-Magic and Determination?
-Not. So. Much.
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bellemorte180 · 5 years ago
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Wanderlust: Chapter One
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FBI Special Agent, Niklaus Mikaelson is sent to the small town of Mystic Falls, Virginia to investigate a series of murders. When a serial killer’s most recent victim, Caroline Forbes, saves herself from a horrible fate, Klaus cannot help but begin to feel drawn to her. However, it seems that he is not the only one.
A/N: Read the prologue, that was posted earlier today, first. 
Chapter One:
FBI Special Agent Niklaus, Klaus, Mikaelson surveyed the room. It was tidy and neat; not a single thing out of place with the exception of dog toys that lingered on the floor. He bent down and picked up a plush toy pig that had seen better days before tossing it into a basket by a brick fireplace that held an assortment of other toys. He took in the decor. It was modern but cozy. She had a small grey couch, yellow pillows and a soft blue blanket that lounged on the back. Her curtains were a soft blue, contrasting against the white walls.
A pair of used trainers were placed by the door, telling Klaus that she was a runner and by the state of her shoes, an avid one. By the fact that there was not a speck of dust or hint of dog hair lingering in the home, he could conclude that she was neat and very tidy. Given the array of cleaning supplies he found in the cabinet under the kitchen sink, he could conclude that she had some OCD tendencies. That and her closet was color coded, as was the mail that was neatly organized on her desk in her spare room that she had turned into a home office. Her MacBook remained untouched and shut; a notebook she clearly used for work lingering at its side. This was not a robbery, for valuable items still remained in their place.
Her bedroom was much of the same as the rest of the house. Neat and orderly. Her clothes were all folded, and her bathroom cabinets all held some organization system that made Klaus chuckle slightly. Her bed was freshly made and given the rest of the house; he was not surprised. Her comforter was white, but a plush dusty rose-colored blanket was folded neatly across the end of the bed. The throw pillows matched not only the blanket but the lamp shades on her bedside table. Inside the tables, Klaus found nothing out of the ordinary; some hand lotion, a book that Klaus recognized as some romance novel that was all the rage at the moment, an unopened box of condoms and a few sex toys. He made a mental note to find out who her closest friend was and have them retrieve those items. There were some things a parent did not need to know about their child.
He also found a small handheld pistol and a few rounds of ammunition in a box under the table. Given who her mother was, Klaus was not surprised that she would own one; and given what he could gather from her personality, the fact that the legal documentation associated with it was located in the spare office, filed away in an easy to use filing system was also unsurprising. Pictures lingered on the walls throughout the house. Her bright blue eyes, wide smile and genuine happy demeanor haunted him.
Caroline Forbes, twenty-eight years old, travel agent and daughter of the local Sheriff had been missing for a week and a half. By the state of her pictures she appeared well traveled; several pictures having been taken at various points across the world. According to her mother, Caroline was a planner with a hint of wanderlust; she would not simply take a trip without planning something or letting someone know ahead of time. Several of the pictures included trips with her dog and there was no way she would have left him behind. With the discovery of four bodies near the town’s Falls, the Sheriff requested assistance from the FBI, for fear that the bodies were connected to her missing daughter. When the case was presented to Klaus, he could not help but agree.
In truth, Klaus was tired. He had been chasing monsters for six years and the depressing manner of his job was eating at him. The victims lingered with him, even if he caught their monsters. He did this job because he wanted to give a voice to the victims who were unceremoniously silenced. This was his job, his career and one he was good at. However, He felt so much older than thirty-six. Looking at the bright eyes of Caroline Forbes, he knew those eyes would haunt him for the rest of his life. Someone with such life should not be stamped out. Klaus felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He reached behind him and pulled out his smart phone and answered the call.
“Marcel?” Klaus answered, his British accent pouring though the phone. He placed his hand on the desk and tapped his nails against it. While being in the FBI and chasing serial predators taught Klaus to be patient, it was still something he struggled with. He wanted answers and while he was able to play the cat and mouse game serial killers typically liked to play, Klaus was losing his patience with it. He was good at his job, this he knew; he was able to see into their minds and there was a diabolical side to him that could anticipate their next move. It was a darker side of him that he hated touching; wondering if that made him a monster as well.
“Find anything useful at the house?”
“No. It appears that she was grabbed before entering the house. No forced entry or any sign that anyone outside her mother had been to the house at all.” Klaus replied, hoping that there would be something of interest that would point to who was holding Caroline. Yet, all he learned was that Caroline was an interesting woman who had a full life. He was not sure how that made him feel in the slightest. “Which means this was a planned kidnapping. He would have known when she was coming home. So, I suspect someone local.”
“Well, the autopsy reports of all four victims came back. I think we have enough to name cause of death. The most recent body indicates strangulation.”
“Identifications?”
“Thank Jesus for dental records. A couple had missing person reports as well.”
“Good. I’m leaving now. Put a pot of coffee on for me, will you?” Klaus asked, knowing that he would need the caffeine and hung up the phone. That was something at least. Klaus took one last glance around the house, ensuring that everything was put back where he found it. Even though he doubted that Caroline would ever set foot in this home again, he did not want her to worry if she did.
After locking the house up behind him, Klaus drove back to the Mystic Falls Police Station. It was small and had not been updated since at least the mid-nineties but he had not really expected anything else. It was a small town with a low crime rate and until the possibility of serial murders, Klaus had never heard of it. That was not surprising; most of the places he had been too where because of some depraved soul wreaking havoc on the innocent.
He pulled his government issued SUV into the small parking lot. When he entered the station, he was taken aback by the disarray. A desk had been completely flipped and papers were littered all across the floor; a computer lay shattered on the ground. One of the officers whose name escaped Klaus, was on the ground with his head between his knees. Several other officers were patting him on the back; unsure of what the issue was, Klaus walked by them with a curious look and entered the conference room.
Like the rest of the station, the conference room was small; smaller than his office back in D.C. It had a few windows, a small round table and just enough room for a whiteboard to be brought in. The table held several photos of the Falls and the corpses before they had been moved to the morgue; as well as some photos of the marks on the bodies once they were examined by the coroner.
“What is with the commotion?” Klaus asked, eyeing Marcel who was putting a photo of all four victims on the board. These photos were the drivers license photos of the woman when they were alive, confirming to Klaus that Marcel was able to get a photo ID on each of the women. Marcel was a tall man with dark skin and black hair. Much like Klaus, he wore jeans and a simple T-Shirt but knowing Marcel well, Klaus knew that he had a more fashionable style when not on the job.
“One of the victims was his sister. The first one.” Marcel replied, pointing to the first photo. Klaus closed his eyes and sighed. It wouldn’t be the first time Klaus had seen the devastation a loss could bring; especially one so brutal. “Her name is Victoria Donovan, better known as Vicki. Last seen about fifteen months ago but according to her skeleton remains, she was murdered roughly a year ago.”
“Missing person report?”
“No.” That made Klaus pause, he reached over and picked up Vicki’s file, flipping through it. “Apparently Vicki was a drug addict and had a tendency to take off for long periods of time. When she went missing, everyone, including her brother, assumed she went off on a bender.”
“High risk victim then.” Marcel nodded in agreement while Klaus picked up a second file. “Okay what about her, April Young?”
“The next victim.” Klaus’s eyes flickered to the second photo. She looked nothing like Vicki. Vicki appeared to be tall while April was short. Both had pale skin but different coloring. April had jet black hair while Vicki had more of an auburn color. “She is from Mystic Falls but moved out of town shortly after she graduated. Her father is the local pastor.”
“Says here she was pregnant?” That made Klaus’s stomach drop. According to the medical records, April was early along in her pregnancy and would not have been showing. Good chance that her attacker did not know about the baby when he took her. “Also, no missing person’s report for her either?”
“Yes. According to the sheriff, Pastor Young is a very religious man. When April came home for a visit about a year ago and told him of her pregnancy, they had an argument. She left and from what everyone thought, she returned back to Richmond. Due to the nature of their disagreement, he had no idea that she was missing or who the father of her baby was.”
“And she had no friends? A job? Did no one miss this young woman?” Klaus snapped; tossing the file on the table. He understood why a report would not have been made for Vicki but April? What kind of father disowned their own child because of a baby? Why would no one come forward for her?
“I feel you man. Some people just don’t have anyone I guess.” Marcel replied. “As for her father, well, he will have a lot of soul searching to do after this. I guess we will have to go and let him know. I wonder how a father can turn their own child away when she clearly needed him the most.”
Look at your own father Klaus. Look at what he did.
Klaus shook himself from his thoughts, focusing on April’s photo. He picked up her autopsy again and read. She had been dead and in the ground by the Falls for nine months. Both April and Vicki’s bodies were far too decomposed to tell an exact manner of death; Vicki was nothing more than a skeleton. If it was not for her dental records, she wouldn’t have been able to be identified. He shook his head and turned to the next photo. He paused; recognizing that face.
“Wait. She looks familiar.” Klaus stated, staring at the third woman’s photo. He picked up the file. “Andrea Star. Why do I know that name?”
“Because she was a reporter from Charleston who went missing six months ago. Made national news.” Marcel replied. “She was originally from Mystic Falls before relocating to South Carolina for college and then eventually she started her career there.” Klaus nodded, reading over her autopsy report. “She was home for Christmas six months ago. She went missing after she left for her drive back down to Charleston.”
“She was murdered three months ago.” Klaus eyes narrowed, thoughts processing in his head. “Says here that she was strangled and….ugh oh god.” Andrea, better known as Andi, had a more complete autopsy report for the simple fact that her body was more intact. He put the file down and picked up April’s again. The same thing was reported but Klaus missed it the first time. A nauseating feeling rolled in Klaus’s stomach. This went beyond murder. How he mutilated the bodies only made him more infuriated. “Jesus Christ.”
“I know.”
“Okay, and what about...” He looked to the fourth victim. “Camille O’Connell? Is she also from Mystic Falls?”
“No. Never been actually.” That took Klaus by surprise. Thus far each of the victims had been born in Mystic Falls but had left. It was a pattern that he was catching onto but with Camille, it appeared not to be the case. “She is from New Orleans, my old stomping grounds, and there is a missing person report out of Boston. According to what the Boston office faxed over, her twin brother, a Sean O’Connell was expecting her in Boston three months ago. She never showed.”
“So, maybe she made a pit stop here. Meant to fill up on gas or grab something to eat. Wrong place. Wrong time.” Klaus replied, reading over the autopsy report. It had almost identical readings to the others, but the body was fresh; only two weeks old. The autopsy was able to note that the markings on her neck also indicated strangulation. There were bruising on her wrists and her inner thighs. She had malnutrition from lack of nutrients and her hair was knotted; clumps ready to fall out. She was pale and from the autopsy, it showed that she had little to no sunlight for a long while. Her body bore signs of the same twisted mutilation as Andi’s and April’s.
“What are you thinking?” Marcel asked. Klaus looked at his partner and sat the file down on the table. He stood and looked at Caroline’s photo was on the board. Victim number five and the only body that they did not have. Missing for almost two weeks.
“Caroline. Where did she work again?”
“A travel agency out of Richmond. She was the only one who still lived in town, with the exception of Vicki.”
“They leave. That’s the connection.” Klaus muttered, eyes darting from picture to picture. “Caroline commutes forty minutes each day to her place of employment and comes back to Mystic Falls. She is also known to enjoying traveling, at least according to the photos in her home. Camille was just passing through on her way to Boston. Andi was home visiting family but lived in Charleston. April also lived out of town and only came home to tell the news of her pregnancy to her father but never intended to stay. Vicki routinely leaves town for long periods of time on a drug binge. That is how he chooses his victims.”
“Because they never stay in Mystic Falls? Could be because it would be harder to track him that way.”
“No. If that was the case, the victims would all be like Vicki. Drug addicts or prostitutes. High risk. Not well-known reporters or travel agents who is also the daughter of the town sheriff.” Klaus replied and Marcel nodded in agreement. “Caroline. I think she is alive.” He reached down and picked up a black marketer out of the silver tray. He opened the cap, putting it between his teeth, and drew a long ling. “Vicki was last seen fifteen months ago but decomposition sets her time of death around a year ago. April, last seen a year ago but decomposition puts her time of death, nine months ago. Andi went missing six months ago but her body indicates death three months ago. Camille, went missing three months ago but she died only weeks ago.”
“He holds them.” Marcel added in, looking at the timeline. “He keeps them hostage for three months before he strangles them and then mutilates their bodies. He dumps the body by the Falls and kidnaps a new victim when the opportunity arises.” Marcel pointed to Caroline. “You said that there was no forced entry in her home?” Klaus nodded. “He planned to grab Caroline. He would have known when she would arrive home from work. The rest were convenient but knew enough that they were in town with plans to leave. Except Camille, like you said. Wrong place, wrong time.” Marcel paused. “There was a break between victims. Between April and Andi.”
“Most likely because there was no one in town who was planning to leave.” Klaus looked at Caroline’s photo again. “I suppose that since she still lived in town, he had not considered her yet. He is devolving. Caroline leaves but returns. If we don’t catch him, soon enough his paranoia will start believing that everyone will leave.”
“I hope you’re wrong on that for Caroline’s sake. If he is devolving, he may kill her quicker.”
“Yeah. I know.” He continued to look at the photos, the worst-case scenario running though is head. “Did you put coffee on?” Klaus asked and Marcel nodded, looking at the board. “I’m going to talk with the Sheriff. Maybe give her some hope that her daughter is still alive.” Klaus opened the door to the conference room and walked through the station. The mess had been cleared and most of the officers were at their own desks. Like on most cases, eyes followed Klaus out of curiosity and either respect or hostility depending on the case. Here, the town was shaken to the point that they would accept help, even from a British foreigner who just happened to work for the FBI.
Klaus walked into the small kitchenette and headed towards the coffee maker. Leaning against the counter was the officer who Klaus saw lose his temper. Klaus eyed him as he poured himself a cup of coffee before grabbing another mug. He was medium height, strong build and had blonde hair with blue eyes at Klaus’s sister would kill for.
“Donovan, right?” Klaus asked and the officer nodded his head as Klaus held out his hand. The officer took it and gave a firm shake that impressed Klaus.
“Call me Matt. Everyone does.”
“Klaus Mikaelson. Look, I’m sorry about your sister but my partner and I will do everything we can to figure out what happened to her.” Matt nodded his head but said nothing; his eyes watering again, and Klaus could tell that he was doing everything he could to not break down and lose his temper again. “Tell me about her.”
“Vick?” A small smile graced his lips. “Honestly, she was a train wreck. She was a year older, but I was always the one cleaning up her messes. Always the life of the party. Then again all she did was party, drink and get high. Never willing to try rehab or anything to better her life.” Klaus listened as he brought the coffee to his lips; drinking it slowly. “I keep replaying her last days over and over in my head.”
“What do you mean?”
“We fought. She told me that she was leaving town again. I tried to convince her to stay. Maybe, I don’t know, try and get her job back at the Grill. She was adamant that she needed to leave. She had been spending time with Damon Salvatore and I guess they ended things. Although, I don’t think it was serious at all. All I know is that she took off like a bat out of hell and I never saw her again.” Matt turned and punched the fridge before gripping the counter. “Damn it. I should have looked for her, but I thought that she just took off. I thought that she would come back eventually. She always did.”
“Hey. You did nothing wrong.” Klaus reached up and placed his free hand on Matt’s shoulder; giving it a tight squeeze. “Go home. Get some rest and take some time off. If you think of anything let me know. Okay?” Matt nodded and Klaus gave him another pat on the back before picking up the second coffee mug. He left the kitchenette and headed towards the Sheriff’s office. The door was closed but then she rarely left it open. Her office had two large windows that allowed her to see out into the station but the last few days had her keeping the blinds closed. Klaus had only seen the Sheriff out of the office for a few moments each day, and that was only to take Caroline’s dog to the bathroom, and Klaus was certain she didn’t go home. “Sheriff? Its Agent Mikaelson. Can I come in?”
“Yeah, come in.” Klaus bent down slightly in order to open the door with his elbow since his hands were full. He opened the door and then pushed it closed again with his foot. He sat a cup of coffee down in front of Liz who gave him a tired smile. She was not in uniform but instead jeans and an oversized shirt. Her hair was cut short but in disarray. The bags under her eyes indicated the little sleep she got, and Klaus wondered if she had eaten in days. The dog, a brownish colored mix with long hair that was resting in the corner padded over to him. “Hey Enzo. Being a good boy?”
“He has been prancing all afternoon. I think he is looking for Caroline.” Liz stated, gripping her mug tightly. “I got him for her when he was still a puppy. They bonded instantly and she spoiled him.” Klaus nodded with a small smile, remembering the large amount of dog toys that were in her house. On that thought, Klaus reached in his back pocket and pulled out a silver key. He handed it to Liz who gave him a smile as she took the key from him. “Did it help?”
“I think so.” Klaus replied, not wanting to tell her that he didn’t find much outside of getting to know her daughter. Typically, it was not done to include a family member in an investigation, but Liz was a cop and he was certain that she had no hand in the disappearance of her daughter or the death of the other woman. “Do you know if Caroline was involved with anyone? Was she receiving any threats?”
“No. Caroline was engaged about a year ago to Tyler Lockwood.” Klaus gave Liz a blank look. “The mayor’s son.” He nodded in understand. He saw no photos of a man in her home and her closet did not indicate that someone lived with her. “But he cheated on her and she kicked him to the curb.”
“Good for her.” There was a hint of respect in his voice. Everything he learned about Caroline both impressed him and saddened him. Her photos showed a woman who was so full of life be stamped out; but he had hope that the perpetrator held his victims for weeks at a time before killing them. If that was the case, there was still time to find her alive.
“Yeah. Caroline is stubborn and said she deserved better. Tyler tried to get back together with her, but she wasn’t having it.” Liz laughed lightly. “She is not one for mincing words and called him on in the middle of the Grill, in front of his mother. Tyler stopped bothering her after that.”
“Anyone else?”
“No. Caroline and Tyler were together for a long time. She dated Damon Salvatore for a few years during high school but that ended before she graduated.” Liz’s tone was dark, and Klaus made a mental note, that was the second time he heard that man’s name in the span of a few minutes. “Caroline was a relationship kind of woman, not one for one-night stands or anything like that.” Klaus thought back to the items in her bedside table and could agree that the untouched box of condoms showed that she didn’t have guest in her bedroom often.
“What about friends?” Klaus asked, knowing that it was good to know who Caroline associated with and incase the worse happened, he would let them know in case there would be anything that Caroline would not want her mother to see. A small detail in the autopsy report flashed in his eyes and he forced down some bile; some things Liz just did not need to know. “Who was she closest with?”
“Bonnie Bennet, and Elena Gilbert.” Klaus jotted their names down. “The three are inseparable. Elena is a medical student; she is doing her residency at the teaching hospital near Whitmore and Bonnie owns the bakery in town that she took over when her mother died. When the girls where in college, Caroline would always organize some kind of trip. She loved traveling and often did so for work; or at least that was her excuse to go see some part of the world.”
“A hint of wanderlust?”
“She got it from her father.”
“Where is her father?”
“Bill died about a year after she graduated high school.” Klaus nodded, offering his condolences. “We were divorced but we got on well enough. Caroline was always close with him. I did let her stepdad know that she is missing. Stephen asked that I keep him updated. Said he will come down when she comes home. I don’t think he can be here with…. without her here.”
“I didn’t realize you had remarried.” His eyes flashed to her hand and saw that there was no ring. That caused Liz to chuckle. Klaus looked at her confused. Enzo came padding over and whimpered at the door. Liz sighed and called the dog over again. The dog obeyed but continued to look at the door.
“I wasn’t. Stephen is Bill’s widower.” That startled Klaus but he hid his surprise well. Liz eyed him and he could almost see the upturn of her lips; amused by his reaction. Klaus could tell that despite the fact that she would have had to be devastated during the divorce, telling other’s that her ex-husband was gay brought some humor to her.
“I see.” Klaus replied giving her a small smile. He took the last sip of his coffee and placed the empty mug on Liz’s desk. On the corner of the desk, he could see a picture of Caroline in what appeared to be a cheerleading uniform. She appeared at least ten years younger in this photo and by the fingerprints on the glass, Klaus could tell that Liz held it often. Klaus picked up the photo and looked down at Caroline’s smiling face. “She seems so full of light.”
“She is.”
“Liz, I’m going to be honest with you.” Liz’s breath sucked in and she glued her eyes to Klaus. She did not know this man, but she was trusting him to find her daughter; but she also wasn’t a fool. She knew the chances were slim and with the bodies surfacing, it was clear that something terrible happened to Caroline. “Based on the autopsies and the pattern of the bodies, Marcel and I believe that he holds his victims for a long period of time before he kills them. If he continues with this pattern, Caroline could still alive.”
Suddenly, it was as though a dam broke inside of Liz. Tears streamed down her face and she couldn’t stop them. Hearing that there was a possibility that her daughter was alive caused all the emotions she kept bottled up to overflow. Enzo lifted his head and placed it in Liz’s lap; his nose nudging her hand. Liz raised her hand and patted the top of his head. Klaus reached over and picked up the box of tissues that were resting on her desk and handed them to her. Liz took them gratefully. She dried her eyes and Klaus waited for her to compose herself. He was expecting it and been around enough grieving mothers to know that such news would cause the tears.
“Thank you.”
“No need to thank me.” Klaus muttered. “I don’t say this to get your hopes up. I could be very wrong, but I hope I am not.”
“Caroline is a fighter. Even when she was a little girl, she always had something to say and never let anything stop her once she put her mind to something. If she was told she couldn’t do something, she set out to prove them wrong.” Klaus chuckled at that. “If she is being held somewhere, Caroline would fight. She would do anything in her power to save herself. I raised her to take care of herself and never to give up. She’ll be okay. I have to have faith in that.”
“Why don’t you go home Liz. Get some rest.”
“No.” Liz replied. “When Caroline was little, I told her that if she ever was in trouble, that she comes here. That if she came to the police station, I would be here, and I would protect her.” Liz insisted. She reached down and scratched Enzo’s ears. “He won’t leave either. It’s like he knows.”
“Dogs are funny like that. They sense things that we can’t.” Klaus looked down at Enzo and could tell that the pup was well loved; and very loyal to Caroline. For a second, he wondered if maybe there would be a way to use Enzo to track her; use her scent or something. Maybe he would contact the field office about having K9s sent out into the woods and maybe they could pick up her scent. His focus would be to find Caroline and bring her home. “Have you eaten anything?”
“No. I-“ Liz was cut off by Enzo going wild again. He started whimpering and ran to the door, scratching at it widely. Liz called to him, but he completely ignored her. Seconds later, the office door burst open and a deputy ran through it; a wild look on his face. Enzo scampered out the door and Klaus could hear him barking incessantly at something.
“Sheriff. It’s Caroline. She is alive.” Liz bolted from her seat and was out the door before Klaus could even move. Quickly, Klaus ran out of the office and through the small station. He ran into Marcel, who was in the same mind set as him. They followed the voices and the sound of Enzo’s barking. Once they reached the lobby, Klaus took in the sight before him. Officer’s upon officers were crowded in the lobby but were giving the woman who held their attention a wide birth. Enzo was barking and jumping, trying to get her attention while Liz was slowly approaching her as though she was an injured and wild animal.
Caroline Forbes was standing in the middle of the police station, her blue eyes darting around frantically. Her breathing was labored, as though she had just run a long distance. Klaus took in her appearance. Her blonde hair was weighed down by grease, indicating that it had not been washed in days; if not longer. Twigs and leaves were stuck in her hair and her skin appeared dirty. She was barefoot and by the bloody footprints on the station’s tile floor, Klaus assumed she had run as fast as she could with no shoes on; not stopping despite the fact that her feet were being torn to shreds. Klaus noticed that she cradled her left arm to her chest and from what he could see, there was purple and yellow bruising up and down her arms.
She wore a pair of black slacks that he assumed she had on during her abduction. While they were torn, crinkled and dirty, they appeared to be the kind that a professional would wear to the office. Her white tank-top that was tucked into her pants had several tears through them and had dark brown spots that Klaus could not tell if it was dirt or blood. Her skin was very dirty, and he could see spots of dried blood that stuck to her. There appeared to be a cut on her forehead that seemed fresh, seeing that there was a small trickle of blood sliding down her face.
“Caroline, sweetie? It’s mom. Okay. I’m here.” Liz stated in a calm voice that amazed Klaus. Any other mother would have run up to their daughter and took her into her arms, no matter the condition their daughter was in. Klaus took a moment to remember that Liz was also a cop and a damn good one from what he had seen. Slowly, Liz approached Caroline with one hand outstretched. “It’s me Caroline. I’m not going to hurt you. Okay? No one is going to hurt you again.”
“Mom?” Caroline focused on Liz and her eyes narrowed. Her voice was hoarse as though she had been screaming for a long period of time. Given the situation, Klaus was willing to bet anything that she had been. “I’m okay? I made it?”
“Yeah, baby. You made it.” A look of relief flashed across Caroline’s face and tears started to fall down her cheeks. Her knees gave out and Liz caught her easily; bringing her daughter’s head to her chest. The pair sunk to the ground but did not let go of one another. Caroline let out a howl that echoed off the police station walls; sounding as though a wild animal had been injured. Caroline cried into her mother’s chest while Liz continued to rock her; kissing the top of her head in comfort. Enzo laid down beside Caroline, getting as close as possible he could to his master. Caroline, with her good hand, reached out and brought the dog to her chest the best she could and just held him close.
A/N: Thoughts????? Theories. I am really looking forward to hearing your thoughts and theories on what is going on. I am going to drop a lot of hints and clues in this story; so I welcome theories on who is the killer.
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wangxiangiftexchange · 4 years ago
Text
Winter Solstice Gift for alightbuthappypen
Here it is, my first hurt/comfort fic for this fandom! I really hope you like it, @alightbuthappypen!
Read On AO3
*****
hold me tight or don't
Lan Wangji was amazed.
There was no better way to put it. Of course he had heard that the feared Yiling Patriarch had made himself at home in the Burial Mounds, this dreadful place that reeked of death and was swarmed by crows and corpses. He had known that Wei Ying would not have an easy life after the scene at Qiongqi Path, but... the Burial Mounds? That anyone would survive, let alone live in this place, had been impossible to Lan Wangji's mind. Then he had come to Yiling and, of course, how could it be different, Wei Ying had crossed his path. With a child in tow. A child.
Although Lan Wangji had not thought Wei Ying very responsible when they had first met, his opinion on him had changed drastically over time. Wei Ying possessed a strong sense of what was wrong and what was right, a strong sense of justice; he played by his own rules and cared little for what the sect leaders said and did. And so he had led the remaining Wens away from the prison camp and into the Burial Mounds. But that he should have taken a child to this horrid place... the reasoning behind this was beyond Lan Wangji.
Of course that was before he had seen the Burial Mounds, or rather what Wei Ying and the Wens had made of it. The Lan children had grown up with warnings and tales of the Burial Mounds, with them always being described as the most hostile place in the world where no living thing could survive for longer than a day.
Which led him to where he stood now. Fear had been clouding his mind ever since Wei Ying had left him in the rain. He feared for Wei Ying, primarily, for his safety and health. But it appeared that his fears were entirely unreasonable: after they had passed through the woods made up by skeletons of trees and crossed the barriers Wei Ying had set up, Lan Wangji had found himself in a place like a small village. The caves in the jagged, black rocks had been made into what resembled houses pretty well. T, there were crops growing that Lan Wangji could not quite identify but, shockingly, they seemed to be thriving in the poisoned soil.
And the shocking occurrences for the day were not overm Of course, he had heard that the Yiling Patriarch had created a fierce corpse from Wen Ning, but that he had returned his conscience was unlike anything the cultivation world had ever thought possible. Wei Ying's new life seemed to be a success, if you left aside the fact that he was shunned by almost every sect of the cultivation world. And despite this heavy fate it stung Lan Wangji that he could no longer be part of Wei Ying's life. The very Wei Ying that made his way through the village after leaving Wen Ning with his sister, certain that the fierce corpse would not lose control once again. Lan Wangji had passed the child, A-Yuan, to the old woman that seemed to be his primary caretaker and was now following Wei Ying into the largest cave that he had obviously made his own.
The black stone towered high above them and darkness swallowed up the sparse daylight the deeper they went into the cave. Lan Wangji shuddered unwillingly as he saw the pool that looked like fresh blood. Shadows seemed to be floating on its surface, swaying, vanishing, returning. His fear for Wei Ying was back, this time even stronger than before. Had he really given himself fully to demonic cultivation now? It was likely, and it ate Lan Wangji up from the inside.
"And proudly we present... the Blood Pool," Wei Ying said, gesturing towards the red water. Despite the heavy feeling in his heart, Lan Wangji had to suppress a smirk.
"You really named the pool that looks like blood Blood Pool," he said.
"Ridiculous."
He had called Wei Ying ridiculous so many times, and maybe this time was a desperate try to return to the feeling that had dominated over him back in the days when Wei Ying was a student at Cloud Recesses. The feeling that was, as he realized bitterly, irrevocably gone now. Because Wei Ying's face, instead of a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and an outraged expression, only wore endless tiredness.
It felt as though there was nothing to say between them, and what should have been said threatened to remain unsaid.
"Why?" was the first thing Lan Wangji whispered. He had not intended for his voice to crack, but it did, and somehow it was ironic that the only person around whom he could lay down his stoic cover was the one responsible for his breaking. For a moment, Wei Ying was silent, and Lan Wangji feared that he had not understood what he was talking about. But then he spoke, and his voice had shed the usual joyfulness to make room for the heartbreaking, tired emptiness that had defeated the spark in his eyes as well.
"Don't you see there was no other way?"
"There is always another way," Lan Wangji replied. He had caught himself, yet still there was the slightest hint of a tremble in his voice.
"Not for me," Wei Ying said and shook his head.
"Wen Ning and Wen Qing saved my life. Saved my bro- Jiang Cheng's life. How could I leave them to die by the hands of that damned Jin sect? There was nothing else I could have done."
"There would have been a way," Lan Wangji repeated stubbornly.
"There is nothing that cannot be resolved by reason."
"A prime example for that being Wen Ruohan," Wei Ying said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Reason brought us very far in the Sunshot Campaign. It will bring us just as far with Jin Guangshan."
"Are you comparing Jin Guangshan to Wen Ruohan?" Lan Wangi asked with disbelief.
Wei Ying shrugged.
"They're all the same," he said.
"I see that now. They are so fixed on their own profit and their own revenge that they are blinded by it. There is no way to reason with them."
It was not that Lan Wangji did not understand his point. On the contrary, he understood it very well, at least concerning Jin Guangshan. The man was not a very kindhearted one, that was for sure. But that was not his point at this very second. All he wanted to reach by trying to convince Wei Ying to return to the middle of the cultivation world was to have him back by his side. It was selfish, he knew, it was against the rules of the Lan sect, but he had never craved anything as badly as Wei Ying these past months. All he wanted was his lips on his lips again, his skin on his skin, his tight embraces and the way Lan Wangji could watch him sleep for hours because he never woke up before nine. He loved Wei Ying so much that it hurt.
"You could at least have taken me with you," he whispered, trying to avoid the cracking of his voice.
"You would never have come here," Wei Ying replied sadly, gesturing around the cave.
"All of this... this is not your world. You are the Second Jade. You belong with your sect, in the cultivation world. You cannot be an outcast."
"You are my world," Lan Wangji said simply as he stepped towards Wei Ying and grasped his hand. Wei Ying's eyes widened slightly. "There is nothing I would not give up for you."
Wei Ying breathed in with his eyes closed and shook his head, not meeting Lan Wangji's eyes.
"I cannot demand this from you. I cannot demand you stay here with me. It would be too much to ask. It would take you away from the outside world. I simply... cannot."
Lan Wangji's gaze softened as he lifted Wei Ying's chin with his free hand. His eyes were dull now, and the hint of a glow that Lan Wangji saw was only a picture etched into his memory, nothing real anymore.
"I would do anything to resolve this," he said, but Wei Ying only shook his head again.
"There is nothing to resolve. This is it now. We cannot change what is already done."
"But we can change the course of the future," Lan Wangji insisted.
He wanted to yell at Wei Ying. To scream "I love you" and "Don't leave me here". But all he could do was remain calm, caressing Wei Ying's cheek with his thumb and holding his hand. That night in the rain he had been certain that he would never see Wei Ying again. All the things he had said had seemed too final, too harsh to allow any future between them. But this perception of his had already changed, so why could nothing else be changed?
"It will come to that at last," Wei Ying said, looking away from him again.
"You know it. One day I will have to fight them finally. And I would... I would prefer it be you who strikes the final blow."
"I could not," Lan Wangji said quietly.
"You would do anything to resolve this," Wei Ying quoted.
"Maybe this is the only way."
Lan Wangji wanted to reply something, anything, but all he could do was shake his head.
"Yes," Wei Ying said, "eventually it will come to this. There is no denying it. I am a thorn in the eye of the 'righteous' sect leaders. These barriers will not be able to protect us forever. All I can do is lengthen our lives as much as possible. Give them some more time. Not let them die in mistreatment in a prison camp. That is the least I owe them."
"And what about us?" Lan Wangji asked. It slipped from his tongue just like that, the selfish thought put into words, the defiance of his sect from his own mouth.
Wei Ying's hard gaze softened considerably as a tear formed in the corner of his eye.
"I never wanted it to come to this," he said.
"But there was nothing else for me to do. I wish I could turn back the time and prevent the loss - prevent all that happened. I wish nothing more than that. But the past is the past, and it must be laid to rest in favour of the present."
Lan Wangji said no more. His heart ached so terribly that he thought it would burst in his chest. All the hopes he had had were long shattered. O, of course, the Sunshot Campaign had changedf all of them and Wei Ying the most of all, y. Yet, until today, something inside him had harboured the hope that there might be a new start for them, no matter how or where. Something that belonged to them only.
He did not want to live in a world where there was no Wei Ying. And that was what made him say the words he said next.
"If it comes to a fight between us," he brought out over the lump in his throat, "I shall not fight back. I will stand by your side, or on no side at all."
And with that, he walked away.
---
The fight came.
Lan Wangji stood by his words.
For thirteen years he waited, with all the words left unsaid burning in his chest and gnawing at his heart.
A-Yuan, Lan Sizhui, was all he had left of Wei Ying. He loved the boy not only for that, but he clung onto him so desperately because of it.
Nearly every night he played Inquiry, looking up to the stars and wishing upon them that Wei Ying would one day return.
His remains were never found.
And so, Lan Wangji's spark of hope remained.
Until the day he heard his own song, the one that, apart from Lan Sizhui, only Wei Ying could know of.
And he knew.
---
Wei Wuxian's eyes fluttered. Open, closed, open, closed. He felt weak and drained of all energy, his limbs ached dully and something pounded in his head. But he felt something.
Feeling was not something he was accustomed to anymore. After thirteen years of floating through the depths beyond the known world, weightless, lifeless, after thirteen years of numbness without questioning it, he was back in the very known world. This awakening was, admittedly, more enjoyable than his first one in the body of Mo Xuanyu, for instead of a brutal cousin and his entourage he was greeted by the sounds of peace.
There was a rustling in the trees, distant birdsong dripped honey-sweet from the leaves. And there was something else... soft music, very close to his ear, not coming from the pristine white ceiling he was currently looking at but from the center of the room he seemed to be in the corner of.
He turned his head and his breath stopped.
Lan Zhan's eyes were closed as he played the guqin with skilled fingers, not needing to look in order to play the strings perfectly. The song he was playing was mildly familiar to Wei Wuxian's ears. I, it might have been a traditional Gusu melody that he knew from his youth. But with Lan Zhan playing it, it was more gentle and beautiful than anything he had ever heard before.
Wei Wuxian did not say a single word, but Lan Zhan opened his eyes and ceased his playing. The look in his golden eyes was endlessly soft. They mirrored everything Wei Wuxian wished he had said in that cave, the last time they had spoken to each other without an audience of hundreds in a fight. Yet he also beheld in them the pain that he must have felt after Wei Wuxian had abandoned him.
There had been no other way.
"Wei Ying," Lan Zhan said. There was the slightest hint of a tremble in his voice.
"Lan Zhan," he replied, removing the covers from his body.
As quickly as the Lan rules allowed it, Lan Zhan came to Wei Ying and sat down at his bedside, putting one hand on Wei Ying's.
"Stay," he said.
"Rest."
"Lan Zhan..."
"Mn?"
"I'm sorry."
Wei Ying tilted his head back and stared at the ceiling. There was a lump in his throat already, waiting to drive tears into his eyes. But he did not wish for this moment, this conversation to end before it had even begun.
There was too much long overdue to be said.
"Wei Ying..." Lan Zhan said, and Wei Wuxian felt the tender sensation of Lan Zhan's thumb brushing over the back of his hand. It made him shiver. He had never wanted anything more.
"Do... do you really think there would have been another way?" Wei Wuxian asked, head still laid back. He did not know what answer he expected.
"Perhaps," Lan Zhan said quietly.
"But it is too late to speculate about this now."
Finally Wei Wuxian dared to look into Lan Zhan's eyes again.
"Thirteen years..." he muttered.
"Thirteen years," Lan Zhan confirmed. The caress of his hand ceased, and he felt how Lan Zhan's body stiffened.
"I could not save you," he said, deep regret and pain audible in his voice.
"There was no way you could have saved me, Lan Zhan."
"Why did you return?"
"Does it matter?" Wei Wuxian sighed. His limbs felt as heavy as his heart in this second. He ached for Lan Zhan's touch, as it had been under the moonlight of Cloud Recesses in a time long gone, before he had turned away from the cultivation world and hurt no one more than Lan Zhan.
"It does not," he answered his own question, simultaneously with Lan Zhan.
"All that matters is that you are here now," Lan Zhan added. Wei Wuxian looked at him. He could not tell what his eyes might have been saying in that moment. There was too much inside of him to form a coherent thought, let alone observe himself.
"Lan Zhan..." he muttered. His hand sought out Lan Zhan's between the white covers; when they found it he rested his own hand atop it, just as Lan Zhan had done before.
"You... forgive me?"
"There is nothing to forgive, Wei Ying," Lan Zhan said. His words were spoken with such tenderness and love that Wei Ying swallowed down tears.
"Maybe... maybe you were right. Maybe there really was no other way."
"Lan Zhan..."
All Wei Ying could say was his name. It seemed that his lips were unable to form any words besides it. The entire time in the Burial Mounds, after Lan Zhan had gone, he had tossed and turned and barely slept, kept awake by thoughts of him.
"And what about us?" he had asked back then.
In these nights, Wei Ying had questioned everything he had ever done.
He did not regret meeting Lan Zhan. What he regretted was not staying by his side. Sometimes in these nights, his selfish side wanted to take Lan Zhan from the cultivation world, to be with him until the end inevitably came.
The end had come.
He had seen the pain in Lan Zhan's eyes as he had fallen.
"What about us now?" he asked, his voice shaking.
"I will not force you to stay if you don't want to, Wei Ying."
Instead of a reply, Wei Wuxian sat up and closed his eyes, shaking his head in the softest way possible. His hands wandered up Lan Zhan's arms, his own arms wrapped around Lan Zhan's middle as he pulled him close and buried his head against his shoulder. "Wei Ying," he heard Lan Zhan say, and felt his chin resting atop his head. He listened to Lan Zhan's breathing, steady in the beginning but increasingly shaky. It took him a while to realize that Lan Zhan was crying.
Lan Zhan was crying.
He had not ever seen him cry before, and it made him want to cry, too. Instead he freed his head from Lan Zhan's shoulder and kissed his lips.
At first, Lan Zhan stiffened, his hand gripping Wei Wuxian's arm tightly. Then he relaxed and melted into the kiss, hands gliding down Wei Wuxian's arms to rest on his hips. They closed around the curve of his middle and grasped his body as tight as it was possible without hurting him, as though he never wanted to let go again.
When Wei Wuxian pulled away, there was a single tear rolling over Lan Zhan's cheek, which Wei Wuxian wiped away with a brush of his thumb. Lan Zhan gave him a tiny smile, tiny yet saying more than words ever could. His eyes regarded Wei Wuxian with so much love that he sank back onto the bed and covered his face with his hands.
There it was again, the careless smile of his youth, that he had lost as he had become the Yiling Patriarch. He had caused so much pain and was far from having atoned for it all. But all that mattered in the moment was Lan Zhan: Lan Zhan's hands that still rested on his body, only a thin, white underrobe separating them from his bare skin. Lan Zhan's eyes, golden like sunlit pools, elegant and poised yet raw and emotional, with an expression that only Wei Wuxian could read. Lan Zhan's lips, parting to say his name in a way that would have made him weak in his knees had he been standing.
In this moment it became clear to Wei Wuxian that Lan Zhan had not lied when he had told him that he was his world. And there was another thing he realized, something that he had not wanted to admit to himself in the lonely vastness of the Burial Mounds, where he had not wanted Lan Zhan to dwell, ever; where the walls closed in around him and crushed his body and soul.
Lan Zhan was his world, too.
Wei Wuxian made a motion to sit back up, but Lan Zhan's hands on his chest gently pushed him back onto the bed.
"Wei Ying," he said.
"Rest."
Bending down to kiss him again, Lan Zhan closed his hand around Wei Wuxian's and squeezed it reassuringly. Wei Wuxian felt tiredness threatening to overcome him, and he refused it, not wanting this moment to ever end. For the first time since he could think, he felt truly at peace. His journey was far from over. But as the soft tunes of Wangxian filled the room, he drifted away from reality, losing himself in the sound and the ghost of Lan Zhan's lips still on his.
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cavehags · 5 years ago
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do you have any articles you’ve read that accurately explain why you hate weddings and why they’re bad for women? i agree but i find it so hard to put in words so i need some ref
anon I want to have these resources for you!!! I do!!! but I have never found many compelling articles on this topic, and not for lack of trying. so I’m gonna try and gather up the ammo myself by going topic-by-topic, if I can. my hope is to give a holistic view of just some of the many, many harms marriage imposes on women. cw sexual assault, pedophilia, misogyny, abuse, basically everything bad.
i think a lot of people see marriage the way it’s practiced by 20- to 30-somethings in the coastal united states today as pretty much the only relevant snapshot of the tradition. if you’re a certain type of person, weddings make marriage look pretty good! most people enjoy lavish parties that someone else paid for. and almost everyone has, knowingly or not, been exposed to a lot of propaganda that states that a wedding is the happiest day of a couple’s life, that women in particular are or deserve to be in a state of bliss on their wedding day, and that all the trappings associated with weddings, from purchasing expensive dresses to purchasing expensive tablecloths, are fun expressions of the couple’s creative side. obviously this is marketing dialed up to eleven and none of it is true. further, people like to argue that because brides tend to take the more active role in wedding planning, therefore weddings are in some way a feminist practice (????). this is total nonsense. for a start, weddings put women on display as physical objects–just think of how much marketing goes into the idea that a bride should look perfect on her wedding day, with a dedicated stylist and hairstylist, a team of friends and relatives to get her dressed, and a dress that cost at least $1,600 on average (i’m not linking to theknot dot com but trust me, that’s what it says). don’t forget that there will be a photographer and a videographer there to capture the bride at her most beautiful. and you only have to google “wedding crash diet” to see how how beauty standards of thin bodies are a singular focus of obsession by the wedding industry.
putting women on display for their physical apperance disturbs me. enforcing the idea that finding a man produces the most beautiful day of a woman’s life also disturbs me. and marketing that pretends that the happiness of a couple is in some way connected to how much they spend on a big, dumb, sexist party also disturbs me. but that’s just weddings.
i could put aside my issue with weddings if weddings weren’t just the first day of marriage. because my real issue is with marriage. so anon, i’m going to take you on a tour of everything that sickens me about marriage to put all my wedding hatred into context for you.
marriage is an ancient practice and misogyny is embedded in basically every variant of marriage ever practiced in the world. the commercialized, commodified weddings practiced by affluent couples in the west today just put some gloss and propaganda on the old tradition. but the skeleton of the tradition is really fucking ugly and hateful towards women. and the more you examine how marriage plays out today, the more you see that that hasn’t gone away. and it never will.
let’s start with the basics. historically, marriage as an institution has reinforced the myth of male superiority by giving tangible structure to what was previously just a notion–the notion of gender roles. if a home contains one man and one woman (often a girl, really, but i’ll get to that), then it naturally follows that a man’s role is to contribute x, y and z to the household, while women contribute… uh, a through w at the very least. and often x, y and z too. so you’re immediately left with a society where men are expected to be active and women are expected to be passive. that mandated passivity erodes choice and freedom and consent.
many forms of early marriage permitted men to have multiple wives while women were of course tied to their one husband. across the board, the minimum legal age for marriage has been lower for girls than for men, since long before anyone understood fertility patterns; though it may have been stated in some cases that this is because women “mature faster,” the real reason is that men were expected to have established themselves and their wives were expected to be young, inexperienced and virginal. across the world, married women have often been treated as if the act of marrying a man symbolizes passing from one guardian to another; this is clear even from an extremely common ritual still practiced today–the changing of the bride’s last name to match her husband’s. and worldwide and throughout histories, legal systems have granted husbands the right to control their wives and everything in their orbit. this includes the practice of marital rape.
girls and women have always been denied choices and agency through the constraints of marriage. child marriage is an obvious example. in many parts of the world, girls as young as seven years old (which was the minimum in the united states in 1880, btw) have been forced to marry adult men. marriage is the only cultural ritual practiced in large numbers today that transforms what would be viewed as sexual assault on a child one day to a private family matter the next. child marriage is slavery and still takes place in 50+ countries today, including the US. child brides, who are often from poor families, are thrust out of their homes generally because their parents are looking to eliminate the financial burden of raising a girl. but in their new marriages, they are subject to violent rape and domestic violence, dangerously young pregnancies that put fatal stress on their developing bodies, and a host of inequalities in the law that permit their husbands to do whatever they want with them. marrying eliminates any chance of a young girl enjoying her childhood or pursuing an education. her life prospects are reduced to a short lifetime of unpaid domestic labor and sex she can’t consent to.
further, marriage between partners of any age is wrapped up in the idea that men must control women and girls’ sexuality. some have argued that the practice of marriage is commonplace for no other reason than to keep women’s sexuality in check. naturally, then, what we’re left with is a longstanding tradition of marital rape. throughout history, in many places, rape of a married woman was legally considered a crime against her husband and not the victim herself, as she was his property. extending that logic reveals that no husband could be found guilty of assaulting his property. so marital rape was commonplace, and was not even viewed to be a crime in many parts of the world until the twentieth century. through marriage and the misogynistic laws surrounding it, a very chilling sentiment was normalized: the concept that men are entitled to sex with the women in their lives. that perspective has not yet been fully destabilized. in a 2018 study of 4,000 british adults, a quarter of participants reported that they don’t believe marital rape is rape.
some other quick hits… the extremely widespread practices of paying dowries and bride prices further reinforce how marriage is understood as a transaction over a woman. and i wouldn’t want to overlook how the structured gender roles enforced through marriage resulted in trapping generations of women inside their home, where they were expected to do all the household labor and reproduce for as long as their bodies could support it. think of all the work those women could have done in the world, and all the worldly experiences that they might have had, if they were not trapped in their homes based on the idea that only their husbands had the right to experience the world.
marriage is a religious tradition that was eventually adopted by the state. but we already know that many religions were constructed by and to the advantage of men, and they are full of quite misogynistic traditions, including the ideology that shaped marriage rituals over the centuries. the state recognizes marriage and grants certain privileges to married couples that others don’t have access to. often these privileges can be life-saving, as in the case of the benefits pertaining to medical insurance. the legalization of gay marriage, and before that, interracial marriage, expanded the prospects of who was eligible to reap those benefits. however, there will always be limitations on who can enjoy those benefits–and use them to survive–so long as they are extended to married couples only.
and then suppose that a woman has decided that she’s seen enough injustice in her marriage and she would like to divorce. research shows that women face a great deal of gender-based scrutiny in divorce courts, and when men sue for custody–which occurs in a minority of cases–they generally win. and in cases of abuse, divorce is a costly obstacle to a woman escaping with her freedom. some abused women have said that the time-intensive process of divorce put them off of leaving. the regimented structure of marriage was a trap that subjected those women to a greater degree of violence.
so! all this being said, i am adamantly against marriage. i cannot see a version of the practice that doesn’t just slap a shiny coat of paint over a violent tradition that has restricted women’s rights to a horrifying degree and continues to do so today. so when i see weddings treated as romantic and aspirational and objects of envy in the media, i’m left feeling disgusted that this tradition is so often painted as good for women. wedding magazines are marketed to us. there are new startups emerging every day that promise to make the wedding-planning process easier, more fun, more romantic. i just can’t see the romance in women’s continued subjugation. 
anyway. i hope this was helpful. there are lots of BOOKS you can read with plenty of history on marriage: i just read who cooked the last supper?: the women’s history of the world by rosalind miles and there’s in depth discussion of the many abuses women were subject to under the laws governing marriage. you might even look to the wikipedia page for criticism of marriage to start more research.
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curiosity-killed · 5 years ago
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@apaladinagain​ so this went in a weird direction but uh. ta dah?
Word count: 3016
Warnings: medical experimentation, exploitation
love starters
It had been a long fucking day. Natasha started it off by roping him into this idiot mission at the crack of dawn, like he hadn’t made it perfectly clear he was done being anyone’s attack dog. She hadn’t even had the courtesy to ask or pretend like she was coercing him; she’d just walked straight in through the door and dropped a tablet on his lap. “You’re going to want to come for this one,” she’d said, leaning her elbows on the back of the couch. He’d pretended at disinterest, intentionally reading the open file as slowly as he could. Annoyance rolled up fast when he skimmed over the first lines and realized he did, in fact, want to come along. “So?” she said. “Suit up.” “I’m not SHIELD,” he objected for the sake of his pride.
Al chose that moment to hop up onto the sofa, ignoring Bucky entirely in favor of sauntering across the back and rubbing his head against Natasha’s arm. Smiling, she reached across with her opposite hand to scritch under his chin.
“Call it freelancing,” she suggested without looking away from the cat. “Wilson’s calling it a camping trip.” Of course he was. Bucky didn’t roll his eyes, but only because he was too old for that shit. He’d perfected his done-with-the-world look by the time he was twenty-five, anyway. “And Rogers?” he asked. She hadn’t mentioned him, but he knew that was an intentional omission. Pointless, anyway. As if he’d let any of these burn-‘em-down missions pass him by. Smoothing a finger back along the crest of Al’s skull, she folded her hand back over her arm and turned to him. Her gaze was flat and opaque; even after everything, he’d never been able to crack that expression. It was assessment, analysis, but the results were unreadable. “Revenge.” Twenty-three hours later, he regretted ever listening to her. No one had died — or, well, a lot of people had died, but not civilians and not their team. That was about all the positivity he could muster. This had been a testing site, a HYDRA lab dedicated to making knock-off versions of the serum. They’d gotten close with the shit running through his veins and refined and redesigned it for the Red Room’s infinity serum, but HYDRA had never known when to say ‘good enough.’ It was go big or go home, only fascist death cults didn’t have any home. No one had died, but they’d been too late to save the dead. Some were still in their cells, others frosted over in cryotanks. He didn’t know any of them, but he knew their looks: young or old, they’d all come here desperate and hungry. Some still had needle tracks up their arms, a few clutched dog tags. One, a small woman curled into a rictus crouch, held tight to a photo of a child that shared her same dark skin and brown eyes. A matching pair stared glassy and empty from her face. Passing from cell to cell, anger and guilt twined into an ouroboros in his gut. What had HYDRA told them? That it was a medical trial? That they’d not only get compensation but also free healthcare? That, for some of them, they’d get a bed and safe place to rest for the first time in years? The serum curled all ills; there was no shortage of promises they could have made. Cancer, asthma, chronic debilitating pain no doctor had ever taken seriously — it was a wonder drug and they could tailor their pitch to the soft spot of everyone they ensnared. All they had to do was omit certain details — the death rate, the side effects, the true purpose behind it all. Governments had been doing the same for decades. They’d fanned out to comb through the facility, but he’d still wound up running into Rogers down in the cell block. He’d been standing in front of a cryotube, jaw tight and hands curled into fists at his sides. The body inside wasn’t any adult but a kid, still soft in the face and with hands curled loose around nothing where they floated. Blue light painted icy planes of Steve’s face, turned his eyes glacial. He’d looked up at Bucky’s footsteps, frozen with his eyes too open and honest, and then looked away as his shoulders hunched up. Bucky recognized that guilt, that futile attempt to hide; he’d seen that same flinch so many times over the last year. Something panged in his chest at it this time, regret or something like it. He’d started to reach out, as if he could finally bridge this gap — and the explosion had rocked the building. It was funny, Bucky thought as they were thrown back through the wall. He’d really thought they were getting out of this one unscathed. Back when he’d first turned himself in, when he’d scorched a path around the world marked with HYDRA’s ashes and finally walked back to the skeleton left of SHIELD, he’d accepted whatever came next. He’d had enough time, five years, to get a shaky handle on who he was and what his objectives were, and he’d mostly figured out the kinks in his augmented health — what he could eat, what implants he had to dig out, which ones he had to leave in or risk frying his brain even further. He’d figured out how to handle Rogers. Or at least, he’d thought he had. He was ready for those big puppy hands all over him, all those hugs he couldn’t stand to receive. He’d seen those puppy eyes, braced himself for Rogers’ assumption that his friend was back, that his Bucky had returned. He’d practiced a whole little speech, shouldered on his armor, and walked in like it was a fire fight. He hadn’t been ready for reality. Rogers didn’t demand anything — he didn’t try to drag Bucky into a big hug or stare at him with those big old doe eyes. He just…hovered. He snuck surreptitious glances out of the corner of his eyes, just a little flicker of those lashes betraying him; he waffled in doorways and bit his lip like he wanted to say something but couldn’t figure out what. It was that uncertainty, that will-he-won’t-he that made him snap. If he’d just done something, made a choice one way or another — either treated Bucky like his old pal or like a total stranger — then Bucky could have responded and been done with it. Instead, every second he spent in Steve’s quivering company, half his mind was busy trying to guess which way he would go, plan for each path he might take. He’d tolerated it for a month before his patience snapped and he lashed out, whip-like. After, Steve had just…disappeared. He was there, of course. He didn’t leave the city or anything so dramatic, but he never entered the room where Bucky was, never visited when Bucky swung by Natasha’s apartment. Bucky had told him to leave him alone, and Steve had taken that like a blood oath. And now, with Steve’s body braced over him, blood dripping down across his side and splattering on Bucky’s body armor, he wished maybe he hadn’t. There was a strained exhale from above him, and Bucky’s focus was pulled away from the shrapnel sticking out of Steve’s side and up to his face. He’d ducked his head, turned it in toward his shoulder as if to protect his face or hide. What Bucky could see, between his helmet and posture, was tightly clenched. “Fuck,” Steve breathed out after a moment longer. Before Bucky could say anything, he pushed off his hands to roll up onto his feet. The rubble on either side of Bucky’s head shifted a little, concrete crumbs dusting his shoulders. He laid there a second longer as Steve twisted to eye the injuries. His lips pursed, irritated, and he prodded at the edge before yanking out the shard of tank glass and tossing it to the side. “That’s not—” Bucky started to object, but Steve had already lifted a hand to his right ear. “Widow, Falcon, report,” he said, back to his Captain’s voice. There was a crackle, then a cough, over the coms. “Still kicking,” Sam replied. “There’s still no movement up here — looks like it was either a delayed or remote trigger.” “Widow?” Steve asked after a pause. Pulling himself up onto his feet, Bucky waited. At his sides, mismatched hands curled together, fingertips pressing hard into his palms. “I’m here,” she said, and relief rushed through him. “But there’s a hiccup.” Hiccups in Natasha’s dictionary were usually what others called near-catastrophic obstacles. Closing his eyes, Bucky released a slow exhale. “…what kind of hiccup?” Sam asked. Steve crossed his arms over his chest, stubbornly ignoring the gash through his side. With his shoulders squared and brow furrowed, he looked like he’d stepped directly out of some TIME cover. “Well, I found the other guys,” Natasha replied, following by the distinct sound of a head colliding with concrete. There was a beat before Steve leaned his head back, closing his eyes against the half-destroyed ceiling above them. “Falcon, what’s your ETA?” “Twenty seconds, Cap,” Sam answered. Opening his eyes, Steve straightened and pulled the shield from his back. “We’re on our way.” Steve started toward the stairs, but Bucky lunged, grabbing his arm. “Steve, wait.” He froze, twisting back toward Bucky with a frown shadowing his eyes. An irrational surge of exasperation rose in Bucky’s chest, a half-remembered lifetime’s worth of chasing after the idiot. “You can’t go into a fight like that,” he said, gesturing palm-up toward the gash. “It’ll heal,” Steve said. “Yeah and if it heals with a shit ton of dust and particulates in it, it’ll take twice as long and you’ll be up all night with the itch.” It ran out of him all at once, words escaping before he’d really thought them through. Some of it came from his own experiences with half-assed field medicine, but there was something older behind it, too: the memory of snow-covered pines rough against his back, the acrid sweetness of a cigarette on his lip, catching Steve’s hand to pull it away from a healing wound and interlacing — “Let me put a Medipatch on it,” he said. Steve studied him a long moment, the curve of his furrowed brow visible under the arch of his helmet. He looked at Bucky like a puzzle, like a riddle he hadn’t solved. “Okay,” he said. Surprise at the acquiescence slowed Bucky’s reaction, but he recovered and reached into his tac belt to find the first aid kit. Ripping open the foil-lined pack, he pulled the gel pad out with careful fingers and used his other hand to spread the rip in Steve’s suit enough for him to have some space to work. His metal fingers brushed over Steve’s skin, temperature sensors lighting up with the contrast between cool metal and super-heated skin. Goosebumps pebbled up across Steve’s exposed skin. Swallowing, he focused on laying the patch on flat and smooth, using his thumbtip to press the edges down and blend them to his skin like clay on a wheel. Immediately, the nanoparticles in the patch started to activate, spreading out and adhering until the whole messy wound was covered. Blood still painted the edges, but no more would leak out. Eyeing it, Bucky straightened and took half a step back before lifting his gaze to meet Steve’s. Blue eyes met his, open and unreadable. The moment stretched out before them, a repeat of that stillness before the tank — all the questions he wanted to ask, all the words he’d never said — “Cap, Winter, we could use a little assistance,” Natasha snapped, voice strained, over the coms. Steve straightened, already turning to head toward the stairs at a jog. “Headed up,” he said, and Bucky had no choice but to follow. By the time they’d crawled out of the fray, alerted the appropriate authorities and cleaned out, exhaustion blanketed all of them as much as the dust from the explosion and fight. Sam sported bruised ribs and a cut down his cheek to his jaw and Natasha’s scalp bled from where someone had ripped a chunk of hair out and cracked her head into the wall. Parked under the edges of the only tree to be seen for miles, they slumped around the fire like duffel bags dropped to the desert sand. A SHIELD ride was on its way, but there’d been some hang-up in the meanwhile that meant they were camping out for most the night. “Doesn’t Stark have a place out here?” Sam griped. “You really want him involved in this?” Natasha asked, smoothing gel over the cut on his face. Lifting his eyebrows, Sam canted his head as much as he good without jostling her. “I’d take a mansion with a real bed for the night,” he said. Natasha breathed out a laugh, pulling back to wipe her hand off on her leg. They’d all shed decorum for the sake of comfort, and her suit was unzipped down to her belly button, a grey tanktop breaking up the sleek lines of the Black Widow. Her shoulders were dusted with the start of a tan, stark white lines marking the ghost of a swimsuit. Sam’s own suit slouched against his wings’ pack, goggles folded neatly on top, and Bucky had tossed off the heavy leather of his vest and equipment. It was too fucking hot for that. Turning from them, Bucky glanced back over his shoulder. Unlike the rest of them, Steve still wore his uniform, and he sat apart, back against the tree and shadowed from the fire. His only concession had been to remove his helmet, but it still sat in the sand at his hip. Bucky hesitated, running a metal thumbtip over his fingerpads. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet, reaching down to grab his belt as he did. Steve looked up as he approached, brow creasing into a dark pinch. The moonlight through the leaves dappled his skin in silver-blue patches that shifted and rippled with the breeze. “We should change that patch,” Bucky explained, lifting his belt for Steve to see. The confusion cleared off Steve’s face, and he shifted to open up his uniform. Tugging off the jacket-like upper, he unzipped the center panel and shucked off the left side. All of it was done with business-like brusqueness, an efficiency that was entirely about getting this done with as quickly as possible. Bucky knelt, pulling open his pouch. The patch already on Steve’s side had dried, edges turning flaky, and all it took was a finger under one side to pry it off. A breath hissed out from behind Steve’s teeth, but he didn’t flinch or complain as Bucky peeled it off and set about replacing it. It was quick medicine, the kind of aid meant to be completed in seconds, and it was done altogether too quickly. Still crouched on the balls of his feet, Bucky eyed the new patch for a moment, indecisive. After a moment longer, he lowered himself slowly to the sand and leaned against the tree beside Steve, arms brushing. Steve had leaned forward, arms resting on his knees. “Got a cigarette?” he asked. Steve turned as he sat, that thunderous frown back again, and a jolt ran through him at the question. “No,” he said. “I don’t smoke anymore.” “Me either,” Bucky admitted. “That and alcohol just doesn’t—” “Do shit-all?” Steve offered.
A startled laugh husked out of Bucky, and he nodded. He remembered what it was like to get drunk, he thought, but it was from a lifetime ago. The memories were hazy both with inebriation and age. “Thor thinks I’m immortal now.”
That…was one hell of a change in topics. “Or he thinks the serum gives you a lifespan like an Asgardian,” Steve amended. “Five thousand years, give or take.” “That’s a hell of a long time,” Bucky replied slowly, watching Steve. He could only see the side of his face from this angle, but that was enough. Anguish played out across the blue of his eyes, the tense line of his mouth. “No one else knows,” Steve said. “Thor thought I knew and just said it off-hand. But…” He broke off, throat bobbing as he swallowed. Understanding settled heavy and hard-edged in Bucky’s gut. Hundreds had already died in the pursuit of creating the serum for its physical benefits, for strength and agility and healing. How many more would if they knew it granted eternal life — or close enough? “Fuck,” he said for lack of anything better. To his surprise, Steve breathed out a laugh. There was a hopeless cast to his eyes as he tilted his face up toward the star-strewn sky. “Couldn’t say it better myself,” he replied, dry. Rolling his eyes, Bucky jostled his arm — careful, telegraphed. Steve turned to him then, a startled smile starting on his lips. The smile broadened as he turned back to the horizon, settling in a little more firmly against Bucky’s arm. “At least it won’t be alone,” Bucky said after a pause. “You’ve got Natasha and Banner. Hell, maybe that’ll be enough time to win over the rest of the Widows. And, I mean, sounds like I’ll be around.” In his periphery, he could see Steve’s gaze slip sideways, looking at him through his lashes. This time, Bucky turned to meet it. “Yeah?” Steve asked, careful. Shrugging, Bucky leaned back into the tree. Their shoulders brushed with the motion, warmth displaced by a whisper of air. “Sure,” he said. “Until I figure out a way into space. Can’t believe I missed the fucking moon landing.” Steve laughed, just that soft huff of amusement, and he leaned back beside Bucky, their shoulders pressed together and hands brushing. “Well,” he said after a moment, “that doesn’t sound so bad.” His side was a line of warmth against Bucky’s, and his hand shifted, interlaced —
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