#HOWEVER. they killed his teeth helmet and i am hating for that. bring it back its so silly.......but hagrid on the back is cute so i live

[jam-packed]

crazy how pretty enea is like damn dude save some for the rest of us

[stubbychaos]

Ori Kebiin and Saviin’ika

Chapter 8 of Saviin’ika

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3|Part 4|Part 5|Part 6|Part 7

Masterlist

Pairing: Paz Vizsla x Nurse!Reader

Summary: Paz takes you to the covert after your long day, despite you not being accepted by everyone in the tribe yet. Though you are content to finally be away from a toxic environment, Paz wants his vengeance towards those who have hurt you.

Rating: M

Word Count: 13,000 (I kinda got carried away)

Warnings: Brief mentions of psychological abuse and manipulation, as well as the aftermath of the attempted sexual assault from last chapter. Again, there’s mentions of blood, but not nearly as graphic as the last chapter!

Translations will all be at the end since there’s so many this chapter. I separated the actual dialogue from the typical nicknames and such. The title, however, translates to “Big Blue and Little Violet” :)

You have no idea how you manage the strength to walk on your feet after the day you’ve had, but you think Paz’s hand firmly pressed to the small of your back gives you the motivation to be stronger.

Though the dread still lingers like a dark rain cloud over your frantic heart as Paz leads you to your home to grab a change of clothes, you’re certain that the Mandalorian would not let anything happen to you should your father be awake. His thumb moves in firm little circles against the thick material of his cape that’s shielding your body from any wandering eyes and even though you can’t get the memory of slaying the Trandoshan out of your mind, you feel slightly better now that your warrior had cleaned as much of the blood away from your skin as he possibly could.

Out of sight, but never out of mind, you resentfully realize as you slowly approach the worn down hut you’ve lived in for your entire life and find the thought of living anywhere else strange, but certainly not disheartening in the slightest. Paz gently urges you behind him as he leads you inside the building, his leather-clad fingers firmly wrapped around your wrist and you can’t help but to smile weakly at his diligence and insistence on keeping you safe from anymore danger.

Much to your relief, you hear your father’s snores from the other room, most likely blacked out on alcohol or his drug of choice and you hastily lead Paz into your tiny room, only letting go of his hand so you can sift through the wooden crate where you keep what little clothes and garments you own.

“Cyare,” Paz whispers the nickname, perhaps remembering that your abuser sleeps in the room down the hall; he makes sure to keep his voice down as he gathers some of your toiletries and carefully situates them in a small canvas bag, “Where we are going, it is deep underground--it is much colder--do you have anything warmer to wear?”

You blink and manage to find a large cable knit sweater that you haven’t worn in such a long time, along with a thicker pair of leggings and some clean undergarments; you freeze when the Mandalorian speaks again.

“And something to sleep in?”

Heat floods your cheeks and earlobes and you nervously move to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear, growing even more embarrassed when you realize the strands are matted to your neck with blood, “Am I staying the night there?”

You find a thin-sleeved, satin night gown that falls a few inches above your knees and you slowly rise to turn and face Paz, noticing the tension in his shoulders as he stares at you through the safety of his visor. You’ve never once questioned his loyalty to the creed by asking what he looks like underneath the helmet, but you suddenly find yourself jealous that he is able to conceal his features upon feeling nervous or shy. He reaches out to gently stroke your jaw, helmet tilting to the side as you hold your clean clothes tightly to your chest; he is silent as he collects the fabric from your tight hold and places it in the canvas bag.

“You would not be turned away after the day you’ve had,” He reassures you, cupping his hand to the side of your neck, “I am hoping they will let you stay permanently once they meet you.”

Your heart swells and you nod a little, your heart pumping furiously in your chest at the thought of spending the night with him again, let alone the rest of your days.

“Thank you,” You fiddle nervously with your large sweater as he continues to stare at you, “I… I will change now.”

“Then I won’t look,” He hums, sounding slightly amused as he turns his back to you, “Unless you wish for me to see you, little nurse?”

An intense heat spreads throughout your face as you let his cape fall from your shoulders and you begin to remove your boots. You remember the way the Trandoshan’s grimy hands had found the hem of your dress and you drop your head in shame as you peel away your undergarments and replace them with fresh ones. You feel sick and ashamed that it had nearly gotten to the point where he had taken advantage of you and you want to tell Paz exactly what had happened, but the feeling of your attacker’s hands on your torso leaves you feeling raw and vulnerable.

You’re embarrassed.

“I fear you would not like what you would see.”

The Mandalorian’s helmet moves in a jolting gesture, though he makes sure not to completely turn his head towards you and your heart thrums frantically when you realize it must be out of respect for your own wishes. You’re hasty to cover your chest with a clean bralette and you feel as though your cheeks are on fire when you replace your shorts with fresh undergarments and thick leggings, all while keeping your eyes on the back of his helmet.

“You are beautiful, cyare,” Paz softly reminds you, his baritone as low and quiet as his modulator will allow him, “I don’t like seeing you bruised and hurt, but it does not take away from your beauty. I do not think I could go through all of your pain without any armor; it must be difficult to bare your scars for all to see.”

You think it to be the most heartfelt compliment he could give you--informing you that he believes your strength and endurance to be up to his standards--and you smile warmly at the back of his helmet.

“Okay,” You eventually murmur as you tug the large sweater over your head, the cozy fabric fitting you similarly to a short, loose dress, “I’m ready.”

The Mandalorian turns to face you just as you’re grabbing his cape that you had neatly placed on the foot of your bed; his helmet tilts to the side as he watches you hug the material close to your chest. Thinking he doesn’t need the warm fabric yet, you hold onto it tightly as you follow him out your room, tensing a little when you’re met with utter silence, rather than your father’s typical loud snores. Paz must notice it too, because you watch as his hand immediately moves to the blaster sheathed against his hip; your heart pounds wildly in your chest as the two of you make it up the two stairs leading out of the hut.

Before you even realize what’s going on, Paz immediately whips around and draws a blaster within a fraction of a second, carefully pushing you behind him; you’re confused, until you hear a familiar voice that you’re certain will forever haunt you, even if you never see him again.

“Where do you think you’re going, little one?” You tilt your head to the side so you can see your father staggering towards you and Paz, “You decide to fucking not show up to one of your shifts and thought I would be okay with it? Then you bring him here? After everything I told you? Are you really that fucking stupid or do I need to--?”

You snap before the Mandalorian does.

For the third time in the last twenty-four hours--you absolutely snap.

“I have had one of the longest, roughest days of my life, so don’t you dare make me feel bad for not showing up to work or bringing him here!” You step to the side and put yourself in front of Paz, though he still keeps his blaster pointed on the drunk man who poses no real threat to the warrior, “I have been working every day for you for the last decade and never once have you ever thanked me for the time I put in--for all that I have done for you and working for free! You never once thanked me for all the tears and blood I have shed for you at the expense of your own hands and I am exhausted.”

Your father--Maker, does he look stunned by your outburst--and you’re certain that if Paz wasn’t there, he would have struck you the moment you raised your voice, but his eyes widen and his mouth drops open as he regards you. You think of the Trandoshan and the bounty hunter and how both of them had caused you such rage, fear, and desperation and you suddenly find it easier to argue with your only living blood.

You don’t even notice the way Paz tenses behind you when your father staggers forward, nearly tripping over his own feet and you suddenly feel embarrassed for the kind of torment you have let this pathetic man inflict upon you. You’re shaking with the trauma from such a horrific day as you step a little closer to him, speaking through clenched teeth at the man who’s made your life a living hell for as long as you can remember.

After killing the Trandoshan, you think you’re not fazed by anything, let alone your father’s clumsy anger.

“You have put me through so much pain and so much agony--so much torture--Maker, do you have a heart at all? Do you even realize what you’ve done to me? How much you’ve scarred my body and my mind?!” You force yourself not to cry, thinking he doesn’t deserve a single tear from you when he’s stolen so many in your life, “I am supposed to be your daughter, not your slave, and I won’t let you treat me as such anymore!”

Your chest is heaving wildly as he simply stares at you in shock, probably not even aware you were capable of storing such hatred and fury in your tender heart.

"I have never hated anyone as much as I hate you," You seethe, speaking through clenched teeth as you watch the way your words sober him, his back straightening a little "I hope you feel a fraction of the same loneliness and pain you have made me feel after I leave this awful place; I hope it haunts you everyday until you finally die."

Your father’s eyes widen and you’re certain he is shocked at the courage you have somehow obtained within a single day, though it still does not stop him from continuing to berate you

“And what would you do when he grows tired of you?” He sneers, though you simply shake your head, remembering how your warrior had declared his love for you and you force yourself to remember the devotion in his deep baritone, “You think those monsters would actually take you in as one of their own? You think this savage could genuinely love someone like you? Someone so weak and useless? They’ll use you and simply throw you away, just like anyone else would.”

You hear Paz snarl behind you, no doubt shaking with rage and a desire for wrath against your father, but you offer your last living relative a weak smile and nod a little, thinking of everything your warrior has done for you in the last few months and the happiness he’s given you. Perhaps you’re not as naive as you once thought--now so used to the horrors of such a cruel planet--and you’re certain that if this huge warrior insists his love for you, he must not be lying.

“I am not weak nor useless and I now know that,” You insist fiercely, and even though your voice trembles, you feel the words deep down in your bones--in your soul--and you step closer to the man whose unfocused gaze is currently switching between you and Paz frantically, “I am far stronger than you have ever led me to believe and I will not let you tear down me, nor the only man who has ever built me up. Even if I am not accepted, I will find a way to make a life for myself because anywhere is better than this hell.”

His angry expression cracks as soon as he realizes he no longer has any control over your inhibitions or choices and you know what’s about to happen--the manipulative words he’s about to spew.

“Y-You can’t leave me!” He doesn’t sound angry, but more so frantic at the thought of no longer having control over you, and he pleadingly holds out his careless hands, “You are my only family I have left.”

Though you feel a twinge of pain in your heart at how distraught he suddenly sounds, you turn your head to peer at Paz over your shoulder, who now has his blaster lowered. His helmet tilts to the side a little when he sees the conflict etched on your features and you think he must be incredulous that you even have to think about this--choosing between him or your father--but he simply gives you a curt nod and you turn back to your father.

“You said it yourself--” You whisper, backing away from his stumbling form before he can reach you, “You have no daughter, nor do I have a father.”

As soon as you see the look of despair melt into something more intense, something you’re so acclimated with--that anger, that intense fury--you immediately know you’ve made the right choice. Feeling flustered and slightly overwhelmed, you hastily turn around and storm past the usually talkative Mandalorian that has grown deathly silent and still as his Beskar gaze follows your small form that’s still clutching his cape close to your chest.

“Don’t forget that promise, you useless bitch! I’ll make you both fucking suffer,” He spits, instantly making you freeze and though dread crawls up your spine, you slowly turn to find Paz charging towards the much smaller, more feeble man with great furiosity that you’ve never seen from him, “Fucking Manda--”

You watch with wide eyes as your warrior immediately wraps his fingers around your newly estranged father’s neck and you are quick to make your way towards the two men when Paz effortlessly shoves him up against the outside of the hut with enough force to crack the outside of the little building. Your father claws desperately at the hand that has him pinned to the building, his feet an inch or two off the ground and you freeze when you hear the anger and pain in Paz’s modulated voice.

“You are lucky the little nurse has a tender heart and doesn’t wish for me to end your sorry existence, because I would have gladly had your lifeless body at her feet the moment I first saw you mistreat her,” Paz easily inches him higher off the ground, not seeming all too worried about his comfort as he squeezes his hand tighter around the struggling man’s esophagus, “You have caused her enough pain to last a lifetime and I will not watch you hurt her anymore with your words or hands.”

Your father’s mouth is wide open as he gasps and flops wildly like a fish on land when Paz finally drops him and you can tell it’s taking everything out of him to not cause the older man further damage as he wheezes violently at the warrior’s feet. You think you should feel sorry for your father, but instead you feel embarrassed that you have let someone so pathetic and greedy push you around for such a long time.

“He’s going to get tired of you and leave, you ungrateful bitch!” The older man speaks through loud gasps for air, choking and heaving on his own spit, “Everyone always does, you know you’re nothing--”

You should stop Paz--you know you should stop him as he lifts his boot, only to send a mighty kick to your father’s ribs and you hear a loud crack that you are all too familiar with, though you don’t cringe or turn away from it.

You’re far too acquainted with the sound to be disgusted by it and you think it to be painfully ironic that he is now in a position that you’ve been in so many times because of him.

“Useless, huh? Have fun tending your own wounds without her help,” Paz scoffs, listening to the injured man wheeze frantically, biting back whimpers as he clutches his side, “You ever try anything with her or even think about coming for me, I’ll cut your hands off and let someone else in tribe deal with you, hu’tuun. They would not show you the same mercy that I have and I would not mind seeing what kind of pain they would show you.”

You watch with wide eyes as he slowly turns around, tight fists instantly unfurling as he sees your shocked expression, though he is quick to carefully grab your elbow and lead you away from the man who is still gasping for deep breaths of air. The bright glimmer of moonlight kissing his visor as he turns to peer down at you every now and then has you growing curious and slightly worried at the sharp, jittery motions.

“Paz, are you--?”

“I am sorry you had to see me like that,” He makes haste to apologize and you shake your head a little as he leads you further away from your broken home, “I do not want you to think of me as cruel, but the way he speaks to you and treats you… I wanted to kill him, cyare.”

“After today, I don’t think I could ever believe you to be cruel,” You whisper with a light shudder, feeling the way his fingertips immediately slide down the inside of your forearm before they’re weaving through the valleys of your fingers in a firm hold; you think of the Trandoshan and bounty hunter and shake your head again, “I… I have seen what cruel men are capable of and I would never think you to be like them.”

“When we get to the covert, will you tell me what happened to you today--what he did to you?” Paz sounds so restrained and full of anger and sadness as he thinks of someone he’s considered to be a brother hunting you down and hurting you so horrifically, “If it is too hard to speak of it, I won’t push you.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and exhale deeply as he takes you further outside the village, “I do not know if I have the strength to talk about it yet.”

“Okay,” Paz nods sharply, even though you can tell that this is all killing him slowly and he so desperately wants to know what the hell happened, “Okay, cyare.”

You smile softly at him being so understanding of the delicate situation and tiredly press your cheek against his bicep as he leads you to the people that are supposedly excited for your arrival. You think Paz must be exaggerating about his tribe’s eagerness to meet you and there’s a sick feeling growing in your stomach as you think of their bounty hunter and how he was most likely one of the Mandalorians who didn’t want you at the covert.

“Are you okay?” He asks after a few minutes of silence as you both slowly trudge through the village, though you think he only walks slow for you and your injuries, “That couldn’t have been an easy thing for you to stand up to him like that.”

“I… I don’t really know how to feel,” You whisper, your fingers curling tightly around his as you try to gather your thoughts into one cohesive statement to sum up your feelings, “I am sad, but my chest feels lighter. I have never talked back to him like that, but I do not regret what I said.”

“That takes a lot of courage,” Paz consoles with a deep hum, giving your hand a gentle squeeze and as he tilts his helmet a little lower and to the side, you like to picture him smiling down at you--whatever his smile may look like, though you’re certain it must be a kind, warm one, “It takes strength to stand up to someone that has hurt and manipulated you that badly, cyare, and you should feel only pride for acting so bravely.”

You smile and nod a little, knowing that someday you will truly believe his words, but for now you simply remain silent and focus on the firm hold he has on your hand. You hesitate and tense up when he moves to lead you down a dark alleyway that seems to go on for a mile; it’s so dark that you can’t even see where it ends and you move to take a step backwards as you think of the Trandoshan.

“It’s okay,” Paz reassures you, seeming to notice and understand your tension, “It’s… It’s been a long day, I get it, but I won’t let anything else happen to you. You’ve got me, cyare--always.”

You tug your hand out of his and squeeze the crook of his elbow as he leads you into the darkness of the alleyway. Despite not being able to make out anything, you feel how unwavering and sure the warrior is as he easily strides down the alleyway and it’s not until he scoops a thick curtain to the side that he turns on the little flashlight attached to the side of his helmet. You’re surprised to find a small set of stairs that leads down into a dark tunnel and you let him guide the way, trusting him enough to know he’s taking you somewhere safe.

“Careful,” Paz says softly as you slowly make your way down the winding staircase that takes the two of you further underground, “I know how clumsy you can be--or what was it you said when I took you to the hot springs the first time? The only thing graceful about you are your hands?”

You huff and try to shrug off the flirty remark, shaking your head as you carefully trail behind him, "You are not as smooth as you think, Paz."

He turns his helmet to gaze at you, nearly blinding you with the flashlight, all while continuing to descend the staircase and you hear him chuckle, "You’re lucky I am wearing my gloves, I know how hot your ears and cheeks get when you get all shy around me, little nurse.”

“I am sunburned,” You inform him with a scoff as he turns to face forward upon meeting the bottom of the staircase; you unfurl his cape to wrap it around your shoulders as it begins to grow colder, “I think most of my skin is pretty warm right now.”

He hums and you think he’s tense as you wrap both hands around his bicep as you two venture further into the underground tunnels; you remember the heavy weight of the Trandoshan’s body draped over your weak one as the heat from harsh sun rays beat down on you for hours on end. He doesn’t know anything that’s happened to you in the last day and you’re not sure if you should tell him, somewhat fearing for the bounty hunter’s life at the thought of Paz’s anger upon finding out you had been forced to take a life.

That the Trandoshan had touched you--that he’d nearly taken off your dress.

You don’t even realize how hard you’re clinging onto Paz’s bicep, forcing yourself to remember that you hadn’t been violated in such an intense way and that you were currently safe with your Mandalorian.

“We are almost there,” Paz reassures you, though you think it only brings you more anxiety and fear as he calmly leads you to his tribe, not seeming fazed or nervous in the slightest, “You will be loved by them as a little sister, please do not worry. I will take care of the bounty hunter.”

You simply nod as you let him guide you through what feels like endless tunnels and turns and you wonder how he could possibly know his way through such an intense maze of dark stone. You think of all the times he’s made his way through the tunnels just to see you and your heart swells as you glance up at his scuffed up helmet with admiration, thinking that he must see something in you to make such a winding journey so many times.

“Stay behind me, please,” Paz gently orders, responding quietly to your wide-eyed expression after he nudges you behind his big frame, “Just for a minute.”

He turns a corner just as an unfamiliar voice speaks up and you instantly perk up at the sound of a small, innocent voice; they sound younger than you and you’re not sure why, but that brings you great comfort immediately.

“Norac bid nusujii, ori kebiin?” A high-pitched, feminine voice has you feeling curious and despite Paz’s words, you poke your head to gaze past his bicep. Instantly, a forest green helmet with that notorious t-shaped visor whips to the side to stare at you and the smaller Mandalorian is quick to stand up from where she had been perched on a stone ledge next to the large, round entrance leading into the covert. You blink at the scuffed up teal armor that the female Mandalorian dons and you think the sapphire color of her gauntlets to be beautiful and less intimidating compared to the bounty hunter’s armor.

“Cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu Paz?”

You think she must be asking Paz a question by the incline of her tone and he immediately turns to find you gazing intensely at the guard; letting out with a crackly sigh, Paz gives her a single sharp nod, “‘Lek.”

She lets an amused hum slip past her modulator and steps a little closer, “Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh.”

Paz turns a little to place a big hand on the small of your back, kindly urging you forward and you hear the colorful Mandalorian let out with a small chuckle when you speak quietly in a shy voice, “The colors of your armor are pretty--blue is one of my favorite colors.”

“Oh, I’m sure it is.”

You immediately understand the meaning of her playful words when Paz offers her some sort of admonishment in his deep voice, speaking in his native tongue, “Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic.”

“Sorry, sorry,” The woman chuckles a little, helmet cocking to the side as she places a leather hand on her hip, “Thank you for the compliment, though I do not think I have ever heard someone refer to a Mandalorian as being pretty; most people would spit on us the first chance they got,” 

She still sounds amused as she props her sharp Beskar staff up against the stone wall, holding out a hand for you to shake; you smile weakly at the greeting and grasp her hand lightly, noticing her firm grip right away. She stands a few inches taller than you and even though she is probably the least intimidating Mandalorian you’ve met so far, you don’t doubt her strength.

“I do not think that those who would choose to spit on you would last very long.”

“Ni guuror kaysh,” The colorful Mandalorian giggles, her head tilting to the side as she peers down at you, “Cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel?”

“Elek,” Paz huffs a little and nods, sounding proud as he quickly answers her question, “Yes, ever since the day I first saw her.”

Your cheeks burn at what they could possibly be saying about you, though you don’t wish to cause any disrespect and politely continue to firmly shake the colorful Mandalorian’s hand as she giggles a little louder at his answer.

“I am Imalia,” She finally introduces herself and you’re surprised to actually hear excitement in her smooth, modulated voice as she continues to shake your hand; you’re even more surprised that she would so willingly give you her name, “Everyone calls me Ima though; I am one of the guards that protects the entrance this late at night since we’ve been having more and more close calls with outsiders lately.”

You blink as her leather-clad palm slips from yours and you nervously wring your fingers together, not knowing what to do with your own hands, “My name is--”

“Oh, we all know who you are, vod’ika,” She interrupts with another giggle and confusion fills you when you hear Paz let out with an exasperated sigh; your heart warms when you remember that he had told you ‘vod’ika’ meant little sister,  “Our heavy-infantry warrior hasn’t shut up about you since he first saw you--always rambling on about his ‘mesh’la saviin’ika’ and how pretty your flowers are and how kind you are and how he wants riduurok with you someday. We all thought he was making you up until he brought home your flowers one day.”

“Ori Kebiin bal Saviin’ika,” She tilts her head to the side, amused by her own words and you hear Paz groan from behind you, “How cute.”

You grow even shyer at her teasing voice, “What does... that mean? R-Riduurok?”

“Oh, y’know,” Ima says it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, flippantly waving a gloved hand around, “When two people agree to--”

“It means Imalia is a teenager who likes to gossip too much and is far too nosy for her own good,” Paz quickly deflects, resting a large hand over the slope of your shoulder and you think he almost sounds stressed out and worried as the colorful Mandalorian shrugs halfheartedly, “Is the armorer at the forge, Mal?” 

The way he seems so comfortable speaking with the younger warrior immediately makes you smile softly and you wonder if he’s this way with all the younger Mandalorians.

“I need to speak with her--it’s urgent.”

Imalia tilts her head to the side and you feel small underneath her intimidating gaze, despite the fact that she’s apparently younger than you; she must be inspecting you closely and you suddenly wish you had the opportunity to take a shower before leaving your house. You can still feel all the dried blood matted to your scalp and crusted into your hairline and you’re certain Ima must see it as well.

“Tion'jor an te tal?” Ima questions in a much quieter tone and you flinch severely when her hand moves to touch one of your braids, though she is quick to pull her hand away, turning sharply to gaze up at Paz instead; her voice sounds much graver and sadder when she speaks again, “Vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh? Cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?”

“It’s a long story,” He says in Basic, something you’re grateful for as the colorful Mandalorian, slowly takes her seat back on the stone ledge, grabbing her long spear once more as Paz continues, “It’s all Djarin’s fault. He came after her because of the vulptex.”

“That damn bounty hunter--no wonder why he was so tense when he came back earlier,” Ima sighs, shaking her head as though this is a common occurrence within the tribe and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach, “I’m surprised he’s even alive still; I’m starting to think he has only one brain cell left.”

“Not for much longer,” Paz huffs, fingers twitching against the thick fabric of your long sweater and you let him guide you through the large entrance into another tunnel, “The runt is dead the moment I see his sorry ass.”

The teenager doesn’t seem all the fazed by Paz’s foreboding words, watching as you two venture further into the enclave, “I don’t doubt it.”

You turn your head over your shoulder to catch one last glimpse at Ima’s beautiful green helmet, “It was nice meeting you, Ima.”

“You as well, saviin’ika,” You can hear the smile in her modulated voice, warm and syrupy sweet, and your heart melts at her next words, “I look forward to seeing more of you, rather than hearing it from ori kebiin’s annoying mouth.”

Despite the long day you’ve experienced and everything that’s happened with your father, you smile tiredly at her and face forward as Paz lets out with another annoyed sigh, grumbling something so low that you can’t make it out from underneath his helmet. 

He continues straight down the dim tunnel that is barely lit and your eyes widen as he leads you through another rounded entrance that has some sort of huge insignia welded to the top; you think it almost resembles a Mandalorian helmet with horns coming out the side and you make a mental note to ask Paz about it later.

Paz hums thoughtfully as he inspects his surroundings, looking for something--or someone--in particular; you take in your surroundings curiously, detaching yourself from the distracted Mandalorian to make your way over to a little workbench that seems to have discarded scraps of metal. Not wanting to be rude by touching someone else’s belongings, you simply observe all the scuffed and rusted Beskar, though something in particular catches your attention.

You force yourself not to reach out to touch the little pendant that resembles the one welded above the entrance of the forge, though something about the faded purple horns intrigue you more than you’d like to admit

“I thought we agreed not to take in your nurse until we got our bounty hunter’s vote,” A smooth, demure voice instantly startles you and you quickly turn around to come face to face with a Mandalorian who is slowly and surely entering the armory, her gaze fixated on you in an intense manner, “It is not like you to go against my word, Paz. Do you understand that you have put the tribe at risk?”

You eye the thick furs draped along her shoulders, along with the beautiful glimmer of her golden helmet; you think the richness of the gold contrasting against the deep maroon of the rest of her armor is stunning and immediately, you think she must be the leader of the covert. Though she lacks in height, just like you, she makes up for it with a powerful aura of quiet strength and leadership and you immediately admire her. 

Though you’re terribly nervous, you’ve never wanted to make such a good first impression with someone and you shakily speak up before Paz can, his helmet jolting to the side to gaze at you with what you’re certain is surprise.

It seems as though you’ve been doing that a lot lately--surprising everyone, including yourself.

“He wanted to wait as well,” You inform her, awkwardly skittering forward when she pulls out a chair for you to sit on, seeming to understand your exhaustion after a long day, “I… I was brought here because of the circumstances of today.”

“And what were the circumstances, little one?” She questions smoothly, her voice like rich velvet through her vocoder as she grabs a small metal mug from a shelf and a teapot that must already be filled with hot water; immediately, Paz starts to speak in an angered tone, but she is quick and calm to interrupt his hasty words as she pours hot water over a bundle of herbs, “I believe I asked your nurse, warrior, not you.”

“Thank you,” You whisper your gratitude when she makes her way back to you and kindly places a steaming mug filled with something that smells simultaneously sweet and spicy, “I haven’t had a warm drink in a while.”

“I know,” She informs you and your eyes widen in fear at the thought of Paz telling everyone in the covert about your father; anger fills you just for the tiniest moment before the armorer is squashing your worries like a bug beneath her boot, “I know only of what our heavy-infantry warrior has informed us about you, though he has spoken nothing of your personal life or family. It is unfortunate that you do not wear our helmet, little nurse, for it is quite easy to read the pain and suffering in your eyes. You may be younger than I, but you have lived a lifetime already, have you not?”

Your nostrils flare as you struggle to swallow the lump in your throat when you realize the wisdom this woman possesses, “I have felt enough pity for one lifetime as well, I do not wish to feel it anymore from myself or anyone else.”

She glances up at Paz, who has his arms crossed over his chest as he watches you closely, before her gaze is once again fixated on you taking a tentative sip of the flavorful tea; she cocks her head to the side, as if intrigued, and you hope that you are making a decent impression, “Very well. Tell me of the circumstances that have led you here today, little one.”

So, you do.

Paz pulls up a tiny chair that creaks underneath his weight and sits off to the side as you reluctantly relay the story of you and the bounty hunter--how you had willingly taken that blaster shot to save your vulptex, how you had been forced to cauterize your wound, how many times you tried to mention Paz’s name, though the hunter refused to listen. You think it’s taking everything out of Paz to not immediately go searching for his fellow Mandalorian, but he remains seated, his visor fixed on you and his fingers curled into tight fists atop his armored thighs. 

As soon as you mention the speeder and the barren lands, you see Paz straightening up, his breath hitching in his throat as you speak of the deal with the Trandoshan and how the bounty hunter hadn’t hesitated to trade you in for a pouch of credits.

How you had begged the hunter not to hand you over because the Trandoshan only held cruel intentions towards you.

Somehow, you manage not to cry the entire time, but as soon as you speak of the vibroblade Paz had given you--how you were barely able to keep a good grip on the handle because of how bloody your hand was--tears spring to your eyes. You squeeze the hot mug between your hands firmly, trying your hardest to take comfort in the warmth it brings your cold body.

Against your better judgment, you decide to leave the Trandoshan’s intentions as far away from the story as you possibly can, not wanting to inform Paz of how close he’d been to slipping his hands underneath your dress.

You know that would be the one detail of your story that would leave him completely unhinged.

You squeeze your eyes shut just as you maneuver around the painful topic, “Throat wounds are usually the most deadly and I… I didn’t have a choice. I wasn’t strong enough to fight him off of me and I had to take his life. I cannot stop thinking of the noises he made when I--and he was choking on his own blood and it got all over me and I never had to--”

“Ner cyare,” Paz’s voice sounds thick with emotion as you stare down at your lap in shame, not noticing the way the armorer is still gazing intensely at you, “I didn’t know you had to... Maker, that’s where all the blood came from?”

“You did what you must to survive in such a cruel place,” The armorer seems to have better words to say than Paz and you think he must be caught in an intense war of anger towards his brother or sadness because you had lost a piece of yourself, “Though I can only imagine the turmoil one so innocent would be going through after experiencing something so traumatic. Please, continue if you can.”

You’re not sure how you manage to speak with how shaky you’ve become, but surrounded by two powerful warriors, you want to be stronger, “I-I immediately went into shock because there was so much blood--Maker, there was so much blood--and I just froze and he fell forward on top of me. I was too weak at the moment to push him off and I passed out in the sun. When I woke up hours later, my skin was burning but I was able to get the Trandoshan off of me finally.”

You find it difficult to look at either one of them, so your gaze flickers up to the little horns on the armorer’s helmet as you take another sip of tea before continuing, “I… I passed out again; I don’t know why I was so tired, but when I woke up again, it was night time and the bounty hunter had come back for me and was taking Paz’s blade from my hand. He asked me who I got the weapon from and as soon as I said Paz, I could tell he regretted everything.”

The armorer speaks after Paz lets out an infuriated growl, standing up to his most intimidating size, though the female Mandalorian feels no sort of fear as she speaks only to you, “And do you truly feel as though our bounty hunter felt sorry for what he did to you?”

You sit up a little straighter and stare right into her visor, thinking hard about your response before answering out loud, though you can tell Paz is seething and vibrating with rage.

“I think he felt sorry for hurting someone who was precious to Paz, but not that I was protecting something I considered dear to me,” You inform her in an earnest, hushed tone, making her cock her helmet to the side a little, “I think he was just a man doing his job as a bounty hunter, but he was also cruel to me. When I tried to tell him that I knew Paz, he would make me be quiet and told me that whatever I had to say did not matter.”

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly brush away the tears at your lashes as you continue, “He almost made me believe the stories that my parents used to tell me of Mandalorians, but I know Paz enough to know the stories aren’t true. I’ve only known Imalia--Ima--for a few minutes, but she treated me kindly and I do not wish to believe that everyone in your tribe could be so cruel, especially when you and her have shown me respect.”

“And how have I shown you respect when all I’ve done is given you the opportunity to tell me your story, little one?”

“I think that is one of the kindest ways you can treat another--to allow them to speak up for themselves without judging them,” Warmth spreads through your cheeks and ears as you take another sip of your sweet, spicy tea and you gaze shyly at the armorer, “I know my voice shakes when I am scared or angry and that I cry more than I probably should, but you and Paz and even Ima have shown me more respect than anyone else I’ve met in the last decade. Even if I was not accepted, I am grateful to see that love and kindness has lived underneath this cruel village for so long.”

The armorer stares at you in an unwavering manner and you fear the worst when she slowly turns her helmet to gaze up at Paz, who’s still staring intently at you, and she almost sounds amused as she turns to you once again, “It seems as though our heavy-infantry warrior was correct when he informed us all that it is impossible to dislike you.”

“I only wish to treat others the same way I would like to be treated,” You smile at the thought of your grouchy Mandalorian giving you such high praise about you to his family and you curl your fingers against your knees, “I apologize that this is the way I was introduced to you--all bloody and still shaken up.”

Her head tilts to the side in a curious manner, “Our tribe’s bounty hunter was careless and hurt you, yet you are the one apologizing?”

“It was my fault for--”

“Do not feel sorry or at fault for this, cyare,” Paz insists and you finally look up at him as he speaks through clenched teeth, “Where is Djarin, ner alor? I will have him begging for forgiveness at her feet the second I see him--I want him to suffer for what he did to her!”

The armorer lets out with a tired sigh and she shakes her helmet a little as you timidly finish off your tea, watching the altercation take place over the rim of your mug, “Our bounty hunter is currently asleep in his quarters, just as you two should be.”

Paz refuses to back down and you fear that he’s actually going to kill his fellow Mandalorian as his deep baritone grows louder and more infuriated, “I want to kill him, I don’t care that he is currently resting. He is a coward and--”

“Your little healer is exhausted and afraid,” The armorer reminds him firmly, standing up to her full height and you realize her true power when Paz recoils a little, “She is in a new place, surrounded by people she has never met and it has been a long day for her. Would you be so cruel and selfish to deny her relaxation after witnessing such trauma? The nurse is about to fall out of her chair, and yet you only wish to seek violence when she has already seen too much of it in her lifetime.”

“I didn’t--” Paz’s helmet jolts a little as he gazes intensely at you, though you offer him a weak, tired smile, “I am sorry, ner cyare, I was not thinking properly.”

“It’s okay,” You shake your head a little as you slowly stand, your hand traveling to the cauterized wound at your hip; and Paz is instantly at your side when you keel over a little bit in pain, “Although it would be nice to um, to maybe get all of this blood out of my hair?”

“Negotiations for the nurse’s future with the tribe will continue tomorrow,” The armorer stands tall, somehow exuding more power and grace than your blue warrior, “In the meantime, she will recover and rest for as long as she requires.”

“Th-Thank you,” Paz gently presses his hand to the small of your back as you offer your gratitude to the tribe’s matriarch, “For everything.”

She simply offers you a curt nod and watches as Paz dutifully takes you to his private quarters. 

The enclave is a lot quieter than you would have expected and you think they must have some sort of system when it comes to training and sleeping; you have so many questions, but you don’t want to sound too nosy, so you remain silent during the small journey. Your eyelids feel incredibly heavy as he quietly guides you and you pray the Mandalorian doesn’t think too differently after hearing your story--that he doesn’t see you to be any less of yourself for being forced to steal someone’s life.

He’s still tense as he wraps an arm around your waist to help you descend another staircase leading even deeper into the enclave and you hate that you are a part of the reason why he’s so angry and upset. You hate his moody silence, knowing that he’s normally so talkative with you and could probably carry a conversation with himself if it meant you had his full interest.

Tiredly, you make it your own little mission to distract him from his inner turmoil and gently grab his yellow gauntlet once the two of you make it to the bottom of the staircase. His helmet jolts to the side to gaze down at you as you hold his forearm to your stomach, your fingers barely grazing the slim barrel attached to the top of his gauntlet.

You smile up at his visor, whispering out a meek little, ‘I love you.’

Instantly, he stops walking to lean down to press his forehead against yours and warmth settles over your heart similarly to the way his cape around your cold frame brings you comfort and security.

Immediately, he relaxes his tense muscles and lets out a deep sigh, “I love you too, cyare.”

You observe your dark surroundings closely as he leads you past what seems to be several different alcoves that you assume must be the living quarters for other Mandalorians, the entrances to them covered by thick black fabric. You’re surprised when he guides you past them and around a corner where there’s a stone door straight at the end of the corridor; you wonder if he has a bigger room than everyone else because of his status or ranking within the tribe, though you think it rude to ask and simply follow him into his dimly lit quarters.

You’re surprised to find that it’s far bigger than your little hut and you take in all the new surroundings with curiosity.

You keep your hands clasped tightly together, feeling awkward as you watch the warrior calmly make his way to a huge chest on the floor at the foot of his massive bed, seeming utterly relaxed as he begins to remove his big gauntlets and black gloves. placing them inside the large chest. You almost think he’s forgotten about you until he stands up again and purposely wanders back to you, immediately intertwining his fingers through yours and giving your hand a gentle tug.

“You must be dying for a shower,” He sighs softly, leading you further into his private quarters and through a small alcove protected by black drapes; your cheeks burn hotter than coals when you think of how easy it would be for him to easily invade your privacy, though you know him to be a respectful man, “The water doesn’t always get the warmest, but I’m sure it will be nicer than whatever you had at your home.”

You perk up when you see the big shower and dozens of little holes in the ceiling where the water must fall from, “We had a sonic shower at the infirmary. I’ve never used a real one with actual water.”

The blue warrior stares at you for a few moments before shaking his head a little; he digs through your small canvas bag, pulling out the jars that contain your hair products, as well as your bar of soap. You watch with curiosity as he opens the glass door the shower and places your stuff on a small shelf next to his own belongings and it finally hits you that you are actually at his covert with him and not your measly little hut with a man who hates you.

Paz twists a metal knob a few times around, causing a soft whirring noise, followed by fat droplets of water to fall from the holes in the ceiling and your eyes widen a little at the sight.

“Take as long as you want,” He gently orders in a cool rasp, stroking your bruised cheek with the utmost care and immediately, you turn your head to kiss his palm, earning you a little sigh from him, “I’ll go get some food for you while you shower.”

He turns to leave you alone, but your curiosity gets the better of you and you awkwardly speak up in his native tongue, “Ori kebiin--”

Immediately, the Mandalorian freezes, his back facing you as you speak the strange words that the guard had spoken earlier, “That’s what Ima said, right? I know you told me that saviin’ika means violet and I heard her say that, but what does ori kebiin mean? Is it your title in the tribe?”

“I--It’s just--” Paz seems to hesitate for a few moments before you hear him let out with a frustrated groan, “It is what many of the younger ones in the tribe refer to me as; it means big blue. When I told you that saviin’ika only meant violet, I lied to you, cyare. Saviin means violet, but ‘ika means little.”

“Big blue and little violet?” You murmur, cheeks burning more intensely than any severe sunburn could possibly inflict on you as the warmth spreads to the tip of your ears, “That’s what she was so--”

“It’s nothing,” He huffs a little and rolls his head a little, the joints in his neck cracking from the tension that comes with a long day, "The younger ones in the tribe keep teasing me about you because they know they can get away with it."

You nod and quietly ask him one last question before he can leave, "Where is my vulptex? You said she was here, right?"

Paz chuckles a little as you frantically voice your concerns aloud, now that the two of you are safe and alone, "She is most likely in the nursery with the little ones. She has been fed and taken care of all day, cyare, please do not worry about anyone other than yourself right now. I’ll be out there if you need anything, just call if you need help."

You smile and give him one last 'thank you’ as he leaves you to wash yourself. Slowly and tiredly, you peel your clothes from your bruised and bloodied body and excitedly make your way into the shower.

A gasp nearly leaves you upon feeling the warm water gently pelt against your skin and you smile a little as you tilt your head backwards and let the water loosen the dried blood from your hair. A content sigh escapes you as you remove your metal cuffs from the tails of your braids and you place them on a little stone shelf next to yours’ and Paz's toiletries before getting to work on gently washing your mane, taking your time to make sure all the blood is removed.

You do everything in your power to not pay attention to the pink swirl of water that runs around the big drain in daunting circles. 

Instead, you focus on the scent of your comforting floral shampoo or the spicy, woodsy scent of your warrior’s toiletries as you curiously bring the bar of soap to your nose to smell it.

You're not sure how long you're under the warm spray of water, your eyelids threatening to slip shut, but eventually, you're finally clean and ridden of any proof that you've stolen a life. Reluctantly, you shut the water off and step out onto a furry mat, grabbing a towel that's neatly folded next to your canvas bag. As you dry yourself, making sure not to jostle your injured hip too much, you realize just how much better you already feel now that you're clean.

It’s only once you’ve put on your nightgown that you risk a glance at the little mirror that hangs above the sink and immediately freeze. You look exhausted, you realize as you stare at your wide-eyed expression with sadness and defeat, your eyes filled with the same kind of intense emotion that would be in a young warrior’s eyes upon coming back from war. Hastily, you turn your attention to your hair, carefully combing out all the knots with the comb that Paz had dutifully tucked into the canvas bag for you.

When you brush through your hair for what must be the hundredth time, you realize you’re only delaying the inevitable--him seeing your arms and the rest of your body so exposed in your nightgown, along with all the scars and welts displayed across parts of your arms and shoulders that he’s never seen before.

‘He is a warrior,’ You remind yourself fiercely, nervously tucking a wet lock of hair behind the curve of your ear as you muster up the courage to sweep the thick curtain to the side, ‘He is used to scars and he’s told you countless times that he doesn’t mind them.’

Your nerves are at an all time high as you spot your Mandalorian in the tiny kitchenette in his private quarters, setting a wooden bowl down onto the table and you tiredly smile as he places a small spoon next to it.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower.”

Paz turns around and freezes upon meeting your gaze with his black visor; you can feel water dripping onto the thin satin material of your dress, as well as down your neck and you blink with curiosity as he remains glued to his spot in front of the little table that you realize is next to a stone furnace. He’s holding a bowl with steam dancing along the surface and your mouth instinctively waters when you catch a whiff of all the spices and unfamiliar scents of the savory meal. Behind him, you see a small piece of bread and another bowl filled with vibrant fresh fruit and you feel your heart clench at the mere thought of eating something sweet.

“You don’t have to keep thanking me for everything,” He kindly informs you, pulling out a chair as an invitation to sit down as he sets the bowl on the table, “It is... nice to see you looking more like your normal self already.”

You smile warmly at him and take a seat as the Mandalorian begins to disarm his heavy weapons and equipment, placing them in a safe spot near his massive bed where they are readily accessible, should danger dare threaten him. You nervously fiddle with the wet ends of your clean hair as your knee bounces frantically, watching him as he begins to slowly remove his armor, starting with his pauldrons as he carefully places them in that large chest at the foot of his bed.

His helmet turns and he immediately notices your hesitation to eat the food he’s laid out for you, “You... You can help yourself, cyare. I have already eaten and I can tell you’re hungry.”

You politely murmur a quiet ‘thank you’, not noticing the way his shoulders drop a little as you finally pick up the spoon to eat, your stomach growling more intensely than a rabid beast. Tucking a leg underneath yourself, you tentatively blow on the steaming spoonful of delicious looking stew before bringing it to your mouth and before you can fully register all the different spices, your taste buds explode.

Paz nearly chuckles upon watching your eyes slowly close as you experience all the different flavors for the first time, “I’m going to shower while you eat.”

“Mhm,” You simply hum, barely aware of him shaking his head in an amused manner as you practically ignore him, focusing only on the well-seasoned stew as he makes his way to the refresher. 

You’re slightly sad when your spoon inevitably scrapes the bottom of the wooden dish, but excitement fills you when you remember the bowl of fruit that had been left for you. The berry you pick up is a deep shade of purple and covered in white streaks and you slowly let it slip between your lips, your shoulders falling when you bite into the berry, causing tart juice to explode in your mouth.

You’re not sure how long you must be savoring the fruit for, but eventually, your Mandalorian exits the refresher, completely ridden of all the padding and armor and his visor instantly seeks you out; you’re in the process of licking juice off your finger when your eyes dart upwards to find him standing only a few feet away from you. 

Immediately you freeze, eyes wide as he walks around with his scarred torso completely bared to you, his black sleep pants slung low on his hips and you find it nearly impossible to look away from the rich brown skin that he’s choosing to expose to you for the first time. The muscles of his shoulders and arms are more defined than his soft chest and stomach and you think he must carry most of his strength in those powerful arms, what with being his tribe’s heavy-infantry warrior.

You’re grateful that he’s not touching your cheeks or ears, that way he can’t truly tell how flustered you are. Instead, he dutifully retrieves an extra fur that’s folded in one of the drawers off to the side, only turning to meet your gaze once he’s done covering his mattress in the warm material.

He must take your wide-eyed expression the wrong way, because he almost sounds afraid when he quietly speaks up, “What? You do not wish to see me like this? Are you uncomfortable?”

Immediately, you abandon your fruit and stand up to approach him, “I think you are beautiful, Paz.”

He scoffs a little, but accepts a warm embrace from you as you rest your cheek against his sternum and hook your arms underneath his armpits so you can lay your hands atop his defined shoulder blades. Instantly, his arms are wrapped tightly around your own shoulders and he holds you close to his warm chest where you can feel his heart thumping against your ear like a beacon of power and strength.

“That is my line,” He murmurs, and your lips stretch into a tired smile against his soft skin, the dark curls loosely splayed along his chest are coarse as they tickle your cheek, though you don’t mind at all, “Besides, I thought you once said you would not dare to feed my ego anymore than you already have.”

You close your eyes, taking comfort in the deep rumbling of his chest and voice as you feel his heart thrum powerfully and frantically against your eardrum, “Something makes me think your ego is not as massive as I once thought it to be.”

He scoffs, but simply holds you close to him and you can’t remember the last time you’ve felt such comforting skin on skin contact like this; his huge arms simultaneously acting as a heater and a shield. He hums when you let out a relieved sigh, your warm breath fanning across his sternum as he shivers a little and brings a hand up to gently rub the back of your head, not caring that your hair is still dripping wet and getting onto his own chest.

“Sweetheart,” His chest rumbles as he speaks and your eyes flicker up to meet his visor, “We are both exhausted, it is time for us to rest, I think. Besides, I would much rather hold you like this in my bed.”

You smile and nod a little, watching as he stands tall and moves to turn off all the lights in the dim room. Hesitantly, you make your way underneath the thick furs that are draped on top of the mattress and as you let your head rest on top of a soft pillow, you fear that you will simply sink right through it, as you’ve never rested on something so pliable. Once it’s pitch black in the room and you feel the weight of his warm body dipping in the mattress next to you, you turn over onto your side to face him, despite not being able to see him in the slightest.

Immediately, your mind goes into overdrive as you think of what you’re supposed to do--what he expects from you--and you nearly jump when you feel the gentle weight of his palm carefully resting on top of your sunburnt cheek, his thumb tenderly stroking the tail of your brow. You’re not sure if you should move closer to him or what you should do with your hands as he moves the tiniest bit closer to you. Thinking of the Trandoshan and how you'd been pinned underneath his lifeless body for so long, you suddenly crave to feel his heartbeat and you scoot closer to the man that feels more like a furnace.

He doesn't say a word as he moves so he's on his back and lifts a big arm above his head, patiently waiting as you find a comfortable position to rest your head. Finally, after a few awkward seconds of the two of you fumbling around in the dark, your head finds its home on his chest, your cheek pressed against a thick, raised scar and you close your eyes with a soft smile. His arm comes down from above his head to hold you closer to him, his other hand moving to continue its previous ministrations on your cheeks and lips as you rest your palm above his heart.

You’re half asleep when you feel a crooked finger press up against the underside of your jaw, guiding your head upwards slightly and you gasp when you feel something warm and plush kiss the top of your hair.

You’re utterly unfamiliar with the sensation of being kissed, but when you feel the same pressure against your forehead, followed by an unmodulated sigh and warm breath fanning across your face, you realize the warrior has broken part of his sacred code.

He took his helmet off for you.

“P-Paz, you--” Your voice trembles and you feel his lips quirk into a smile against the brow he’s currently kissing before he moves to the bridge of your nose, “Your helmet!”

“What about it, sweetheart?”

You feel at a loss for words at the sound of his unfiltered voice and he lets out with a small chuckle at your intense reaction, humming softly against your skin as he squeezes you a little tighter.

“Can you see my face?” He questions softly against the apple of your cheek, and you shiver at the sound of his smooth baritone in the raw; when you answer him with a weak little ‘no’, he continues with amusement evident in his unfiltered voice, “Then I have not brought dishonor to my tribe or you.”

“Are you sure?”

He huffs out a small chuckle against the tip of your nose and you smile at how different his laughter sounds without his helmet--much lighter and less crackly--and you cling onto his warm voice as he firmly rubs the stress away from your shoulders and cradles your jaw with his other hand. After being handled so roughly and grossly by the Trandoshan, his tender hands fill your aching heart with love and relief; your eyelids slowly slip shut when you feel him move his torso a little off the bed so he can kiss your chin.

“I am positive, sweet nurse.”

Shyly, you lift your hand from his chest and rest it on the side of his neck as he lightly nuzzles his nose into the damp hair that’s just a little above the tip of your ear, seeming to feel no shame as he inhales the scent of your shampoo and conditioner.

You shiver when he presses another kiss into your hair and you speak up as your hand slowly inches up his neck, feeling all the little scars and veins that are prominent, along with the way his Adam’s apple shifts up and down when you graze past it, “Am I allowed to touch your face?”

He hums and moves his head to kiss all the areas on your face that he previously missed--the corners of your eyes, the spot between your brows, as well as the sides of your nose--but he ultimately decides to venture to the corner of your lips, “You may do whatever you wish to me.”

Your face grows hot as he captures your earlobe between his thumb and index finger, a large grin spreading across his lips when he feels the intense warmth on the pad of his fingers, and you shyly continue your ascent up to his face. The first thing you feel is a coarse beard and you nearly jump away from him when the wiry hair tickles and scratches against your sensitive palms; it feels neatly trimmed, cropped just a few inches underneath his smooth cheekbones and you think he must take great care to not slack with his daily hygiene or grooming.

Before you can make it to his nose, the massive warrior sighs against the corner of your lips and speaks in the most wistful tone you think you’ve ever heard--

“May I kiss you properly now, cyare?”

You freeze, completely caught off guard by his words as you hesitantly lift your head from his chest, aiming your gaze in the direction where you think his eyes must be as he reluctantly drops his head back against the pillow. His fingers tense along your sore shoulder blade and you fear that he must feel that he’s done something wrong because of your hesitation, but as you manage to turn and move until your chest is pressed against his, you shyly explore his plump lips with your fingertips.

Curiosity gets the better of you at the thought of exploring his lips with yours and you lower your head and use your hands to guide your lips to his in the darkness of his room.

Immediately, you soften against him, your palms cradling his scratchy cheeks as you shyly kiss him and you're surprised at how warm and soft his lips are against yours.

You can’t help but to grin a little at the deep groan he lets out when he seems to realize that you’re actually kissing him.

Tilting your head a little to the side, you find it easier to kiss him the way you wish and you feel Paz completely relax underneath the tiny weight of your body as you fully press your lips against his, the side of your nose lightly bumping against his. You can smell the minty scent of his own shampoo mixed with the woodsiness of his body wash and you think it intoxicates you as he reaches up to cup the back of your head to keep you from straying too far from his tender lips. 

A small whimper escapes you when his teeth graze your bottom lip and you feel lighter and bereft of all thought when you reluctantly pull away from each other, feeling like a night sky without her moon and you can’t stop yourself from stealing another kiss, earning another soft noise from the surprised man. 

Your heart pounds a little faster when you feel his hand dip down to your waist to carefully hike you further up his body so he doesn’t have to lift his head as much and you smile as you bring your hands up to cup his scruffy cheeks; as your thumbs graze his cheekbones, you’re delighted to find that they are just as warm as your own. You’re practically laying on top of him, though he doesn’t seem to mind the weight of your body in the slightest as he holds you close to him.

Paz makes a small humming noise as he gently rubs a large hand up and down your back, continuing to kiss the corners of your lips and cheeks with fervor even when you pull away for air; you close your eyes in bliss, unfamiliar with the affection, but also basking in his warmth--his love.

“Ni kar'tayli gar darasuum.”

He whispers the unfamiliar words several times against your warm skin and you think he must be telling you the sweetest words, what with how quiet and soft he’s grown underneath you and your curiosity immediately gets the better of you.

“What does that mean?” 

“In Mando’a, it means ‘I hold you in my heart forever’,” He explains, teeth grazing your sensitive jawline before moving upwards to steal another kiss from your grinning lips, “It is our way of telling another that we love them.”

You think it sounds far more beautiful than those other simple three words but you let the warrior kiss your lips as many times as he wishes, thinking that perhaps he’s never been this intimate with another. Also because you’ve never been showered with such affection and you think receiving it from Paz is one of the most beautiful phenomenons you’ve ever experienced.

"Your lips still taste like fruit," He informs you as his lips graze your jawline before moving to your ear, "I wonder if the rest of you tastes so sweet."

The gruffness of his tone combined with the way his teeth gently nip at your lobe has you feeling as though you're going to pass out or spontaneously combust. Shyly, you tuck your head firmly underneath his chin, your sunburned cheeks feeling even hotter as the warrior's chest rumbles with a deep laugh.

“I think you only wished to have me here so you can torment me,” You whisper against his bare neck, earning another chuckle from your Mandalorian as he continues to rub your spine in a comforting manner, “I don’t think I mind this kind of torment though. I would not mind having this every night, if you and your people were so kind to allow it.”

“They will,” He murmurs, squeezing you tighter to him, “Please, cyare, rest your eyes. You have had a long day, but you are safe with me now.”

You breathe a sigh of relief and contentment as your eyelids slowly slip shut, exhaustion overtaking your body as he continues to gently press tender kisses to your cheeks and brows until you fall into a strange sleep where you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not. You have nightmares of the Trandoshan’s body pinned against yours, as well as sweet dreams of spending the rest of your days underneath such tender care of your Mandalorian.

You’re in a strange limbo of intense nightmares and delightful dreams, but Paz seems to wake up whenever you whimper or let out with a small cry, reminding you in a hushed whisper that you are somewhere safe with him, rather than the infirmary or your hut. It’s not until you feel him stroking the tail of your brow that you fully fall into a peaceful sleep with visions of blue Beskar and strong arms.

You barely wake up with a quiet whimper hours later when you feel him lightly shuffling your body off of his before speaking in a soft, raspy whisper, “I must leave now for negotiations, cyare. You stay here and rest, okay? I shouldn’t be too long.”

“M’kay,” You blearily hum, nuzzling your face into the pillow that smells like Paz and you’re only slightly aware of the way he gives you one last kiss against your brow before he leaves you to put his armor and helmet on and begin his duties for the day.

You don’t sleep for too much longer, finding that Paz has taken all the warmth with him, even with the plush, thick fur that covers your body. You stare up at the ceiling for a few until you hear the covert slowly come alive, metal scraping against metal and loud shouts in an alien language followed by ringing laughter. Feeling slightly lazy and useless, you decisively get out of the comfortable, massive bed and make your way into the refresher, preparing yourself for what you think might be a long, strange day.

It feels bizarre seeing your hair without its flowers and a part of you wonders if Paz still has the flowers you gave him; perhaps you would still be able to plant them and grow some more, you ponder hopefully.

After you finish your typical morning routine, choosing to leave your hair without your usual braids, you throw on your leggings and sweater before cautiously poking your head out the door. You’re surprised to find the corridor empty and slowly leave Paz’s quarters, despite his insistence on you resting.

Curiosity has you nervously wringing your hands together as you make it to the staircase that Paz had led you down the previous night, and you jump a little upon hearing loud cheering and the shrill sound of metal clanging and scraping against each other. After finally making it up the stairs, you tentatively head in the direction that the ruckus is coming from.

It’s not until you hear Paz’s infuriated baritone of a voice that you make haste to the armory, barely remembering how to get there. Eventually, you round a corner and nearly freeze upon seeing several armored Mandalorians surrounding what appears to be some sort of altercation in front of the forge and you immediately sigh when you see a blue helmet right in the center of it. 

You spot Ima, who seems to stand out from the others with her bright armor and you perk up a little as you approach her.

“Ima,” You say her name just loud enough for her to hear over the a loud shriek of metal being scraped, successfully gaining her attention as she turns to face you, “What’s going on?”

“See for yourself,” She sounds slightly amused and you allow her to place a hand on your shoulder, urging you between her and another huge Mandalorian that barely cocks his helmet to look down at you, “Your ori kebiin verd is fighting for your honor, though I don’t think Djarin is putting up much of a fight.”

You gasp upon seeing the bounty hunter from the previous day crumbled to the ground on his knees, Paz’s hand curled into the thick material of his cowl to hold him up properly.

“How many credits did you deem her life worthy of?!” Paz roars and you instantly freeze, thinking you’ve never heard him this infuriated, even towards your father, “Tell me you fucking hu’tuun! Tell me how many credits you were given in exchange for an innocent, precious life!”

“Five hundred,” The bounty hunter rasps, sounding weak and terribly injured underneath all the Beskar and your instincts have you stepping forward, though Ima is quick to ground you in place with a hand on your shoulder; she simply shakes her head when you peer up at her.

“Five--you gave her away for five hundred credits?!” You feel frozen as Paz forces him to his feet and drags him over to the forge that is now activated, “You only did it because you thought she would be an easy target, didn’t you, Djarin?”

The bounty hunter grunts when Paz forcefully pushes him backwards, slamming his head against the outer rim of the forge before wrapping his fingers around the injured man’s neck and holding his shiny helmet close to the intense flames.

You immediately voice your fears to Ima, who seems unfazed, as though this is a common occurrence, “Is Paz going to actually kill him?”

“Nah, this happens all the--” She stops mid sentence upon hearing the bounty hunter’s grunts and groans from the intense, suffocating heat that’s trapped underneath his helmet, though Paz makes no move to let him go, “Actually, he might go through with it this time. If not, Djarin’s definitely going to wish he was dead.”

“What?” Paz scoffs when the bounty hunter begins to thrash a little harder against the warrior’s unwavering grip, the heat most likely becoming more unbearable, “Can’t handle a little heat, vod? I’m sure you’re crying under that damn helmet more than she cried when you forced her to cauterize her own fucking wound.”

“I didn’t--” The bounty hunter sounds like he’s trying to disguise his excruciating pain and you feel your shoulders tense up to your earlobes, hating that you feel sympathy for the man who attempted to trade your life away for such a small price.

“Do you know how many times she tried to tell you?” Paz’s voice drops to a terrifying growl, the noise crackly and you wonder what’s currently going through his mind, “Do you know what she already had to deal with every damn day and you--” Tears fill your eyes at the pain in his next words, “You know what she means to me and you made her too scared to even look at me, hu’tuun. I almost lost her because of my own brother!”

You fear that the bounty hunter has passed out when he doesn’t respond, his body growing limp underneath Paz’s grip, but the warrior continues, “Why don’t I help you with that heat problem, Djarin? Bet you could use a little fresh air.”

You gasp when a large hand moves to the chin of the bounty hunter’s shiny helmet, his fingers curling underneath the lip and you immediately understand what he wants to do.

“You’re going to look her in eyes when you beg for forgiveness at her feet, Din Djarin.”

Translations *this is for all the dialogue between Imalia and Paz*

norac bid Nusujii, ori kebiin=back so soon, big blue?

cuyir ibic gar orikih baar'ur, ba’vodu?=is this your tiny medic, uncle?

Elek=yes (Lek is more casual, like ‘yeah’)

Ni copad at haa'taylir kaysh=I want to see her

Gar liser't chayaikir kaysh guuror ibic=You can't tease her like this

Ni guuror kaysh=i like her

cuyir gar orikih baar’ur ratiin ibic pel=Is your tiny medic always this soft?

tion'jor an te tal?=why all the blood?

vaii cuyir te sarad gar rucuyir cyau'kuyc at dinuir kaysh?=where is the flower you were excited to give her?

cuyir te baar'ur shupur'yc?= is the medic injured?

ner alor=my leader

Then there’s the usual words for nicknames and such:

Saviin’ika=Little violet

Cyare=Beloved, loved, popular

Hu’tuun=Coward

Verd=Warrior

Author’s note: Thank you all so much for the kind, supportive words on the last chapter!! Like, literally everyone has been so sweet and so supportive despite me being more inactive than usual and it seriously means the world to me?? Like I said before, I’m so excited to have more time to be active on here and interact with you all much more!! I love you all so much, hope you’re having a wonderful day, and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it <33

Taglist: @parabatai-winchester @auty-ren @theocatkov @oloreaa @talesfromtheguild  @blindedbyyourgrace17 @datmando @dartheldur @miscellaneous-mando @karpasia @ben-is-a-hoe @the-feckless-wonder @whatababeleia @maybege @aeryntheofficial @corrupt-fvcker @lackofhonor @phoenixhalliwell @crazy-kat-in-the-hat @roxypeanut @mandolovian @honestlystop @teaofpeach @macabrefaerie @acynicalcat @spaghetti-666 @readsalot73 @lanatheawesome @absurdthirst @anakinsittinginsand @yes-music-is-my-religion​ @tangledlove27 @justrunamok @peqchynero​ @haloangel391​ @honestlystop​ @cryptkeepersoul​ @haloangel391​ @awhiskeywithawinchester *As always, if I missed anyone, please let me know ASAP!! 

[kashimos-hajime]

buried in your bones | b.b.

summary: “Promise you’ll love me always.”

WARNINGS: fluff, angst, blood, violence, swearing, drinking, magic and therefore magic haters pairing: king!bucky x queen!reader word count: 11.1k

a/n: inspired by hurricane by fleurie. i recommend listening to it for proper vibes :) written for @serpienten​​​​ and @buckysknifecollection​​​​. i had the prompt king/queen au and a dialogue prompt that is bolded. sorry this took so long! am still working through some killer writer’s block :( but enjoy!

James can taste nothing but blood in his mouth as he plunges his sword through chainmail. His ears are ringing from the sound of metal singing with every slice, every clash of his sword against his opponents and his foot catches on a dead knight’s arm as he whirls around.

All around him, dirt is flying and there is the smell of smoke as he twirls out of the way of a horse with no rider. Sweat dripping through his armour, he spots a soldier pinned down and charges, running the attacker through his sword and kicking him off the tip.

The smell of shit fills his mouth as he sucks in a wet gasp, helping the soldier get up. Clapping his shoulder, James can barely hear himself over the clamour of battle raging around him.

“Are we winning?” Steve asks harshly, shrugging off his king’s hand, and James feels cold ice spear up his limb at the bitter glare his knight commander pins him down with. Steve has lost his helmet, his golden hair dark with mud and blood but his eyes burn bright. “Is this worth it for you?”

“Volley!”

The word pierces through the haze and the two men collapse to their knees, ducking their heads as arrows stab into the dirt around them, the inflamed tips snuffing out as soon as they sink into wet mud.

“I want nothing more than to retreat, but they attacked first,” is his reply. He knows it’s pathetic.

He knows he’s at war because his people crave what they think is justice, because his people hate what they don’t understand.

He had been the same once.

Straightening, James jerks back as a sword tries to cleave him in two, and Steve is lost to him in the furious chaos of battle. Parrying another blow, he shoves his shoulder into his opponent’s gut and knocks him off his feet, dark hair flying into his face as he shoves the metal through the man’s stomach. The strangled scream echoes in his ears as he pulls it out with a wet schluck.

Stumbling back, James looks up to see more of his men clad in their refined red and gold armour storming down the hill, and he whips around, watching as more soldiers in gold and white fall. He can barely discern who is on his side, who is on Asgard’s.

“Well, if it isn’t the King of Kings!”

The voice, even to this day, harsh and rich with arrogance that only comes from believing their purpose is righteous, causes a fire in James to ignite.

Turning around slowly, he sees the gleaming dark armour, the stained black leather, the stench of death following his wake. Lord Rumlow scrapes the blood off one short sword with the other and James swears he can see someone’s brains along his knuckles drenched in blood as he raises his own sword.

“Rumlow.”

“How are you, m’lord?” he drawls, that knifepoint smirk digging into his cheeks as he raises one of his swords, the tip pointing for James’ eyes. Scarlet drips from the edge and James swallows the knot in his throat. He has no illusions that if given the chance, the man will stab him through the throat slowly, sinking that blade through his flesh as he watched the light die from James’ eyes and relish in it, but he is a dog.

A dog with a master.

“Where is she?” James asks, the words tearing out of his throat as he sweeps his gaze through the dying battle. The ground is littered with the fallen and he can taste death on his tongue—bitter and cold and vile. “Where is she?”

Lord Rumlow merely laughs, harsh and sharp and poisonous. He circles James like a predator circles cornered prey, slowly making his way within sword range, and James watches those dark eyes narrow in bloody glee. “As if she’d come here for you.”

“I know she is.” He doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s dark with fury as Lord Rumlow merely cocks his head, intrigued. “I saw her on the rise.” Hair sticks to his skin and his heart is nothing more than threads barely holding together. “Please, we can end this—”

“You still love her.” It is nothing but cold, brutal truth and James flinches as soon as he hears it. It exhausts him to hear those words, to know that someone like Lord Rumlow knows what he had refused to believe, to know that he’d been the fool for years.

Lord Rumlow lunges forward, bringing his short sword down upon James’ shoulder. Blocking the blow, the king falls onto his back. Metal sings in his bones as their swords drag against each other.

James manages to drive the sword into the dirt, his lungs heaving for air as he jerks his head away from the tip. A wild glint falls into the dog’s eyes as his lips curl into a vicious snarl as James tries to throw the man off. His skin is slick with mud and blood and sweat, and James can feel the heat kiss him at all sides. It’s suffocating in his armour, clouds of hot air gathering in his back, under his arms, on his face.

Brock wrenches his bassinet off and James barely has time to prepare himself for the punch before it hits. His head snaps back into the mud, nose blooming in pain as his eyes squeeze shut to prepare for another strike, but hands merely wrap around his throat.

“How dare you claim to love her? How dare you say that after what you’ve done? You’re not even fit to say her name!”

Fingers dig deeper into his throat and James gasps for air, blood slipping down his cheeks from his nostrils. Mouth gaping, he wraps his hands around Lord Rumlow’s sleeves. The cacophony falls away, the sound of everything fading as James forces his eyes open, staring into the pits of his strangler’s eyes, and his feet kick, slip through mud.

“You. It was always you,” Rumlow murmurs. “Even after all these years, she chose you time and time again with nothing to show for it. She should’ve killed you when she had the chance.”

“What did you just say to me?” James chokes out and Rumlow laughs, sharp and his teeth are bared in a sadistic grin. 

“You’re in no position to threaten me, m’lord.”

“No, what— what do you mean?” Another fist to the cheek, James’ world spins as his head jerks sideways. He can hear his blood gurgling in his head, in his throat, as he digs his fingers deeper into Rumlow’s gloved hands.

“All these years and you still don’t know.”

Unworthy. Unworthy. Unworthy, Rumlow’s voice chants in James’ head.

It is all he can hear.

Black dots impede his vision as the strength drains from his body.

“She never trusted you. She could never trust you. And how could she? Your family ruined her life!”

What?

“Please, don’t—” That voice from so long ago, scratched and aching with its plea for mercy, echoes in his ears and his eyes flutter shut.

“And why would she? You won’t even fight for her honour,” Rumlow derides, a cruel laugh mutilating his words. “You don’t deserve her love. You deserve nothing!”

There’s a snap.

“Get off of him!” a voice snaps, dark with power, and the weight lifts from his chest, but it is too late.

James doesn’t recall falling into the abyss, but he knows he falls when everything goes silent.

.

“Prince James, let me introduce my daughter.”

That is how it starts, when he is nothing more than thirteen, reading in the garden’s hedge maze. The sun is golden, the wind smells like sugar and sweet fruits, and the sky is bluer than sapphires as he closes his book and looks up at the approaching man.

When he thinks on it years later, he thinks it is just as how all the fairytales, all fables, start.

He recognizes the man—a diplomat, lord of some powerful house.

The girl behind him, however, he doesn’t.

You’re wearing a dark red dress, your hair pulled elegantly away from your face, and you’ve the warmest eyes he’s ever seen. A fire ignites inside him, smoldering him from the inside out as you curtsy and he stands, his chair grating harshly against marble.

You smile at his flustered expression and he finds it beautiful.

“Your Highness.”

“My lady.”

“Your hedge maze was no challenge for me,” you proclaim and James laughs, tucking his book underneath his arm.

“And you’re good at puzzles?”

“The best.”

His heart no longer beats in his chest as your father explains that you’re simply here to shadow him in his diplomatic duties.

He had never worried about marrying a woman he didn’t know the name of, but now, as you cock your head and your smile grows sly at his shy grin, he knows you’ve stolen his heart the instant he laid eyes on you.

Any betrothal in his future will be for nothing because all he wants is to marry you.

.

It’s his seventeenth birthday and he’d spent the night before drinking smuggled whiskey and smoking rum with his friends. His head pounds now, with regret, as he tries to keep himself from falling asleep. His feast is going full swing, and he can’t quite recall ever feeling the effects of irresponsible drinking so strongly than tonight.

“Your Highness.”

You’re helping him in that regard.

“You can’t doze off, can you?”

He blinks, head jerking to you, and you smile.

“It wouldn’t be fit for a king to sleep at his own birthday feast.” Extending a hand over the table, you cock your head. “Dance with me. Perhaps then you’ll stay awake long enough to see the night to its end.” Standing, James feels blood rush through his body and he grins, placing his hand and yours and walking around the table. You tug him playfully into the center of the dance floor, the circlet gleaming in your hair.

The melodies of the band sink into his bones as he places a hand on your waist, the other interlacing with yours as he steps with the music.

“I apologize, my lady.”

“Oh, as you should.” You smile although your tone betrays it as he spins you around. Your dress floats, flares gracefully from your waist in dark green flames, matching the emerald on your sternum. A gift of his for your last birthday. “Illicit drinking without me? Honestly, it’s a crime.”

“Steve wanted to keep it a secret,” James protests as he dips you in one hand.

“Funnily enough, Lord Rogers said it was your idea.” Hoisting you back up, you send him a berating glare. “Honestly, you’ve never kept a secret from me. What’s going on, now? You’ve been ignoring me for days.”

“Nothing, bluebird,” he soothes as your hand settles on his shoulder, and a heat blossoms from your palm, through him. He could melt into your heat, the effortless hearth that stems from your very soul. His eyes settle on your confused expression, and he pulls you close, forehead knocking into yours. “I promise you. There is no secret.”

“You’re lying,” you murmur, eyes searching his. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“As are you.”

You scoff, drawing back and their noses brush as you narrow your gaze in a challenge. “You’d be surprised.” You twirl out of his reach with a parting glare, another lady taking your place and he’s surprised to see Lady Natasha smirking up at him. Taking her hand in his, he steps back into a bow while she curtsies. The music stalls for a moment as he kisses the redhead’s knuckles before it picks back up again.

“My lady.”

“She’s not very pleased, is she?” the redhead points out and James groans. “You invited her all this way and then chose to exclude her on the pre-celebration ritual.”

“Don’t tell me you’re the one who told her,” he complains, nearly stepping on Natasha’s toes but the lady quickly steps out from underneath his boot. “I’m trying to keep it all a secret. You know that.”

“I think you’re doing a terrible job of it. If you’re going to propose to her, it might be best not to act like she has the plague.”

“I haven’t!”

“Yes, you have. Don’t play the fool.” Natasha narrows her gaze, squeezing his hand painfully, and James winces. “You’ve never went a single week in the four years you’ve known her without sending her a letter and suddenly, the moment we get here, I have to listen to her complain about how you refuse to even look her in the eye and how you don’t spend any time on her, excusing it with flimsy reasons.” Shaking her head, Natasha pretends to accidentally step on James’ foot as they waltz around each other. “You’re lucky she loves you. She suspects something is wrong with you, and she’ll get it out.”

“And you didn’t tell her, did you?” James adds nervously, causing Natasha to sigh heavily, rolling her eyes. Her whole body seems to cave in with the stupidity James is apparently exuding as she sucks in a breath and tries to formulate a response not too rude for him.

“Of course not. Why would I ruin something like this for her, Your Highness?” With the last, biting word, Natasha is whisked away by a blond man with flushed cheeks and way too many drinks to be anything but a stuttering mess. James follows the redhead as she pulls Steve off the floor and sighs dejectedly, collapsing into the chair beside his best friend.

“Your birthday not all you wanted, my lord?” Steve crows as Natasha brings a goblet of wine to her mouth to hide her smile. James, with a glum smile, leans his cheek against his fist and watches you dance with another lord. He’s a bit older, one of the lords of your house, and handsome in a roguish sort of way.

Lord Rumlow, your sworn shield.

James does his best to bite his tongue when you toss your head back in a laugh and the knight grins, his obsidian eyes soft only for you.

The three friends exchange glances as you cup the knight’s cheek before slipping into the crowd just as the music ends, and James stands abruptly without a farewell to his companions. Pushing himself through the crowd, he mutters his pardons, your dress slipping between noble lords and ladies.

Breaking into the hall outside the ballroom, he doesn’t see a trace of you.

As if you’ve disappeared.

Sighing, he walks to the gardens. These halls are ones he knows well, ones he’s run through since he was nothing but a princeling escaping his nursemaid’s supposedly evil clutches. Then, as a boy after tutoring or a day out riding, and now…

He had walked you through these halls a dozen times and he still thinks you haven’t seen everything.

One place you do know, however, is the palace gardens.

The leaves are silver in the moonlight, a gentle wind rustling through the hedges as he makes his way through the hedge maze. Crickets chirp and some bird croons as he sucks in a warm summer breath. It smells heavenly, of flowers and sweet sugar, of light and clean water. He can hear the faint music from the palace, still, but the smell of hearty meats and smoke have faded to something softer, something warmer.

“James?”

Your voice pierces through the night air as he finds himself in the centre of the maze. You turn around on one of the benches to look at him, and he’s surprised by the morose expression printed onto your face.

“Are you alright?” Stepping to the bench, he sits down beside you with a frown. “Did something happen?”

“Brock was simply saying how I had to rest up tomorrow. We depart at dusk tomorrow to avoid the rebels.” You turn to him, a glumness to your face he’s not used to seeing and he takes your hands gently in his. “I’m sorry I have to leave so early. We were supposed to have the week together.”

“If the rebels are threatening the roads, it’s best you go before you can’t any longer,” he whispers, leaning forward and pressing his lips to your brow. You inhale shakily at his touch, leaning into him. “I’m sorry I can’t fix this.”

“You can’t fix everything, Bucky,” you mumble, your nose brushing against his as you pull back. James wrinkles his nose and you cup his cheek, thumb brushing underneath his eye. “I just don’t think this is a war we need to fight.”

.”These magic users are dangerous—”

“Those magic users are people,” you reply hotly, pulling back and standing. You turn away from him and James’ eyebrows knit together as he stands as well. He doesn’t reach out for you, and you wrap your arms around yourself. “They’re people who’ve been treated like beasts.” Approaching you slowly, he gently sets his hands along your shoulders and you whirl around in his grasp. Your eyes search his, and he feels something in him soften at the bleeding heart he can see in your chest.

“You know I can’t change my mother’s policies. Not after how Father died.” His throat cinches shut at the mention of the father he never knew and he turns away from your palm, looking up at the summer sky. A dark indigo canvas speckled with diamonds, it’s so vast and endless, James can’t help but wonder if his father is watching down on him.

“What happened with your father, with Steve’s father, it was one incident that somehow made everyone see people with magic like freaks. One incident was all it took.” Looking down at you again, James brushes his knuckles down your cheek. “We haven’t exactly prosecuted all of mankind for one man going on a murder spree with a knife he stole from the butcher’s shop,” you say, voice snapping like a whip as you pull away. Again, you turn away from him and James feels at a loss. Every time you turn away, he feels as if he’s splitting in two and he sighs, letting his hand fall back to his side.

“We put murderers, criminals, in jail.”

“And we’ve persecuted a whole people for the same thing.” Your shoulders fall as you let out a tremendous breath, and an emptiness in James widens at the desolate aura emanating from your very being. “I should go.”

You move towards the hedges but James walks after you. “Wait! I don’t want us to depart on these terms. I have no wish for you to leave angry at me.”

You turn slowly, your dress twisting and brushing against the dirt as you shake your head, a gentle smile upon your face.

“I’m not angry at you, James,” you assure quietly, and he believes you by the earnest glint in your eyes.

“Then, may I walk you to your room, my lady?”

You dip your head, and extend a hand for him to take. Your fingers slide easily between his, and he pauses, simply admiring your face bathed in silver light. His other hand reaches to brush against your jaw and your smile grows as you cup his jaw and pull him down.

The kiss is quiet, tender, and his eyes slide shut as your hand runs through his hair, pulling back just enough to breathe.

“Promise you’ll love me,” you whisper, words as soft as silk against his lips as he presses his brow to yours. Your eyes are still closed but his flutter open, soaking in your face as if he’ll never have enough time to memorize it. You cup his face with both hands, open your eyes and stare into his soul. A wounded ache festers in your gaze and he nods. “Promise you’ll love me always.”

Drawing back, he feels your hands tremble and brings them in his own to his lips. Mouth against your fingers, he nods again. “I promise I will always love you.” Kissing your knuckles, he does not break his gaze away as your lips curl into a tender smile. Squeezing his hands, you look younger, as if a burden has been lifted off your shoulders, and in that moment, James swears he has never seen something quite so divine.

He falls to one knee, and reaffirms his grasp on your hands before digging through his trouser pocket for the ring.

“Bucky…” you begin, bemused at his antics, but then you catch sight of the ring and your breath hitches. Eyes widening, your fingers wrap tighter around his as he brings the ring up to the moonlight. In lunar rays, it glows effervescently, winking and stunning in its shallow grooves, smooth gold, and intricately shaped hands linked together. The metal bends, caves where the fingers interlace and you let out a whispering sigh as he looks up at you.

A heat rises in his cheeks and he swallows the nerves biting at his throat. He should’ve had a drink before he came out here, but then again, he hadn’t realized this would be where—

He should’ve. This is, after all, where he first fell in love with you.

“Marry me,” he says although it’s more of a question, a request, an ask for a blessing, and your smile is brilliant as you say nothing. “It is why I have been so distant lately. I’ve been trying to find the perfect execution, but it seems my own heart has betrayed me. I have loved you since I first laid eyes on you, and although I am your prince, to be your king… Do me this honour, Y/N, and be my queen.”

“Well…” Your grin digs into your cheeks as he looks up at you, and a flood of relief fills his body as you tilt your head, just as you did the first day you met him. “No more drinking without me, then I’ll marry you,” you proclaim and he laughs as you tug him onto his feet. “Promise me that.”

Sliding the ring onto your finger, he presses a warm, bruising kiss against your lips before pulling back just far enough to whisper, “You have my word.”

And then he kisses you again.

.

If, four years ago, James knew marriage would be so exhausting, he would still do it again in a heartbeat.

Your laughter, after all, is the song he wakes up to every morning.

That, or the squirming body of his son trying to get between James and you.

You laugh as his son bounces between your legs, desperate for the horse to go faster than the easy walk he paces at, and James watches as you wrap an arm around his son’s waist.

“Your stallion is ready, my king.” Turning to the stable hand, he nods his thanks and mounts easily atop the white steed, gently nudging his sides into a trot to join his family at the edge of the woods. Alpine nickers his greetings to your mare as you tug on the reins with your one hand.

“A fine afternoon,” he comments, glancing over at you as Stellan wraps his chubby hands around the handle of the saddle specifically crafted for riding with a child.

“Indeed it is, your Grace,” you tease, brushing your hair out of your face. “A fine day for riding.” Your mare bumps noses with his stallion as Stellan notices his father, clapping his hands. “The prince wants his father.” Hoisting his son out from the space between your lap, you hand him over to James with a grin.

“Papa!”

Kissing his son’s cheek, James grins when his son latches onto him, arms wrapped around his father’s neck as they start their ride into the woods. James keeps a hand on Stellan, careful not to let him fall or squirm too much.

His twenty-first year has been blessed with peace, and James can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. The rebels have been squashed into their hiding holes, and the kingdom prospers with long summers and short winters.

And his family…

He looks at you and something inside him melts. Your lips are puckered in a whistle and you repeat the bird songs chirping through the trees while the guard rides behind you, and he glances back to see Steve talking to Lady Natasha.

What joke did she tell him this time? He wonders, amused when Steve blushes at whatever Natasha said. Always flustered by whatever the bold redhead says. I hope nothing too under the skirts.

“Eyes forward, my king,” you call and he turns forward again to see you up ahead, head tilted to look over your shoulder. “We do have a clearing to reach before midday.”

“Mama?” Squirming in his arms, Stellan wriggles his way back between his father’s thighs and grabs the wooden handle of the saddle. Bouncing excitedly, the boy leans forward. “Go!” James nudges Alpine into a trot to catch up to his wife as his guard splits apart in the woods, no doubt interested in a day off simply relaxing without any drills on a sunny day like this. He’s sure some would head off to the lake for a swim while others participated in a hunt.

“Are you coming, Rogers?” a voice crows within the trees, and James grins when he hears Anthony’s squire, Peter, exclaim in pain when he hits his head on a low-hanging tree branch. “Your lady can come, too!”

“She’s not my lady, Tony!” Steve calls back as James catches up to where you’ve stopped and he pulls his reins lightly to stall as well. Glimpsing Steve’s red face, James smirks when the blond turns to Natasha. “I mean, you are my lady, my lady.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?” Natasha says dryly as the two approach the royals. Their steeds’ ears twitch and Natasha scratches her horse’s ear as you grin. “My king. My queen.”

“You do realize you are free to take the day off. We haven’t had the time to do so in ages,” you tell them kindly, your eyes darting from the lady to the lord. “Not since James has been crowned king, I feel.” Steve cocks his head when Stellan tries to reach over to him and he picks up the prince, bouncing him in his arms. “Not since this one was born for certain. You ought to take it, the both of you.”

“Spoken like a true queen,” Natasha teases. “But I agree. Diplomacy is an exhausting sport.”

“Sport? I’m sure Rhodes wouldn’t be so inclined to call it so.”

“Rhodes needs to stop and learn to relax. It’s not that complicated.”

“He knows how to relax,” James quips. “He just doesn’t take his job so lightly unlike you, Lady Natasha.”

Natasha grins, rolling her eyes before tugging the reins of her steed towards a parting in the trees. “Well, unlike Rhodes who is no doubt racing Tony to the lake, I will take a long, leisurely stroll there. Lord Rogers, if you would accompany me?”

“Of course, my lady.” Steve transfers Stellan from his arms back into his father’s, picking up his reins before dipping his head to you. “My queen.” Always with the formalities, James muses as he grabs Steve’s hand in a hearty shake farewell. “I won’t be too far away.”

“I’m counting on it,” James replies before the blond rides after the redhead, and the royals look at each other before bursting out into laughter. “God, I wonder when he’ll ever have the courage to properly ask for her hand in marriage.”

“Knowing them both, she’ll ask first,” you reply with a wrinkle of your nose and the two of you ride off into the woods.

The destination is a clearing upon a small hill, sparkling with morning dew just beginning to dry and flowers blooming in the branches. The trees part perfectly in a path down the hill to the lake and the sun casts golden shafts through the branches, the entire clearing glimmering in its blessing. The smell of fresh wind and sweet nectar fills James’ nose as you dismount beside him, lowering Stellan gently onto the grass. You unpack your saddlebag, revealing blankets and food.

James dismounts as well, patting Alpine firmly along his neck as he grabs the flagon of wine and more food from his own saddlepack while you lay the blanket gently over the grass. Feeding an apple to Alpine, he gently rubs his steed’s nose before joining his wife and son underneath the shade of a tree.

Unbuckling his belt, he rests his sword against the trunk before sinking to his knees beside you. You’re already leaning back on an arm, watching as Stellan chases a butterfly across the huge clearing and James kisses your temple, easing against the tree. You immediately lean against him, your head against his chest, and he tilts his head back to feel the breeze along his neck.

“This is wonderful,” you sigh, your hand on his chest. “Four years of nothing but non-stop madness and now we have a day to simply breathe..”

“Three years of being king, four of being a father. I don’t think I’ve ever been so exhausted,” he agrees. “Father always made it seem so effortless.”

“Well, that’s how fathers are,” you tease, glancing up at him. He looks down with a slight frown and you reach up to tap his nose. “You’ve been nothing but a perfect father to Stellan. You ought to slip before he thinks you’re some god.”

“Would that be too bad?” His nose wrinkles and you chuckle, pecking his lips before sitting upright. Stellan wanders back towards his parents, his chubby fist holding blades of grass and he tosses it at James before crawling into his mother’s lap. “He seems to be his mother’s son, anyway.”

“As he should,” you fire back, lifting Stellan up in your hands and throwing him up a few times. His high-pitched giggles cause James to smile as he leans down, brushes hair away from your forehead and kisses your brow. Tilting your chin up to snag his lips into another brief kiss, you settle your son against your chest and roll over.

“Mama, walk,” Stellan orders, and you look down at your son. “Go walk.”

“Your son’s already giving me orders,” you comment pointedly, sitting up as Stellan gets to his feet and James smirks, beginning to unpack the food.

“I think he’s more like you in that regard,” James fires back mischievously and you lightly smack his shoulder as their son grabs your hand and tugs you away. Pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, you allow yourself to be lead into the forest while James carefully sets up the wine, the food. Taking a bite out of a bit of cheese, he heads to the horses who’ve been roaming the clearing and sighs.

He must cherish this day. Tomorrow, it’ll be nothing but more meetings with diplomats, advisors, and other engagements regarding the bandits along their border.

Magic still spikes fear in the hearts of his people, despite how hard you’ve tried to dissuade the notion that magic is dangerous. It’s been your one goal since you’ve been crowned his queen, a movement that has made you…

Made you controversial, to say the least.

It has definitely put you into disfavour with his mother, but James doesn’t care.

He knows your heart is in the right place, even if he himself is still afraid. There is that bravery with you, that makes him want to be brave, too, but his father...

He will never forget the sight of his dead father.

Stroking Alpine’s snout, he feels the stallion lip at his pockets, searching for treats as your mare nickers, coming over with ears perked up in interest. Turning to the mare, he grins when she snorts against his cheek.

Grinning, he simply lets the horses nudge him every which way, threads his fingers through their manes. With a deep breath, he lets the day wash over him. He closes his eyes and presses his brow against Alpine’s.

In the distance, he can hear Natasha shouting at Anthony, Steve’s loud, bright laughter.

No matter what happens, he wouldn’t change being a king for anything if it meant ruling with these people beside him.

“Wolf! Wolf! It’s the White Wolf!”

Peter’s petrified warning shout echoes through the forest and James jerks towards his voice, eyes widening. The White Wolf?

His blood freezes in his veins. The White Wolf had been lurking through their woods for the past years, a white beast larger than horses and hungrier than ten wolves that only came out at night. With blood red eyes and claws that could eviscerate through steel armour, the White Wolf is nothing short of a monster.

Never has he heard of it roaming during the day.

Until now.

“Peter!”

“Where’s the king?”

Alpine lets out a loud neigh, stomping his foot against the soft dirt as the sound of swords and steel clashing and James grabs his belt from the tree, cinching it tight around his waist as Steve appears in the parting of the trees. His thoughts immediately race towards you and Stellan, alone in the woods, and his heart leaps to his throat as he turns to Steve.

“She went out with Stellan for a walk,” James barks, brushing past Steve roughly. Behind him is the rest of his guard, stumbling up the hills in various states of undress, but they stop as soon as they catch sight of him. Ice seeps into his veins and he ignores the thought of you mauled to pieces, a tiny body beside yours. “Find your queen!”

“Yes, my king!”

Drawing their swords, the knights split off in coordinated groups, disappearing in seconds. Steve and James pair off and sprint into the woods. His blood is racing through his body, his feet flying through the grass as he hears the loud roar of the bear.

Shouting your name, shouting Stellan’s, his lungs feel like they’re about to burst as the crashing river comes into view. The sound of the white rapids, thunderous as waves crash against rock, echoes in James’ skull as he sweeps his eyes for a glimpse of you.

There’s the dark brown of wood everywhere, the same shade as Stellan’s leather vest, and his vocal cords burn as he screams over the sounds of the rapids.

“James?” He can hear his name in the distance and then there is a flash of white smudged with green and he can see Stellan bursting through the bushes on the other side of the river, followed by you. Steve raises his hand as you scoop up your son, and James rushes to the chaotic riverside. Frigid water splashes at his boots and a chill shoots up his spine. “What is it?”

“We need to head back. The Wolf is awake.”

Eyes widening, you disappear back into the woods after a quick nod, and James turns to Steve with a grimace before they start to sprint down the river. 

The only place to cross is by the lake where the river is calmer.

All he wants is to hold you in his arms.

The river calms as the trees begin to thin out once they reach the crystalline lake and Steve breaks through first just as something bursts through the bushes. Stellan’s cheeks are streaked with tears and as soon as he catches sight of his father, he runs towards you, and you tear out after him, your clothes stained with dirt and leaves, your hair a mess.

What follows is a massive beast, lunging out of the trees for you. It’s nothing but a flash of white fur and red eyes, claws gleaming in the sunlight. Drawing his sword, Steve runs into its path, bowled over with a painful clash just as James unsheathes his sword. You pick up Stellan and run up the hill, and as soon as James makes sure you’re on your way to safety, he joins Steve in the battle. The Wolf drags its claws through steel, and Steve lets out a scream, struggling to wrench its paw off of him just as James charges at the thing, running his blade through the pelt but it seems to glance off easily.

No mark stains the pelt and it swipes out a ferocious paw, knocking James aside as Steve struggles weakly, blood beginning to seep into the soil beneath. Scarlet rivulets gleam in the sunlight as James blinks his vision clear, digging his sword tip in an attempt to stand again. Terror tries to lock his limbs, but he tries to fight the swelling in his chest as he reaffirms his grip on the sword and runs at the beast once again.

The Wolf’s lips pulled back in a snarl, it leaves Steve motionless just as James tries to stab at its shoulder and it pulls back, tail thrashing. Blood drips from its maw and as James stares into the eyes of death, he wonders what he’ll see on the other side.

Hopefully, nothing.

Realistically, this will not be a painless death.

He raises his sword, and steadies his breath, sweat gathering in the hollow of his back, the seam that has stitched itself into his ribs just beginning to heal. Lungs heaving for air, he feels light-headed, near dizzy with adrenaline.

The Wolf lunges and James tries to jump out of the way too late. It catches him by the waist, drags him through the mud and his sword goes flying as teeth sink into his thigh. Grunting, he smashes his fist into the mutt’s muzzle to no avail, desperate to contain the scream trying to rip through his chest.

Black dots swarm his vision and his whole body is in flames as he raises his other leg, kicking the Wolf in the eye but it is not phased.

At least, not until something blasts it off of him.

Gasping for air, he pushes himself up and away from the Wolf that lies in a crumpled heap by the lake shore and then there is another pulse of energy, a cage of gold forming around the beast before hands hoist him up underneath his arms and drag him away.

“Are you alright?” He can hear your voice, sharp in his ear, and he turns to see you, eyes focused on the Wolf struggling to escape its prison. His whole body is aching buried deep in his bones and blooming like flowers in summer, and blood soaks through his trousers as you pull him behind a rock, dropping into a crouch beside him. “James?”

“What was that?” he whispers harshly, hand wrapping around your wrist, and your gaze jerks towards him jarringly. There is a light he does not recognize, focused, precised, glimmering in your eyes. You pull your wrist out of his grasp, turning to his oozing wound. Grabbing his hands, you push it atop the puncture, and James’ breath hitches at the warm, tingling sensation festering in his leg.

“I need to pull Steve to safety. Put pressure on that and do not move. You’ll only bleed more.” Without another word, you turn and make a lifting gesture with your hands. James cranes his head to watch a warm, golden corona surround Steve’s body and he is dragged towards them, leaving a trail of blood-soaked grass. The Wolf growls, lunges and bites, the sizzling of its energy cage filling the silence along with the clanking of Steve’s armour just as the blond is caught in your hands.

Pulling him around the rock cover, you hoist Steve up against the stone and run a glowing hand across the hemorrhaging body. Your fingers, tense and locked, seem to tremble as the blood stops flowing, and James’ eyes nearly pop out of his skull as he watches the eviscerated remains of his best friend begin to stitch together.

Turning to his own leg, he lifts his blood-red palms to see it already nearly closed, and his heart constricts as he covers it again and lets his head fall back to the stone.

Magic.

There’s the sound of branches breaking and James’ eyes snap open. Sweat pours at your brow just as he turns to look at you, and you barely flash him a smile before something snaps again and your attention is torn away.

Immediately, the stitching effect disappears and James cradles Steve’s head in his, brushes blood away from his cheek as a sharp howl pierces the air. The summer heat is thick against his cheeks as you trade blow for blow with the Wolf.

He wants nothing more than to step in beside you, but with every flash of gold, every bright burst of energy, he feels the fear he felt when he was nothing more than a child locking his legs, paralyzing his body.

Magic.

Pure, powerful magic lights up the air and he can smell it, smoke and starlight, on his tongue.

The Wolf lunges and you toss it into the lake. You send a shockwave rippling towards the hound and it merely jumps over and pins you to the ground. Its claw gouges into your chest and your scream is earth-shattering as you kick it off of you with a powerful blast from your legs. Rolling onto your hands and knees, James can see blood drip slowly down your chest, into the grass as your tattered dress blows in the gentle wind.

You seem to stare into death’s jaws, and then…

You smile.

The Wolf’s claws dig into the dirt, and then it is sprinting at you in full force just as you force yourself onto your feet.

Your name tears through his chest just as the Wolf tackles you into the lake and there is a small flash before a loud crash of water and he turns to Steve to make sure he’s still alive before stumbling to his feet to watch, and in the lake, two beasts thrash in the cold water. Jaws snap, claws drag through flesh, and he watches as a magnificent bird beats its wings, sending a rippling gale of wind through the lake. The water recedes onto the shore as fire flares and the Wolf whines in pain as talons sink into its back.

An awe fills his entire body as the gorgeous phoenix flaps its wings and takes flight, dropping the Wolf onto the shore once again and landing with delicate precision. It warbles, a gentle sound, and shakes out its feathers, droplets of silky water flying everywhere. Each quill is red-orange, near golden, and its talons glimmer with golden scales.

James’ mouth drops open as it croons at the Wolf who merely cowers in its presence. Another whimper escapes the white dog, its red eyes fading to brown and James, entranced, watches as the phoenix, wings extended, begins to sing.

A sense of melancholy seeps into his soul as the Wolf lowers its chin to its paws and the phoenix coos, the crest on its head swaying and catching the true sunlight. They shine like cut amber as its golden eyes narrow.

Then, there is another, softer glow as the phoenix buries its beak in the fur of the Wolf, and James turns away, shielding his eyes from what seems like the sun. Falling beside Steve, he looks at his best friend.

“Steve?” he murmurs, and murky blue eyes meet his just as you appear again. Magic still oozes around you like oil in the sea, and he can smell magic again, but warmer this time—like a hearth burns inside his soul. Around your shoulders is an arm attached to a young woman he doesn’t recognize in a white dress.

“Are you alright?” you ask, slowly lowering the woman to the ground as well. Reaching, you cup Steve’s face that is beginning to regain its colour, and James watches gold light up the blood beneath his skin where you touch.

Don’t touch him, he wants to say, but Steve only wakes up at the contact, eyes widening ever more so slightly.

“Y/N,” Steve rasps and your hand retreats just as you turn to the woman that’s barely stirring. James watches as you lay a hand carefully on her arm, and she raises her head groggily. Her eyes are muddy, dazed, but then they roll back and she slumps forward and Steve jerks away from the hair brushing against his hand, shuffling back against James who wraps an arm around Steve. “I thought death held me for certain.”

“It almost did, old friend,” James replies, eyes wandering to you. “And the Wolf?”

“She needs time to recover,” you reply, delicately brushing hair away from the girl’s face and James’ eyebrows rise in shock.

His whole body is wracked with fatigue, but his mouth drops open when he gets a glimpse of the necklace hanging around the girl’s neck. “I remember her. Seven years ago, House Starr reported their daughter was missing to Mother. They never found her.”

“At least not until now. I need to bring her to healers,” you say, standing and lifting the girl with surprising ease. James struggles to his feet, pulling Steve up, and your eyes soften at him as you try to smile, but the blood, the still-fading glint in your eyes, sends chills through his body.

Magic…

“We’ll need to speak later.” You dip your head in farewell before walking to the lakeshore, and Steve groans, his entire body deadweight against James’ shoulder and the king grunts, doing his best to keep him standing.

“Bluebird, wait—”

You glance at him over his shoulder, and there is a sorrowful sweetness resting in your face, a tenderness in your smile, a grief in your gaze.

Then, a golden sparks carve a line into the air, sizzling against the grass as it carves a portal into this reality. You turn forward and walk through.

It closes before he can follow.

.

His mind is cluttered, his ears full of beeswax, and he doesn’t know what is real.

Steve had been rushed to the hospital wing to be swarmed by doctors, the other knights anxious yet relieved to see both the king and their knight commander alive and safe.

He doesn’t miss the fact that Rumlow is not among those men.

In fact, he is missing, and not a single soul has heard from him.

Buried in his bones is an ache James cannot ignore. His chest feels like it’s splitting open, his ribs snapped, and as he stares at his reflection in the cheval mirror, he swallows the hard lump in his throat.

The teeth marks are already closed, scarring over yet there’s still a residual pulse of pain when he prods at it.

He doesn’t know whether or not to be enraged, relieved.

All he knows is emptiness.

“Are you alright?” Startled, James drops his pant leg and turns around to see you standing there, eyes wide and a tentative smile upon your lips. His breath catches in your throat and his eyes immediately go to his hands that you clasp before you. “James?”

“What are you doing here?” he asks, feather soft and you walk closer, your footsteps light. “Where is the Wolf?”

“Lady Ava is fine. I’ve brought her to some healers on the border of Asgard and Midgard. It was some curse inflicted upon her as a child. Parental mishap, it seems but she’ll be fine with time,” you inform quietly, your gaze dipping to your hands as you twist the ring, the ring he had given you, around your finger. “Is Steve…”

“He’s alive,” he replies stiffly, brushing past you and you turn around with him, lips twisted into a worried frown. “Thank you,” he adds quietly, genuinely. His mind is a whirlwind, his heart racing in his ears, and he can’t help the sensation that seizes his chest, the awareness of where your hands move. “Without you, he would’ve died.”

“Steve is family.” Walking up behind him, James can feel you come close. His entire body tenses, and he faces the wall, eyes slip shut. Bright blasts of gold ignite in his mind, followed by a ravaged village he had seen on his tour of his kingdom. At the hands of magic.

Hands of your kind.

He forces the next words out between gritted teeth, the words coming out flat, stoic.

“Go, before someone tells the truth about you.”

“James, you can’t possibly—” You touch his shoulder and James flinches away, whirling around to face you. Your eyes widen at the reaction, and you withdraw your hand back, stumbling to the wall. “You’re afraid of me.”

“You’re magic,” he whispers, voice wavering and you swallow audibly. Your hand shakes through the air as you retract it to your chest, and he watches the pulsing wound along your collarbone slowly stitch itself together, the flesh leaving no mark. Magic. “Of course I’m afraid of you.”

“James—”

“And Stellan,” he cuts you off cleanly, trying his best not to shake when your eyes widen, wet with tears. You blink and they fall, crystalline in the low light. You’re shaking, your entire body trembling as the two of you stand on opposite sides of the small room. “Is he…”

“Magic?” you finish for him and your voice is void of life, defeated. Your hands drop to your sides and you seem to stand straighter under his gaze as you stare at him. “After all this time, you’re still afraid of magic. You won’t even let me explain.” Your expression crumbles and you turn your face away, rubbing at the tears tracking down your face. An incredulous, sharp exhale fills the silence and James feels something inside him split open.

“Would you? Explain, that is.”

His heart wilts, his lungs collapse. His ribs seem to ache as you wipe at your face, the soft sounds of your uneven breathing filling the silence. He can feel your gaze, hot and desolate and aching against his cheek as he closes his eyes.

All he can see is his father’s splayed body, the blood soaking through the mud.

“You keep this secret from me, and expect me to trust you with the truth?”

“James…” you whisper softly, and his gaze jerks to yours jarringly. Your glassy eyes seem to stare right through him and he swallows through the bruising in his throat as he tries to hold back his own tears. “Please—”

“How could you not tell me?” he croaks, and you inhale, a shuddering, sharp thing. His chest is cracked open, his limbs are numb yet every bone in his body is solid lead. “How could you keep this from me?”

“Because I know you.” 

Your words are empty in the summer air.

There is a moment of silence as everything James knows shatters around him. If he listens close enough, he can hear the shards of it colliding with the stone beneath his feet, breaking into uncountable pieces.

“Go,” he says softly, and he can’t bear to look at the devastation his words cause. “I’ll say you died in the attack, so you have enough time to leave the kingdom. Take Stellan and do not return.”

“James, no. He’s your son. Please, don’t—”

“I said, go!” The loudness of his voice shocks him and he flinches back into the wall at the eerie quiet that follows.

There is the only sound of uneven breathing, the cacophony of hearts breaking, and you step forward, the fabric of your tattered dress brushing against the floor. He can see your shadow in the candlelight, reaching for him, before you jerk back and he closes his eyes, burning tears dripping down his cheeks.

The door groans when you push it open, as if the castle is reluctant to let you leave, but then it opens and you slip out.

The door closes shut with a soft, yet thunderous boom.

.

“The King is awake!”

James’ head blisters with pain, and it only intensifies at the voice as he blinks his eyes open. The ceiling of his room is not unfamiliar, neither is the mattress he’s beginning to wear uneven beneath his back.

All these years and he never could sleep on your side of the bed.

“James!” Doors open and hands rush to help him sit up, and he groans, eyes squeezing shut when his head sways. His whole world slants and the taste of vomit burns at his throat as he slowly opens his eyes again, and he catches sight of Natasha’s red hair. The bright light streaming into his room makes his head pulse and he turns away, hand rising like it’s dragging through molasses.

“The light,” he rasps, and Natasha, who holds him by the elbows, turns to whomever is with her.

Darkness falls in his room.

“James.” Steve. “Are you alright?”

“What… how am I here?” His tongue is thick in his mouth, dry and raw, and his vocal cords twinge at his voice.

“Rumlow almost killed you,” Steve begins quietly as more people enter the room. “We lost men, but won the battle once they surrendered.”

“Surrendered?” Frowning, James’ brow wrinkles and he feels something split open with a stinging sensation digging into his skull. He hisses out, reaching to touch it but Natasha guides his hand away. “Fuck. Where—”

“In the dungeons. Waiting for you whenever you’re ready.” Natasha’s voice is soothing to the thumping in his skull.

“Help me stand.”

“Wait. Give yourself a few moments to regain your bearings,” Steve murmurs but James shakes his head despite how terribly it increases the agony chipping into his head.

“No—”

“James.”

“If she’s there, I need to see her.” Letting go of Natasha’s hand, he swings his legs off the bed and leans forward, hands clutching onto the edge of his bed.

“James.”

“What?” he barks, head snapping to Steve and Natasha who look at each other with an apprehension. “Steve…” Something drags at his gut and his eyes widen in fear. Ice sluices through his chest. The silence becomes suffocating and with every passing second, he feels the world darken in on him.

No. No, no, no, no—

“She’s not there.”

“Where is she?”

“James, sit down.”

The ice melts into magma, and he thrashes off Natasha’s gentle hand. 

“Where is she?”

.

Peter’s cabin is small, but warmly furbished for a squire. He lets them in before excusing himself to the castle, and James feels like he’s chained to a solid steel ball by the ankle. His limbs are wrought with bruises, and his head sways with every step as Natasha and Steve help him in.

He can see you through the open door to Peter’s room, and his breath stops in his chest.

Your body is hunched over a bed, a blanket draped over your shoulders as the sun washes over your body. You don’t stir at the entrance of the trio and James lets out the breath, the string lancing through his body snipped when you don’t immediately move. You’re dressed in oversized clothes, trousers and a linen shirt hanging off your shoulders. Your hair is slick with oil, and he can smell the poultices that must’ve been slathered onto any wounds from where he walks slowly deeper into the room, his fingers deep in Natasha’s and Steve’s arms.

“Steve,” Natasha murmurs, and she brings James’ hand to Steve before approaching the bed slowly. Steve leads James to a couch by the small hearth but James’ eyes don’t stray from Natasha as the redhead approaches your sleeping form. He cranes his head to watch through the doorway, and his blood rushes to his head, dizzying.

“Why is she here?” James whispers, voice fleeting just as Natasha lays a hand on your shoulder and you jerk up, a soft blue corona flaring around your being and Natasha raises her hands, walking around the bed. Narrowing his gaze, James tries to decipher who lays there as you stand on unsteady feet, rub at your face.

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask quietly and the sound of your voice, deeper, mature, strikes James, pulls him apart at the seams. Standing on unsteady feet, his legs knock into a table as he rushes towards the bedroom despite Steve’s attempts to grab him, and he stumbles to the door frame, his head spinning.

His vision blurs, and his head feels like it’s bashed in, but he doesn’t miss the colour of your eyes, the way your head turns to look over your shoulder.

Lightning strikes his core when your gaze fixes on his. There’s so much about you that is the same since the last time he’s seen you. Thirteen years and you’ve only grown more beautiful, more graceful. The little wrinkle in your brow as you look at him, the tightness in your lips as you frown.

“James.”

Even the way you say his name is the same.

What isn’t, though, is the fear.

He knows what fear looks like on your face, the way it floods your eyes, the way it can’t show on the rest of you because you are a queen and untouchable, but for it to be directed at him…

His head is heavier than bricks on his shoulders as you back up until your legs touch the bed, and your arms are spread.

Is this how he looked at you all those years ago? As if he holds a knife to his throat and digs the blade deeper with every second?

“What is he doing here?” you ask, scratchy and you clear your throat, not tearing your gaze away from him for a second. James stays by the door, a cold hand wrapped around his ankle, keeping him there no matter how much he wants to move.

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“Oh, you’ve done plenty.” Your voice, pure fire, sears through his chest as you narrow your gaze. “Go.”

“Y/N—”

“I said, leave.” Although no magic flares at your fingertips, there is a shift in the way the light plays in your eyes and James’ throat closes up at the way your eyes glisten. “Don’t you think your family has done enough?”

“You’re my family.”

“No, I wasn’t,” you whisper. Natasha’s head is bowed, but her eyes still watch the scene with an uncanny glint. Even if she is your friend, she will no doubt step between you and him. Catching the woman’s gaze, James tilts his head towards the door. Eyes widening, the red lady dips her head and slowly makes her way between them, her gaze slowly dragging across James’ expression but he remains solely focused on you.

Your eyes do not stray from him either.

Walking in slowly, he closes the door behind him and his eyes flicker to the figure in the bed. Their face is cloaked in shadow, but he can see dark hair illuminated by the candle. Eyes narrowing, he tries to discern who it is.

Perhaps it is Rumlow, and he has made a tremendous error.

“Why are you here?” you whisper tightly between clenched teeth, and his eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been thirteen years and you’ve fixed nothing.”

“I didn’t know Asgard was ruled by you,” he begins. “I didn’t know until I saw you on the rise. If I had known—”

“What? Would you have attempted peace? Or would you have tried to conquer us again like your father did?” Your expression is wracked with agony as he steps closer, and you inhale softly, shakily. “Stay away from me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Stay away—”

“Bluebird—”

“Do not think me so soft that I will listen to you because you call me that.” Your words become thin, choked. “I gave you my terms, and you didn’t choose peace, just as your father did.”

“Your people are hostile.”

“And yours murdered mine. King Thor died two moons ago and the only suspect is a Midgardian” Her words hang coldly before him and he pauses in the middle of the room. “As his successor, it was only natural to want justice.”

“Why you? Why not anyone else in his court?”

“Because I was not just Midgard’s queen,” you say, finally pulling your gaze away to sit down on the edge of the mattress and turning to the figure on the bed. You touch their face, but do not tilt them to the light. “Your father tried to conquer Asgard when I was young, four or five. I was playing with my brother in the streets, my mother watching over us. I didn’t know what was happening until we heard the screams.”

James hears the tiny, trembling breath in your throat as you run your hand down the figure’s cheek.

“It was too late before we knew to run. My mother took my brother and ran, and I did my best to follow, but they just kept running after us until we separated.” Your voice goes quieter, glass-like. “I found their bodies, my mother’s hunched over Loki’s as she tried to protect him. I can still see their blood, taste it in my mouth. It felt like the entire city burned before allied Jotunheim forces arrived and chased your people out of our land.”

“Y/N—”

Your gaze finally turns to him, and he does not recognize the pitifully small girl in them, the shivering, broken girl in the rain and smoke staring back at him. “They ran through the streets like rats. I could hear them shouting in fear as they froze to death, and I thought I was going to die, too, until Brock found me. He was… he was the knight commander’s squire, and he told me I had to run.”

“So he knew all this time.”

“Of course he did. He was sworn to protect me,” you murmur, and the way your voice flips makes James’ eyebrows rise.

“He loved you, you know?”

“I know he wanted revenge. I know he wanted me to kill you at every turn. I don’t know if he could have ever picked me over the other,” you whisper, eyes drifting and finding his again. Your eyes have softened with an unspoken agony, and the candlelight plays with your face, making you simultaneously younger and older all at once. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“He’s dead, isn’t he?”

Your silence is his answer and, this time, when he comes closer, his hand against the wall, you don’t protest.

“I’m sorry.” He cranes to catch a glimpse of the face, and sees a younger face, at rest yet ashen with death. Eyebrows knitting together, he looks to you again and it’s breathtaking the way you gaze at him. Effortlessly in anguish, terrible in your grace. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“James—”

“Forgive me.” Pushing off the wall, he falls to his knees before you and bows his head, heat rushing to his face. Head submerged in his own shame, he can feel his shoulders shake before the tears come and his throat clots as he plants his hands into the ground. “Forgive me.” A worm in his gut wriggles its way up his throat and he feels sick to his stomach as he keens over, presses his brow to the wood. “I never meant this. I don’t know—where? How did we get here, bluebird? How?”

“James.” Your voice, strong yet tender, commands you to look up at him, and his face is kissed by cold wind as he wipes at his tears. “Come sit beside me.” Raising to unsteady feet, he collapses beside you and your arm immediately wraps around his shoulders, your other hand brushing hair away from his slick cheeks, his tear-stained eyes. “You know how we got here.” Your thumb brushes over his lip and a sense of warmth fills his hollow being. Thirteen years without your warmth, and now, he drowns in it.

Your hand flattens against his cheek and guides your gaze as you twist to reveal the face on the bed. With your free hand, you tilt the boy’s face towards him.

His entire body freezes as the boy murmurs, eyebrows knitting together and turning away.

“Stellan…” Standing, he rushes around to the other side of the bed to get a better look of him, and reaches with trembling hands toward his son’s face. A large cut is drawn into his stem and disappears beneath his shirt, and a rage fills his soul. He’ll kill the man who tried to kill his son. “My son—”

Who looks just like him in nature, the same jaw and nose. 

“—has grown into a man,” you say, and James wrenches his gaze to you. A sweet sorrow resides in your face as you smile. Holding Stellan’s face in his hands, James entire body alights with energy, with a breathless wonder. “And knows his father enough to save his life.” You thumb over Stellan’s cheek, your fingers barely brushing James’, golden magic spiralling beneath your hand like branching ivy, and the boy mumbles under his breath, turns to the warmth. He fights the instinct to flinch, and simply lets your magic caress his knuckles. It tickles, then melts like warm chocolate against him. “And he got a sword stem to stern for it.”

“He killed Rumlow?” James looks to you, his hands drawing away from his son’s face, and the warmth is chased away.

“It was instant. Brock felt no pain. It was all I could do to save Stellan,” you say, struggling to keep your voice even. “I don’t want us to fight, anymore, James. Bucky,” you correct yourself with a small smile, and his heart pangs as you reach for his hand across the bed. No one has called him that in years. “But if this is what happens when our people mingle, perhaps it’s best we stay apart.”

“I don’t want that,” he whispers, taking your hand and you study him with knitted eyebrows. “I don’t want to be apart from you for another moment.”

“Then, promise me you’ll fix this.” Your voice, barely a whisper and shaking, is strung with a strength he knows you have, and he looks to you, a queen all on your own.

You have never needed him, but he needs you. Your hand in his tells him as much as you weave your fingers carefully with his, and he wants to hold you tight, hold his son again.

Thirteen years have left him cold, nothing more than a skeleton in a flesh prison.

“I promise.”

At his words, your expression seems to ease, and then a shyer, girlish smile curls at your lips.

“And promise you’ll love me always.”

“I promise.”

[catxsnow]

SAME FATE J.T.

Request: Hi, I have loved your work as of late I mean top tier work. I was wondering if you can do platonic Jason Todd imagine where the reader was the newest robin and a spitting image of him when he was robin so happy and proud to be a robin and Jason hates her because of it and one day he sort of leads her into a trap just to scare her and something wrong. She is killed by it and beyond being brought back by the pit. Sorry for the angst, I am just in an angsty mood and know that you will do it justice.

Warning: death, blood, angst. 

A/N: I changed the request a little bit, hope you don’t mind. Just didn’t quite see Jason doing this but I think I envisioned enough angst in here to satisfy you. 

Hope you enjoy! Requests are still open :)

GIF not mine

Word count: 2.1k

Jason Todd didn't like you. At all.

Everyone knew it: Bruce, Dick, Tim - they were all aware of how much the second Robin hated you. Even you were aware of it, even though you had done nothing to him to make him feel this way. He even hated you more than Tim and Tim was the one to take his spot as Robin. You had taken Tim's place and if anyone was to be angry it should have been him.

Instead, it was Jason.

No one knew why he hated you so much - in fact everyone thought that the two of you would have gotten along well considering how similar you were. Much like Jason, you had extremely terrible parents. Neither of them cared about you, put food on the table, and most times there wasn't even a roof of your head.

All the money that was brought in was spent on drugs and alcohol and whatever item that had value of your had to be well hidden if you wanted to keep it. All in all, when your father was sent to jail and your mom died of overdose? You didn't complain about it. Life was easier without them in it.

That was when Bruce found you. He had taken you in to live in the Manor and trained you to be the next Robin. You had learned pretty quick too, it was only months that you were there before taking Tim's mantle. The difference between the two of you and how you upheld Robin was drastic.

The first time you had tried on the suit, you had nearly screamed with excitement. Bruce watched you prance around the batcave with a grin on your face. You flipped and jump around, showing off some of the moves you had been taught. 

“This is best thing that’s ever happened to me!” You were so proud to take on the mantle of Robin. When you were a kid, Batman and Robin would always bring you hope that things would be better, that they would change. Now, you got to make that happen yourself. 

God, did Bruce see so much Jason in you. 

You were reckless, dauntless when it came to being out in the streets beside Batman. Running towards bullets, narrowly escaping time and time again, you lived on the edge. Just like Jason. Also just like him, you were aggressive to the point that Bruce couldn't control you just like he couldn't control Jason.

Everyday he saw more and more of his second son in you. Bruce knew that he needed to keep you from making the same mistake that Jason ever did. He couldn't lose you too - even if Jason was back from the dead. No one was willing to take that same risk again, not without a Lazarus pit hidden within the batcave.

Each and every time that Jason showed up to the Manor, he had vocally expressed how he didn't like you. He was rude and undermining to you more than to anyone else. It hurt more than you thought it would. In a lot of ways, you looked up to Jason.

The way that he upheld Robin was something that you always thrived for. You wanted to be like him but, the more that you pushed to be like him, the more he seemed to hate you. He made you doubt your skill as Robin and as yourself. Jason was terrible to you, and you never knew why.

Night after night you would cry yourself to sleep. It wasn't often that someone would get to you but Jason had managed to do it. He didn't just break your walls down, he demolished them. Jason made you feel like a weak little girl, something that you hadn't felt like in years. After everything that you had gone through in life, this shouldn't have been your weakness, yet it was.

The night that you went patrolling on your own was a stormy one. Rain droplets blocked your vision and made everything twice as hard as it normally was. Bruce was busy with an event for WE and you weren't ready to call it a night. Crime didn't stop just because there was rain.

The night went as it always did. Taking out anyone you saw breaking the law and bounding across the city to find someone else to bring to justice. It was nights like those that made you wonder why Jason hated you so much - you were doing great on your own. In fact, you had to admit that you were just as good as he was.

Tim saw it in you. From what he knew about Jason, you not only had the same amount of skill, but the same kind. Bruce had confided in him about how much he saw Jason in you and how worried it made him.

He should have been more worried.

As the night seemed to get quiet, you had let your guard down. That had been the mostly costly mistake that you had ever made. You had just finished knocking out some sleeze when another figure arrived. Between the loud booms of thunder and the traffic on the street, you couldn't hear them approach you.

Before you could even turn around, you were out cold.

><

The second that Bruce got the picture of you he sent every resource available searching Gotham for you.

It was Penguin that had captured you - why, he still didn't know. The picture that was published for all the world to see was of you completely bloody and bruised. You hung from chains by your wrists, blood dripping from your face, soaking your suit, and onto the cement. You looked terrible.

The picture was posted on every single news channel, article, papers, it was everywhere. Penguin wanted to city to know that he could capture a Robin and torture them without getting caught. He had Batman in the palm of his hand if he ever wished to see his precious Robin again.

Bruce had everyone searching for you. Even Jason Todd, the one person on this planet that seemed to hate your guts, agreed to help find you. It had been a long time since any of them had seen Bruce this worried about someone. He had every right to be, this exact situation happened to Jason only a few years ago.

At least Penguin was a little more sane.

It had been just over forty-eight hours since you had been taken. Forty-eight hours of nothing but torture and pain. Bruce couldn't imagine what you were going through right now, he didn't want to. The entire time he hadn't slept, he had only been focused on finding you. This couldn't happen to him again.

Jason Todd might have hated you, but he knew that no one ever deserved to be in the same situation that he was in. That was why he spent day and night searching for you. Penguin had hid you well, too well for anyone to find you - hell they didn't even know if you were still in Gotham or not.

It was late at night when the video broadcast on every screen in Gotham. You looked worse than before. Suit torn, more blood and bruises than skin. Your head hung low and you could barely stand any longer. Penguin had put a number on you.

"Batman..." You coughed, blood spit down your chin and onto the floor. One of the Penguin's goons lifted your head up by the hair so that you fully faced the camera. "Penguin...  admits he's got the smallest dick in Gotham and not even a goat would -"

The camera shut off the moment that you got another punch to the face. As dire of a situation that this was, Jason couldn't help but chuckle at you. Even in the face of death - you were going to give them hell.

"Got them," Tim's voice echoed over the comms. Thankfully, you had been on air just long enough or him to track down the signal. "He's got her in a warehouse down on fourth and twentieth."

"I'm right there, I'll go," Jason responded. He was already starting up his bike and driving to the warehouse that you were supposedly in. God forbid that Tim was right - after the comment you made Penguin was not going to be happy.

Jason's bike barely stopped before he hopped up. The place looked empty - the only sign of life was a singular light going off in the building. Gun's out and up, he kicked open the door and was ready to shoot anyone that stood in his way. However, there was no one. For a second, he thought that Tim had gotten the place wrong until he saw a lump of red, green, and yellow lit up.

Jason holstered his guns and ran over to you. A pool of blood surrounded your limp body and as he turned you onto your back, he had seen while. Two bullet holes punctured your suit and deep into your abdomen.

"Fuck," Jason muttered. He pulled his helmet off, not wanting to scare you more than you already were. You eyes fluttered up to him and you had to use all of your strength just to keep them open. "Batman, fuck, hurry."

Jason pressed down on your fresh wounds in hope to stop the bleeding but it already looked like you had lost too much. There was no way that he could move you - not when he only had his bike with him.

"You're gonna be just fine, (Y/N)," Jason tried to comfort you. You didn't feel the need to be comforted - in fact you didn't feel anything at all. Jason'a face was blurry above you and a ringing vibrated through your ears. No pain was felt in your body, just acceptance. "Stay with me."

"Bru..." You tried to talk but nothing was able to come out. Blood stained your teeth, only the metallic taste of blood was what you could sense. "Sorry..."

This time, your eyes didn't open again. "(Y/N)," Jason called to you. Your body was completely dead weight in his arms and your chest no longer rose up. "(Y/N)," Jason tried again. He ripped off his gloves and pressed his fingers to your neck. No pulse. "No! (Y/N)!"

Jason felt an overwhelming sadness fill his chest. For years he was never fond of you. You were reckless, dangerous, even a threat to this team. You cared about the thrill of it all no matter what kind of spot that put you in. You came from a broken home, just excited that you finally had a roof over your head.

You were just like him.

That was why Jason hated you so much. You reminded him too much of himself. Too much of what he used to be before Joker had gotten to him. Every time he looked at you, all he could see was what his life used to be like. He had everything he could have wanted, just like you had.

Whatever sick people looked over you had the same kind of fate in mind. You had gotten the same terrible ending that he had gotten. The ending that he didn't want for Tim, that he didn't want for you. That was why he hated you so much.

“Fuck, (Y/N). I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” Jason’s voice cracked as he held back sobs. 

The sadness and grief that filled Jason's chest grew so much that he could no longer contain it. Tears slid down his cheeks as he held onto your body. Sobs echoed through the empty warehouse for the loss of Robin. Jason had reached his breaking point with you.

He was angry with himself for neglecting you all these years. After being able to see so much of himself in you, he should have known that you could have followed him down the same path, he just didn't expect it to be this one. He never expected anyone to be in this same position again, especially with someone other than the joker.

Jason could have taken you under his protection, he could have taught you everything that he knew. Bruce had told him that you looked up to him in so many ways and he denied that you ever cared about him. It was easier to look you than to see the similarities within you.

Bruce had arrived too late as well. The second that he saw your dead body in Jason's arms, he had fallen to his knees in despair. Bruce has to watch his Robin die for a second time. What broke him even more, was seeing the absolute heartbreak on Jason's face. They had all been too late.

Jason Todd had failed you, and he was going to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

[breakerrhexis]

ELODIE FROM NOWHERE

ELODIE FROM NOWHERE 

Hi, hello, loves! Hope you have a super, wonderful, random day filled with love. And if your day is about to end, I hope you have the best night’s sleep. Hope you enjoy todays drabble: Elodie From Nowhere.

PART 1/1 

Not Edited

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

DEAR MOTHER,

IF YOU ARE READING THIS NOTE, THEN IT MEANS THAT IT WORKED. IT MEANS THAT I’M GONE AND DIDN’T CHICKEN OUT AT THE VERY LAST MINUTE. I AM QUITE PROUD OF MYSELF. FOR TWO MOONS, I SAT ON THIS VERY WINDOWSILL AND PONDERED WHAT I SHOULD DO. THE ANSWER WAS OBVIOUS, IT MOCKED ME EVERY TIME I GLANCED AT MY WINDOW. THE GRIMOIRE WILD BECKONED ME TO DISAPPEAR IN ITS GROVES. IT SAID: YOU’D BE SAFER WITH ME, HERE.  

WHY DID YOU WANT TO KILL ME? WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME I WAS NOT THE REAL PRINCESS? DID YOU EVER EVEN LOVE ME? WHY DID YOU NOT TELL ME MY MOTHER, MY ACTUAL MOTHER, WAS A MERE VILLAGER WHOSE CHILD YOU RIPPED AWAY FROM HER ARMS? WHY DID YOU LIE TO ME? DID YOU LOVE ME? WHAT WAS IT FOR THIS SACRIFICE THAT YOU SPOKE OF TWO MOONS AGO? DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER? YOU WERE DRUNK OUT OF YOUR MIND. 

I DO NOT WANT TO DIE. I AM SORRY. I CANNOT DO IT.

I HATE YOU. 

WITH LOVE, ELODIE.

As Drusilla read the last word, she tore the note in half and let the pieces drift off to the floor. She sucked in a breath to calm the erratic staccato of her heart. “How?” She asked to the servants, who sat on their knees with their heads down. Beside them, a half-dozen guards stood with their helmets resting at their sides. When no one answered, she roared. “HOW DID SHE LEAVE GODDAMNIT!” She faced them, teeth gritting against each other. 

“W-we do not know, Your Grace,” A timid female voice responded. 

Drusilla shut her eyes and rubbed her forehead. She wanted to tear the room apart with a sword. Wanted to see the floor flood with crimson.

If she did not find her in time, all would’ve been for naught. 

She ambled forward and said: “Useless. All of you. I want her here by the end of this week. Do you understand?” She paused under the threshold of Elodie’s room and glanced over her shoulder. “Bring her to me. Dead or alive. Do you understand? Or it will be your heads I’ll have to cut instead.”

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

A branch thwacked into Elodie’s face when she ran, filled with excitement, at the final barrier of trees and shrubs that surrounded the Pearl Palace. She almost fell back, startled. Her nose ached where the branch smacked her and she winced when she touched it.

“What the hell, Elodie?” She cursed at herself. 

Careful this time, she crouched under the limbs of trees until her feet and head poked free from the wilderness.

She was out! Elodie wanted to jump, but her feet were sore from the long, excruciating hours of walking and tripping through the woods. Instead, she giggled and sauntered towards a three-way sign.

On top, scribbled hastily, an arrow pointed at the path in front of where she stood: Willowsleep. Behind her: Pearl Palace. To her left: Evenhill. 

It was either ahead or to her left. Whatever choice it was, it was better than the palace, but she needed to be quick. She had no clue what plan Queen Drusilla had cooking in her rotten little head. Whatever it was though, Elodie was sure it wasn’t good. That was if Drusilla was looking for her at all. 

“Always look forward, never back, right?” 

Elodie trenched onward to Willowsleep, with five crowns to her name and one soiled dress. 

Nausea threatened to overcome her as she walked further and further away from the Pearl Palace. From her old life. From Drusilla. From her death. Who was she if not Elodie Stoneheart? Who was the real Princess? Questions, questions, and even more questions with no answers! She would suffer and die clueless. 

Still better than sacrificed, however. 

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

When Elodie reached Willowsleep twenty minutes later, she stood stunned in the midst of bustle and hustle. Wherever she looked, there was a stall of some kind -- food, clothes, weapons, armor, potions, books, jewelry, poisons. She wanted to try everything. 

But the streets were clogged with pedestrians and animals. A group of wood elves with their bows slung over their shoulders stood in one corner. In another, a clan of orcs roared with laughter. Cat-like creatures lingered in the darkest shadows, and folk with the prettiest eyes Elodie had ever seen passed by her. Fae folk. Mothe-- Dursilla worked closely with the Autumn court. Elodie heard they were the least bothersome to deal with. Horses neighed, pigs snorted, sheep and goats clinked around in herds, and dogs barked every so often.

A shoulder slammed into Elodie. “Move it!” Someone barked.

“I’m sorr--”

Another shoulder slammed into her.

Elodie pushed against the crowd until she made it to an alley where she pressed her back against the wall and took in a deep breath to calm herself. Her hands shook. Her vision swam. She could not breathe. It was too much. Too much sound. Too many people. She only ever had to be around a few at the Pearl Palace.

“You’re okay,” Elodie whispered to herself. “You are here, you are alive, and that’s all that matters.” She balled her hands into fists.

When her heart had calmed, Elodie noticed the ache in her stomach and the fact that her tongue stuck to the roof of her month uncomfortably. She took a breath and stepped into the crowd once more. 

She looked around as she walked, keeping an eye out for food. Instead, what actually caught her eye was a little boy struggling against a large, burly man. Elodie stared around her, noticing no one even bothered to give the endangered child a glance. Gritting her teeth, Elodie marched over there, yelling out a “HEY!”, which garnered the attention of a few passerby's.

“What do you think you’re doing?” Elodie demanded. 

The man, with faint orcish features and tattoos that swirled around his neck and arms, glared at Elodie and tightened his grip on the kid, who nervously looked between them. 

“None of yer’ business, little lady.” He sneered. Turning back to the kid, “Come on yer’ little twat.” He pulled. 

Elodie held onto the other kids wrist. “No. I’ll scream for help if you don’t let go.” She narrowed her eyes. “I will. Do. It.”

He took a step closer, eyes darkening. Elodie swallowed the ball in her throat and remained still as he large figure loomed over Elodie. 

“I--” His eyes bulged from his head. Elodie stared, surprised, as the man crumbled to the ground, covering his crotch area, face rapidly turning an embarrassing shade of blue. The kid latched on Elodie’s wrist and ran.

They didn’t stop until they made it behind two stalls. Trying to catch her breath, Elodie almost buckled to her knees. She was so exhausted she could just curl up on the ground and die. 

“Are you--” wheeze “--okay?” 

The little boy nodded. He was not out of breath. Elodie envied him. 

After a minute, Elodie composed herself. “You got to be careful around here, okay?” The little kid looked at Elodie and nearly jumped on her. She stumbled back in surprise when his arms wrapped around Elodie’s waist.

“OH!” Elodie laughed. She patted the kid’s head. She was about to talk when the kid suddenly pulled away from her, yelled “BYE!” and ran. 

She lost sight of him in the crowd. 

“Well...” She nodded at herself, proud. “Something good came out of this mess.” Her stomach growled. She patted her stomach. “I need something to eat...” She reached into her satchel and found nothing. Not her sack of crowns. Nothing. 

“What the fu-”

She had been fooled, hadn’t she?

.

.

.

.

.

.

[kyloren-theprince]

Feral

What makes Hux more feral than Ren? Lack of consent? Maybe, but Kylo isn’t one to always adhere to your every plea; sometimes what he needs is to fuck you hard and fast and without remorse and he never really asked to do that. But deep down, you and Ren both know what you want is each other.

Warnings: smut, edging, inappropriate use of the Force, swearing, brief mention of assault, blood

“Damnit, Ren!” He stands between you and the door, his body solid and taut with barely – just barely – contained rage. He could kill you no problem. But it's not about whether or not he could, the matter at hand was would he. You clench your fist, steeling yourself. “Move.”

He takes a jagged breath, bracing, everything about him so barely controlled. The air hums with an electricity that makes your hair stand on end, makes the lights buzz a little louder than before. Without his helmet, the dark tresses of his hair fall over his face, curling handsomely around the edges of his cheekbones.

“No,” he growls lowly. His left eye twitches. “You’re not leaving.”

“Like fucking Kriff I am!”

“Where are you even going to go?” He’s challenging, squaring off. You roll your eyes. “Are you running to the resistance? Go fuck off with whoever’s left?”

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Don’t be a fucking child. I’ll stay right where I’m needed-“

“And yet you want to leave,” he interrupts.

“Yes!” You manage to sidestep him, closer to the door, but not yet there.

There’s pressure on your wrist, not warm enough to be his hand, but firm enough that it’s clear you’re not getting out of this quite yet.

“Why? Give me one good reason why.”

You turn on a credit, the hair that managed to free itself from it’s braids flying wild. “You are a lot of things, Kylo, but a man of reason is not one of them.”

“One!”

You watch the way his chest heaves, his fingers twitching. A pain taps the nerves in your arm. You must flinch because he releases only a hair, but it's enough that he’s not hurting you. You look at him, in his eyes, and your heart aches at the sight.

They’re red, glistening enough to know that he has tears in his eyes. You were the only one to ever see him cry (and live), but now you were the cause. Your voice softens.

“I need you to understand that I am not you little fuck toy. You don’t get to use me and then leave for days – weeks – and then get pissed off when I’ve left these quarters during that time.”

His lips press together tightly. You consider the idea of continuing to talk, but you just swallow, feeling the ghost of a hand trail across your palm, pulling on your fingers just enough to have a sense of longing. But then it’s gone, and Kylo lets you walk through those blast doors without another word.

––––

Two, almost three, weeks have passed since that night, and while the ache of Kylo’s absence weighed heavy on your spirit, other issues have arisen. These ones, however, you never realized the extent of before now. Most personnel on the Finalizer recognized your authority, and regarded you with the same respect as before, but there were few outliers.

Take General Artimage Hux for example: he’s a man of some power, and with the idea that he is irreplaceable in his head, he’s proven himself quite the pain in your ass.

He was always on your heels, offering you comfort you didn’t ask for, kind words you didn’t want to hear, gentle reassurances that made you want to pull your hair out, grab him by the ear and thunk him on the forehead, right between his eyes. Either that or kill him.

Right now, as he’s calling your name from the other end of the otherwise empty hall to your temporary quarters, you’ve decided on killing him.

“What is it, General?” You slow enough to glance over your shoulder, hating how close to you he always wants to be. “I’ve somewhere I need to be.”

“And where might that be, darling?” He teases, smoothing over his uniform.

His voice. It’s grating on your ears, makes your head hurt in the worst way. Stars, debriefings with him were awful but this was outright torture.

Maybe that’s how we should interrogate the prisoners, you think. Make him talk to them for a few hours. Melt their brains with his bantha shit.

“None of your concern,” you reply curtly. You don’t give him the courtesy to look at him, you don’t have to. “You’re supposed to be on the bridge.”

“I’ve got a few minutes to spare.”

Your door is in sight, but he’s still here. “Actually General,” you snap, turning sharply to face him, “you don’t. Report to your post immediately.”

The cocky motherfucker has the audacity to stop as well, flash his teeth in a smile, bend at the waist and ask, “Or what?”

A beast within you runs rampant, gnashing its teeth, scratching, writhing in his presence. You don’t move, only watch as he flinches, clutching his neck as he chokes.

“You seem to have forgotten your place,” you snarl. “Or you’ve forgotten mine. Which is it?”

He garbles around the pressure on his throat, usually so pale face having taken on a red tone, ripening into a purple. You release him, and he sucks in deep, lungful of air. He’s panting when he looks at you again, his eyes no longer teasing, but dark and dangerous. In a moment, your head throbs upon its impact against the wall, your arms pinned between your bodies. Hux’s breath on your face makes your skin itch.

“Your place has been Ren’s whore.” You thrash, and he takes hold of your chin, knocking your temple into the support pillar. Your vision goes spotty, but you still push against him. “But now he’s thrown you out like the cheap thing you are.”

So many emotions are screaming through you, your fight or flight going haywire. Was your brain even processing? Ren’s whore, you hear him say. His hands are moving, dragging, feeling across the planes of your torso.

Spiraling, your consciousness produces the image of walking into your quarters, the one you shared with Kylo, and burying yourself in his chest, running your hands through his hair. Even in the daydream, you’re crying, apologizing over and over. You imagine him saying your name.

Maybe he hates you for what you did, and that makes it worse, so much worse, because that’s the only place you want to be. You want to be in the arms of the person who hates you so fucking much. You’re slipping under, drowning in whatever nightmare this is, shutting down, but you don’t want to. No, no this is not going to be how this turns out. You’ll die before then.

“What was that?” It’s Hux again; grating, disrespectful, disgusting Hux. “I thought you said something, darling.”

You pry your eyes open. You bring your knee up, but he pins both legs with his own, amused by your struggle. He opens his mouth to say something, but you spit right there on his face, wishing it were poison or acid instead.

“You,” he says lowly, leaning close to your face, “are going to regret that.”

You bare your teeth. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Without further warning, you bite down on the bridge of his nose, forcing your teeth down tight around the bone until there’s a resounding crack, copper on your tongue. He shouts, smacking at your face until you let go. He prods at the break, flinching, staring at you with wide and pissed off eyes. He shifts his weight towards you, the very beginning of a step, but you throw him back with the Force. He crumples to the ground, rolling slowly to his hands and knees.

Ever on time, the patrol of the evening comes into view, and with one little flick of your wrist, Hux is sent flying to their feet. They stumble to a stop, looking to you for orders.

“Take him,” you instruct.

They move without hesitation, binding his wrists together, and escorting him to the brig eight levels down. You stand there, in the middle of the otherwise empty hallway, just breathing.

Kylo, you think, hoping – knowing – he can hear you, meet me at the throne.

––––

He’s come home from battle looking better than he does now; the bags beneath his eyes are prominent, shoulders slumped with their own weight. He doesn’t move when you enter the room, doesn’t say anything as you walk towards him. He just watches with those sad and tired eyes. You stand next to him, inches from the throne, studying its intricacies that you hadn’t noticed before.

“Do you understand why?” Your voice is soft, fragile even. He feels his heart twist in his chest, guilt sinking lowlowlow. There’s another moment of silence save for his breathing, and you pull him from his thoughts with the gentlest call of his name.

“I do,” he answers, fearing he’s spoken far too loud for the moment. He doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t defend himself in anyway, he just knows these last three weeks have been eating him alive. He was rotting in ways he hadn’t expected to. And maybe to say he understood was a lie, but he knew he’d at least try to accommodate, to listen to you a little more than just your moans.

You nod once, eyes somewhere else entirely. Gentle is not his forte. You knew this, you didn’t expect him to console you, you didn’t ask him to, but carefully – awkwardly, even – he reaches out, pulling you into his chest.

“Kylo,” you mumble against the fabric of his shirt, feeling every thump thump thump of his heart. It felt good to say his name, feel it roll on your tongue.

His hands move from your back to your face, ducking down to kiss you deeply. “Say you won’t leave.” You run your hands through his hair, fingers spread wide over his scalp. “Tell me you wont leave again, ever. You can go wherever the fuck you want, but you’ll come back to me.”

Ren’s whore.

“If you promise me the same.” His brows are twisted, and you know with that one look that he’s heard Hux’s words. You shake your head. “I don’t know what I’m-“

He kisses you, short and fierce this time. “You’re Empress. You rule beside me.”

“Wha-“

“And you’ll stay by me.” His words are sharp, but he softens when he says, “Please.”

Though weak, you smile. “How could I ever refuse you?”

His sinks, smashing your lips together in a flurry, and you take it as an apology. Words he was terrible at, but he could show you, Kriff could he show you.

There more he kisses you, the more you dissolve into his touch, shaking, melting away at his fingers. His grip turns a little harsher, nose scrunching up.

He spins, sitting on the throne and pulling you with him, onto his lap. “You-“ he runs his hands up your thighs, thumbs drawing harsh circles “-fuck.”

You cup his face, kissing him, letting his hands roam, but keeping his lips firmly against yours. He’s jumpy, hips rocking, grinding his covered cock against your heat, growling when you don’t move more than your lips against his.

He wants control, needs it; can feel it scathing beneath his skin, but you’re not backing down this time. You need this just as much as he does, more maybe.

You tug at his belt, pulling away to tear off his pants, hands sliding up over his thighs, the thick muscles would tight and jumping at the press of your thumb. His eyes burn into yours, nose scrunched up.

“If you don’t sit on my cock—“

“You’ll what?” He doesn’t flinch at your sharp tone, but his face relaxes, lips parting so pretty, pupils blown wide. You push his arms down to the throne, pinning him by his inner elbow as you shift back onto his lap. His fingers flex. You gyrate your hips, barely dragging your heat over his aching erection, and he visibly shakes.

You’ve never felt this powerful in your life; not when you cut down enemies, had troopers obey your every command. No, having the mighty Kylo Ren, Supreme Leader of the galaxy, trembling beneath you was what made you feel fucking invincible.

Almost drunk on it, you lean forward, daring, “What will you do, Kylo?” He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple bobbing. “Bend me over? Fuck me stupid?”

Poking at the beast is fun. He locks up, every muscle drawn tight, and he gives a clipped, “Yes.”

You reach out with the Force, seeing bind to his arms, and falling heavy with weight. You knock the snarl off his lips when you take a fistful of his hair and tug, pushing his head against the back of the throne, baring his pale throat. His lips part again, arms taut against the invisible pressure.

“Then you,” you taunt, leaning in close, “haven’t learned your lesson.”

All the ways you could bind him flit through your mind, and you know he sees them too, you make sure of it. His eyes grow darker. Every heavy breath makes his chest puff, flexed, bracing for something that might happen, might not. Nearly lost in it, you bring him back to reality, letting only the head of his dick slide into your wet hole.

“Is this what you wanted?” You sink, just enough to watch those pretty lashes flutter, before rising again. He growls through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna have to use your words.”

He hates this, hates you’ve turned the tables. Or maybe he likes it. Fuck if he really knows. He does know he likes seeing you like this, all commanding, rich with… stars, he’s not sure what this is. But you’re flushed, focused, articulate even as your cunt drools all over his lap. It’s a tug of war, whether or not he submits, so he gives back what you’re so good at: being a brat.

“Is this what you wanted?” He lets his tongue drag over his teeth, watching your head tilt as you follow his eyes. “You wanted to come prove something to your Supreme Leader?”

“No,” you hum and oh, he’s in for it now. He holds his breath when you lean forward, the pressure of hands working over his hips and pressing down at the tops of his thighs. “I wanted to break you.”

His back arches, breath coming in harshly, eyes squeezed shut, jaw slack as he moans, wishing he could hold your hips down on his, your cunt sheathing him so suddenly he’s keening. He groans, the sound catching on the back of his throat, reverberating. You wigglegrindclench, and he gasps, willing you to move. Your grip on his hair loosens, running your hand through the dark tresses, stopping only at his jaw to tug his lower lip. Kylo’s eyes are glazed over when he looks at you again.

“Please,” he breathes, the plea surprising you both.

“Please what?”

“Fuck!” He snaps weakly, breath leaving in a big sigh. “I don’t know, just please move. Please.”

You roll your hips, biting your lip when he chokes on his own voice. “Will you be good?”

There’s a moment of mixed emotions, clarity returning to his eyes. He blinks, face scrunching up, shaking his head of whatever thought occupying it.

You click your tongue, “What a shame.”

Pressure at the base of his dick and he jerks his hips up, eyes wide, flitting between a plea and a threat as you tighten the grip, fucking yourself on his hot length. He swears, pants, leans forward to bite at your breasts, but you take hold of his chin, pushing his head back against the throne.

“Uh-uh,” you chide. “You didn’t want to be a good boy, so this is what you get.” Breathless but determined, you lean forward, still bouncing. “I’m gonna use you like some dumb fuck doll, and you’re not gonna do a thing. You’re not gonna touch me, taste me—“ you make a point of tightening the invisible cock ring, earning a low, gutteral moan “—and you’re not gonna cum in me either.”

The threat almost makes him scream. He tries to bite it back, but your walls are hugging him so tightly, making this obscene squelching noise everytime you move. Sweat drips down to the hollow of your throat and stars does he wish to drink it down. He breathes your name, husky and desperate for you, for release, both.

“Please,” he begs again. He closes his eyes, nearly melting when your lips ghost over the smooth skin of his neck, nose following the line of his scar. “P-please! I’ll be a good—“ his throat clicks “—good boy! Let me cum, fuck, let me cum please!”

Those words felt foreign on his tongue, but how his whole being sings when your fingers dig into his shoulders. He’s almost there, would be if not for your hinderance, but he can feel the way your walls flutter and clench, and he knows he’s not the only one.

“Do you think you deserve to?”

“No!” Spitting that out was easier than he expected. So was, “I don’t deserve you or your cunt!”

You hum, but don’t acknowledge it further, chin dropping to your collarbone as you pant shudder shake, heat coiling at the base of your spine, muscles flexing. Kylo’s back bows, chest and face angled towards the ceiling, a loud, low moan rumbling through him.

He tries not to think about it — how fucking badly he wants to cum, fill up your pretty cunt — tries breathing, counting, squeezing his eyes shut. He forces his mind away from his orgasm, and of course it goes to you; his conscious seeks out the thread intertwining the two of you, the shared bond through the Force.

A new sensation zips through him, flitting through his thoughts, makes his brain buzz on his own skull. You sigh, moan, and he feels it, feels it against the planes of his face, feels it hum through his head like a tidal wave. Everything is so bright and electric, but there’s something there.

It’s small, tucked away, felt by numb fingers. It’s young and fleeting and yielding and disappearing melting hiding gone behind the eruption of your orgasm, and Kylo feels all of it.

In every cell in his body, he feels you clamping down on his cock, gushing, cumming all over his lap, moaning loud loud loud for him. He feels your release through you and his mind is spinning because Kriff his cock is still so full and aching as you pull away. He whines, low and pitiful.

“Go on.” His whole being hums with your voice, the pressure of the cock ring relieving into a stroke over his shaft. “Cum, Kylo.”

And he does, he fucking cums; thick spurts that touch his chin and splatter on his chest, such a big load that lands all over him. His body sags against the throne, breathing deep through chapped lips.

Fuck, maybe he blacks out for a moment, dragging his eyes open when his cloak is tossed over his lap, the fabric making his over sensitive cock twitch. When the blast doors hiss open, and troopers march in escorting Hux, Ren doesn’t move.

You briefly admire Kylo; the sweat makes his hair curl into his eyes, everything about him draped so leisurely across the ancient seat, thighs spread. The flush of his usually pale skin, little marks across his neck, make him glow. His gaze meets yours, unchanging, but curious. Hux clears his throat.

“Supreme Leader,” he acknowledges almost reverently, falling to one knee.

That something is back, scathing and scratching behind the walls of your mind, and Kylo sees it, turning to Hux slowly. “Your business here is not with me.”

You turn, and it’s now that Hux swallows thickly. At the bottom of those steps, he looks so small and scared, as he damn well should be. His back straightens when you walk forward, the troopers moving back as you approach.

“Empress,” he says lowly, far less reverently. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Something dark clouds your eyes, and Hux’s façade fades further. He reaches out, just the barest lift of his fingers, and that’s it.

Kylo’s saber flies easily from its hilt, landing in your palm, burning hot as it cuts through the air, through skin and bone, Hux’s hand falling to the floor in a sickening heap. He cries out, cradling his arm, wailing, face red. The smell of burnt flesh curls at your nose.

“If you touch another woman without her permission,” you promise, low, dark, and deadly. You put the tip of the saber beneath his trembling chin, forcing him to look at you. “I will take more than your hand.”

He nods as best he can, whispering hoarsely, “Yes, ma’am.”

What a sight to behold: an empress wielding a blade to a feral man’s throat, threatening his life with little effort and full understanding.

When Hux is half carried away on tremebling knees do you turn back to your husband. You kill the saber, slowly retuning to him, offering it for him to take. Your heart was hammering in your chest. Whether that’s from the exertion of fucking him or the adrenaline of Hux’s punishment, you weren’t sure.

Kylo’s lips remain parted, eyes wide as he pushes the saber away with the side of his pinky, his focus zeroed in on you.

“Is that what possessed you?” His voice is low, hoarse despite the way he tries to clear it. Your lip twitches and that’s all he needs to know.

He urges you forward, the Force gentle at your back, but buzzing with anticipation. You stand between his parted legs, letting his hands touch your waist, sliding up to your ribcage as he sits up. His thumbs move soothingly. He angles his head upwards, almost your height, but not quite given he’s still sitting.

He wants to say something, he should, but he’s replaying that moment in his head over and over and over until he’s dizzy with it. The power and radiance of you always left him so hard, and now was no different; with his shifting, his robe falls, revealing his cock, already flushing a deep red, precum falling from the slit.

“You are exquisite,” he breathes finally, loving the way your pupils blow wide at the sight of him. And while he doesn’t have words beyond that, your lips meet fiercely in a kiss that you both moan into, and stars he can show you just how much he needs you.

[alpineglowx]

I'll Do The Same {Din Djarin x OC} Chapter One: Silhouettes

pairing: mando/din djarin x female oc

warnings: none

* * * *

“Get up here, now, or I’m gonna have your head, Sai’Lya!”

Her head shot up, and the pain that followed from banging her skull into the top of the sleeping chamber ached immensely. Thell held her head, only for a moment; it was the only time she was allowed, before slipping her brown and gray garments over her head. Her tattered grey cloak was last, securing the gold pin tightly around her chest as she swung her legs over the chamber to slip her feet into her boots. Her toe was nearly sticking out through the front again; she would have to ask Miko for news ones, if he could afford to risk it.

Thell stumbled down the steel corridor, tying her hair into a knot to make herself look at least a bit more presentable. The hallways turned to a sudden stunning white that reflected the fancy interior of Bespin’s greatest business lord, Bleys Darand’s, mansion.

Thell had worked and lived with him for as long as she could remember. Her mother had been with her too, until the sickness that had ravaged Bespin for two years took her too, along with many of her friends. That had been over ten years ago. She was twenty nine now, nearly thirty, and twelve when her mother had passed. She had never known her father, and for the most part, she was alone. Miko, another servant in the adjacent building, was the only one she could scarcely call her a friend. He was a grumpy old man who only took pity on her because he had been fond of her mother.

That’s what it had been for years now; sympathy from others, for the people who she had come from, been born from. She herself had never been able to prove her own worth, and it was what she wanted more than anything else. For someone to appreciate her for her own self, her own spirit, to actually see her, and not someone she had been associated with.

Bleys Darand came into her view much sooner than she had expected, whirling around the corner so fast she had to skid on her heels to avoid crushing him.

“Where in the Maker have you been, girl?” He growled, tugging her forward with a harsh grasp on her arm. “I needed the entire room to be cleaned before my guests arrived, and you are twenty minutes behind schedule!”

Thell gritted her teeth and tried to stop the tears she knew were coming. She only looked away, nodded, and waited for him to release her.

“Insolent child,” came Darand’s harsh voice again. “I don’t see the reason in keeping you around if you can’t do the simplest of tasks. Don’t make me regret making that promise to your mother all those years ago.”

He shoved her forward, so hard her knees slammed into the smooth marble flooring, and when she raised her hands they were streaked with red. Thell waited until she had heard Darand move from the room until she rose to her feet again, dusting off her pants.

She hated the cleaning, the constant need to have everything perfect, when Darand already lived in the most perfect place in the galaxy. But the view was nice. For at least now, it would suffice.

The sun was rising, casting golden glows and beaming rays of yellow and orange across the cityline. Thell stepped closer to the window, closer and closer until she could let her fingertips rest against the glass, hoping, wishing, that one day she could fly past that swirl of clouds and sunshine and make it into that neverending void of space and stars.

. . . . .

The day had been lonely, like most. The other servants never made eye contact with her, wanted nothing to do with her. They knew the promise Darand had made her mother the night she died, wasting away from a sickness no doctor could cure.

“Please, momma.”

“You have to be strong, my star,” her mother whispered, her voice strained with sickness. “You have to be strong for me.”

Thell had been twelve at the time, and the pain of losing her best friend, her only friend, had not been made any easier. Watching her wither away for months, being forced to spend less and less time with her as Darand gave her more responsibilities.

But something was different that night, Thell could feel it. Her mother had told her stories of the Force, the Jedi, the thing that tied all living beings together. She wondered if she was feeling it, that mystical Force her mother had told her stories of late at night.

“Momma, please. I need you,” Thell begged, wrapping her small fingers tight around her mother’s thin arm.

Her mother’s arm came up, tucked a wandering lock of copper hair behind her ear.

“I’ll always be with you, Thell. You know that.”

Her mother tried to smile, even with her sickly skin and pale eyes.

“Momma... I don’t know-”

Footsteps echoed behind them, and Thell curled close to her mother, her eyes narrowing when she noticed Bleys Darand stepping into their chambers.

“Thell, step into the other room for a moment, please,” her mother said, but when she didn’t move, pressed, “Thell, now.”

With gritted teeth and teary eyes, Thell fled from the chamber, huddling on the opposite wall, the one that faced the window. She wrapped her hands around her knees and ducked her head down, letting the tears stain her garments. She could hear her mother and master speaking, but only faintly. She could only hear bits and pieces of their conversation.

She strained closer to the open doorway, pressing her ear against the corridor.

“You have to promise me that, Darand.”

“Seba, I...”

“You have to. She is the only thing I have ever loved. Too many children die in this galaxy because they don’t have people that care for them. I don’t care if you do not show her love as I did, but I need you to promise me that you will take care of her. I don’t want you throwing her to the streets as soon...”

The conversation drifted off, and Thell sniffed, bringing her ear closer.

“I have served your family since you were a young man. The least I am asking for is that you give her a home.”

“I.... I will.”

“I need you to promise me.”

Thell heard Darand sigh heavily. “I promise. I will take care of her.”

“I will be gone soon... I am thankful to know that.”

“That’s... another thing, I needed to speak about with you.”

Thell leaned against the wall, catching her breath as she swung the sack of cleaning supplies over her shoulder. It was nearly sundown, the end of her shift. She could relax, stretch her legs, maybe even take a walk around the artificial garden that sat atop Darand’s mansion.

Thell had just placed the sack of cleaning supplies back in their closet when she heard a loud, unnerving thump. Twisting her head the other direction, Thell’s eyes followed down the dark corridor, only lit by small yellow lamps. She waited, the only sound being her breath as she tried to slow her racing nerves.

“You’re just being stupid,” Thell whispered, trying to pluck up any courage she had.

Taking a small metal rod, meant for cleaning, in one hand, she tiptoed down the hallway, delicately placing one foot in front of the other. The hallway was quiet, almost dead silent save for the hum of the lights and air converters.

But someone was there, a large, shadowy figure standing like a statue at the end of the hall. She had blinked only for a moment and he was there, standing as stiff as a mop. Thell couldn’t see them clearly, not with the limited light, but they didn’t look like anyone who belonged in Darand’s mansion.

Her blood turned to ice, and something like panic rose in her veins. As slowly as she could, she turned on one foot, gently pacing back the direction she had come. Maybe, if he hadn’t noticed her walking forward yet, he wouldn’t bother her.

But something was wildly unnerving at having to turn her back to him. Especially when as soon as she started walking, she heard a loud clang on metal, like it was hitting the floor. Thell flinched, drawing her shoulders in, and dared a peek over her shoulder. Sweat was dripping down her neck now, past her eyes and under her shirt collar.

The stranger had stepped only a foot closer, however, Thell could see that they had placed their hand on their hip.

“Where is Bleys Darand?”

The deep voice, although modulated by a helmet, was like a punch in the chest for Thell. It was both confirmation that she wasn't going crazy and seeing people at night, and that someone was stupid enough to come after someone like Darand.

Thell turned all the way around, her hands shaking like she was holding a buzzing canister. She knew her options: obviously, this person was trying to kill or at least kidnap Darand, and would stop anyone who came in their way. And from the looks of it, this person knew their way around town.

But there was also the matter of who Darand was to her, the promise he had made to her mother over fifteen years ago. If he was killed, or taken, what would she be then? Cast out to the streets, made a slave to yet another master?

Dread prickled up her neck for both circumstances, but for once, she didn’t have to make the decision.

“Get down!”

Thell dropped to the floor, holding her hands over her head as a rush of blaster fire soared over her, explosions and sparks being thrown to each opposite end of the hall. There were footsteps around her on all sides, vibrating the floor beneath her shaking form and causing her to peak at the scene unfolding around her.

A body dressed in black, one of Darand’s guard, lay on the floor only a few feet in front of her. There were small bouts of flames on the walls, blaster marks on the white marble flooring, evidence of a battle not wanting to be won easily.

But there was no one else in the hallway. The mysterious man and the other guards must have fled down a hall, and relief surged through Thell’s body. But she scrambled toward the guard anyway, pulling him onto his back and shoving the mask off his face. He was still breathing, just barely, taking shaky, gulping breaths that made Thell realize the shot must have been fatal.

He tried to raise a hand, but it barely made it off the floor. His eyes were frantic, blood starting to gurgle from his mouth.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Thell hushed, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Man...” the guard wheezed, his eyes squeezing shut.

“I know.”

She had seen death before, seen it take away the one she cared most about, so she did not fear it. It did not make it easier, however, to know that this man was young, and suffering, and he would be dead in moments.

Suddenly she was back in real life, and something was being shoved against her hand: a blaster.

Blinking, Thell turned back to the man, whose scrunched eyes were directly on her.

“Take it,” he hissed.

Thell shook her head, knowing what a weapon of that power meant, what it could so easily do to someone in a second.

“No.”

“Take it!” The pressure of the blaster ceased as the man’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp against the floor, the weapon lying limp against Thell’s arm. There was a tear rolling down her face and she roughly wiped a sleeve against it, smearing the wetness. With trembling fingers, Thell closed the man’s eyelids, and placed her hand over his forehead, closing her own eyes.

“Udesiir,” she whispered, just as her mother before her had done when staff members of Darand’s household had passed away. The last time she had spoken the word was over fifteen years ago, and it felt just as raw.

She grabbed the blaster, stumbled away from the dead guard, and fled the opposite direction down the hallway.

The hallways were quiet, but littered with the marks of blaster fire and struggle. Windows were smashed through, letting in a more than chilly breeze that ruffled Thell’s cloak. Glass crunched under her shoes, and she made her way carefully, slowly through the halls, holding the blaster out in front of her. But as far as she could tell, no one else had been killed, and no one else but the guards that had chased after the man knew that he was here.

The hallways were silent until she rounded a corner, and came into the main living area that Darand spent most of his time in. This section was unharmed, looking as clean as she had left it, but something was off. The holo was on, showing scenes from a holodrama that Darand loved to watch. But from where she could see at her position at the edge of the wall, no one was in the room.

So she inched forward, holding the blaster out in front of her, twisting her head to look in every possible direction for an attack. Thell came closer, rounding the circular white couch that encompassed most of the room. Her goal had been to turn off the holo, probably left on by another servant or Darand himself, but her gaze had been glued to the center of the couch.

It was only when she had stumbled back, smacking her backside into the marble floor from the pure shock, that she could see clearly what was sitting on the couch.

It was some small, green alien, no taller than a foot high, from his position on the couch. If it even was a he. He was dressed in a bulgy tan robe that covered his feet and most of his three toed hands. Long, expressive ears stuck out from the side of his squashed head, and large black eyes stared back at her from his spot. From here, she could see wisps of light hair on his head, but he nearly looked bald. He was the strangest, but nearly cutest, creature Thell had ever seen.

And he was watching the holodrama. Even holding the remote in his tiny green hand.

So Thell let the blaster fall to her side, swallowing hard so she could speak without trembling.

“Um, hello.”

The small thing tilted its head, made a small squeaking noise, and directed its attention back to her. Thell’s jaw dropped.

“You’re just a kid,” she whispered to no one in particular, stunned.

So Thell stood slowly, letting her hands open so the child could see that she was unarmed.

“Hi, little guy,” she said softly, gently kneeling down in front of him. He tilted his head again, his ears twitching at her words. “Where did you come from?”

He made a soft noise again, and his nose twitched, like he was trying to say something. And Thell was ready to speak again when she heard a loud yell down one of the adjacent hallways. Her head shot up, and she expected to see that strange man walk in through the corridor. But it seemed she had some time.

Thell looked back at the child. “Come on, little guy. I need to get us somewhere safe.”

When it didn’t seem like he would object, Thell pulled him against her chest and rose to a standing position, going to grab her blaster. She had just bent down to grab it when she heard that familiar metal clang on the floor, and that same deep voice.

“Put him down.”

[zenithlux]

Tendrils of Regret - Part 3

Read on AO3 Here!

You found out very quickly that it was easy for you to annoy Vergil. In fact, it seemed that your entire existence was enough to do it. But you quite enjoyed pushing more of his buttons. Music in the shower? Check. Typing as loudly as possible while working on the paperwork? Check. Silent treatment? Check. (He did tell you to be quiet, after all). Conveniently forget to wash his clothes despite helping Dante with the laundry? Check. Anything you could do to make his day a little more annoying was free game. 

But you also realized very quickly that Vergil was doing the exact same thing. Buy pizza for dinner but forget that you couldn’t eat it? Check. Read in your desk chair and ignore your (silent) demands to leave? Check (Though he’d quickly given that up when you’d almost sat in his lap just to prove a point). Bring home the stinkiest demons he could find to help with your “condition”? Check. (You wish Trish hadn’t recommended he or Dante do such a thing). And your little game, or whatever it was, went on and on and on. A never-ending dance of increasingly annoying things back and forth, as if one was waiting for the other to crack.

And Dante was absolutely loving it. 

“It doesn't bother me one bit,” he said one day while looking through one of his more scandalous magazines. “It’s lively around here now, thanks to you.” 

You stared at him. “Lively!?”

Dante laughed as he tossed his magazine toward the trash bin. He missed, of course, and just put his hands on the back of his head. “It’s been a long time since my brother and I shared the same space, but things would have been boring between us. You’re like… chaos incarnate.” You scowled at him, but he just kept going. “Verge can’t predict you, and I think that’s good for him.”

“Good for him?” You said. 

“And it’s entertaining,” Dante said as he grabbed another magazine from his desk.

“How many of those do you have?”

“Just about enough,” He said with a grin. “Now go pester my brother some more.”

“He’s not even home.”

“But he will be-”

Then the phone rang. 

Both of you stared at it for a moment. The phone hadn’t rung once since Dante and Vergil had come back from the Underworld almost a month ago. It was Morrison who had taken all of the calls, sending requests their way in a well-coordinated manner. The only reason the phone was even on the desk was because Dante claimed he was “fond of it”. In fact, you hadn’t even realized it was plugged in, as you all had cell phones now. 

“Should you get that?” You said. 

Dante glanced at you, then back to the phone. Finally, he lifted it off of the receiver. “Devil May-”

“Demons!” A male voice yelled. “There’s a swarm of them outside my house!”

Dante frowned, glancing at you. You nodded, more than ready to get out of the store for a little while. “Where are you?” Dante said. The voice was quieter this time, but Dante just nodded. “We’ll be there shortly.” He tossed the phone back on the receiver and grinned at you. “Sure you wanna come, sunshine?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Only one way we’re going to get there.”

You blinked. “But you don’t have a car.”

“Nope,” He said as he grabbed his sword off the wall. 

“What then?” You said. “Am I piggy-backing?”

He laughed. “Something like that.”

-----------

You don’t know what compelled you to get on that infernal bike. As much as you’d come to trust Dante, riding a demon motorcycle without a helmet and an arguably crazy driver was the last thing you should have done. And he made you pay for it, going far faster than the speed limit, turning corners as sharp as possible, and even jumping a bridge with little care in the world. At some point, you’d been forced to wrap your arms around his stomach to keep from falling right off. And once he’d skidded to a stop in front of an old country home outside of Redgrave, you’d jumped off the bike so fast you almost hit the dirt stumbling away. “Are you crazy?” You said, breathing heavily. 

“But it was fun.” He said as he sent the bike away. 

“Fun!?”

“You were perfectly safe, Sunshine.”

“Stop calling me that!”

“And if I don’t?”

You scowled and stormed toward the building. Except a demonic screech from nearby stopped you in your tracks. You wandered to the side of the building, peering around the back. As the man had said, there were numerous demons. They were ones you’d seen before; fat bodies, flowers for heads with nothing but mouths filled with shark teeth. However, most of them were already dead, and a certain blue-coated man was standing in the middle of the carnage. 

“Hey, Verge!” Dante yelled with a dramatic wave. “Surprised you got here first.”

The elder brother swiped his hand through his hair. “Of course I did,” He said. “You should have sensed them yourself.”

Dante snorted. “From Devil May Cry? You give Sunshine too much credit.”

“Me?” You said. “I can’t sense demons.” 

A rumble beneath your feet stopped you in your tracks. Dante moved first, picking you up before you had a chance to react and leaping an impossible distance away. The ground split open, throwing chunks of earth in all directions. Dante slashed a few that came towards you. The others suddenly turned to dust as Vergil clicked his sword back in its sheath. “Show off,” Dante said. Vergil said nothing. 

Your heart pulsed with sudden energy as vines shot out of the ground. In the next second, a blur of purple emerged, slamming down in front of you. Petals unfurled on top of a bulbous stomach, revealing a humanoid figure from the waist up. Her beady red eyes fell on you as a crown of black rose petals formed on her head. “I knew I sensed you.”

Your heart pulsed again. You flinched, grabbing at it. The demon laughed. “How far you’ve fallen, sister.” Vines snaked out toward you, but they too disintegrated. The creature wasn’t even phased as more vines emerged to take their place. “Take a host, she said. I’ll be stronger than even you.” The demon cackled in pure delight. “Look at you now, sister. Nothing more than a useless vine in a useless body.” 

Your eyes narrowed, but it was Dante who stepped forward. “You picked the wrong place to sprout.”

Her eyes flickered between the brothers. “Sons of Sparda,” She said with a dramatic sigh. “How unfortunate. No matter,” The creature said. “You can’t really blame me. My sister and her master in the same place?” Her eyes came back to you. “Both shadows of their former selves.”

Master… 

“This is a waste of time,” Vergil said. “Just kill her and be done with it.”

“Tired of the interesting stories already, Verge?!” Dante said. 

Vergil reached for his sword. “If you won’t do it then I’ll-”

“Who are you?” You said, taking a step forward. You could feel the weight of Vergil’s glare on the back of your head but ignored him. “I remember her thoughts, and she never spoke of you.”

“Of course not, worm,” The demon said. “I was the better of the two and she just couldn’t accept it.”

Dante snorted. “Now that sounds familiar.”

“You’re lucky she’s here,” Vergil said through gritted teeth. 

“What? Afraid of what she’ll think?” Dante said. “That’s funny coming from you.”

“I suggest you…”

“Shut up,” You snapped as you took another step forward. The vines didn’t move, and the demon was giving you a curious look. “You want your sister back, don’t you?”

“What would make you think that?”

“You came to see her,” you said. “And you couldn’t have known she was in my body.”

“What are you getting at?”

“You know how to remove the piece she left behind.”

After a moment of silence, the demon burst into laughter. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t bother now. She got what she deserved, and I do enjoy the suffering of humans.” Vines crawled up around you but you merely flicked your hand and they slammed back into the ground. The demon’s laughter stopped, her eyes wide. “You retained her powers?”

“Guess you’ll have to find out.” You said as you raised your hand, calling to your own plants. But a sharp pain pierced your chest. You cried out, barely able to remain standing as your vision blurred. 

“Poor little girl,” The demon said. “Can’t even fight without your Master’s permission.”

“What?” 

“You probably thought you were free while he was gone from this world,” The demon said. “But you’re not. Not anymore. That pathetic vine in your heart pledged her allegiance to the Demon King. You’re lucky you can even breathe without his permission.”

Furious, you whirled on Vergil. “Stop… whatever this is.”

“I’m not doing anything,” He said. 

A vine crashed beside you.  You pushed it back, but your head felt like it was splitting open. “I was right then,” You said. “You… You can…” You couldn’t finish that sentence as the realization struck you. He can control me. 

You’d never hated the vine in your chest more in your life. 

“I’m done with you,” The demon said as vines wrapped at your feet. “You’ll die here, sister. And I’ll be free.”

“What are you waiting for?” Vergil said. 

“What?”

“You want to fight?” He crossed his arms. “Then do it.”

Your senses snapped into focus. The fog cleared. The pain ceased. And as the vines tightened, you pulled your hands back as fast as you could. The vines split from her body, falling limp around you. The demon shrieked, swinging her arms out. A new pair of vines stretched off her body. You jumped back and touched the ground. You felt your power seep into the soil and you yanked your hand up. Your own plants emerged, their roots growing large enough to block the strike. “How?” The demon yelled, slamming her vines into your barricade again and again. “My sister trained for years. How can you…?”

“I had a good teacher,” You said. Then, you took off into a sprint. Each time a vine swung toward you, you dodged to the side, pulling up more plants to block her path. Her attacks were more frantic, some swinging right over your head. Others missed you entirely. More plants grew; flowers from deep in the soil. Grass that grew and twisted until it was as thick as the vines themselves. As you reached the demon, you slid under her belly, pulling your hands down to your sides. All of your plants surged forward, piercing through the demon’s body. She shrieked, unable to move as more grew, wrapping up around her. You pulled down, straining as you felt her try and fight back. But it was no use. Her own vines wrapped around her, pinning her to the ground. 

The vine in your chest stirred. It was hungry. 

You felt a tinge of excitement, and you didn’t think it was your own. 

You walked slowly as the demon struggled, mentally preparing for what the vine expected of you. You had done this numerous times before, but never on a demon of this size. You remembered the words V had given you when he first taught you what to do. It’s a transference of energy, he’d said as he jabbed his cane into the head of a demon. You’re taking what is rightfully yours. 

How is it rightfully mine?

Strength rules all in the Underworld, my vine. If you defeat a creature like this, its power is yours to take. And if you want to live, you’ll remember that. 

You did remember. You’d hesitated once after he’d left and it had nearly killed you. Now, you promised yourself that would never happen again. 

You just wished nobody was here to see it. 

As you made your way to the front, you shed your shirt, letting it drop at your feet. You were grateful when neither of the brothers said anything, as you fully expected at least Dante to throw something your way. The demon struggled more, but it was useless. “Strength rules all,” You murmured as you reached your hand out toward her body. She shrieked again, trying to dissuade you. But you barely heard it, wincing as the vine emerged from your chest. It was small at first but grew as it wrapped around your arm, heading for the demon. 

“No!” The demon yelled. “You can’t do this.”

“The better sister, huh,” You said. “Not anymore.”

“Human!” She shouted. “Don’t…” But the vine shot upward, piercing her through the heart. Your senses flared to life, even brighter then they had been before. You watched as blue blood slipped through the vine and back into you. You took a deep, slow breath, adjusting to the foreign feeling. You felt lightheaded, but you always did like this. Your body couldn’t handle the blood. It was human. Fragile. But once the vine snapped back, all would return to normal, its magic doing whatever it needed to do to keep you alive. Before you, the demon shrunk, wilting away as her life slipped out of her body. 

After another moment, the vine pulled away, drawing back into you. The wound closed, leaving behind the same, star-shaped scar that you’d stared at for months. For a moment, the demon stood there, mouth agape as she stared up at the sky. Then, she tumbled backward, shattering like a brittle leaf crushed under the weight of someone like you. You felt dizzy as your heartbeat quickened. You reached for your shirt, but stumbled and fell to your knees. You’d never defeated such a large demon. Not on your own. It had always been V to take the power from them, and you’d gladly given it. But now…

You shuddered as nausea swept over you. Exhaustion spread to all of your muscles, threatening to drag you into a deep slumber.  You managed to get your shirt back on, but it was clumsy. You could barely breathe. Barely think. The world felt so small. So constricting. You’d never felt this bad in your life.

Had you taken too much?

Stay strong, V had said the first time you’d absorbed a demon. Its power is yours to keep. 

You felt a hand on your back.  Stay strong V whispered again. 

Yours to keep. 

You passed out, uncertain if you’d ever wake up again.

[proxylynn]

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #25

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

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

Hell hath no fury like this fish woman. For Undyne's rage casts a near-visible aura of hate as she stormed her way into Hotland. Clad in her special armor, keeping her form from dehydrating, she intimidates those that witness her barreling towards the Lab. With a mighty kick, she almost hurls the doors from their hinges before continuing inside. Knowing all too well where her intended target is. Cameras follow her movements but do little to warn their owner in time. Alphys receives the signal just as the echos of hurried stomps reaches her ears. By the time the doors are thrown open, Alphys has made the scene a little more authentic and hides away her more sketchy items. As one can imagine, the Captain of the Royal Guard is less than pleased to see a human being given treatment instead of having its soul collected.

"U-Undyne...W-W-What a surprise."

"Cut the crap, Alphys. How long have you known about it being in the Underground?! Why wasn't I informed?! And why, in Asgore's name, are you keeping that thing alive?!"

The disgruntled captain points at the unconscious human strapped to a bloody slab with several machines around her. Thick bandages cover the wounds given on-screen, the eerie beeps of the machines that are annoyingly loud in the silence, sticky liquid crimson softly dribbles from the slab edges to a small pool draining on the floor as tubes and wires are placed on vital areas. The scene looks like a medical mess. For what good it does to try, Alphys puts on a straight face and gets professionally cold to defend her work.

"Your Captain of the Guard status does not mean I report to you or have to inform you of anything."

The rage of Undyne only increases.

"What did you say?!"

Alphys adjusts her glasses, snidely flipping Undyne off with her middle finger.

"I am the Royal Scientist. I work under and report directly to the King himself. My rank supersedes yours. And as such, unless it is a matter that requires your assistance, I will inform only those that are needed to be informed. Understood?"

Undyne snarls beneath her helmet. This type of thing wasn't uncommon. She knows that Alphys separates herself when it comes to her work. Undyne does it too but tries not to be so obnoxious. It's moments like this that make her crush a little less on this lizard girl.

"But to answer your question...This human has been living in the Ruins for quite some time. Sans and Papyrus have been monitoring her for me."

The skeletons? Those sneaky bastards! She bet Papyrus was thinking he'd use this to one-up her.

"Why use them and not me?"

"Really? You can't stand the cold and they live there. It's a no brainer."

Good point.

"Okay...But why monitor? The law clearly states that the soul of any human is to be collected. No exceptions!"

Undyne summons a spear and readies to spike the human through the face. That is till Alphys moves over to the human and interacts with one of the machines, making her soul slowly emerge...it's white. This sight has the captain of the guard drop her weapon and remove her helm to ensure her eye was not playing a trick on her. Without her helm, the true visage of the Captain of the Guard is shown. Undyne is a piscine anthropomorphic monster. She has blue scales and a long red hair she keeps in a wild ponytail. Red and blue fins on the sides of her head act like ears, she has no nose to speak of. Her teeth are sharp yellow daggers like a barracuda or shark. She has red eye shadow and has an eye-patch on her left eye. Her good eye has a black vertical pupil and a yellow sclera.

"It's...White? What the hell? It was light blue on TV. I saw it!"

"We all did. And it was purple when I first examined her. This is why I've had her under severance and not executed. This human...It's not like the humans we've encountered or the ones in our texts. She seems to be able to change traits or possesses multiple traits."

"How is that possible? Is that even a thing? Is that a thing humans can do now?"

"I haven't collected enough data to determine that. My current theory is that she may be a random mutation, an evolutionary anomaly of sorts. Though, from the information I have gotten, it seems the humans of now have indeed fully lost their usage of magic."

"I thought those past ones seemed off."

"Yes. The previous humans were lacking in their levels of magic but they still possessed it. This one, however, according to my scans had no magic in her soul prior to coming to the Underground."

Scientist say what?

"Wait...What's that supposed to mean?"

Alphys pulls out what looks to be her cell phone and moves it over the soul, scanning till it beeps. She then shows the results to the Captain.

"There's at least 20% to 30% magic now resonating in her soul. Enough to trigger magic prepubescence."

Undyne snickers at the thought of such a thing and it nearly breaks Alphys's composure.

"You can't be serious."

"I am. I had to stabilize the flux with those patches we give out to teens. It's why she's about 30%."

"Dare I ask...How a non-magic soul suddenly has magic?"

"Not sure. Perhaps it's the nature of such a weak soul to pull magic when it can, however, it can. Be it from the surroundings, food, or contact with other beings of magic. Who's to say? Or her soul could be like a parasite and leeching magic for as of yet unknown reasons. I'm just throwing ideas at this point."

"So...What you're saying is the human is dangerous."

"All humans are dangerous, Undyne. But this one? *scoff* Since being down here her LV hasn't budged from its base level."

The Captain is intrigued.

"Has it not been in a fight?"

"Quite the opposite. There's plenty of telltale signs, not to mention video surveillance, that indicates she's been attacked."

"So the wimp flees? Pathetic."

"Sometimes. Most of the time they endure the fight and find a way to end it without fighting back."

A gruff laugh leaves the fish woman.

"Pacifism? Down here? Now that's a joke."

Alphys checks on a liquid-filled bag that's emptying into the human's veins.

"As dumb as it may be, her strategy is a good thing..."

She increases the dripping.

"By not attacking, she isn't killing anyone. And by not killing anyone, she isn't gaining LV. And you know what that means."

Undyne grins like a hungry barracuda.

"It makes it all the easier to collect the last soul."

Alphys nods and removes her glasses to clean them.

"Still...With the number of unknown variables, I'd have to insist on further study of this soul and not just yet bringing it to the King, even if she dies."

"How come?"

"Like I said, too many unknowns. If Asgore wishes to fuse with the seven souls it would be best to make sure this one doesn't overpower or corrupt his own."

"Hmmm...I guess that's fair. We don't need to waste the human souls and lose the King if we can help it."

"My thoughts exactly."

Alphys puts her glasses back on and steps away from the human.

"Come, Undyne. We must leave now."

Confusion comes to the Captain.

"What? Why? You're really going to leave her unattended?"

Alphys grows colder.

"Do not be so stupid."

Undyne had to bite her tongue hard.

"I never said she'd be alone."

With a simple button press on her phone, the sound of speeding rubber screeches towards them, the door opening seconds later.

"IS IT TIME? SHE'S IN STABLE CONDITION?"

Mettaton skids to a stop with excitement.

"She's stable. And under heavy sedation. You may proceed with the prep work."

Digitized giggling pours from the automaton.

"EXCELLENT. LADIES, IF YOU'LL EXCUSE ME..."

Undyne is ushered out by Alphys before she can question things.

"Um..."

"Don't think about it too much."

"But..."

"As they say...The show must go on. I suggest you stick around and watch what unfolds."

Undyne groans to herself.

"I'll make that spicy ramen that you like."

"...Extra chili flakes?"

"Yep."

"Hot damn!"

With the women gone, Mettaton turns his attention to the human on the slab.

"OH DARLING..."

A compartment opens on his side and he extracts what looks like a kit of some kind.

"WE HAVE SO MUCH WORK TO DO."

[AN HOUR AND A HALF LATER-BEHIND THE LAB]

The wall of the building opens up, a split door allows the heat of Hotland in while the unconscious human carried by the killer robot comes out.

"FINALLY...THE SHOW CAN COMMENCE ONCE AGAIN."

While two of his arms set the human down his other two open a bottle of smelling salts and wave it under her nose, slowly rousing her back to consciousness.

"WAKIE WAKIE, DARLING."

She groans in delirium and sits up. Medical grade sedatives really pack a punch.

"FOCUS DEAR. HOW MANY FINGERS AM I HOLDING UP?"

Mettaton holds up his four arms and each is displaying two fingers. Her head wobbles with dizziness and she rubs the sleep from her eyes.

"Mettaton? *yawn* Why is it so hot?"

Why did she have to be so cute when so messed up?

"I'LL ANSWER YOU IF YOU ANSWER ME."

She shakes her head clear and stares at him for a bit.

"Eight."

He sighs with relief and helps her up before patting her head.

"GOOD. YOU'RE PERFECTLY FINE."

"Not entirely sure that's what I'd call it after the game you made me do. But whatever. Least I ain't dead."

"THERE WE GO. ALWAYS LOOKING ON THE POSITIVE SIDE OF THINGS."

Her senses coming back, she looks at her form and begins growling at the mechanical television star.

"IS SOMETHING THE MATTER?"

"I'm going to ask this as calmly as I can and I want you to be honest...Did you dress me in my sleep?!"

In Mettaton's defense, it's not like he could leave her in her bloody outfit or the medical gown. And to his credit, he made it for her to be both fashionable as well as comfortable in Hotland's arid heat. A black zip back cutout crisscross cami top with MTT emblazoned in red across the chest, waist-high black garter shorts with tiny Mettaton studs along the straps, black ripped footless tights end in knee-high black riding boots that have red MTT zippers, and to add to her annoyance her nails were also painted red. The only normal thing about her was he kept her hair tied in a ponytail but moved it higher up to be more lively than her usual dead weight droop.

"TO BE FAIR, DARLING, YOU WERE A BLOODY MESS AFTER THE SHOW. IT WOULD BE TASTELESS TO HAVE MY CO-STAR CONTINUE IN ANYTHING LESS THAN THE BEST."

She gets flustered.

"That's not the point! You could've waited till I was awake and I would've dressed myself! Instead, you did so while I was vulnerable."

She shudders and looks away from him.

"To think...I started to like you."

An exclamation mark flashes on his screen.

"But it seems you're just as bad as the scum on the surface."

He panics and waves his hands in defense.

"W-WAIT A SECOND, DEAR, IT'S NOT LIKE THAT!"

"Then...Aside from seeing my frail body, do you deny the obvious usage of me as brand advertisement?"

The look she gives him is cold and hurt, making him flinch.

"UM...WELL...I..."

She turns around with her hands on her hips and smirks.

"We're not on camera right now, are we?"

His screen flashes in confusion.

"...NO? NO CAMERAS ARE ACTIVE AT THIS MOMENT. WHY?"

"Heh...Because you're being you right now. The same guy I got to know over the phone. TV you is more cold and sticks to the script, like a soulless machine. This you, the ghost in the shell, this guy I like and willing to work with."

He's caught off guard by that remark.

"UM...WHAT EXACTLY DID YOU MEAN BY THAT?"

"Which part?"

"GHOST IN THE SHELL."

"Oh, that? It's the name of a manga/anime series. The setting is a future where technology is so advanced that it becomes an existential crisis if souls can transfer over to pure machine bodies and if artificial intelligence can gain humanity through cyber-evolution. It's really deep."

"OH."

"It also is a play on the fact you're literally a ghost in a robot shell."

He flinches.

"W-WHAT? I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE..."

"Dude, don't lie. We're not on camera and Alphys already confirmed my suspicions."

He blanks for a moment sighing.

"WELL...BRAVO, DARLING. YOU'VE SOLVED MY GREATEST SECRET."

She shrugs.

"It's no big deal. And don't worry about anyone else knowing, I ain't a snitch."

"SUCH A CLEVER GIRL. I KNEW YOU'D BE PERFECT FOR THIS."

Her arms fold.

"While I was messing with you before, I am pissed about this."

"WHICH PART?"

"This! This isn't my style. It feels weird and shows way too much skin for my liking."

At this rate, he was lucky she couldn't see her reflection or she'd be pissed about how he did her makeup. Red eye-shadow to create a smoky effect on her eyelids. Mascara to make her long lashes even longer. A bold black swoop of liquid eyeliner all the way to the outer corners of her eyes and swept a little up at the end. And the pièce de résistance is the luscious red lipstick to make it all pop.

"BUT, DARLING, YOUR OLD CLOTHES WERE RUINED. BESIDES, WITH HOW THICK THAT FABRIC WAS, YOU'D DIHYDRATE IN MOMENTS OUT HERE. AND NO ONE WANTS A SWEATY DRIED OUT SACK ON SCREEN."

She leers.

"NOT SAYING YOU ARE ONE. MAKING THAT CLEAR HERE."

She sighs.

"I see your point. I ain't happy about it, but I see the reason behind it."

"GOOD."

She checks herself and gets upset.

"My items? Where are my items?!"

"I TOLD YOU, YOUR CLOTHES WERE A MESS AND I CHANGED YOU INTO THIS."

She grabs him.

"Metta, my buddy, I need my gear. My stats are crap without my items. Please tell me you didn't trash them...Please?!"

To understand her panic he checks her.

[Lynsie - LV:1 - HP: 40 ATK: 20 DEF: 11 - Too nice for her own good.]

Her HP increased? How? Her LV hasn't increased. Did she earn EXP in the game and recovery? Wait...The other stats are dangerously weak. Hmmm...This gives him a wicked idea. If his screen could grin it would be wide and twisted.

"OH HEAVENS NO, DARLING. YOUR POSSESSIONS ARE SAFE."

Her eyes light up.

"Sweet! Can I please have them?"

He grabs her waist and scoots her back from him a bit.

"UNFORTUNATELY, I DO NOT HAVE THEM ON ME."

"But...W-Where are they then?"

All four hands point out into the distance.

"YOU CAN HAVE YOUR ITEMS BACK...ONCE YOU MAKE TO THE NEXT FILM SET."

Her jaw drops.

"Dude! Are you freaking serious? Do we see the same stats? Because I'm fairly sure I can get one-shot killed out here."

"RELAX, DARLING..."

"Relax?! Says the guy that literally can't be hurt!"

He waves dismissively.

"AND THEY CALL ME DRAMATIC. LOOK, I CAN'T JUST GIVE YOU THEM BACK NOR CAN I TAKE YOU TO THE NEXT SET. YOU SHOULD KNOW THE REASON WHY."

She glares before pouting in defeat.

"The law requires you to still attempt to 'capture' me."

His screen flashes.

"BINGO! AND TO PROVE THAT I AM FOLLOWING THE LAW WHILE STILL WORKING WITH YOU, YOU WILL BE TELEVISED AS YOU MAKE YOUR WAY THROUGH MY SHOW GAUNTLET."

She looks at him funny.

"TO BE HONEST IT'S JUST NORMAL ENVIRONMENT AND PIPEWORK FOR THE CORE. BUT I DID ADD OBSTACLES AND PUZZLES, SO TECHNICALLY IT COUNTS."

Her funny look grows.

"And you film back there in all that?"

"IT MAKES MORE SENSE WHEN YOU SEE IT."

"I guess."

All four hands slap together in a loud clap.

"GREAT! NOW THAT THAT IS ALL SAID AND DONE, HERE'S THE DEAL. ONCE YOU TURN THAT CORNER AND BEGIN THE TREK, YOU'LL BE BACK ON TV."

"Okay."

"TRY NOT TO BREAK THE FOURTH WALL, WE DON'T NEED VIEWERS KNOWING YOU'VE BEEN HERE LONGER THAN ADVERTISED AND WITH THE HELP OF OTHERS."

"True, very true."

"AND SINCE YOU DON'T HAVE YOUR PHONE..."

"Can I get that back too? I swear I won't make calls."

"OR TEXT?"

"Did you even see my phone? It can't text or take pictures."

"HMMM...I'LL THINK ABOUT IT."

"Please and thank you."

"LIKE I WAS SAYING SINCE YOU DON'T HAVE IT AND MAY NEED HELP UNDERSTANDING A FEW OF THE MORE TRICKIER PUZZLES..."

On hand retreats into his body and pops out with a small clip-like earring that, you guessed it, looks like him.

"ATTACH THIS TO YOUR EAR AND YOU'LL BE ABLE TO HEAR MY MELODIOUS VOICE WHEN I NOTICE YOU'RE NOT PROGRESSING."

"Not that I'm against it, but isn't this cheating?"

He chuckles while bringing her close and clipping it to her right ear.

"DON'T THINK OF IT LIKE THAT. IT'S LIKE YOU SAID, YOU'RE WILLING TO WORK WITH ME AND WE BOTH DON'T WANT YOU DEAD. YOU'LL STILL BE GOING AT THIS ON YOUR OWN, BUT WITH A LITTLE LIFELINE THAT GIVES YOU CLUES AND NOT FULL ANSWERS. NOW DOES THAT SOUND MORE OKAY?"

"FANTASTIC!"

He spins around and shoves her to the ground before retracting his wheel to begin hovering.

"WELL, DARLING, THE NEXT WE MEET I HOPE IT TO BE SOON AND WHILE YOU STILL BREATHE."

"Um...Me too."

He takes off like a rocket to the next stage, kicking up dust and smoke in his wake.

"FAIR THEE WELL...!"

The cloud takes a bit to settle and the human finds herself alone. The path ahead is unknown but the only way to go. Somehow being behind the building she thinks she was held within and with no door to speak of insight. She silently prayed that her trust in the robot that abducted her was well placed...even though that thought made her question her ability to pick people to trust. Either way, her journey through game show hell begins now as she walks the lonely road that is way too narrow and high up for her liking.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

Nothing. Nothing but re-run filler has been on the TV for hours. And all they could do was wait. Wait for any change on that damn picture box. Papyrus was doing his best to keep a worried Toriel and tense Grillby from burning the house down. Sans on the other hand was lost in his mind, retracing the history of his time in the LAB and its many rooms. Where were they hiding the human? What new rooms were added since he left? Could Alphys still be using the old underground facility?

*obnoxious fanfare*

The television cuts from its old showing to Mettaton live out in Hotland, on real clues can be seen as he hovers about the volcanic rock.

"SORRY FOR THE DELAY MY DEADLY GUYS AND DOLLS. SEEMS I WAS A BIT TOO ROUGH DURING OUR LAST GAME AND MY CO-STAR NEEDED EXTRA TIME TO RECOVER. GUESS I DON'T KNOW MY OWN STRENGTH."

His nonchalant attitude and words were far from comforting to the four.

"BUT FEAR NOT, AS SHE HAS MADE A FULL RECOVERY!"

A weight is lifted from the room.

"IN FACT, SHE'S ON THE START OF THE NEXT PHASE OF OUR SHOW. A DANGEROUS GAUNTLET OF OBSITCLES, DAUNTING PUZZLES, AND THE RANDOM VAGABOND THAT MAY OR MAY NOT JUST HAPPEN TO BE WANDERING AROUND."

The video feed shifts to the human on a conveyor belt. Merely scrolling along in a tacky outfit and makeup trying not to look down.

"The fuck is she wearing?!"

Grillby fumes. Toriel is equally unhappy about her daughter's new look. Sans rolls his eyes, finding it somewhat funny that Grillby is displeased by this when did way worse before.

"HER GOAL, REACH THE END TO BEGIN OUR NEXT SHOW SEGMENT. SHE WILL REPEAT THIS TWO MORE TIMES BEFORE ENDING WITH OUR FOURTH AND FINAL ENCOUNTER."

That doesn't sound good. The feed zooms in on her.

"WILL SHE SURVIVE AND EARN HER LIFE TO LIVE FOR ANOTHER DAY? OR WILL THIS BE THE DAY THE LAST SOUL IS COLLECTED? WE SHALL FIND OUT SOON ENOUGH. IN THE MEANTIME, I NEED TO AQUIRE A FEW ODDS AND ENDS, SO I LEAVE YOU TO OUR DARLING'S DARING DO. ENJOY."

The camera switches to a different angle and continues to follow her. Before the words can even leave Papyrus's mouth Sans is already shaking his head.

"i still don't know where that is."

"ARE YOU SURE?"

"trust me, i don't recognize where she's at."

"Don't you have a post in Hotland?"

Grillby points out much to Papyrus's puzzlement.

"YOU HAVE A POST IN HOTLAND?"

Sans sighs.

"it's like i told ya, i do more than ya think i do. i have posts at the start of snowdin forest, waterfall's beginning, level two of hotland, and i am the one that waits in the judgment hall."

Papyrus is even more confused but Toriel starts to broil.

"You...You were the one all along, were you not?"

Sans balls his fists, bracing for this.

"You were the one that killed the humans that left the Ruins."

No Tori...not all...just one...over and over again.

"no. i haven't killed anyone."

That gave her some relief. But more questions.

"Then if not you, who does harm them?"

"asgore does."

And that killed it. Her eyes sink with a flame, one of hate and despair. It's painfully obvious. She's going to snap.

"ya should know he doesn't take pleasure in doin' it."

Her expression falters.

"it's a lot of weight on that old goat's shoulders. what with bein' a king and everyone expectin' him to solve all our problems, like breakin' the barrier. it's one thing to kill someone that's wronged ya. it's much harder to look an innocent in the eyes and end them."

She frowns, seeing some truth in his words.

"ya may hate his guts, but he's harborin' the biggest burden. bein' the one to harvest the souls."

"But..."

Does she still wish to fight?

"But the law states humans are to be killed on sight, right? You can not tell me the Guard has not spilled blood in all this time!"

"ACTUALLY..."

Papyrus chimes in.

"WHILE IT'S TRUE, THAT IS THE BLUNTEST FORM OF THE LAW, IT'S NOT THE EXACT WORDING. *AHEM* IF A LIVING HUMAN IS FOUND IN THE UNDERGROUND THAN THEY ARE TO BE ENGAGED AND CAPTURED. EXTREME CAUTION AND VIOLENCE IS TO BE USED IN THE APRENTION OF HUMAN SOULS. NOWHERE IS IT SAID WE ARE TO KILL ON SIGHT. BUT THE CURRENT CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD HAS INTERPRETED THIS LAW IN HER OWN WAY AND INFORCES IT AS SUCH...DEATH TO ALL HUMANS. NO EXCEPTIONS. OVERTIME, THAT'S HOW THE LAW EVOLVED TO BE KNOWN TO THE PUBLIC."

"Why?"

"captain undyne lost her family in the war. that kind of wound doesn't heal easily. it didn't help much that the hammer of punishment took her in as his own."

That name struck a chord.

"Gerson? I suppose that does make sense. He was ruthless in his prime. And he left our court when we choose to surrender. Said we were showing weakness by giving in. So many were already lost...We wanted to end the slaughter before the dust count became unrecognizable."

"seems that spite got passed on in undyne."

"OUR CAPTAIN GOES BY ANOTHER...THE SPEAR OF PUNISHMENT."

Her worry overcomes any animosity she held.

"I pray my child never encounters your Captain."

One can only hope.

"Shit..."

Grillby gets their attention.

"She's been spotted."

Eyes return to the television and the footage shown. The human had passed the large system of conveyor belts going forward and backward. Exhaust ports of vermilion flame burst from nearby pipes in the background, the wooshing sound of steam and cogs adding to the scenery. Reaching the end of the conveyor belts, the human comes into view of several small islands surrounded by boiling lava. Most of these islands hold steam vents. However, the human is unaware of this due to being blocked by a Tsunderplane.

[HOTLAND: LEVEL ONE]

Damn this heat. Damn this plan of yours, Mettaton. And damn this odd-looking monster that won't get out of my way. It appears to resemble a regular real-world modern airplane, an Airbus A340-300 to be exact, wearing a black mob cap with thin red ribbons on it, a faint blush tints its nosecone.

"Um...Do you mind?"

I move slightly to the side, trying to give it room while avoiding the edge. But it just moves the same as I do, almost like a mock mimic. Maybe it's just a fluke. I try it again. And again it does it.

"You're not gonna let me by, are you?"

My soul feels gripped and without skipping a beat, my blue soul comes out, a battle begins.

[Tsunderplane gets in the way! Not on purpose or anything.]

Wait...Don't tell me that name means what I think it does. What are my options?

[FIGHT]

[ACT]

[̴͝SP͜͞E͡L̵͜L͟͠͏]͘͢

[ITEM]

[MERCY]

That weird one came back? It looks so...messed up. I won't touch it. Maybe as a last resort, but not if I can help it. Let's see what this thing is made of.

[ACT selected.]

[New options available.]

[CHECK]

[FLIRT]

[APPROACH]

I am not doing those last two before I know what this thing can do.

[CHECK selected.]

[TSUNDERPLANE – HP: 80 ATK: 25 DEF: 26 – Seems mean, but does it secretly like you?]

"The fuck...?"

This plane catches an attitude.

"No way! Why would I like YOU?!"

Especially since we've only just met. Wait...

"You can talk?!"

It moves it's wings up, summing its attack. Several smaller planes fly horizontally straight from either side above me, dropping bombs that look like miniature nukes. Once a bomb hits the ground, a vertical line of toxic smoke appears and blocks my sight momentarily. All in all, this is not easy to avoid because of the lack of space and I end up taking a really nasty hit.

[HP ████████████████ 15/40]

I'm too afraid to check my wound. My ears are ringing and I feel damp somewhere on my side. I won't stand another hit like that. Damn it! I need my defense items!

*bang*

My head is smacked hard by metal.

[Tsunderplane "accidentally" bumps you with its wing.]

It pushed me back. It's keeping distance. Why it's not like it needs the room, damn thing can fly. I wonder...What'll happen if I get close? But first I need to heal.

[ITEM selected.]

I need to remember to thank Flowey when I see him again. If it wasn't for his prodding I'd have nothing in my inventory.

["Butterscotch Cheesecake" - All HP - Butterscotch cheesecake, one slice.]

"Mmmm...So good. Thanks, mama."

[You ate the Butterscotch Cheesecake. Your HP was maxed out.]

[HP ██████████████████████████████████████████ 40/40]

Ah, much better. Now I just need to avoid getting hit again. My turn ends.

"Hmph! Id... Idiot! Don't get in my way!"

You blocked me, asshat.

She uses a different attack but one that's somewhat easier to deal with. Large planes fly directly at me, leaving a horizontal-moving toxic trail of smoke balls. I am grateful this was it's second go. I dodge this one better, no damage taken.

[Tsunderplane shakes its nose dismissively at you.]

"_... Human..."

Now it speaks in emojis? I mean, I guess that's a thing that can happen, Gaster speaks in hands and junk.

"Something wrong? I can't help but notice."

Going off its behavior and name, I put some real emphasis on the word notice. It flinches. Got you.

Tsundere is a Japanese term for a character development process that depicts a person who is initially cold and sometimes even hostile before gradually showing a warmer, friendlier side over time. The word is derived from the terms tsun tsun ('to turn away in disgust or anger') and dere dere ('to become affectionate'). They're the opposite of a Yandere. Yandere is a Japanese term for a person who is initially very loving and gentle to someone or at least innocent before their devotion becomes destructive in nature, often through violence and/or brutality. The term is derived from the words yanderu (a mental or emotional illness) and dere dere. They are different and yet have one weakness...Wanting the attention of Senpai, the person they have a fondness for. Why do I know all this? Because I'm a big freaking dork! I can use this. I just don't understand why it would have such feelings.

"...H-human ... ...?"

Now to test my theory.

[APPROACH selected.]

[You get close to Tsunderplane. But not too close.]

"Eeeeh? H-human ...?"

It's getting flustered. I'm not proud of this method but if it works to keep me alive, so be it.

"You don't mind me getting close, right?"

[Tsunderplane looks over, then turns up its nose.]

"Huh!? Y-you sicko!"

It spins on heels it doesn't have and nearly takes my head. This ain't going to be easy.

The mini planes return but something's off. Six planes attacked me before, but now there's only three. Easier than before yet still dangerous. That smoke is noxious and obnoxious.

[Tsunderplane gives you a condescending barrel roll.]

"Don't think I'm going easy on you! It's not like I LIKE you."

Your actions say otherwise, so does that growing blush. Time for phase two.

[FLIRT selected.]

[You tell Tsunderplane it has an impressive wingspan.]

"I must say, birds wish they could have wings like that. Very cool."

It covers its nosecone in its wingtips.

"Ah...is that true...?"

"Why would I lie?"

I think this is working. It summons the large planes again but this time the planes are surrounded by narrow green auras and the smoke trails aren't moving. Curiosity has me touching the green and finding it does two things. One, it doesn't hurt me. And two, it's blushing more excitedly. After touching four Tsunderplane is practically glowing, or it could be the headlights. And when that last sixth plane passes Tsunderplane looks away shyly and starts to give off the smell of an airport perfume counter. Maybe just one more to seal the deal.

[FLIRT selected.]

[You tell Tsunderplane it has cute winglets.]

"Awww...Those wingtip fences are so cute! Then again, on such an adorable aircraft, that's to be expected."

It loses its mind. Jetting high up and aileron rolls three times before zipping off into the distance.

[YOU WON!]

[You earned 0 XP and 60 gold.]

Damn! That's some gold! Much needed due to spending all my gold in Waterfall so long ago.

"Not my worse fight but one of the more interesting ones. Till we meet again, Tsunderplane-chan."

I wave to where I saw Tsunderplane fly off and return to my journey. However, this is short-lived once again, but not by a monster. I think this is one of the obstacles Mettaton told me about. The land is broken. Vents shoot out big gusts of steam. I think he intends for me to use these to traverse the area since there are painted red arrows on the one in front of me and the one across from it. The flaw in this plan of his is this...In trying to have seen any of this, I ended up looking down.

Sweat begins to slide down my brow, but not from the heat. My wide eyes can't look away from the high as hell drop to lava that I'm meant to cross. My body starts to tremble. My breathing harsh. I'm going into a panic.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

That was a stressful fight to watch. The massive damage the human took at the start made it clear she had been stripped of her armor, adding harsher levels of difficulty to an already challenging task. But they know her well by this point. She's clever. She's adaptable. She's stubborn as hell. And she knows they're likely watching.

["Butterscotch Cheesecake" - All HP - Butterscotch cheesecake, one slice.]

"Mmmm...So good. Thanks, mama."

[You ate the Butterscotch Cheesecake. Your HP was maxed out.]

[HP ██████████████████████████████████████████ 40/40]

Toriel's motherly heart was swelling. This one. This was the one she believed could survive in this hell. And her non-violent victory against the Tsunderplane made it more clear that her daughter wasn't so much the child she believed her to be.

"Yeah! Way to go, pussycat!"

Grillby is at least in better spirits. He nearly torched the couch when he thought of Mettaton stripping her of her armor.

"SHE'S NOT MOVING."

True. The human had won the fight but was now frozen in place by the vents, fear dripped from her face.

"uh oh."

This got attention.

"What is wrong? Why does she not continue?"

"pap and me found this out about her when she first came out of the ruins. she's afraid of heights. and if she doesn't move soon, she'll pass out under the pressure."

"But...It's not like she can just leave. And if she falls..."

No one wanted to finish that thought.

"THE HELL...?"

Something new appears and has their attention.

"Flowey?"

[HOTLAND: LAB]

Undyne had been watching the many screens Alphys controls as part of Mettaton's live feed broadcast. Nothing had been particularly interesting, not even that bogus fight with the Tsunderplane. But then...

"The fuck...? Alphys, you seeing this?"

Of course, the lizard was scribbling like a madman on her notepad. This was something new.

"Huh...Show me what ya got, human."

The fish woman resumes watching with a hearty slurp of noddles.

[HOTLAND: LEVEL ONE]

It's happening again. My legs turn to jelly and I drop to my knees. I can't do this. I can't move. What if I fall? I don't want to burn to death. I heard it's not quick either like how movies portray it. The pain overload is what kills you. I don't want that. I ̕ca͢n̛'́t ͢de̶al͏! Í ̸c̷̨a̴n'͡t!͘

*STATIC* HELLO? DARLING? CAN YOU HEAR ME?

The earpiece Mettaton gave me goes off. But something's interfering.

*STATIC* YOU NEED TO GET GOING, DEAR. DON'T WORRY ABOUT THE STEAM. IT WON'T BURN. THOUGH YOU MIGHT GET A BIT TENDER IF YOU PLAY IN THEM TOO LONG.

T̷̵h̷́at̵̨'̧͞s̵̸͞ ́̀not ̷̕͜h́el̴͘̕p̛i̸͜ng͟!̢͟

I feel it starting. The blood dripping from my nose. Why? Why am I so weak?!

*STATIC* DARLING? COME ON. YOU NEED TO MOVE. WE HAD A DEAL.

F̴̶͢u͘͞c̶͞k͏ ͟͏̴ý̢ou ̸́a̶̕͜n҉͞d҉̛ ̶̀y͢o̡u̸͠r̸ ̧́͝d͞e̢͜ą̕l͢͝! ̨̛I͝͞͝'̶m̢҉ n̡o̡͜͝t̴ ̵҉̛m̀͏o͘͝v̴́͠i͏̀n͟͡ǵ͜!̴

Strange energy begins to crackle around me. I don't know what it is and it's freaking me out more!

"There you are..."

Life returns to me upon hearing Flowey's voice.

"You just always seem to...The hell is up with your face?!"

"B̢͢͞ŗ̡̀o̸t̡h̡͟e̵̛r͘̕͞?"

The strange energy slowly dissipates, Flowey being here is calming me down, though the sight still unnerves him.

"Easy now. Just calm down. You don't want to overtax your soul."

"S̨-̀Sơr͡ry̷.̛.͞.I.̶..͢*shaky inhale*I looked down."

Flowey moves over to me and pats my leg with a tiny vine.

"Don't worry, your big brother's here for you."

I give him a nervous smile and wipe my nose.

"So...What's wrong with my face?"

"Uh...Nothing. You look fine."

I look at him flatly.

"I have makeup on, don't I?"

"Well..."

God dang it, Mettaton.

"Fudge it. As long as I'm not dolled up like a clown, ignore it. Right now I need help."

"Fine with me, but first...I want an apology for that stunt at the bar."

I nod.

"I'm sorry. It was a dirty move. But..."

He pouts.

"You wanted to talk to him without me butting in."

I claw the ground.

"...There are things I still can't tell you."

"When? When can you open up to me?"

"Soon. Lots of stuff I know is in pieces. I just need to figure out how it all fits to understand."

"Like what?"

"Well for starters...Getting through this crap."

Flowey looks out at the vents.

"You really can't do this?"

"No. My acrophobia, paranoia, vertigo, and lack of self-confidence prevents it."

"Sheesh. At least your honest."

I sit on my heels and slap my face a few times, trying to psych myself out.

"The body and mind both have their own ways of keeping themselves safe. Even if one of them is tricking the other. My body won't move if my brain keeps telling it no because it feels in danger."

"Hmmm...And I take it you're not up for that blindfold idea again."

I look at him confused.

"Over lava?!"

He sighs.

"Yeah, fair enough."

This sucks.

"Oh! I got an idea. What if I carry you over?"

Flower-goat-boy say what?

"Not to put you down, bro, but I ain't exactly light and I don't want you to hurt yourself trying."

He winks.

"Trust me. I'm stronger than you think."

I don't doubt you, I'm more worried I'll freak out if he does. But what choice do I have? Sit her forever or move forward.

"Okay. But not yet."

"Huh?"

I feel the ground again.

"This is rock and yet you're moving through it..."

"Yeah?"

"Can you scout ahead through this vent thing? Tell me if other monsters or crap is hiding?"

He nods.

"Can do."

He sinks into the ground. Here's hoping he stays out of sight of any hostiles. A few times I see his petal head pop up from time to time, but in areas I can't see I get a bit shook. Especially when he's out of sight for too long. I count the seconds between each puff of steam, giving up because it's too fast. A small rumble off to my side, part of Flowey's stem is protruding but seems to be having trouble coming out. With some wiggling and what looks like some tugging, he emerges yet only partly.

"*strain* H-Hey...I found something you can use."

I'm curious. I help chip some ground away and something metal appears. Looping my finger through a hole, I help him pull this mystery thing out and wow it puts up quite the struggle. With a final double pull from the both of us, the object reveals itself...a frying pan?

"The hell...?"

"I found it at one of the areas off over there. It once belonged to a human that fell a long time ago."

All this mismatch stuff. What were the humans that fell before even doing to fall with such stuff? Whatever, an item gained is better than no items at all.

[You equipped the Nasty Pan.]

[You gain 10 Attack.]

[You don't know if it's covered in old food or gore. Either way, the damage is rather consistent. Consumables items will heal 4 more HP.]

"Damn. Was really hoping for some defense boost."

"Sorry. How uneven does this make your stats now?"

"See for yourself."

He's confused till he CHECKs me.

[Lynsie - LV:1 - HP: 40 ATK: 30 DEF: 11 - Too nice for her own good.]

"What the...? What happened?!"

I stand and stretch.

"I got mugged."

He frowns.

"The robot?"

I answer with a nod and change the line of chatter to current events.

"Was there anyone out there?"

He shakes his head.

"At least that's some good news. So how do we do this?"

He moves back, over to where the path sort-of splits.

"This way."

With no other moves, I follow him to a spot where a vent is missing and he points to the land across it.

"Over there is the exit. If you can not freak out, I should be able to take you over there."

My spine shivers.

"Are you certain you can lift me over? That's at least a ten-foot gap, give or take."

"Trust me. I know what I'm capable of."

I swallow what little courage I have and shut my eyes tight.

"Please, make it quick."

"Don't worry, I got you."

There's silence for a bit. Then something slithers under then over my shoulders and slinks to wrap around my waist. I want to look but when my feet leave the ground my entire body clenches.

"Easy now. No sudden moves."

That doesn't help.

I do my best to block out everything. Like the feel of wind brushing past and intense heat that wafts up from below. My nerves are threatening to go off again. The instant I can feel a foot touch anything solid my eyes shoot open.

"See? Told you I could do it."

He's already on this side with me. Probably moved here first then reached over and carried my dumb frightened ass over. Bless you, super flower-goat-boy! The vines release and I'm once more on terra firma. I use this moment to hug Flowey.

"Thank you!"

He chuckles and now it's two going through Mettaton's show. If only I didn't leave my bag at home. Then he'd be riding with me. Then again, Mettaton would've taken that too and really screwed me over.

FINALLY. AS TOUCHING AS THAT WAS, DARLING, YOU NEED TO GET MOVING. WE'RE ALREADY BEHIND SCHEDULE AS IT IS.

I pop my neck and nod. The sooner I get through this the sooner it ends and we can go home.

"You okay with following me in case of other bull?"

"Oh yeah. You're going to need me. There are more vents past this.

I groan and silently curse everything before walking. Upon entering the north path past the steam vents, we come across another path made of pipework that veers to the right. This would be super chill if it weren't for the freaking lasers!

"This shouldn't be a big deal."

I look down at Flowey funny.

"Dude...Do you not see the lasers?"

He shakes his head.

"Don't think of them like you think they are. Those are made with magic energy. You remember what I told you about orange and light blue magic, don't you?"

It takes a second for that to click in my head. My small smirk lets him know I'm not completely stupid.

"See you on the other side."

He retreats to the ground and has to move through that, not like he can go through metal shit. So I take on this obstacle. There are nine lasers in total that go the order of orange, orange, cyan, orange, cyan, orange, cyan, cyan, and orange, with the cyan ones moving around. So by the logic of magic properties, I move through the orange ones and pause for the cyan ones till it's safe to keep going. In no time I'm at the end, a large metal pillar has a big red switch and out of spite I flip it. This effectively turns the laser off. Sweet! That was easy. Onward I go. The path veers upward and, can you guess, has more of those damn vents. A base one that changes directions, a one on the left and right side as well as in front. The path wants me to go forward but is blocked by a locked door. No doubt each side has a puzzle that opens each lock. Gotta love real-life video game logic.

"Not so bad, right?"

Speaks the emerging flora to my right.

"Still in one piece."

I joke to myself to keep the dumb side of me from saying something to jinx me.

"Need another lift?"

Looking at the gap between vents, it's not so evil as the first ones, maybe about four or five feet.

"I think I can manage this one."

He's relieved, thinking I'm being a big girl and fighting my fear.

"Great! I knew you could...wait...What are you...?!"

Don't think. Just act. Fear can't affect you if you don't realize it's there.

I take a short sprint and make nice bound over to where he's at. He's rather confused.

"The hell? What about your phobia?"

"Easy...Didn't think about it."

I head for the puzzle and he's flabbergasted.

"Wha...but...You still could've used the vents!"

"Nope!"

He catches up to me as I get distracted looking at two monsters sitting at the cliff's edge.

"You scare me something."

"How do you think I feel? I scare myself and I'm the one doing it."

There's a room nearby but these two just pull my attention. There's what appears to be a pale-green dragon in a black business suit and slick shade, like some sort of scaly lawyer. A black wisp-like monsters that reminds me of Grillby, even sporting glasses, in a gray tank-top and red pants drinking something steaming hot, dude looks chill in this heat. They don't seem to notice us and I can hardly hear bits of their chit chat. Something about how they're glad that the reactivated puzzles are preventing them from progressing as they do not want to go to work. They are also muttering some other stuff but I head for the room before they see this random human.

Inside the puzzle room, I'm met by two things. The puzzle itself and a disembodied fox head wearing sunglasses. The fuck am I tripping on?!

"The door leading through the area is closed?"

Dear God, it bounces as it talks and speaks with an upward inflection like valley speak! It hurts my brain. Good news, it has no clue what I am. Yay!

"So I tried the puzzle? But I kept running out of ammo, and it kept restarting?"

"...Bummer."

"And my two co-workers won't help? It's like they don't even wanna go to work?"

"Harsh."

"Why don't you try? Try using the console?"

I shrug and give this thing a little checking out. No real help from the fox so maybe the puzzle will tell me what to do. Oh, look! The convenient "?" icon is super tiny and hidden in the corner while also being somewhat the same color as the background. That's not a dick move, oh no, not in the slightest.

(Shoot the opposing ship!)

(Move the boxes to complete your mission.)

Okay, that's useful. Let's see...Four immovable blocks, two movable ones, and two open spaces. The immovable blocks are in each corner and the movable ones are in my way. And to top it all off, I get only two shots. Scoot the two away, shoot, and puzzle solved.

(CONGRATULATIONS!)

That's one done, another to go.

"Wow? You solved it? I'm impressed? You must be a total nerd?"

...Jackass.

Leaving the room has Flowey grabbing my wrist with a vine and tugging me to get moving.

"Bro, chill, what's wrong?"

"I heard them talking. They've been watching Mettaton's broadcast on their phones."

Yeah, that's our cue to skedaddle.

"Please use the vents this time."

I speed past him much to his chagrin.

"Screw...the...rules!"

I shout with each leap taken. I know deep down he wants to call me dumb and yet I'm kinda proud I'm able to forget about the incredibly high path we're treading that drops into freaking lava. He rejoins me as a non-moving cyan laser seemingly impedes my progress. However, it's waist level in height and nothing is stopping me from crawling underneath it.

"Wow."

"I know, right?"

Like on the right side, the left has the puzzle room and two monsters just hanging out on the cliff. These two monster girls are wearing what look like red and black Japanese school uniforms. The fuck? Not sure what's weirder, everyone's bravery by being that close to death or how the hell they got those clothes. Either way, one girl is purple with possible tentacle hair and has red eyes with black sclera, she is so clearly a tom-boy with her red back facing cap and skateboard. While the other girl is made up of lime green flame and gives off this way too innocent vibe for being here and with the bad-girl. Hotland does seem more and more to be Grillby's former home. How many more fire elementals live here?

"You think the laser has them stuck here?"

"Maybe. I know I wouldn't crawl on the floor with a skirt like that."

I enter the room and thankfully there's no head laying around that speaks in headache-inducing jabber. Let's see...Are the rules the same?

(Shoot the opposing ship!)

(Move the boxes to complete your mission.)

Yep. Same rules but different layout. Five immovable blocks, six movable ones, and five open spaces. The three immovable ones are in corners, one is above a corner, and the last is touching the corner of a corner block. And once more I get two shots. The movable blocks from a backward jacked letter C. This one is a bit more complex. The majority of the blocks move in one push. I have to try this a few times before I'm able to have it clear enough to shoot through one block and then the target.

(CONGRATULATIONS!)

If my calculations are correct, the door should be open now and further progress can be made. I leave the room and notice the laser is off. Flowey is also nowhere to be seen, probably due to the girls having moved from their original spot.

"Finally! Someone turned off that laser!"

Don't thank me, I'm just awesome.

"Now that we're free we can... Well, uh, I guess we'll just keep standing here."

"Hm? Nice try, but your loitering technique still needs work."

They chat with themselves. Great time to be invisible.

"Loitering around... What's the point?"

"Beats being in school. Why should we bother going to school, anyway...? What's the point in learning how to make a buncha puzzles? There's GOTTA be a way to cancel school."

"But isn't it summer vacation?"

"...Auuuugh! This world's got no future!"

A bit overly dramatic. Whatever. Back to business. I rush to make my final leap and almost trip on the pipework floor. Yeah...Not gonna be doing this jump thing anymore. Lost my nerve for it. Motion activates the door and it slides opens into the rock.

"Okay, Metta...Here I come."

Going through the door leads me to a small bit of land that turns to the right and three widely spaced vents in a row to reach the next...Is that kitchen linoleum? I can't be seeing that right.

"Seems like you have no choice this time."

Flowey appears.

"Can't at least hurl me across?"

He shakes his head.

"I can't support carrying you that far and I'm not risking you falling to death."

"Yeah, my luck as of late would be that level of crap."

I smack myself a few times to ready my timid nerves.

"Any words of wisdom before I do this?"

He thinks for a moment.

"Beware of chainsaws."

"What?!"

He sinks into the ground and I internally scream...Fuck my life!

Stepping onto the vent blocks the steam for a bit. The building pressure launches me from one vent to the next. By the time I reach solid ground I'm about ready to vomit my still-beating heart out.

"I hate heights!"

I'm gonna punch him. I swear, even if it breaks my hands, I will beat the shit out of Mettaton for this.

Still shaken I crawl my way into the next area. It's very weird. As if the linoleum wasn't odd, I'm now in what looks like a kitchen set. Oh...Oh god no...This can't mean...

"Don't tell me this is what I think it is."

As if on cue, low and behold, my metal master of moronic mayhem hovers down from the heavens wearing a chef's hat.

"OHHHH YES! WELCOME, DASTARDLIES, TO THE UNDERGROUND'S PREMIER COOKING SHOW!"

(Cooking with a Killer Robot)

"PRE-HEAT YOUR OVENS, BECAUSE WE'VE GOT A VERY SPECIAL RECIPE FOR YOU TODAY! WE'RE GOING TO BE MAKING...A CAKE! DEVIL'S FOOD CAKE TO BE EXACT."

Two of his hands stretch out and grab me, despite my pointless clawing at the floor, to present me to cameras I can't see.

"MY LOVELY ASSISTANT HERE WILL GATHER THE INGREDIENTS. EVERYONE GIVE THEM A BIG HAND!"

An applause sound effect goes off as well as confetti falls. I glare at myself.

"*mutter* You better have my stuff as promised or I will purposefully make sure your ratings bomb."

He pulls me in so only I hear him.

"*WHISPER* DO THAT AND YOU CAN KISS YOUR ITEMS GOODBYE."

I snort a huff and try to put on a smile. This seems to be what he wants.

"WE'LL NEED SUGAR, MILK, FLOUR, CHOCOLATE, AND EGGS. GO FOR IT, SWEETHEART!"

He's being overly flashy and fantastic. I should play along...but I'm too pissy and bitter. Plus calling me sweetheart irks me. You want a nice human? I'll be so sweet your blood sugar will spike!

"*giggles* Golly-gee. Thanks for having me on your show, Mr. Mettaton. Let's make the bestest best cake ever!"

This is stooping to new levels of pettiness that I might want to find a therapist for later. I'm pushing for a nearly unbelievable level of childish innocence as I scope the set and gather ingredients. All the while he watches every little skip and mean-spirited twirl I make before bring it all back to him a dopey smile.

"All done, Mr. Mettaton. This is going to be the most choco-lickity-yummiest cake in the universe!"

He puts two of his hands together and one on my head before sighing.

"DARLING...I LOVE WHAT YOU'RE DOING, I REALLY DO. BUT FOR THE SAKE OF THE AUDIENCE, COULD YOU LOWER THE CUTE DOWN A BIT?"

I give the puppy dog eyes.

"Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?"

He flinches and without thinking he slams my head into the counter. I roar and cover my face, trying not to burst into a hurricane of swears while he goes about the show.

"PERFECT! GREAT JOB, BEAUTIFUL! WE'VE GOT ALL OF THE INGREDIENTS WE NEED TO BAKE THE CAKE! MILK... SUGAR... FLOUR... CHOCOLATE... EGGS..."

He gasps suddenly while I check if my nose is broken. Good news, it's not.

"OH MY! WAIT A MAGNIFICENT MOMENT! HOW COULD I FORGET! WE'RE MISSING THE MOST IMPORTANT INGREDIENT!"

I wipe a small bit of blood off my forehead.

"And what ingredient is that? This was everything you told me to get."

Some of my attitude is coming out but not too much.

"WHY, IT'S NOTHING WE HAVE TO GO SEARCHING FOR. YOU BROUGHT IT HERE WITH YOU."

I look at him funny until I see him pulling two chainsaws out from under the counter.

"A HUMAN SOUL!"

My heart sinks as he revs them up. Yet when he begins to do a slow methodical approach...My brain remembers to do one of my many pointless talents. Poking holes things with needless but true knowledge.

"Objection!"

The nerd in me is giddy for being able to make him pause with that.

"YES?"

I slap the counter.

"This recipe is bogus. What kind of cake calls for an ingredient that is so rare and priceless as a human soul? I submit my dumb argument, because I'm willing to admit the idiocy of saying this, that a human soul would serve a far greater purpose than being used for baked goods. Such as breaking the barrier. What say you, Metta? Do you have anything to back up your reasoning to use my soul in this cake?"

I wonder if Napsablook has an emulator on his PC? I want to play Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney now.

His screen blinks a little in thought. Before one of his arms leaves the murder weapon to go somewhere off set and return to put a can on the counter.

"...What is that?"

"THAT, MY DEAR, IS MTT-BRAND ALWAYS-CONVENIENT HUMAN-SOUL-FLAVOR-SUBSTITUTE! AVAILABLE AT ANY OF MY FINE RETAIL MARKETS! PROOF THAT THIS IS SOMETHING RATHER COMMON DOWN HERE AND THEREFORE, NOT A COMPLETELY UNREASONABLE IDEA AS TO WHY USE OF YOUR SOUL WOULD BE IN COOKING."

I stare dumbfounded at this can.

"This...This thing holds stuff that tastes like a human soul?"

He turns one chainsaw off and leans on it like a villain does with a cane.

"IT IS WHAT IT IS, DARLING. THE LABEL DOESN'T LIE. I SELL ONLY THE BEST. AND I GUARANTEE, IF YOU TRY IT, YOU'D NEVER KNOW THE DIFFERENCE."

My mouth opens but nothing comes out. I put my hands together, hold them to my face, and ponder the meaning of life."

"Metta, my dude...This is some messed up stuff right here."

"HOW SO?"

I sigh through my nose and lose my ability to be subtle.

"You do know that souls can be used as sexual organs, right?"

He slips from his cool pose in shock.

"DARLING! CAREFUL WHAT YOU SAY! THIS IS LIVE AND KIDS MIGHT BE WATCHING."

"Do not change the subject by insinuating children don't have the ability to understand. Kids are always learning and they find things out quicker than others give credit. Such as their body's and, because it's a monster's core, soul. You can not expect me to believe that knowledge of that caliber is unknown."

I grab the can harshly.

"Knowing that, the fact this can exists and as you claim is indistinguishable from the real deal, it insinuates that you or someone else on your staff knows what a human soul tastes like. Meaning...Someone has had oral sex with a human soul."

He falls over at my accusations. Chainsaws long forgotten. But I'm not done.

"Further more, this can opens a can of worms in its implications. Forgive my armature knowledge on the subject, but in the old myths above, there is no mention of monsters feeding on human souls. Such things usually are connected to demons. So this concept is either new to the Underground or you're making it up purely for this show!"

My head is swimming with weird thoughts and I'm unable to keep them to myself.

"Fearing that the humans would one day turn on monster kind and slaughter their people, absorb their few boss souls and become dominant over them, the monsters decided to launch a preemptive strike. That's what the old text said, but...If this feeding on souls it true..."

I glare at the can, not liking the thoughts it's making me get.

"Then humans had a reason to seal you away."

Those words are bitter and I spit them getting angry, squeezing the can with force.

"Tell me I'm wrong."

It crunches, metal splitting to cut into my hand before furiously throwing it at the fake window behind us.

"Tell me I'm wrong! Don't make me feel bad for humanity!"

I'm physically shaking. My rage tapering on the verge. It's not even towards anyone. How can it? What's in the past is there forever. But this...Don't tell me this is real and in the present.

"Please..."

I lick my hand, trying to focus on the sting and hint of copper to calm me down. Finally able to recover, Mettaton dusts himself off. Taking note of my behavior and picking his words carefully.

"WOW, DARLING. SUCH RAW EMOTION. THE PASSION. FEAR. ANGER. AND DESPERATION. IT'S PERFECT IN EVERY WAY!"

A low snarl from me reminds him that I'm in no mood for his fabulous side.

"BUT TO ANSWER YOUR RATHER INTERESTING QUERY...NO. IT'S NOT TRUE."

A small sensation of relief begins to hit me as he opens a compartment under his screen and pulls out a small advertisement poster.

"I FIGURED THIS IDEA WOULD WORK MAINLY BECAUSE..."

He lightly touches my face.

"YOU'RE SWEETER THAN ANY DESERT~."

With the whole 'about to kill me' and fucked up line of thought thing that happened seconds ago, his little flirt has no effect and I slap his hand away. He's taken by this yet keeps his composer.

"BUT I SEE NOW THAT WAS FOOLISH. USING YOU IN A SIMPLE COOKING SHOW WAS A MASSIVE UNDERESTIMATION. ESPECIALLY TO PROMOTE MY NEWEST PRODUCT."

He crumbs the add and tosses it away.

"BUT AFTER THAT SCENE, I CAN KISS THOSE SALES GOODBYE. IT WAS WORTH A SHOT THOUGH. YOU NEVER KNOW WHAT WORKS WITHOUT TAKING RISKS."

I am so done with all of this it ain't even funny.

"YET THIS WASN'T A TOTAL LOST. I LEARNED YOU HAVE A REAL TALENT."

I eye him cautiously, getting the bleeding to at last stop.

"CLEARLY A COURTROOM DRAMA IS PERFECT FOR YOU!"

I hate my luck.

"I NEED TO MAKE SOME CALLS! GET A SET MADE! OOOOOH! THE SCANDALOUS SCRIPT IDEAS I HAVE!"

"I think you're jumping the gun a bit early on this."

He puts a finger to my lips.

"NOT NOW, DARLING, I'M WORKING."

I gesture to where I assume a camera is that he's nuts.

[RING-RING]

His phone goes off.

"THIS BETTER BE IMPORTANT! I'M ON AIR RIGHT NOW!"

Damn it. I can't hear the caller.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE WON'T MOVE?! YOU TELL HER..."

He's cut off.

"W-WHAT?! HOW MANY OF YOU ARE THERE LEFT? ...JUST YOU?! DAMN IT, BUGERPANTS, SO HELP ME IF THIS IS A PLOY TO GET OUT OF YOUR SHIFT..."

While he's distracted, I use this time to move the chainsaws away and out of sight. No need for them to come back into play.

"WAIT...SAY THAT LAST PART AGAIN. ARE YOU CERTAIN IT'S HIS POST?"

Post? What post? Who's post?

"*HUFF* FINE. RETURN TO YOUR POST. I'LL DEAL WITH THIS MYSELF."

He hangs up and is not too happy.

"*MUMBLE* DAMN SPIDER AND HER STUPID PET, KILLS MY MINIONS AND STILL DENIES MY BUSINESS DEALS!"

"You okay?"

My voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he calms down.

"UM...A CHANGE IN PLANS HAS COME UP. YES! DUE TO SOME SET ISSUES AND TIME CONSTRAINTS, OUR SHOW RUNS ON A STRICT SCHEDULE YOU KNOW, I'M GOING TO PERSONALLY DROP YOU OFF AT THE NEXT LEG OF THE GAUNTLET."

Well, that sounds like a load of bullshit. But my dumb brain has to dumb brain.

"So what you're telling me is we're not even going to finish this segment by making the damn cake?"

He pulls me into an uncomfortable side embrace.

"I KNOW, IT'S HEARTBREAKING. BUT YOU SHOULD'VE MOVED FASTER AT THE START OF ALL THIS."

"I have a fear of heights!"

"NOW WE'LL JUST HAVE TO LIVE WITH NOT KNOWING HOW GOOD THE CAKE COULD'VE BEEN."

"Don't ignore me."

"OR HOW MUCH MORE DELICIOUS IT COULD BE IF EATEN OFF MY BODY."

"The fuck did you say?!"

"BUT COME ON, DARLING, I'M ONLY MESSING WITH YOU AND OUR MALICIOUS VIEWERS. HAVEN'T YOU EVER SEEN A COOKING SHOW BEFORE? I ALREADY BAKED THE CAKE AHEAD OF TIME! SO FORGET IT! BECAUSE YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY OF IT!"

"Is the screaming in my ear necessary?"

"WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT! RIGHT ABOUT NOW IS WHEN WE HAVE OUR COMMERCIAL BREAK! SO STAY TUNED TO THAT SCREEN AND CONTINUE WATCHING AS OUR DEAR DARLING DARES TO DART FORTH INTO DANGER ONCE MORE!"

"Can you at least tell me I don't have to do any more vent platforming?"

"SORRY, BUT I'D BE LYING IF I DID."

I start trying to swear but I end up roaring out in meek frustration.

"SEE YOU ALL AGAIN REAL SOON."

A few seconds go by and he lets me go.

"OKAY, WE DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME..."

He moves to the sink and opens the cabinets under it.

"WE HAD A DEAL. DESPITE THAT LITTLE SHOW YOU PUT ON, I AM IF ANYTHING A MONSTER OF MY WORD."

He tosses me a bag with his face on it. Taking the hint, I open it and find my missing gear. Though...no phone. I take this small victory without a fight. I'm fairly certain I know who has it anyway. That cat is so getting skinned. I equip my items and CHECK my stats.

[ HP: 40 ATK: 45 DEF: 27]

"Someday, I swear my defense will be decent, damn it!"

"ALL SET?"

I may look ridiculous with all this all but it's not like I was a supermodel before.

"Yeah, I'm good. Thank you."

"UM..."

"What?"

"I WANT TO APOLOGIZE."

I scoff.

"Forget it."

"NO. I...WHAT I DID WAS STUPID. I SKIMMED OVER THINGS AND WASN'T EXPECTING HOW YOU'D REACT. A GOOD SHOWMAN IS MORE PREPARED AND KNOWS HIS CAST BETTER. FOR THAT...I'M SORRY"

No matter the mood I might be in, I know how hard it is to swallow one's pride and admit a wrong. I just wish he wasn't such a flip-flopper because this personality switching is making it difficult to trust him fully.

"*sigh* ...I forgive you. But don't ever pull that kind of crap again. Got it? I like you monsters. I like being here. I don't want to feel bad for my kind and see THIS punishment as justified."

He nods, or what I take as the equivalent to one for a guy without a neck. With that now all said and done he once again snatches me into his arms and he blasts off like a rocket. Where to? No damn clue.

[HOTLAND: LAB]

"Well, that was disappointing. Freaky, but disappointing."

Undyne collects another bowel to enjoy.

"Not his best move. That's for sure. All that controversial fuss."

Alphys had cut the feed but was still viewing the robot and human.

"Yeah. He didn't even use those chainsaws. Such a wasted opportunity."

"Still, the way she interpreted all that from a simple can of spice...And that reaction..."

Theories were coming to Alphys.

"Definitely something to remember for future use."

Undyne takes a long slurp of ramen.

"It's a freak, Alphys. Plain and simple."

Alphys's companion's lack of imagination made her sneer.

"At least he's prolonging her activity. That provides data. And that's all that matters."

Undyne rolls her eye.

"Still...I wonder what that phone call was about?"

Alphys, being the one that sees all, knows the answer to that question. She just finds it more interesting to see if her hot fish friend can figure it out for herself. Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive.

[Snowdin: Skeleton House in present time]

They weren't sure what they just watched. Such a strange buildup and quickly smothered show. Sure this wasn't over but no one honestly thought that second showing was going to be over in about twelve minutes. Still...The lingering questions remained when the commercials played.

"This is nerve-wracking."

"I know. But at least there's some good news. He's moving her further. She'll be done faster."

"I suppose that is true."

"OR SHE'LL BE KILLED QUICKER."

Toriel and Grillby glare at Papyrus.

"WHAT? I'M BEING REALISTIC BY SAYING THE OPTION YOU'RE IGNORING."

The glares and fire strengthen.

Papyrus takes the hint and walks away. Maybe Sans had some sort of idea and won't want to beat the shit out of him as the others do.

"you need to work on your people skills, bro."

He growls but that's it.

"i got an idea as to what happened near the end."

"REALLY?"

"yeah. i think someone tipped him off about my post there."

"YOU SURE?"

"got no other clue as to why he'd move her himself and not let her walk."

"HOW MUCH DO YOU THINK HE'LL HAVE HER SKIP?"

"who's to say? i only know what i can see from my post. and it ain't much."

"WHY DO YOU HAVE SO MANY POSTS?"

"do ya know anybody else that can teleport?"

"...GOOD POINT."

"you sound underwhelmed."

"I DON'T KNOW...I JUST DON'T SEE IT. YOU WORKING THAT MUCH? IT'S WEIRD."

"if it makes it less weird, i sell hot dogs at those stations."

"THAT...THAT MAKES MORE SENSE."

The television flickers suddenly. The commercials end and the human is back onscreen. Her exact location is odd in that there doesn't seem to be a path to leave on. There's a signpost they can't read and random cacti. Among the positives, she is sporting her equipables again and thus have her stats boosted. On the negative side...she isn't there alone for very long.

[camsthisky]

where Dick and Jason argue because they love each other

for @brambleberrycottage who asked for injured or ill Dick + Jason realizing/ acknowledging Dick needs his family - including him - more than he ever lets on. With a happy/hopeful ending

thank you so much for donating and i apologize for this being so late!

donate to @cerusee

“You’re a bimbus,” Jason says to the body he’s dragging into the alleyway—out of sight, better coverage, and not in the fucking way of a gunfight, so it’s perfect.

He’s got his gloved hands hooked under the unconscious jerk’s armpits, and Jason hates that despite being taller, it’s still more of a struggle than he would like to admit to get both of them deep enough into the alley and behind a dumpster so that they’re not targets.

“An absolute plastic fork,” Jason continues, sort of out of breath. “And not even the good plastic ones, the really shitty ones that break the moment you try to stab something with it. That’s what you are.”

There’s no reply. Of course there isn’t. Dick is unconscious, and it’s all Jason’s fault.

Bruce isn’t going to kill him, but he’s not going to be happy.

Damian, though. Damian is going to try and kill him. Jason has a contingency plan just in case, because Dick doesn’t look great. He’s pale, his breathing is short and ragged, his lips are almost blue with cold and oxygen deprivation, and Jason’s sure if he takes off Dick’s gloves, his fingernails will be the same.

Focus, a voice in his head tells him. It sounds too much like Bruce, and Jason promptly swears at it to shut the hell up.

“The hell were you playing at, Grayson?” Jason says, gritting his teeth as he starts checking vitals. He’s already done this, right before he moved the both of them out of the line of fire, but it never hurts to do another. “You’re not invincible, and throwing yourself in front of that gun was the stupidest thing I think I’ve ever seen you do.”

Dick’s breath hitches, and his eyebrows scrunch as he mumbles, “Not stupid.”

“Yes, you are,” Jason says, leaning over Dick to shield him from any prying eyes as he peels away the mask. Concussion, from what Jason can tell, but he can’t be absolutely sure. “I once saw you triple somersault over three trash cans and a car because you thought that asshole was insulting your dignity as an acrobat.”

“He was,” Dick says, eyelashes fluttering. His eyes don’t stay open long.

“He wasn’t,” Jason tells him, feeling along the back of Dick’s head. His fingers come back stained red. “He was telling you to be careful, and I’m right because you ended up landing ass first into an open trash can and that’s about as dumb as you can get.”

“What? Trash can?” Dick’s not following the conversation.

“Shit,” Jason says. “Maybe you’re not even a plastic fork. Maybe you’re a fucking spork. Why the hell would you jump in like that? I had it handled.”

Dick opens his eyes again, and he’s blinking rapidly, trying to focus on Jason, but the bright blue doesn’t stay on his face for long before it’s drifting down to his neck and torso. Dick pales further, breath that he can’t afford to lose freezing in his chest.

“You’re hurt?” Dick whispers, his voice thick and strained with emotion. Pain, too, if Jason had to take a guess.

“No, you’re hurt,” Jason tells him fiercely. “Can you even tell me where?”

Dick seems to have to think about that one. “Uh, chest? Ribs, I think? I…I don’t know? Everywhere.”

Fucking hell.

Jason’s helmet is gone who knows where. It’ll be a bitch to replace, but there’s no way that Jason is going back out there to get it right now. Gently, he takes out Dick’s comm. and places it in his own ear.

“I’m calling the Bat for help,” Jason says, leaving no room for argument. Dick doesn’t even try, which is infuriating for some reason Jason can’t fathom right now.

All Dick murmurs is, “Stop being so emo and just call him Batman like the rest of us, you heathen.” Somehow, it’s all in one breath, though he’s winded after.

Jason elects to ignore him.

Tapping the comm., Jason calls, “Hey B, Nightwing’s down. I can’t get him to the Cave by myself.”

There’s some heavy breathing, a grunt, a gunshot, and then, “I’m sending Red Robin and the Batmobile to your GPS location,” and it’s all Jason gets before the connection cuts out on Bruce’s end.

Fucking typical.

“Take a chill pill, Jay,” Dick coughs out. He looks even worse than before.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps. He’s tense. Too tense. He doesn’t know why, but he feels like one more bad thing is going to make him shatter and neither of them can afford to pick up the pieces right now. “You’re literally fucking dying, how about you take a chill pill.”

Dick doesn’t have the breath to answer him. Jason starts prodding at his ribs. Cracked, probably. Maybe broken. Jason just hopes the lack of blood on Dick’s lips means that there isn’t any internal bleeding, because that’ll be another mess and a half.

Jason turns to his last problem.

See, the thing is that Dick had jumped in front of a gun aimed for Jason. Dick had been stupid and gotten himself shot in Jason’s place, when Jason had been immobilized, grappling with some thug. And the shooter hadn’t seemed to be worried about his man at all.

Dick jumped in at the very last minute, and had gotten shot in the fucking leg. Jason had killed the thug and the shooter, taken care of the gunshot wound via pressure bandage before he’d moved them to a safer location and he hates that all he can do now is keep Dick from falling asleep and dying on him.

Jason shrugs off his jacket and drapes it over Dick’s shivering form. He probably should have done that first, but Jason’s nerves are shot. He’s human, despite popular belief. Sue him.

“I swear to God, Grayson,” Jason says, because he doesn’t know what else to do, “if you even think about dying, I will go into your room and deface your comforter. And you’d fucking deserve it, too—”

“Shut up,” Dick moans. “I’m trying to sleep, you asswipe.”

“You’re the asswipe.”

“And you’re,” Dick pauses for breath, “a child. Name calling. I heard the thing ‘bout the spork. You’re a spork.”

Jason wants to punch something, and Dick’s face is looking sort of punchable. Jason tells him exactly that, and adds, “If you didn’t look like you were about to keel over, I would be throwing you at the Riddler so he could fucking riddle you to death.”

“A child,” Dick repeats.

“You’re the one who your face’d me.”

“I didn’t,” Dick says. “Jay, you’re my brother, and I love the ever-loving fuck out of you, but I would never in my life, your face you. I’m not sure if I respect you too much…or too little.”

“You’re worse than Cass.”

Dick snorts, even though it’s breathless. “No one’s worse than Cass.”

“Yeah,” Jason says.

“Cassie’s the absolute worst,” Dick continues. “I love her so much.”

“We’re all the worst.”

“Kind of, yeah,” Dick agrees.

“You’re a lot more coherent than you were two minutes ago,” Jason says.

“An’ you’re a lot less angry.”

Jason swallows, because it’s true. Dick, his dick of a big brother, has somehow calmed him down, even though he’s literally lying in an alley dying. Uncomfortably, he shifts over Dick’s body to assess his condition.

“How do you feel?”

Dick hums. “Like I took a bullet to the leg.”

“You’re not funny.”

“And you sound like Tim,” Dick sighs out. “When will you three admit that I am so goddamn funny.”

“You mean four? Or five including Bruce?”

“Cass and Bruce appreciate my humor.”

Jason rolls his eyes. “You mean they tolerate it.”

“Cass laughed at my joke yesterday,” Dick informs him very seriously.

“I’m sure she was just laughing at your face. It’s stupid.”

“You literally,” Dick coughs and coughs, and then he breathes in shakily, and something in Jason’s chest clenches as he waits for Dick to continue, “literally just your face’d me. And fuck you. I’m as good looking as they come.”

“I’m not sure the handsomest goblin in the goblin factory counts as a compliment, Dick,” Jason tells him.

Dick opens his mouth to answer, but before he can, another coughing fit rips through him, this one more violent than the last. And this fit brings blood to Dick’s lips. It sprays into the air as Dick coughs and coughs and coughs.

“Shit,” Jason says, dizzy with the panic that floods through his veins. He checks Dick’s pulse and it’s too fast, too fast, and Dick can’t breathe and then—

“Move,” Tim’s demanding, somehow magically appearing while Jason had been focused on Dick and pushing him aside, and fuck that, because Jason’s been sitting here with Dick for the past however long, keeping him awake and talking while they wait for help and he’s not going to not help save his big brother, even though Dick is Tim’s big brother, too.

Fuck. He needs to calm down. He takes a breath, and then another, and then he dives into helping Tim stabilize Dick and getting Dick into the batmobile and to the Cave, and then there’s the usual rush of Alfred swooping in to help Jason and Tim save Dick’s life.

And then it’s Tim and Jason sitting at Dick’s bedside in the Cave, doing the same dance they always do when one of theirs gets hurt.

Except, until recently, it hasn’t been Jason sitting in this chair, holding an injured family member’s hand, waiting for them to wake up. He’d done it for Bruce a million times before and he’s been in the bed himself, but it’s only been the past year or so where he’s actually found himself caring enough about these people.

“Hey,” Tim says a while later, and Jason blinks up at him. He looks as worried as Jason feels. “Thank you.”

Jason scoffs, and looks back towards Dick’s sleeping face.

He feels more than sees Tim lean forwards over Dick’s blankets legs. “No, for real, Jason. If you hadn’t been there, he would have died.”

“If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have gotten shot,” Jason says simply.

And it’s true. Dick had taken a bullet for Jason, and Jason had watched his big brother choke on blood in the dead of the night in some random alleyway while there was a gun fight literally thirty feet from them.

“Maybe,” Tim says. “Or maybe he would have gotten shot anyways, and without you there, he would have bled out in the street.”

Jason levels a look at Tim. “Weren’t you supposed to be a dumb irrational teenager?”

“Only when Damian’s involved,” Tim says, and well. At least he admits it. Jason says nothing for a long moment, and Tim sighs, and continues, “I’m just saying I’m glad you were there.”

“Whatever,” Jason sighs more than says.

“Don’t compliment him,” Dick mumbles from the bed. “Called me a spork.”

“You are a spork,” Tim says, and Jason feels his lips tugging up into a grin.

Dick scoffs, his voice raspy when he complains, “Why do my little brothers like picking on me?”

And then his eyes open and Jason finally feels some sense of relief thrum through him, and all he can do is exhale shakily and bury his face in the blankets on Dick’s bed. To their credit, neither Dick nor Tim comment, instead starting up a new conversation.

Jason just lets their words wash over him, and lets himself relax. It finally feels like he can breathe, and it’s dumb but if he’d lost Dick (again, because there was that thing with Spyral, and yeah he’s still sort of pissed about that, and he didn’t care for how much that freaking hurt), he doesn’t think he’d be able to stand doing this family thing anymore.

He doesn’t say that, though. Instead, he looks up and interrupts whatever Dick’s saying, and tells him, “You’re such a bimbus.”

Dick smiles, exhausted and pale and alive, and says, “You’re a bimbus.”

Yeah, they’re gonna be okay.

[olicitysecretsanta]

Trapped

A gift by @leuska for @hope-for-olicity

This has to be the worst Christmas Eve ever. Not that she minds that it’s Christmas Eve. No, that’s just the icing on the whole fracking cake.

 Her back hurts. Her left hip throbs uncomfortably, courtesy of the massive cabinet currently pinning her down. It’s just so damn heavy. She had already tried to shift it off of herself multiple times to no avail. The heavy cow just wouldn’t budge an inch. Not even enough to relieve the pain of the metal edge cutting into her skin across the underside of her ribs. She doesn’t know how long she lies there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. She’s long since lost track of time.

 Felicity’s trapped.

 The chill of the stone floor doesn’t help, sending unpleasant shivers up her spine. But Felicity can’t bring herself to worry about the chill in that moment, because she has a more immediate problem.

The fire.

 She has yet to see the flames; but she can hear them, somewhere above her on the ground floor, cracking merrily, slowly but surely making their way down to her.

 The walls and beams of the building above groan before falling eerily silent again. Darkness envelops her and Felicity tries not to succumb to the crippling hopelessness and fear that had been creeping up on her ever since the first crackle of the flames.

 No one knows she’s down here. She could die here and no one would find her body for days.

 Well...Perhaps that’s a little melodramatic. And probably not true. Laurel knows. But she wouldn’t be much good to Felicity if she happened to be in a similar predicament, somewhere a floor or two above her, also trapped, seriously injured, or even worse, dead.

 She hates the darkness of the basement. She hates darkness, period. Even as a child, she would sleep with a lamp on, and did so until well into her teens. But the electricity is gone, courtesy of the fire.

 She wishes suddenly for her menorah. She doesn’t care how ridiculous the thought is. It would’ve brought light.

 She had celebrated Hanukkah this year, if only because her mother had pestered her about it. She had lit the candles, done the rituals, all alone in her small apartment, and yet, didn’t feel any more enlightened nor spiritually illuminated, nor anything else that one was supposed to feel during as a result of such ceremonies.

 She could really do with some light now though, spiritual or otherwise.

 Because with the way things are looking just now, Felicity Smoak is going to die on Christmas Eve in a dark, dingy basement, struck down by a cabinet whilst trying to troubleshoot CNRI’s recent server issues.

 Life is indeed not fair.

 Felicity’s chest hurts, but it has nothing to do with the dust and debris she is lying in. A tight fist of fear and regret closes around her throat and heart.

 She doesn’t want to die. Not yet. Not like this.

 A single tear slips from the corner of her eye, disappearing into her hairline, causing a tickling sensation to run through her.

 This is it. This is how her lonely existence ends at mere 23 years of age. Another statistic of young people tragically dying before their time. Millenials doing it again: killing safety in IT jobs.

 A sound comes from above her, but this time, it’s not the building groaning as it burns on its less-than-stable support beams. No, this sound is deliberately and distinctly man-made. Someone or something is banging against the door to the basement, trying to get inside. Then she hears the voice.

 “Hello? Is anybody down there?!”

 Oh, God, yes. YES!

 “Y-yea, I am…” Felicity croaks, her voice a feeble cough cracking through her body, dust filling her lungs. She gives another mighty cough before trying again, voice stronger this time.

 “Help! I am down here! I am trapped down here!”

 There is a moment of silence, nothing but the groaning of the building that’s about to collapse on top of her, accompanied by the ominous crackle of the fire. She starts to think she’s imaged the whole thing, wished the voice into existence. Then:

 “Just hold on—stay calm—I am coming down!” the voice calls through the still closed metal door that she can hear is being attacked by something heavy from upstairs.

 “Not gonna be a problem,” Felicity murmurs to herself, her head flopping back to the concrete, her body once again wracked with coughs.

 The door above her suddenly bursts open, a ray of light spilling down the stairs to where she’s trapped.

 She would smirk at the trite nature of the words which come to mind – and then there was light – were she not trapped, tired, hurting and so very scared.

 Instead, she tries to crane her neck, see the person hurrying down, but with the way she is pinned, it’s just her luck that her back is to the stairs. All she can do is listen as a heavy pair of boots clomp down the stairs, their echo bouncing off the walls of the basement as well as Felicity’s skull. Despite the inharmonious thunk of the sound, it sounds like music to her ears.

 “Okay miss, I am here,” says a masculine voice and Felicity squeezes her eyes tightly shut as a ray of light from a strong, heavy-duty flashlight hits her face.

 There is movement above her and she squints when the beam slips from her face and hits the floor. A black and yellow blur flashes in front of her eyes. She hears the flashlight clatter to the floor and it bathes the room in light shadows.

 The quick transition from lying unmoving in the dark to sudden light and movement is more than a bit disconcerting, but Felicity fights to adapt, wracking her brain to make some sense of the situation. She wonders if this is all just a figment of her shock-riddled imagination.

 “Hold on, I am going to try and lift this a little so you can wiggle out.”

 Yellow and black flashes again and she finally puts it all together. A firefighter. Of course. Who else?

 And a pretty strong one, too, if the grunts and groans coming from him are any indication as the man tries to shift the cabinet off of her. Suddenly, the weight lifts from her hips and she can move again.

 “Can you–“ a heavy groan, “–maneuver yourself out?” the Hulk of a man grunts, holding the cabinet an inch or two above her.

 Awed, Felicity takes her first free breath; then forces her mind to take a quick inventory of her body. Her hip and legs are prickling with pins and needles shooting down to her toes as proper blood circulation resumes, but nothing feels too severely damaged.

 “Ye-es,” Felicity stammers. “I think so.”

 She lifts her body to her elbows and pulls back, slowly and painstakingly shuffling herself out from underneath the cabinet.

 “Just don’t let it fall on me again,” she whimpers, the words escaping her mouth on their own when she sees the man’s arms shake with the exertion, sweat running down his face.

 “I won’t,” he bites out through clenched teeth. She absolutely believes him.

 It takes longer than she expected, but once her legs are free, she hastily pulls the rest of her body out and draws her feet underneath herself so the man can let the cabinet fall to the ground with a grinding crash.

 For a moment, Felicity just sits there, gawking up at her savior, still in awe of the man who just single handedly helped her out from the death trap that would have buried her alive.

 And boy, upon closer inspection, he is one fine specimen of a savior. A hunk of a savior, her mom would say.

 The firefighter’s uniform is bulky on his fit frame, hiding the finer contours of his body, but Felicity can still see that he is tall and broad. Her eyes seize him from head to toe, her mouth slightly agape. When her gaze falls to the ground, she spots his helmet he must have pulled down while heaving the cabinet off of her, and Felicity now has the perfect view of him panting and wiping his sweaty brow with one huge glowed hand. And if his body looks massive and strong, it definitely doesn’t take away anything from the man’s handsome face.

 The firefighter gives one final sigh before directing his eyes at her, stepping closer and oh boy, is he even more handsome up close.

 “Are you okay, miss? Are you hurt?” he asks urgently as he crouches down to her, his face coming impossibly close.

 Even in the flickering light, she notices that his eyes are blue. Impossibly blue.

 Wow.

 They are still shrouded in dimness, the only two sources of light coming from the flames upstairs and the beam of his flashlight.

 Yet she can still see that his eyes are a very distinctive blue. Dark brown hair, angular broad jaw deliciously peppered with stubble. Unfairly handsome, indeed.

 And very concerned for her, obviously.

 “Lady, are you hurt? Can you stand?”

 Lady. Now that sounds super weird. Shaking her head like a dog, Felicity forces herself to concentrate on the question.

 “I don’t think so…” she murmurs and almost panics when the man reaches for her, before realizing he is just trying to help her stand.

 “Time to find out,” he murmurs in a deep, caring voice and Felicity realizes that it’s a very nice murmur. And what the hell is wrong with her? Before she can finish the thought, however, she is standing, half on her own, half supported by the man.

 “You good?”

 It’s that damn sexy murmur again, so close to her ear now that it makes her jump in surprise.

 “Ye-yes.” She stammers, a shiver running down her spine. She takes a step back from him, trying to find her center.

 “Wonderful, because we really need to get out before the whole building collapses,” he says urgently and she nods, the reality of their situation crashing back down to her.

 It started with Laurel Lance’s call, begging Felicity for a Christmas Eve favor – a Christmas Eve miracle, Laurel called it. Then the sudden explosion and subsequent fire. The blast had shaken the whole building, causing a heavy cabinet to turn over, effectively trapping her.

 “Hey,” a gentle voice brings her back from her spiraling thoughts, a gloved hand closing around her arm and squeezing reassuringly. “Don’t be scared. I’m here to help you. What’s your name?”

“Fe-Felicity.”

“Felicity. That’s a nice name.”

She likes the way he says her name.

“Can you breathe for me?”

Those intense blue eyes are on hers again, urging her on as she steadily takes one breath after another, long enough to stop the ringing in her ears.

“Okay,” she manages to bite out through clenched teeth. “I’m good.”

She isn’t. But the groaning of the building above her doesn’t really leave her any choice but to be ready and face whatever awaits them above.

The man gives a short nod, then crouches down to pick up his dropped flashlight and helmet. Pondering something for a moment, he makes a quick decision and instead puts the helmet on Felicity’s head.

“Here. It’s dangerous up there,” he explains with a small smile.

The helmet is heavy and dwarfs her head. Still. Everything Felicity can think about is that the man has a really nice smile. Which only serves as clear proof of how mentally unstable she currently is, swooning about the handsomeness of her rescuer instead of the very real danger of her dying in the next couple of minutes.

The man silently directs her to follow closely behind him before he starts walking up the stairs again.

“My God, what happened up there?” Felicity asks with a gasp, because now that they are half up the stairs, she can actually see all the damage lying behind the door to CNRI’s server basement.

“We don’t know yet,” the man replies, not turning or stopping to give his explanation. “But considering the part of town we’re in, probably a gas leak that caused an explosion. It doesn’t take much where these particular buildings are concerned. They are old and not very well maintained. It actually, sadly, happens quite often.”

They reach the top of the stairs and the sight in front of her as she peaks around the man’s broad back makes Felicity freeze with shock.

What greets her eye can’t be described any other way than utter wreckage. The CNRI building – or what’s left of it – looks like it’s been bombed in air strikes. There is rubble everywhere, multiple small fires crackling all around the place, concrete pillars that used to support the building not an hour ago now cracked or outright ripped apart, some completely blown from their fundamentals. There are burning documents, computers and furniture everywhere and considering what lays ahead of her, it looks like a very deadly obstacle course. Or simply a death trap, there is no way around it.

Felicity gulps again, taking an involuntary step back before she remembers not to move any further so she doesn’t fall down the stairs again. Her rescuer turns to her, a silent question in his eyes. Maybe this is the time to lay her cards on the table and admit she isn’t much of an athletic person. Or, you know, not athletic at all, period. Oh, who is she kidding, she only bought that stationary bike because she was feeling guilty for not exercising in the first place. The very same bicycle that now serves as a fancy coat rack.

So no. There is absolutely no way she can make her way through this.

“Felicity?” the man questions, and her eyes fall shut with embarrassment and shame.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispers, barely over the crackling of the fire.

“You can.” The man says with conviction Felicity doesn’t feel.

“I’m scared,” she involuntarily whimpers, her cheeks growing warm at the admission. Here he is, a firefighter ready to risk his own life to save hers and she is stalling out of fear and insecurity. By now, the man sure must regret finding her alive in the first place.

“Hey, don’t be scared, Felicity. I am here to help you. I know it looks bad, but you are not alone and I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?”

She already loves him. Like not loves loves him, not like being in love with him, but loves how wonderful of a rescuer he is. And she wants to believe him. Actually, Felicity realizes as she looks back into those gorgeous blue eyes of his, she does believe him. At least she believes the part where he won’t willingly let anything happen to her. As for herself and her own abilities…

“Okay,” she nods and takes a deep breath before she realizes what a stupid mistake that is. Her lungs instantly fill with hot smoke and dust, wrecking her body with a violent fit of coughs causing her mangled hip and side to burn with searing pain.

Frack! Frack, frackity-frack!

“Here.”

Something presses into her hand, a cloth the man must have wet with water.

“Press this over your nose and mouth.”

The Hunk – cause yeah, she needs a name for him, even if only in her own head, and it is the very first description that originally came to her mind. Well, no, actually it was Hulk, but that nickname is just stupid, because he isn’t mean nor green nor violent, so Hunk will have to do. The Hunk is now looking an her urgently, his eyes still gentle but more insistent.

“We really need to keep going, Felicity. You ready?”

She is not. God, she so is not. But she bravely nods anyway.

He takes her hand and starts directing them through the maze that was once the cubicle-ed offices of CNRI. Only now, the space looks nothing like what Felicity remembers.

Using one hand to press the wet cloth against her face while the other clutches the gloved hand of her rescuer for dear life, Felicity stumbles behind him as they painstakingly and slowly make their way through the rubble. It’s not easy, because they have to crouch underneath fallen pillars, and crawl over overturned furniture, chunks of blown apart walls or walk around the small fires that burn everywhere.

The environment is also very hot. And not only because of the proximity of her handsome rescuer, who is definitely a solid ten on the hotness scale, if Felicity does say so herself. No, it’s the smoke and dust and fire that are making her eyes water and lungs seize, her abused body tiredly stumbling behind the man whose step never falters.

They are proceeding slowly but safely, inching towards the door where Felicity hopes the exit lies. In the smoke and dust and rubble, she is absolutely lost as to which room exactly they are currently walking across.

Making a short stop in a small niche in the doorway between two rooms, her firefighter silently offers her the bottle of water before he takes out his radio, reaching out while she drinks hastily, the water a welcoming balm against her parched throat.

“Queen here. I found the woman. We are on our way out now.”

There is a short moment of static crackling before a deep rumble of a voice responds. “Queen, you son of a bitch. You better get your ass safely out of there or I will kill you myself. Waiting on standby. Boys are trying to contain the fire from outside. Make it quick though, the building doesn’t have much time.”

“Yes, sir.”

With that, the man – the Hunk – is done and once again looking expectedly towards her. She gives a slow nod and he silently takes her hand again as they make their way towards the next door in what feels like a sick game of walking through a minefield.

They are close, so close in fact, Felicity can almost feel the cool draft of wind coming from somewhere in front of her when it all goes straight to hell.

The ceiling in the very last room they need to cross caves right in front of their eyes, and the Hunk barely has time to jump back and turn towards her, roughly showing Felicity back and against the doorframe they just came through, shielding her as huge chunks plaster, wood and concrete come raining down onto them.

It’s sheer luck they weren’t too deep in the room yet, otherwise they would have been buried alive.

There’s a little break in the collapsing and before she knows what’s happening, Felicity is pushed backward further into the previous room, further away from the longed-for exit.

Somewhere behind her, she can hear the deep male voice from before call to them, repeating ‘Queen, Queen’, which doesn’t make any sense at all, before she realizes the Hunk is not hot at her heels anymore but cursing and diving back into the caving room. And that’s when it clicks to her; the radio.

He’s lost the radio.

She just manages to turn back and grab him by the arm, yanking him back violently, surprised at her own reflexes as well as strength, but she manages to pull him back just in time for the room he was just about to enter again into completely caving in on itself, debris of several floors crashing down with deafening racket. And it doesn’t end there, the whole statics of the building is compromised now and there is no way the building can remain standing anymore.

“Back!” Felicity shouts, orders really, once again surprising herself by her decisiveness. “We need to get back to that basement before it all comes crashing down on us!”

Before she knows, the Hunk is already pushing at her from behind, urging her to move on as she speeds through the rooms they so carefully maneuvered before, not caring about possibly catching her clothes on fire or scratching her hands against obstacles standing in their way anymore, only going forward, always forward, running until they reach the door to the basement again. Without thinking, she flies down the stairs and is once again back where it all started.

That’s when the building above them completely gives way, all three floors pancaking on themselves. The sound is deafening. Felicity has never heard anything as ear-splitting and utterly scary in her life. The ceilings and walls crash down and rubble flies down the stairs of the basement, effectively burying them alive.

Felicity stands frozen, just at the bottom the stairs where rubble and debris still falls, but she is unable to move, paralyzed by fear. She feels herself being swooped up just as a large chunk of concrete lands at the spot she’s just been standing at and she is pushed under the metal stairs and pulled against a solid chest, strong arms enveloping her as everything else around them collapses.

She clutches at the Hunks uniform, her face against his throat, absolutely certain they are about to die any second, squashed to a bloody pulp by tons and tons of concrete and construction material.

But death never comes.

It could have been moments, it could have been hours, but finally, there is just silence, darkness, and the heavy breathing of two very much alive people.

She feels movement, then sees a flicker and the room is suddenly bathed in the harsh beam of a flashlight cutting through whirls of dust. The Hunk is directing his flashlight towards her even as she is still cowering in his arms, a concerned look on his face.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice ragged and slightly out of breath. When she doesn’t answer, he asks more urgently, addressing her directly by name to drill his point across, “Felicity, are you hurt!?”

She shakes her head against him.

“No.” It’s all she is able to mutter before her whole body begins to shake, her teeth rattling.

“Y-you?” For some reason, it is paramount to her that he is okay too.

“Fine,” the Hunk sighs, finally pulling back and away from her. She nearly whimpers.

Instead, Felicity follows the flashlight’s light as it dances around the room and bounces off the walls, or at least what’s left of them. Half the space is filled with rubble and debris, the metal stairs practically the only thing that saved them from having their heads smashed by falling chunks of construction material.

What’s left free is a space of a couple of feet that stretches from underneath the stairs to – ironically – the very cabinet Felicity has been trapped under earlier.

This is…it’s bad. Very bad.

The Hunk gets to his feet and makes a quick scoop around the room, assessing the damage, as if trying to find some miraculous way out of here. Without having to look herself, Felicity knows with absolute certainty that they are effectively trapped. The Hunk must have reached the same conclusion, because his shoulders sag. To his credit though, once he turns back to her, he’s straightened them out again while speaking in a steady, calm voice.

“Don’t worry. My colleagues know we are here. They will come searching for us.”

She really wants to share his enthusiasm. Only, she is a very practical and rational person. And she knows things aren’t that easy.

“Only your colleagues think we got smashed to a pulp by the collapsing building.”

The Hunk shakes his head disapprovingly. “No, they heard we were okay when I radioed us in.”

“Yes, but that was before the building fell in on itself like a damn house of cards,” she counter-reasons. “And you lost your radio.” It’s only sheer luck she doesn’t say ‘drop’.

“I know,” the Hunk says, tightness for the very first time entering his voice and posture as he lays his hands on his hips, his breathing growing heavier. He is agitated, but that doesn’t stop Felicity from voicing the obvious problem.

“I am just saying. When your colleagues try to call again, all they will get is radio silence. Which to them will appear as if we--”

“Could you maybe tone it down with the pessimism? I am trying to keep a cool head here, but your pinpointing of everything that’s wrong in not really helping,” the man hisses, shooting her a disbelieving glare.

Its intensity makes Felicity flinch. “I’m sorry,” she utters, bringing her knees to her chest, trying to ignore how her eyes, lungs as well as half her body burn and hurt.

“It’s just that when I am stressed, I talk,” she squeezed out through clenched teeth before nervously picking a loose threat of her already completely destroyed skirt. With a start, she realizes she isn’t wearing the helmet anymore. Duh. Must have lost it somewhere while running back for cover.

The Hunk gives a heavy sigh, air leaving his lungs in a whoosh.

“No, Felicity,” he tells her in a surprisingly gentle tone. “It’s me who’s sorry.”

He takes the few steps, circling back to where she is sitting pressed with her back against the wall underneath the stairs. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. That was unhelpful and very unprofessional of me. I apologize.”

She only nods in response, not trusting her voice just yet.

The Hunk puts the flashlight between them on its rear end, its light hitting the ceiling and casting the room in a greyish half-light. He proceeds by unzipping his heavy fireproof jacked, pushing it from his shoulders with a wince before plopping down to the ground close to her in nothing but a black shirt (and suspenders!), gingerly laying back against the same concrete wall but keeping a respectable distance of a couple feet between them.

“Are you hurt?” Felicity asks, noticing the way he unsuccessfully tries to mask his discomfort.

“Just bruises and abrasions,” he brushes her off. When she silently pins him with a look, he sighs and elaborates. “When the ceiling came down in the last room and I pushed you against the doorway, some of the falling debris caught me on the back.”

Felicity thinks that’s a very nice way to put how he literally wrapped himself around her to shield her from the falling pieces of ceiling. She can’t dwell on it however, as his next words knock the breath out of her.

“You saved my life back there,” he says with a gentle smile. “Thank you.” It’s not even a question, just a statement. But for the life of her, Felicity can’t come up with what he means by that.

So the only thing she manages in response in a stupid, “What?”

“Back in the room, when I dropped my radio. I dived back for it. It was a stupid, instinctive reaction. You pulled me back in time not to be crushed. Thank you for that.”

Felicity’s cheeks grow warm. She didn’t think about it like that, not at that time. It doesn’t even make sense to her like that now. She didn’t think what she was doing, she just reacted.

She clears her throat, feeling slightly uncomfortable to be put into the spotlight.

“So. Since it looks like we are going to be here for a while, what do I call you? Mr. Sexy Firefighter is kind of long.”

Her eyes fall shut. She can’t believe those words actually left her stupid, stupid mouth. “Not that being sexy qualifies you to be a good firefighter. Which you obviously are, though. Since you rescued me. You’re sexy too, but that’s beside the point here,” she heavily gulps down, squeezing her eyes tightly. How can she be so devastatingly embarrassing even in a life-threating situation like this? “I just mean that I would really like to know your name, if that’s okay with you. Since you already know mine, it would only be fair.”

She dares to open her eyes then and the small smile playing over his lips in the dim light almost makes her embarrassment worth it. Almost.

“Oliver. You can call me Oliver, Felicity.”

Oliver. She tries it out, likes how it rolls on her tongue. And oh my god, what is wrong with her? They are fighting for their lives here and she is drooling about a sexy firefighter’s name. A sexy firefighter who sure as hell has some hot lawyer chic like Laurel Lance waiting at home for him to carve up the Christmas turkey and scoop up the stuffing.

That puts a damper on her absolutely inappropriate thoughts. Because there won’t be any turkey carving tonight. For either of them. Not that she has any plans or a turkey or a hot boyfriend waiting at home for her. Nope. But he might. And instead, he is stuck here with her.

“Thank you, by the way. For coming and saving me from underneath that cabinet. And then trying to get us out,” she says in barely a whisper.

“It’s my job,” The Hunk-- Oliver shrugs. Like it’s no big deal. When it’s everything to another human being. Everything to her.

“Well, for what it’s worth, I am grateful. I mean, look at you! Good looking and saving lives on Christmas Eve. It doesn’t get any better than that. Sorry for that, by the way. Ruining your Christmas. Surely, you girlfriend or family will be pissed I took you away from them on such an important evening.”

“Actually, you didn’t ruin anything. I am on shift today as well as tomorrow. Well, not anymore. If we get out tonight, I’m sure they’ll order me to take tomorrow off.”

That catches her by surprise. And sure enough, her big mouth runs away with her once again.

“So…No Mrs. Sexy Firefighter waiting for that broad chest with a six pack back at home? That’s kind of a waste, if you ask me. Not that you’re asking me. Or that I’ve seen your chest. I just assumed. You know, how you picked up that cabinet all by yourself? That was really impressive. And also indicative of the fact that you must indeed have a pretty neat six pack in order to do that.”

It was his answering breathless chuckle that made her realize how very uncomfortable her words have been making him. Well, that made two of them. Only, she was the idiot who couldn’t stop them from leaving her mouth.

“Sorry. Again,” she murmured in embarrassment, “It’s probably the lack of oxygen talking. I don’t usually ramble like this. Actually no, who am I kidding,” she sighed unhappily. “It’s exactly what I do. It’s my very own specialty; a superpower, really. And my personal kind of hell. Duh, maybe that’s why I have so little friends. I guess it must be pretty hard to hang out with a person like me with her thoughts completely scattered all over the place all the time. Talk getting awkward on the go. Anytime, anywhere. I can make the both of us feel uncomfortable in no time. Anytime. So I will shut up now. No reason to waste precious oxygen on my rambles. Which will end. Right now.”

She does fall silent after that, hiding her face against her knees, still not able to believe she actually unloaded all that on her fancy rescuer. Felicity doesn’t dare to look at him, not interested to see the embarrassment on his face. Or pity, or annoyance. That’s probably the top three emotions she gets from people whenever they catch her during one of her nervous rambles. She hates this personal trait of herself and yet for the love of her, she can’t change it. The more she tries, the more awkward and mortifying she gets.

Been there, done that. It’s how it is with her. She’s made her peace with that. But she doesn’t have to subject innocent bystanders to this horrible habit of hers. And definitely not such nice ones as hot men trying to rescue her from a burning building and endangering themselves in the process.

Or just one hot and nice man. She feels bad for him. He might die here because of her. They might both die here. Handsome and skilled as he is, his death would surely be a crime against humanity. She doesn’t want that on her conscience.

But she manages at least one thing. She stays silent. Doesn’t need to incriminate herself any further. Definitely doesn’t want to embarrass either of them any more than she already has.

Her cheeks are aflame, eyes burning. She tells herself it’s because of the exertion, smoke and dust.

“How did you know I was down here anyway? How did you know where to look?” She utters after a while, unable to stand the stretching, uncomfortable silence any longer. Well, maybe it was just her. Maybe he was perfectly comfortable with the silence.

Felicity always hated silences with a vengeance. She always felt the compulsive need to fill them. With whatever happened to come across her mind. With her track record, she always managed to fill them with the worst possible type of word-vomit. At least this was something sensible to ask.

Maybe they could even have a casual conversation like two normal people. She desperately needed to take away the edge of her fear that neither of them would make it out of this stupid basement alive.

“Laurel Lance told me,” Oliver replies after a while, effectively cutting through her spiraling thoughts. Her mouth shapes into a perfect ’O’ before the meaning of his words fully registers.

“Oh! Oh my god, Laurel! Is she okay?!”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Oliver is perplexed.

And no. It’s not the fact that a rescue mission has gone so terribly wrong. That’s just the way his work is, risk of being hurt or dying on the job comes with the territory. So it’s not the fact that he is stuck in a basement low on oxygen in a building that had previously collapsed onto him with a woman he was supposed to rescue only to be rescued by her in return. Not even the fact that he might not make it out of here alive tonight is the reason for his shock.

What has put his whole system into a state of utter bewilderment is the woman sitting just a couple of feet next to him. A woman that utterly baffles and intrigues him at the same time.

And that’s the thing. She shouldn’t. It’s what he does every single day. He saves people from the most dangerous or risky situations. Sometimes it’s injured people, sometimes it’s hysteric people, sometimes he has to deal with utterly stupid people (like those two drunk college kids who got stuck trying to climb down a chimney, Santa-style). He rescues very badly hurt people, people with deep wounds or missing limbs, people shouting in agony from terrible burns, people crying because they saw their loved ones die in front of their own eyes. He’s seen it all.

And still, seeing that young woman helplessly trapped under the heavy cabinet, utterly alone waiting in the dark to possibly die, on Christmas Eve no less, in a dingy server basement of a non-profit organization’s collapsing building – it did something to him. Moved something in him it shouldn’t have.

Yet it was cruel somehow, that this would possibly have been the way she would’ve died if he hadn’t done what he’d done. It was in times like these when Oliver really appreciated his job. This was the very reason he did it. Why he put his life on the line.

He’d quickly run down the stairs and heaved the cabinet off her, relieved that she was in a state to cooperate. Once free, he prepared himself for possible hysterics and subsequent gentle persuasion, a lot of convincing and the possibility of having to somehow carry her out himself if she proved unable to follow him outside through the wreckage on her own. But despite her injuries, fear and apprehension, she cooperated flawlessly.

That was something he’d appreciated very much, although it was neither unique nor unheard of. Different people coped in different ways. She was one of the tougher ones, apparently, despite expressing her fear to him. It was the fact that in spite of her fear she followed his instructions to a T that told Oliver she underestimated herself, big time.

What truly surprised him was her saving his own life a mere fifteen minutes later by making the smart, logical decision of not letting him leap after his lost radio. It was a rookie mistake that Oliver still couldn’t wrap his head around making in the first place. Such mistakes usually cost you your life. And he knew that had he been with anyone else, he would be dead by now, buried under the rubble.

So much for his professional pride.

Then she did another amazing thing, in a split decision that spoke of a very sharp mind. Once again, she’d saved both of their lives. Truth was, it had been Felicity’s idea to return to the basement, which was, in fact, the safest and only place they could possibly survive the building collapsing.

It could still cave under the pressure of three stories, but given the fact that it hadn’t yet proved Felicity’s decision had been right.

Once again, she mesmerized him when she didn’t even acknowledge how she’d saved their lives twice in the course of five minutes. Instead, she‘d rambled her way through their rather unorthodox introductions, something Oliver suspected she did quite a lot. A quality – according to her – not many people enjoyed. He could understand why. And yet, he didn’t mind it, not coming from her. She was genuine. Constantly full of surprises. Fascinating.

This girl – woman – Felicity. She really was quite something. And despite knowing it to be very, very unprofessional, Oliver Queen was very much intrigued.

And then he’d told her about Laurel being the one who’d tipped him off, and despite being buried alive under tons of rubble and concrete herself, no doubt hurting from the injuries caused by the cabinet she’d been trapped under, Oliver can still see how affected she is by the prospect of Laurel Lance being hurt.

Therefore, he hurries to reassure her, to give her at least something to bring her a little peace of mind.

“Yeah, Laurel’s fine. She got out in time, looked relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t tell her about the gash across Laurel’s forehead or the blood trickling down her throat. Doesn’t elaborate on how the she’d looked like a mirage, a ghost, running from the burning building, clothes and face white as a sheet covered in dust and plaster, hands trembling and hair disheveled, a wild look on her face as her eyes sought him out.

They’d always had a connection, he and Laurel, back during the time they’d dated, on and off and on again. Despite it being a long time ago, her uncanny ability to always seek him out even amongst a crowd always stayed. He never could do that. Never even cared to try, if he was being honest.

But Laurel’s always known.

“Ollie!”

Immediately, she’d crossed the space between them, her cries directed at him even as his other colleagues reached her first.

“Ollie, there’s still a woman in the building! You have to help her!”

She knew he didn’t need to hear more. That’s why she’d sought him out, specifically him. Laurel knew he wouldn’t think twice to rush in, knew his reckless nature would propel him into action where others would have hesitated. After all, it was one of the reasons why they’d split. Well, that, and the fact that he just hadn’t cared about her enough. However, that was a long time ago.

Still, Laurel knew Oliver wouldn’t hesitate. Maybe it was her karmic payback, using one of the things she hated most about him against him, though Oliver didn’t mind or dwell on it too much. The outcome was just the same for him, he would have gone no matter who’d told him there was somebody left inside. It was what he did. It was also the thing that made him one of the best and at the same time most dangerous men in his unit.

He liked it. He liked doing the risky thing, going places no one else dared to go. He liked feeling the rush of carrying a person, still alive, from a burning building. It was gratifying, sure. It was also absolutely daring and reckless as hell. He wouldn’t want to live his life any other way but it didn’t do him any favors with his superiors.

John Diggle was the only person able to handle him. To deal with the hot-headed side of him. He managed – to a certain degree – to reign in Oliver’s impulsive behavior, or so their superiors thought. Tonight was not one of those days. Oliver had gone in, not sparing his Captain – his boss and his friend – a second glance, even though he knew very well the structure of the building had been severely compromised and a further plan of action needed to be coordinated.

He knows Diggle will give him an earful for this, if he survives. Not for the fact that he tried to save someone. No, that would make him a hero in the public eye, Oliver already knew from so many brushes with death in the past.

The problem isn’t his drive to save someone, but his lack of discipline while doing so. There is a clear chain of command he blatantly disregards whenever it suits him. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t wait for backup, doesn’t talk strategy. He acts as he sees fit in moments like these. It doesn’t bode well with the Battalion Chief and Oliver knows it’s only thanks to Diggle that he still has a job.

One of these days, you will get yourself killed out there.

It’s what John keeps telling him, always angry and aggravated after whatever stunt he has just pulled. Oliver doesn’t particularly care about that thought. He never really had. Not if the alternative would be this woman dying here in agony and fear, alone in the dark. She still might die. But at least she won’t die alone.

Of course, Oliver hopes it won’t come to that. He is reckless and driven, not suicidal.

“Are you and Laurel friends?” he asks Felicity, willing to stop his dangerous train of thought. Felicity – he really likes the name – just shakes her head.

“No. I just do some work for CNRI.”

The rubble above them shifts, something in the ruins above them moaning dangerously. Felicity flinches before cowering in fear.

Oliver desperately wants to keep the conversation flowing, keep their mind of the sword of Damocles hanging above them. So he inquires further.

“What kind of work?”

Felicity shrugs. “Mainly system maintenance, installation of upgrades, checking the firewall, you know. Usual boring IT stuff. Sometimes,” she points to the back of the room where the corner of the now completely destroyed server is peaking from, “fixing server issues. Something tells me that one is beyond repair, though.” She huffs, and there is an annoyed lilt to her voice. “I spent over two hours working on that stupid thing and it’s all for naught.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Oliver’s mouth, but he tries to rein it in. It doesn’t seem fitting to smile in a situation like this.

“Again, sorry about all of this.” Felicity says, making a circling gesture with her hand. She tries to play it nonchalant, but Oliver can see the current situation weighing on her. “You just tried to help me. And now we are both stuck and might die here.”

Her voice shakes at the end and that’s when Oliver notices a couple of silent tears slipping down her cheeks. It makes his chest hurt. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s pulling his fire safe gloves off his hands so he can curl his fingers around her forearm in what he hopes is a soothing gesture.

“Felicity, hey. It’s not your fault, okay? We’re gonna be fine, you’ll see.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, but there is no conviction in her voice as she retreats even further into herself, her knees pulled tight to her chest, her body curled into a ball. He lets his hand drop, at a loss for how to comfort her. It takes a while before either of them speaks again.

“I know you said you’re on shift both, today as well tomorrow, so I didn’t ruin any Christmas plans for you,” she quietly states. “But I’m sure your family won’t be pleased when they find out that you are trapped under a collapsed building, possibly already—” she harshly stops herself from finishing that sentence.

He doesn’t know why he feels the need to reassure her that what happened today is not much different from what he does regularly. That people sometimes think he is on a suicide mission, with the way he leads his life, conducts his work. He just wants to make her feel better about the situation and the misplaced guilt she obviously feels for his being stuck with her.

“Nah,” he shrugs. “Even if I die tonight, trust me, not many people will shed a tear. See, I have what most people would call a bad reputation. Which is just a nice way to say that most of the time, they consider me a real dick.”

He flashes her a half-cocked smile, expecting her to give an indignated laugh or a roll of her eyes at his drama. She does neither, only studies him intensely. It makes him uncomfortable.

“That’s a horrible thing to say. Besides, I have a hard time believing that,” she argues. “I mean not the part about your reputation. For all I know, that could be perfectly true.”

Amused, Oliver raises an eyebrow and her brain finally seems to catch up to her mouth. Realizing how that must have sounded, she quickly hastens to elaborate. “I mean I hardly know you to be able the judge that. Maybe you are an awesome rescuer and firefighter but a dick of a person, making farting noises when your colleagues sit down or stealing their food from the fridge at work. God knows I’ve met plenty of such assholes in my days as a corporate IT girl. That said, I didn’t want to imply I think you are dick-”

She is rambling again. Oliver is surprised to realize he actually likes it. He isn’t just impartial to it anymore, he genuinely enjoys observing how her mouth runs away from her and how her statements snowball as she goes. It has an awkward yet endearing quality about it. It’s like she genuinely doesn’t have a filter. It makes her speak honestly. He’s always appreciated honesty and hated any kind of sugarcoating of the truth. But then, why is he doing the very same thing to her right now? Because, Oliver knows, he is sugarcoating. About himself. About why he is sitting here, with her, in a bubble of air left under three stories of collapsed glass and concrete, on Christmas Eve, not the least concerned about whether he lives or dies tonight. Why, if he dies tonight, there won’t be no big hole gaping in anybody’s heart.

“Both my parents are dead,” he blurts out of the blue. Felicity blinks, her mouth falling agape. Yeah, no wonder. Way to kill the mood. Not that there was any mood to begin with. But that’s what it basically comes down to. His voice is quiet when he continues, his eyes wandering away.

“I do have a sister. Thea. She’s younger than me, way younger. She only turned 20 a couple of months ago. I know she would miss me. But she lives with the constant knowledge that the day I won’t return from work might come. It comes with the territory. An occupational hazard, if you will. She would understand, would – hopefully – be proud I died trying to save another person. It sucks that it’s Christmas, cause it’s her favorite holiday and it’s been only the two of us for so long. But she has a fiancée now. A good guy in her life. She will be hurt, but she will make it.”

He doesn’t even realize when he slips up and transitions from hypothetical would to certain will. Maybe that says something about him. The certainty that he will die on this job one day not too far from now. He is glad Thea is settled. It makes it easier to lead the life he does, with no regrets.

He clears his throat. “I have a best friend, Tommy. He is a billionaire who is disgustingly rich and who loves to party, so he will probably throw a big bash in my name and hope to pick up some girls in the process,” it makes him smile, even as he hears Felicity gasp. That’s Tommy for you, but he doesn’t dare to look at her. He has no idea why he is telling her all this in the first place other than he feels like telling her. Like telling someone. Because maybe he won’t ever get a chance to do so again.

“The guys in my unit, they’re great. My Captain, John, he’s a true friend. They will mourn the loss of a brother and pay their respects. And then they’ll move on, get back to their own families with their daily day to day problems. It’s what we do.”

Oliver realizes he’s saying that quite a lot. It comes with the territory. The risk is part of the job. It’s to be expected. Suddenly, it sounds like an excuse, but he doesn’t want to analyze it too much, and merely clears his throat once again.

“What about you, Felicity? Who would you be leaving behind if we died tonight? Which we won’t. This is purely hypothetical,” he adds with a reassuring smile. “Any boyfriend who would build you a Taj Mahal?”

He doesn’t know what makes him ask that question. It’s extremely unprofessional, inappropriate on many different levels and borderline unethical. He just blurts it out. He’s fishing. That’s what it is, if he’s downright honest with himself. Despite the inappropriate comments and innuendos Felicity has made about him and his physique through the evening, Oliver still wants to make sure. That there is no wonderful, caring boyfriend waiting for her behind the red tape just outside. He doesn’t even fully understand why exactly he needs to hear that.

Maybe nearly dying is making him bold.

Maybe he wants to know if he even has a chance.

Whatever the reason, he regrets his audacity the moment he sees how his question hits her in an almost physical way, her hands resting on her knees curling into tight fists.

“I am sorry, Felicity,” He instantly apologizes, backtracking. “That was way out of line. When I told you I was a dick, I wasn’t exaggerating.”

Surprisingly, her lips twitch at that. “You really weren’t,” she huffs with amusement and he winces, knowing very well he earned that one. She sighs then, laying her head onto her knees, silently regarding him for long moments.

Oliver is puzzled. Not by her reaction, but by his own behavior this whole night. Nothing makes sense anymore. He’s a firefighter, for Christ’s sake. He is trained better than that. He should stay professional, assure her all is going to be okay and that they would make it. He could even talk about weather. Anything would fly but bringing up his dead parents or potential scared boyfriends due to his fishing for her private details he has absolutely no business asking about.

But nothing about their situation right now is conventional. And for once, Oliver doesn’t want to be the aloof professional, he doesn’t want to keep his distance from her. Doesn’t want to be the detached rescue worker you won’t ever see again. Quite the opposite, in fact. He feels a surprising pull to give and get more information about this woman he was brought together with by sheer chance. He can’t explain it other than that she genuinely intrigues him.

He can’t help but think back when she claimed she had no friends. He can’t wrap his head around that one.

She is remarkable. Adorable, charming and smart. Kind of quirky, yet utterly fascinating. And beautiful, in spite of her face currently smudged by smoke and dust, cheeks stained with tear tracks and rundown mascara. There is an element of innocence and vulnerability about her, something he’s only ever seen in his sister. She is funny, too. Quick witted, cheeky even. And yet, there is also something fragile and broken about her, something that calls to his own emptiness.

She has managed to make him smile, even under these dire conditions, more than once. Which is no small accomplishment. And Oliver feels like under any other circumstances, he would most definitely want to be her friend. Maybe more.

She carries both a lightness and heaviness about herself at the same time. And it intrigues him to no end.

Felicity sighs again before opening her mouth to speak, but he beats her to it.

“No, please. You don’t have to say a thing. You don’t owe me anything.”

She regards him a while longer, mulling over his words, her eyes analyzing as she regards him. Her silent scrutiny makes him slightly uncomfortable. “I know I don’t owe you anything. But strangely enough, I want to. You shared something personal with me, even though you didn’t have to. And I feel like extending that courtesy.”

He nods in acceptance, yet is barely able to breathe.

Then, the words spill from her lips like a confession. “The truth is, my situation is probably even bleaker than yours. I am the daughter of a single mom living in Vegas. No immediate family, no siblings, no boyfriend or close friends. Which is usually fine with me.”

“Usually?”

“Yeah. I am kind of used to being on my own. It’s sort of par for the course of being me,” she admits, shrugging casually.

It hurts him to hear her say that. Even he, Oliver Queen, the womanizing and reckless firefighter, is not completely alone in the world. He has a sweet, loving sister, a handful of close friends and the brothers from his unit. The way Felicity talks about her life, however, truly sounds lonely. There is a difference between liking being alone – which he can absolutely understand – and being lonely. And Felicity, no matter how she tries to play it, sounds the latter. From what she tells him, outside of her mom, there is literally no one in her life. How can she be fine with that? How could anyone be fine with that?

“My mom…Oh god, my mom,” she suddenly sobs. “I can’t even think about what would happen to my mom if anything happens to me. She would be crushed. She lives vicariously through me, not that there’s much exciting going on, but I am the only one she’s got.”

Her distress grows and tears flood her eyes again before they start to fall. “God, who would even tell her? They would have to track her down and it might take a couple of days for someone to even figure out how to contact her.”

It’s perfectly possible. Still, it shocks Oliver to the core. His partner, his team know where he is. Despite working, he knows that Thea will call him tomorrow. Actually, she will call and call and call until he picks up just to wish him “Merry Christmas, you grouchy, anti-social jerk! I love you, big brother. I know you are working, but at least stop by and give your little sister her well-earned present!” Thea’s customary passive-aggressive yet still very loving Christmas calls always make him smile. It is a certainty he can always count on.

Felicity, however, obviously doesn’t have a single person in her life outside her mom to even notice if she’d be gone. That’s just not right. That shouldn’t even be possible.

“Wouldn’t your mom miss you for Christmas?” Oliver asks tentatively, hoping to offer a possibility she hasn’t considered yet to make her logical conclusion less depressing. After all, everybody gets calls from their relatives on Christmas – wished as well as unsolicited alike. “I am sure she will try to call you tomorrow.”

“Nah.” Felicity sniffs, shaking her head. “We are Jewish. Don’t really celebrate Christmas. That’s why Laurel called me in the first place. She knew I had nothing better to do during the holidays.”

Oliver is well aware it was him who had chased and pressed this heavy topic. He realizes now how utterly unprepared he was to hear the answers. He desperately wants to take it back now, or at least make Felicity feel a little better. If the ceiling caves and crushes them right now, he wants her to have a smile on her face. Or at least not cry because he made her.

His voice is steady when he reaches out to cup her shoulder in what he hopes is a soothing gesture. “We are not dead yet, Felicity. You will call your mom tomorrow.” He’s never wished to speak the truth like he does in that moment.

Felicity sniffs and shrugs her shoulders, seemingly unimpressed by his pep talk. He flounders for something, anything, to say.

“At least it pays well working through holidays, right?”

She barks a small laugh at that. Score!

“Nope,” she says, accentuating the ‘p’ while shaking her head. “CNRI is part of my pro-bono work. Since, you know, CNRI as a non-profit is not known for its vast resources. So I offer them my expertise. Feels like the least I can do to help the people who in turn actually help the less fortunate.”

She shrugs again, like it’s no big deal, like everybody does it, lifting her head from her knees at last and letting it fall back against the wall, her eyes momentarily closing.

Oliver is beyond impressed. Literally struck speechless. Beautiful, funny, smart, and with a giant, compassionate heart. She appears almost too perfect. How come it has to be a stupid gas explosion for the two of them to meet?

Not realizing his amazement, Felicity quietly admits, grumpy annoyance entering her voice. “You wanna know what sucks the most about today?” She sighs dramatically. “I am starving. Literally starving. All I had today was my regular coffee in the morning and a stupid meager salad for lunch because I felt like I could use something light.” She makes air quotations around the last word. “Let me tell you, this is the most brutal reminder of life’s too short. Next time, I will go straight for the dessert cart.”

She pouts in honest disappointment and he finds it so adorable, he’s a goner. For now though, he plays along.

“Okay. Despite the threat of being considered a mean dick again, what I’d like to know is this: if you could, what food would you choose to eat right now?”

Without missing a heartbeat, Felicity perks up, her eyes shining with longing, a dreamy gaze on her face. “Burgers! With fries. And a strawberry milkshake. With ketchup. Loads of ketchup and mayo and oh, oh! Onion rings!”

He scrunches his nose in order not to laugh outright at her enthusiasm, because he really doesn’t want to make her self-conscious despite finding her obvious love for burgers adorable.

And okay, seriously, what has this woman done to him? Since when does he even have the word adorable in his vocabulary?

Felicity scowls at him, misinterpreting his grimace to hold his laughter for disapprovement.

“Let me guess. You are the type of guy who has a kale smoothie for breakfast and steam cooked salmon with peas for dinner.”

When he doesn’t reply but merely chuckles at her in response, she takes it as a confirmation, glowering at him. “Of course you are. A person with a physique like yours surely views eating a burger as a crime against humanity. Or at least against their abs.”

His chuckle morphs into a full-blown chortle. Which is something, and not only because they are trapped and possibly about to die. The sound leaving his lips takes him by surprise. He hasn’t laughed so freely, so openly in quite some time.

“Actually, it’s you who is being judgmental right now, Felicity,” he points out good-naturedly, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “My unit’s Captain, John, remember? I mentioned him earlier. His sister-in-law works at Big Belly Burger a couple of blocks from here and we frequently eat there at the end of a shift.”

Her eyes grow huge at that. “No way! And you still look like that?? That’s so unfair on so so many levels,” she groans, burying her face against her knees.

He just smirks back at her, but he likes what he’s seeing. She’s not so coiled anymore, not so uptight. Her hands are not gripping her knees until her knuckles turn white anymore, just resting on top of them comfortably, and when she turns her face back to him, her face is illuminated with those huge, animated eyes of hers. They are blue too, he just realized, his own eyes finally having adjusted to the darkness around them enough to be able to tell for sure. He wants to see more of her like this. More of her light spirit.

He decides on the topic of his next question in order to keep the conversation light. “So miss-“ he frowns, realizing he doesn’t know her second name.

“Smoak,” she supplies easily.

“Okay, miss Smoak. If Christmas Eve is of no interest for a Jewish girl like you, what are your plans for New Year’s Eve?”

At that question, Felicity surprisingly turns a lovely shade of red, which only piques his interest to an impossible level. He absolutely has to know.

“Well, mister-”

“Queen,” he supplies without missing a beat.

“Oh.” Her eyebrows pull together as she contemplates something, “Queen. Okay, now that makes sense. I thought you had some weird code name going on with your boss back there on the radio. And regarding my plans…well, what the hell, we might die here anyway, so you might take my secret to your grave.”

His eyes grow huge.

“What, too soon?” she asks innocently.

Another hearty, breathless laugh escapes his lips. “You are quite something, Felicity Smoak, you know that? Too soon, she asks,” he grumbles, good naturedly. “Felicity, it didn’t even happen yet!”

“Yeah, but if it does, there will be no opportunity for me to make that joke anymore, so-”

“Don’t try to weasel your way of answering my question, Felicity,” Oliver warns and she deflates.

“Ugh, okay. You got me there. New Year’s Eve. Okay. Big plans. A date. With my couch, a pint of ice cream, a bottle of red and a re-watch of the 22. season of Doctor Who.”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 They are trapped, having met under the worst of circumstances. And yet, talking to her feels like the most natural thing in the world. They continue their verbal dance, the back and forth, for a couple of more hours, until Oliver notices Felicity growing more and more tired. She’s also holding her body more stiffly, her side probably already heavily bruised from the injuries caused by the falling cabinet. She doesn’t complain though, not once, keeps her spirits up as they talk, and Oliver is once again mesmerized by her.

She tells him a little about her work, about her life. The small one-woman IT company she runs from home and the big plans she has for it. She tells him about some of her freelancing work and shares a couple of funny stories about the more difficult clients. She even tells him a little about growing up in Vegas. He tells her a little about himself in return. His sister, his work. Those two idiots he had to rescue from being stuck in the chimney. It’s only fair, after all.

They share the water that’s remained of his bottle, the same one he used earlier to wet the cloth he gave her to wear around her face. He pretends to drink, but he barely sips at the liquid despite his throat being parched, leaving the water for her to drink when it’s her turn. He is better trained for such circumstances, after all, and she is the one who was trapped and hurt by a cabinet, lying on a cold basement floor for a long while. If anybody needs the water, it’s her, but he doesn’t tell her that, pretends to drink too, because if he’s learned anything about Felicity Smoak tonight, it’s that she’s not person to wait for hand-outs. She obviously has also a very high sense for justice and fair distribution of resources, so he plays along.

In short, she’s absolutely got her hooks into him.

And if their predicament wasn’t so dire, Oliver would love to spend more time just talking to her. There is much, much more hiding underneath that plain, boring look she tries to pull. But Oliver’s seen enough to be fooled. There’s just something about her that pulls him deeper in the more he spends time with her. And it goes beyond the adorable rambles and obvious superior intellect, beautiful smile and captivating blue eyes (she tells him, with regret, that she usually wears glasses but she must have lost them when the cabinet fell onto her. He even tried to look for them a while back, but to no avail. She still thanked him with a sweet smile playing over her lips that made him feel like tearing through the rubble with his bare hands just to find those damn glasses for her.)

Their situation is almost like a plot of a rom-com movie. A man and a woman meet by getting stuck together in an elevator, or during a storm while both hiding under the same tree. If it weren’t for the bruises currently making her shift uncomfortably on the hard ground or the very real possibility of them still being crushed by the ceiling caving above them, it would have been an utterly delightful night.

Somewhere in the past couple of hours, Oliver has shifted closer to Felicity, her head tiredly resting against his shoulder as she squirmed closer to find a more comfortable position for her sore body.

He could almost pretend this was a very, very nice and successful first date. Only, it’s not. Because she is hurting, they are both hungry and thirsty and beyond tired. And slowly loosing hope for help to even come or come in time. The silences between them grow more and more prolonged. Not uncomfortably, but heavy still.

It’s during one of these silences when Oliver feels a violent shiver run down Felicity’s body.

 “Hey,” he whispers, “you cold?”

 She shakes her head with a wince. “No. Just sore.”

 Yeah, right. More like bruised black and blue, with smoke inhalation and dehydration and God knows what else. She should be being checked out by a doctor in a hospital right about now, anywhere really but here.

 “Hey, did I tell you that I am a paramedic too?” Oliver suddenly blurts out.

 “What?”

 “Just that…I am a firefighter slash paramedic. That’s my official position.” Once again, he doesn’t know why he’s telling her this.

 She is quiet for a moment. Then, “So what? Are you trying to tell me that if we got out of here earlier, you would be the one checking me out?” she asks cheekily and he honestly has to chuckle again.

 “You, Felicity Smoak, are something else,” he tells her in a playful, appreciative tone and he could swear he feels her smile against his chest at that. “And yes, I probably would. But that’s not what I meant.”

“What did you mean?” she asks, growing more serious.

“I- I don’t know anymore,” he says honestly, realizing it’s partly true. The other part of him knows that for some reason, he wanted to impress her. For some reason, he wanted her to think good about him.

“So that’s what you do?” She picks up the conversation. “You go to burning buildings and rescue damsels in distress and put out fires and then patch the cute girls up?”

“I also helped a pregnant lady deliver her baby in the back of her car when she got stuck in traffic and rescued a kitten from a tree once-- and oh God,” he groans, “I have no idea why I just told you that.”

Felicity’s peal of laughter is almost worth the embarrassment he is feeling. “I am afraid you are starting to rub off of me,” he complains.

That makes her laugh even harder before she grows quiet and one of their silences falls over them again. Oliver thinks she might have dozed off, when she suddenly speaks.

“When I was seven, my dad left us.”

His heart stops at her words, his breath catching in his chest.

“Just like that. One day he was there, the other he was gone. No explanation whatsoever. It’s like me and my mom didn’t even deserve an explanation. I’ve never heard from him since.”

“I am sorry,” Oliver utters. And it’s the truth.

“Thank you,” Felicity acknowledges. “My mom worked a lot. I was alone a lot of the time. One day, when she was at work, I discovered my father’s secret stash of computer components. It felt...comforting, for some reason. Although he was the one leaving us, I blamed my mom a lot. So to spite her, and to remember my dad, trying to prove something to him, perhaps that I was worth it, I threw myself into computers. I found them easier to understand than people anyway. People are hard. Computers are easy. Sometimes I think...sometimes I think if my dad didn’t leave us, I would have turned to people for comfort rather than computers. I wouldn’t hide behind a screen in order to avoid living my life, scared of getting hurt again by someone else important to me leaving because I was just not worth it.” Her voice trembles at the end.

She breaks his heart. She utterly breaks his heart, devastates him with her words. He keeps silent, not trusting his own voice, but he tightens his arm around her, brings her even closer. The only thing he finds worthy to offer in return for her honesty is his own.

“When I was younger, I was a real fuck up. I drank a lot, a screwed around. I didn’t much care for the world, for my parents, for school. I could never keep a single relationship longer than a couple of months. I never wanted it. My parents…they were good people who loved both of their children unconditionally. And they had money. Which meant that any problem I had, any problem I caused, they made it disappear. I was never accountable for anything, never had to carry any responsibility. Until the day they died in a car crash, leaving me as the sole custodian of a little girl that barely turned a teenager. It was a harsh reality check.”

He felt silent, reminiscing for a while. Felicity kept silent too and he was glad for it because it was easier to confess like this.

“One of the reasons I do this job is to honor them. They were good people, and they wished for me to grow into a good person. I don’t know if I achieved that. But every time I pull someone out of a wreckage, every time I help saving someone else’s property, property they’ve spend their entire lives working for, when I cut someone out from a wreckage of a car the same way someone once tried to help my parents, I feel closer to them somehow. And most of the days, that’s the sole most important reason I do this job.”

“What’s the main reason on those other days?” Felicity asks quietly and Oliver is once again faced with the harsh truth of his existence. Only this time, he doesn’t run away from it.

“The other reason is that my life is so empty that I need the adrenaline – the thrill of the often too close calls – to even feel alive. Don’t get me wrong. I love my job. I love helping people. But I also like the risk of tempting fate. The possibility that at the end of the day I might not be coming home makes me feel alive.”

For a long while, she doesn’t say anything. Then, “That’s a pretty bleak outlook on life.”

He doesn’t reply to that. She is right. And he just begins to realize how tired that kind of life is making him.

“Who am I to speak, though?” sighs Felicity. “Abandonment issues from early childhood, some bad experiences at college. The same way you hide in your work, I hide in mine. I hide behind computers because they are easier to understand. They never lie or let me down. They don’t walk away when things get tough. I love my work. I love my company. I have great plans for it. But the honest truth is, that at the end of the day, when I come home, I feel lonely. I never admit it to anybody. Least of all to myself. I pretend it’s what I want. But today made me realize.”

Her voice trembles before gaining a desperate quality as she suddenly whimpers against his chest. “I don’t want to die! I want to experience all that life has to offer. I haven’t been living until now, not really. I’ve been living buried in my work and avoiding personal relationships because they are messy and require a lot of work and still, in the end, people might leave. I am socially awkward, not particularly pretty and I talk a lot. Building relationships doesn’t come easy to me. But I want a chance to try.” Her sniffs grow into steady sobs and Oliver’s heart breaks for her again. She is so wrong, on so many levels, her view of herself completely askew, but he lets her voice everything she’s never dared to admit, listens to her without interruptions, his own breath hitching in his throat.

“Dammit,” she suddenly swears angrily. “At least I want a dog! That was actually going to be my New Year’s resolution. Getting a dog. Nothing fancy. Just a sweet shelter pooch. One that is just as lonely as me so maybe we can be not so lonely together.” Tears are falling down her face, but she is either unwilling or too tired to wipe them away. “I just wanted to have one thing in my life, one living soul that in case I wouldn’t come home one day would actually give a crap.”

Oliver doesn’t know her. Not really. Yesterday, he didn’t even know a Felicity Smoak existed. Today, however, he doesn’t want to imagine a world without her. There is something pure and sweet and innocent about her that should be preserved. And still, circumstance and bad experiences have made her completely oblivious to how special she is. It shouldn’t be like this.

Oliver observes how heartachingly sweet she is. How compassionate. Intelligent. It physically pains him to see her stuck in life like this. He knows her for less than six hours, but he feels – no, he knows – she definitely doesn’t deserve this. Either of this – this shitty building collapsing onto her or the lonely life she’s leading.

“You know what, Felicity Smoak?” he says, forcing his tone to be light despite the heaviness in his heart. “I’ll make you an offer.”

Her head perks up at that, those huge, impossibly warm blue eyes still glistening with tears as she silently observes him.

“When-” (he deliberately omits using if) “we make it out of here, I’m going to take you out to dinner,” he smiles at her then, honest yet unassuming.

“You don’t have to-”

He suspected that’s what she would say. A self-preserving reaction, but one he is quick to dismiss. “No. It’s not because I feel like I have to. It’s because I want to. Do you understand?” He’s holding her eyes, willing her to understand this is not a pity invite by no means.

She studies him for a long time, is if trying to find a catch, but she doesn’t find any, because there’s none, and her lips form into an adorable ‘O’ he has a hard time not to kiss away.

“You mean dinner like a date? A date date?”

His lips stretch into a huge smile, because finally, they are on the same page. “Yes, Felicity Smoak. Exactly like that.” And he means it. He doesn’t think he’s ever meant anything more in his life.

“It’s a date,” she whispers back.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Oliver doesn’t say it. He doesn’t want to scare her. No more than she already is.

But they are running out of time. The ceiling above them cracks and creaks, things shifting, giving in. It will cave soon.

It’s the very first time in his life when Oliver doesn’t feel like tempting fate. When he feels like he wants a chance at life instead, absolutely risk free.

He wants that chance. Wants a date with the girl he only met today more than anything.

Felicity has fallen asleep a while ago. Well, more like her body has given up. He is glad for her sake, even if he could use her company right now. He misses the bubbly laugh, the rambles, the nervous jokes. Those eyes seemingly looking directly into his very soul.

Something has changed today. And Oliver Queen doesn’t want to go through the motions anymore, expecting death to come and claim him. He wants to live.

There are sounds, noises. Rumbling and tearing and things-hitting-ground noises, something heavy right above them giving way.

He presses her to his side in a ridiculous attempt to shield her. He has absolutely no chance, but still, he feels an overpowering urge to protect her. The shakes and vibrations rouse her and she wakes with a start, a coughing fit seizing her as she trembles in his arms like a leaf.

“Oliver?” she asks in a small voice and it’s his undoing. She knows that this is it. She knows and she presses against him even tighter.

He’s never felt anything as intense as he feels right this very moment. Not with the adrenaline rush, not the chase from his brushes with death, nothing compares to the feeling of how very much he wants to protect this other human being in this very moment.

The ceiling howls over them, but there are new sounds, something cutting through metal and concrete, and then Oliver finally realizes. These sounds are manmade.

Hope floods him, desperate, exhilarating hope and he can’t help but take a deep breath before bellowing at the top of his lung: “HELP! WE ARE TRAPPED IN THE BASEMENT!”

It takes another twenty minutes before a small ray of light appears in one of the basement walls and another ten before a very sweaty and tired face of John Diggle peeps inside, uttering a simple: “Told you I would kill you myself, Oliver.”

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 She spends two days at the hospital. Nothing major, she is assured, at least nothing with long lasting effects. A couple of deep hematomas where the cabinet squashed her, a few mild skin abrasions. The doctor’s most severe concern is her prolonged smoke inhalation plus making sure there are no other underlying internal injuries they are not aware of. She’s given an IV to restore fluids and a leaflet about iron deficiency because that’s apparently the important thing her blood tests unveil and what has absolutely nothing to do with the ordeal she just survived. Thank you, near death experience, for bringing the point home of how she has been failing at regular life even before the whole CNRI collapsing fiasco.

Christmas Day is spent in a blur of being wheeled in and out to various tests and poked by sharp objects, being asked questions about way too personal things.

Later in the afternoon, tired but finally allowed to take some rest, Felicity asks the nurse for a phone to cross off the last thing on her to-do list and finally calls her mom.

Donna Smoak is a wreck. She is halfway out the door to the airport when Felicity finally manages to convince her there is absolutely no need for her to fly out to Starling. It’s Christmas, she wouldn’t find a last-minute flight even if her life depended on it anyway, and besides, there is no need. Felicity is okay, she is not injured, merely being kept for observation. Yes, yesterday sucked – an understatement in the history of understatements – but she is absolutely okay and scheduled to be released the following day, so there will be no major changes to her original holiday plans of doing nothing while laying on her couch watching reruns of her favorite shows.

It takes another forty-five minutes for her mother to finally settle and accept her daughter will survive even without her personal motherly care and Felicity – now utterly spent – ends the call with a tired ‘love you’ to her mom and the elation she won’t have to deal with Donna Smoak in person on top of everything else. Don’t get her wrong. She loves her mom more than anything, but she can be quite… intense. And overbearing. And Felicity just… she could really use a bit of silent and quiet for a while.

Laurel visits her the day after Christmas, just hours before Felicity’s scheduled to be released. She brings her a beautiful bouquet of flowers and in a surprisingly thoughtful gesture a change of clothes to go home in. Felicity is beyond touched. Her eyes almost fill with tears when the next thing Laurel produces from her miraculous carry-on is Felicity’s own handbag, a bit charred and destroyed by smoke, but her wallet and its contents – even her freaking phone – are untouched and that, at least, is a blessing and a small miracle on itself. She doesn’t dare to ask how Laurel’s got her hands on it, how it could be salvaged from the wreckage of a multiple story building. With shaking hands and a little thank you that’s a little more teary than she would have liked, Felicity accepts the items.

The whole time while visiting, Laurel is wearing a guilty expression on her face, apologizing to Felicity profusely before the other woman can even try to stop her. Laurel’s own bruises are testament enough the other woman’s been through the same ordeal as herself and for Felicity, Laurel’s escaping the building just a tad sooner doesn’t take away from the horror of having it explode and fall on you unexpectedly.

Later in the afternoon, Felicity changes into the clothes gifted by Laurel (Oh, look, this could be considered her very own Christmas gift!). They are a little tight and longer than Felicity would normally wear, but otherwise fit just fine. She takes the flowers along with her charred handbag and after signing what feels like dozens of forms, Felicity Smoak finally walks out of the hospital. Right there, in the hospitals parking lot, she takes a moment to look towards the skies and take what feels like her first free breath in days, thanking whatever deity out there for being granted another chance at life.

Five days later, Felicity has to admit her bruises are healing quite nicely. Though currently still sporting a very bright shade of maroon, some are already turning green. Iron deficiency her ass, she thinks before she grumpily gulps down her iron supplements.

Her eyes fall on the bouquet of flowers, a beautiful batch of still rather fresh-looking white and pink lilies that emit a heavy, heady fragrance which is almost too much for Felicity’s small apartment, but she doesn’t mind that much. It was a very nice gesture from Laurel. Felicity can’t remember the last time she received flowers from anyone, if ever, and she likes to see them in her apartment. They remind her that it all really happened. And that in fact, she might not be as alone as she had originally thought.

Back at the hospital, Laurel apologized time and again for calling Felicity so late and on Christmas Eve on top of it to work on a server problem that could have very well been put off for a couple more days. However, what Felicity remembers most from that afternoon, was how later Laurel went out to grab them some coffee, and how they talked for quite some time over their wonderful caramel lattes, mostly about CNRI and what its destruction would mean for the non-profit’s future. Once again, like a broken record, Laurel thanked Felicity for her help, but it was Felicity who felt like the one thanking Laurel. If not for her, no one would have even suspected she was still inside the building and there would’ve been no Hunk of a rescuer to save her life.

Speaking of which. Oliver Queen. There is no way around the subject. It’s been a week – exactly seven days – since she’s been pulled out of the wreckage as the first of the two of them – Oliver insisted and she didn’t argue – and brought to the hospital. Felicity hasn’t seen or heard from the man since.

She hasn’t expected to.

She is glad it was him she was stuck with, though. Immensely glad. That ordeal had made her realize a lot about herself. Not only thanks to the gas explosion and subsequently being trapped for hours underground, not sure whether she would survive the night, but because of the man himself and the gut-wrenchingly honest confessions that had transpired between them during those long hours of waiting for a miracle.

Everything else that was said and done that night was relative and would stay in that basement forever. Felicity doesn’t begrudge her rescuer not contacting her afterwards, neither is she too disappointed in him for not making good on his promises made during their shared time. Statements made under duress, albeit made sincerely at the time, were often seen under a different light once the threat of death was gone. It was perfectly understandable.

Even if it all felt a little…unfinished. For a while, Felicity plays with the idea of writing him a thank you note, as well as with the idea of stopping by at his station to personally thank him – he had, after all, saved her life and almost lost his own while trying – but with everything else, with how achingly personal that rescue mission had turned out to be in the end, Felicity doesn’t want to make him feel any more awkward about it.

She is no fool. Of course she thought about it, about how he promised her a date if they got out. And she would have loved to go on that date. Oliver Queen seemed like a really nice guy that she could really grow to care about and his promise had felt really really nice at the time it was made, but in hindsight, Felicity now sees the promise for what it was. A nice gesture offering her hope, nothing more. Now that the danger is gone, there is no reason for him to make good on that promise. He did his job, he rescued her. Maybe in more ways than one. What he did for her back there was more than any human being could ever do for another human being, and she was beyond grateful. He has allowed her a second chance at life and Felicity won’t tarnish that memory by feeling sour about possible maybe’s and what-ifs.

The bottom line is, Oliver Queen has saved Felicity Smoak’s life. And she is finally ready to live it.

Starting today. Well, no, not really, tomorrow more like.

Cause she has a date tonight. With her couch, and a pint of mint chocolate-chip ice cream, a celebratory bottle of red and The Doctor, with whom she would kiss the old year goodbye.

Oh, but tomorrow! Tomorrow, the world would get to see the new Felicity Smoak emerge from the ashes, like a Phoenix she would rise and show the world she was not scared to live anymore.

Or…well. Live a little more fearlessly. Be a little more open and outgoing. That was the plan. After all, she does have a lunch date with Laurel Lance tomorrow. It’s a start, right? Maybe it will even become a regular thing.

With a tablespoon full of ice cream in her mouth, Felicity makes herself comfortable on her couch, doing a mental inventory of everything she will need tonight. TV remote, check. First DVD in the player, check. A bottle of red – uncorked, check. A glass – because she does have that much self-esteem not to drink directly from the bottle – check. A duvet to cover her soon to be freezing toes nearby – check. Favorite comfy pajamas, hell yeah, check.

Just as she’s about to press play, there is a soft knock on the door and it makes Felicity jump. There is absolutely no one who should be visiting her, certainly not on New Year’s Eve, only mere hours before the big ball on Times Square is supposed to hit the ground. Weird. She hasn’t ordered any food and as long as she knows, Mrs. Fitzpatrick found her cat just that very morning. No way the bloody tabby run away again!

For one dreadful second, Felicity wonders if it might be her mom – it would be so much Donna Smoak’s style – but then she remembers how her mom texted her a picture of her and her girlfriends at a bar preparing to celebrate New Year together at Vegas only an hour ago.

Phew, dodged a bullet, there.

The knocking comes again, more insistent this time and Felicity mentally shakes herself, jumping to her feet and quickly making her way to the door. She checks the peephole first – of course she does, she has seen all the true crime series and documentaries the Crime and Investigation channel (her guilty pleasure) has to offer, after all. Once realizing who stands at the other side of the door however, she doesn’t hesitate a second and rips it open, almost missing catching its edge before it smashes against the wall.

“Oliver,” she breathes out in surprise. “What are doing here?”

He is standing there, in all his glory of six feet plus, handsome and charming as ever, a boyish smile stretching across his lips as he takes her in. Only then does Felicity realize what a picture she must make standing in her door, barefoot and braless, in her flannel pajamas with tiny grumpy cats printed all over it, her spare pair of glasses slipping down her nose and hair fixed in a messy bun at the top of her head, clutching a half-eaten spoon of ice cream in her right hand.

She must make quite the sight, Felicity thinks, groaning inwardly. Why couldn’t she wear makeup and something sexy when she finally meets the Hunk – her personal Hunk of a rescuer – again? Or, you know, at least wear a freaking bra!

If Oliver has any objections to her look however, he keeps them to himself while his eyes roam her, his eyes shining in almost the same intense way as she remembers from the basement, causing a light shiver run down her spine. Must be the draft from the doorway, she stubbornly tells herself as she takes her own time to fully take him in.

It’s the first time she sees him without the uniform and a face blackened by ash and dust. She’s finally allowed to ogle him in full light, and she must admit, she likes what she sees. He wears a pair of loose, washed-out jeans, a simple grey V-neck shirt and a brown leather jacket. She wonders how he got here, because even despite the casual clothes, something suggests to her he’s exactly the type to ride a bike. There is no evidence supporting her claim, nothing other than maybe his disheveled hair sticking in all directions like he let the wind blow through it carelessly, along with slightly reddened cheeks – but that might be nothing, it’s December, after all.

But that doesn’t matter, because his smile’s easy and relaxed and his eyes are their usual sparkly blue, that strong jaw deliciously peppered with scruff that only begs for her hands to run through it and oh God, the man has a mole – the tiniest mole near his bottom lip and nope, nope, she will absolutely not survive this encounter.

“Nice to see you again, Felicity,” he finally speaks in that deep, gentle voice of his. It’s a voice that’ll be seared to her brain forever. “I hope I am not intruding,” he says, still smiling that trademark million-dollar smile of his and Felicity almost narrows her eyes at him in a glare, because she knows he knows he is not interrupting anything; they’ve had this discussion before. And yes, she would be annoyed with him, if only her stomach wasn’t filled to the brim with happy butterflies at the sight of him.

She still hasn’t said anything, hasn’t even stepped aside to invite him in, is instead standing frozen on her spot like a stupid, dumbfounded block of wood, but he doesn’t seem deterred by it (there is a God, after all).

“To answer your question,” he tells her in a nonchalant, flirty voice (the bastard), “I am here to collect on your promise.

It’s a date.

Her knees almost give out.

“I brought food,” he smiles further, uncovering a big paper bag from behind his back, a bag adorned with a huge BBB logo, and where she might have had a crush on him before, she is halfway in love with him by now. “I believe you have wine and dessert to go with dinner,” he adds, rising his eyebrows and hinting with a pointed look at the melting ice-cream dripping from the spoon she is still stupidly clutching in her hand.

The ice cream, however, is not the only thing melting at this point. Because he came. And what’s more important, he intends to make good on their mutual promise. The blinding smile she offers him in return almost splits her face.

Lost for words, Felicity only nods enthusiastically and steps back to let him in, her heart filled to the brim.

 xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 Three hours later, laughing over Doctor Who with feet propped on her coffee table littered with burger wrappers, greasy napkins and empty strawberry milkshake cups – because yes, he remembered that too – along an empty bottle of red that’s fallen to its side and bickering about who the best Doctor ever was while eating ice cream from the same bowl, the clock strikes midnight.

Oliver freezes, looking at Felicity, and she almost laughs at the apprehensive, deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face. She isn’t deterred by it whatsoever. If the past couple of hours have proved anything to her, it’s that Oliver Queen isn’t merely doing good on his word and fulfilling a promise he has given her under duress, but very much wants to be here with her and is enjoying himself as much as she is.

And with that realization, another comes.

It’s a New Year.

The first day of the new her. A week ago, she would say she didn’t know what possessed her. But today, she knows. The deep blue eyes crinkling with a boyish smile and a little mole at the side of his lips are calling to her, pulling her in.

And this new Felicity? She is supposed to be bold. Fearless. She’s supposed to live her life to the fullest and risk her heart.

So she does.

She kisses him.

She goes all in, and it’s a risk well taken, because Oliver doesn’t skip a beat in kissing her right back.

END

A/N: Happy Holidays!!!

[bdo-nara-kali]

Going Undercover

As per Nara's instructions, Tius sent a letter by raven to Patrigio. There wasn't much in the way of details. All it mentioned was Tius having a job he needed Nara's help with and the amount of pay she'd receive should she take the assignment. The Quartermaster of the Aura requested she meet him near the outskirts of Heidel, to the southwest, three hours after midnight. He'd be waiting for her with a covered wagon to fill her in on the job in greater detail.

A prompt response had been returned, sealed with a red kiss mark that read she would meet him as requested and that he had better not keep a lady waiting, a hint of her playful humor even in her writing. When night settled and the hour came for their scheduled rendezvous, Nara stood on the outskirts of town with her hood up to mask her distinctive red hair, standing alone with a small candied sucker in her mouth and a kunai casually twirling about her finger to pass the time.

Out of the low fog, Nara would see four horses come trotting towards her. All of them spotted and speckled black-white. The wagon itself seemed quite old, a couple decades old, maybe. It creaks and rumbles down the dirt trail towards the hooded woman, its light brown wood somewhat complimented by the simple white canvas covering the rickety vehicle. The teamster at the helm seems to be concealed in a heavy raiment, one that Nara would recognize as Tius' signature coat and scarf. Pulling up next to her, he offers a small smile down at her.

"Didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?" He allows a second to pass before continuing, "I'm really glad you're here. Would be a lot harder without you."

The big man puts the reins down and hops from the covered wagon, moving to the back and opening it up. "We're heading to Florin. It's a village just north of Calpheon. Need to drop something off with the local alchemist there. It's not horribly, shall we say," he pauses, "legal. Not that I'd think you'd mind."

As soon as the sound of hooves hitting the dirt reached her ears, Nara had turned to observe the wagon emerge from the fog, hardly bothered as she casually sheathed her kunai. A small grin tugged at the corner of her lips, amused at seeing Tius maneuvering the team of horses closer before coming to a stop, greeting her with that little smile of his. Fingers pinched the stick of her treat and pulled it from her red lips with a soft pop, enabling her to flash him a coy smile, "Not at all. I see you're a punctual sort. That pleases me." she purred playfully, tossing him a little wink. "And you're sweet, how could I possibly refuse you?" She followed him around to the back of the wagon once he hopped down from the driver's bench, listening as he spoke as she let her tongue play along the rounded top of her sucker, colored red just like her lips and smelling of cherry. It was probably pretty distracting, to be honest. "Florin, hmm? I know of it though I can't say I have been there myself. The little mice folk tend to annoy me." she admitted with a small shrug. "But if it needs smuggling, I'm your girl."

"That's good. Nice to know I have someone I can rely on." Tius looks down to her now, them being much closer together than they were before. His malachite pools inspect the candy she allows her tongue to smooth over. Not unlike some raunchy teenager, he can't help but let his mind wander, imagining other things. However, he manages to quickly jerk himself back to reality. Looking uncomfortable for a brief moment and clearing his throat, he gives her a nod, "I hope you don't mind the role I'll need you to play." He reaches further into the wagon to pull out a small box, unlatches it, and throws it open. Inside Nara would see a modest and white dressing gown as well as a white bonnet. Something odd stood out about the gown. If she were to look at it, she'd notice the protrusion at the belly. Poking around inside, one would notice a small helmet, probably meant for a goblin, affixed to the gown. Some cloth blanket seems to be wrapped around it. Probably to make things more comfortable? Still, it was clear that whoever wore it would look nine months pregnant with an obvious belly bump. "We'll be passing some guard checkpoints along the way so you'll be playing the role of my wife. We're in a hurry to get to Calpheon city to get to a reliable doctor who can help us birth our baby.

For a moment, the only sound was the light grinding of Nara's teeth upon the candy as she stared down at the disguise, unsure whether to laugh or scoff. Was she really expected to wear such a monstrosity? And what was with that bonnet?! A shadow seemed to pass over her face and an annoyed twitch tugged at an eyebrow, "No fucking way." she deadpanned. This was ridiculous. Her? Playing the role of a pregnant wife? If Tius wasn't so damn cute she'd stab him just for suggesting such a thing. "Nope. Nu-huh." she added after letting the idea mull over more. She would look positively monstrous in that thing.  She was far too cute to be pregnant, even if it was pretend. What were they, nine? "You can't be serious."

Tius sighs. Part of him was afraid this would happen. She definitely didn't seem the type who would go along with such a thing. He did have to admit, the outfit looks pretty damn ugly. That's why he picked it. 

"Look, I'll pay you extra, alright? It'll be just a few hours then it'll all be over. I know you're not a fan. But this will really help us get through and get the job done without any hiccups. And I don't need to be killing every guard at the posts and racing through the towns with them in pursuit just to get this little shipment through." The sailor and smuggler didn't even bother to bring up the fact he'd really need her to sell the role of an ailing and pregnant mother-to-be. Baby steps. He studies her expression some more, his own expression pleading with furrowed brows. "Pay you double? Whatever you want."

She bit down on the sucker in annoyance, not hard enough to crunch it to bits but enough to leave indents on its surface. She didn't know what annoyed her more in that moment: the fact he would ask something so infuriatingly ridiculous of her or the fact she was actually considering it- one because of her own avarice and two because he was just so damn cute when he begged! She hummed quietly, staring directly at Tius. She wanted to make him sweat a little. If she was going to do this for him, he was gonna pay her back big time. And not just with money. Green eyes narrowed at him, the silence stretching out as she mulled over the pros and cons of the situation. Yes, she was going to look absolutely horrid and hate every moment of this ruse but on the upside, her payout will be doubled- tripled if she really pushed for it- and she would have the opportunity to make him miserable as payback. He definitely will be owing her a favor when this was all over. Just when it seemed like she was going to flat out refuse once again, she sighed, popping the sucker out of her mouth and pointed it at him menacingly, almost poking the tip of his nose with its sticky surface. "Ugh! Fine! Only because I like you and because your so damn irresistibly cute when you beg. And I want triple! And you are so going to owe me a favor when this is over, you hear me? A big one!" She promptly popped the sucker into his mouth, huffing, "Here, hold this." She turned to climb into the back of the wagon and rummaged through the chest, lifting the bonnet and dress from its depths with a dismayed scowl. She paused to glower over them in Tius' direction, grumbling. "...I hate you."

Tius can only stand there with wide eyes and a sucker in his mouth. Once again, he felt that telling warmth spread across his cheeks and nose. It wasn't something horribly new to him. The pair of them had kissed multiple times in the past, though the Quartermaster knew it to be not out of affection but because she enjoyed teasing him. And, perhaps, to get on his good side; to get him into the palm of her hand. Well, it's not as if he disliked it. With the thought of those plush, red lips floating through his thoughts, his response to her is a sloppy mumbling at first. The candy didn't help. He manages to shift the sucker to one side of his mouth before popping it out. "Okay okay," he concedes, not the best bargainer, caving to her demands relatively easily. "You'll get triple. A favor too." He couldn't begin to imagine whatever bizarre favor she'd conjure up for him. Perhaps it wasn't best for him to speculate on it. He offers up an apology with a quick, "sorry." That is, before he turns from her and can't help a quick, cheeky smile that comes to his lips. Instead of her making him uncomfortable, the shoe definitely sat on the other foot this time. He makes the smile disappear before turning back to watch her. And pops the sucker back into his mouth.

She had resumed her disapproving inspection of the attire, muttering grouchily to herself as she did, "What the hell... where did you even get this, a tent store? Hey, I think the circus is still in here somewhere...." After a moment, she looked up at him, "When am I supposed to put this abomination on? And when do we leave?" She was already planning ahead. Just the costume wasn't going to cut it, awful as it was. She was rather distinctive in her looks and had a reputation attached to it. She was going to have to add her own touch to pull this disguise off and she already knew how to do it. She just needed to know their estimated timeline to throw it all together- and make it believable.

"You can put it on now. We'll be leaving as soon as you're all dressed up," Tius replies, pulling out the piece of candy once again. "I hope to get to our destination as the sun comes up or a little after dawn. The alchemist won't be horribly strict with that time window. Just so long as we get there before most people are up and about. Then we'll be on our way just as quick as we got there."

Nara nodded, rummaging in her pack for a box, pulling it out and popping it open, "Alright. Give me... five minutes." She closed the curtain, leaving Tius to his thoughts. Once the back of the wagon was closed, she maneuvered the lantern so that she could see what she had to work with. As a professional, she always made sure to be prepared and in fact, in her youth, constantly changing her appearance was a bit of a pass time for her. In the box she always carried in her pack was her very own customized disguise kit, filled with hair dyes, makeup, and other necessities for a quick disguise. With a heavy sigh, she reluctantly stripped, keeping her gear neatly folded and packed away, including her weapons although she was loath to part with a single blade. Maneuvering, she managed to get the offending garment on which required some adjustments to get everything in its proper place, lacing the dress up where it needed to be and although the faux baby bump was a hindrance, the padding made it bearable.

She grumbled and muttered darkly whilst she worked on completing her wardrobe change and once the outfit was all properly situated, she began on her face. The red had to go. A modest peasant wife would hardly wear such a color, let alone such a luxurious brand and so the makeup came off to be replaced with a more muted and modest look, a faint tint of peach on her lips the only trace of makeup she wore, revealing her natural appearance. She worked on her hair next, pinning it up and retrieving a small wig from the box which was a brownish-blonde in color. Slipping it on, she made sure everything sat perfectly, the wig styled in a jaw length bob with fringed bangs that side swept her brow. After a few more adjustments in her mirror, she deemed the look complete and hating every moment of it. With another sigh, she packed her things away and moved to the back of the wagon, drawing the curtains back. Despite the complete displeasure on her face, she pulled off the look ridiculously well. She was clearly talented in the art of disguises. "There. Happy now?"

Tius blinks, amazed. The appreciative smile on his face shows that yes, the man was indeed happy. "Very much. Thank you." He offers a hand to help her down, "let's be on our way." Once she'd made her way down from the wagon, the smuggler would wander back to the front of the vehicle and clamber back into his seat. Fortunately, plenty of room remained for her on the seat next to him. Picking up the reigns and swiveling in place, he calls back, "do you need any help getting up or can you climb in just fine?" Even though Tius knew it really was Nara under all that, the man couldn't help but still be flabbergasted at the impressive and convincing transformation she'd made.

Begrudgingly, Nara accepted his help down, finding the task awkward on her own. She felt like she had a basket of rocks tethered to her front and it threw off her balance badly which made her hate her situation all the more. So caught up in her own annoyance, Tius' look of appreciation went completely unnoticed. With the bonnet clutched in her fist, she waddled towards the front of the wagon, grumbling, forgetting a moment her burden and attempting to climb up on her own. And failing horribly. To the casual onlooker, it was an adorable sight with some pouting farm girl trying to hop up into the seat with a baby bump in the way, hindering her ability to do so. In reality, Nara was growing more and more irritated and angry. 

"Motherfu- help me up!" She hated relying on others for anything and feeling helpless did not sit well with her at all. Once Tius assisted her up, she plopped down grumpily and tugged the bonnet on, tying it and place and huffily crossing her arms over her chest as they were propped up by the fake bump to sulk, cheeks puffed out and lips pouting as her brows knitted together. She was hating life but be that as it may, she still looked ridiculously cute. It was hard to believe she was the Scarlet Assassin in that getup.

"Let's away," he proclaims before adding in, "wifey." Before she can respond he's cracked the reigns, steered the horses around, and is driving them west. "We'll be going through the Delphe Knights Castle. That should be the only stop but who knows whatever temporary outpost some guards may have set up. But then we're scott free on our way north to Florin. We're going to have to make it seem like we're in a hurry and you're really struggling. That shouldn't be too hard." Tius couldn't help yet another grin from spreading across his face as he did some teasing of his own. He turns to her as they rumble along in their rickety carriage, "so, that's quite the feat you pulled. You carry a bunch of different little disguises with you at all times?"

Nara hmphed as he called her "wifey", clearly in a poor mood. She felt utterly ridiculous.  "So I have to play the part too? Should be easy enough." she grumped. As the carriage set off on their journey, she shifted about on the bench seat, trying to get comfortable when Tius inquired about her skill, offering a small shrug, "I always try to be prepared. When I was a girl, I changed my appearance all the time for fun and to keep under the radar. With so many years of practice, I became really good at it.  It's honestly one of the reasons why I'm not behind bars or wearing a noose for a necklace." she admitted, her typical playfulness gone for the time being. "It's saved my skin on more than one occasion so out of habit I always carry my kit with me, yeah. I never go anywhere without it."

"Very clever, very clever," he compliments as he shifts the reigns around in his hands. "Could be something I might invest in. Would certainly help out in any number of situations." More specifically, just his day to day life so he can wander the streets of half the cities in daylight. "I'm not the best actor though." He turns to look at her, "you'd probably be pretty good at that, I'm guessing. Ever consider leaving the life of crime to join some plays in Calpheon? Maybe a musical or two?" It's pretty clear he's joking.

Nara lofted a brow, still pouting, "I enjoy my freedom and there is too much drama in the performing arts. But it is a good skill for anyone to learn. I used to change my appearance every week." As the carriage continued its bumpy trek down the road, Nara could feel her stomach growl. "I'm hungry." She pouted.

Tius urges the horses to go a little faster but remains careful considering the state of their chosen transportation. At Nara's complaint of hunger, he frowns. Definitely playing the role of a pregnant mother-to-be already. "Well, I don't think I brought any food. I have some water here," he pats his hip where a flask rested. He thumbs the area behind them, "and there's a bottle of rum somewhere back there." Looking back to the road and leaning forward a tad, chin resting in his heavy, forest green scarf, he shifts his lips from side to side, pursing them in thought. "If you'd like, I can get you something to eat after we've dropped this off."

Nara's pout only intensified, looking unhappy. "You didn't bring anything to eat? And there is such a long ways to go! How is water going to help?" Her stomach grumbled in protest. It was going to be a long day. The chill from the night air made her shiver and she couldn't help but gripe some more, "I'm cold, do you have a blanket in the back?"

A frown grows on Tius’ face. Technically, she was right. Bringing some sort of snack would have been smart. However, a blank did, in fact, prove to be in the back as well. Nodding, Tius jerks his head to the rear again. “Yep, there’s a little blanket back there. It’s not big but it’s something.” If Nara peaked back there, she’d find a small green blanket with red stripes resting in a wooden box. In it she’d also find the bottle of rum he hinted at. “You can just shove that bottle back in the box,” he says if she deigns to reach back for the blanket.

She attempted to twist so that she could peer into the back of the wagon but the faux bump was proving a nuisance. She managed to maneuver about on the bench so that she could lean over as far as she could, reaching for the blanket despite the bump on her belly being in the way. Grumbling and cursing, she stretched, fingers seeking the blanket. Then the wagon hit a particularly deep pothole that jolted the whole frame, launching Nara with a yelp over the back of the bench, leaving her stuck-trapped in place by the fake bump preventing her from slipping back into her seat- and flailing helplessly with her front half in the back of the wagon and her ass and legs  in the air at the front. She was having a rough night indeed.

At the crash and tumble of a body flopping down and around the carriage, the sailor looks back in confusion. Seeing his companion in such a helpless state only makes him cough out in a mixture of a surprise and a laugh. He quickly composed himself though. 

“So, uh, you having some trouble? Need some help there?” Tius brings the covered wagon to a halt. Putting the reins down, he turns in his seat to get a good look at her. For but a moment, a thought flashes through his head. The thought that it’s a shame such a big, tent of a gown is covering her, what with her back half bent over for him. Clearing his throat, he leans over her, his side pressed to hers as he wraps an arm around that faux baby bump to bring her back up.

Sputtering curses, she was lifted up and righted with Tius' help, the blanket clutched in her hands. She looked torn between outrage and embarrassment, a definite first for the sailor to see on her face. "Don't make me stab you." She puffed flustered, wrapping the blanket about her shoulders like a brooding old lady, glowering at the road ahead. If only she realized just how cute she was when she pouted, cheeks puffed out and red from her earlier embarrassment.

Tius, once again, couldn’t help the smile that came to his face. He had never seen her so flustered. Yes, a definite first, and definitely amusing. As well as surprisingly cute. He sets their transport in motion again, straightening himself out just as she did. “We’re nearing the first checkpoint. Once we’re under and through the castle we should be all set. Hopefully, no bandits or harpies show up and decide we’re a worthwhile target.” For his talk of having to resort to fighting any guards at the start of their journey, Tius was honestly mediocre at best with any form of weaponry, the sword resting between his legs more of a deterrent than anything else.

Nara merely grumbled in reply as the horses began moving again, their hooves and the wagon's wheels kicking up a fine cloud of dust in their wake along the dirt road. Every now and then, Nara would shift and fidget around in her seat, trying to get comfortable with the heavy protrusion attached to her stomach. Even with how awful the dress was, Nara made it work remarkably well, her natural curves still coming through the poor material even as she sat. It seemed she could even make rags look good. With some experimenting, Nara found a good compromise with the offending fake bump was to simply cradle it in her hands, easing the pressure on her sternum and the weight in her lap. However, she wasn't aware that she made the fake bump all the more believable doing so, looking like a mother holding her belly protectively.

The man beside her didn’t notice her newly adopted position. His dark, green eyes were focusing sharply on the looming towers ahead. An impressive castle and one of the gateways to Calpheon City. Fortunately, Tius needn’t go there today. No harpy incursions today, he notes as he watches the upper ramparts. An hour had passed on their journey so far; the darkness of morning a couple hours before dawn seemed simultaneously relaxing and foreboding. He hurries the pace of the horses once more, musses his grey hair, and tries to put an expression of worry and desperation on his face. As he said, however, he wasn’t a great actor. Odd for a smuggler. He’d need Nara to sell it. As they approached the gate, two heavily armed and armored guards approached them. One held out an open palm, indicating for them to slow and stop.

As they drew closer to the waypoint on their journey, Nara's keen gaze observed the subtle shift in Tius, taking note that was her cue to prepare to slip into character. Fortunately, the skies seemed calm this morning as the sun began its steady crawl into the sky, light kissing the rocks of the cliffs and the treetops of the surrounding conifers. As a stationary guard held up his hand for them to halt, his companion joined him in barring their path. It was show time.

Neither Tius nor Nara would be able to read the face of the guards. Their visors drawn over their faces, they seemed almost like statues. "State your business," one chimes off, his baritone voice echoing in his helmet. Tius' own voice, low and almost raspy, met the guard's. "My wife, she's pregnant," he responds, exasperated. He takes a hand from the reins to motion to Nara. "We need to get to Calpheon, to see a doctor. I think she's going to deliver soon," he continues, faster now, trying to allow a higher degree of concern to weigh on his voice.

Nara kicked her skills into gear then, falling into character. She winced, shifting around as though in extreme discomfort, huffing and puffing. She turned pleading, misty eyes upon Tius, whimpering softly, "D-darling... is everything okay?" She had allowed the blanket to strategically slip down to display her protruding bump for the guard's benefit. She would have had a solid career in the theater had she of chosen that route in her life for sure.

Even Tius seems surprised, once again, at her acting skills. That only helps sell it more. "Yes, honey," he replies and reaches out to put a comforting hand over the one that rests on her bump. Brows low, he looks once again at the guards, "gentleman, my papers are in the back if you need to see them. But we really are in quite a hurry if you could just let us go along. It's an emergency." The hand holding Nara's gives a light squeeze as if trying to egg her on and squeeze more out of her.

He didn't need to ask twice. She fidgeted and looked anxiously from the guards to Tius, scooting closer to him on the bench seat, holding his hand. "P-please sirs... we are cold and hungry... surely you will let us pass?" She pleaded. Was that the barest hint of a Balenos accent as well? She jerked lightly, hissing between clenched teeth, "Oof..."

One of the guards looked to his compatriot, seemingly more relaxed as he shrugs his shoulders. Said compatriot didn't seem so willing to allow them to pass unchecked, however. "We'll try not to waste too much of your time. But I'll need to inspect your wagon real fast and check on those papers," the soldier comments. As he turns to confer with his fellow guard, Tius quickly leans into Nara to whisper, "there are no papers." By the time the guard turns back around to head to the back of the wagon, Tius seems to have returned to his normal position, offering a nod and an uncomfortable look. His hands shift, moving up the reins, preparing himself in case the worse happened. Perhaps he could explain a lack of papers by their being in a hurry.

Nara sprung into action jumping up with a pained wail, holding her rounded belly, "Ahh! It hurts!" Water puddled between her feet, pittering softly upon the floorboards. Her eyes were wide, her expression shocked and scared, "O-oh no... m-my water broke!" She doubled over, crying out, panicked and she panted, "It's happening! Th-the baby's coming! W-what do I do?!" She swooned, falling into Tius' arms, groaning in pain, "H-honey! It's c-coming! AHHH!" She shrieked in false labor pain.

The quartermaster blinks, holding her up in his arms, reins wrapped around his hands. The movement causes the horses to walk forward a few steps, surprising the guard at first; the screaming is enough to seal the deal as he runs around back to the front again, looking to the small puddle. "Shit," he curses, moving his polearm back into its standard position at his side, "alright you can go." His companion rushes up as well at the commotion, cocking his head at the sudden and convenient arrival of the commoner's water breaking. "Our medics are away getting supplies. Besides, I don't think they'd be trained to deliver a baby." He glances to the other heavily armored figure, giving his second shrug of the encounter. Neither of them seemed to expect much trouble out of the two on the covered wagon. Both bought the act. The larger one, who seemed to be the superior of the two, simply nods and waves them along. In response, Tius offers a thousand praises and prayers, thanking them before cracking the whips and sending their carriage barreling down the road, wheels screeching in distress with every rock they tumble over.

Nara continued her agonized wailing, even mimicking a few forced pushes of a make-believe labor until they were granted passage garnering panicked and confused looks as they rushed through Delphe Castle, hauling ass down the winding roads that lead down from the cliff face. Her screeching instantly stopped once they were out of earshot and sat up with a hint of a struggle, as though nothing happened, tossing the empty water skin she had lifted off of Tius'side from when she had slid next to him earlier. She dusted her hands and blew a sigh. "Well, that was easy."

"Well, well," Tius comments, head lolling side to side like a grandfather clock with each word spoken, "that was very impressive, Scarlet." Indeed, you could tell by the look on his face that Tius was impressed. He keeps up the fast pace of their chosen vehicle to get to that small village in the north as quickly as possible. With the noise of the four horses panting heavily in the background, he turns to look at her. "So, the water? Where'd that come from?"

She looked to him as though it was obvious. "You pointed out the water skin on your belt to me early when I said I was hungry. When I scooted next to you, I lifted it off your belt and tucked it under this monstrosity on my stomach when I stood up. An easy misdirect, really." She explained casually, waving a dismissive hand. "You should have seen the look on your face, I don't know who was more surprised- you or them." A hint of that typical teasing playfulness Nara was known for returned as she snickered at his expense. "Honestly, what would you do without me?" She cooed, grinning.

"I'd be barreling downhill with half a dozen soldiers chasing after me," he says. The man rubs the back of his neck, realizing again how good she could be at plucking items from his person without his noticing. The compass and now this. Tius was sure it wouldn't be the last time. "Triple the pay indeed," he comments, giving her an approving nod. Just on the horizon, the first house they'd seen since the castle appears. "Well, there she blows. Florin dead ahead." He locks eyes with hers, green matching green. Genuine authenticity painted across his face, he adds, "thanks again. You were great back there. I really owe you."

She smiled a triumphant smile, her overflowing confidence in her own greatness obvious in its return as she sat up straighter, chuckling. "Damn right, triple. Such is the price of brains and beauty such as myself. You are truly blessed." She chirruped playfully. She tossed him a wink, "Remember, when you hire me, nothing is ever half-assed! I'm a professional, I pride myself on my work!"

"I'll be sure to leave a five-star review," he said with a smile mirroring her own. As more homes and picket fences came into view, he urges the horses to slow. Sweat began to form on their bodies to reflect the morning dew on the trees and grass around them. "You can go ahead and crawl into the back to get changed. I'll be needing our child," he adds at the end, nodding towards the helmet-blanket combo crudely held between the gown and her person. "Try not to work yourself into a pretzel getting back there this time," the man finishes, eyes moving back to the road.

She scoffed with a click of her tongue, rolling her eyes at his cheeky remark, "Funny, I wasn't aware you were a comedian." She quipped back. As the wagon slowed to a reasonable pace, she attempted to climb into the back of the cart again, this time with a bit more success despite the awkwardness of movement. Once hidden away in the back she tugged the bonnet off and worked out of the hideous excuse for a dress, slipping her own attire back on and feeling so much better afterward. She opted to leave the wig on and redoing her makeup wouldn't turn out so well in a moving wagon so when they came to a stop, at last, she hopped out of the back and stretched, relieved to not be burdened any longer.

Tius sighs and leans back as their journey slides into the more relaxing phase. His head falls against the wood board behind his head as his now oddly sad pools reflect the rising sun crawling between the valley they now found themselves in. When they pull into the village, almost no one appears to be up yet. Just as he suspected though, a small alchemist stands fifty meters away on a hill next to her little shack. "Another job well done," he sighs to himself, rolling his shoulders and stretching out his booted feet as far as they could go. In a matter of moments, he pulls up to stop by the shack, setting the reins on the board before him. Crossing his arms, he awaits Nara's return with their little faux bundle of joy.

Nara rejoined Tius, arms stretched over her head before letting them rest at her sides, her gaze roaming the village, quiet and serene in the early light of day. "So this is Florin."

The tall man beside her nods, "indeed. Pretty cozy place. Mostly out of the way of trouble. Mostly out of the way of everything. Olvia is just over that mountain." Tius points to the peaks in the east that serve as the backdrop for the village.  Quickly, he hops to retrieve the little goblin helmet wrapped in that padded blanket. Unraveling it and reaching inside, he pulls out a small leather satchel. Not offering an explanation as to the contents, he moves up the hill towards the small Shai alchemist. Cautiously about how he handles the package, he hands it over, having to bend over laboriously to reach her level. 

"Delivered at dawn just as we discussed. We good?" Tius asks the question with a raised brow before looking around Florin. With some quick words and some nods, a human assistant exits the shack with a chest, delivering it to the back of Nara and Tius' covered wagon. Sighing a final time with relief, knowing the job is now well and truly complete, he meanders back to where the man placed the chest and beckons for Nara to come. "Payday," he chimes, throwing open the lid to reveal a hefty pile of silver.

Nara had no interest in the exchange, her attention more distracted by the insistent growl of her stomach. As the chest was loaded onto the back of their wagon, she joined Tius and took a peek at their spoils. "Ooo, that's quite a hefty sum." She surmised. She turned to her companion, "Now then, I believe you owe me breakfast. And a massage. That thing was heavier than it looked." She gave her shoulder a light roll, tapping her fist against the tight muscle for emphasis.

He chuckles for once. He quickly distributes her side of the pay to a smaller chest. All in all, richer by maybe 18,000 or 19,000 silver. Impossible to tell from just looking at it. The rampant inflation always made such exchanges more difficult. Closing both of them, he turns to her and crosses his arms across his broad chest. "Breakfast and a massage it is, Ms. Scarlet." He throws closed the canvas that covered the back of the wagon.

Nara grinned triumphantly, hands on her hips. "Oh good- I'm starving!" She waited for him to lead, whether they were eating here or heading off to a place in the wagon she wasn't certain. Her stomached yowled insistently, loud enough to Tius to hear certainly and she offered him a slightly coy smile. "Obviously," she added. Now that she wasn't stuck in such a horrendous getup, she was apparently in far better spirits than she had been previously, back to her normal self. "So where to? Do you have a place in mind? Or are we just winging it?"

Indeed, as the woman across him sits down, the quartermaster observes her in waiting. As he does so, he notices those marks that oddly he had never seen before now. The manager gives her a tired nod and a grunt without so much as asking how she likes it. Hopefully, she prefers it without cream or sugar. 

Upon realizing it's his turn to order, Tius looks up. "Just get me some orange juice," he requests, only to be met with a shake of the waiter's/manager's head. "Only got mango and wild berry juice here," the man standing before them comments tiredly. Frowning, Tius gives a nod and responds with a curt, "wild berry juice it is, then."

"There's a small tavern on the other side of town. It's not much but they should have something so we can get something in there," he thumbs at her growling stomach. He shoves his hands in his coat pockets, thrusts his chin down into his scarf, and begins to wander off down the road to the north. It would only be a couple minutes before they reach a small, one-story building. If this was a tavern it certainly didn't look the part. Tius throws open the door to peer inside. Fortunately, there are a few windows that send morning light streaming into the otherwise small and dark hovel. He eyes the inside for a moment before his boots carry him inside and he moves to seat himself at a table closer to one of the windows. At the opposite end, there seemed to be one man. Apparently the waiter, cook, and manager by the looks of it. There wasn't much in the way of staff. In the back, presumably, where a kitchen was hidden away, you could hear at least one other person shuffling around.

Nara followed him, her less than modest outfit garnering many looks from the few they passed on their way. As they entered the small building, she glanced around, a bit relieved it was relatively empty. First ones in means they're the first to eat! She joined Tius at the table, sitting opposite him, resting her chin in her palm. It might have still been a bit odd seeing the woman in her wig, face bare of makeup, but she certainly wasn't ugly in the buff by any means. In fact, with the sunlight filtering in through the window, if Tius looked hard enough, he could even detect the hint of a freckle here or there on her nose and a small beauty mark on her cheek. She beckoned the manager over with a wave of her hand and the most charming of smiles, "Good morning, my fine sir! Can I get a coffee, pretty please?"

The solemn host looks down at her, bags under his eyes. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We’ve got plenty of mushrooms but no spinach left.” Without waiting for a response he moves on to Tius who puts in his simple order relatively quickly. “Two eggs sunny side up and three strips of bacon will do.” This time, their waiter nods without any protest and retreats back to the kitchen.

As the manager/waiter (maiter? wanager?) departs, Tius gets up quickly to remove his scarf and coat to reveal the black, long-sleeved, button up shirt underneath. Settling in his seat again, he too puts his face between his palms. "Well, that wasn't too bad."

Nara had a bemused grin on her face, her eyes observing Tius intently, "Too bad you passed on the mango juice." she teased, though whether or not he would get the joke was on him. "I just hope the food is better than the service. But I can relate, I'm not a morning person myself." Her attention shifted to regard their surroundings again, wondering what she should decide on food wise. Perhaps steak and eggs or an omelet with spinach. Her stomach protested at her train of thought. "So, we in a hurry to return to Heidel or you have other plans?"

This time, Tius didn't notice the additional detail of her joke. He'd moved on to considering his own choice of breakfast, hoping they'd have the basic things he desired when Nara asked her question. Looking up and watching her, he ponders the question for a moment. "No, not really in any hurry. Might drive up north, then east through Olvia, then on to Velia. Don't want to pass that guard post again." He looks up as the Wanager begins to slowly meander his way back to their table. "This is my job for the week and we've got it done. Now it's just time to sit back, relax, and pick up and plan the next one. Why? Need some help with something? Or going somewhere else other than Heidel?"

Nara shook her head with a small bob of her shoulders, "Nah. Just asking. I'm always up for a little exploration and adventure but if it's not on the agenda then there is always next time." She stifled a yawn when she noticed the manager returning with their drinks. She thanked him as she received her coffee, content to sip it as it was while Tius received his berry juice. "I'm ready to order." she informed their host, flashing her pretty smile up at him, "I'd like a mushroom and spinach omelet please with cheese on top and a side of bacon."

Tius could feel his pants getting tighter. Nara would probably be able to tell what was clearly going on as the sailor began to shift in his seat, his hands trying to sneak down to his pants to smooth them out a bit, trying to look nonchalant about the affair. “You,” he clears his throat, fingers twirling nervously around the lip of his glass, “you don’t uh...”

Satisfied, Tius looks back to Nara, eyes settling on her features, different but still familiar. “Well, there are some woods around here if you wanted to have a little stroll after breakfast. I’m sure they’re wonderful this morning.”

Nara pouted as the manager shambled off, huffing. "Rude." Her attention shifted to her companion as he spoke, looking thoughtful before a taunting grin tugged at her lips, "Oh? Want to get me alone in the woods, mmm?" She tossed him a sly wink, always teasing the poor man with her lewdness. She raised her mug between both hands and sipped the bitter brew slowly, green eyes still peering into Tius' own over the rim of the mug.

Fortunately for her, Tius hadn’t drunk from his glass yet. Before he could (and launch a volley of berry drink into her face) he held it against his chest. “N-no, that’s not what I meant. Not that I wouldn’t. I mean, I don’t find you unattractive. But I wouldn’t take advantage of you. Er.” He quickly looks away, pretending to scan the tavern and brings the glass to his lips to pull from the juice inside.

Her snicker turned into a full out chiming laugh, at his expense of course. She nudged him with her foot under the table playfully, "You are too cute, I'm only teasing!" As the mirth ebbed away, she flashed him a devious little grin, her gaze suggestive as her foot slowly began rubbing against his own under the table, "Of course, if you were to ask nicely, maybe I'd humor whatever pervy little thoughts you had roaming through that brain of yours...." she cooed, her foot slowly caressing up the inside of his calf... and then his knee... straying teasingly.

His voice begins to stray and fade as his eyes drift down her form (the little that was available to him, that is.)

She smiled at him innocently, giving her toes a little wiggle to tickle his inner thigh. She was the devil, plain and simple. Then her foot was gone and she resumed sipping at her coffee as though nothing happened, leaving him to squirm and suffer. So cruel. She hummed as she let her gaze wander the scenery outside the window at their table, waiting for the food to arrive as her stomach growled again.

At this point, he simply accepts he’s going to be hard intermittently throughout the day at the thought of her teasing. Fortunately, he need not linger on it as the waiter slowly trods back out to them, their plates of food in his hand. Just across the room, a familiar sight stood inside the kitchen, visible through the serving hatch. The figure, a man, appears quite lanky. However, instead of a dagger in his hand, there’s a whisk. In place of some dark leather tunic, there’s an apron. Instead of some clandestine hood, a hairnet holds his shaggy, brown locks in place. The man’s eyes widen at the sight of Tius and Nara.

Nara perked up instantly at the sight of the food. In fact, if she could sprout a pair of puppy ears and a tail, it would probably be wagging right now. "Oh, thank you!" she chimed as the manager set their plates down. She had yet to notice the familiar figure peeking out of the kitchen, her attention fully devoted to their meal at the moment.

Tius can’t help the superior grin that touches his lips at the sight of Frank. Their chef doesn’t bother to confront them, he only dips out of sight. Nara’s omelet seems fine for the most part. Her bacon, as well as Tius’, was a little black though. Fortunately for Tius, that’s how he liked his. The man doesn’t waste any time digging into the eggs he ordered, letting the bacon cool off.

Nara sprinkled some pepper over her omelet before using her fork to section her food into nearly equal portions, both to help it cool faster and to make the morsels easier to spear and devour. She dug into her breakfast with gusto, alternating with a bite of extra crispy bacon or a sip of coffee. She was starving and the food wasn't half bad. She looked to regard Tius thoughtfully, "So, hopefully in the future, you'll let me know ahead of time if a job requires me to roleplay." Then she smirked cheekily, "Unless it's bedroom roleplay in which case I wouldn't mind at all." she cooed impishly.

“I’ll be sure to tell you,” he assures her. “Don’t worry though, it won’t be often you’ll have to do that.” Tius plows through the eggs, not realizing how hungry he was by the time he finishes. He moves a hand to his pocket to ensure Nara hadn’t taken the purse of silver he’d need to pay.

Oblivious to his suspicious as he patted for his coin, Nara happily finished off her meal, washing it down with the remains of her coffee. After moment, she realized they were still being stared at from the kitchen's order window, the unmistakable squirrely looking man attempting to be sly in his staring. Did he recognize her even with her disguise? He certainly seemed to remember Tius. She felt a grin tug at the corner of her lips. Poor fool, it was obvious he still held a grudge. She shrugged his leering off and turned her attention to Tius, "Breakfast was pretty good. Thanks for treating me."

Tius quickly follows suit, finishing off the rest of his bacon and topping off the juice. “Anytime,” he replies with a genuinely kind smile before waiving the manager over to pay for the meal. “My compliments to the chef,” he noted as silver passes from one hand to another. He stands from his chair and pushes it in before stepping around the table in two large strides, offering a hand to aid Nara up and push her chair back in behind her once she’d gotten up.

Nara beamed at her companions display of chivalry, accepting his hand to stand and once out of its path, he slid her chair in behind her. She hip bumped him cheekily and headed for the door, her typical swagger returned after the humiliation of her disguise earlier in now behind them. It was a strut that was hard to ignore, especially with how short her skirt was. She seemed in brighter spirits now though.

With Tius following behind her, he couldn’t wholly ignore that strut, allowing himself to admire it before looking forward again. She’d beat him to the door so he wouldn’t be able to hold it open for her, but once they stepped outside he allows himself to linger next to her, looking down at the confident minx. “So, what now?” He asks curiously. The village around them seems a little busier than before. It being seven in the morning, some of the folk were already tending to morning chores and errands.

Nara hummed in thought, letting her green eyes wander their surroundings, "Well, I'm up for the walk you suggested earlier. Good exercise to work off this food." She flashed him one of her charming smiles. With the sun up and casting its warm light over the mountains and lush forests, people were beginning to emerge.

"I'd like that," Tius responds, throwing his coat on again as some morning chill still hung in the air, not yet thrown aside in its entirety by those warm rays. Jerking his head to one side in an invitation for her to follow him, he begins to stride off towards the trees just on the edge of the village. Taking up a casual stroll, he inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of an untouched forest as he steps beyond the edge, heading deeper in. "Not much to worry about in here. Maybe some mask owls at worse, but they should leave us alone."

She fell into step easily beside him, enjoying the casual air of familiarity between them. Her skin was lightly prickled from the chill but it was nothing she couldn't handle. The air smelt crisp and fresh, the lingering of pine and wildflowers mixing with the early morning dew that glinted on blades of grass as they entered the surrounding woodlands for their walk. "I'm not worried about that. I doubt there is much out this way I can't handle." she stated with confidence.

Tius toys with a daisy flower with the tip of his boot as he passes it by. "So, you can handle those weapons of yours pretty well then? Teach yourself or have a teacher?" He inquires casually into her background as the houses and villagers of Florin fade into the distance the deeper they go. He didn't bother disclosing to her that he was pretty sure if it came to a fight, she'd be able to beat him handily.

Nara flashed him a confident grin, "I learned to fight from my father but that was more the basics of swordsmanship. I learned the finer arts of my class from an old ninja who used to train the kids in a gang I was a part of in my youth. He was a strange old man, wise but quiet. Something about the virtues of silence to better hear the universe or something." She shrugged. "He taught me the ways of a kunoichi since he said I displayed the natural attributes for it. After that, I just refined them with each job I took."

To a normal person on the streets, the nonchalant way in which Nara drops she was a part of a gang would probably put them off guard. It didn't really perturb Tius, however. His younger brother had been in one. He'd worked with plenty of people that had been in gangs or were presently in gangs. It simply came with his line of work. Odd, for someone who had previously been set to inherit a well-to-do lifestyle in the family business. "Well, hopefully, we'll never need to use it. I try to exhaust every other route before resorting to that." He comes to a stop, leaning up against a tree just to enjoy the moment now and rest.  "But who knows, it might be fun to see you in action," he says, reflecting that grin she previously flashed him.

She hummed in thought, considering him, "Well, if you ever need someone assassinated, you may get your wish." She poked her tongue out and winked at him playfully. "But in all honesty, I too try diplomacy and charisma before resorting to violence. Its easier for things to go off without a hitch rather than let things get too messy." She crossed her arms casually, letting her green eyes rise to regard the clear blue sky above them, just visible through the treetops.

"Never know when something might go wrong," he agrees, bearing the first thing she said in mind. He watches her for a moment before stepping forward, raising his hands a bit, almost looking like he desires to touch her hair. Well, her wig, that is. "You don't mind if I take that off, do you?" There's a brief pause before he continues, "you don't need it anymore, right? I mean, I just thought it'd look nice. Your hair, I mean. Because it's red. And the sunrise is red and orange. It complements it. It's pretty?" Oddly (although perhaps not odd in Tius' case considering his usual self), that last bit sounded more like a question than a declaration. Tius begins to look embarrassed now, dropping his hands, realizing he certainly appears a bit awkward.

Her attention turns to him, a glimmer of surprise in her expression as his hand pauses, hovering, waiting for permission. She had forgotten all about the wig. His words, however, were... kinda sweet. Her natural hair color was more of a rusty orange-red, having chosen the more vibrant hair color for fun. For some reason, hearing that he wound it pretty made her want to smile. I real smile. "Oh... yeah, sure. I completely forgot I had it on." How was it that a full grown man could be so adorably awkward and cute?

Feeling he'd received permission, his rough hands move up to pluck the wig from her head. Not sure what to do with it now, he simply stares at it, then back at her. Although he does seem pleased at the sigh of the hair he's more familiar with. "That's better," he says. "Hey, thanks again for helping today. I know I said it before but you were great back there. I know I picked the perfect person to help. Lucky find, really." He shifts awkwardly, putting weight on one foot then the other. "I'll probably send you another letter in a week. Should have another job by then."

With the wig removed, her real hair was revealed, pinned up with bobby pins, stray strands falling free to frame her face in fine wavy wisps. Her hands rose to remove the pins, letting her hair fall naturally once again, framing her face in her typical a-line bob, the sunlight dancing along the vivid strands, bringing out their brilliance.  She met and held his green gaze with her own emerald ones, the sunlight catching in them as well, bringing out the inner glow from their depths- like holding a gemstone up to the light. "I actually enjoy our jobs together. It keeps life interesting." She winked at him then, "I guess you can call me Lady Luck. With me around, you can do anything." she quipped, her self confidence once again bubbling over with her enthusiasm.

"Oh. Good." He deems it so with a nod of his head before looking back to the village, pulling himself away from her captivating emerald stare. "So, what do you say we head back and get out of here. Need me to drop you off at Heidel, right?" He begins to turn in the direction of their wagon. Or, at least, where he presumed it still was.

She nodded, once again falling into step alongside him, retrieving the wig from him and smoothing it out with a light stroke of her hand. It will have to go back in her box after all. The sound of bird song rang out over head, and not too far away from where they would be exiting the forest out onto the road, a deer stood grazing. It was actually a beautiful day despite the slight chill in the air. "Heidel will be fine. Flynn is stabled there and I'll be needing him if I decide to travel anywhere else."

Tius simply keeps walking and stows his hands in his coat pockets, seemingly enjoying their stroll through the small grove of trees. Breaking from the treeline, he approaches their wagon to inspect it, make sure the horses were well fed, watered and rested and clambers up into the seat. "All ashore that's going ashore," he calls to her, patting the seat beside him for when she was ready to depart.

As they returned to their rickety wagon, she retrieved her pack from the back before joining him at the front, this time hopping up onto the bench seat with no issues. She replaced her wig into her disguise kit before stowing her pack at her feet, nodding at Tius that she was ready for them to be on their way. "Best get going." She reclined in her seat, propping her shapely legs up upon the front of the wagon, crossing an ankle over the other and folding her arms over her stomach, completely at ease as they set off home.

[what-happened-to-agent-georgia]

Glitter and Roses

Happy Fluff Week!! I was tagged by @secretlystephaniebrown, who prompted: “Sherry has a secret admirer, and it’s definitely not Ohio.”

Read on Ao3; @rvbficwars

Rating: T

Warnings: Canon-Typical Language/Violence

Characters: Ohio, Sherry, Idaho, Iowa, Terrill, Darryl

Pairing: Ohio/Sherry

Summary: Sherry has a secret admirer, and it’s definitely not (not) Ohio.

It starts with the purple envelope.

“I have what?” Sherry asks through a mouthful of oatmeal. Still half asleep, she’s not sure she heard Darryl correctly.

“Mail,” he says. “You have mail.”

He holds out a purple envelope, and Sherry snatches it away from him, shoving her breakfast aside. The envelope is emblazoned with Sherry in silver glitter pen with the address “Base #2, Snowball Planet” scrawled below it in black pen, like an afterthought.

“What does it say?” Darryl asks, wringing his hands.

“I haven’t opened it yet,” Sherry says. She tucks the letter into her sweatpants pocket. “And I’m not opening it in front of you.”

“What?” Darryl throws his hands in the air. “Why?”

“Because,” is all Sherry says, pulling her bowl of oatmeal towards her. Darryl sighs and flops down at the table next to her, poking at his own breakfast.

Sherry shovels the rest of her food into her mouth and tosses her dirty bowl in the sink.

“I am not washing that,” Darryl snaps.

“I’ll get to it sometime,” Sherry says, shrugging.

Then she sprints out of the mess hall, pulling the purple envelope out of her pocket as she goes. She turns the envelope over and over in her hands, impatient to reach her quarters so she can finally open it.

Sherry’s never really received before. She was only six when her family fled their home planet, and twelve when she became an orphan. No one ever sent her letters when she was in the army—well, she’s technically still in the army but, you know. Maybe her granny sent her a birthday card when she was little, but Sherry doesn’t remember. Does it count if she can’t remember?

Once she reaches her room, she punches the code in and scurries inside, flipping on the light as the door hisses shut behind her. Falling onto her bed, she pulls out her knife and, holding it above her head, carefully slits the envelope open—

—and begins coughing and sneezing as a cloud of blue glitter bursts out of the envelope and covers her face.

“The fu—ack!” Sherry nearly chokes, spits out a mouthful of glitter, and sits bolt upright. All the glitter that didn’t stick to her face falls into her lap.

So, whoever the fuck sent her this letter is either a five-year-old who got a little overzealous with the blue glitter or hates Sherry’s guts. Her room is going to be covered in the stuff forever. She will literally die before this shit goes away.

Blinking some of the blue sparkles from her eyelashes, Sherry reaches into the purple envelope to see if there’s anything else inside. Her fingers close around a folded piece of paper, and she pulls it out, bringing another onslaught of blue glitter with it.

“Son of a bitch,” she mutters under her breath.

Shaking the folded piece of paper, she realizes that it’s a page ripped out from an old Warthog manual. Unfolding the note, she has to squint to read it—the message is written in red marker over the small black print explaining the functions of each of the Warthog’s six pedals.

 Roses are red (I think, I’ve never seen one in person)

Just like your armor (Well, the accents on your armor)

I really like your armor.

Actually, I think roses are more than one color, but there are red ones. I think.

I’m sorry none of this rhymed.

Sincerely,

Your Secret Admirer

 Sherry rereads the letter several times before laying it on the small table next to her bed. She lays down again, staring at the ceiling. She sighs, regretting it instantly as a puff of glitter shoots into the air.

Secret admirer.

Sherry looks around at the carnage the envelope left behind. Only one person on this planet could be so diabolically adorable.

So, it’s more like a secret admirenemy?

A small smile tugs at the corner of Sherry’s mouth, and she rolls out of bed and grabs her under-suit, frowning when she realizes that, even though it was in a drawer, it’s covered in blue sparkles as well. Fucking how?

Shimmying into her under-suit, she wonders how Vera got the envelope to Darryl. Did they plan it? Did she slip it under the door to the fucking base and Darryl just happened to find it first? Vera’s snuck in here before, should know where Sherry’s room is at. What game is she playing?

Sherry considers the possibility that Darryl, and by association, Terrill, are pulling her leg. Wouldn’t be the first time. As she puts on her armor, she also considers the possibility of killing her last two remaining teammates if they are, in fact, messing with her.

But once she’s finished getting ready and pulling her helmet on, she’s still ninety percent sure Vera sent her the letter. They haven’t had glitter here for years, and she knows they’ve never had envelopes. Who uses envelopes when there’s computers and shit?

It’s got to be Vera.

Stepping out into the hallway, Sherry smiles.

“She likes my armor,” she giggles.

#

“No idea what you’re talking about!” Vera shouts at her over the sound of bullets and bombs.

They’re having their daily brawl in the snow between their bases, chucking grenades too far left and shooting bullets a bit too high into the air.

Terrill and Darryl are busy running away from Iowa, who’s managed to halfway repair one of the jeeps and is driving it after them. Of course, half-repaired also means the jeep is on fire, which means Idaho is running after Iowa, telling him to get out of the fucking jeep while firing bullets in the vague direction of Terrill and Darryl.

Sherry figures this is the best time to confront Vera.

“Bullshit!” she shouts. “There are literally no other girls on this planet, who else would it come from?”

“I dunno, maybe there are other girls here!” Vera shoots back, jumping up to chuck a snowball at Sherry’s head.

It misses.

By a lot.

“If you wanna go on a date, all you gotta do is ask!” Sherry says.

Vera freezes in the middle of throwing a sharp chunk of ice.

“A—psh, hah, a date? No, nope, you’re the enemy, I can’t date the enemy, Sherry,” Vera sputters, “That—That would be, uh, treason?”

“Maybe so!” Sherry yells. “But who’s gonna know?”

Vera doesn’t have anything to say to that, she just stares, still holding the hunk of ice aloft. Sherry crosses her arms and waits. Somewhere in the distance, there’s a crash followed by an explosion, and Sherry really freaking hopes there isn���t a hole in the wall of her base.

Before Vera can think of what to say, however, a stray bullet hits the ice in her hand. Tiny shards of ice explode in a shower of blue and white, and Vera jumps back.

“Agh!” she cries.

Sherry loses sight of her as Vera drops behind the barrier she’s fashioned out of scrap metal, but she’s not so sure it’s to escape the onslaught of bullets. She grins, wonders if Vera has started digging a tunnel to escape again.

“I didn’t send the letter!” The disembodied voice of Vera comes from directly to Sherry’s right, which means Vera dug the tunnel before the battle this time.

Whirling around, Sherry turns just in time to see a blue blur as Vera pounces, smashing a fistful of snow onto Sherry’s visor as she takes her down, knocking the breath out of her. Vision impeded, Sherry lashes out with her arms, trying half-heartedly to shove Vera away.

Leaning down, Vera whispers into Sherry’s ear.

“If I had sent the letter, I would’ve put something a little bigger than a blue glitter bomb.”

“How’d you know the glitter was blue?” Sherry whispers back.

“Uh—fu—it was a guess!” Vera scrambles up and bolts away, tossing one last “It wasn’t me, dammit!” over her shoulder.

By the time Sherry pushes herself to her knees and wipes the snow from her visor, Vera, Idaho, and Iowa are halfway back to their base. They kick up clouds of snow as they retreat, leaving a trail of scorched ice, smoke, and bullet casings behind them.

Sherry laughs, falling back onto the ground and staring at the perpetually gray sky, ready to drop a fresh blanket of snow on their bases.

That night, before she shuts off the light in her quarters, she reads the letter that’s definitely not (not) from Vera.

#

Then comes the “cake”.

“Cake” in quotation marks because it’s made from freeze-dried ice cream sandwiches smashed together in a nine-by-nine square. It arrived in a purple box Darryl almost tripped over on his way to the bathroom. Whoever dropped it off decided the best place to leave it was the top of the stairs leading to their bunks.

Luckily, there’s no glitter this time.

Sherry stares at the “cake”, wondering how long Vera—or whoever, but she knows it’s fucking Vera—saved these ice cream sandwiches. Sherry and the others finished what sweets they had, like, three years ago.

“Goodness,” Terrill says, eyes wide, “She must really like you.”

“Shut up, Terrill,” Sherry snaps, lifting the “cake” out of the purple box it came in and placing it on the table. “Anyway, she says it isn’t her.”

“Right,” Darryl snorts, “And I’m definitely not the one who’s been cutting all of Terrill’s left pant legs a half an inch short.”

“You’re what?” Terrill whips around to look at Darryl, who freezes, smiles, and dashes from the breakroom. Terrill jumps up and takes off after him. “No, really, Darryl, you haven’t been doing what?”

Sherry chuckles and breaks off a piece of the “cake”, popping it into her mouth.

“Oh my god,” she groans. She almost forgot what chocolate tasted like, dehydrated or otherwise.

She’s gonna marry that woman.

#

“Cake?” Vera snorts, arm cocked back, ready to chuck a grenade. “That’s ridiculous, where would I even get the ingredients for that?”

Before Sherry can answer, Vera launches the grenade. Sprinting forward and away from the blast radius, Sherry leaps and tackles Vera the ground with a thud that rattles her teeth.

“Nice try, sweet cheeks,” Sherry says, pinning Vera to the ground. “By the way, how’s your supply of ice-cream sandwiches doing?”

“I have—I have no—” Vera kicks out, catching Sherry in the stomach and throwing her up and away “—idea what you’re talking about!”

Sherry lands on her back several feet away, a puff of snow shooting up around her from the impact. She shakes her head to remove the snow that’s accumulated on her helmet. If all this shit melted and never came back, it would make Sherry’s year. Even if it flooded the bases. An underwater base actually sounds kind of cool.

“Why so secretive, Vera?” Sherry shouts after Vera, who’s started skipping away.

Vera freezes mid-skip, arms pinwheeling as she fights to maintain her footing. Back still turned, she stands up straight and takes a deep breath, composing herself. Crossing her arms, she casts a glance at Sherry over her shoulder.

“There’s nothing to be secretive about, Sherry,” she says, words tumbling out of her mouth like she can’t hold onto them. “Except for, like, Freelancer secrets and stuff, I guess. But I don’t have any other secrets. Zero. Nada. I couldn’t have sent you the cake thingy, because that would be… that would be fraternizing with the enemy! Yeah!”

Sherry is torn between annoyance and amusement at this point, because Project Freelancer literally dropped Vera, Iowa, and Idaho here, fully expecting them to die. On the other hand, it’s the game they’ve been playing for months, a charade. Pretending they’re in a conflict they were kicked out of long ago. Vera’s just playing along, and Sherry wants to take a timeout.

“Maybe it’s time to… fraternize, then,” Sherry suggests. “If you know what I mean.”

“I—you—we—” Vera sputters, arms falling to her sides. “It’s—”

“Get a room!” Idaho shouts from the entrance of the ex-Freelancers’ base.

“Oh! Fuck you, Ezra!” Vera shoots back. She charges towards Idaho who, realizing Vera’s destination is him and not the door to the base, yelps and takes off into the base (“It was a joke it was a joke it was a joooke!”).

Sherry sighs, letting her head drop back into the snow. She gets a sense of deja vu, then remembers she was in almost this exact same spot two days ago, on her back, staring off into the distance. Grinning, she imagines how red Vera must have gone. Redder than, say, roses?

“She totally wants to fraternize with me,” she confides in the sky.

#

The last item Sherry receives is a map.

Hand-drawn, covered in green glitter this time, directions and explanations scribbled here and there in red ink.

Sherry’s base is Your House, and there’s an ‘X’ next to it with the words Where you shot that jar of peanut butter written off to the side. There’s a lopsided square a few inches away from Sherry’s base, Best Base Ever scrawled inside, with another ‘X’ nearby. The message by this ‘X’ read Blown up jeep.

“Oh yeah,” Sherry whispers to herself, smiling as she recalls setting fire to the jeep. Blinking, she turns her attention back to the map.

There’s a wavy line leading from Sherry’s base, past Where Mike licked your wall, and out into the tundra. At the end of the line there’s an oval with the words Our Place written inside.

Sherry’s heart skyrockets into her throat and she drops the map, gasp morphing into a coughing fit as she chokes on a mouthful of glitter for the second time that week. Hands shaking, she stoops down and snatches up the map again, brushing off the excess glitter—some of it, anyway—to make sure she’s read that correctly.

Our Place.

Yep. She read that right. Sinking onto her bed, Sherry isn’t sure whether to start laughing and hug the map or start hyperventilating and burn it.

Is this for real? Is it real now, not another trick, just another level of their game? Sherry’s going to the spot on the map, of course, but as the anxiety in her chest builds, she pushes away the hope bubbling there as well. Just in case.

“All right, Vera,” Sherry says, folding the map up and tucking it away. “Let’s see where this leads.”

#

Vera’s map is very much not to scale.

It takes Sherry much longer than she expected to trudge through the snow towards Our Place.

Gazing out at the white wasteland before her, she’s beginning to think this was a trick after all, and looks around instead for Vera, waiting for her to pounce. Her eyes fall on something squat and black, half-buried in snow about fifty feet away.

Running as best she can in knee-deep snow, Sherry hurries over to inspect the object. As she gets closer, she sees the long barrel of a gun, barely hanging onto whatever it’s attached to. She slows a bit, but not by much. No one’s going to fire that gun anytime soon.

When she finally arrives, she discovers a tank. It must’ve been there for at least five years—Sherry’s never seen it before, but she’s never had a reason to venture in this direction. She got bored, of course, but not bored enough to tramp around in the snow almost a mile and a half away from base looking for old, dead, war machines.

Apparently, Vera is bored enough to tramp around in the snow a mile and a half away from base, looking for old, dead, war machines.

“You coming in or not?”

Sherry jumps, looks up at the top of the tank to find Vera, beautiful and blue, perched at the top of the tank. Vera gestures down at the hatch leading into the tank.

Realizing her mouth is hanging open, Sherry snaps it shut, thankful for the visor shielding her face.

“After you,” Sherry manages.

“Uh, yeah okay!” Vera lifts the hatch, and a warm, orange glow erupts from the entrance, lighting up her armor.

It’s the most magical thing Sherry has ever seen, and she almost trips over her own feet moving up to the tank. Climbing up, the side, she watches as Vera lowers herself into the tank, disappearing from view.

Sherry takes a deep breath. Swallows. And drops into the tank, pulling the lid shut behind her.

Her armor screams at her before her feet hit the floor.

Warning, dramatic temperature shift, adjusting armor climate. Warning, dramatic—

Sherry pulls her helmet off and is hit with a blessed blast of warm air. She closes her eyes. Soaks it in. Tries to remember the last time she felt so warm the chill left her bones.

She can’t.

“Where did you find this heater?” Sherry breathes, tossing her helmet aside.

The tank is big, but not extremely spacious, and she bangs her knees, toes, and elbows several times during the process of removing her armor. Vera’s having troubles too, so it takes her a few minutes to conjure up a response.

“Darryl, Ezra, and I found this old heater and fixed it up,” she explains. “It’s gotta be charged, so we can’t use it all the time, and since the tank doesn’t have a lot of space that needs heating up, it doesn’t use as much power.”

“Those fuckers,” Sherry laughs, “they were in on it the whole time.”

“Actually, Terrill wasn’t,” Vera says, unzipping her undersuit. “Darryl says he couldn’t keep a secret if his life depended on it.”

“Yeah…” Sherry trails off as Vera pulls her arms out of her undersuit. Her arms are very nice. Very strong, not nice, strong. Well, strong is nice—

Wow, it’s really hot in here.

Sherry shimmies out of her undersuit as well, and soon the two of them are sitting cross-legged, clad in sports bras and biker shorts, twiddling their thumbs. They’ve waited so fucking long to be alone together, to be out of armor together, and now they have no idea what to say.

“I sent the card,” Vera says finally. “And the cake.”

“I know, doofus,” Sherry snorts. “You’re a terrible liar.”

“Am not!” Vera lies, biting her bottom lip. She sighs and runs her hand through her hair. “Ugh, I’m a bad liar.”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Sherry hurries to say, leaning in towards Vera. “Honesty’s good!”

“I don’t know if it’s honesty as much as anxiety. I could never be a spy,” Vera says.

“Then why join Project Freelancer?” Sherry asks, tilting her head. Vera never struck her as the type—didn’t fit the image all the stories built up in her head.

“Well, I mean, to save my home planet!” Vera says. “Besides, not all of us did spy stuff.”

“Oh,” Sherry says. “Where’s your home planet?”

“Earth,” Vera answers. Her face lights up as the word leaves her lips, and Sherry wills her heart to calm the fuck down.

“Where at on Earth?” Sherry asks.

“Hawaii.”

“Holy shit,” Sherry says, raising her eyebrows. “This has got to be hell for you then.”

“Hell frozen over,” Vera agrees, grimacing.

“Well, hell isn’t so bad,” Sherry says. Vera raises an eyebrow and snorts.

“How so?”

“I mean, if it took going to hell to meet you, I’d go to hell a thousand times over,” Sherry tells her.

God, that was so fucking corny, she should take it back, apologize, crawl away and hide forever, she should—

“Sweet talker,” Vera giggles, interrupting Sherry’s near-panic attack.

Her laughter is fucking music.

Sherry leans in, and Vera grins, moving to meet her, brushing her thumb across Sherry’s jaw. Closing her eyes, Sherry shivers, moving her hand to rest on Vera’s, holding it to her face. If the tank is warm, Vera’s skin is red hot, burning into her yet sending chills down her spine.

Their lips meet and finally, finally, they kiss.

Sherry thinks this might be it—the center of the universe.

Is it cliché to say if hell is life with Vera, then it’s better than heaven?

Vera and Sherry break apart, breathing heavily, still clinging to each other. Vera grins, and Sherry catches it, smiling back.

“So,” Vera says.

“So,” Sherry replies.

“What do you say we, uh, fraternize?”

[rason-rodd]

Red Hood And The Outlaws: Loyalty (Chapter 14)

[Read on AO3] [Previous Chapter]

Chapter 14: Kindred Spirits

   The best about living in a bunker under a police station is that you can have direct access to what’s going on in the city. The worst thing however, is when the information you get concerns an ally … or is it more a partner? … a friend? … a fling? Jason didn’t know. But when he learned that [Y/N] was going berserk on Black Mask’s men, he knew he couldn’t wait any second. He surely isn’t the only vigilante in this city listening to police radio. However he had an advantage on Batman this time: he knew her better.

And so he was not really surprised by what was before his eyes. It was almost the same killing pattern as the first time. Men butchered and dismembered, deep teeth marks and scratches. Except that this time she didn’t linger … with good reasons. The bodies were on the ground almost in a perfect circle. This suggested that she was surrounded when she was attacked and that she slaughtered them one by one very quickly. They tried to shoot her judging by the golden bullets shining at Jason’s feet but she was too fast and too cunning. She used some of the men as shields to protect herself during the gunshot. At least that is the best reasoning Jason could pull out by looking at some bodies riddled with bullets. Another well-calculated bloodbath.               Stains of blood flowing between the cobblestones down the gutter caught Jason’s attention. They were a bit too far from the massacre. Was she hurt? … No, of course not. She was too clever by half to be harmed by simple thugs. It was someone else’s blood, a man who tried to flee the fight.         Jason followed the trail and realised he guessed right. A man was slowly crawling on the ground not far away from him, a hand pressed on his wound to prevent the blood from flowing too much. Considering his direction he was trying to reach for a car and he was close.                             Jason looked around him. He knew what was about to happen. But he didn’t know if he should prevent it or not. He had promised Bruce not to kill but he hadn’t promised him he would save criminals. The dilemma didn’t last long as fate, under the appearance of a huge white wolf, bounced on the man from behind the car and took away his body away with a growl as he screamed for the last time. A mere couple of seconds after his still-masked head rolled under the car.   Jason sighed. That was perhaps not necessary.             He approached the car silently when he swore he had heard bones cracking. And here she was, her naked body covered in blood shining under the moonlight, her messy white hair flowing in the wind. What a beautiful killer.       She wasn’t ashamed. Nor was she happy. She was just standing there still and emotionless as a marble statue. A deadly version of Botticelli’s Venus.  

Jason took off his jacket and placed it over her shoulders to cover her up without saying a word. She looked up at him and met his blue eyes. “Let’s go home.” He put his hand on her shoulder and she glanced at his gesture before pushing him away. “Let go of me.” He didn’t expect that kind of reaction. “ I’m here to help you.” She had a slight snicker. “Of course you are. This is your part of your vigilante crap thing.” He was about to retort but sirens and flashing red and blue lights interrupted him. “Okay, here’s the thing. Either you come with or you begin to run hoping the cops –or worse- won’t catch you.”

She was far from being stupid. Of course she followed him and rode back with him to his underground hideout. And once there, he just took off his helmet and placed it on his desk on which he leant in silence. But he had that look. Last time she saw one similar to this they ended up screwing on a rooftop. But this time it was different.  

“ Why the hell did you do that for?” He asked sternly, his arms crossed over his broad chest. She rolled her eyes with a sigh. “There you go. Another condescending lecture”             “ I’m not lecturing you, [Y/N].�� “ Well it looks like it.” “ I’m just trying to understand why you killed those men.” He didn’t sound nor angry nor judgmental but something was definitely bothering her. “They kinda asked for it.” She growled looking at him right in the eye. He scrutinized her features twisted by anger and pain. She hated it. “What? Are trying to make me feel guilty?”                 “ No”     “ Good. Because I don’t” He tried to put himself in her place. Would he sound as cold-hearted as her after such a massacre? And would he have been able to commit such ignominious act? He couldn’t answer for he didn’t know all of her story.                               “Did you forget that Batman was on your trail and that you have a cover to maintain with Black Mask? Why are you acting like this?”         “I’m not acting, Redbird. I’m just being myself. And if you don’t realise that then you’re blind.” “You and I both know this is not true.” He retorted as he came to sit near her “I don’t know what Black Mask has done to you. But I know one thing: I don’t buy your masquerade.” She glanced at him briefly but remained silent. “I know that there is far more than meets the eye, that behind your self-confidence and your ravishing charms there is still that fragile teenage girl crying for some consideration and love. And you know I’m right.” She could feel his gaze on her but she preferred to keep her eyes down. She hated being told some home truths. “You and I, [Y/N], we are so alike. You said it yourself. And I’m not going to give up on the real you.”   “ You should.” “ I grew up in the streets. Before I was adopted, I was just a poor street rat stealing tyres to survive. But I was given a chance as I’m giving you a chance, today. Don’t turn it down."

His compassion felt weird to her ears. She wasn’t used to this and therefore didn’t know how to act in consequence. So she did as her instinct told her. She confessed in a whisper.

“Black Mask killed my mother.” Jason’s eyes widened at the sudden reveal. It knew her hatred for Black Mask was personal but he didn’t expected this. Her voice was faint and broken. “I was nine years old…. My dad was working for him when he thought he would be a good idea to double-cross him.” That story sounded familiar. “Black Mask found out and he killed her… forced her to overdose with the very same drug my dad used to smuggle behind his back… … … I found her body in the living room” Way too familiar. “I still can see her in my head.”

And so could he. As if it happened yesterday.                 He could still see his mother dying by his side, slowly. He could still see her, here, lied on an old mattress on the floor, by the window, with bandages around her elbows, her drug-damaged skin lightened by few candles. And he could still feel her cold hand in his as he was holding it, begging her to wake up and to pull herself together. I wish you would stop taking that stuff. I wish you could here me. I miss you. But it was like talking to a brick wall, a cold fragile brick wall.               He remembers being angry and hungry. He remembers trying to feed her. I know you’re not hungry much right now but you need to eat something. He remembers stealing food in the street. And he remembers the knocks he got and those he gave to get it. I hurt someone today. I was getting us food. He tried to take it from me, from you, from us. I started hitting him, over and over again. He remembers confessing to her, crying in silence. Mom, am I a bad person?       Until the day he cried out loud. She was dead. His mom was dead. And he couldn’t save her. He called out for his help. But no help came. He was alone. Mom wake up! No! … No!!! … Mom! Mom wake up! Come on. Please. He held her lifeless body on the bathroom floor, hoping she would open her beautiful blue eyes and hold him as well. But she did not. She remained still, with that white foam around her mouth. Please mom wake up! I need you. He had always been conscious that her addiction was slowly killing her but he had always hoped it would never take her away from him, not so quickly, not so soon, not ever.

“ Anyway. I should go. Thanks for the ride.” She said on her way out. He rushed towards her to hold her back by her wrist. “No, stay.”         “ Jason” She sighed to let him know she wanted him to let her go. But he refused. “Where would you go? Back to Black Mask’s?” “ There are other places here in Gotham. I’ll find one.”             “ I want you to stay” He cupped her cheek with a delicacy that made her let go in his hand for a small instant.“ Don’t please. I … This is wrong. All this. I shouldn’t …” He frowned as she slowly took off his hand to leave this place.                 “ What are you talking about?” The mission. She was talking about that stupid mission. She wanted to yell, to tell him the truth, to tell him that the league is after him and that he’s in danger, that she was send to bring him back and that she was miserably failing because of feelings for him she shouldn’t have let herself feel. But instead she just said: “ Why are you so nice to me?”                 “ I care for you.” She sensed tears slowing watering her green eyes. She could bear her pain, but the mere idea he would soon suffer because of her, because she let him in, was unbearable.     “ I don’t deserve it. If only you …” He kissed her to stop her from talking. She gasped against his lips. They were so soft. He was so soft. She let herself briefly melt against him, nestled in his strong embrace before abruptly ending the kiss. “I can’t Jay. We can’t.”                 “ I won’t let you go.” He whispered as he approached to kiss her again. She placed her hands on his broad chest to make him keep his distance.                 “ I’m trouble. Believe me.”       “ I love trouble.”

[thebrokenscript]

Not A Fallen Jedi - Part 3

and finally here it is: the last part of the wrong jedi arc from rex’s pov. this part is a rewrite of the wrong jedi and continues immediately after where it left off in part 2. it was a lot of fun doing this rewrite so i hope you guys like it!

@finish-the-clone-wars

don’t tag as rexsok/a

Part One | Part Two | Part Three

Anakin and Ahsoka stepped out, snapping Rex and Wolffe back to attention. “Let’s go, Rex,” Anakin said, not stopping as he passed them. Grabbing his helmet and nodding slightly to Wolffe, Rex hurried to catch up to them.

The tension was palpable. Ahsoka wouldn’t meet Rex’s gaze and one look to Anakin sent unease trickling down his spine. “We’re going to the Chamber of Judgment,” Anakin said shortly. “You won’t be allowed in there, but I want you outside.”

Rex nodded, deciding not to question Anakin. He didn’t know much about Jedi trials. Nobody outside the Order did, really, but he assumed that the Jedi would be able to see that Ahsoka was innocent. Still- the fact that Anakin was more or less ordering him to stand outside the Chamber was slightly concerning. He hoped Anakin didn’t have anything in mind that would get them into trouble.

They turned down a hall that was eerily quiet. Temple guards stood motionless as they passed, staring dead ahead, their lightsabers not ignited, but ready in hand. Rex knew they were watching them. He took his emotions and thoughts and silenced them, fixing his gaze on the chamber ahead.

When they reached the chamber, the guards standing at the side broke their stances, moving to block the entrance.

“The clone must stay outside.”

Anakin flashed a glance at Rex. He nodded and stepped back. And then his gaze fell to Ahsoka. Her gaze was dull, fixed more on the floor than anything. She looked exhausted. Had they tended to her injuries? They couldn’t have fixed such serious injuries so quickly. Would they really send her to trial like that? As far as he knew she hadn’t gotten any rest in the past day. She had to be tired and hurting and that wasn’t even touching on how the accusation was affecting her.

“Ahsoka,” he said quietly. She finally looked to him.

Exhausted.

Scared.

And there was nothing he could do to comfort her but whisper, “Good luck.”

The idea of a smile ghosted across her face and she nodded slightly before Anakin guided her into the chamber, leaving Rex alone in the crushing silence of the hall.

He stood there for a moment after the door shut, staring at it as if it would open again and he would be permitted to enter. It didn’t. He flashed a glance at the guards, knowing both of them were watching him. Not liking the idea that they could see his face and he couldn’t see theirs, he put his helmet on, then turned and moved to stand off to the side.

He waited.

But he didn’t wait long. Not long enough to even begin to wonder what was going on in the Chamber, not long enough to begin to worry, not long enough at all.

The doors slid open and for a moment all he saw were guards. And then in the center of them-

Ahsoka. In restraints. Disbelief and fear and betrayal all playing out on her face. She caught Rex’s gaze as she passed and for a moment he was drowning in her fear. No- Rex took an unconscious step forward, not understanding. Why was she out so soon? Where were they taking her?

A guard was suddenly in front of him, blocking her from his view. “Stand down,” they ordered. Rex’s gaze snapped to them, heart tripping as adrenaline flooded through him.

“Where are they taking her?” he demanded.

The guard took a threatening step closer to him. Rex stepped back mechanically, before turning back to the chamber, searching for Anakin. Where was he? Surely he wouldn’t let them take her-

Anakin’s voice drifted into the hall from the chamber.

“You can’t do this to her! She dedicated her life to the Order- how can you just cast her aside?”

The world slowed around Rex. Cast her aside? What was he talking about? The chamber fell silent. Rex could only guess someone was trying to calm Anakin. They failed.

“If none of you will stand by her then I will! We know she’s innocent. You’re wrong! All of you!”

An inexplicable wave of cold suddenly flooded the hall as Anakin stalked out of the chamber. His gaze caught on Rex and the guard. A frown twisted across his face. “Rex.”

Rex sidestepped the guard and hurried to catch up to Anakin. “Sir what’s going on?” he asked urgently. “The trial was too short, what did they-”

“They had already made a decision,” Anakin growled. “They expelled her and sent her to have a Republic trial.”

Rex missed a step.

Expelled?

They cast her out?

Fury suddenly slammed through him, choking the shock out. How could they do that to her? She was a Jedi- she was one of them! How could they just turn on her like that?

“What are we going to do, sir?” he asked tightly.

“We need to get Padmé, she’s the best person to represent Ahsoka. And,” his voice dropped to a snarl. “I am going to find out who did this and bring them in.”

“Ventress,” Rex growled. “It had to be her. She was the only one with Ahsoka and she’s a Sith.”

“I know.”

Rex’s mood only darkened as they strode out of the Temple. They got in the speeder, Anakin taking off fast enough to give them both whiplash. Rex’s gaze fell back to the Temple. It gleamed magnificently in the sun, looking as majestic and awe inspiring as it always did. But Rex couldn’t see any of it. It was as if the Temple had been stained- blackened with corruption.

The Senate building quickly came into view. Anakin was talking quickly into his com. Rex caught something about Padmé and Ahsoka before he tuned out. Senator Amidala was an immensely capable lawyer. It helped as well that she was close to Anakin. Too close for a Jedi, but it didn’t matter now. What mattered was that it wouldn’t take anything but Anakin asking for her to agree to represent Ahsoka.

While Padmé fought for Ahsoka, he and Anakin would catch Ventress. Hate for the bogwitch boiled inside of him. He wanted to kill her more than he’d ever wanted to kill anyone. Noticing that his hands were shaking, he clenched them into fists to stop it.

The speeder came to a swooping halt in front of the Senate building and there was Senator Amidala, hurrying toward them. Rex moved to the back so Padmé could take the front seat and hear the explanation.

“They just cast her out?” Padmé asked, voice ringing with disbelief.

“They made their decision before they even called us down,” Anakin snapped. “The trial was just a formality. They expelled her and sent her to trial in the Republic court.”

Padmé’s jaw tightened. “What evidence is against her?”

“She was alone with Letta Turmond when she died and then she broke out of prison. They believe she killed clones in her escape, and then when she was on the run she was seen with Ventress and caught in the presence of nanodroids.”

Rex’s heart sank as he listened. The cards were completely stacked against Ahsoka. With how things looked- He ground his teeth together. Nothing short of a confession from Ventress would save her.

They came to a stop at the prison and jumped out, walking quickly toward the entrance.

Rex hung back as Anakin and Padmé entered the cell. Best not to overwhelm her with so many people.

Anakin came out after a moment, resolve hardening in his gaze. “Ahsoka thinks it was Ventress too.”

“Then we know who to catch,” Rex said. Anakin glanced away slightly, a movement that made Rex slow down. “What is it, sir?”

“You’re not coming, Rex.”

Anakin might as well have slapped him.

“What?”

“You’re not coming.”

“But- sir, why not?” he asked, struggling to keep the desperation out of his tone.

Anakin shook his head. “You won’t be able to keep up. Like it or not, you can’t use the Force. Ventress can.”

“I’ve faced her before, sir,” he snapped. “I’m still here.”

“I said no, Rex!”

Frustration and fury flooded Rex. He was not going to just stay back and twiddle his thumbs while Ventress was out there and Ahsoka was on trial for crimes she didn’t commit. He knew he was toeing a dangerous line, arguing with his General after being given an order twice, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“All due respect, General, you can’t do this alone. You need help.”

Anakin ignored him, stalking quickly toward his speeder.

Rex only slowed for a heartbeat, then sped up and cut in front of Anakin, blocking him from the speeder with one hand pressed firmly against the Jedi’s chest. “Anakin, please,” he said harshly.

Anakin stopped, finally meeting Rex’s gaze. “Rex, I know you want to help. I understand. But I need to find Ventress. You can do a lot more here than you could trying to keep up with me,” he said, taking Rex’s hand off his chest. “I’m sorry, Rex. But that’s my final word. Stay here. You can relay me information about the trial and how things are going.”

He stepped past Rex and climbed into the speeder, leaving Rex wrestling with fury and a sense of abandonment. Before Anakin took off, however, he paused and looked back. “Rex- if I’m not back in time- if something happens, if they- if they charge her as guilty, you need to be there for her,” he said quietly.

Rex’s fury collapsed. If they charged her as guilty, it could very well be a death sentence. “I understand,” he murmured. “I will.” He then straightened, setting his jaw. “Catch Ventress.”

A bitter scoff escaped Anakin and his gaze darkened. “Oh believe me, Rex. I will,” he growled, then took off. Rex watched him go through narrowed eyes. Anakin would catch Ventress. Nobody could evade him when he was like that. But Rex had more pressing matters to worry him.

The trial. How would he get in? Could he even get in? Would they let him through? He was only a clone, after all, never mind being a captain. Hands clasping behind his back, he spun around and stalked back toward the building.

He made it to the entrance, nodding sharply to the clones guarding the door and made it past them without any trouble. But he still had serious doubts about getting into the trial. It wouldn’t be open for the public. He didn’t think they would let him in. Not that he wouldn’t try to convince them, but if they wouldn’t let him in he would have to sneak in. And risk his own imprisonment? He slowed fractionally.

If he was caught he could be arrested. He couldn’t help Ahsoka if he was imprisoned. Perhaps Senator Amidala could help him. They were both bound by their compassion for Anakin and Ahsoka. Surely she would help him. Stopping, he turned back, heading for the main hall from the prison.

--

Rex stood in the box with the Jedi, back in the corner. Padmé had managed to get him in only if he was unarmed and the Jedi were there to stop any... protest. Rex flashed a sideways glance at the Jedi. These Jedi, who had condemned one of their own. How could they? His gaze fell particularly on Obi-wan. 

How could you?

Everyone suddenly came to attention. Rex’s gaze fell down into the courtroom where Ahsoka was walking out.  She looked so tiny from where he stood. Distant. He couldn’t even see her face to gauge how she was doing.

“Ahsoka Tano.”

Rex straightened at the sound of the Chancellor’s voice. Anakin was close to the Chancellor. Perhaps that would help Ahsoka’s case.

“You have been charged with sedition against the Jedi Order and the Republic itself,” the Chancellor continued. “This court will decide your fate. Prosecution, you may begin your arguments.”

Rex glanced to the screen to see Admiral Tarkin stepping forward. He frowned only slightly. He remember the man from the disastrous Citadel escape. He’d expressed doubt in the Jedi and neither Anakin nor Ahsoka had seemed to care much for him.

“Former Padawan Tano, I shall prove that you were the mastermind behind the attack on the Jedi Temple and that once your accomplices carried out your orders, you eliminated them one by one.” A chill ran down Rex’s spine. “When you are found guilty, I ask that the full extent of the law be brought down upon you; including penalty of death.”

What?

Rex’s heart stopped, his eyes widening. Penalty of death? No- no surely he had heard wrong. He must have. He knew it had been an option but surely they wouldn’t go that far-

But looking at the grim faces of the Jedi, he knew that he had heard right. Nobody stepped forward. Nobody protested it. Were they fine with this? How could they do this to her? She was one of them!

Padmé then stepped forward. Rex forced himself to calm down. She was a very capable lawyer. She would successfully defend Ahsoka. Anakin was also out hunting Ventress. He would be able to clear Ahsoka beyond any doubt.

“Look at the facts,” Padmé began. “Letta Turmond summoned Ahsoka to her cell to reveal the name of the true mastermind behind the bombing of the Jedi Temple. Letta told Ahsoka she was afraid. She told her the mastermind was a Jedi and before she could reveal the Jedi’s name, Letta Turmond was strangled to death by way of the force. Why would Ahsoka kill Letta with a method that would so obviously tie the murder to her? A Jedi may be responsible for the murder, but that Jedi is not Ahsoka Tano. Members of the court, you are prosecuting the wrong Jedi!”

A wave of relief washed over Rex as Padmé spoke. She was right. Ahsoka was too smart to kill someone in a way that would lead directly to her, let alone do it where she would obviously be caught.

Clapping suddenly filled the courtroom. Tarkin stepped forward, a smug look on his face. “Well said, Senator Amidala. However, if she is innocent, then why was she seen conspiring with known Separatist terrorist Asajj Ventress?”

“Ventress set me up! My Master will prove that!” Ahsoka snapped.

“And where is your master?” Tarkin asked coldly.

“He’s trying to find the real murderer!”

“Then maybe he should be looking at you!”

Fury slammed through Rex, a snarl twisting his expression behind his helmet. How dare he? Ahsoka was innocent! They had to know she was innocent! They had the wrong person. It was so obvious, why couldn’t they see it?

“Ahsoka,” Padmé said. “Please explain to the Court why you were seen with Ventress.”

Forcing his fury down, Rex turned his attention to Ahsoka. He still hadn’t heard the whole story about why she had been with Ventress. He knew she hadn’t been working with her, but it would be a relief to hear the entire story.

“At first Ventress only caught me to turn me in for the bounty,” Ahsoka said. “But I couldn’t let her do that, so I told her that if she helped me I would speak to the Council about getting her a full pardon.”

Rex blinked. Surely Ahsoka had been lying when she told Ventress that. Ventress was a war criminal and a Sith. She deserved nothing less than to finally be caught and be brought to justice.

“We had a mutual understanding, or so I thought. When she brought me to the abandoned warehouse she attacked me.”

“And why, pray tell, would she have done that when offered a full pardon?” Tarkin asked, then waved a hand to cut Ahsoka off. “Besides, nobody reported seeing Ventress at the warehouse. How do we know she was even there?”

“When Ahsoka was found she was severely wounded,” Padmé said. “The Healers reported heavy bruising mostly on her back and fractured ribs. Where else would she have gotten these wounds if not in a fight?”

“A fight, perhaps, but with Ventress? How do we know these wounds were not inflicted in her clash with the clone troopers when they confronted her?”

Rex’s gaze drifted over to the Senate members. Doubt shadowed their expressions. Horror trickled down Rex’s spine. Surely they didn’t believe Tarkin? Rex loved his brothers and knew they were excellent fighters but he would also be the first to admit that it was beyond difficult to fight Force users. They would have had to get extremely lucky to hurt Ahsoka so badly.

“Rex?”

Rex snapped to attention as Anakin’s voice flooded the com. Quickly deafening his helmet so he could speak with disturbing the others, he said, “Yes sir?”

“How are things going?”

“Senator Amidala is defending her well.”

“...But?”

“But Admiral Tarkin is poking holes all through their defense, sir. I’m... concerned,” he said, watching the Senators. Tarkin was speaking again, and it was having a visible effect on them. “Did you find Ventress?”

“Ventress wasn’t the attacker.”

Shock crashed unpleasantly through him. “Sir?” His voice came out strained.

“She said someone attacked her and took her lightsabers.”

But that would mean- Rex’s mind was spinning. Nobody could just take lightsabers from Ventress. It would have to be another Force user. Another Jedi?

“Do you have any leads, sir?” he asked, trying to keep the desperation out of his tone.

“One. I... don’t know how good it will be, though.” Anakin sounded tired and angry.

Rex’s gaze flickered back down to Ahsoka. “You’d better hurry,” he said. “I don’t know how much longer the trial will go on for.”

“I will. I’ll be in contact.”

“Yes sir. Good luck.”

The connection broke, leaving Rex staring blankly down into the courtroom. If it wasn’t Ventress then who? Who could have done this?

The courtroom was suddenly filled with a deafening silence. Everyone’s gaze turned expectantly to the Chancellor.

“I’m sure many of you look at this former Jedi and think surely she can’t be this murderer or saboteur that they speak of,” he said, looking around the courtroom. “And yet, think of all the times we have been fooled by the Separatists and how they have infiltrated the republic and ask yourselves is this another Separatist scheme? Another way to rip the Jedi, and subsequently all of us, apart?”

Rex stared at the Chancellor, horror rising far too quickly to contain. What was he doing? Why was he implying that Ahsoka was part of a Separatist scheme? Ahsoka was Anakin’s padawan and Anakin was so close to the Chancellor- shouldn’t he be leaning toward Ahsoka’s innocence? A vile taste rose in Rex’s mouth as the Senators rose and departed to make their decision.

How could the Chancellor do this? Was he that desperate to find someone guilty that he would sacrifice Ahsoka? Was this the Republic he was fighting for?

A darkness settled over him, not unlike the one that had shadowed him after Umbara. He knew that the Republic wasn’t perfect. He knew sometimes it was far from perfect. But he had done his best to make his peace with that knowledge. Even if the Republic was broken in places, it was still better than the Separatists.

But there was some things he could never shake, no matter how hard he tried. The enslavement of the clones, how disposable he and his brothers were, how they were viewed by others, and now possibly this. How could he possibly rationalize fighting for a Republic who condemned the innocent just to make a problem go away?

He didn’t think he could.

“Rex are you there?” Anakin.

“Yes sir,” Rex said. “Did you find anything?”

“Oh yes,” Anakin growled. “I found the person who did it all.”

Rex’s legs suddenly felt too weak to support him as relief seeped through him. “Oh thank the gods.”

“What’s going on right now?”

“The Senate is meeting right now. We’re waiting for their verdict.”

Anakin cursed quietly then gathered himself. “I’ll be there shortly. Don’t let them do anything to her.”

“Yes sir.”

The connection broke. Rex flashed a sharp glance at the door where the Senate had vanished into. How long would they take to decide? How long did court cases normally take to decide? He didn’t know. But he should tell the Chancellor about Anakin- Rex stopped mid thought.

The Chancellor was staring directly at him.

Unease crept through Rex. Why was he watching him? Did he know? No that was impossible- maybe Padmé simply hadn’t told him that he would be present. But that didn’t make sense, Padmé would have gone to the Chancellor first to clear it. So why?

Rex started sharply as the door to the courtroom opened, his fingers twitching toward guns that weren’t there. The Senators walked back to their seats and settled. One stood.

“The members of the court have reached a decision.” They pressed a button and the vote was sent to Mas Amedda. Rex watched him read it, then hand it to the Chancellor.

The Chancellor read it, then nodded and stood. Fear suddenly flooded Rex.

“Ahsoka Tano, by an overwhelming count of-”

“Chancellor!” Anakin’s voice flooded the courtroom. Everyone’s gaze snapped to him, the four Temple guards, and the dark figure in the center.

Ahsoka was saved.

Rex blinked quickly, trying to clear his burning vision so he could focus.

“I hope you have reason for bursting into our proceedings Master Skywalker,” the Chancellor said, sounding vaguely disapproving.

Anakin stalked forward, head raised high. “I am here with evidence and a confession from the person responsible for all the crimes Ahsoka has been accused of.” He and two of the guards stepped aside. “Barriss Offee! Member of the Jedi Order and traitor.” Venom bled from his voice.

A stunned silence filled the courtroom. Rex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Barriss Offee? Traitor? No- no that wasn’t possible either. She was a good Jedi- one of the best. She had healed and helped so many of his brothers. She was Ahsoka’s friend, surely she couldn’t have-

“Barriss?” Ahsoka’s tiny voice echoed deafeningly in the silence. “Is that true?” She was pleading, begging for Barriss to say it wasn’t.

“Tell them the truth,” Anakin snarled.

Barriss was silent for a moment, then stepped forward. The cameras all switched from Ahsoka to her.

“I did it.”

She sounded so quiet. Rex couldn’t understand. This padawan wasn’t- she couldn’t be-

Barriss continued, her voice suddenly gaining strength. “Because I’ve come to realize what many people in the Republic have come to realize. That the Jedi are the ones responsible for this war! That we’ve so lost our way that we have become villains in this conflict! That we are the ones that should be put on trial! ALL OF US! And my attack on the Temple was an attack on what the Jedi have become. An army fighting for the dark side, fallen from the light that we once held so dear. This Republic is failing! It’s only a matter of time.”

Rex couldn’t believe what he was hearing. She had done it. She’d set Ahsoka up and been prepared to let her friend take the fall for her crimes. Fury and disgust boiling within him as he stared down at her. But even then he felt a tiny prick of understanding. The actions of the Jedi and the Republic had cast them into a new light for him.

“Take her away,” the Chancellor said. Rex watched as the guards surrounded Barriss again and led her out. Anakin stayed, turning to Ahsoka. He couldn’t see Anakin’s face, but he could imagine the relief on it.

“Ahsoka Tano,” the Chancellor’s voice boomed out again. Rex froze, turning to look at him. “In light of this new evidence, the Court finds you not guilty of all charges. You are free to go. Court dismissed.”

A breath Rex hadn’t realized he was holding escaped him. Ahsoka bowed slightly, then made her way to Anakin.

The Senators and Jedi rose, murmurs and whispers rising amongst them. Rex immediately headed for the door to meet Anakin and Ahsoka on their way out. Walking quickly, he pulled his helmet off, grateful for the fresh air. Catching sight of his Jedi with Padmé, he made his way over to them.

“Thank you for representing me, Padmé,” Ahsoka was saying. “It means a lot.”

“Of course Ahsoka,” Padmé said warmly, drawing Ahsoka into a hug. “I’m so glad you’re free now.”

Ahsoka smiled faintly and pulled away. Noticing Rex, she offered him a slight nod.

“Good to see you free, kid,” he said with a smile.

“Heh. Yeah,” she said, trying to return the smile but ultimately glancing away.

Obi-wan then approached. “Ahsoka,” he said with a warm nod. He then turned to address both Anakin and Ahsoka. “The Council would like to see both of you when we get back to the Temple.”

“Yes Master,” they said, bowing slightly. Obi-wan nodded and left.

Anakin turned to Padmé. “We have to go, but thank you again for being with Ahsoka on such short notice.”

“Of course,” Padmé said, then stopped, looking to Ahsoka. “Ahsoka, why don’t you stop by later?”

Ahsoka glanced up slightly. “Wh- oh. Sure.”

Concern flooded Rex. Something was wrong with Ahsoka. Was it Barriss? He wouldn’t be surprised. The two of them had been rather close. He imagined it would be like if Cody turned on him. A wave of empathy for her filled him. At least she was safe now.

The three of them walked out to the speeder and climbed in. The ride to the Temple was silent. When they landed, Anakin turned to Rex. “The 501st should be back soon. Why don’t you go meet with them? I’ll talk to you later.”

Rex nodded. “Alright sir.”

--

“She left.”

Rex started at the sudden words crackling through the comlink. “Sir?”

“She left the Jedi Order.”

Kix trailed off from his report, staring at Rex. Rex met his gaze, feeling frozen in place.

“I- don’t understand, sir,” he finally forced out.

“The Council betrayed her!” Anakin suddenly snarled, making both Rex and Kix start slightly. “They turned their back on her when she needed us most! And now she’s gone.”

Kix looked confused and startled. Rex hadn’t told the 501st about the trial yet. All they knew was that Ahsoka had gotten in a bit of trouble. He shook his head slightly at the medic. Later.

“Where did she go, sir?”

“I don’t know.”

Where would she go? She was a Jedi- former Jedi. She didn’t have any ties but the Temple. Friends? All Jedi that he knew of-  Padmé.

She would have gone to see Padmé.

Rex only hesitated for a second, then turned on his heel and swept out of the room.

--

He landed the speeder on the platform outside Padmé’s office. Technically he wasn’t doing anything wrong, but that didn’t make him feel any less like an intruder as he climbed out of the speeder and stood on the platform, waiting. He was done hunting her down. If she came to him, they would talk, if she didn’t, he would accept it and leave. He was done.

Eternities passed. He watched the sun sink lower and lower in the sky. And then the doors opened and she walked out. She walked toward him, stopping a good distance from him.

“I’m not going back.”

“I’m not here to take you back, Ahsoka.”

She looked at him hesitantly, confusion and something closed off crossing her face. “I have to go.”

“I know.”

Surprise and relief and sorrow all flooded her expression. Rex’s heart thudded dully in his chest. Would he ever see her again? There was no way to know. Tears burned at his eyes, but he forced them back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I wish I could say goodbye to everyone, but-” She shook her head again.

“It’s alright, kid,” he said gently. “I understand.”

She looked up at him, eyes brimming with tears. “You’ll tell them for me, right? That it wasn’t their fault or anything?”

Rex nodded. “Of course I will.”

“Thank you.” Her voice came out in a near whisper, as if she was suffocating. She started to turn away, then stopped. “Can I ask you something else?”

“Of course.”

“Will you keep an eye on Anakin? I know- I know this is going to be hard for him and that he doesn’t understand.”

Rex’s heart sank. Anakin. He wouldn’t take it well. He already wasn’t. Rex knew things were already strained with Anakin and the rest of the Jedi. Anybody could see that. This was going to make it worse. Much worse.

“I’ll do what I can,” he said. And then his gaze softened. “Ahsoka, if you need anything, you know you can contact me.”

“Rex...”

He shook his head, handing her a communicator. “Take it. You can pitch it into the underworld after I leave,” he said with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

She rolled her eyes slightly, a glimpse of the Ahsoka he knew, then stepped forward to take the communicator. She stared at it for a moment, then put it on her belt and looked up to Rex.

“Take care of yourself.”

“You too.”

She nodded, then turned away and finally left. She didn’t look back, nor did he expect her to. He would miss her. They would all miss her. But he respected her choice.

“May the Force be with you,” he whispered to the empty air, then turned away and climbed back into the speeder.

Back to the war that had stolen yet another life.

[5hfanfiction]

Her Dragon (3/3)

Summary: Camila is taken away from the only home she’s ever known and thrust into a new life full of disappointment and no freedom. One day, a knight makes their way to her mother’s court, pledging allegiance not to the queen, but to her. Has she seen them somewhere before?

Chapter 3: Life in Court

“Child, what have you done to your beautiful dress?” Her mother screeches louder than a banshee as she enters the throne room, still garbed in her soiled dress, her feet still bare and covered in mud. The queen’s face is flush with anger, eyes alight with almost a hateful fire. Good, Camila thinks, I’d rather she hate me than coddle me. Dinah snickers from her place as Camila’s personal guard.

“I’ve done nothing, mother,” she sneers, flashing her teeth in a draconic-like fashion. “Just the same as I did yesterday and the day before. I will never be what you want me to be.” At her mother’s scoff, she continues, “you stole me from the only place I knew. From the only being I’ve ever loved.”

“That beast stole you from here and killed your father when he tried to retrieve you.” Her mother thunders down the dais’ stairs and makes her way over to stand nose to nose with the brunette. “I will not have you disrespecting his memory in this castle.”

“Fine,” the young woman says with a shrug. “Then I will do it whilst I am not inside the castle.” She turns on her heel and storms out of the throne room.

“You stupid, insolent child!”

***

“Are you needing anything else, my Lady?” Normani asks meekly as she stands beside the mirror. On the chair beside her is the soiled purple dress and the young woman’s undergarments. One thing she had secretly asked Normani to retrieve for her was a covering of furs to wear instead to her constricting night clothes her mother ordered for her. It is the only thing that brings her some comfort and reminder of home. It has been the only thing she’d ever asked of Normani that might put the maid’s job on the line. Normani told Camila that, although there were many questions from the furrier, he hadn’t given her much trouble after hearing it was for the princess.

“No thank you, Normani,” Camila, still cradling a smarting cheek, smiles kindly at the only human friend she’s been able to speak freely to. “You are dismissed.” After a moment, she speaks up again. “Actually, I wish for you not to return until midday tomorrow. You are free to spend it with Dinah.”

“Thank you, Mistress,” Normani flushes and bobs her head as she backs out of the room, a wide smile on her face.

***

Her dreams are of flying, of flames and smoke.

She remembers the tongues of golden flame licking at her arm but not touching her. She dreams of all of the times she soared higher than any human has ever gone before. She remembers the kiss of sunlight on her skin and water droplets on her face as they raced the wind spirits and the light sprites that played between the earth and the heavens.

In Camila’s dreams, she revisits the nights where she would fall into a peaceful slumber against the belly of her beloved, the sound of Luna heartbeat and the rumble of her snores the only lullaby she’s ever needed to chase her nightmares away.

She dreams of the times her dragon has protected her. From the Chimera that was threatening to make her into scraps of meat for its young. From drowning when she was still young and a danger to herself with her curiosity, unable to swim. 

She remembers the times when she’d wake from nightmares to find forest eyes staring at her, nudging at Camila’s nightmares with her mind at the same time to scare them away. She dreams of the times when she knew that nothing would dare harm her while her dragon stood guard.

But that world seems to belong to another girl now…

***

Slumping over in her shorter chair beside her mother’s, she waits to hear the complaints of her people. Camila hates how much her mother dislikes the people who live within her boarders. It is as if anyone who is not rich or bearing gifts worth more than a bunch of chickens is not even worthy to see the face of the queen. 

It is disgusting. Camila knows when she is queen, she will walk among her people and teach them the knowledge she’d learn from the Moor creatures.

“Camila, sit up.” Her mother slaps her wrist hard enough for the girl to wince. “Sit up straight. It is not proper to slouch like a peasant.” Her eyelids flutter and the queen swoons. “Besides, the next to be let in is said to be a knight from another land come to pledge his allegiance to me.”

Camila snorts and slouches again, not caring that her mother will soon beat the idea out of her. “I care not for knights, or for your treatment of the people of this kingdom.”

Her mother scowls at her before she turns to the front of the room with a smile. “Come in, good knight.”

Stepping into the light, the knight’s appearance makes Camila gasp. He is unlike any other the other warriors that have tried to please her. When he removes his black helmet, her eyes widen. For the knight is not even a man! 

Her mother scoffs at her side, but still looks excited. The woman’s shoulders are broad and strong; her hands look worn from many hours working in the fields or with a sword. However, it is hard to see the woman’s eyes due to long black hair that falls across her eyes and over her shoulder like liquid midnight.

She kneels in front of the dais, spreading her arms in respect. “Your Majesty,” she nods to the queen without looking up. “Princess.” The musical lit of her voice tugs at Camila’s memory, but she disregards it for it is impossible.

“Welcome, knight,” her mother smiles with a sort of cruel kindness in her eyes. “Please state your name and purpose for requesting an audience.” Camila has never known her mother, in the short time she’s been home, to be attracted to females at all. But here, while this beautiful person stands in front of them, her mother looks like she is two seconds away from forcing a faint into the woman’s arms.

“I am Lauren.” Her voice rumbles over Camila, making her heart speed up. “I am here to pledge my allegiance to Her Royal Highness.”

Her mother smiles again, still cruel, as she regards the woman who kneels in front of the dais  in front of her. The young princess beside her can see the calculating eyes that match her own but are anything but the same. “Very well,” her mother nods. “I shall add you to my personal guard.”

The knight, Lauren, shakes her head, a smile on her face that confuses both mother and daughter. “I think you misunderstand me, Majesty.” Her chuckle tugs at the strings of Camila’s heart, making tears bead in the corners of her eyes. “I wish to pledge my allegiance to Her Royal Highness, the princess.”

The woman looks up, right at Camila and she gasps. A tear slides down her cheek as she sees the same forest in her eyes that she remembers dreaming about since she’d been captured. A laugh bubbles up in her chest, bursting out of her as the tears begin to flow.

Her mother tries to stop her but the young brunette races down the stairs. Her vision is blurred with tears of joy as she barrels into the steady, warm presence of the knight. The woman’s chuckle rumbles under her ears and her heartbeat is strong and steady as she breathes in the scent of fire and brimstone and magic.

It’s cleaner, but not much different than she remembers. The knight’s gaze as Camila looks up at her is as familiar as her own.

She’d recognize her dragon anywhere.

I hope you liked the story. Come let me know on my Wattpad, blackleatherboots139!