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bearbluebooks · 9 months

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Chapter 11 and 12 Christmas in Velaris

23-12-2008

Gwyn always looked beautiful, but when he picked her up and saw her in that red dress, his jaw dropped to the floor. He didn’t let her out of his embrace for the rest of the night, it was the only way he could make sure she was real. And when they danced the night away, he was sure it was all a dream.

Read Chapter 1 here or Chapter 11 here and Chapter 12 here on AO3

23-12-2008 - Chapter 11

Snow slowly transformed Velaris into a Christmas wonderland. Which also happened to be the theme of tonight’s prom.

Christmas wasn’t as bad as it used to be. Gwyn introduced Azriel to many new traditions like baking cookies- or rather eating cookies- listening to Christmas music, decorating the Christmas tree, and having elaborate dinners together. Gwyn would cook and he would watch. Afterwards they devoured her divine cooking. Sometimes the inner circle joined too, and everybody would bring their own dish. Catrin joined whenever she was at home.

Gwyn and Catrin were strikingly different. Not just in appearance but also in personality- like fire and water.

At first, Catrin was wary of his frequent visits. She was extremely protective of her younger sister- which Azriel appreciated. He knew whenever he wasn’t with her, Catrin would protect her just as fiercely as he would. Although it should be said, Gwyn didn’t need protecting-she could take care of herself as she often reminded him- it was mostly for his own peace of mind.

Eventually, they grew to like each other. At first based on their shared love for Gwyn. Later, because of similar taste in sports, animals and poker. He only learned poker after Gwyn casually shared that Catrin liked to play. He thought it would be a good way to bond, and he was right.

The dinners were great. But the Christmas tradition he looked forward to most was the Christmas gala because it marked their first-ever date.

The following year was the best of Azriel’s life, filled with dates to the park, stolen kisses between classes, and love .

After date three, Azriel made it official in the library where she literally fell for him. He would have done it then and there, but she deserved to be courted.

After date two he couldn’t contain the question any longer. To do it right, he saved up all his money from his weekend job at Lenny’s garage. He bought candles which he scattered across the labyrinth of books, and her favorite chocolates. He even dressed up. But before he could ask the question, she jumped into his arms yelling “YES I WANT TO BE YOUR GIRLFRIEND!” She always had a way of reading his mind.

It didn’t take long for Azriel to claim her as his, but more importantly for her to claim him . Nobody in his life had loved him the way Gwyn had- unconditionally and without restraint. She accepted every part of him, and he let her.

For a long time, he had trouble letting people in. Conversation was ammunition, and loss was the flipside of love. He knew that better than anybody. But Gwyn had a way of lowering his defenses through her unending patience, her unwavering loyalty, and her unconditional love- of every aspect of him. From his hands to his past. From his mind to his soul- once tainted, now embraced. He felt safe, she made him feel safe. She was his safe place.

Gwyn, with her beautiful mind, who was so smart it amazed him every day. Her kindness which included even the smallest animals and the biggest jerks. Her understanding, how she never pressured him to explain more than he was ready for, but was always there to listen. How she always kept him on his toes, how she never let him get away with his usual tendency to hide pain with deflection. How she would dish it right back.

But most importantly, how she finally made him feel like he deserved to be loved. He felt her love like a second skin. In the glances, she would offer him when she thought he wasn’t looking. With her loving words, she always knew what to say. In her embraces, sometimes sudden and stumbling, but always considerate and loving. In her attention, always present but never invasive. In her loving touches, that even included his wretched hands.

“What happened to your hands?” she asked in curiosity not judgment on their second date. The question was strangely refreshing.

Few dared to ask the question that lay on top of most people’s minds. He could see the looks in their eyes, for some he was a circus animal, for others he was something to be scared of. Something damaged. Something broken.

When he dared to look into her eyes, he expected to see the usual pity. Instead, he saw nothing but care, as she took one of them in her hands, and caressed it softly. “Is this okay?” she asked with that same care in her voice when he didn’t answer immediately.

“Yes,” he forced out trying his hardest not to let the melancholic relief shine through his voice. Something in him longed to tell the story. To let someone in. To let someone see the ugly parts of his body, his mind, his soul. To give in to that light shining in his chest, that hope that still lingered in his body.

A voice in his head reminded him what could happen, ammunition, rejection , it screamed. Then he looked into her bright eyes and felt her loving touch, and he told her about his brothers. What they did to him in that cellar. How the first eleven years of his life were spent in darkness. Until Rhysand’s mom volunteered at the Illyrian orphanage and became enamored by Azriel and decided to give him a permanent place in their family.

Instead of rejection, she took both of his scarred ugly hands in her perfect freckles hands and placed soft kisses on every ridge. Slowly, she replaced the constant reminder that he wasn’t good enough, with promises that he was worthy of love. Of her love.

Love .

He had felt it for a long time but that same fear of rejection ran so deep he couldn’t bring himself to tell her sooner. He couldn’t bear his heart and soul to her just yet and she never pressured him to.

But over the year, every moment they shared, they built a foundation of love, and a promise of home- in each other.

Tonight, he was telling her. Those three words that occupied the tip of his tongue ever since he first met her.

Tonight he was ready.

He made sure to wear the cologne she liked so much. When he stood in front of her door, with the snow falling softly on his black tuxedo he felt confident and hopeful. He even bought a bouquet of lilies, her favorite.

But he was met with a closed door instead of open arms.

They were supposed to meet at her place, he would take her and Catrin to the gala, and then he would drop them both off again.

Maybe she already went ahead and she forgot to tell him about the change of plans, he reassured himself. It was unlike Gwyn, but the other options was impossible.

When he finally got to the gala, he saw Nesta and Emerie without their third musketeer. “Where is Gwyn,” he said as a greeting with his heart beating out of his chest.

He couldn’t even take in the decorated auditorium, or the booming Christmas music, his entire mind was singularly focused on the subject of his affection.

“Hello to you too,” Nesta said with a raised eyebrow. When she looked behind him and didn’t see the familiar copper brown hair, worry colored her eyes too, “We thought she was with you.”

That last sentence destroyed his final shred of rationality. He needed to know where Gwyn was, and he needed to know it now. Worry overtook every sense. His heartbeat quickened and his breaths became ragged. Rationality made way for adrenaline.

Different possibilities flashed through his mind, and each one was worse than the last. He had never trusted her stepdad and his gut was telling him he had something to do with it. He just didn’t know what.

Instead of dancing with his Gwyn, Azriel spent the whole night desperately asking other students if they’d seen his date. Together with the inner circle who’d grown just as worried as time went on they searched all night. Until one of the teachers overheard their questioning pleas and interrupted “Gwyneth Berdarra?”

A feeling of dread took over his body. Somehow he knew whatever would come out of the teacher's mouth next would change his world. “Her mother unregistered Catrin and her this morning. They’re moving to another country.”

“That’s a lie,” he said in hopes he was telling the truth.

“I’m afraid it’s true, son,” the teacher said as he patted him on the back.

That couldn’t be true. She wouldn’t just leave him. Not without saying anything. She wouldn’t. Unless-

He forced himself not to break down. Nor to give in to his deepest fear.

As soon as he opened up, some part of him knew this was bound to happen. That she finally saw he wasn’t worthy of her.

He knew he didn’t deserve her. He just hoped she never realized that too.

Suddenly, the ground disappeared from under him as his whole world turned black. Without thinking he walked out of the auditorium, he could faintly hear noises behind him, beckoning him to come back. But he only wanted to hear one voice. And somehow he knew he would never hear it again.

----

December 16th 19:45 - Chapter 12

Headlights rushed past in a flurry of red and white. Heavy snowfall was predicted to grace the earth in one hour. The road was overrun by cars trying to make it home in time to avoid the danger that was bound to follow. They were so caught up in their own objective, that they didn’t notice the shivering female standing beside the road next to her broken-down car.

The drive-in went pretty well, Betty, her 2008 green Subaru, hardly protested. It only took five minutes to get her started, and the strange red button only blinked once.

The way back was a different story.

Somewhere between ‘Wilhelm Book Restauration’ and Velaris, Betty came to a sudden halt with terrifying shudders. Gwyn had just enough time to steer her to the side of the road as she said “Shit, shit, shit,” already desperately trying to come up with solutions- her phone died two villages ago, her trunk only carried empty plastic bags and the new supplies, and despite her love for cars, her mechanic skills were limited to knowing how to fill up oil.

Her only options were to walk the remaining 6 miles or to trust in humanity to help her out. At first, she thought the only reasonable option was the latter, there was bound to be at least one person who would stop to help. After half an hour, she wasn’t so sure anymore. Car after car passed her by, without any sign of stopping. Coldness seeped into her bones, and it became harder to think as all her energy went into keeping her warm.

Regret dominated the sinking feeling of despair that increased with every car that rushed passed- why did she have to go to the specialty store? Why did she have to buy restoration supplies with the last of her money? Why did she have to inherit debt along with her dream?

Then she remembered the mysterious box that showed up on her doorstep this morning with the single piece of paper inside and the ominous words written on it, “Less than ten days…”

With sweaty palms and a racing mind, she put the box into the trash. She stashed away the note, just in case it could be used as evidence in her murder trial- which was bound to happen if she didn’t come up with the money.

Gwyn never forgot about the debt, although she did put it on the backburner after everything that happened in her personal life.

Five minutes of panic was all she allowed herself before she pulled herself together and formulated a plan.

She would need supplies and some buyers. Lilly had a collection of damaged rare books that she collected ever since she started the shop. When Gwyn was nine years old, she would often watch Lilly restore the books in the back of her store. When she was old enough to learn, Gwyn became an apprentice of sorts. A student in the preservation of history and the soul of knowledge. If Gwyn hadn’t left for Adriatta, that was the path Gwyn would have followed. It’s never too late, she reminded herself, as she stood next to Betty. She almost gave up hope when suddenly, an enormous black car drove straight to where she was leaning against her car.

Her bag hung lightly against her side, one hand she barely felt through the cold grabbed onto the pepper spray just in case.

The headlights momentarily blinded her. When the car door opened, it took a while for the white spots dancing in her vision to allow her to see who finally stopped. She heard his deep voice before she saw his face, “Gwyn?”

“Azriel?” she replied.

He was dressed in his familiar black pants and dress shirt. Tonight it was buttoned up, and obscured by a long black coat. The sight wasn’t any less devastating, and her body warmed all the same as she took in his long legs, his powerful hands, and his strong jaw.

When she came back to earth, she wondered what he was doing here. Did he bug her car? Right now, she couldn’t care less about the answer, all she felt was gratitude that she wouldn’t freeze to death at the side of a road.

With raised eyebrows, he took in the disaster that she called Betty.

Without losing eye contact, he walked towards her with his hands in his pockets as he said “I bet you wished you had one of those villain cars right now.”

“I’ll be sure to rob a bank to make it happen, any advice?” she countered in between shivering teeth. She was only half joking, especially after this morning’s package robbing a bank didn’t sound so bad right now.

“Get a better getaway car.”

“This one won’t take you far by the looks of it. What happened?”

With a deep breath, she told him about Betty, it felt like betraying a friend, but there was no hiding the catastrophe that was her vehicle. “I thought she would be fine for a little while longer but I was wrong."

“Did you call a tow truck?” he asked earnestly.

Even if her phone worked, she wasn’t planning on calling one. She didn’t even have money to pay next month's rent, let alone a tow truck.

“I can’t afford it right now,” she said honestly. The words pained her more than the cold.

“I’ll take a look at it. For free,” he added without a trace of judgment.

With determined strides, he walked over to Betty and lifted the hood. “It’s the carbonator,” he said within minutes.

When he rubbed his hands full of oil on his black dress pants, memories seeped back into her mind- how they’d spent entire afternoons in Lenny’s garage, where he would tinker away at cars and she would stare at his muscles in between flipping pages of her book.

Before he came closer, he inspected the rest of her car. He must have mistaken all her supplies for luggage, as he asked in a strangled voice, “Are you leaving again?”

“No?” she said, wanting to add, “Of course not.” Before her brain reminded her it wasn’t so obvious, not to Azriel. Not after the way she left the first time.

The conversation was bound to happen sooner or later. And she was tired of waiting for later.

Before she could explain further, he walked right in front of her, so close they shared a breath to say “I shouldn’t have said it was a mistake.” His closeness made all thoughts leave her mind, as it became completely overtaken by him.

With closed eyes she let herself become enveloped in his intoxicating cedar smell, “It wasn’t a mistake,” he added.

“What I said was a mistake,” he said with such vulnerability in his voice, that she opened her eyes again to look into his. To offer him the connection eyes alone could provide.

“I was hurt, after everything that happened,” he said with such pain in his eyes, that it ached her to see. But she didn’t look away- she couldn’t look away. She knew that to look away was to abandon him all over again. And she would never do that again.

“I never thought I would see you again. And then you showed up. And I was just starting to- and then I saw the text and I-“

He never stumbled over his words like that. It was as if the emotions he wanted to convey were bigger than what sentences could carry.

One of her cold hands moved to cup his face, “I owe you an explanation.”

As soon as Azriel felt the coldness of her hand, he took off his long black coat and offered it to her. Before he put it on he asked “Can I?”

“Aren’t you going to be cold?” Gwyn asked in return.

“Don’t worry about me,” he answered.

It was a familiar line she often heard when they were still dating. Few people worried about him. Most people didn’t look further than the strong, stoic man. The one who would do everything for everybody else, and never ask for anything in return, not even when he needed it. He was that way as a teenager, and he was that way now.

She had never been that person.

She would not be that person.

“I do,” she said solemnly.

With one step forward, she took his coat in her hands and wrapped it around him. She knew he would never let her be cold, especially when he held the solution in his hands. Without further words, she stepped into his embrace and wrapped the coat around them both. “I missed you,” she said as she rested her head on his muscular chest, and a tear ran down her cheek.

She forgot how his arms contained all the security she needed in the world. How nothing else mattered, as long as he held her. Thoughts of debt, of her past, of her future, all escaped her mind, as she let herself be carried away on the promise of today. As she focussed on the feeling of his arms around her. And on the hope that crashed in her soul at the mention of his next words. When he rested his head on hers and said “You have no idea how much I fucking missed you.” She couldn’t help but think for the first time in fourteen years, they were in their cocoon of safety again. And Gwyn hoped with all her heart, it would transcend the physical space when she would have the conversation tomorrow.

Neither let go. They stood in each other’s embrace for what could be an eternity. Next to her broken down car on the busy highway. And it still wouldn’t be long enough.

Until the first sign of snow landed on the tip of her nose. When he assessed the sky and the ice that was taking over the road and said reassuringly, “We should get back, I’ll pick up your car tomorrow.”

With a smile, she kissed his cheek and said “Let’s go back to my apartment.” She wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet. Not when they just found each other again.

He seemed to agree, as he led her to his car with his hand on the small of her back.

A villain car has its perks, she thought as he drove them both back to Velaris with the heating on blast. They both carried all of her supplies back to his car, where it took up only half of the space it did in Betty. Classical music played softly in the background, and his large hand rested on her left knee which he reassuringly caressed every couple of minutes. The familiarity of his touch was not lost on her. Instead of the usual dread any other touch caused, his sent butterflies throughout her stomach.

When they came back home, she realized she accidentally left the apartment door open as Mouse almost leaped for freedom as soon as she entered. One quick pull brought Azriel inside the still messy space before Mouse could exit.

Azriel walked around the space curiously, only stopping to observe something closer. Just in case, she reminded him, “The same rules apply, don’t judge anything, or you’ll sleep on the couch.”

“I’m sleeping here?” he asked shocked.

“You don’t need to if you don’t want to,” she answered. She hadn’t slept next to a man in fourteen years but the apartment hadn’t felt as much as a home until he stepped foot in it. She didn’t want to let that go. Not yet.

“Do you want me to?” he asked without giving any indication as to what he preferred.

“I want you to sleep next to me,” she said confidently. Her entire body craved the familiarity of his next to her.

As Mouse inspected Azriel in the living room. Gwyn prepared the bedroom. She made sure to give him the largest sweatpants and hoodie she had. They still looked way too tight on him, but if anybody could pull them off it was him.

Azriel barely fit in the small bed. They spent the first couple of minutes figuring out sleeping positions until they settled on one where her back rested against his chest. A sigh of contentedness escaped her mouth as she leaned into his embrace. She couldn’t help the thought that they fit together like two puzzle pieces.

Everything else could wait.

They could have tonight.

She would explain everything tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she thought as she drifted off to sleep at a speed she hadn’t experienced since childhood.

#gwynriel #gwyn x azriel #acotar fanfiction #gwyn acosf #gwyneth berdara #acotar #ao3 fanfic #acotar alternate universe #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames

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ladyfogg · 4 years

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Heal My Wounds - Part 1

Heal My Wounds - Part 1 of 3

Fic Summary: After you meet the infamous Kit Walker, you realize that he cannot possibly be guilty of everything they say he is. Determined to treat him with kindness and compassion, you end up falling hard for the handsome man with gorgeous dark eyes. But you both are playing a dangerous game and you must decide just how far you’re willing to go to save the man you love. Part 2. AHS Masterlist.

Fic Rating: 18+

Fic Song: War by Poets of the Fall

Pairing: Kit Walker/Female Reader

Warnings: Language, Smut, Slow Burn, tw: mental illness, tw: asylum setting, tw: violence

A/N: I ended up finishing this a lot quicker than I thought I was going to. Enjoy! For @tatestripedsweater and @kitwalker02.

You’ve seen many things during your time at Briarcliff. Being a nurse, you deal with truly awful alignments, either self-inflicted or acquired under “mysterious” circumstances. This usually means that a guard roughed the patient up or Dr. Arden can’t be bothered to treat them himself. You learn to expect the worst, not in the patient but in what they are afflicted with. In truth, your heart goes out to every one of them. Regardless of what sent them to Briarcliff, it is always your mission to treat them with the respect and dignity they deserve.

Which is why, when you hear that the infamous Bloody Face, aka Kit Walker, has been transferred to the asylum, you try not to be concerned. You knew all about Bloody Face and what he’s done and when they arrested Kit, you aren’t ashamed to admit that your first thought was, “Good riddance!” However, you force yourself to change your tune once you learn you’ll be treating him at some point. Plenty of dangerous people had come and gone through Briarcliff’s doors. You aren’t going to treat him any differently than you would the other patients.

No matter how dangerous he is.

It isn’t long before you find yourself face-to-face with him. He is there less than a day before he’s brought in to see you, his lip and his nose a bloody mess, the red a stark contrast to his pale skin. His appearance surprises you even though it shouldn’t. You read the papers; you’ve seen his face. Yet, in person, he’s so handsome it takes your breath away and you need a moment to compose yourself.

“What happened?” you ask Kit as the guard forces him to sit on the bed. He is bound with cuffs and chains, an overkill if you ever saw one.

“He got into a scrape with another inmate,” the guard says in a gruff voice. “Bloody Face here got the worst of it.”

“They’re called patients, not inmates,” you correct him with a glare. “And I wasn’t asking you, I was asking Mr. Walker. That is his name, that's what he will be called while he’s under my care.”

The guard, whose name you think is Hardy, looks taken aback by your words. He is a new one who hasn’t had to deal with you yet. While many of the female staff are nuns, you are not. You are there purely for medical purposes, not religious ones. Therefore, you have no reason to force politeness to the guards. After all, why should you? They never show you any. The sooner Hardy learns you will not tolerate his bullshit, the better.

You have been talked to by Sister Jude several times regarding your attitude but since you are appointed by the state, there is nothing more she can do. Eventually, the both of you came to a mutual understanding. In fact, you suspect she admires your non-nonsense attitude as it most often gets results. If there is a patient in your infirmary, you can call the shots. Of course, the male guards don’t like that, but they can get fucked.

When you turn back at Kit, he has a surprised look on his face.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” you ask.

“Just my face,” he answers. “And my hands.”

You glance down and see his bruises and bloody knuckles. Clearly, he defended himself but given the fact that the other patient hasn’t been brought it, you assume Kit got the worst of it. You go about collecting what you need to disinfect his wounds.

To Hardy, you say, “Remove his chains.”

“No can do. Not for this one.”

“His knuckles are bleeding, and I need to examine his hands to make sure nothing is broken or fractured. Remove his chains.”

There is an intense stare-off between you and the guard before he relents and unbinds Kit. Once his restraints are gone, you wave Hardy off. “You may step outside.”

“Now hold on a minute! This man—”

“Has rights. He deserves the same privacy as every other patient. Besides, I won’t have you getting in my way while I patch him up. You can step outside and wait. I’m more than capable of handling myself.”

Hardy snorts, annoyed and done with arguing. “Fine by me. Don’t complain if you get killed.”

“I won’t, considering if that happens, I won’t be able to. Or are you not aware how death works?”

With a sneer, he stalks away, and you heard him mutter, “Stupid bitch.” under his breath.

“Smart bitch actually,” you call after him. “And shut the door on your way out, please.” It slams behind him and you return your attention to your patient.

Kit looks at you with awe. “Forgive me for saying so, doc. But you’re one tough broad.”

You laugh, pulling a chair over so you can sit in front of Kit. “I’m not a doctor, I’m a nurse. And you have to be though, especially in this place. The gentle don’t last long. Now, let’s take a look at those hands.”

Kit extends his hands, and you take them in your own, examining his wounded knuckles. After moving each finger and his wrists, you determine there was nothing broken or fractured so you set about cleaning the scrapes. Kit watches you the entire time. Even though you don’t look up from your work, you can feel his eyes on you.

“I think you’re the only person in this place who’s not afraid of me,” he says after a stretch of silence. “This is the first time I’ve been treated like a person since this whole thing started.”

“Should I be afraid of you, Mr. Walker?” you glance up and are immediately taken in by the soft expression on his face.

“Call me Kit,” he says. “And I never hurt anybody. All the things they say I did are lies. I have no idea what happened to those girls and I have no idea what happened to Alma other than they took her.”

You consider his words for a moment and pull away, letting his hands fall to his lap. The bloody towel you hold is tossed onto your tray of supplies before you sit back and cross your arms. “Alright then, Kit. Tell me why I should believe you.”

Kit doesn’t seem to know what to say at first. You’ve dealt with numerous patients who swear up and down they didn’t do what they were accused of. Most of them had. Because of that, you are pretty damn good at reading people because even the best liar has a tell. An eye twitch, a knee bounce, a lip bite…anything. You trained yourself to look for these things because, in your line of work, it means the difference between life or death.

The man in front of you doesn’t look like he’s hiding anything. More to the point, you don’t feel scared of him. You aren’t made of stone; you feel fear just like everyone else. You are simply better at masking it. However, that violent vibe you’ve learned to sense doesn’t radiate from Kit and as you look into his deep brown eyes, all you see is fear, frustration, anger, and sadness. They all pass one after another on a loop.

“I don’t have a reason,” Kit finally says after a long pause. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t believe me either. But you showed me kindness no one else has and I’m grateful. Really.”

“I think this place wouldn’t be half as bad as those colleagues of mine showed a little kindness too.” You go back to work, cleaning his hands. “This is going to sting a bit.”

Kit flinches as you pour alcohol over his cuts. Carefully, you clean them some more before you are sure they won’t get infected. Once that’s done, you wrap them in bandages.

“There, good as new. Just try to keep those bandages dry for a bit. You can take them off tomorrow to let the cuts breathe. Let me make sure your nose isn't broken.”

Kit remain still as you gently cup his face, turning his head left to right in order to take stock of his injuries. Being so close, you realize how handsome he truly is. That jawline is to die for, and his dark curls looks so soft, you want to run your fingers through them. Once that thought entered your brain, you scold yourself. He is your patient and is in the asylum to see if he is fit to stand trial for murder. Thinking about him in any way other than professional is a dangerous game. And very stupid.

“That bad huh?” Kit asks with a slight smirk.

It isn’t a malicious one by any means. In fact, it’s almost hesitant. Like he is afraid to be so comfortable joking with you. You don’t blame him considering what he has gone through. You offer him a smile in return.

“Just a split lip and it doesn’t look like your nose is broken. It’s not even swollen. There shouldn’t be any permanent damage.”

You grab a fresh towel and dip it in warm water before gingerly cleaning the blood from his face. But before you can get far, Kit reaches up to stop you. Instinctively you freeze, worried that you may have hurt him. Maybe his nose is worse off than you originally thought?

“Did I hurt you?” you ask.

Kit shakes his head. “No, I’m just…” He pauses as if he’s not sure what to say next. “I’m sorry but I just...why aren’t you scared of me?"

“You really want me to be, don’t you?”

“What? No! Of course not. I’m just…” He stops when he sees you holding back a smile. “You’re messing with me.”

You shrug and go back to your work. “A little,” you admit. “But to answer your question, I’m not scared of you because I believe you. I don’t think you killed or even hurt anyone. I just don’t sense that sort of evil in you. As for what you claim to have witnessed, that I don’t know about. But I do know crazy, Kit Walker. And you’re not it.”

It is like the remaining tension leaves his body and Kit slumps against you, a few tears running down his cheeks. Without thinking, you pull him into a tight hug, letting him rest his weary head on your shoulder. The warmth of him is invigorating and you savor the feeling. It’s been a long time since you’ve been touched in any way. Long work hours make your social life non-existent and you carefully keep your distance with your patients.

Except Kit, it seems. You don’t know why your well-constructed walls are crumbling under the weight of one interaction with one man.

“You have no idea how much I needed to hear that,” he says, his voice muffled by your uniform. “No one will listen. No one believes…”

“I’m listening. But first, sit back before you get blood all over me.”

With a weak laugh, Kit pulls away. He wipes the tears with the back of his hand which you’re grateful for because you were about two seconds away from gently brushing them away. Pulling yourself together, you continue to clean his face while he tells you his story. It’s definitely strange. The idea of being abducted and probed was one you’d rather not think about.

But you don’t just listen to his words, you watch his expression, pay attention to the tone of his voice and his body language. Even though you’ve heard some of it through the papers, it’s different hearing it from him directly. Once he’s done, you’re even more certain he didn’t kill anyone. No one who talks about their missing wife that softly and heart felt could possibly be a vicious serial killer.

It’s his eyes that give him away. There’s so much emotion and depth, you can’t help but believe him. You wish you can explain it, but some things are beyond explanation.

“You sure I’m not crazy?” Kit asks when you don’t respond to him right away.

“After that story, you’re absolutely batshit.”

He chuckles when he realizes you aren’t serious. You pull your hand away, finally done getting rid of all the blood, but he stops you with a gentle touch to your wrist. “Thank you for listening. I could tell you weren’t judging when I spoke, and I appreciate it. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me.”

“It’s not my place to judge. Only heal.” You sit back, breaking all contact with him, hoping it’ll clear your spinning head. “There. Now you’re just as handsome as you were before. Do me a favor and at least try not to get majorly hurt again for the rest of the day?”

“He started it.”

“Everyone always starts things here. And given your current situation, it’s best to keep your head down as much as possible.”

“What’s the point? They’ve already made up their minds about me being guilty,” Kit says bitterly as you roll your tray over to the sink. He sees a pack of cigarettes on your desk and nods towards them. “Mind if I have one?”

You wave for him to go ahead as you clean up. “I wish I had words of encouragement for you. I wish I could say it will all work out. But unless they catch the real Bloody Face, your choices are either here or the electric chair.”

Kit pops a cigarette in his mouth and lights the end. “I have to see the state-appointed shrink. My last hope is to convince some head doctor that I’m not crazy.”

Your heart goes out to him. His situation really is a double-edged sword. If he proves he isn’t crazy, then they are sure to send him to trial and his death. If he keeps spouting off about strangers abducting him and his wife, then they will keep him at Briarcliff. Either way, he loses. It isn’t fair.

“Stick to your story,” you tell him. “If it’s really the truth and that’s really what you know happened, then stick to it. I mean, it’ll probably get you confined here for life. But at least you’ll be alive.”

“Yeah, but at what cost?”

You don’t get to respond. The door bursts open and Sister Jude strolls in with Hardy right behind her. You wonder how long he waited outside before running to tattle on you.

“Why is this patient not restrained?” she asks in that stern voice of hers.

“I needed to clean his hands and couldn’t very well do that when they were bound,” you say. “He’s all set now.”

“In the future, I would appreciate it if you would leave the door open. No young woman should be alone with this one,” Sister Jude says, motioning to Kit. “Not until he’s been properly medicated.”

“He deserves just as much privacy as any of us do when being medically treated.”

“Not here. Not under my roof,” Sister Jude counters. “I like you, girl, but don’t push me on this. Kit Walker may have the looks of an angel but he’s far from it.”

“She didn’t do nothing wrong,” Kit says angrily.

Sister Jude motions for Hardy to grab Kit. Anger courses through your veins when you see how he is manhandled. “Hey, be careful! I don’t want to have to treat a dislocated shoulder,” you say.

Kit sends you a grateful smile which Sister Jude unfortunately notices. She steps up to him and in a low voice says, “Quit your leering! You don’t fool me, Kit Walker. You can keep spouting that innocent act all you’d like but I know there’s darkness in your soul.”

Kit’s body tenses and you see him clench his fists in anger. The nun yanks his cigarette out of his mouth and puts it out on your desk.

What a bitch.

As he is led away, Kit dares to look back at you and you see the glimmer of another smile before he is gone. The empty room suddenly seems more so without him there. It’s strange how comfortable you feel around him, especially considering the circumstances. After cleaning up the remnants of his cigarette, you sit back at your desk. But focusing is not in the cards for you. The rest of the day, you find yourself constantly sidetracked by the handsome brown-haired man with the deep brown eyes. So much so that you get angry with yourself.

You are hardly ever swayed by just a pretty face. Then again, there’s more to Kit than that. Although, it certainly helps. The way he stood up for you even when he was in trouble spoke volumes about who he is a person. You don’t think there is a selfish bone in that man’s body.

The next day during meds, you don’t see him in the Day Room with the others. It suddenly occurs to you that after the fight the day before, he probably was thrown in solitary. You hate solitary being used for any of your patients but the thought of Kit in a small dark room, bound and alone makes your heart break in your chest. All you can do is hope he’ll be out of there soon.

At least three days pass before you see him again, mostly because you spend most of that time in the infirmary rather than in the common areas. It’s early morning and you are enjoying a rare moment of silence when the door opens, and Kit is led in. He’s bleeding from a cut on his forehead, which has already begun to bruise and swell.

“What happened?” you demand as you leap to your feet.

The guard, a brute named Dixon who you can’t stand, forces Kit onto one of the beds. “He slipped and fell.”

You doubt it. Your eyes slide over to look at Kit, who gives you a subtle shake of his head. “Oh really?” you ask Dixon, narrowing your eyes in distrust. “This seems like a pretty big bump just to happen from a slip.”

“Just treat him so I can get him back with the others,” Dixon orders.

“He hit his head. I’m going to have to keep him here for a few hours to make sure he doesn’t have a concussion.”

“Fine.” Dixon shoves Kit until he was laying on the bed. When he reaches for the restraints, Kit fights back.

“No! Let me go!” Kit struggles against him.

“Those aren’t necessary,” you declare, crossing the room to try to stop Dixon.

But the guard isn’t having any of it. The next thing you know, he pushes you away, hard enough that you trip over your feet and fall right on your ass.

“You son of a bitch!” Kit exclaims. He leaps up and punches Dixon square in the jaw.

What happens next is a flurry of blows and swears as the men fight each other. Knowing this can only end poorly for Kit, you manage to get back up before prying the two apart. “Enough!” you snap. “No fighting in my infirmary!”

Dixon is practically snarling as he wipes blood from the corner of his mouth. “You don’t scare me, Bloody Face. If I had my way, you’d be in the furnace by now.”

Kit makes a move to go at him, but you stop him with a hand on his chest. “Mr. Walker, lay down so Dixon can bind you. If you don’t, I know the right injection that’ll make you so tired, you’ll wake up next week.”

Kit’s eyebrows knit together as he looks at you with concern. You throw him a subtle wink. Breathing heavily, he sits back on the bed and allows Dixon to restrain him. Even though it pains you to do so, you help to keep up appearances. But you don’t tighten them as much as you should. Kit’s jaw is clenched as he watches Dixon’s movements, as if he’s waiting for him to attack again.

Once Kit is secured, you reach into your pocket. Unbeknownst to the guards, you carry around a sharpened scalpel for your own protection and the second Dixon lets his guard down, you press it to his neck, making him halt his movements.

“Listen here, you sick fuck,” you growl. “If you ever lay a hand on me again, I’ll shove this so far into your neck you’ll have to take your meals through a tube. Are we clear?”

Dixon sneers and takes a step back. “Whatever you say, woman. Call us when this psycho is ready to go back to his cell. And I’d be careful who you threaten. You wouldn’t want to end up like one of your patients, now would you?”

His threats send a chill down your spine, but you keep your hand steady, the scalpel still pointed at him as he backs away. It’s not until he’s out the door that you cross the room so you can lock it behind him.

“Are you alright?” Kit asks the moment it’s clear the two of you are alone.

You cross the room, pocketing the sharp instrument as you go. “I’m fine, Kit. Don’t worry about me.” As quick as you can, you undo his bindings. “Sorry about this. I fucking hate using bindings, but it was the only way to get Dixon to leave. He’s got a nasty streak in him; I’d stay clear if I were you. Are you okay? What happened to your head?”

“That asshole smashed my face into the wall,” he says as he sits up, rubbing his wrists. “He caught me wandering out of the Day Room.”

“Now why would you go and do a stupid thing like that?” you ask, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your head down?”

“I just needed some peace and quiet. On my own terms and not in a dark dirty cell. Besides, others wander. Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because the others aren’t wanted for murder. They mean to make an example out of you, Kit.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

You sigh and head to the icebox in the corner of the room. As you put together an icepack for him, you say, “These guards will look for any excuse to get rough. And they especially have it out for you. You have to be careful.”

“I hate this. I hate all of it. I feel like I’m going crazy. My head is so cloudy, and I can barely feel anything.”

“Those are the meds. Meant to keep you docile.” You carry the ice pack over to him along with supplies to fix up his head wound. “And suppress other impulses.”

“It’s inhumane, that’s what it is.” Kit barely makes a face as you clean the cut and dress it. “How am I supposed to defend myself if I don’t even feel like me? I think I’m slipping, doc.”

“I told you, I’m not a doctor.”

“Well, what should I call you then? You never gave me your name.”

You tell him your name and press the icepack to the bump on his head, “Here, hold this. Your nose is bleeding…again.”

Kit does as he’s told. After a moment, he says your name. It’s soft and beautiful coming from his lips and you can barely focus long enough to hear his question. “Can I confess something to you?”

“I’m no priest or nun.” You start to dab at his nose with a damp towel.

“It’s not that kind of confession. I wasn’t just wandering for the sake of wandering. I was trying to come see you.”

You pause, heart pounding in your chest as your eyes flickering up to meet his. “Why?”

“I feel safe here.”

You go back to your work. “I’m glad you do, but I don’t want you to get yourself hurt just to see me.”

“I didn’t know that asshole was gonna beat the shit out of me just for wandering.”

“Say you have cramps.”

Kit raises his eyebrow. “What?”

“If you want to see me…I mean, come to the infirmary, tell a guard or one of my assistants that you have cramps or a stomachache. It’s something most people don’t question since stomach stuff is really common, ‘specially around here. It usually comes with vomiting or diarrhea and no one wants to deal with that.”

Kit smiles. “Good to know.”

You finish cleaning him up and add, “But don’t overuse the excuse. Otherwise, if something is really bothering you, they won’t listen.”

“Understood. Do you really think I have a concussion?”

“No. Your eyes are clear and you’re not slurring your words. I figured it would at least give you a little reprieve from everything out there.”

Kit’s smile widens. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Although, I will have to at least keep your feet bound. That way if the guard comes back, I can quickly bind your hands before they enter. The lock will only temporarily slow them down since they have keys.”

“Hey, if it means spending time here with you instead of out there with everyone else who thinks I’m a vicious murderer, I’ll take it.”

Once you have him settled in the bed, you give him a cigarette before going about your daily routine. It is nice having Kit there. Occasionally, you talk as he smokes, but for the most part, the both of you enjoy each other’s company. He asks you about yourself, minor things, nothing too personal or probing, which you appreciate. You feel like he’s also trying to keep some distance between you, understanding your position and what a friendship with him could mean.

A few hours later, when you hear footsteps coming your way, you quickly bind Kit’s hands.

It takes a second for the door to be unlocked but then it opens and Dixon enters just as you’re pretending to check Kit’s bandages. “Walker here needs to see the shrink,” he says gruffly, crossing the room towards you.

“I was just about to call you.” Your lie is so effortless it even impresses you. “He doesn’t have a concussion. You can take him.”

Dixon is rough as he unbinds Kit and yanks him off the bed. To his credit, Kit doesn’t fight back or resist, understanding the stupid rules he needs to follow if he’s going to get anywhere in this place. Once he’s gone, you start to wrap up for the day, finishing any last minute tasks before getting ready to go home. As you’re straightening up your desk, your eyes catch the medication logbook, and an idea strikes you.

Sitting down, you flip through the pages, taking a look at the medications that are prescribed to each patient. At the bottom of the list is Kit’s name and, with a quick flick of your pencil, you manage to subtly cut his doses in half. It’s not much. You wish you can outright stop giving him the meds but that’s impossible. Hopefully, this way he’ll start to feel like himself.

You expect to be worried or guilty for what you’ve done. But honestly, you don’t. It feels right. Far too many patients have lost themselves in Briarcliff and you’re determined not to let Kit be one of them.

---

Kit’s world is not even recognizable anymore. One day he’s home with his beautiful wife, the next, she’s gone, and the police are accusing him of murder. He sees those damn creatures every time he closes his eyes, hears that loud noise echoing in his ears. If it’s not that he’s hearing, it’s the screams of the other patients.

When he saw you for the first time, heard you snap at the guard for mistreating him, he thought he was still dreaming. You have to be a dream. Nothing that good or sweet can possibly exist in this place. The way you look at him makes him feel seen for the first time in months.

He can’t get you out of his mind. After that initial visit, all he could think about was your warm embrace and the concern in your eyes.

To have someone care enough to worry about him meant everything. Especially during such a dark time. Trying to sneak away to see you had been a stupid idea but one he thought was worth the risk. He needed to know if he would have the same feelings each time, the same security and comfort. Do you really believe him or are you just a great actress?

The second time, you’re just as kind and generous as the first, and Kit knows that he is in trouble. A different kind of trouble than he already is in. This one is emotionally based and has the potential to end very badly.

Kit knew himself well enough to recognize the signs that he is falling for someone. You have only known each other a short while but already he can’t get you out of his mind.

The day following his first appointment with Dr. Thredson, he sees you in the Day Room and has to stop himself from immediately going over. It’s clear you’re busy, making the rounds and checking in on the other patients. Kit watches from a distance, smoking a cigarette as he leans against the back wall. Your kindness extends to everyone you come in contact with. He watches with admiration as you sit patiently with Pepper, checking on the small scrapes and abrasions she has.

You smile and his breath gets caught in his throat. Fuck you’re gorgeous.

Curiously, Kit watches as you slip something into Pepper’s hands before moving on to someone else. It turns out to be a small chocolate, which Pepper immediately devours before going back to her book. Kit smiles.

You catch each other’s eyes across the room just then. It’s a charged moment, like nothing in the world matters but the two of you. He makes a move to walk towards you, unable to help himself anymore. But then meds are called, and the moment is lost. Kit stubs out his cigarette and gets behind Lana as everyone lines up for their medications.

“This is bullshit,” Lana mutters under her breath. “Not all of us need medication. I don’t like that they force it on us. Makes my head all foggy.”

“That’s the point, isn’t it?” Kit asks, echoing your sentiment from the day before. “Keep us under control.”

“I have a point. One I’d like to shove right up their asses.”

Kit snorts at Lana’s blunt phrasing. At first, she had been weary of him but now the two have developed a mutual understanding. Neither one of them belongs there and it’s better to support each other than fight. The line moves and Kit watches you join your assistant to make the medication process go faster.

When it’s his turn, you hand him his cup and briefly, his hands touches yours. It’s like a bolt of electricity shoots through your fingertips and into his, coursing through his veins at such a speed it makes his head spin. On the outside however, he remains calm, bringing the cup up to his lips to knock back his meds. Except, he notices they look slightly different than the days before. His eyes briefly dart to yours and there’s a subtle change in your expression. Your eye closes just enough to seem like a wink without fully being one.

Kit downs the meds with less hesitation than before.

Sadly, he can’t talk to you after that. Once meds are distributed, you go back to the infirmary and he’s left alone once more. Briefly he considers faking a stomachache to see you again, but your warning is still ringing in his ears. The fact that you offered him the excuse was risky on your part. He doesn’t want to get you in trouble by overstaying his welcome in the infirmary. Even though he is curious about the medication change, he lets it go.

It’s not until he’s in his room that night that he realizes he’s feeling clear-headed. Usually, once lights out comes around, the meds have him so loopy he rolls over and goes to sleep. Or at least tries. This time, however, he feels more like himself. Of course, that also means he’s more aware of the dark and the loud screams, but once they subside, he’s left with silence and his own thoughts.

She must have lowered my meds or something. She’s fucking amazing.

Kit smiles, curling onto his side as he allows himself to think about you without worry or fear. Again and again your meetings replay in his mind and when he closes his eyes, he can almost smell the scent of your laundry detergent and perfume. The way your soft hands gently held his made him flex his fingers instinctively. Those lips of yours…he’d given anything to kiss them.

Kit’s eyes fly open when he feels his cock swell. It’s been so long since he’s felt any kind of sexual desire even before being medication. It’s a wonderful change of pace, however now he has a slight problem. Kit feels ashamed of himself for thinking of you sexually. All you’ve done is show him kindness and he’s thinking about doing all sorts of things to you. With a frustrated sigh, he rolls onto his stomach and tries to ignore it.

This turns out to be a bad idea. The pressure of his body against the hard mattress causes wonderful friction and Kit finds himself pressing his hips down for some semblance of relief.

Fuck it, he thinks, shoving his hand in his pants. I need this right now. I need her.

It’s been a long time since he’s done this himself. It takes a second to find the right angle and rhythm. He stays on his stomach, arching his back just enough to give his hand room as he jerks himself off. Burying his face in his pillow, he bites down to stifle his moans as he pictures you in your nurse’s uniform. The way it hugs your frame suddenly assaults his vision. When you had leaned over him to check his head, he had caught just the barest hint of cleavage. Then, he had purposefully closed his eyes to be respectful.

Now, it’s all he focuses on, thinking about how he’d love to run his tongue across your salty flesh while his hands cupped your tits. He’d bury his nose in your skin and inhale your scent before kissing and sucking every bit of you he could reach.

Would you moan his name? He bets you would, and he bets it would sound fucking fantastic.

Kit grips himself tighter, speeding up his movements as he keeps the fantasy going in his mind. Suddenly, the angle is too constricting, and he rolls onto his back, biting his bottom lip as he hand brings him closer to coming.

He pictures it being your hand. Pictures him laying in that hospital bed, you leaning over him and jerking him off as you watch his face. He thinks of you telling him to come for you and as soon as that thought crosses his mind, he explodes, coming all over his own hand as he quietly moans your name.

Sweating and panting, Kit lays there in his bed, heart racing and head spinning. He uses his blanket to clean himself up, tossing it onto the floor before curling into a ball. He expects the shame or guilt to hit him any moment, but he can’t find it in himself to feel either. All he feels is aching in his heart for the real thing.

The next morning, when they open the cells, he remains in bed. Once he hears the guard come closer, Kit begins to moan in agony, clutching his stomach.

Thankfully, Hardy is the one who check on him. Ever since you told him off, he’s been mostly tolerable to Kit. At least to his face.

“What’s wrong?” the guard asks.

“My stomach,” Kit moans. “I think…I think I ate something bad.” When Hardy kicks Kit’s soiled blanket aside, he adds, “Wouldn’t touch that if I were you. I felt real sick last night.”

Hardy wrinkles his nose and gestures for Kit to get up. “Come on. I’m taking you to the nurse.”

Laying on the theatrics, Kit forces himself up, still hunched over with his arms wrapped around his stomach.

You’re sitting at your desk when he enters. The morning light is filtering in through the barred windows and it catches you ever so slightly. Enough to almost make Kit forget he’s supposed to be in great pain. When you see him, your face grows concerned.

“This one is moaning about a stomachache,” Hardy says. “Where do you want him?”

To his dismay, Kit notices you’re not alone today. There’s a patient asleep in one of the other beds. You’re out of your chair in a second, pressing one of those soft hands to his forehead.

“He’s burning up.” Your ability to lie so smoothly makes Kit admire you even more. “Here, let’s get him on this bed right here.”

Hardy and you help Kit onto one of the beds in the corner of the room, one that’s hidden behind a divider. “I’ll keep an eye on him,” you say, tucking Kit in. “It’s probably just food poisoning. I’ve told the cook a million times they need to store the food better.”

“Think he needs to be tied down?” Hardy asks.

“No, of course not. Have you ever dealt with a patient who’s tied down and soiling themselves? My job is hard enough as it is. I won’t be dealing with that today.”

Kit makes retching noises if for no other reason than to see Hardy grow pale and uncomfortable.

“Oh, you better go before he starts up,” you urge, shooing the guard away.

Kit keeps up the act until he hears the door close and you turn to him, giving him a wide smile. “Wow, bravo. Great work, Kit.”

He smiles, sitting up. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have a shot as an actor when this is all over.”

You chuckle and glance over at your other patient to make sure he’s still sleeping before sitting on the chair by Kit’s bed. “How are you really feeling this morning?”

“Better, actually. Do I have you to thank for that?”

“Well…it did seem overkill to have you on such high doses of medication when you aren’t mentally unstable. I’m sorry I couldn’t take you off them completely.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” Kit says, reaching out to lay his hand over yours. “If anything, I’m sorry for you having to take that risk. I don’t want you to get in trouble, or worse, because of me.”

You look down at his hand and he immediately draws it back, worrying he may have crossed a line. There’s something in your expression that puts him on edge. He can see that you’re struggling, which only makes him feel worse. He berates himself for foolishly giving into his desires. Already things are tough, and the future is scarily uncertain. He’s on the hook for murder for fuck’s sake.

Before Kit can continue the self-deprecating spiral, you surprise him by carefully getting out of your seat and sitting next to him on the bed.

“Kit…” you say. “This friendship between us…I don’t know if it can continue.”

Kit’s heart sinks and he looks away from you, his gaze now fixated on the floor. “I don’t blame you,” he says. “It’s not safe being near me in any way. Honestly, it was stupid of me to come here like that. As much as I like spending time with you, I never want to put you in a compromising position. I’ve seen these guards and I know how they treat women. You’re in just as much danger here as I am.”

Your hand takes his, and he snaps his head up to look at you.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. For the first time since you met a few days ago, he hears the slightest crack in your voice. “I’m worried because, if we continue this friendship, I know that for me, one day, it might not be enough.”

His heart speeds up at your confession. Kit can’t believe his ears. The fact that you are feeling even the slightest bit of the attraction to him that he’s been feeling for you is enough to give him the sliver of hope that’s been severely lacking over the last few weeks.

Kit hesitantly links his fingers with yours, giving you every chance to pull away. You don’t. When he says your name, his throat is dry, and he has to clear it before he can go on. “I have no right liking you as much as I do. I don’t believe in God, but I can’t help but think that you’re my damn guardian angel. Because of you, I’m actually starting to think that maybe there’s a way out of this. Or at the very least, staying here won’t be so bad so long as you’re here.”

Your gaze softens and you look away, trying to hide the tear leaking out of the corner of your eye. With his free hand, Kit reaches up to wipe it away with his thumb. He can’t stop himself from cupping your cheek, needing to feel the warmth and softness against his palm. You shut your eyes, leaning into his touch, a shaky exhale escaping through your parted lips.

Your lips.

Kit’s eyes can’t look anywhere else. They look so inviting. He bets they’re just as soft as the rest of you, maybe even more so. Without even stopping to think what he’s doing, he starts to lean in, so slowly that you don’t seem to notice until you open your eyes to meet his. You pull your head back. Not abruptly or angrily, but enough where he gets the message to stop. Kit sighs with disappointment at the refusal. But a second later, you’re leaning in this time, at the same achingly slow pace he had been before.

Your lips brush and there’s a heated charge that soars between you, making you pause before you even properly get a kiss. Your eyes are wide as they meet his, searching for the same thing he’s looking for in yours: permission, acceptance, desire.

Kit closes the distance.

With one hand still cradling your face, he kisses you deeply, drawing your body as close to his as he dares. He feels you melt under his touch and it urges him to keep going, to keep kissing you, to deepen the kiss so he can savor the intense waves of desire washing over him.

You let him, opening your mouth so that his tongue can glide along yours.

It all becomes too intense for the both of you and you have to break the kiss, panting as your foreheads rest against one another’s.

“This is such a bad idea,” you say, the breathlessness of your voice making Kit’s cock twitch. “We have to be smart and we have to be careful. If we really can’t stay apart, then you have to listen to what I say and follow my instructions. Okay?”

“I can do that,” Kit says. He’d honestly agree to anything you say at that point. “Trust me, baby. I know the stakes.”

“Me too.” You take a deep breath and pull away, breaking all contact with him. It immediately leaves him cold and wanting more. “My assistants will be coming to collect the meds any moment. I need to go prepare.”

You reach out to cup his cheek and Kit holds your wrist, keeping your hand there for another moment so he could savor the contact. The way your eyes soften at him only makes him want to kiss you again. Instead, he settles for a peck on your palm before letting you fully pull away.

As you stand and collect yourself, you take a step towards the divider before you pause and look back at him. “No one can know, Kit. Not if you want to stay under my care. If anyone finds out there’s something between us, they’ll transfer me somewhere else and I won’t be able to protect you.”

The fact that you’re scared for him in this scenario and not yourself makes Kit want to throw you on the bed and ravish you. “I promise, I will find a way to clear my name,” he says. “Then once I’m out of here, I’ll take you away. Far away where this place can’t reach us.”

You smile and reach out to stroke his cheek again. “Easy there, Mr. Walker,” you tease, stroking his bottom lip with your thumb. “Keep talking like that and I may think you’re already falling for me.”

He watches you walk away, only one thought on his mind. Too late for that.

#kit walker #evan peters #ahs asylum #kit walker x reader #kit walker x you

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polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

The Words I Never Said

Summary: “I am a scientist, Peter. You are an experiment. It’s the natural order of things, really, that I study you.”

“You’re insane. You have to let me go.”

“I don’t think you understand, so I will try to be more clear. I own you. My research courses through your veins. Your life is my property.”

Or, Norman Osborn kidnaps Peter, and Tony will do anything to get him back.

Read on Ao3 HERE :)

--------

Peter knows something is wrong as soon as Happy’s ID fills his phone screen.

He’s sitting on the edge of a rooftop, legs dangling fifty feet in the air and a half eaten sandwich from Delmar’s in his hand. Not even waiting to swallow, Peter accepts the call. “Happy? What is it, what’s wrong?”

At first, he’s met with an uneasy silence. His spider sense flares uncomfortably in response. “Why do you always assume something’s wrong?” Happy asks.

“Because something always is.”

Happy sighs. “It’s Tony.”

If Peter weren’t sitting, he would have fallen. He steadies himself anyways, leaning back as the cityscape below threatens vertigo. “What? What about him? Is he okay?”

The silence again. God, it’s killing him. Peter can hear his heartbeat in his ears. “Happy,” he stresses. “Talk to me. Is he okay?”

“As far as I know, he’s fine. I got a ransom call about fifteen minutes ago. Oscorp has him.”

Peter’s head is a top spinning out of control. He drops his sandwich and stands, too upset to stay stationary. He paces on the roof with his free hand on his head. “Oscorp? Are you kidding me? What- how the hell did this happen? What does Oscorp want with Tony?”

“It’s a long story. But listen- it’s not Tony that they’re really after, kid.”

Peter stops short in his frantic pacing, his spider sense flaring once more. “What is it then?”

“They want Spider-Man. They want you in exchange for Tony’s life.”

Peter can’t breathe, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place. Oh man.

“I’ll do it,” he says, though somewhere in the promise his confidence wavers. “Do you know where in Oscorp he’s being held?”

“No- Pete. Listen to me right now. God, I shouldn’t have called. You can’t just barge in there, okay? We need to strategize. Swing to the Tower and we’ll make a plan to get him back safe without putting you at risk too.”

“He could be dead by then!” Peter argues stubbornly. He spins on his heels and sees the top of Oscorp tower, barely visible through the New York skyline. “It’s me they want.”

Happy’s voice rises, and if Peter wasn’t so hyperfocused on his mentor’s safety he would hear the man’s raw concern bleeding through. “Peter. You are not handing yourself over to Oscorp. Come to the Tower and we’ll figure out a way. There’s a better way.”

“I can’t let him die because of me,” Peter whispers, because Ben already has. No more blood. “I’m sorry Happy. I’ll be careful. I promise.”

“Peter! Don’t you dare hang up-”

But he does, his adrenaline making it almost impossible to feel the sting of guilt that follows. After tucking his phone away, Peter sprints to the edge of the roof and leaps. He free falls and fires a web, swings, and prays that he won’t be too late.

-------

“He’s not going to come. I’m terrible leverage.”

“On the contrary, Stark.”

Tony flexes his arms against his restraints and grinds his teeth together until his jaw aches. They had called Happy. Made their demands. Spider-Man, in exchange for his life.

Peter.

“Whatever you think you know, you’re wrong. I hardly know Spider-Man. I built his suit. That’s it.” A lie. God, it’s such a lie. Peter is his kid. As close to flesh and blood as he’ll ever get. “He’s not coming, so you might as well put a bullet between my eyes while you still have the upper hand.”

Tony doesn’t know the names of the men holding him, only that Norman is behind it all. There are five of them all together, each one armed with an assault rifle and military-grade vests. The ringleader, and ugly man with a pierced lip, smirks at Tony’s suggestion. “If Spider-Man is half the hero he claims to be, he’ll come.”

It leaves Tony’s mouth dry, because it’s true. Peter will do anything to keep him safe.

And it scares the hell out of him.

“The hour’s almost up,” one of the men says. “If Spidey doesn’t show soon our heads are on the line.”

“He’ll show,” sneers the man with the piercing. “Be patient.”

Tony pulls harder on his restraints, but they don’t budge. Come on, Happy. Fix this.

Five tortuous minutes pass.

The elevator dings as the doors open, spilling orange light into the dimly lit room. It’s empty and the ringleader curses, raising his rifle to his eye. “Check it out,” he orders the man to his left.

Obeying, the accomplice moves quickly towards the open elevator, his heavy footsteps making loud echoes that reverberate through Tony’s head. The anticipation is overwhelming. Please don’t be Peter. Oh God, please don’t let it be him.

The doors start to close but the man reaches out a hand to stop the movement. Tony holds his breath, hands sweating and heartbeat threatening to jump out of his neck at what lies beyond. It’s the longest second of his life.

The man looks left, right. Then up. “Holy crap!”

The sound of webbing is enough to bring tears of panic to Tony’s eyes. He digs his nails into the chair and watches in earnest as the man falls back against the floor, his entire upper body encased in webs that keep him in place.

Chaos.

Before Tony has the chance to blink, Peter is swinging out from the elevator and shooting off webs. They hit and shatter glass, and Tony ducks as gunshots start to fire. He feels a rough hand in his hair that is gone a second later, a web hitting his assailant’s face and landing him flat on his back.

More gunshots. A window erupts into thousands of fragments.

Silence.

Tony jerks up his head, dizzy with relief when his eyes land on Peter. The boy is sprinting towards him, sliding on his knees and grappling with Tony’s bindings until they snap. “Oh my god! Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay. I’m so sorry this is all my fault and I can’t believe they fell for that elevator trick-”

“Kid!” Tony interrupts, grabbing him at the shoulders and shaking lightly. “You can’t be here!”

“But-”

“They want you, idiot! Not me.”

Peter squirms away from his grip before turning his head sharply towards the staircase, a tic Tony has come to recognize as his Peter tingle in action. “More are on their way. No time to argue. We gotta go!”

Knowing better than to object, he allows Peter to help him to his feet and stumble towards the elevator. His legs are cramped and stiff from sitting in the chair for so long, but the adrenaline of keeping Peter safe stows the pain somewhere he can’t feel it.

Behind them, the door to the staircase slams open. There’s gunshots and yells and in the crescendo of the noise, Peter pushes him forward. The force of it knocks him off balance and he slides the last couple of feet into the elevator, landing awkwardly against the back wall. Peter scrambles in moments later, his breathing ragged. “Get the door!” he screams.

Tony fights to get to his knees and slams his hand against the button for the parking garage. Bullets tear into the metal as the doors close.

They make it.

“Oh thank god,” Tony exhales, sliding down the wall. “Nice moves, kid.”

“T-Tony?” Peter stammers, his back turned. Something in his voice makes Tony’s blood run cold.

“Pete? What is it?”

Peter turns slowly, his hand pressed hard against the base of his ribcage. Tony doesn’t need to look hard to know he’s bleeding. That he got shot-

“No. Peter-” Before he can finish, Peter collapses down to his knees. Tony moves faster than ever to help soften the fall, his hands moving on instinct to cover the growing warmth on the kid’s side. “This can’t- You can’t-”

“Sorry,” Peter murmurs. “There were too many. Didn’t mean to.”

“Obviously not!”

The elevator lurches horribly, the small space going dark as they stop. Tony curses loudly as the elevator fills with soft yellow emergency lights. Under his hands, Peter laughs. It’s delirious. “They cut the power. Smart.”

“Not smart!” Tony hisses. “Now we’re trapped.”

“Don’t say that,” Peter whines. “You know I’m claustrophobic.”

“Why did you come here? What the hell were you thinking?”

Peter gapes at him, eyelids drooping. “Are you kidding me? I just saved your ass!”

“No, you’re going to get us both killed!”

“That’s not going to happen!” Peter says, struggling to get up before moaning and collapsing back. Tony’s knees are sticky with what can only be a growing pool of the boy’s blood. He tries very hard not to think about it.

Tony pushes Peter’s head back, his touch leaving tiny smudges of red under the boy’s hairline. Fix this. Fix him. “Stay down Pete. Moving around is only going to make the bleeding worse.”

“Yeah, I feel that,” Peter wheezes. His face is about a dozen shades more pale than normal. “Must’ve- must’ve hit something important.”

The dark crimson spreads. Tony is three seconds away from a panic attack. “Side wounds bleed a lot. Just try and stay awake, alright buddy?”

Peter hums, his eyes hazy as they trace the four walls keeping them captive. “I hate small spaces.”

“I know. I’m sorry. This is all such a damn mess.”

“Couldn’t leave you,” Peter slurs.

“You should’ve.”

“If it were me, you would- you would have done the same thing.”

Through the dim emergency lighting, Tony sees Peter begin to shiver. He wonders if it’s from the shock or the blood loss. Maybe it’s some sick combination of the two. Tony presses his hands down harder against the wound and Peter cries out, his eyes rolling back.

“Hey, hey. Focus up kid. Don’t go anywhere. You want to save me? Then save me. You can’t do that if you’re unconscious.”

Peter’s eyelids flutter but stay stubbornly open, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. His lips are crimson. He looks up at Tony in a daze. “Never been shot before,” he murmurs. “Ben-”

“Don’t go there,” Tony interrupts, mouth going sour. “Don’t think about it.”

“Kinda- kinda hard not too.”

God, this kid.

The stain underneath Peter grows further, pooling underneath Tony’s shins. “Think you can web the wound? It’ll- it’ll slow the bleeding. Buy us some time.”

“Time,” Peter agrees, lifting a shaky hand. “Help me.”

Together, they seal the wound closed. It saturates quickly but holds, though for how long is uncertain. His hands are free now, covered completely with Peter’s blood. It’s impossible to look away.

“Hey,” Peter says, covering Tony’s hand with his own and pushing them down. As if everything around them has slowed, Tony meets Peter’s eyes. “It’s okay. Happy is on his way-”

The elevator lurches again, the emergency lights replaced by the regular ones. Both flinch against the brightness, the gore of Peter’s wound even more vivid and launching Tony’s heart into his throat.

“This’ll be a good story one day,” Peter says breathlessly, paling further as the webbing over his side begins to leak.

“You’re not funny, kid.” His hands are shaking too badly to do anything. He prays that whoever is waiting for them at the bottom is friendly, that Happy found a way to save them.

“I mean it,” Peter says, smiling up at him. Even with blood stained teeth, Tony can’t help the rush of fondness that washes over him. “Never a dull moment.”

“God, Pete. If you only knew how many gray hairs you’ve given me-”

“Gray hair is in right now. Very trendy.”

The elevator hits its destination. Tony turns his back on Peter to face the doors head on, his arms splayed out wide to protect him. “Look, kid. Whatever happens-”

The door springs open. Too quick. A dozen men stand waiting, their weapons trained to shoot. Peter gasps behind him as he struggles to get up, and Tony sacrifices a hand to push him back gently.

“We only want Spider-Man. This doesn’t have to concern you, Stark.”

Rage, hot and consuming rises up through Tony’s chest. “If you want him, you have to go through me.”

Peter makes a low noise of protest, words seemingly beyond him. He feels the kid’s weak hand circle around his wrist, his thumb slick with blood running what should be a comforting line across his pulse point.

“Whatever you say.”

They surge forward. Tony struggles and screams but it’s hopeless. There’s too many of them. He’s wrestled away from the elevator and dragged out into the garage. “Don’t touch him!” Tony spits, too desperate to breathe. He watches in horror as they swarm Peter’s body, grabbing his limbs ungently and extracting him. It leaves a gruesome streak of red.

“NO!” Tony fights. He fights with everything he has. Because it’s Peter. It’s his kid, and it’s his own damn fault that they’re in this mess to begin with. “I’ll kill you! If you touch a hair on his head, I’ll-”

Something hard slams against his forehead, stunning him. The world goes blurry as his body loses its strength. He pitches forward and sees Peter on the brink of unconsciousness reach out for him.

He already knows they’ve lost. He reaches back anyways.

A boot slams into his temple.

And then there’s nothing.

----------

“-ony.”

“-hear me?”

“Damn it.”

Static. Darkness.

“Give him some space!”

It’s a battle to stick to reality. For now, he’s blissfully unaware, concerned only with how difficult it is to open his eyes.

“Come on, boss. Now would be a good time to show some life.”

The voice is familiar. Safe. Tony tries again to climb out of the dark hole he’s stuck in and manages, by some miracle, to regain his sight. The first thing he sees is Happy leaning over him, his face pinched in worry. “Thank God. You still got all your brains?”

“Happy?” Tony mumbles, the static still hanging heavy in his brain. “What-” he turns his head, sees an impossible amount of blood, and nearly passes right the hell back out. Peter. Oscorp. “Oh my god. P-Peter. They have Peter.”

“Take it easy,” Happy says, using both arms to help support Tony in his struggle to sit. “You took a hard hit to the head.”

“Peter was shot. They- they took him.”

“Calm down, boss. We’re going to get him back.”

“No. No, Happy you don’t understand-” Hot blood. A red hand reaching out for him. “Oh Christ. I can’t- I can’t-”

“Yes you can. You can. It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” Tony gasps, his eyes stinging as Happy guides his head down to hang by his knees. He can’t see the blood anymore. It helps.

“He’s a tough kid. Norman’s an idiot. We’ll have him back in no time.”

“He’s just a kid, Hap.” My kid. “This is all my fault.”

“No,” Happy says, his hand squeezing Tony’s shoulder in feeble reassurance. “I called him. If anything, it’s mine. I should’ve known he’d swing over here guns blazing.”

Head still spinning, Tony tries to focus on bringing air into his chest. You can’t help Peter like this. Get better. Breathe. “He wanted to save me.”

Happy is quiet for a long time. Then, “he did save you.”

Tony squeezes his eyes shut. “He sure has a habit of that doesn’t he?”

Beside him, Happy nods. Tony catches him looking at the elevator with a look of foreign bitterness.

“Now it’s our turn.”

---------

Peter wakes up alone.

It’s disorienting and painful, his mind clouded and his stomach tied into nauseating knots. It doesn’t take him long to remember what happened.

He’s tied down to a chair, his hands cuffed tight behind him with something strong enough to keep him in place. Vibranium, possibly. Or maybe it’s just the blood loss making him weak.

Stifling a groan, Peter rolls his head until it rests on his chest instead of hanging back. He’s not wearing his suit anymore. In its place, a pair of medical pants and a loose fitting t-shirt. Trying hard not to dwell on the invasion, he realizes his mask is gone, which doesn’t surprise him but is scary nonetheless.

They know who he is.

The shirt is bloodstained, but barely. Rather they stitched him up or his healing factor kicked in enough to close the skin. Regardless, the wound stings. Peter tries to ignore it.

Certain he’s not at risk of dropping dead, Peter expands his attention to his surroundings. Another facility, by the looks of it. The walls are white and albeit a little worn down. Old lab equipment and machinery litters the perimeter in no particular order or fashion, suggesting he’s in some kind of storage room.

He tugs on his cuffs and thinks of Tony.

He should’ve listened to Happy.

Before his thoughts can venture farther the door to the room opens. Norman Osborn fills its space and Peter shrinks away, fighting once more with his restraints. He’s alone. “Hello Peter.”

Heart beating hard against his ribs, Peter tries not to show the fear he feels. He raises his chin. “You’re a monster,” he says.

Norman chuckles like they’re good friends catching up after many years of being apart. He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. “It seems, Mr. Parker, that the only monster here is you.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course I do,” Norman says, “because I made you, didn’t I?”

“My powers have nothing to do with you.”

“Lying will profit you nothing.”

Peter can’t decipher between his anger and his fear, a hate he didn’t know he was capable of burning low in the center of his chest. “What do you want with me?”

Norman’s eyes light up as if he’s been waiting for Peter to ask all along. With the gait of someone at perfect ease, he strays closer and leans against an old lab table. “I am a scientist, Peter. You are an experiment. It’s the natural order of things, really, that I study you.”

“You’re insane. You have to let me go.”

“I don’t think you understand, so I will try to be more clear. I own you. My research courses through your veins. Your life is my property.”

Peter feels his walls crumbling. He strains his wrists even after he feels his skin split underneath.

“I don’t belong to anyone. You’re sick and you’ll never get away with this.”

Norman comes up beside him and backhands him so hard that Peter sees stars. It’s more shocking than painful, though his mouth fills with blood.

“You are not in the position to be disrespectful, Mr. Parker.”

Peter spits the blood in his mouth at Norman’s feet. “Tony will come for me.”

“Oh Peter,” Norman says softly. He straightens, his long shadow covering Peter’s small form. “Tony Stark is dead.”

Peter’s insides freeze. He stops breathing. Norman slips his hand into his pocket and reveals a syringe filled with clear liquid. He continues to smile, seeming to enjoy Peter’s distress. “You’re lying,” he chokes when no other words come. Because it can’t be true. He doesn’t remember a lot after the elevator had opened. Only that they had dragged Tony away from him. But he had been alive, then. Alive, not dead.

“I’m afraid not. One of my men shot him in the head when he resisted. I suppose Iron Man was not as indestructible as we thought. Now, try not to squirm.” Norman slides the needle under the skin at his neck. Peter doesn’t even feel it, his body numb with shock.

“No. No. It’s not true. It’s not-”

A wave of dizziness hits Peter hard, more powerful than when he had been bleeding out in the elevator. In an instant, all the strength in his body disappears and his head lolls back against the chair. Through tunneling vision, he sees Norman smirk. “You should’ve done a better job at protecting him,” he says.

Tony. Hot tears leak down the sides of Peter’s face. His heart is going to beat straight out of his freaking chest.

It’s the last thing he remembers.

-------

“We need to find him.”

“Tony, calm down. Let the Doctor look you over.”

Tony squirms away. He feels like he’s trapped. “No. We’re wasting time! Osborn has Peter and he’s going to kill him-”

Happy gestures for the Doctor to step away. Looking conflicted, she nods. When the door closes behind her Happy kneels in front of where Tony sits and places both hands on his shoulders. “If Osborn wanted Peter dead he wouldn’t have taken him. He would’ve just killed him at Oscorp. We’ll find him, but you need to get checked out first. You’ll be no good for Peter in the state you’re in right now, you hear me?”

Though it should be impossible, Tony manages to nod.

Obvious relief colours Happy’s face. “I’ll get the Doctor back in here. Keep breathing, boss.”

Peter. Gone. His fault.

“Right.”

----------

The drug Norman had injected into him doesn’t last long. Peter wakes up strapped to a table, a blinding light pointed directly at his face and the shadows of scientists surrounding him on all sides. They peer down at him like he’s the most fascinating thing they’ve ever seen, bloody instruments paused in their hands as he struggles to get the cotton out of his brain.

“Amazing. Awake already. Inject him again, but double the dose this time.”

“No,” Peter moans, his voice nearly inaudible. He tries to move and can’t. “P-please.”

He doesn’t feel the needle. He doesn’t feel the pain. It’s almost more scary this way.

“Sleep, Spider. Let us do our work.”

His body is weak. Tony is dead. Peter doesn’t even try to hold on.

This time, he’s out for good.

---------

Tony gets three stitches in his head. It’s uncomfortable but nothing in comparison to the heaviness in his chest.

“Any luck with Oscorp’s records FRI?”

“My system does not detect any Oscorp facilities that are unaccounted for. Facial recognition and security camera data is currently underway.”

Beside him, Happy holds his breath. They’re on thin ice and Tony is two seconds away from knocking down every building in New York. “Double time, FRI.”

It’s been three hours since he lost Peter.

Tony doesn’t let himself think the worst.

--------

Peter is back in the chair.

Every inch of him hurts, the scattered pain somehow much worse than the intense localized agony of the gunshot wound. He refuses to look down at his body, to see what Osborn has reduced him to.

I own you.

Tony Stark is dead.

This time, they’ve gagged him. When Peter cries, he can barely hear the sound to his own ears. He feels like he’s falling down a steep cliff, unable to find purchase or stop his descent. For the first time since he’d been bit, Peter sincerely wishes none of it had ever happened.

Tony is dead and Peter has no one to blame but himself. He wishes they had more time, that he had told Tony the things he’d always wanted to but never had the courage to verbalize.

His stilted sobs make his side scream in pain. Peter loses his breath.

He hopes Happy is looking for him.

But maybe he doesn’t deserve it.

--------

It’s another long hour before FRIDAY finishes her search. “Boss, I have identified three probable locations for Mr. Parker.”

His relief is a dam breaking open in his chest. “What’s the most probable?”

“Sending the coordinates to your suit now.”

It’s all he needs to hear. Metal encloses around his body and Happy sprints towards the car.

For the first time in hours Tony feels hope.

I’m coming Pete, he thinks. I’ll get you back.

No matter the cost.

--------

Peter is drifting when Norman comes back to his room, though from the drugs or the pain he isn't sure. The man drags in a chair this time and sets it in front of Peter, sitting comfortably with a manilla folder on his lap.

Without his voice, all Peter can do is glare.

“Now, now, Peter. There’s no need for such hostility.”

Go to hell, he tries to stay. It comes out as a pathetic jumble of words.

“Even gagged, you’re too mouthy for your own good. Speaking is a privilege, Mr. Parker. In time you will learn that.”

Tears well in Peter’s eyes. He blinks furiously to prevent them from falling.

“Congratulations on completing your first session. You truly are remarkable. The results my colleagues have shown me are almost too good to be true.”

Peter closes his eyes and breathes carefully through his nose. He wants this to be a dream. A horrible, terrible dream. Because if it’s a dream he can wake up. He can wake up and Tony will be alive. The pain will disappear.

“It’s funny, isn’t it?” Norman muses, “how this all came to be. A school field trip, correct? The chances are nearly impossible. It’s almost like this was meant to be.”

Peter stays perfectly still and quiet. Norman’s hand clamps around his jaw and shakes his head hard. Crying out into the gag, Peter tries to flinch away, but the man is too close. He can smell his cologne, which in reality probably costs more than Peter’s entire life. “You will look at me when I speak to you, understood?”

If Peter could spit in his face, he would. He jerks in his cuffs, his anger giving him the strength he needs for his defiance. Norman hits him for a second time. This time, in the eye. Peter has had enough experience to know it will swell.

“You’re lucky we still need you,” Norman says.

Peter glares, feeling sick enough to throw up as Norman pulls out another syringe. “Ready for round two?”

--------

The first location is a dead end. Tony checks it three times over to make sure he isn’t missing anything.

It’s been five hours.

“FRI. What’re the next coordinates?”

He doesn’t give himself the luxury to be afraid of what he might find.

--------

Peter wakes up screaming.

He doesn’t know why, at first. Only that he’s lying flat on a cold table, pinned and surrounded by strangers.

Then he feels the pain.

White hot. All consuming. Mind melting. It’s so intense that he doesn’t really comprehend where it’s coming from, or if he’ll be able to survive it. His muscles strain and stretch under the restraints, and then one of his hands breaks free all together. It lashes out, hitting the scientist closest and throwing him across the room. If Peter were more lucid he would hear the crunch of bone against the wall, or the yells of the others.

But he doesn’t.

His body clinging to freedom, his hand continues to fight desperately. He manages to hit away another scientist before three sets of hands press his arm down hard against the table. A sharp jab in his neck lets him know he’s been injected again. His limbs lose some strength, his mind fogging, but it’s not enough. Peter screams and fights. He cries.

Somewhere in the distance, a door is thrown open. Through the kaleidoscopic mess of his vision Peter sees Norman and cries harder. “S-stop-”

Norman’s hand closes around Peter’s neck and squeezes. “You don’t have a say over what happens to you. Do you understand? I own you!” He applies more pressure and Peter wonders distantly if his eyes will pop straight out of his head. “I. Own. You.”

Peter loses control over his body. His lungs stall in his chest. Only then does Norman let go, wiping his hand on his jacket. “Keep going,” he orders.

Peter is too exhausted to sob, darkness gathering around his vision. I’m going to die, he realizes.

Something hits his head hard, and he welcomes the escape with open arms.

--------

Seven hours. Tony’s tracked the three locations, all proving to be as useful as the last. His patience is slipping, his resolve shaken.

“FRI? I could really use a miracle right now.”

“Retrieving coordinates for the next location: an Oscorp storage facility in Staten Island.”

“Thanks. Send Happy the same.”

“Of course.”

Tony flies like his life depends on it. Because really, it does. If he loses Peter-

Stop, he chastises himself. Focus. It’s not over yet.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony lands hard enough to dent the cement under foot outside the storage facility. On the outside, his chances look bleak. Dark windows, no cars in the lot. “FRI, can you pick up any heat signatures?”

After a short pause, FRIDAY replies. “There are approximately ten heat signatures detected inside.”

“Oh god. Do any match Peter?”

“Yes, boss, it appears so.”

His legs turn to jelly. “Tell- tell Happy. I’m going in.”

“Sending a message to Happy Hogan.”

“Best point of entry?”

“The front door will be fine, sir.”

Tony follows FRIDAY’s prompts from the dark entrance to one of the building’s sublevels. Once close enough, he hears voices. Laughter, even. “FRI?” he whispers.

“The door to your left,” she supplies.

Tony wastes no time in blasting it off its hinges. Halted screams come from the smoking wreckage as Tony steps through. It appears to be some sort of staff room, a large group of men and women in lab coats sitting around a circular table. They stare at him with wide, disbelieving eyes.

“Spider-Man,” Tony demands. “Where the hell is he?”

No one answers. He fires a repulsor at the ceiling.

“Norman has him!” one of them yell, hands raised to shield her head. “Follow the corridor down to the end. You’ll- you’ll find him in there.”

Tony can hardly see straight in his relief. He backs out of the room, dislodging a drone from his suit to block their exit. “If any of you try to leave, this will shoot. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He runs.

The end of the corridor.

Peter. Peter. Peter-

After confirmation from FRIDAY, Tony kicks down the door in question. His blood goes cold. Because it’s Peter- his kid- cuffed with his hands behind his back and a thick gag around his mouth. His head is tipped back, his eyes closed. He’s covered in so much blood that Tony has trouble seeing parts of him that are clean.

And beside him, Osborn.

He fires a repulsor at the man before his mind can catch up. It hits Osborn in the chest and he flies back, hitting the wall with a loud grunt and sliding down to the floor. Though painful, Tony steps past Peter’s lax body. He’s not sure if he’s awake. Or even alive.

“Wait!” Norman yells, raising his hands in defense. “You can’t- you can’t do this.”

“Like hell I can’t,” Tony growls, his palm growing hot. He raises it to Norman’s face. “You took my kid. You hurt him.”

“Peter’s life ceased being his own the moment he was bitten by my spider. I have the right to study him, to learn from what I created.”

“You’re an animal. I should kill you right now.”

“But you won’t,” Norman counters, his eyes glinting against the fire in Tony’s hand. “Because if you do, Peter will never forgive you. He’s good, Stark. Too good for you. And you know that.”

Tony clenches his jaw hard, his heart beating loud in his ears. He thinks of Peter sitting on a table in the lab, kicking his feet and laughing at a joke Tony had told. He thinks of the boy thumb wrestling with Happy and the cheesy birthday card he had made Tony last year.

“You’re right,” Tony says, lowering his hand. “I won’t kill you.”

Norman perks, his mouth curling.

“But you’re going to wish I had.”

And with that, Tony hits him across the face. Harder than he should. Osborn goes limp against the wall.

Behind him, Peter moans.

“Peter-”

Tony removes his faceplate and collapses at Peter’s feet. One of the boy’s eyes is open to a slit, the other swollen shut. When he connects with Tony his eyebrows draw together in confusion. Then, without further warning, he begins to cry.

“Hey, hey, woah. It’s okay kiddo. I’m here.” He reaches up and gently removes the gag from Peter’s mouth, the skin underneath it raw and chapped. “I’m here, buddy. Don’t cry.”

Peter doesn’t look any less comforted. He strains against his bindings. “Are you real?” he whispers, his voice cracked and strained. Only now does Tony see the dark bruising around the kid’s neck. The sight brings bile up his throat.

“I’m real,” he promises, reaching up his hands to card through Peter’s hair. “I’m here.”

Peter sobs again, going limp. Tony catches him against his chest and cradles him close. “They told- they told me they shot you,” Peter says. “They told me you were dead.”

Tears of his own well in Tony’s eyes. He presses his cheek into Peter’s hair. “I’m not dead,” he says, voice wavering. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thought it was my fault,” Peter slurs. More of his weight dips into Tony’s chest as he goes quiet.

“Kid?” Tony shifts so he can see Peter’s face. His eyes are closed, his breaths short and laboured. “Damn it! Pete, can you hear me?”

Happy chooses this moment to arrive. He swings into the room, a pistol curled around his fingers and his eyes wider than Tony’s ever seen them. “Is he-?”

“Alive,” Tony chokes. “He was talking just a second ago. I don’t know what happened.”

“It looks like they tried to pull him apart.”

And it’s true.

“Call a med team. The police- the whole works. I need to get him out of this chair.”

“On it,” Happy says. His eyes linger on Peter in obvious distress before he flees from the room, pulling out his phone and barking out orders.

“Alright Petey. Hang tight.” Tony positions his limp body against the back of the chair, trying not to dwell on how unalive he looks. He ventures to Osborn’s body, retrieves a promising ring of keys, and returns back to Peter.

“I got you kid. I got you.” His hands are shaking too badly to fit the key in the small slot at the base of the cuff. He has to sit back on his heels and take ten measured breaths before he tries again. This time it works and Peter’s arms pop free.

Without the restraint, Peter’s body tips forward. With an aborted yell, Tony lunges forward to catch him. They end up in a tangled heap on the dirty floor, Peter’s head pillowed in his lap.

“Oh Pete. Oh god. W-wake up. It’s over now.”

Nothing. Above the bruises, there’s half a dozen needle marks in his neck.

“Peter? Come on, bud. Wake up.”

Wake up. Wake up.

He rocks the kid in his lap until help arrives, refusing even for a moment to let go.

-------

Peter realizes three things in quick succession when he wakes up.

First, it’s quiet, and the distinct lack of his spider sense is more than relieving. He’s safe, he realizes. Which two, means it’s over.

His vision struggles to keep up with his waking body but after a few long blinks the blurred medbay comes into sharper focus. He sees May’s purse, though she herself isn’t in the room. And with a stiff turn of his head, Peter comes to terms with thing number three.

Tony.

The man is slumped in a chair beside his bed, his head tipped back as he snores. The events of his rescue rush back into his head with such force it leaves him dizzy. Without further warning, tears leak out of his eyes.

Alive. He’s alive.

They both are.

As if Tony has a fifth sense of his own, he shifts in his sleep and his head dips. The jerky movement must be enough to wake him because within seconds, his eyes open. They connect with Peter fast, widening when he registers that Peter’s awake.

“Oh Pete,” he says, rubbing at his eyes and leaning forward. “What’s wrong? Are- are you okay bud?”

Peter lifts a heavy hand to wipe the moisture from his cheeks. “Sorry,” he whispers, trying for a smile. “Must be the drugs.”

The creases on Tony’s forehead smooth. He returns Peter’s smile, though some deep abiding concern rests in his eyes. “God, it’s good to see you awake. You gave us all a good scare.”

“Right,” Peter agrees, his strength already dwindling. He casts a sideway glance over at May’s purse. “Is she- is she okay?”

“She’s happy you’re safe. That you’re getting better. She just went to grab some food. She’ll be back real soon.”

Peter’s insides feel hollowed out. He thinks of Norman standing over him. I own you. “Oh. That’s good.”

Tony scoots closer in his chair. “How’re you feeling bud? Any pain?”

To Peter’s embarrassment, another tear leaks out of his eye. He catches it quickly and sucks in a shaky breath. “No.”

“You sure?”

Peter bites his lip. Stares at Tony’s worried face. “I really thought you were dead.”

Tony holds his breath and pulls absently at his fingers. “He was just trying to get in your head, Pete.”

“Yeah,” he laughs without humour. “Well, it worked.”

“Peter...”

“It’s just- the whole time I was thinking about everything I should’ve told you. When Ben died, I regretted- I regretted my last words, you know? Wish I said more.”

“Your uncle knew how much you loved him, kiddo.”

Peter swallows hard. “And do you?”

Tony blinks. “What?”

“Know,” Peter says, staring stubbornly at the wall. “That I love you? Because I never told you before and then it was too late. I was too- I don’t know. Scared, I guess. But I can’t be too late again. I have a second chance now and I want you to know.”

Silence. Peter can’t look. Maybe Tony got up and left-

Warmth. Arms circling his chest. Peter inhales sharply in his surprise, the tubes and wires hooking him up to the machines pinching. Oh god, he’s hugging me.

“I thought I lost you too,” Tony whispers over his shoulder. Peter is frozen. “When they dragged me out of that elevator and took you-” he chokes. “I thought-”

Peter closes his eyes. He’s tired and achy, his bones like lead under his skin. “I’m fine.”

“Let me finish.”

“Okay.”

Tony breathes in deeply, his chest expanding against Peter’s. “I love you too, Pete, is what I’m trying to say. So damn much. Since day one, really. And if you ever scare me like this again I swear I’ll lock you in a tower like goddamn Rapunzel.”

Peter’s glad that Tony can’t see his face. I love you too. Finally regaining strength, he wraps his arms around Tony’s shoulders to complete the embrace. It’s weak and broken but tangible. Real. “Thank you for saving me.”

“You did the same for me.”

They separate. Neither comment on their wet faces. “What happened to Norman?” Peter asks. It feels like his throat is closing.

Tony looks down at the floor. His hand had fallen from the hug to rest on Peter’s arm. He doesn’t let go, and Peter doesn’t want him to. “Prison. He won’t hurt you again, Pete. I promise you.”

He isn’t sure how the admission makes him feel. “Oh.”

His side twinges in pain. Something must cross over his face because Tony winces too, like the hurt is his own. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”

Peter leans back against his pillows, lightheaded all of a sudden, his energy far past spent. “I hate it when you apologize,” he murmurs.

“Pfft. Well, the feeling’s mutual.”

Peter smiles. He closes his eyes. “You gonna tap back out?” Tony asks gently.

He hardly finds the strength within himself to nod. Everything is catching up to him, a dark shadow of a nightmare. It’s over, he tries to remind himself. Tony is alive. May is safe. He loves you back. “Stay?”

“Always, Pete. I’m not moving a muscle.” As if to prove it, his thumb runs across Peter’s wrist, straight over the bandages covering the marks of his restraints. “You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with me too,” Peter slurs. He reaches out blindly until he finds Tony’s hand and grips it with as much strength as he can muster, which truthfully isn’t much. “Like a web.”

He drifts further, but is sure he can hear Tony’s quiet laugh, that he feels Tony’s lips press over his forehead.

“Go to sleep kiddo. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

And he will. Peter knows it.

Always.

#irondad #irondad fic #peter parker #tony stark #norman osborn #kidnapping #hurt/comfort #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #protective tony stark #protective peter parker #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #angst with a happy ending #gun violence

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dornish-queen · 4 years

Text

Pedro Pascal on Fame and ‘The Mandalorian’: ‘Can We Cut the S— and Talk About the Child?’

By Adam B. Vary

Photographs by Beau Grealy

At some point during this particular visit, Pascal needed to go to the bathroom, and his parents let him go by himself. “I didn’t really know how to read yet,” Pascal says with the same Cheshire grin that dazzled “Game of Thrones” fans during his run as the wily (and doomed) Oberyn Martel. “I did not find my way back to ‘Superman.'”

Instead, Pascal wandered into a different theater (he thinks it was showing the 1979 domestic drama “Kramer vs. Kramer,” but, again, he was 4). In his shock and bewilderment at being lost, he curled up into an open seat and fell asleep. When he woke up, the movie was over, the theater was empty, and his parents were standing over him. To his surprise, they seemed rather calm, but another detail sticks out even more.

“I know that they finished their movie,” he says, bending over in laughter. “My sister was trying to get a rise out of me by telling me, ‘This happened and that happened and then Superman did this and then, you know, the earthquake and spinning around the planet.'” In the face of such relentless sibling mockery, Pascal did the only logical thing: “I said, ‘All that happened in my movie too.'”

He had no way of knowing it at the time, of course, but some 40 years later, Pascal would in fact get the chance to star in a movie alongside a DC Comics superhero — not to mention battle Stormtroopers and, er, face off against the most formidable warrior in Westeros. After his breakout on “Game of Thrones,” he became an instant get-me-that-guy sensation, mostly as headstrong, taciturn men of action — from chasing drug traffickers in Colombia for three seasons on Netflix’s “Narcos” to squaring off against Denzel Washington in “The Equalizer 2.”

This year, though, Pascal finds himself poised for the kind of marquee career he’s spent a lifetime dreaming about. On Oct. 30, he’ll return for Season 2 as the title star of “The Mandalorian,” Lucasfilm’s light-speed hit “Star Wars” series for Disney Plus that earned 15 Emmy nominations, including best drama, in its first season. And then on Dec. 25 — COVID-19 depending — he’ll play the slippery comic book villain Maxwell Lord opposite Gal Gadot, Chris Pine and Kristen Wiig in “Wonder Woman 1984.”

The roles are at once wildly divergent and the best showcase yet for Pascal’s elastic talents. In “The Mandalorian,” he must hide his face — and, in some episodes, his whole body — in a performance that pushes minimalism and restraint to an almost ascetic ideal. In “Wonder Woman 1984,” by stark contrast, he is delivering the kind of big, broad bad-guy character that populated the 1980s popcorn spectaculars of his youth.

“I continually am so surprised when everybody pegs him as such a serious guy,” says “Wonder Woman 1984” director Patty Jenkins. “I have to say, Pedro is one of the most appealing people I have known. He instantly becomes someone that everybody invites over and you want to have around and you want to talk to.”

Talk with Pascal for just five minutes — even when he’s stuck in his car because he ran out of time running errands before his flight to make it to the set of a Nicolas Cage movie in Budapest — and you get an immediate sense of what Jenkins is talking about. Before our interview really starts, Pascal points out, via Zoom, that my dog is licking his nether regions in the background. “Don’t stop him!” he says with an almost naughty reproach. “Let him live his life!”

Over our three such conversations, it’s also clear that Pascal’s great good humor and charm have been at once ballast for a number of striking hardships, and a bulwark that makes his hard-won success a challenge for him to fully accept.

Before Pascal knew anything about “The Mandalorian,” its showrunner and executive producer Jon Favreau knew he wanted Pascal to star in it.

“He feels very much like a classic movie star in his charm and his delivery,” says Favreau. “And he’s somebody who takes his craft very seriously.” Favreau felt Pascal had the presence and skill essential to deliver a character — named Din Djarin, but mostly called Mando — who spends virtually every second of his time on screen wearing a helmet, part of the sacrosanct creed of the Mandalorian order.

Convincing any actor to hide their face for the run of a series can be as precarious as escaping a Sarlacc pit. To win Pascal over in their initial meeting, Favreau brought him behind the “Mandalorian” curtain, into a conference room papered with storyboards covering the arc of the first season. “When he walked in, it must have felt a little surreal,” Favreau says. “You know, most of your experiences as an actor, people are kicking the tires to see if it’s a good fit. But in this case, everything was locked and loaded.”

Needless to say, it worked. “I hope this doesn’t sound like me fashioning myself like I’m, you know, so smart, but I agreed to do this [show] because the impression I had when I had my first meeting was that this is the next big s—,” Pascal says with a laugh.

Favreau’s determination to cast Pascal, however, put the actor in a tricky situation: Pascal’s own commitments to make “Wonder Woman 1984” in London and to perform in a Broadway run of “King Lear” with Glenda Jackson barreled right into the production schedule for “The Mandalorian.” Some scenes on the show, and in at least one case a full episode, would need to lean on the anonymity of the title character more than anyone had quite planned, with two stunt performers — Brendan Wayne and Lateef Crowder — playing Mando on set and Pascal dubbing in the dialogue months later.

Pascal was already being asked to smother one of his best tools as an actor, extraordinarily uncommon for anyone shouldering the newest iteration of a global live-action franchise. (Imagine Robert Downey Jr. only playing Iron Man while wearing a mask — you can’t!) Now he had to hand over control of Mando’s body to other performers too. Some actors would have walked away. Pascal didn’t.

“If there were more than just a couple of pages of a one-on-one scene, I did feel uneasy about not, in some instances, being able to totally author that,” he says. “But it was so easy in such a sort of practical and unexciting way for it to be up to them. When you’re dealing with a franchise as large as this, you are such a passenger to however they’re going to carve it out. It’s just so specific. It’s ‘Star Wars.'” (For Season 2, Pascal says he was on the set far more, though he still sat out many of Mando’s stunts.)

“The Mandalorian” was indeed the next big s—, helping to catapult the launch of Disney Plus to 26.5 million subscribers in its first six weeks. With the “Star Wars” movies frozen in carbonite until 2023 (at least), I noted offhand that he’s now effectively the face of one of the biggest pop-culture franchises in the world. Pascal could barely suppress rolling his eyes.

“I mean, come on, there isn’t a face!” he says with a laugh that feels maybe a little forced. “If you want to say, ‘You’re the silhouette’ — which is also a team effort — then, yeah.” He pauses. “Can we just cut the s— and talk about the Child?”

Yes, of course, the Child — or, as the rest of the galaxy calls it, Baby Yoda. Pascal first saw the incandescently cute creature during his download of “Mandalorian” storyboards in that initial meeting with Favreau. “Literally, my eyes following left to right, up and down, and, boom, Baby Yoda close to the end of the first episode,” he says. “That was when I was like, ‘Oh, yep, that’s a winner!'”

Baby Yoda is undeniably the breakout star of “The Mandalorian,” inspiring infinite memes and apocryphal basketball game sightings. But the show wouldn’t work if audiences weren’t invested in Mando’s evolving emotional connection to the wee scene stealer, something Favreau says Pascal understood from the jump. “He’s tracking the arc of that relationship,” says the showrunner. “His insight has made us rethink moments over the course of the show.” (As with all things “Star Wars,” questions about specifics are deflected in deference to the all-powerful Galactic Order of Spoilers.)

Even if Pascal couldn’t always be inside Mando’s body, he never left the character’s head, always aware of how this orphaned bounty hunter who caroms from planet to planet would look askance at anything that felt too good (or too adorable) to be true.

“The transience is something that I’m incredibly familiar with, you know?” Pascal says. “Understanding the opportunity for complexity under all of the armor was not hard for me.”

When Pascal was 4 months old, his parents had to leave him and his sister with their aunt, so they could go into hiding to avoid capture during Pinochet’s crackdown against his opposition. After six months, they finally managed to climb the walls of the Venezuelan embassy during a shift change and claim asylum; from there, the family relocated, first to Denmark, then to San Antonio, where Pascal’s father got a job as a physician.

Pascal was too young to remember any of this, and for a healthy stretch of his childhood, his complicated Chilean heritage sat in parallel to his life in the U.S. — separate tracks, equally important, never quite intersecting. By the time Pascal was 8, his family was able to take regular trips back to Chile to visit with his 34 first cousins. But he doesn’t remember really talking about any of his time there all that much with his American friends.

“I remember at one point not even realizing that my parents had accents until a friend was like, ‘Why does your mom talk like that?'” Pascal says. “And I remember thinking, like what?”

Besides, he loved his life in San Antonio. His father took him and his sister to Spurs basketball games during the week if their homework was done. He hoodwinked his mother into letting him see “Poltergeist” at the local multiplex. He watched just about anything on cable; the HBO special of Whoopi Goldberg’s one-woman Broadway show knocked him flat. He remembers seeing Henry Thomas in “E.T.” and Christian Bale in “Empire of the Sun” and wishing ardently, urgently, I want to live those stories too.

Then his father got a job in Orange County, Calif. After Pascal finished the fifth grade, they moved there. It was a shock. “There were two really, really rough years,” he says. “A lot of bullying.”

His mother found him a nascent performing arts high school in the area, and Pascal burrowed even further into his obsessions, devouring any play or movie he could get his hands on. His senior year, a friend of his mother’s gave Pascal her ticket to a long two-part play running in downtown Los Angeles that her bad back couldn’t withstand. He got out of school early to drive there by himself. It was the pre-Broadway run of “Angels in America.”

“And it changed me,” he says with almost religious awe. “It changed me.”

After studying acting at NYU’s Tisch School of the Arts, Pascal booked a succession of solid gigs, like MTV’s “Undressed” and “Buffy the Vampire Slayer.” But the sudden death of his mother — who’d only just been permitted to move back to Chile a few years earlier — took the wind right from Pascal’s sails. He lost his agent, and his career stalled almost completely.

As a tribute to her, he decided to change his professional last name from Balmaceda, his father’s, to Pascal, his mother’s. “And also, because Americans had such a hard time pronouncing Balmaceda,” he says. “It was exhausting.”

Pascal even tried swapping out Pedro for Alexander (an homage to Ingmar Bergman’s “Fanny and Alexander,” one of the formative films of his youth). “I was willing to do absolutely anything to work more,” he says. “And that meant if people felt confused by who they were looking at in the casting room because his first name was Pedro, then I’ll change that. It didn’t work.”

It was a desperately lean time for Pascal. He booked an occasional “Law & Order” episode, but mostly he was pounding the pavement along with his other New York theater friends — like Oscar Isaac, who met Pascal doing an Off Broadway play. They became fast, lifelong friends, bonding over their shared passions and frustrations as actors.

“It’s gotten better, but at that point, it was so easy to be pigeonholed in very specific roles because we’re Latinos,” says Isaac. “It’s like, how many gang member roles am I going to be sent?” As with so many actors, the dream Pascal and Isaac shared to live the stories of their childhoods had been stripped down to its most basic utility. “The dream was to be able to pay rent,” says Isaac. “There wasn’t a strategy. We were just struggling. It was talking about how to do this thing that we both love but seems kind of insurmountable.”

As with so few actors, that dream was finally rekindled through sheer nerve and the luck of who you know, when another lifelong friend, actor Sarah Paulson, agreed to pass along Pascal’s audition for Oberyn Martell to her best friend Amanda Peet, who is married to “Game of Thrones” co-showrunner David Benioff.

“First of all, it was an iPhone selfie audition, which was unusual,” Benioff remembers over email. “And this wasn’t one of the new-fangled iPhones with the fancy cameras. It looked like s—; it was shot vertical; the whole thing was very amateurish. Except for the performance, which was intense and believable and just right.”

Before Pascal knew it, he found himself in Belfast, sitting inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep as one of the judges at Tyrion Lannister’s trial for the murder of King Joffrey. “I was between Charles Dance and Lena Headey, with a view of the entire f—ing set,” Pascal says, his eyes wide and astonished still at the memory. “I couldn’t believe I didn’t have an uncomfortable costume on. You know, I got to sit — and with this view.” He sighs. “It strangely aligned itself with the kind of thinking I was developing as a child that, at that point, I was convinced was not happening.”

And then it all started to happen.

In early 2018, while Pascal was in Hawaii preparing to make the Netflix thriller “Triple Frontier” — opposite his old friend Isaac — he got a call from the film’s producer Charles Roven, who told him Patty Jenkins wanted to meet with him in London to discuss a role in another film Roven was producing, “Wonder Woman 1984.”

“It was a f—ing offer,” Pascal says in an incredulous whisper. “I wasn’t really grasping that Patty wanted to talk to me about a part that I was going to play, not a part that I needed to get. I wasn’t able to totally accept that.”

Pascal had actually shot a TV pilot with Jenkins that wasn’t picked up, made right before his life-changing run on “Game of Thrones” aired. “I got to work with Patty for three days or something and then thought I’d never see her again,” he says. “I didn’t even know she remembered me from that.”

She did. “I worked with him, so I knew him,” she says. “I didn’t need him to prove anything for me. I just loved the idea of him, and I thought he would be kind of unexpected, because he doesn’t scream ‘villain.'”

In Jenkins’ vision, Max Lord — a longstanding DC Comics rogue who shares a particularly tangled history with Wonder Woman — is a slick, self-styled tycoon with a knack for manipulation and an undercurrent of genuine pathos. It was the kind of larger-than-life character Pascal had never been asked to tackle before, so he did something equally unorthodox: He transformed his script into a kind of pop-art scrapbook, filled with blown-up photocopies of Max Lord from the comic books that Pascal then manipulated through his lens on the character.

Even the few pages Pascal flashes to me over Zoom are quite revealing. One, featuring Max sporting a power suit and a smarmy grin, has several burned-out holes, including through the character’s eye. Another page features Max surrounded by text bubbles into which Pascal has written, over and over and over again in itty-bitty lettering, “You are a f—ing piece of s—.”

“I felt like I had wake myself up again in a big way,” he says. “This was just a practical way of, like, instead of going home tired and putting Netflix on, [I would] actually deal with this physical thing, doodle and think about it and run it.”

Jenkins is so bullish on Pascal’s performance that she thinks it could explode his career in the same way her 2003 film “Monster” forever changed how the industry saw Charlize Theron. “I would never cast him as just the stoic, quiet guy,” Jenkins says. “I almost think he’s unrecognizable from ‘Narcos’ to ‘Wonder Woman.’ Wouldn’t even know that was the same guy. But I think that may change.”

When people can see “Wonder Woman 1984” remains caught in the chaos the pandemic has wreaked on the industry; both Pascal and Jenkins are hopeful the Dec. 25 release date will stick, but neither is terribly sure it will. Perhaps it’s because of that uncertainty, perhaps it’s because he’s spent his life on the outside of a dream he’s now suddenly living, but Pascal does not share Jenkins’ optimism that his experience making “Wonder Woman 1984” will open doors to more opportunities like it.

“It will never happen again,” Pascal says, once more in that incredulous whisper. “It felt so special.”

After all he’s done in a few short years, why wouldn’t Pascal think more roles like this are on his horizon?

“I don’t know!” he finally says with a playful — and pointed — howl. “I’m protecting myself psychologically! It’s just all too good to be true! How dare I!”

#pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #variety magazine

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ceratonia-siliqua · 4 years

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Sweeter Than Sugar (Ch 3)

Collab fic with @send-me-your-hcs

Summary: Tony is a man of refinement. Only the best, the highest quality specimens get added to his collection. Peter, a beautiful and very rare male omega, quickly becomes his favorite of all his pets. The perfect omega deserves an equally-perfect alpha. (Or: An a/b/o au where pet owner!Tony forcibly mates Peter and Bucky together for his own enjoyment.)

Warnings: Underage, noncon, a/b/o au, dark!Tony, confinement, forced pet play dynamics, forced mating/in heat cycles, minor violence, forced daddy kink, forced feminization, gang r/ape, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

ao3 link

. . .

Bucky knows something is going down the moment he enters his kennel, Tony can tell.

He hasn’t had to use the reinforced steel stockade in years, not since Bucky was still new to him. Bucky is anxious and wary as Tony secures him tightly on his knees, his neck and wrists bound, rendering him immobile. “Don’t worry, my love,” he reassures gently. “Your omega’s been a naughty little boy, but once his punishment is over, we can all move on. You know Daddy’s very forgiving. I’ll forgive Peter too, just as soon as he asks for it.”

Bucky’s beautiful steel-blue eyes fixate on the bruise marring Tony’s cheek. He gently runs his fingers through the alpha’s long, silky hair as he pops the mouth guard gag past Bucky’s lips, keeping his sharp canines safely tucked away from their guests and his frightening, bone-chilling growls as stifled as possible.

With Bucky properly restrained, Tony heads back upstairs and enters Peter’s cell for the first time since the incident this morning. Peter looks at him long enough to see he’s come alone, then turns back to his filthy blankets, snubbing him. Tony almost smirks to himself as he walks over, head held high, and stops in front of the large round bed.

“Do you want to see your alpha, baby?” he asks. The sound of his voice shouldn’t startle Peter, but somehow it does.

Peter doesn’t look at him. His face is pressed to one of his messy pillows, but he nods, dejectedly.

“Very well,” Tony says. He snaps his fingers and points to his feet, his universal sign of come here. “The sooner you get over here, the sooner you’ll get to see him.”

The boy reminds him of a sullen, sulky child as he drags his limp body to the edge of the bed and onto the floor. He keeps his head down, a dog who knows he’s displeased his master, and waits for Tony to grab him by his leash, deceivingly meek and obedient.

“Turn around, baby. Show me that pretty little hole before it gets ruined again.”

A scarlet blush covers Peter’s face, neck and chest as he obeys, turning and pressing his forehead to the floor, ass up and trembling. His ass has finally returned to a more natural state, baby pink instead of deep red, tight and modestly damp instead of gaping open and pouring come and slick. It’s a bit of an illusion, though - when Tony presses his thumb against the puckered skin, it gives immediately, stretching smooth and straight and opening up for him in that beautiful way only omega holes can. It’s like pressing a button to switch between an asshole and a cunt; untouched, it’s a hole no different from anyone else’s, but as soon as the slightest stimulation comes along, it blooms like a flower in the sun, opens up hungrily and greedily, transforming before his very eyes.

Entranced, Tony fingers the boy’s delectable little pussy as he slips another, albeit weaker heat inducer inside of him. Peter won’t need any detailed stretching or preparation - not this time around - so he plays with the little omega’s broken-in fuckhole purely for indulgence’s sake. By the time Peter’s rim is turning dark red, puffy and starting to leak, the pill has taken effect and the poor thing is whining uncontrollably into the marble floor.

Tony’s tempted to make him crawl all the way downstairs, sobbing and shaking and leaking like a broken faucet, but he’d never risk skinning his princess’s poor sensitive knees. He unhooks Peter’s chain from the wall, gathers his small, trembling body in his arms, and carries him all the way to Bucky’s cell like the compassionate, generous owner that he is.

It’s a chorus of joy and suffering the moment they step inside. A gorgeous melody of pleading cries, muffled shouts, moans, groans, whimpers, whines. Peter flails trying to get to his alpha - Bucky does his damned best to wrench the stockade from its base inlaid in the concrete slab, but it holds firm. Peter is absolutely adorable as he reaches for Bucky with both hands, crying out, “Alpha, alpha…!” Like if he calls urgently enough, Bucky will shatter his restraints and come to him.

His little pets are so fucking cute.

But now is not the time to indulge them. A lesson needs to be learned here, first and foremost. Emotionlessly, Tony chains Peter to the opposite wall, shortening the leash so the feisty little omega can’t quite reach his alpha at the other end of the long room. While the two scramble trying to get to each other, Tony rolls in one of his breeding benches, parks and secures it in the center of the room, and hoists Peter’s flailing body onto it.

Oh, the little omega puts up quite a struggle then. Tony presses Peter’s body over the arch in the bench, his stomach flat on the plush leather, arms folded behind his back, legs spread, ass up to expose his leaking pussy. Bucky gets the best view in the house - restrained on his knees with Peter’s gorgeous fuckhole staring him in the face. If Tony rolled the bench closer and removed the gag, Bucky would be at the perfect height to eat the little pup out.

The thought intrigues him. Maybe after, he thinks.

He tests each cuff on Peter’s neck, thighs, wrists and ankles to ensure he’s secured, then gives the bench a hard shove to make sure the wheels are locked, properly holding the contraption still so it won’t slide everywhere in the middle of the action.

With everything ready, he supposes this is the perfect time to lecture his ornery little omega, circling Peter’s bound body as he clasps his hands behind his back.

“Peter,” he says firmly, earning himself a fearful, hateful glare from those big brown eyes. “I know you’re smart enough to understand the concept of corrective discipline. I’m about to teach you a very important lesson - everything you have, everything you have been given, including your bond with your new mate and all of the pleasure it’s brought you - they are all gifts from me.”

He steps closer, stares down at that beautiful, angry little face.

“You may not like it, you can hate this place all you want, but it doesn’t change the fact that you are mine, Peter, and the sooner you come to terms with that, the better off you’ll be.” He gestures to Bucky, kneeling behind the boy, head bowed in defeat. “I would like nothing more than to keep you and your mate happily tangled together all day long. But this morning, you chose to throw my kindness and generosity back in my face and behaved, simply put, like an animal. So, this is a moment I want you to remember the next time you’re feeling angry or hard-done by: I don’t have to give you any of these luxuries. I can - and will - replace them with much less favorable conditions if you misbehave. Hopefully, the harshness of this punishment will help this lesson stick in your tender little brain.”

He pets the boy’s head gently, then circles around him to address Bucky. “As for you, Bucky, my wonderful boy - perhaps take the opportunity to educate your omega the next time I’m kind enough to leave you two together. He chose to step out of line and brought this punishment down on both of you. If you don’t want it to happen again, I suggest you have a long and thorough chat with him about who’s in charge around here.” He strokes Bucky’s stubble-covered cheek. Bucky’s conflicted, despaired gaze is turned away from him, as good of a sign of submission as any.

Perfectly on time, Tony’s phone dings in his pocket then, alerting him that his honored guests have arrived.

He kisses Bucky’s forehead, pats Peter’s trembling flank, and heads for the lobby to greet their visitors.

—

He gets himself a nice chair for the show.

It’s not nearly as comfortable as his armchair upstairs, but it’s good enough. He reclines in the corner, feet propped up on Bucky’s table between the alpha’s food and water dishes, crossed at the ankle as he lounges comfortably. His guests are standing throughout the room, but each of them knows better than to stand in front of him, obstructing his view. Most stand against the glass wall, in front of Peter’s hysteric, sobbing face, as far away from Bucky’s enraged fury as they can get.

He’s chosen some of the best men he knows. Betas, like him, who lean more to the above-average side of the spectrum when it comes to things like height, weight and cock size. None of them can compare to the sheer massive size of an alpha, but that’s almost the point of this punishment.

Oh, how little Peter screams and fights when the first beta mounts him.

It must be so confusing. His little cunt, dripping with slick, begging to be filled, to be fucked and knotted - only to be given a too-small, too-thin, unsatisfactory beta cock. Some mated omegas have claimed that the semen of anyone apart from their alpha’s burns when it’s pumped inside them, which hasn’t been properly tested or proven, but Tony is tempted to believe it after watching Peter squeal and thrash when the first man creampies him.

And yet, oh, the poor little thing’s hips are moving so desperately. His heat has fully taken hold of him, now - compelling him to be bred, to seek out and attract his mate by any means necessary. With Bucky kneeling so close behind him, close enough to smell and hear, Peter’s body seems to be wonderfully confused. He rides each beta cock that’s humped inside of him like he needs their come to live, then jerks and sobs when he finally gets what his needy little body is after.

It’s a beautiful sight.

Bucky clearly doesn’t agree. Snarling like an aggressive dog, Tony doesn’t blame his guests for quailing away from the bound beast. Frothy spit drips from the alpha’s chin as he does his best to bare his teeth with the mouth guard gagging his lips open. The stockade makes loud, thundering bangs every time he tries to dislodge it from its base, desperate to tear the beta in front of him away from his omega and rip him in half like a Christmas cracker. He’s unsuccessful, of course - Tony built that stockade to withstand an alpha even larger than Thor - but it’s intimidating all the same.

After the third beta has had his turn, Peter goes limp on his bench. He whines pitifully as the fourth man mounts him, sliding inside easily, stirring the mess of come and slick inside of his fuckhole with his dick. Peter, as unwilling as he is, can’t stop himself from moaning and rolling his hips in tandem with the beta’s, trying to make the man’s cock fill him deeper, wider, fuller. Tony smiles at the desperate way Peter is bouncing his hips. It must be maddening, to be fucked over and over again by a series of eager cocks not biologically designed to satisfy you.

Slick and beta come glob onto the floor as Peter desperately rides the man standing behind him. Bucky howls through his gag like he’s being castrated, vicious and frantic to get to his mate and breed him properly. Tony grins at the desperate struggling his gorgeous alpha is still putting up. It makes him rise to his feet almost subconsciously, not sparing the breeding bench a glance as he walks around it and approaches the stockade.

Bucky knows better than to lunge for him. Still, his thrashing increases tenfold when he thinks his Daddy might be crouching behind him to undo his restraints. Tony loves how basic, how single-minded heats and ruts make his pets become, how they reduce them to their most primitive selves. Like this, Bucky can’t even fathom why Tony wouldn’t free him and allow him to defend and claim his mate. Without a doubt, all thoughts of lessons and punishments have been pushed far from the alpha’s mind. He’s a beast, like this. A pitiful, powerless beast.

He grunts and snarls when Tony cups his huge, distended balls. Rigid, swollen and heavy with fresh come, they hang dark and tight between Bucky’s legs, nearly touching the floor. Tony gently massages them, watching the alpha’s massive cock bob and leak precome from the stimulation. Poor thing. He truly doesn’t deserve to be tormented like this, but Tony can only hope he uses this pain as motivation in helping him train and tame Peter.

As five betas becomes six and then seven, Tony stays crouched behind Bucky, gently working his balls with the palms of his hands to provide some relief for his aching, anguished alpha. Peter’s pitiful cries fill the room, louder than the pleasured groans of the men filling him, louder even than Bucky’s muffled screams of rage.

That’s why Tony is able to hear it so clearly when his baby sobs, “I’m - I’m sorry, D...Daddy, ‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” Sobbing so hard, the words shatter like glass as they leave his damp lips. “Daddy I’m sorry, please forgive me, p-please, Daddy!” Tony stands, almost leaping to grab the beta still humping away wantonly at his princess’s backside and fling him off without a care.

“Baby,” he soothes instantly, stroking Peter’s trembling flank to try and settle his wailing sobs. “Oh, sweetheart, my little princess, hush now. You’re all right.” He leans in, kisses the omega’s quivering back, stroking his sweat-matted hair. “It’s all right now, sweet boy. Daddy forgives you.”

Impatiently, Tony snaps his fingers, dismissing the men without so much as looking at them. As the last one files out, the door automatically locking behind him, Tony undoes Peter’s cuffs but leaves him bent over the bench, hanging there limply, as he once more crouches beside Bucky. He removes the gag, opens Bucky’s restraints, and is quick to jerk back as Bucky surges upwards and descends on Peter with pure animal desperation.

And still, Tony’s wonderful boy is human enough to gather his tiny mate in his arms and carry him over to his bed, crowding him against the dull greys of his bedding as he slots himself between Peter’s spread legs and pumps his cock inside of him. Peter mewls gratefully, arms iron-tight around Bucky’s neck, his trembling legs trying to cling to Bucky’s wide waist, their chests pressed flush together as Bucky sinks his teeth into Peter’s mating bite, sinks his cock into Peter’s well-fucked cunt.

Smiling, Tony returns to the proper side of the glass, leaving the pair to their own devices - or as close as he’s willing to allow them to come to it. He watches for the better part of an hour as Bucky breeds, grooms, gentles and then breeds Peter once again, repeating the process over and over, making sure to pay special attention each time he licks up the mess leaking from his omega’s abused hole, as if the beast cannot rest until every drop of beta come has been cleaned from Peter’s body.

—

The utter lack of sleep his boys have had in the last 24 hours shows when they pass out towards their fifth round. They’d been up talking and fucking the whole night before, and neither had slept a second since their separation this morning. It was bound to happen.

Bucky has rolled onto his side, one of the only (formerly) clean blankets pulled over the two of them. Peter’s face is pressed into the barely-there space between the alpha’s bicep - of which he’s laying his head on - and one of those meaty pecs. They’re chest to chest, and by the way Peter shifts every now and again (and the leg clearly thrown across that broad waist), still firmly connected via knot. Bucky’s other arm is wrapped firmly around Peter’s waist, his nose tucked into the sticky, matted curls of his omega. Only the alpha’s feet peak out from under the blanket, Peter too small to reach that far down under a clearly alpha-sized blanket.

Given that the pair aren’t doing much, Tony decides to attend to a few things. His boys need a bath, badly, but that can wait. Instead, he goes upstairs to Peter’s kennel. Entering with a laundry hamper and gloves, he begins stripping Peter’s bed of all its baby blankets and fluffy pillows. Thankfully, Peter isn’t one to revenge pee. He’s had a few pets who had taken up the hobby. Still, it’s a sticky, come-drenched mess, and dried come isn’t his idea of a good moisturizer.

Usually, a team of professionals come through once a week and clean all the kennels, replacing the bedding, tending to the bathrooms, and grooming some of his other pets. His favorites…well, they tend to get a little more special attention from Daddy. He loves keeping his alphas’ hair long and some level of beard on them. It accentuates the masculinity of already hyper-masculine beings. Trimming and tending to the hairy alphas is a small indulgence of his. The only exception to the hair-loving rule is their balls.

Regularly, his boys receive a waxing. Steve actually had been calm enough for lasering and no longer needs them. Thor enjoys the attention enough to hold still through the tugs, and Tony always gets a nice show of Thor leaning down to clean his now-smooth pair nearly every time. Bucky is…rough at times. His balls are so large, the process takes just a bit longer and it can never be done soft. The waxer tends to always be concerned about too much loose skin if Bucky isn’t hard while getting the service. Tony had never seen Bucky’s skin ever be loose enough to worry much, but now with Peter, he’s beginning to understand it. With Peter’s body to hold all of his come for him, the alpha’s balls have started to show more wrinkles and gentle sagging. Tony’s surprised with himself for finding it appealing, after his love for those balls filled with come has bordered on obsession for a few years now.

Either way, those smooth balls on their hairy bodies is truly a lovely juxtaposition, and his omegas seem to enjoy sucking on them far more without bristly little hairs poking at their face and tongue.

With the bedding now packed away, he lugs it to the laundry shoot to be cleaned. Peter will need spares soon, but his baby is so often cold in the night, all the blankets meant to be extras have made their way onto the bed. His princess loves all things soft and plush, so to deny him any of those things when it’s just so fitting for such a delicate omega, it’s inconceivable, even for him.

The hardest clean-up job will be the pair themselves. As much as he loves seeing them both soiled and rolling in each other’s slick and come, Peter is beginning to look matted and ill-kept, unbefitting of a princess. Maybe Bucky can get away with the look, with his brutish build and gruff disposition, but he is officially mated to Peter and thus now has some upkeep to maintain.

He can’t but help smile to himself a little at the thought. He really does adore the pair. Bucky may have always been a bit of a bull in a china shop, but seeing this soft and irresistibly sweet side to a pet he already loved has pulled Bucky up to a level similar to Peter in his mind.

Wanting to be back with the pair, he wanders down to the basement, watches from behind the pane of glass as he usually does, but with the two sleeping and his hands itching to touch, he slips inside. JARVIS enabled, he goes over to Bucky, letting the tap of his shoes be softly audible so as not to startle the large creature resting on the bed. Bucky isn’t prone to attacking him, not for a long time, but he knows better than to sneak up on him. That is the unspoken agreement between them; so long as Bucky knows Tony is the one there, he won’t make a move to hurt him.

The sound has its desired effect. Bucky raises his head slowly to see who’s coming. Seeing Tony, he rests his head back against the large, spacious pillows that had been one of his birthday presents last year.

Hands wandering across Bucky’s back and up to his shoulder, he leans in close to speak softly to the alpha, not wanting to wake Peter.

“How are you feeling, love? Any pain?” Rubs a thumb along the still slightly red line across the back of Bucky’s neck from banging against his restraints.

“No, Daddy. Just…tired.” Bucky doesn’t make eye contact, but does tilt his head towards Tony, a movement meant to show submission whilst clearly paying attention.

Tony can’t resist kissing up the side of Bucky’s face, working one of those massive shoulders under his hand. “Daddy’s not mad at you, okay Buck? You’ve been such a good boy for me. Not mad at Peter either now; he just needs to settle in and you need to help him with that. Sound doable?”

Bucky nods, eyes darting towards the bite mark. Craning his neck up, Bucky carefully licks at the wound, a clear apology on behalf of his mate, despite the one he had accepted earlier from the boy himself. Tony leans into it. JARVIS would have done something if this was an aggressive move. Years have given the AI the ability to read Bucky’s intentions like a book. Plus, Bucky is transferring some of that sweetness onto Daddy, and he’s greedy for it now that he knows it exists.

He pulls away once the man finishes. He strokes Bucky’s hair, pushing it back and admiring the stunning man beneath his hands. Those steel-blue eyes never fail to drag him under, they were the first thing he fell in love with in his pet. They scream intelligence and speak to a being who feels deeply, even if it’s hidden behind layers of brutal ability and aggression.

Sliding a hand down Bucky’s arm, he touches Peter, letting Bucky see and feel where he’s going with the motion to prevent any sudden, protective moves. Thankfully, it works - Bucky only tightens his grip a little bit on Peter, but refrains from intervening, knowing that Peter is Daddy’s first, even if instinct scream out against it.

Peter’s skin is damn near buttery in just how supple it is under his fingers. He rounds the bed, putting himself where Bucky can see as he runs greedy hands over the boy. It wakes Peter up, but with the punishment still fresh in his mind, he merely curls into Bucky’s arms and gets his fill.

“Petey.” The omega flinches, even as Tony’s tone remains even and soft. “How are you feeling, princess?”

A soft sniffle nearly breaks his heart. Bucky shushes and pulls Peter tight, rocking his hips gently to provide some sort of comfort. Maybe a grounding sensation? He hasn’t had a mated pair like these two, a lot of things are assumptions for the time being.

“Hey, sweetheart, it’s okay. You’ve got Bucky here, and Daddy just wants to make sure you’re not hurting. We won’t do that ever again as long as you don’t go trying to make Daddy hurt again.” He rubs his back, the knobs of Peter’s spine reminding him that the boy hasn’t eaten since yesterday.

Bucky manages to shove his face next to Peter’s, licking up the tears leaking from his tiny mate’s swollen eyes. Being close up now, his pet looks terrible. The betas had been under strict rules not to hurt the defenseless boy, but the bruise on his cheek has Tony feeling terrible. It’s not a dark one, but still a clear sign that he’s raised a hand against the omega. Peter shouldn’t have lashed out, but it’s Tony’s job to be above lashing out in return. Apologizing is not an option. Peter had done wrong and been punished for it, but he still wishes he had reigned in the response. Peter’s punishment should have been more controlled, beginning and ending with the betas.

He runs a gentle, paternal hand through Peter’s curls, bringing in his other one to help gently break up the spunk and sweat-glued strands. Saliva is likely in there as well, but Peter will be getting a bath soon enough to straighten the mess out. It’s terrible to see his hair so flat and limp. It’s an endlessly endearing trait, and why he keeps Peter’s hair on the longer side when all of his female omegas have short bobs or complex plaits and braids to keep things neat.

“Baby.” Taking Peter’s hip in his hand and gently rolling the small amount of baby fat there, he leans down, just out of range of a bite, but still able to be heard in his hushed tone. “You need to tell Daddy where you’re hurting so he can fix it. Can you do that for me, Peter?”

The boy stays still for a few, fleeting heartbeats, before nodding. It takes him a few moments to compose himself enough to speak through his hiccups. “My - my insides. My hole - it burns. Th-they put something in it and it still hurts. E-even with Bucky inside m-me, D-daddy.”

Oh dear, maybe the beta come hurts more than he’d realized.

“Bucky, sweet boy, would you take Peter to the bathroom, please? I need to go grab something. Take a blanket with you, poor omega looks like he’s about to freeze.”

Bucky does as he’s told, gathering his tiny mate up into his arms and moving him to the bathroom. His cock now slips out and swings limply between his legs as he concerns himself with his aching sweetheart.

Going to the supply closet, he pulls out an enema kit. He keeps a wide assortment of tack, gear, medical and various other supplies in it. He has never regretted anything that made its way to the closet, and he’s glad he’d thought to keep such things on hand for times like this.

Moving back to Bucky’s kennel, he goes into the bathroom to find Bucky tongue deep in Peter’s hole, but the poor thing is still shaking and complaining of pain. Ignoring him for the time, Bucky lays himself lightly over Peter, who had been shakily holding onto the edge of the tub during his rimming session. It never fails to make his heart go just a little bit soft seeing Bucky like this. Who knew the beast really just needed a mate - a purpose, really - to bring out something so tender.

He shoos Bucky away, even as the alpha grumbles. Filling the enema with warm water, just a bit closer to the hotter side of things, he caps the bottle with its nozzle. Laying Peter in the tub and having him pull a leg up, he inserts the tip and squeezes the bottle. He has to be careful not to do too much, or the resulting cramps may be worse than the burning semen.

“Now just hold it for a moment, Peter. We’ll do it a few times to wash you out well, then you can have Bucky’s come later without any of the hurting, okay?”

“O-kay.” Curled up and twitching, but covered with a thick blanket from the bed, Peter holds still as the water does its thing.

Moving Peter to the toilet to release the water is easy when you have a 6’9” alpha willing to do some leg work. Peter is repeatedly moved from toilet to tub until the burning subsides and the tears have calmed down. Tony suspects that the tears may have been more from stress than anything now, on the other end of things, but Peter finally calms down enough for him to leave the topic alone.

“Alright, last thing, Peter. You need a bath.” And oh, how Tony would love to be the one to scrub that porcelain body and tame those curls, but that will have to wait for another day. He has work to do, and Peter likely will prefer his mate at the moment. “Bucky’s gonna get you cleaned up.”

He turns to the alpha, sitting quietly on the toilet and now trying to gather Peter into his lap. “I need you to clean him up and keep him clean. If you need to breed again, do it before the bath, but make sure you clean up his curls.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

“Good boy.” He leans down, cheek turned to Bucky, who gives him a gentle, slightly scratchy kiss.

He looks at Peter. “Are you going to be nice and give Daddy a kiss, princess?”

Peter looks away, nodding.

Tony leans forward, turning his injured cheek to Peter. The little omega gives it the softest of licks and a light kiss to the damage he’s done. Tony gives them both a kiss on the forehead as a reward.

As he leaves, he calls over his shoulder, “Bucky, let JARVIS know what you two would like to eat tonight, I’ll send whatever you want down.”

With that, he exits the basement and removes himself from the mates’ lives, for now.

#starker #winterspider #peter parker #bucky barnes #tony stark #peter parker x bucky barnes #tony stark x peter parker #siliqua writes #ru tag #nff

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teamhook · 4 years

Photo

AO3

FFN

Okay, so this is it guys! I’m so excited. I want to thank the @cssns and my lovely patient amazing beta @ultraluckycatnd and I could never ever forget my artist @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 because she is awesome!

Belle and Will arrives in Storybrooke the next day. They are promptly met by Rioga Mary Margaret and her husband David.

Mary Margaret smiles fondly. "We insist you stay with us. There's no better place for you and your companion."

"Oh, no, I couldn't impose. The visit is so sudden," Belle counters; she has no idea if they are privy to any details about their visit.

David's blue eyes study the pair. He knows the visit has to do with Killian. Part of him wants to know the details, but he knows there is a reason they weren't informed of all the details.

Belle and Will share a look that was all too common between couples that shared the bond of True Love.

Will leans into Belle's space. "Lass, I don't think this is a good idea."

David scoffs. "Mr. Scarlet, it doesn't take wolf ears to hear your disagreement with accepting my wife's invitation. Look, let's show our cards. We know you are here at the request of Killian Jones. That is the reason we are willing to look the other way. You two will come and go as you please, no questions asked."

Mary Margaret and Belle look on as the men talk.

Belle says softly, "I'm truly sorry, we're only here to help. Sadly, I cannot share more than that."

Mary Margaret gently pats Belle's hand. "I understand, we both do. We have learned to trust Killian and Emma's gut. If they feel it's better for us to not know the full details of your visit, we accept that decision."

Belle smiles. "Thank you."

"However, I do insist on offering our hospitality; it would be safer." Mary Margaret raises a brow.

Belle sighs. "Alright. we accept."

Will turns to look at Belle, shakes his head, and is met with narrow eyes. He mutters, "bloody hell."

Hidden away, the Norn observed the Savior and the wolf, the familiarity remaining between the pair. She had watched them inspect the location she had told him about. She had wanted to find him there alone, but he had shown up with her. This was more difficult than expected. She needed the Savior out of the way; perhaps a deal was in order. The Norn smirked wickedly. It seems a trade was in order to satisfy her needs.

Emma and Killian aren't surprised at Emma's parents' hospitality towards Belle and Will. Killian is conflicted because the plan was to keep the Royals out of the equation, but he had to admit it was the most secure place in town.

Will and Killian talk in hushed tones, their voices barely a whisper that they have no trouble understanding because of their wolf hearing. They had decided to go on a tour of the woods to find exits and to figure out the best way to enter the Norn's lair.

Will wants to just bust in and go for the vial, but Killian tells him they have to be smart. Will is not happy when Belle sides with Killian after they discuss the options.

Emma is silent; her gut tells her that Killian is right. They need to be smart, but she wants it over with too. She is a little reckless herself.

Will scoffs. "I know how to bloody plan a heist. I've done it before, and if I may add, I'm good at it. You came to me mate. If you didn't think I could pull it off, you should have chosen a different thief."

Killian runs his hand through his hair. "Scarlet, I'm not saying you can't do it or aren't good enough, but that hag is not like anyone else you have crossed. If you get caught, she could easily turn you into some sort of weed." Killian looks at his friend. "She will turn you into a Thistle or something, and we will not be able to confront her without admitting to knowing the reason you were there."

At night, Will dresses quietly. He opens the door to his room. He looks out, the hall is dark but quiet. He smiles and exits.

Once he reaches the woods, he sheds his clothes and transforms. His wolf takes over as he runs to the Norn's home.

He sniffs around and takes a careful step in front of him. He enters the home without any problems. He shifts back to his human self. He is going to need thumbs. He carefully walks around naked. No noise or creak is heard. He smiles as he opens the cabinet. He whispers to himself 'there you are'. He is about to get the vial but before he does that, he notices a small vial with a hair not far from it glowing dimly. He thinks, interesting. Both vials have a similar glow to them that might go unnoticed by someone with regular sight. He finally goes to grab the vial. His wolf guides him to the correct vial, butas he is about to grab it, he is interrupted by a tsk.

"Tsk, tsk. Aren't you a bad pup? Don't you know stealing is not an honorable profession? I'm afraid I'm going to have to teach you a lesson." She throws a vial at him.

Will freezes in place, his quick reflexes failing him.

The woman approaches him. "What am I going to do with you? Hmm." She goes to the cabinet with a smirk in place.

She looks at Will up and down. "You know, I'm in my right to do whatever I choose to do to you, thief. The possibilities are endless." She walks around him. "Should I take something precious away from you? Or perhaps turn you into something? Decisions, decisions. Will you tell me why you decided to rob me? Or are you willing to take your punishment alone?"

Will glares at her.

Emma wakes up in a cold sweat. She gets out of bed, her shirt drenched. She grabs her phone from the nightstand and automatically dials Killian's number.

He answers on the first ring. "Emma, is everything alright?"

She sighs. "I just wanted to hear your voice. I have a bad feeling."

Killian stays quiet.

"Love, I made a promise to you. We will find a way."

"I know, I just can't shake this feeling that something is going to go wrong and I will lose you all over again."

"Love, you will never lose me. I love you. I know things are different right now, but we will find our way. I feel it."

Emma sniffles. "I know. I just can't shake this feeling. We are not going to let her win."

"Aye, I know."

"So, do you really think this plan will work? I like Will, but he is a little reckless."

Killian laughs. "He is reckless, and that's the reason I thought he would be a good choice for the job."

"Alright, if you think this will work, I trust you. I know you have all this experience in plotting and stuff but sometimes you just have to take a risk," Emma says.

"There's my reckless girl. Love, we need to have hope."

Emma snorts. "Now you sound like my parents." She smiles to herself. "So today, Will is going to break in. How will we get her to leave?"

"We could tell her we need to discuss the fact that the trees near the toll bridge are dying. She will jump at the chance to do something about it."

"Hmm, who would have thought the Norn was a nature nut?" Emma snorts.

"Aye, that's part of her. That's the reason she lives in that old tree trunk. Think of her as Mother Nature."

Belle wakes up and quickly dresses. She goes to knock on Will's door, but is met with silence.

She knocks again. "William, are you decent?" She waits for a reply and nothing. She slowly turns the doorknob and enters the room. She looks around; the bed is made and it is eerily quiet. Will is not the type to be so neat. She mutters, 'damn it' and bolts from the room.

Belle finds Emma's room after asking one of the staff. knocks hurriedly.

Emma opens the door and is surprised to open the door to what appears to be a distraught Belle.

Belle enters the room. "Emma, Will is not in his room and I don't think he slept on his bed." Belle is walking circles around Emma.

Emma closes her eyes. "Do you think he went out to clear his head, maybe have a drink?"

Belle turns to Emma. "He doesn't like to drink while on the job. He enjoys his rum like Killian, but not when he is working."

"Do you think he went out and tried to pull the job by himself? With no backup or with the Norn in her home. Is he that reckless?"

Belle smiles. "He is that reckless and I think he felt we had no faith in him. He would do something like that to prove himself."

Will laughs at his predicament. The hag had sneaked upon him, he didn't smell her. She was a tricky one and he had learned that the hard way. He was tied up with some sort of vine, but at least she had dressed him. It was humiliating enough being caught with his pants down. He looked around. She hadn't decided on his punishment yet. He would not snitch, though. He rhythmically moves to test the restraints. He could try a transformation but the hag was crazy; he has no idea if the vines have an enchantment or something else. He takes a whiff and there is no scent. He sighs; maybe he should have listened to Jones.

"Tell me pup, are you ready to talk?" the Norn asks.

Will huffs. "Lass, I'm a thief and I just wanted to be able to claim I stole from the Norn. That's all, bragging rights." He spits and glares at her.

She stares him down.

Will smirks.

"Alright pup, have it your way. But you will have to wait. I have pressing matters to attend to." She smiles sweetly and goes to her cabinet.

Will tries to see what she is doing.

"Ah-ah, no peeking pup." A magical barrier blocks his view. She grabs the vials that she had been using for her glamour potion. This will be her last attempt. The hair was almost gone. She mixes the ingredients and twirls the vial as it turns to a glowing shade of gold. She drinks it. Her hair turns strawberry blonde and her eyes became blue. As she took in her appearance, she shrieks in anger. It didn't work! She didn't look bad, but it was not the image she wanted, and it was the last of the Savior's hair. This was her last attempt, so it had to work. She had been thinking of ways to lure the Savior back to her lair and offer her a deal.

Emma and Belle had come to the same conclusion: Will had gone on the heist alone. Emma had suggested for Belle to go get Killian and they would meet in the woods.

Emma sits in her car waiting for Belle and Killian to arrive but she was starting to feel restless. What if by the time they got there it was too late for Will? She thought to herself 'idiot', but she couldn't blame him. She was annoyed at all the huffing and puffing about strategy and all that shit. No, she is done with that Hag. She gets out of her dad's truck with a chainsaw in hand and starts making the trek back to the Norn's house.

Emma finds the old tree easily and with a smile on her face, she turns on the chainsaw. She's about to take a swing at the tree with the chainsaw when she is thrown back by an energy ball.

Emma stumbles back and drops the chainsaw. She stands up, shaking off the unexpected attack ready to face the old Hag, but is instead met with a young woman with strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes.

"Hello, Savior. Surprise!" she says as she readies for another attack. "Are you here for the pup?"

Emma shakes her head. "I'm here to take back something you stole."

"Isn't that something. I have a pup waiting for his punishment because he wanted to steal from me, and now you're here to take back something that was offered to me in exchange for saving your life, might I add."

The Norn eyes Emma. "Savior, I shouldn't make an offer, more of a deal really, but I'm willing." She lowers her arms to show there's no threat.

Emma stares at her with a raised brow. "A deal? I don't think so. After the way you tricked Killian? Who did you trick for their youth, because last time I was here, you didn't look like this."

The Norn laughed. "Oh, thank you for noticing, Savior. I look good, don't I? But we're not here to talk about how good I look. I said we could make a deal in exchange for your wolf's love passion. You drink this," she says with a smile on her face as she taunts Emma with the vial.

Emma looks at the purple-ish liquid. "What about Will?"

"Oh, is that the pup's name, Will?"

Emma's eyes blink as she points at the vial in the Norn's hand. "What is that?"

"A simple potion. You willingly drink it and all your problems go away. Your wolf gets his love passion back. The thief, Will, goes free, and no one knows your mother's part in this mess. Do you accept?"

"What will happen to me?"

"Nothing nefarious, you simply sleep."

Emma eyes the vial. "How do I know you will keep your word? You tricked Killian after all, and if I'm sleeping, how will I know you kept your end of the deal?"

The Norn smiles. "Ah, you would have to take my word."

Emma laughs. "How about you let Will go and he can take Killian's love passion with him. Once I know they're safe, I drink your purple thingy."

The Norn paces for a second. "How about I let the pup go with the vial but as soon as they're out of sight, you drink the 'purple thingy' as you so delicately put it. Remember that wolves are fast. Deal or no deal?"

Emma's mind drifts to Killian. He did this for her, so why not make the same kind of sacrifice for him? He was worth it. She smiles and extends her hand. "Deal. I want to see Will and the vial free from you before I put this to my lips."

The smile that graces the Norn's face should give her second thoughts, but she braves on.

"My, my Savior. You have no idea how happy you have made me. Alright, come with me." The Norn waves her hand and the tree trunk transforms into the entrance to her home. They walk in and soon, Emma's eyes land on Will sitting in a chair with vines holding him still.

"Now, pup, Will is it? Alright, your savior here has made a deal in exchange for you, and this." She opens a cabinet door and holds up the vial. "Is this what you came to steal? It doesn't matter now, does it?"

Will's eyes land on Emma while he is shaking his head. Emma simply smiles and mouths the words 'I have to, I love him'.

The Norn waves her hand and the vines drop to the floor. "Alright pup, here. Take this with you and go."

Will hesitated for a second after grabbing the vial and transformed as he ran, holding the vial carefully in his muzzle as he makes his way through the woods.

The Norn turns to Emma once Will is out of sight. "My part is done, now it's up to you. Drink it."

Killian and Belle arrive at the point they were to meet Emma. Killian takes one look around. "Bloody hell." He starts running as he sheds his clothes. Belle is running after him as fast as she can.

Killian has a good start and now has picked up both Will and Emma's scent. He picks up speed, his heart feeling an urgency to get to her.

As soon as Will is out of view, Emma takes the vial and drinks it.

Emma drops to the floor unceremoniously and the Norn kneels next to her. "Ah Savior, your wolf will get his passion back, but it will not be for you. He will fall at my feet, or should I say, Eloise Gardener's." She smiles at her work. When she is about to wave her hand for the tree to provide an eternal coffin for the blonde Savior, she is pushed away from her by a wolf she would recognize anywhere. The blue eyes hold her in place and with a snarl, he transforms back. He drops to his knees next to the Savior. As his tears fill his eyes, he carefully pulls her in his arms and lowers his lips to the crown of her head as he takes her in. "What have you done, you bloody reckless woman? You will be the death of me," he whispers to her. "I love you, I will always love you." He kisses her lips in a chaste kiss that emanated a rainbow light that spreads out, causing an explosion as the tree trunk breaks apart by the force of the light magic. The Norn, blinded by the light, stands in place as her magic escapes her and transforms her into a snag.

Will had run into Belle as they felt the wave of magic hit them. He transforms instantly. He gets up and looks for the vial, only to find it broken. He mutters, "Bloody hell, what was that?"

Belle had fallen backward by the impact but rose up without a problem. "Ouch. I don't know, but I don't think it was anything bad. I mean, I don't feel it was dark." She sighs. "Will, why did you not wait for us? Did Emma find you?"

"Aye, and she made a deal with the Hag. And you all think of me as reckless. I told her not to, but she is a stubborn one. Belle, how am I going to tell Jones I lost his love passion after his love made a deal to save it?"

"What do you mean?"

He shows her the broken vial. "The impact of that magic broke it."

Belle sighs. "Oh no."

Will finally realizes he is naked in front of Belle after he notices she isn't maintaining eye contact. Bloody hell. He looks around for something to cover himself with.

Belle smiles timidly as she points at Killian's discarded clothes. "I think you can wear Killian's. He shifted as soon as he noticed Emma missing. Do you think he got there in time?"

"I don't know. Come on, let's find out. I'm sorry for making this worse." He looks down as they walk back to the Norn's place.

Emma opens her eyes slowly. Killian is holding her so close to him. She breathes him in. "Hey, what's wrong? Who died?" She smiles as she pushes him away to see his face.

His eyes widen and he gives her a big smile. "Bloody hell, woman. Are you trying to kill me? Why don't you ever listen?"

She snorts. "I never do and you love me for it. So what happened here?"

Killian looks around and it seems like a bomb had exploded. He scratches behind his ear. "Darling, I don't know. I thought you were dead and I kissed you and then-"

"True Love's Kiss!" A voice says, startling them.

Emma and Killian look at the source, only to find Belle and Will.

Belle smiles. "This is a rare magic, so it makes sense. Emma, you are the Savior, and you and Killian share True Love."

Emma smiles. "But he doesn't have his love passion, so how?" Her eyes land on Will. "Do you still have the vial?"

Will turns away. "It broke when the impact of that blast hit me. I fell and the vial fell out of my muzzle as I transformed back. I'm sorry."

Killian looks down and he turns to Emma. "Love, I think that it's back. I-" He blushes., "I'm having thoughts and urges that I have been lacking as of late."

Emma looks at him with disbelief. "Are you sure?"

He laughs. "Aye, I'm sure. I want to show you just how much I love you."

Emma laughs and tackles him, kissing him all over the face.

Belle and Will clear their throats as they leave them alone.

"So you really like me, huh?" Emma teases Killian.

"Aye, I do." He smiles lovingly.

The smile fades from Emma's face as she looks around. "What happened to the Norn?"

Killian looks around as well and spots an eerily human-like tree that has a stench he is familiar with. The smell is diluted, but he would recognize it anywhere. "Love, I believe that is her."

Emma gets close to the tree and smiles. "Alright, how about some firewood?" She goes looking for her chainsaw which she finds on the floor. She lifts it up and when it starts after a couple of tries, she gives Killian a wink and chops down the tree with a wide smile on her face.

A few weeks after the disappearance of the Norn, Will and Belle leave to return to Sherwood Forest.

Killian and Emma return to their normal life and in a quiet moment, Killian gets on one knee and asks the love of his long life to be his wife, who simply replies, I thought you'd never ask. With those words, their happy ending begins.

tagging:

@rumdrum91 @itsfabianadocarmo @xsajx @hookedonapirate @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes @seriouslyhooked @profdanglaisstuff @let-it-raines @revanmeetra87 @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @kymbersmith-90 @branlovestowrite @thejollyroger-writer @shireness-says @ilovemesomekillianjones @thisonesatellite @thesschesthair @winterbythesea @stahlop @resident-of-storybrooke @superchocovian @lfh1226-linda @artistic-writer @thislassishooked @shardminds @winterbaby89 @xhookswenchx @ultraluckycatnd @gingerchangeling @laschatzi @wellhellotragic @xemmaloveskillianx @courtorderedcake @pirateherokillian @optomisticgirl @darkcolinodonorgasm @sherlockianwhovian @andiirivera @djlbg @nikkiemms @jennjenn615 @scientificapricot @officerrogers @imlaxdris71 @therealstartraveller776 @kday426 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @donteattheappleshook @spacekrulesbians @lassluna @carpedzem @captainodonoghue @killian-will-do @jarienn972 @tehgreeneyes @demisexualemmaswan @queen-serena88 @swanslieutenant @tiganasummertree @whimsicallyenchantedrose @bethacaciakay @ohmakemeahercules @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @mariakov81 @sals86 @elizabeethan @brooke-to-broch @hookedonhiddles @onceratheart18

#Captain Swan #cssns20 #cs ff #CS Crew #cs mafia

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leiainhoth · 4 years

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Summery: Luke and Din wake up on their first day in Mos Pelgo, but a disturbing vision forces the Marshal to make a decision … Luke woke with a start, his heart racing. The blankets were twisted about the bed, and he was startled, lost and confused. Where was he? He fell back against the headboard with his head in his hands as he tried to catch his breath. The room he was in was strange to him, but as he blinked and settled, it came back to him in a wave. He was on Tatooine; his ship was still on Tython. Maker, he was stuck here. Stuck without a comm, without any way out. They had two more days until the caravan left for Mos Eisley. This wasn’t a sticky or even unpleasant situation to find himself in, comparatively, but still. It was Tatooine! He thought he’d never come back here again. He knew that they wouldn’t be for long; with any luck, he and the Mandalorian would be able to hire a transport of some kind when they returned to civilization and then they’d leave this dustbowl for good. Luke flushed suddenly, strangely, as his mind unhelpfully provided a possessive pronoun as he considered his companion. The Mandalorian was good company; after so long being recognized in the rebel alliance, being anonymous on his homeworld was… strangely welcome. Whatever the Mandalorian had done other than killing a krayt dragon to gain the respect of these people was unknown to him. Luke had surmised that the curious and unprecedented treaty between Mos Pelgo and the Sand People had been negotiated by both the Marshal and Mando. But it rested steadily, on firm ground. The day before, Luke had watched the town carefully, using both the force and his intuition to ascertain the mood of Mos Pelgo. He wasn’t surprised exactly to find it perfectly amicable, friendly, even. Luke had never seen the massiffs of the Sand People, but they were in town, sniffing at the feet of their masters as they moved through the street. Children petted their reptilian hides, and Luke watched carefully, nonetheless, aware of his personal experiences with the Sand People clouding his judgement. He had no qualms with them, not really. But he had been raised to see their kind as an enemy, and it was hard to move past his instinctual fear of the unknown to accept them as they were. The light from the slit beneath his door was dark; it must be very early. Luke had risen with the sunrise and slipped out the door to meditate before his companions woke. The horizon was indigo and azure, and the world was still. Luke was barefoot, and he walked slowly, mindful of the cool stone and sand, the sound his heels made as they struck the earth. It was early enough that even the miners of Mos Pelgo remained in their beds, and Luke took a deep breath, trying to stay mindful and calm in the early morning hour. Luke often meditated in the morning; even when he was living on Chandrila, he had risen with the sun, often losing track of time as he calmed his thoughts for the day ahead. There was much to consider, so many paths that he could take. The universe was open to him, now. So far as he knew, he was the last and indeed the only Jedi master left in the galaxy. What others had done in the past, their mistakes and triumphs were his alone to bear. Luke was their legacy; whatever it was to be a Jedi would be told through his eyes. Much of his time was spent looking for Jedi artifacts, scouring what little remained in the Coruscant archives, hunting rumour after rumour at the promise of surviving force-sensitives across the galaxy. What did it mean to be a Jedi? How did one come to be a master? How could Luke remain faithful to the Jedi legacy while addressing the bigotry and close-mindedness of the past? He often conferred with Obi-Wan and Yoda’s force ghosts, usually in the late evening or early morning. Their advice grew stale with time, both reminiscent of the Jedi order’s greatness when they were young. They warned Luke to not fall prey to his feelings, lest they lead him into the darkness. As he grew older, Luke found it harder and harder to justify absolutes. There could be no absolute darkness, no absolute light. There were always cracks in the glass, slivers of joy and peace and contentment, even if one’s heart had soured with the ways of the world. Could a Jedi truly have no attachments? Possessiveness, Luke could understand. A lover or a friend is not an object one can covet exclusively, hold in the air against one’s will. Love is reciprocated, love is open hands; love is the realization that another’s happiness is equal to your own. Love was not love when it was exclusive. Love is what Luke saw when he saw the child and his father. Luke couldn’t claim to know or understand what his companion thought or felt. He was stoic and silent, speaking only when necessary, and then most often to his child. Love flowed out of him like a flood, bursting forth without thought or restraint. He loved the child desperately, with a heartwarming affection that stemmed from loss. Luke knew better than to press; whatever he had witnessed on Tython was a desperate thing. His companion had been of the heart and mind that he would lose the child forever if Luke took him. It had shocked and deeply disturbed him. What had happened to make the Mandalorian think that Luke, a perfect stranger, take a child away from his father with no hope of return. It was devastating, and that was before Luke knew the child. Grogu’s love for his father was profound, deeper perhaps than any love Luke had ever known. Grogu loved unconditionally, desperately; his whole soul was wrapped around that of his father. And it was reciprocated. Din protected the child, and the child loved him; they were tied in the force; together. Even if he was able to, even if Luke wanted to, he’d never be able to breach it. What the Mandalorian and his child had, Din had never seen anything like it. They were family together or parted. Bound together in ways Luke could never understand. He had had his aunt and uncle, and later Leia and Han. But a mother, a father; Luke would never have what the child did. He might be a Jedi Master, a general, a grown man , but a part of him would always be an orphan on Tatooine, unsure of who he could be. Unaware that great things were awaiting him. But Grogu didn’t need greatness; he already possessed it. The child’s strength in the force was extraordinary; he would be a Jedi knight if he wanted to be. And he was so pure, so young, his force signature was bright , dancing on the edge of his consciousness like the light of the setting suns. Luke wanted to train him, wanted to see how they could learn from one another. Grogu had told Luke about his time in the Jedi temple on Coruscant, about the masters and padawans before Order 66. That part of the child’s consciousness was clouded, murky. It was clear to Luke that the child had been forced to hide his abilities; even now, he restrained himself. Meditating made it easier for Luke to feel the child and understand his past to progress into the future. And his father, holy Hoth, Luke didn’t know what to think of Grogu’s buir. He was intimidating, tall, bound in impenetrable armour. He rarely spoke, but the child had told Luke about him through their force bond, telling Luke about their ship, their time in the market, the frogs he had eaten playing with his friend Winta by the ponds. He told Luke about his bantha toy, his fish and his durasteel knob his buir had given him. Luke remembered the joy in the child’s eyes the night before when Grogu showed Luke his new tunic. It was made of red fabric, and even though Grogu hadn’t fully understood what ad meant (which was fair, considering Luke hadn’t either), he understood the significance. This meant something to his buir, and Grogu was honoured to have been trusted with it. The tunic was carefully sewn, its seams even and straight, and Luke thanked the child both verbally and mentally for telling him. Luke had begun constructing the first tenuous threads of their force-bond, connecting Grogu to him in the way that Obi-Wan and Yoda had taught him all those years ago. As he meditated on it, Luke couldn’t help the feeling something already established was a bond that he couldn’t explain. It felt… strong , reciprocated. The Mandalorian had told him that he wasn’t force-sensitive, but Luke was starting to think that it wasn’t true. There was a thread connecting father and son, a force bond that couldn’t exist without communication coming from both sides. Maybe the Mandalorian didn’t know; it was possible. Some force-sensitive beings had hidden their abilities, or more often still, had no way of comprehending that which they had. Luke suspected that Grogu’s father fell into the latter category. It was strange, but not unheard of, for Mandalorians to have the abilities of the Jedi. Luke wondered if his companion knew. But he had to, Luke reasoned with himself. He was smart enough to have realized that something strange was happening. There was something extraordinary in their bond between the boy and his father. Grogu was delighted, and Luke smiled, thinking about how much joy and happiness the child exuded when his father was nearby. Luke took a deep breath, sitting cross-legged in the sand beside the house. The Jedi meditated for any number of reasons, but as Luke closed his eyes and steadied his breathing, he could feel it. The force sang to him, whispered about him like an early morning breeze. It tangled itself in the sand below his body, in the wispy clouds far above him. The force dipped and swirled across every grain of sand, every house, every person. Luke let his hands fall to his knees and just breathed, becoming one with all that was around him. The early morning air was cool but warming with each passing second. Luke took a breath and imagined all his thoughts lining up in a row and dismissed them one by one. His missing X-wing, his lost droid. The worries of his sister and friends on Chandrila and his inability to contact them. He took another breath and continued down the list. Jedi do not covet; Jedi do not possess. Thoughts are vapour and memory, and Jedi are above them. Jedi are above the common and unbroken; Jedi are the peacekeepers of the galaxy. But what it meant to be a Jedi was up to him, now. This path was his to take alone. He thought of Boba Fett, the bounty hunter Han had tossed into the sarlaac pit by accident all those years ago. He thought of his ship, the strange gyroscopic interior, the worry of the Mandalorian hanging thick in the air. He thought of the rocks and the sand, the air and the binary suns of Tatooine, and slowly, he let them go. Feeling them fade to mist and vapour and float into the air. Luke felt warmth on his eyelids and blinked his weary eyes open. The suns were rising, the lesser first, but the latter was rosy on the sandy horizon. It had been months since Luke had allowed himself the luxury of watching the suns rise. There was something peaceful in their inevitability; time never stopped, it never stood still. Until the suns burst into supernovas and faded from the sky, they would rise, peak and set. Not even the Jedi could prevent the inevitable. Luke heard a disturbance behind him and lowered himself back to the ground, feeling his feet dip into the warming sand as he landed. The Mandalorian must be up, Luke thought with a small smile. The child must be wanting breakfast. The eager and soft force imprint of the child danced around the doorway, and Luke grinned fully at the sight of the child cooing in his father’s arms. The Mandalorian held the baby securely, not surprised to see Luke as he entered the house. “Good morning,” Luke said pleasantly, walking over to the caf machine. The Mandalorian acknowledged him and nodded, settling the child on a chair before rising. “Did you sleep well?” “Yes,” the Mandalorian said, walking over to the icebox. Luke never had been one for idle chatter; words lost their meaning when used in excess. He appreciated the direct nature of his companion, even if the silence could be confusing at times. Luke punched in the code for a singular cup of caf before turning to his companion, gesturing to the rumbling machine. “Would you care for a cup?” “No, thank you,” the Mandalorian said stiffly, retrieving the bowls of stew and vegetables and feeding them into the heating element. Luke nodded, not exactly perturbed, but dancing on a knife-edge of curiosity. He tried to tune out the child’s repetitious calls for sweets, one he wasn’t sure his companion had noticed if his stiff posture was anything to go by. Luke hesitated in calming the child with their fledgling force bond, mindful of how invasive an unexpected presence could be. The child cooed and babbled to himself, his thoughts fluttering quickly from one to another. The pendant Luke had noticed the day before was around the child’s neck, the cord taut on the back of his tunic as he gummed on the Mythosaur’s tusks. He was so small, so innocent. So deserving of attentive care, so worthy of a father who loved him. Grogu caught his father’s gaze, and his force signature was sunshine, bright golden beams that illuminated the world around him. Luke let himself be swept away in the flood of warmth the child offered his father, unsure if the man could feel it, wondering if his companion could sense how much the child loved him. “Here,” the Mandalorian said softly, a plate of warmed leftovers placed in front of Luke. He turned to look at his companion, a smile dancing on the edge of his lips. “Eat, I need to speak to Vanth,” “Vanth?” Luke inquired, watching the baby cuddle closer to his father. “Yes,” the Mandalorian said. “The Marshal. Can you take the little one?” “Yes,” Luke said, reaching up for the baby, smiling as the child relaxed into Luke’s arms. The Mandalorian ran a hand over the child’s head and left without a word. Luke adjusted the child in his arms, looking down at the meal the Mandalorian had prepared for him. It was the same meal as the day before, but Luke was touched, just the same. A bowl full to the brim of bantha milk pudding sat beside his plate, and Luke raised a spoon with a surge of happiness. It had been years since he’d had it; certainly, there were better things to eat, and not many in the core worlds enjoyed it. Bantha milk had been a staple of his childhood, a cheap and plentiful thing that had been at every breakfast of his younger years. It was plain but sweet and filling. Luke had struggled to contain his excitement the night prior when he noticed it, and his companion must have noticed. The last scrapings of the bowl were on the table, neatly divided into two bowls. He took a bite, letting the familiar taste warm him up. The baby giggled, one clawed hand dipping into his bowl and lifting it to his mouth. “Do you like it, Grogu?” The baby grinned a toothy grin, and Luke felt an influx of images. His father, the plush toy he had cuddled with the night before, a woman in armour he didn’t recognize. He felt joy, contentment. Without words, the child had communicated a clear message, whatever it was that Luke was to this family of two, he was becoming a part of it. The child shared his life with Luke, his joy, happiness, and the love he shared with his buir. Luke took another bite but dropped the spoon before it reached his mouth, his mind swimming with an abrupt influx of information. A man with a blaster and a masked face broke through a door, the sunlight harsh and jarring in the dark space. A woman was below him, also heavily armed, looking down at a pale blue Twi'lek woman, struggling against chains. The woman shot the bracers away and nodded as the Twi'lek fled, her torn manacles rushing against the stoned floor. Luke watched, askance, as the man turned his attention to the bulbous Twi'lek on the throne. He heard the man’s nervous welcome to the masked figure and watched with horror as he was shot where he sat, pushed away from the throne. It wasn’t until the man sat that Luke recognized him. The paint was new, but the armour was painfully familiar. Boba Fett had retaken the syndicate on Tatooine. Luke gasped, pulling himself from the vision with difficulty. His breath came hot and fast, and he scooped up the baby and ran towards the door. continued

#found family #the mandalorain #the mandalorian spoilers #s2ep6 the tragedy fix it #my fic #Luke is shit at meditating #dinluke #din djarin x luke skywalker #din djarin/luke skywalker #cobb vanth #strangers to friends to lovers #IJADIHIM-xXxVioletSkyxXx #most pelgo

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tarithenurse · 4 years

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Nightingale - 38

Fandom: Naruto Pairing: Hatake Kakashi &/x Fem!OC Contents: Some concerns about Team 7, sensei stuff, a hint of angst. A/N: As usual, ASK or REBLOG for tag! HUUUGE thanks to all who are reblogging already <3

Ch. 38

The last stubborn snow is dripping from the branches and joining the sludge on the dirt road. The feet of Kakashi’s students let go of the mud with squelches any jōnin would hear but at least they’re so close to their goal that stealth isn’t an option anyways – already, he’s seen the movement in the shadows and undoubtedly Sasuke is aware of it too.

Sasuke. He’s trained harder than ever over the winter, but despite the obvious improvements, the boy remains sullen and is even beginning to seek out confrontations with Naruto. Not always. Most of the time it’s still the straw-haired kid that doesn’t know when to back down, but the fact that both boys have taken competitiveness to a whole other level does put a strain on the team, though.

“Almost there,” Sakura sighs, “maybe she’s got something else than milk or catnip tea?”

“Or anchovies,” Naruto adds, earning a glare from the black-haired boy.

...

He sends the team out ahead for the pickup after having sorted the trade with Nekobā.

“Hmmm,” she isn’t oblivious to how her cats keep a certain distance to Kakashi even as he sits quietly, “you’re not an Uchiha but there’s something...” she dismisses it with a wave of a hand. “So what do you want?”

I have no right to involve her, the white-haired jonin hesitates before deciding to continue. In few words, he lays out how the broodiness of the second to last of the clan is devolving despite any and all efforts of guiding him towards a brighter future.

“Why ask me?” Nekobā squints over the brim of her tea cup, “I saw him often as a kid, but you’re closer to him now, aren’t you?”

“He doesn’t tell me much...as you said, I’m not an Uchiha -”

There’s a scoff before the jingle of porcelain being put down. “And still I had to hear about you from two of them whenever they came here.”

Obito. He doubts anything the former teammate had said was positive as the two of them only got to an understanding shortly before the boy with the goggles had his fate sealed. As for the other person, Kakashi can only think of one other Uchiha with enough of a connection.

“Yes, Kakashi of the Sharingan,” Nekobā purrs, “your reputation precedes you and I understand why you recognize Sasuke’s troubles considering how a family member’s actions weighs on you too.”

Yes and no. It’s true, the pain and anger Kakashi used to feel is exactly what he sees in his student now.

“Revenge was never an option for me...or a desire. The supposed crime was far from the atrocity Uchiha Itachi has committed. There was even a semblance of sense to my fa- to the actions while the massacre holds no meaning when looking at all we knew of Sasuke’s brother.”

“And that is why no one can reach his heart with ease...I suspect.”

Maybe, Kakashi nods silently, and maybe it’s because Itachi somehow seems to be within reach.

...

Days become weeks. Weeks become months. One day spring has truly returned, softening the evening air as it cools his skin during the sparring session against Uguïsu, and strands of blue hair dancing on the breeze. But for once, Kakashi’s mind is far from her and the present situation and before he knows it, she’s felled him and tangled her limbs around him from behind in a vice grip.

“Where are you, ‘Kashi?” she whispers gently into his ear and then loosens the restraints.

Sitting up, he draws her arms around him. The heat from her chest is soothing, grounding him as the white-haired jōnin attempts to organize his thoughts to be shared with someone else. Are other genins this much trouble? They probably all come with their own list of problems, but he can’t help but suspect this particular team was given to him to spare his comrades.

A soft kiss finds its home on his neck. “Talk to me.”

“I worry about the boys...” Kakashi sighs.

“Knucklehead and Broody?”

Nodding, the sensei tries to explain his concerns and how he’s beginning to realize that he can’t reach one without slacking the attention on the other...and in all of this, he somehow must not forget about the kindhearted, worried Sakura.

“I don’t know how to get Naruto to understand what I’m trying to teach him! That boy is...is...well, his attention span is minimal and while he’s smart in some aspect, he’s also very...y’know?”

He adores the soft chuckle even if it technically doesn’t help him. “I know. And...I don’t think it’s bad to admit, you’re having a hard time levelling with him. You two are very different. Maybe there’s someone else who can help?”

“Someone more like him?”

Kakashi would be lying if he claimed never to have considered this, but he had dismissed the crazy idea as soon as it had manifested itself. Perhaps...but he has improved a lot anyways, though. There’s some to be said in favour of stubbornness.

“There...is someone I could ask for advice, I guess,” the jōnin concedes. And I ought to do it soon.

Like any other captain of a team of genins, Kakashi is all too aware of the nearing deadline for signing his students up for the chunin exams. Even now, he believes they stand a fair chance of making it past the second stage and he’s keen to help them push their limits with the intention of excelling through the entire event.

“Go,” Uguïsu’s voice urges him, “do what you can to make sure they’ll be amazing.”

The jōnin can’t tamper down the burning sting of guilt in the chest. “Meet you later? I actually have some days without missions planned.”

They’ve barely had any time together the last few weeks and he had planned to treat her to her favourite food this evening. Maybe go for a stroll to the outskirts of town where there’s a house that’s looking less derelict than before – not that it (or Kakashi) is ready to be presented to his blue nightingale yet...he simply wants to figure out if she even likes the area.

“I’d like that,” she beams, “I’ll wait for you on the water tower.”

...

It took little time to write a letter, explaining about Naruto to the sannin and proposing (with well-rounded arguments) why the tutelage of the older shinobi is imperative for the kid’s progress. No, the problem was not composing the message but to find out where to send it to. As a precaution, Kakashi had decided to copy it in four, sending each in a different direction.

Now, the white-haired youth sits on the metal roof that still holds a bit of the heat from the day. He’s come to equate this place with the sort of calm he experiences when he’s done his part and all he can do is wait.

And wait.

And wait as the sky’s darkening, Kakashi is still alone on the roof of the water tower, and he can’t ignore the sixth sense screaming at him that something is wrong.

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gustafsnightangel · 3 years

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Shattered Lives Ch 39 Pt 1

The noise that filled the apartment woke her up, the sheets cold on Gustaf’s side of the bed telling her he’d let her sleep in. In the few days since the visit from Uncle Elias the kids had hardly been home. Gustaf taking them out for lunch and the movies, Stellan and the boys going bowling, and the pajama party with Valter and Gustaf’s two youngest brothers last night. She could hear Gustaf chatting to Stellan through the ajar door, the boys settling back in after the overnight with grandpa. The happiness in their voices made her smile, far less grief than this time last year, not a hint of anger or sorrow. She heard Gustaf get them situated before he came in, smile wide, damn she loved that smile, the look of him.

“Hey there lovely lady.” He murmured sitting on the edge of the bed and leaning down to claim her mouth. God the man knew how to kiss.

“Hi.” She breathed out, wrapping her arms around him securing him to her. “Sounds like the monsters are back.”

“They are, and they’re excited that we leave for the cabin tomorrow.” His kiss lingered. “Time to get up, lots to do.”

“Yeah, I need to take them shopping later for snacks, I promised them one treat each for the trip.” She kissed him sweetly. “I’m starting to regret my decision as it means I have to take them out in public.”

He chuckled, those laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “What were you thinking?” He said, the sarcasm thick.

“I wasn’t, that’s the problem.” She snorted, thumb brushing his crows feet. They both laughed at the squeak of dad dad as Lily padded her way into the room all excited, Gustaf picking her up and kissing her until she giggled. “Someone had a good time away.”

“Dad said she was running the house as soon as she woke up this morning, keeping the boys in line.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me.” She muttered. Just looking at him with her in that instance made her belly flip, the whole kids of their own thought sailing through her head like a bright neon sign. He placed Lily on the bed and she crawled over to Sildie for cuddles while Gustaf took a shower.

“He’s much happier today huh little lady.” She murmured as Lily snuggled in. She’d been worried, the days since Elias had been brutal on him. She’d phoned Elsa and dealt with more paperwork while Gustaf was shut up in his office laying down the law with his lawyers and security team. She’d never heard him so angry, the shreds he’d stripped off the building security, the anger and fury that had unleashed again as he made arrangements to have Dana’s entire family under surveillance. Especially when they were informed he’d made bail and the trial wouldn’t be until April 5th. Sometimes the system just sucked and so did the timeframe. She also knew that being away for filming over the next few months was making this whole situation far worse, she sensed his anxiety already poised to drag him under. It was a clusterfuck and added pressure he didn’t need.

“I’m going over to mums for lunch today, she wanted to chat about the whole Ana thing.” He said as he came out wrapped in nothing but a towel, setting all her wild fantasies aflame. “She’s... concerned.”

“That’s one way to put it.” She said softly. “Do you need us to be there?” Her voice was quiet, apprehension he thought.

“Not if you don’t want to be.”

“I do, I just don’t want the kids around when we’re talking about all that, about her.” She would protect them from it as much as possible. “They don’t need that in their lives.”

“I already told mum it would just be me.” He toyed with her wisps of hair at her face and kissed her tenderly. “For exactly those reasons, and I also know that Eija and Alex are there today too, family meeting about it really. I’ll get them up to speed. It’ll be fine.”

“You know the spiel as well as I do now anyway.” She trailed a finger along his jaw. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” His thumb brushed the dark shadows marring her cheek, it still made his anger flare. He tossed a shirt and jeans on and collected Lily from the bed. “Up you get love, I’ll make some tea.” He kissed her quickly and went to see why the boys were suddenly so quiet.

She could hear them play fighting as she dressed, and smiled. The beginnings of their family, fun times, happy memories, they’d build more tomorrow and over the coming weeks. The ruckus she came out to made her chuckle, three boys tackling the fourth freakishly tall one. He was a big kid at heart, that gorgeous smile plastered across his face, not a hint of anxiety or stress in him. They were both eager to be in the mountains away from everything for a while.

Leaning against the counter she watched, videoing what she could. She laughed as Lily came to the rescue of her dad dad, the boys laughing, so carefree and happy, just as it should be. Gustaf could never fully understand the precious gift he’d given them, stability, love, a family. He’d brought them together as a family unit. “I hope you’re seeing this brother.” She muttered under her breath. “He loves them as if they were his own.” Her smile went wide as Lily tackled Gustaf to the floor, the boys cheering. She fisted a hand and tapped it on the counter thinking. “He’d make a great father.” She whispered, her breath catching. Breathing out a steadying breath she saw Gustaf calm them down and leave them to play some Mario cart.

“They’re ready to go when you are, they’ve had breakfast.” He chuckled, that gorgeous smile lighting up his face as he stopped in front of her, fingers reaching to toy with the soft waves of her hair she’d left down.

“I love seeing you this happy.” She said, hands cupping his face and kissing him sweetly.

“You make me this happy love, so do they.” He kissed her, sensing something had knocked her off kilter a little. “I love you Sildie, the five of you are my world.”

“You’re ours sweet man.” She smiled, her kiss lingering. “Go have a good lunch with your mum, we’ll get some snacks and shopping for the trip. I need to get Lily another jacket, she’s grown out of her other one and the twins need new boots.”

“Fun times.” He grinned.

“Joyous.” She said sarcastically at his chuckle. “Go on. Get going.” She swatted his ass and took a sip of her tea. His arched eyebrow at her butt slap had that mischievous smirk tug her lips.

“A very dangerous game to play kitten.” He growled and devoured her mouth thoroughly.

“Text me your dinner order, I’ll pick something up.” She said changing the subject as her body melted at his touch.

“Mmmm hmmm. Will do lovely lady.” He purred. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He could tell something was bothering her, more than her usual grief and the shitstorm that Ana had created, the way it had dragged Elias and Dana’s side of the family into the mix. So much going on in that wicked smart brain of hers. He knew she was piecing something together but there was something else she was chewing on. Walking across the street to his mothers he thought about the conversation they were all about to have, the steps he would take, had taken, to protect them all, those measures Sildie had already put in place. They would rally around him, protect him, protect Sildie, the kids, like a family should. It still irritated him that he had to resort to such drastic measures of security and legal restraints but he was out of time, options, and patience.

Sildie and the kids hit the mall, John, their shadow as she like to call him, following their car and staying a respectable distance from them as they shopped, eyes ever watchful. She felt bad for dragging the guy out on a chilly afternoon for them to go shopping, but if this was going to set Gustaf’s mind at ease while he wasn’t here with them she wasn’t going to argue. He was already under enough stress and pressure, he didn’t need anymore. She didn’t think Ana would blatantly harm her or the kids, but there was always the what if, the maybe. Those thoughts that raced through her head a mile a minute. Just look at Elias, she thought bitterly. Not in a million years did she see the connection between him and Ana coming.

Her lawyer brain kicked in as she helped the twins find shoes. How did he fit into it? How did he know her? Was he just a junkie? Was Ana just his supplier? Something more? Had there been a relationship between them? Was Elias part of the syndicate? Was the rest of Dana’s family involved? How far did Ana’s claws dig in? Questions she hoped would be answered when the law finally caught up with her. After that, it wouldn’t take long for Elias to sing, to rat on her to save his own ass.

With a new coat for Lily and new boots for the boys, Brendan included because his toes were already touching leather from the pair she’d bought a few months ago, they stopped in for ice cream. It was their weekly thing, an after shopping treat that had carried over from Dana that she didn’t have the heart to stop, especially when mint chocolate chip was involved and it kept a part of their mother with them.

With groceries in hand they headed back to the car, John helping with the heavier stuff, boys laughing, and a chattering Lily in her arms playing with the zipper on her new coat. As they neared the car the happiness of the afternoon turned to ash and vinegar in her mouth as she looked closer.

“John take the kids to your SUV please.” She said quietly and handed her bags to him. “Brendan, take Lily please and get everyone in the car with John, stay with him ok?” She saw the shock on the teens face, the questions of, who and why echoed there. “I’ll explain later.” Was all she heard herself say as she approached her vehicle slowly.

The windows had been smashed in, seats ripped, red paint covered every surface inside as if a paint can had exploded. The vulgar messages on the doors, the paint splattered and shattered windshield. She felt the panic attack surge up, the nausea and lightheadedness threatening to consume her. “Breathe.” She whispered and sucked in a breath. “Just breathe, the kids are ok, it’s just a car.” A car Gustaf had bought for her, for the kids. He’d bought it to take care of her. Pulling out her phone she took photos of it all and texted them straight to Detective Holmberg, her phone rang a moment later.

“Sildie it’s Leon. I’m on my way. Are the kids somewhere safe?” He said hurriedly. She could hear him moving as he spoke. “Are you safe?”

“Yes they’re with John our security detail, in his car.” She didn’t like how pathetic and shaky her voice sounded. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t touch anything.”

“I haven’t, I just took pictures.” As she was speaking to him she noticed a blonde woman watching her a few cars over. It took her a second to recognize her through the haze of adrenaline and anxiety coursing through her system. “Ana’s here, a few cars down from me.” She snarled, an overwhelming urge to cut a bitch slammed into her so violently the anxiety flipped a one eighty into full on lethal rage.

“Don’t approach her, pretend she’s not there. We maybe able to box her in, I’ll have the parking lot cordoned off.” Which she could hear him relaying that order as he drove. “I’ll be there in two minutes.”

“Ok.” She would not crumble and give Ana the satisfaction, and she would not retaliate. She wanted to though, oh how she wanted some divine retribution right here, right now at her own hand. Everything she’d done to get at Gustaf, to cause him more pain, more grief. Yes, she thought, I’d like to have a knock down drag out with you, you vindictive bitch, she thought as her gaze flicked to Ana and then back at the car.

Calming the rage her thumb hesitated over Gustaf’s number. She knew she had to make the call or he’d be more furious at her for handling it on her own, especially after what went down with Elias. But part of her wanted to spare that sweet soul of his any further pain. She choked back a sob as she knew this would hurt him, cut into him so deeply. Her rage gave way to anxiety once more as she stared at his number. All that peace he’d found these past few weeks was ebbing away. “Together.” She breathed and hit dial, the sick feeling in her stomach growing with every ring.

“Hey lovely lady.” She could hear the joy in his voice and she was about to shatter it.

“Hey handsome.” She breathed, anxiety rising.

“You ok?” He went on full alert, he knew that tone, something had happened.

“I’m fine, so are the kids, the car not so much. Not an accident.” She blurted out quickly and held back the sob.

“Ok, good to know.” His gut threatened to abruptly launch his meal out via his teeth. “Talk to me love.” He said gently at her sudden silence.

“Ana’s here, she vandalized the car and is sitting a few cars from me. I’ve called Leon, and he’s just pulling in.” The lawyer had surfaced to take care of the situation, he could hear it in her voice, but it shook.

“God fucking damn it!” He roared, his temper snapping out. She could hear the chair he was sitting in get pushed back explosively, crashing to the floor. It was the last straw for him, she knew it would be and felt sick for it.

“Gustaf, take a breath, please.” She stayed calm, her voice quavering with the tears that threatened to fall. She was only just holding it together. “Were fine, the kids are in the SUV with John at my request. I’m not in any danger and Leon is here.” She willed her voice to not shake. “He just pulled up.”

“I’m on my way to you.” He seethed, he would fucking murder the bitch.

“You won’t get in they blocked the car park so she has no where to go.” She tried for calm, her voice betrayed her as the anxiety surged forward again.

“The hell I won’t.” He spat and she heard the unmistakable slam of a car door. “I’m on my way.” The line went dead.

She’d never heard him this angry, never had him be so short with her. New Year’s Eve was one thing, confronting Elias another, but this? This was an entirely different level of anger, explosive, reckless, and violent.

“I take it that was Gustaf?” Leon asked coming to stand beside her.

“Yes. He’s on his way and rather angry.” That was the understatement of the century.

“Quite rightly.” Holmberg muttered. “Where is she?” He asked, paying particularly close attention to a spot on the drivers side door as he spoke.

“Your eleven o’clock, four cars down, blue...” She said softly, only flicking her eyes to make sure she had the details correct.

“I see her.” He texted the location to his team and let them handle it. Before Ana could tear her eyes away from Sildie and the mayhem she was gloating over, her car was boxed in and police were hauling her out.

Sildie wasn’t interested in the takedown, or the profanity spewing from Ana’s mouth as they cuffed her. She turned her back on Ana, not giving the woman another moment of recognition. It was difficult not to retaliate, because she wanted to, she wanted to March right over there and lay her out cold for what she’d done to Gustaf. Rarely did Sildie want to get into a physical altercation but she was certainly ready to make an exception in this case.

She peered into the car once more, her focus drawn to the rear view mirror and what was no longer hanging there. “She took it.” Her choked tone had Leon turning sharply.

“Took what?” He asked, but she couldn’t answer him, her voice had ceased working as the grief swallowed her whole. Silent tears tracked down her cheeks and she felt her world bottom out. As they placed Ana in the back seat of the police cruiser she felt familiar arms around her, turning her slowly until she was breathing in that familiar scent.

“Sildie.” Gustaf sighed, the relief that she was ok flooding into him. Eyes searched for John’s car and landed on him a moment later, the respectful nod saying the kids were fine setting his mind at ease.

“Sildie, what did she take?” Leon asked again softly as she buried her face in Gustaf’s chest and wept.

“Something missing?” Gustaf asked flatly looking at Leon with ice cold eyes.

“All she said was she took it.” Leon shrugged.

Gustaf leaned down to peer into the car and his temper went nuclear. “I will fucking murder her.” He snarled, holding Sildie tighter to him. “The charm from her rear view mirror is missing, the one her brother gave her.” He said evenly, barely able to contain the contempt in his voice.

“I’ll need you to check the rest of the vehicle to see if anything else is missing.” Leon’s voice had turned flinty.

“Give us a minute ok?” Gustaf asked, he had to talk Sildie off the ledge of a panic attack and stuff his violent fury back into its box.

“Take your time, it’ll take us a while to process this mess.” Leon said and moved away.

Gustaf stood there, soothing her as best he could when he knew all she’d be able to feel would be the waves of anger rolling off him. “You’re ok love, I’m here.” He murmured. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry.” She sobbed. “I’m sorry... the car.”

“No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong, look at me.” He said tenderly trying to get his anger under control. “Look at me love.” When she did it crushed him. “I’m the one that should be sorry for dragging her into your life.”

“But the car.” She hiccuped.

“Is just a car. It’s insured. I’m more livid about what she took from it.” His rage banked as he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, she needed him to be calm. They were both stressed and him letting the anger gain the upper hand wasn’t the answer. He’d have time to unleash later.

“It’s gone.” She sobbed.

“It is love, I’m so sorry.” This was tearing her apart and cleaving his soul into pieces. That charm wasn’t something he could replace. He couldn’t fix it.

“Oh shit, the kids, they’re still with John...” she said hurriedly swiping the tears from her face, realizing she didn’t have the luxury to fall apart. “And I just left...”

“They’re perfectly fine, look.” He pointed to the SUV and the kids waved back.

“We have to get them home.” She sniffed pulling it together, it was a stupid charm, it wasn’t like someone had died, she berated herself.

“How about you hang here for a little bit and help Leon out while I go and grab a new car seat for Lily? Because we can’t take anything from the car and her seat is trashed.” He said softly.

She let her gaze drift over to the items already being bagged, spare shoes, sweaters, and Brendan’s hockey gear. “Leon? Can you open that bag real quick.” She asked pointing to Brendan’s gear.

“Paint in the bag too.” Leon said sharply.

“And his mask.” Sildie sighed, before another sob broke free.

“I’ll have another made love.” Gustaf said softly.

“It’s not the same.” She sniffed. “You had that made for him, your first gift to him. You have no idea what it means to him.”

“I know it’s not the same love.” He pulled her into a hug while Leon was trying his damnedest to wipe the paint off the teens hockey mask. “I might be able to take it back and get it cleaned and refinished. I’ll figure it out, I’ll fix it. Somehow I’ll fix it.” He kissed her temple and lingered, willing his system to calm down so in turn he could soothe hers. “Are we able to get this stuff back at some point?” He snapped at Holmberg and immediately regretted his tone. It wasn’t Leon’s fault, Gustaf was just on a razor thin edge.

“I’ll get them back to you as soon as I can.” The detective looked at Gustaf, yes, he thought, Leon was pissed too, good.

“Appreciate it.” He kissed Sildie softly. “Go sit with the kids a moment ok? I’ll get Lily a new seat and we can go from there ok?” She just nodded and walked to John’s car. The slump of her shoulders told him this had kicked her hard.

“I knew her brother.” Leon said quietly. “My wife was close friends with Dana. I’m doing everything I can Gustaf, but I have to stay within the confines of the law, so do you. Don’t go doing anything crazy, get a good attorney and take the spiteful bitch down.”

“Do me a favor.” Gustaf said bluntly. “Search Ana’a car real quick for that charm, or her pockets. The rest of this I can replace, that I can’t, and it will destroy Sildie if it stays missing.”

Leon nodded. “Go get Lily a car seat, I’ll look myself right now and call it in for when they process her at the station.”

“Thanks.” He huffed and scrubbed a hand over his face. As he started to walk away he turned. “I’m sorry, for snapping earlier.”

“Not necessary, I’d be a little snappy too considering the circumstances.” Leon said, a tight smile gracing his lips.

“Well regardless, I’m sorry. There was no need for it, you’re only trying to help.” He wasn’t that person anymore, to rage without reason, without sucking it up and apologizing like the man he was trying to be.

“All good.” Leon said, clasping a hand of Gustaf’s shoulder and squeezing it in support.

He knew he could be an insufferable prick when he put his mind to it or the rage swamped him, that wasn’t him anymore. “And that’s what you’re hoping for isn’t it you fucking bitch.” He muttered as he walked to the baby store across the street. “You’re hoping to get me so riled up I’ll snap. Well I’m way past that. Coming after me was one thing, going after Sildie was the biggest mistake you ever made. By the end of this you’re going to wish you’d never fucking met me.” He said with conviction.

She explained it as much as she dared to the boys, the plea in her eyes to Brendan to just go with it so she could explain more when they were away from the twins. His tight nod all she needed to have some measure of relief. She watched Gustaf walk back to his car and fit the new seat. This will destroy him, she thought, all that peace he’d found obliterated in the instant she’d phoned him. Destroying another life, just like she’d destroyed the boys. It was a spiral, she knew it was happening yet she was powerless to stop her thoughts diving so deeply out of control. It was all too much and she’d reached her tolerance level of bullshit.

She hopped out of the car as he approached and went to him.

“Load the kids up and head home, love. Take care of them and let me worry about all this ok?” He said gently, he would be her calm now as he knew she was far from done today. “You ok to drive?” A nod was all she could give him. “You sure?”

“Yeah. I need to get them home before Lily implodes.” She said trying her damndest to pull it together, she had shit to take care of not wallow in self pitty.

“I’ll stay here with Leon until the car’s towed and then go hire one for our vacation. I’ll send John back with you to help with the groceries ok?” He watched her carefully and was concerned.

She nodded and leaned her forehead against his chest, breathed him in, his scent soothing her jagged emotions.

“That’s it love. Breathe a minute. It’ll all be ok, you and me, we’ll fix it.” He murmured and stroked the nape of her neck tenderly.

She let herself just exist for a moment, collect the shred of composure she was clinging to and pulled it together. Drying her eyes she kissed him softly, the grief he felt already echoing in his eyes.

“There’s my girl.” He said softly, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll be home a little later. Do you need me to send mum over, or dad? A sibling? I have plenty to spare.” His attempt at humor got the chuckle from her he was hoping for.

“No, I’ll be ok.” You won’t be, he thought, but nice try.

“I love you Sildie. Together love.” He kissed her tenderly.

“Love you too, not letting her win, it just knocked me a bit.” She sniffed.

“I know, me too, but we’ll knock back harder.” He kissed her brow and looked at her. “Come on, I’ll get Lily bear settled, because I can hear her starting to ramp up for a full on I’m tired and hungry meltdown.”

Gustaf helped her get the kids settled in the car, fielding questions from the twins as vaguely as possible. “Text me when you get home.” He said softly.

“I will.” Her voice was that eerie quiet he didn’t like. It only got like that when she retreated into herself and it killed him to see her like that.

She seemed to be on auto pilot as she drove home, aware enough to drive, but not really caring about what was happening around her. John helped her get the kids inside, the groceries for their trip piled on the counter. With the kids occupied she sat in her office, the process of writing notes about the incident clearing it out of her mind as the words appeared on paper. Gustaf’s text tone interrupted her asking if she’d got home and she swore, she’d forgotten to text him.

We’re home. I’m so sorry I zoned and totally forgot.

It’s ok love. You’re all home safe that’s what matters. I’m headed to hire a car, be home soon. Is John still there?

He left a little while ago but he said they have someone watching the building. He stayed until we were settled.

Ok, that’s good.

I love you.

Love you too lovely lady. I’ll be home soon.

He came home an hour or so later and could hear Sildie reaming someone on the other end of the phone in her office, door shut tightly.

“She’s been in there for nearly an hour.” Brendan said quietly.

“You know who she’s flaying?” He asked carefully and the kid shook his head.

“I haven’t seen her this mad since she yelled at grandma after mum and dad...” He stopped suddenly and shook his head not wanting to voice the rest of the sentence.

“Well she’s super upset about the car so I’m not surprised.” Gustaf said carefully, he wasn’t sure how much he should divulge.

“Why would someone do that?” Brendan asked as he walked with Gustaf to the kitchen out of the twins hearing.

“I don’t know B.” Gustaf sighed, he was beat to hell and he knew he’d have to talk Sildie down before she imploded. “The short version ok, because I’m beat to hell.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s an ex girlfriend, the ex girlfriend, the one that screwed me up. They arrested her and things could get a little messy. Your mum has had to bust ass on making sure you guys are safe and it’s all just a little too much for her today.”

“Is that why we have John and Andrew come with us everywhere?” The kid was a quick study.

“Yes. I promised Sildie I’d keep you all safe too.”

“Oh.” The teen looked a little shocked.

“I love you guys, you’re my family Brendan and there’s absolutely nothing I won’t do to protect you, to make sure you’re safe, that Sildie’s safe.” He said softly as the teen hugged him tight. “Absolutely nothing.” His head came up at the sharp shout from Sildie’s office and he decided he needed to get in there and deal with it. “It’s getting late, you guys eaten yet?”

“Yeah we got something on the way home, there’s some here for you too. We weren’t sure when you’d get home.”

“Thanks. Can you get the twins in a bath or shower, I need to go see if she’s ok. Did the cold groceries get out away?”

“Yeah they’re away.” He said and started to unpack the rest.

@hausofobsession @ill-skillsgard @grandpa-sweaters @authentic90skidd @tuckersgirl @fairlyfallacy @flowers-in-your-hayr @raewritesfiction @stinkerbelle007 @kamie-b @mrsaugustwalker @skrsgardspam @loliwrites @trippedmetaldetector @lihikainanea @fay-walden @nandadb

#gustaf skarsgard #gustaf skarsgard fanfic #shattered lives

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chonzu · 4 years

Text

This is the beginning of an idea I had where Atsuhiro survives the attack and ends up in Tartarus. I want to expand on it but I’ve worked on this for a few days and I’m happy with it I suppose! Spoilers for Chapter 294/295 ofc.

I apologize for the weird formatting, I’ve been working on mobile/iPad for a while now.

He loved the League. He would give his life for the League and their leader’s ideals and he knew that’s how it would end as he hit the ground, snatched out of the air by the blond child he’d barely seen once before months ago at the Yakuza base, and while the rest of that battle lasted barely more than a few minutes, Atsuhiro fell in and out of consciousness more times than he could count. He could not move no matter how hard he tried, but that was alright. If Shigaraki had gotten away, well. He couldn’t blame the kid for leaving him behind.

Atsuhiro let out a shaky breath and closed his eyes.

“Hurry! Go, get the Tartarus staff on site! Get...we need…....alive...”

If he couldn’t move anyway he wasn’t going to struggle—everyone was gone, surely, and the heroes were getting tended to, going by the muffled voices and sirens, and he’d accepted his death by now. As long as his sacrifice wasn’t for nothing, it would be alright.

He was roughly moved again, his mind fogging up more as a numb pain crawled up his side. His arm was restrained, locked down; his body was jostled until he was shoved roughly into the back of a cold vehicle onto a starkly-cold metal surface. Atsuhiro tried to open his eyes, but this was it for him. He let that darkness take him, hoping that the young boss, Spinner, and Dabi had gotten away.

His eye snapped open into quiet darkness, into what he guessed was a small and sterile room barely bigger than a closet. Machines hummed and chugged gently to his left and his right shoulder pressed against a cold concrete wall. He tried to speak but his throat was drier than a desert, leaving him sputtering and coughing until he’d caught his breath.

He couldn’t lift his right arm, a cuff had been attached to his wrist, his fake left eye and left mechanical arm had been removed, and he could only imagine what other types of straps were keeping him down on the bed that wasn’t very comfortable and they’d never given him any blankets or turned the heat up. He may as well exist in a dungeon and it wasn’t apparent that there were any guards near him at the moment.

With his wrist cuffed as it was, it blocked his hand from being unable to touch anything and he didn’t have any smart ideas to get out of this. Truthfully, he thought he was dead, but the straps were tight and deliberately made to keep him from moving his arm at all. The numbness in his hip and chest was almost too much but if he squeezed his eyes shut he almost couldn’t feel it. He felt a little lost and panicked without his left arm.

Remember, he thought. Remember. What got him into this place? A heist gone wrong? Did he steal something from a hero more high-profile than he’d expected? A more dastardly villain than he’d hoped? His work with the League often brought him to many unsuspecting places, but up until recently they’d been working on projects with...the Meta-Liberation Army.

Atsuhiro opened his eye. There’d been a war. That’s right, yes. He’d watched the boss get away, but he couldn’t remember anything after being grabbed by that sunny-haired kid he’d thought they’d gotten rid of a long time ago.

A few minutes into trying to relax, Atsuhiro realized that an alarm was going off on the machine and only got louder and worse the more he suddenly panicked. He pulled against the restraints to no avail. His heart nearly lept out of his chest when the door flew open, the room flooding with a fleet of armed guards and heroes silhouetted black against the harsh white fluorescent lighting that spilled into the room.

“Wh— what?”

A strong hand grabbed his face and turned his head every possible direction, to which he objected loudly and wasn’t heard. The doctor who grabbed him turned him to face them, their gaze cool and steady, but unfocused. He heard whispers from the front of the room that maybe they should stick a muzzle on him like one of their other prisoners, but the doctor handling him waved them away.

Atsuhiro was poked and prodded. “Please, come on. Take me to dinner before you start doing that. I’m /starving/.”

“We both know that’s not going to happen, Sako.” The doctor pressed their lips together, barely giving him so much as a look as they hummed, tapped a pen against their lips, and started to scribble on a clipboard. “Prisoner is awake, far too alert, and begging for food. I’d say we’ve done a good job here.”

“Fuck— what? Prisoner?” Atsuhiro struggled again. “At least tell me where the fuck I am!” Sharp pains in his side would have crumpled him if he didn’t have the restraints tied over his chest.

The doctor turned their back to him. “Prisoner is starting to panic. Sedate him."

They left in a hurry, coat a flurry of fabric behind them lime a cape, and Atsuhiro noticed the lines of drips going into his arm. He struggled more, but when what he assumed was an intern leaned down over a tray of medication he suddenly felt faint.

Before he fainted, Atsuhiro watched a fuzzy guard wave at him.

No, no, no, he thought. No. He couldn’t go out like this again. His eye closed however, and darkness claimed him once more when the door shut tightly and he fell into a fitful doze.

"Sako Atsuhiro."

His whole body tingled as he lifted his head. He felt like his mind was rapidly being overwhelmed by the sharp lights, solid metal room, and his arm held at a strange angle, while his body lagged behind him as if trapped in syrup. He had been given only enough pain medication to sit up and talk, but it made his mind fuzzy and he squinted against the harsh white lights of the room and the spotlights angled directly at him. Restraints kept him firmly against the chair, so he was unable to escape. He couldn't if he tried.

Atsuhiro cleared his throat, squinting. "Yes. Yes that's...that’s my name. How can I help you? Besides giving away all of our best secrets, of course."

The man who spoke to him seemed as nondescript as the next guy. Tall, short brown hair, quite a friendly face, business casual. Definitely not the kind of person who would be the main character in a show. A stack of papers sat under his hand. "It's just me in here."

"Okay? And the two hundred people recording this conversation?"

"I just want to talk."

"Well we certainly are! How's life treating you?"

"That's irrelevant. Sako, we have you listed for numerous crimes such as theft, destruction of property, child endangerment, involvement with the League of Villains and the Meta-Liberation Army, just to make a few. Just recently you were caught attempting to land an attack on our heroes.

"I don't really know what to say to that?”

The man hummed. "I understand. We’ll be keeping an eye on you, of course. You have a hip replacement and reconstruction scheduled soon. I’ll be visiting every few days.”

Atsuhiro resisted rolling his eyes. “Please, why are you telling me all of this.”

“Why not? You can’t escape, you can’t move.”

“I see. You know, it’s polite to at least tell someone your name? You seem to know me /quite/ well.”

The man pressed his lips together. He spent a moment writing down a few of his own notes. “I guess you can call me Tsukauchi.”

Atsuhiro blinked, mulling it over. He’d never heard of that name before. “Okay. Why are you bothering to fix me up?”

“The marble that you compressed was lost at the scene so there wasn’t a way to even attempt to assess what you’d lost.” Tsukauchi shrugged. “We obviously need you alive, which I’m sure you already know?” He raised an eyebrow and Atsuhiro pouted. “All prisoners at Tartarus receive /some/ kind of care. We aren’t heartless villains.”

“Yeah, and you use that care to keep us alive and trapped here and for what?”

“Sir, you were involved in committing mass murder.”

“Pah!” Atsuhiro straightened his shoulders. “So let me guess. Keeping me alive here is a worse punishment than death?”

“If that’s how you would like to see it.” Tsukauchi wasn’t looking at him, but seemed to be quite a good listener. “My time here is short today, but I’ll be back again shortly.”

“I look forward to it.” Atsuhiro gave the man his sweetest smile. Tsukauchi stared at him with a peculiar look, then looked down to gather up his notes.

He left silently. Guards crept out of shadows Atsuhiro hadn’t even realized were there and he was being dragged from the stage again. He couldn’t walk, oh no. He could barely /sit up/ and so he was roughly thrown into a wheelchair, the quirk-neutralizing cuff around his arm was adjusted, and straps tightened around his chest and legs.

The doctor who he’d seen numerous times by now and who he assumed had performed the surgery on him pushed his wheelchair along. They went down long passages, each holding cell specially designed to the needs and quirks of those they held. Atsuhiro’s own holding cell was only the basic one; cold, dry, with solid metal plates and a single bed. Because of the neutralizing cuff on his wrist, he wasn’t able to compress himself, and even if he was, there was a second cuff that held his hand at a specific angle and had a cage around it to leave him unable to touch anything. Without his right arm, he’d never be able to get it off on his own. Not unless he pulled some crazy gymnastics, which just weren’t possible with his injuries.

Apparently he was to be getting a slight upgrade to a different wing once his injuries had healed, but they gave a severe estimate of at least six weeks and an incomprehensible amount of physical therapy thereafter—if they deemed that necessary. After all, he was alive, and that’s really all they needed to question him.

Along the way, some of the captured prisoners gave him looks if they were able to look out of the windows on their doors or restrained in tight places facing the hallways for quicker analysis by guards and inspectors. Atsuhiro did not look at any of them.

#MHA #bnha #bnha spoilers #mr compress

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a-world-in-grey · 4 years

Text

Sola/Nox Fusion I

@secret-engima stumbled over the fusion snippet a few months back when I was sick, and couldn’t resist adding to it. XD Warning, it’s pretty angsty (but with Sola being Determined to comfort!) so I’m working on a more light hearted one too.

-Sola’s well aware she’s not as good as Noctis or her fellow Retinue. She’s not as smart as Ignis (no one’s as smart as Ignis). She’s not as strong as Gladio (or she won’t be, as soon as Gladio grows a bit more). And she’s nowhere near as magically powerful as Noctis.

-Then she meets Nox, and well. He casually outstrips her in both magical and martial prowess and Sola knows she could train for a hundred years and never catch up.

-Were she younger, Sola might resent them for it. But it’s not their fault, and Sola’s accepted her inferiorities as a matter of fact. So what if she’ll never be as good as her brothers or fellow Retinue? She’ll settle for simply being good.

-But while Sola isn’t the smartest, strongest, or most powerful, she’s sharp. She’s intuitive. Sola notices things, and even if she doesn’t understand, she’ll continue to pay attention until she does.

-The most dangerous thing about Sola, is that when it matters, she knows how to wait.

-And nothing matters to Sola more than family.

-There are a lot of things Sola doesn’t know about her twin (because Nox is her twin, they’re the same age and Sola all but leaped on the chance to share her birthday with her new Little Brother when Nox and Uncle Ardyn couldn’t tell them the date).

-What she does know is this: as much as Nox loves their Littlest Brother, and dotes on Noctis as much as Sola herself, there are times when Noctis’ presence hurts. When Noctis is with Gladio and Ignis and Nox has to excuse himself, his magic curling in on itself in sorrow and grief.

-Nox never feels that way around Sola. There’s longing and wistfulness, but never the unending grief that feels like someone has reached inside Sola’s chest and ripped her heart out.

-Sola doesn’t have to ask. It’s obvious. Nox had brothers once. Had a Retinue even if it was one in all but name, and that grief still follows him. And Noctis, who looks so much like Nox, likely reminds Nox of everything he lost.

-So she keeps an eye on her twin and steps in whenever it gets to be too much. Drags him away from Noctis and Gladio and Ignis with the excuse of training instead of forcing Nox to come up with his own excuse or sneak away.

-She comes in swinging when the Council tries to force a Shield on Nox, because she knows Nox lost his first Shield. And she’ll never be able to fathom that pain, that grief, but she will do what she can to protect her little brother from people throwing salt in the wound. She might not know how exactly Axis came to be Nox’s Shield, but she can feel their bond, chosen and accepted and that is all that matters. The Council can take their opinions and jump off a cliff.

-Sola is so attuned to Nox, that she knows when her twin slips into a Quiet Day. Knows when Nox and Noctis wake from resonant nightmares. Knows when Nox’s chronic pain flares and he refuses to take it easy.

-She hunts him down on those days. Sits next to him, so close their arms brush and lets her magic coil about Nox and Uncle Ardyn, resonating all of her protective love, because she might not know why, but there’s something about her presence, her magic, that her newest family respond to in a way they respond to nothing else. When Noctis stumbles into Nox’s rooms, Sola joins them minutes later, and Sola and Noctis bundle Nox between them and cling to him with arms and magic and whispered reassurances.

-And on days when Nox’s pain is worse than normal, Sola tracks him down and sits on him until he lets her soothe the pain with her own magic. Because while Nox hates the idea of Sola hurting because of him, Sola points out - in what he deems an unfair use of logic - that the pain only lasts seconds for her, and Nox is not at fault for Sola’s choices. Sola wants to help, because it’s the only thing she can do and she doesn’t like seeing Nox in pain either! So either he lets Sola ease his pain for the day, or she will get Abyssus to sit on him so he rests.

-(Nox finds it totally unfair that both Uncle Ardyn and Axis take Sola’s side. That Sola threatens to tell Noctis means Nox either takes the healing or rests, because Noctis will turn those wide blue eyes on him and neither Sola or Nox can deny Noctis’ Puppy Eyes. Which Sola takes ruthless advantage of in regards to Nox’s health, darnit.)

-(Sola is a Regret the first time Nox uses the threat of Noctis’ Puppy Eyes against her own Reckless Behavior. Ardyn merely laughs at them.)

-Uncle Ardyn is both less and more of a mystery than Sola’s twin.

-Less, because Sola’s actually noticed what everyone else has managed to miss - how, Sola doesn’t know, because sure, Sola looks almost exactly like Mama but she and Uncle Ardyn have the exact same hair color - and Uncle Ardyn being Papa’s illegitimate half-brother explains a lot.

-And maybe Sola shouldn’t have eavesdropped on Uncle Cid telling Papa about his theories of how Uncle Ardyn got some of those scars, but someone had hurt her Little Brother and newest Uncle, and Sola wanted answers.

-So Sola never uses her magic on Uncle Ardyn without asking. Verbally, because Sola feels how Uncle Ardyn all but cringes whenever her magic brushes up against him, as though he’s expecting pain and Sola waits until she’s far away from Uncle Ardyn to let her utter hurt and fury rise. It’s a good thing Mors is dead, because if he weren’t Sola would kill him. Slowly. Painfully. Because how dare he.

-(And Sola doesn’t think about what Mors would have done to her, had he not died. What he would have done to Nox, had Nox been older and born with Sola and Ardyn’s magic. Because Sola knows about Ardyn’s magic, even if Papa doesn’t. She snuck in to look at her brother and Uncle’s medical files. She saw the matching scars on Ardyn and Noctis, and she knows no potion would have healed that damage. And that Ardyn used his magic, with all the trauma attached to it? Sola will always have her Uncle’s back.)

-She tries to help Uncle Ardyn get used to not hostile touch. Carefully, always watching for the moment it’s too much for her Uncle to handle, broadcasting her movements so she doesn’t startle him. The gentlest brushes of magic, love and protection and support.

-And when someone snidely comments on Uncle Ardyn not really being Sola’s Uncle, Sola doesn’t bother with even the idea of restraint as she tears them apart with all the Rage of a dragon protecting her Claimed, because Uncle Ardyn is as much her Uncle as Uncles Cor and Clarus and Cid and Weskham.

-But Ardyn’s also more of a mystery than Nox. Because while Nox’s discomfort with the Hall of Arts is with pretty much the entire Hall, Uncle Ardyn’s discomfort is due to a few very specific pieces about the Founder. And while Sola’s figured out that much she hasn’t figured out why, and that means she can’t fix it.

-So Sola digs out Mama’s loom and forces her way past the grief it causes. Forces her hands to remember how to weave, from drawing the cartoon to setting up the warp, to moving the bobbins. And then she tracks down Uncle Ardyn and Nox and drags them somewhere where no one will overhear before she asks how to help.

-“It hurts you.” She tells them when they blink at her, and she ignores the way Uncle Ardyn’s eyes sharpen, how Nox’s magic curls in on itself with uncertainty. “And you can’t avoid the Hall entirely, you don’t, so let me make something that won’t hurt. Please.”

-Nox gives her a series of photos, landscapes taken by a truly excellent photographer. No people, no historical weight, but there’s meaning all the same.

-Uncle Ardyn’s... Sola knows there must be history in the sketches he gives her. She knows it’s related to the Founder somehow. But she doesn’t understand. And Sola suspects she never will.

-But as she completes the tapestries, as Ardyn takes in the three figures - the dark and fire haired men, and the blonde woman - with glimmering eyes and trembling fingers, grieving but not hurting, Sola thinks she can accept that. Because even if she doesn’t understand, she’s helped.

-That’s what matters.

#Shadow of Heaven's Light #ffxv #fusion #Nox verse #Sola Lucis Caelum #Nox Izunia #Ardyn Izunia #Ardyn and Nox become a lot more careful around Sola #because she notices a lot more than she lets on #neither of them know how much Sola actually knows #because she doesn't SAY anything #like how she knew Axis was an Amicitia two seconds into meeting him #but never even HINTED that she knew until after the reveal and Cor called her out on not being surprised

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leepace71 · 4 years

Photo

When Pedro Pascal was roughly 4 years old, he and his family went to see the 1978 hit movie “Superman,” starring Christopher Reeve. Pascal’s young parents had come to live in San Antonio after fleeing their native Chile during the rise of dictator Augusto Pinochet in the mid-1970s. Taking Pascal and his older sister to the movies — sometimes more than once a week — had become a kind of family ritual, a way to soak up as much American pop culture as possible.At some point during this particular visit, Pascal needed to go to the bathroom, and his parents let him go by himself. “I didn’t really know how to read yet,” Pascal says with the same Cheshire grin that dazzled “Game of Thrones” fans during his run as the wily (and doomed) Oberyn Martel. “I did not find my way back to ‘Superman.'”

Before Pascal knew anything about “The Mandalorian,” its showrunner and executive producer Jon Favreau knew he wanted Pascal to star in it.

“The transience is something that I’m incredibly familiar with, you know?” Pascal says. “Understanding the opportunity for complexity under all of the armor was not hard for me.”

“I remember at one point not even realizing that my parents had accents until a friend was like, ‘Why does your mom talk like that?'” Pascal says. “And I remember thinking, like what?”

“And it changed me,” he says with almost religious awe. “It changed me.”

And then it all started to happen.

“It will never happen again,” Pascal says, once more in that incredulous whisper. “It felt so special.”

After all he’s done in a few short years, why wouldn’t Pascal think more roles like this are on his horizon?

“I don’t know!” he finally says with a playful — and pointed — howl. “I’m protecting myself psychologically! It’s just all too good to be true! How dare I!”

#pedro pascal #variety #interview

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