#Nothing suspicious I promise. I just like more control over what I essentially post in my own space.

[theclasscalico]

Psps, I have a Bluesky if anybody is interested. Please be warn that, although the content that I post/repost is mostly light over there as well, I am a wee bit more likely to discuss serious subject matter than I am on this blog.

Also, expect a whole lot of reposted naturalist/nature-themed artwork.

[sunsoothed]

hair(care)

remember this post? yes i wrote the fic. with some angst and backstory as a treat! family bonding time and people learning to love. the ao3 summary is "Yohan first learns affection through money, then oil." which i think is really really funny.

word count: 1696

read on ao3

apologies for any errors, and enjoy!

-

The first time Yohan tries, it is before everything. He’s allowed to err here and there, require an entire braid to be unwound and redone. He’s allowed to experiment with the clips and the ribbons and decide when the act is complete and present his art to his niece and his family. Elijah is rightfully fawned over, cheeks bright and smiles brighter, holding onto her uncle and hiding her face in his shoulder with glee.

That was, of course, before everything.

-

If Yohan has touched a hair on Elijah’s head since, it is only to make a promise or only in her sleep.

The doctors will take care of you, don’t worry. Samcheon is here. I won’t let them hurt you any more than you already have been.

Midnight, in that agonising few months of hospital rooms and the claustrophobic rehabilitation centre. When Elijah is able to perceive nothing but her breath, Yohan, hands reverent; soothing his own fears through comforting his niece. Things will be okay. We’ll be fine. A few grounding breaths are never enough, not after he learns what those monsters took from his niece.

And when Elijah cries. When she first asks after her mother and father, why they aren’t by her side, why is it just samcheon everyday? When Yohan’s tears ring before hers, for the first and last time. I’m sorry, so is declared. I’ll fix this, so is promised. He holds her as close as he can permit himself to, and vows to burn down this world if she asks him to.

-

Elijah, once, four years since, on her tenth birthday, asks him, “Can you help me?”

Yohan will pretend like he hasn’t been starved of hearing those words. He follows her to her room, honoured of her trip halfway across the house.

“The girls at school,” Elijah fumbles about, wringing her hands together, “that… they wear their…”

He stands in her doorway, somewhat uninvited, waits for her to finish.

“They wear their hair, kind of… like this,” Elijah mimics some variation of a hairstyle best she can, two locks of her hair held in her hands, the parting off. “I was just…”

Yohan, unfortunately, understands little. “Do you need a haircut?”

Elijah’s hands fall, as does the thin hope upon her features. “It’s nothing,” she dismisses. “I only called you because ahjumma wasn’t in today. It’s fine.”

Yohan blinks. “I can help if —”

“It’s fine,” Elijah hisses. “I was mistaken.”

-

If there is any chance of that ever happening again, time will have to be reversed. Elijah turns twelve, and things change, and Yohan notes his laptop has been hacked.

He buys her a cake for her thirteenth birthday that finds itself smashed against a wall and a demand for no such recurrence.

Yohan will never disobey her. Not with things that she can control.

So he buys no cakes, but buys her a building and channels the affection he allows himself to feel once a month in an allowance that shocks Ms Ji despite the lifetime she’s spent in this family.

Once, there is a package of hair care products with their usual shipment of essentials, which Ms Ji makes a show of putting in Yohan’s way. When he relents, it only takes a tilt of head to the east of the house for her to get the hint. He never knows if Elijah uses them, but the list goes on to include some products out of the large batch he’d purchased, and Yohan considers buying another building.

-

On her sixteenth birthday, Yohan asks, “Do you want to have a birthday party?”

Elijah asks, “Who will we call?”

Yohan nods, for that is an apt answer.

-

When Kim Gaon comes, Elijah hates him more than usual. That, Yohan had expected. What he hadn’t was that this hatred would melt away faster than ice when met with fire.

The frist time Elijah sports a more delicate hairstyle than the usual ponytail, Yohan thinks it’s a trick of the light. But she turns her head when retrieving cereal, and her hair is still parted that way and a short braid runs from behind her ear into the clipped-back hair at the back of her head, and Yohan pauses to stare.

Instead of their noncommittal acknowledgement of each other each morning, he asks, “When did you…” and gestures to the back of his head.

Elijah shrugs, looking over at him impassively for a moment before pursuing her breakfast once again. Kim Gaon slides into view, grin perpetually etched into his face, asks, “Elijah, did it stay?”

To which Elijah smiles back, and now Yohan’s eyebrows remain shot up.

Kim Gaon continues to talk, “It’s experimental. We’ll try a different style tomorrow. Your hair’s long enough to make an intricate bun.”

Yohan ensures Elijah watches him conspicuously eye the both of them.

“Kim pansa,” he says, breaking the moment. “We need to go to work.”

-

The next day, and the day after that, Elijah wears her hair in different styles. Once it is a high bun with some small braids, once it is a different parting and a new set of clips. Yohan observes critically over breakfast as Elijah holds her head a certain way to ensure it doesn’t fall into her food, and thinks, how impractical.

She catches him looking, so she hoists a sour look, to which Yohan responds with an exaggerated tilt of his head, aiming to mimic her.

“Don’t make fun of her,” Kim Gaon’s imposing voice interrupts. “Elijah looks fantastic today.”

Elijah beams. Yohan is disarmed of a biting reply for he hasn’t seem her teeth take on anything but a stubborn baring of power in front of him. He spends the rest of the day replaying it.

-

When things so south and north again, when Elijah acknowledges, begrudgingly, that her uncle did not have it out for her father, Kim Gaon mediates harmoniously.

He spends an evening making them both chase the cat around the house.

It’s an inane idea, even Elijah hates it, but he tells them the reason Kkomi starts throwing things off their desks at four in the morning is because she’s understimulated, and that even a cat needs to exercise.

So it’s Elijah’s job to get her rilled up enough to run — in a cat’s terribly comic way — away from them, and Yohan’s to ensure she keeps running around.

He’s insane, is what Kim Gaon is. Elijah’s more than sure this borders on some ethical offense. Yohan sure seems to find some pleasure in making the cat scared for her life.

Gaon congratulates them both with a mid-evening coffee and snack break. Elijah actually, voluntarily, asks for Yohan to pass the plate of biscuits across, and thanks him — thanks him! — when he does.

Before they all retire to bed, after another shared meal, Elijah calls for him from down the hall.

“Yohan!”

He turns, maintaining what he thinks is a smile.

“Can you try and get some coconut oil?”

“What for?”

Elijah scrutinises him, gauging how he doesn’t understand something so obvious. “For my hair.”

Yohan nods, still not on the same page, but very much wanting to be. “I’ll get it,” he assures.

He doesn’t blink twice at the astronomical shipping price.

-

It’s a tall bottle, imported and primly packaged, that greets Elijah when she returns home from her weekly ice-cream run with Gaon.

She eyes it, suspicious, before their resident busybody stands in her doorway and says, “Oh, bujang-nim actually bought it for you.”

Elijah blinks at Gaon innocently. Yohan does listen to her sometimes.

“Material wealth,” Gaon seems to understand. “We’ll put it in your hair tomorrow, okay? Keep it in for a few hours.”

“A few hours?” Yohan voices, having just turned the corner, dressed as he usually is at home.

“What are you doing here,” Elijah mutters, shooting a scowl at Yohan as he stands in her doorway as well.

He scowls back, never one to back down from a challenge, as Gaon goes on about the benefits of oiling hair behind them.

-

“Don’t pull,” Elijah hisses.

“I’m not,” Yohan insists, but puts less force into his actions nonetheless.

Gaon and Ms Ji are monitoring them, mirroring each other with their arms crossed and leaning against opposite sides of the doorway.

Yohan sections Elijah’s hair into three parts after brushing through it, the fine-toothed comb surprisingly sparse of broken hair.

“Gaon has been helping me take care of it,” Elijah had explained, when he errantly asked. “What, did you think I’m some sort of wild animal?”

Yohan carefully collects some oil in his palms, completely foreign to this, eyes flickering up to Gaon for guidance. Gaon is absolutely no help.

So he trusts his instincts and starts at Elijah’s scalp, rubbing oil in, and ends with oil down his forearms and Elijah’s hair in a thick braid. She’s fast asleep.

“That means you did a good job,” Gaon whispers to him.

Yohan would smile, but such affection hardly suits his face. He pats Gaon’s face with an oily hand, leaves him spluttering, and grins to himself as he tries to wash the oil off.

-

It barely becomes a routine, because despite Gaon’s somewhat vast knowledge on hair care and what Elijah read online, washing oil out of your hair can be a nightmare. But Ms Ji and Gaon have observed their two sulking overlords interacting with an increasing frequency, even if it is sometimes just to disagree about an arrangement of clips or parting of hair.

Gaon had supposed, somewhat, that his bujang-nim had at least an understanding of style. In his discussions with his niece, though, when somehow colour schemes and draping becomes relevant, Gaon admits he’d underestimated Kang Yohan.

Later Elijah will decide she wants to dress for dinner as well, and Yohan will be the only one diligently obeying the formality. So much so that he will leave a guest in the company of the villainous home to attend to his niece’s requests. No one will ask about the pink bow in her hair, but it’s more than enough for Yohan to know that he tied it up.

[ironmandeficiency]

the game

pairing: wrecker / reader

word count: 2007

summary: when the bad batch’s resident loudmouth suddenly begins to tone himself down, his brothers are rightfully suspicious.

request: “ Hiiiii! Could you please write something for Wrecker with him and reader having a bit of a kissy sesh and the others boys walk in on them? Thank you lmao I love ur writing ❣️”

a/n: a bit steamy!!! like idk how this got away from me but i’m sorry if this is too heated, anon!!! i guess i’m just thirsty and my brain went on autopilot. but can you blame me?? it’s wrecker we’re talking about!!

the havoc marauder touched down onto the base’s landing platform with a gentleness the ship only knew when you were piloting. you had been assigned to work with clone force 99 as their pilot after one too many close calls with other ships (and one ship they absolutely decimated by landing on top of it). said ship was yours, which was all the more uncanny when you received the orders to join them less than an hour later. you were trading a ship for a ship, essentially, with a few crew members included as a bonus gift.

there were days where you doubted whether crosshair could really be considered a gift but that was to be expected; the talking toothpick that mauled its brethren wasn’t exactly a ray of kriffin’ sunshine, you learned that early on. but he was practical and reliable, and him not eviscerating you for using his mug that one time made him okay in your book.

it took varying amounts of time for the team to warm up to you, which didn’t surprise you in the least. wrecker had been the first to grow used to (and appreciate) your presence on their/your ship - turns out your proficient flying was helpful in bringing the weapons specialist a bit more ease about heights. he seemed to open up after that and you were pleasantly surprised at the man he was behind the armor and gung ho attitude.

turns out he really liked animals, and the times he’d try to pet them were some of the only times you’d heard him whisper and move like molasses in the winter. his voice would turn soft and soothing as his hand would nearly obscure a porg from view while petting it, talking to the creature and taking it satisfied mewls as replies. the man nearly cried when he had the opportunity to watch two baby blurrgs hatch, the baby lizards imprinting on him when he was the first creature they had seen with fresh eyes (your heart broke for him when he failed to vouch for the creatures to become their mascots, hunter accompanying him to take them to a nearby village where there was a teary goodbye).

his affection for animals, funny enough, didn’t extend towards bugs. you learned this when he shrieked like an aiwha at a spider with a body barely the size of his thumb nail in the middle of the sleep cycle. everyone else had been too frustrated at him to do something about the arachnid so you had to be the one to trap it and release it outside.

wrecker was interesting alright.

so much so that after several months alongside the bad batch, you found yourself infatuated with the gentle giant in a manner you didn’t expect.

this infatuation led to months of stolen moments in random republic base supply closets (the few that could actually comfortably fit the two of you) and on planets you could only recall by what surface wrecker would press you against while his lips ravished yours. it also paved the way for the creation of a game on your end. wrecker wasn’t the biggest fan of the rules of the game, but he sure as hell did enjoy the reward he got if he won.

the rules were simple: if wrecker was able to refrain from making more than two references to a time he blew something up, to the ever-present desire of his to blow something up, or lament a lack of explosions, you’d give him a reward. now you knew this was difficult for him, not talking about his love for explosions and pyromania, so you played this game sparingly.

plus, the others were getting suspicious. you could tell by the way they had become the ones that brought up occasions for blowin’ shit up and expectant eyes when stealth missions were announced. they’d wait for him to complain about the required silence or make his yearning for fire and destruction known and raise eyebrows when their vod would shrug the words off.

you could tell it was almost cruel, but you were always sure to make his restraint well worth the struggle.

they had just finished another mission, everything going off with, for lack of a better word, a bang. it was strangely quiet within the bad batch’s comms when the outpost they took over had gone up in billowing flames and projectile shards of infrastructure, the inferno being one of epic proportions. but wrecker had remembered that the day before you’d promised him a quite pleasant reward if he played well.

he hoped to the gods that tech had gotten a good shot in his mission footage because it deserved wrecker’s full appreciation that he couldn’t give in the moment. times like this he despised that stupid game, but he had to admit that it made the anticipation that much stronger when he was finally alone with you.

wrecker barely focused on hunter’s post-mission spiel about something or another, favoring a glance at the cockpit where you were chatting with tech. his kih’vod seemed worried about something, which was normal, this was tech. but then his vod pulled up a holovid and you can see your eyes widen in shock and awe. most likely the blast footage from only hours before.

when tech showed you the epic blast that sent mayhem through the seppie troops, you felt guilty for starting the game the previous morning. wrecker would have loved to yell and celebrate a blast like that! there’d never actually been a time that the game went awry up until today, the explosions usually saving themselves for moments that the game wasn’t a deciding factor in your not-sleeping arrangements. this round’s reward would have to make it worth not celebrating the blast, worth more.

the post-mission routine was one you’d been doing for a while, wrecker waiting until his brothers were asleep (or otherwise distracted) before coming into the cockpit with you for some time to just be together. he’d usually remove you from the pilot’s chair, sit himself in it, and pull you onto his lap and hold you. being close to you was something he enjoyed and he would insert himself into your space however he could. it gave way to the best cuddling that you’d ever had the pleasure to experience in your life and a sense of safety like no other.

today, however, wrecker was impatient. the minute he was on board, he wanted nothing more than to barrel his way into the cockpit and show you just how frustrated he was about not celebrating the epic blast. there was a brief protest somewhere in his brain about getting caught by his brothers but wrecker didn’t care. he almost didn’t wait for tech to leave your side and for cross and hunter to disappear into their own parts of the ship before approaching you.

you heard his heavy footfalls reverberate off the durasteel and steeled yourself as the doors whooshed shut. you knew he’d be coming to claim part of his reward, but so soon? this was risky. there was barely time to turn on the ship’s autopilot before wrecker spun the pilot’s chair harshly toward him, pulling you away from the controls.

“do you have any idea what you do to me, cyare?” his voice was teetering back and forth between a growl and a whisper, sending chills through your body. “little gods, it took so much control to keep from shouting at the top of my lungs back there, and for what?” his hands slid between your ass and the chair, lifting you into his arms before plopping himself into the seat you formerly occupied. he maneuvered your legs to straddle him, keeping one of them on your ass and moving the other to the back of your neck.

this was a side to wrecker you’d never seen before, and holy karking hells you were loving it.

you brought your hands to either side of his face, thumb gently stroking the scar tissue near his cybernetic eye the way you know he enjoys. he was hungry, starving, and you weren’t one to deprive a man in need. your forehead pressed against his, eyes locking.

“i’ll show you what for,” you slammed your lips into his and ground yourself against his codpiece, the hand on your ass gripping hard in response. this was heaven, you were sure of it. wrecker’s muscles were tensing and relaxing under you and you could feel every bit of it.

he slid his hands to your hips and guided your movements, relinquishing control of the kiss as he moved your pliant body against him. the pace was rough and you both were capturing moans on your lips with no real effort put behind trying to contain them.

hunter’s nose wrinkled in response to the echoes of something familiar. for weeks he’s been trying to pinpoint the source of a scent he was unfamiliar with, only being able to catch its lingering presence. but now, it was hitting him full force and it was strong. setting down the blade he’d been sharpening, he emerged from the bunks and it only got stronger from there.

“is everything alright?” tech wasn’t looking up from whatever project had captured his attention, presumably seeing the twisted look on hunter’s face from the reflection of the shiny durasteel he was welding to whatever.

hunter shook his head. he’d questioned their youngest vod about possible sources of the scent and he’d had the same luck as him with discovering the source, also known as none. before hunter could bring up the elusive smell that confounded his nose, he was cut off by a noise from the cockpit.

why was the door shut? you normally left it open because the intercom system was terrible and you preferred shouting over the incessant crackling.

tech seemed to notice this abnormality as well, presumably having the same thoughts about why it was so strange.

“should we-”

“yeah, let’s check.”

both men make their way to the doors to the cockpit and hunter’s head is swimming. that damned scent was taking over his mind and it took him a few seconds before he could activate the door controls.

the whooshing of the doors carried the scent, now full-force, straight into the sargent and all but turned his brain into goop. then his eyes registered what exactly was happening in front of him. tech’s shocked/offended gasp wasn’t enough to snap you and wrecker out of your reverie, which would have been far more amusing if the mix of yours and wrecker’s pheromones wasn’t making his insides into soup.

crosshair had ventured up front to see what had tech so flustered, the sniper nearly choking on his toothpick at the sight of their pilot grinding on wrecker’s lap. the choking was what brought the two of you out of the hazy cloud of lust that permeated through the cockpit.

no one said anything for a long moment. what was there to say, really?

“don’t snap ‘em in half, wreck. i’ve gotten too used to not crashing in this damned thing.” crosshair turned and left the doorway. that was the closest crosshair has ever come to complimenting you, and you would have been a bit more focused on the achievement if wrecker wasn’t under you.

hunter snickered at the comment and had to hide his laughter at the fact that despite being walked in on, neither of you removed yourselves from the other’s hold. you had the decency to stop kissing now that you knew that you were found out, thank the maker.

should hunter feel bad for the strong urge he has to forget this ever happened? eh, cody’s probably got that visor on his gear to block out the bullshit his jedi gets up to, so no. hunter doesn’t feel bad about forgetting this and doesn’t think he could.

“just don’t crash the ship or leave a mess, that’s all i ask.”

[3pirouette]

Fic: An Experimental Design (4/?)

Title: An Experimental Design

By: TriplePirouette/3Pirouette

Disclaimer: They're not mine.

Distribution: AO3  Anyone else please ask first :) 

Story Summary: Sequel to “What Number?”, also prompted from Steggy Bingo Bash Prompts.  Takes place about a week after that fic. 

A/N: This continues to satisfy the “Science Experiment” prompt from Steggy Bingo Bash. Please stick with me on this. I won't be able to set up a regular posting schedule, but I WILL finish this. It's just going to take some time with some other writing projects happening at the same time and Real Life taking up more of my week.

Chapter 4: Calm

“Powdered eggs or canned hash browns?” Steve asked, holding up the two options he found in the cabinet.

Peggy winced from her seat at the table, hands wound round her steaming cup of tea. “Those are our best bets?”

Steve shrugged. “Unless you’d like tomato soup for breakfast?”

“Hash browns it is.” She sipped her tea, watching Steve work at the stove. It was domestic and simple and it made her long for the war to end all the sooner. “Do you think…” she trailed off, unsure if she should share the sentiment.

“What?” he asked, separating the sliced potatoes into the pan, eyes firmly on his cooking.

“Well, it just seems that in our current state we’re both quite unable to be apart, and whatever is happening with me is likely medical. So, do you think they’ll… discharge me?” He didn’t answer right away, and she hurried to fill the silence, eyes never straying from the steam coming from her mug. “They won’t discharge you, that’s for sure, but I don’t know what they’ll do with me. I’m not all that useful if you’re—”

She hadn’t noticed that he’d moved to crouch next to her until his hand was on top of hers. He waited until she was looking in his eyes. “Doesn’t matter what they want to do. We’re staying together until we figure out how to help you. End of story.”

All Peggy could do was nod.

~*~

“Jesus, how many did you find?” Howard watched the Commandos stack the piles of paper in his lab.

Jones shrugged. “A lot, but all scattered, like they left in a hurry and stuff fell out of files.”

“No discernable order to the pages,” Morita threw in, “and who knows if they’re even relevant. All in German.”

“I can read some of it, but that doesn’t mean I understand it,” Jones chimed in. “We just took everything we found.”

Howard sat at his desk, letting his hand rest on the piles. “Shit.”

~*~

Midmorning found them settled back on the couch, the small radio in the corner playing soft, slow music while Steve tried his hand at a crossword puzzle he’d pulled from his duffel. Peggy, curled up on the opposite end of the couch, was having a bit more luck settling into her novel.

The slow, calm morning was nice: her cooling tea on the table across from her, Steve at her side, her body finally free of the halting shocks that had sent her to her knees over the last month. She had her head back, eyes closed, just enjoying the silence of the room as opposed to the hustle of the battlefield when there was a solid knock on the door.

While the knock on the door startled her, it positively sent Steve into a spiral. He was on his feet before her ears even registered the noise, pulling her up and shoving her into the kitchen, as far away from the door as he could get her.

Despite her initial protests, she quieted at the look on his face. She’d always trusted him; this shouldn’t be any different. Her heart began to pound as she heard him pull out his shield and he moved slowly towards the door. Maybe he heard murmurs she couldn’t, the cocking of a gun, the smell of explosives… there were hundreds of things his enhanced senses could notice before she could.

If Steve was nervous, she was, too.

Peggy wished she’s had the presence of mind to keep her gun closer instead of in the bedside table. She fumbled through the kitchen cabinets, settling for a knife that barely looked like it would cut through butter.

“Who is it?” Steve called to the door, his voice gruff and low, dangerous. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t hear the answer, but Steve spoke again quickly. “Leave them.”

She heard the door open and close a moment later, and she gripped her butter knife tighter. She counted to ten, and when no more noise was forthcoming, she called out. “Steve?”

“It’s fine, you can come out.”

Peggy slowly leaned out of the kitchen doorway, still brandishing her butterknife. Steve had abandoned his shield by the door and was sorting through two paper bags that looked to be filled with groceries, eyes suspicious. “Who was it?”

He looked up, jaw still tight. “Said his name was Jarvis, that Howard had asked him to drop by some essentials.”

Peggy carefully moved forward, reaching in to the bag and pulling out a small loaf of bread. She shrugged and tried to smile. “Better than soup.”

Steve didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. His shoulders were still tense, corded and tight and ready to react. Peggy stepped closer, reaching out slowly. He looked like a caged tiger ready to strike. “Steve?”

As soon as her hand touched his arm, he breathed a sigh of relief and his entire body seemed to relax. “Must still be tired.” He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “I overreacted.”

“I prefer over to under any day,” Peggy tried to reassure him as she stepped closer and he took her in his arms. The hug calmed them both. With each moment of contact Peggy could feel Steve’s pounding heart slow, and though she hadn’t felt any pain, she could feel her anxiety start to relinquish its hold on her. “Though I am a bit worried.” Peggy leaned back, running her hand over his cheek. “That was some reaction.”

Steve shook his head. “I guess I’m more worried than I thought. As soon as I heard that knock, I just felt this rush of…” He turned his head, kissing the palm of her hand as he tried to find the words. When nothing came, he huffed in frustration. “I just felt like I needed you safe.”

A small smile started to bloom on Peggy’s face as she held him tight. “I am safe, Steve. I’m right here, guarded by the best soldier in the world.”

He moved quickly, desperately, taking her lips. Her surprise was fleeting and she responded quickly, but moved to slow his desperation with gentle caresses over his shoulder and tiny pecks of her lips. She pressed him back, walking him to sit on the couch before straddling him gently, his arms moving around her without hesitation.

“Hold me, Steve,” she instructed softly as she laid her head on his shoulder, worry blooming in her again at his desperate touch. “Just hold me and breathe.”

~*~

Howard loomed over the young man helping to translate some of the papers. In four hours, they’d found mostly scraps of nothing: lunch orders, old memos, and barely legible notes. Until the one page. It was the first promising piece of information and boy, was it a piece of information.

“You’re sure that’s what it says? Howard asked, his voice quiet but forceful.

The young soldier nodded. “There isn’t much there, but what is there, I’m sure.”

It was the last page, and only page they seemed to have, of what looked to be a longer, handwritten document. There were only two sentences on it.

“You tell no one, got it?” Howard pointed his finger in the man’s face, “No one.”

The young man didn’t even look slightly intimidated. “Sir, everything I translate or decode is eyes only to me. I can’t talk about it to anyone.”

“Good. Good.” Howard grumbled, taking the paper. “Look for the rest of this, ok?”

He walked away, trying to figure out how to even begin to explain what this could mean to Phillips.

He’d wait. He’d have to wait until he knew more.

He looked down at the paper, quickly folding and shoving it in his pocket it as he moved through the base, not wanting anyone else to even potentially glance at it.

…potential use as live collateral. Feelings of desperation at separation may prove more useful in controlling the asset than current mind control techniques. Potency of the bond may have the unintended side effect of creating a viable breeding program.  

Peggy was going to kill him. Literally.

~*~

Peggy was curled into Steve’s side on the couch, dozing lightly. After their initial anxiety had faded and Steve’s desperation calmed, being situated with Peggy in his lap had brought up certain other feelings that neither really wanted to ignore. Despite some kissing and very directed touching, they’d managed to keep to their word and avoid anything Howard might have deemed inappropriate.

Snuggling, Peggy thought, was absolutely appropriate given that she couldn’t remember the last time she had a warm, clean apartment with a comfortable bed and soft sofa. Pillowed on his chest, with Steve’s arm around her, she felt perfectly calm and safe.

His arm squeezed her gently. “I can feel you thinking.”

“Only good thoughts,” she murmured. “Is it possible to take a holiday from war?”

His laugh bounced her on his chest. “I guess you could call this that.”

“Seems it, right?” She didn’t open her eyes, just tried to burrow deeper into his side. “Easy to forget everything going on just for a few minutes.”

He hummed in agreement, tucking her as tight to him as he could, equally to keep them both on the sofa and to have her pressed close to him. He moaned as the phone on the table next to them rang, shrill and disturbing their peace.

He reached up, pulling the receiver down to his ear, knowing only a handful of people knew they were there. “Hello?”

“I’m sending Jarvis with the car to pick you up.” Howard’s voice was tense as he spoke over the tinny line. “We need to talk.”

Steve’s eyes were open immediately; Peggy’s head popped up as she felt his body tense. “Something wrong?”

Steve shifted them to sitting as he held the phone for Peggy to hear, too. “Nothing immediate, but we’ve managed to get a couple of clues, and I think we need to move sooner rather than later.”

“Howard, am I…” Peggy didn’t know what to ask, really, but she felt a knot start to burn tight in her stomach.

“No immediate danger. At least no more than usual.” Howard sighed over the line. “Jarvis will be there in ten, ok?”

The line clicked dead as Howard hung up, leaving Peggy and Steve to stare at one another, the peace of the morning broken.

[forever-rogue]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do these prompts from your post "STAR WARS PROMPTS (take your time! No rush whatsoever!). I chose #18, 45, and 64 and for Dyn, please!

18. “We are stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive.” & 45. “If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body.” & 64. “Tell me why I should stay. “Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff.”

Some hints of... risque talk, but that’s about it. Enjoy!

Mandalorian Masterlist

»»————-　♡　————-««

“This is just fantastic. Bloody fantastic,” you sighed as ran a dirty hand through your hair, leaving a bit of grease on your forehead. The brooding Mandalorian next to you made a noncommittal sound as he reached over and tried to wipe the spot off, but you just swatted his hand away. That really was the least of your concerns at this moment. The much larger concern was the fact that the Razor Crest was no longer starting and you appeared to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, “I told you this was a bad idea. I told you, but no, we just had to come here and chase this lead.”

“Is this really the time, Y/N?” he sighed as he threw back in exasperation, trying to bite back the sarcastic remarks that were dancing on the tip of his tongue.

“Well it’s not like we really have anything else we can do right now, so yeah, it is the time,” you insisted, growing more annoyed and kicked the outer wall of the ship, immediately regretting it as pain shot up your leg.

“Fine,” he groaned, rolling his eyes under the helmet; he was glad you couldn’t see his face at moment because he knew it would have just spurred you on more. You had a fiery personality, something he both adored about you, but something that could frustrate him at the same time. With his stubborn streak, the two of you often butted heads, but usually it was nothing serious, “you were right and I was wrong. Are you happy?”

“Nope,” you said, placing emphasis on the p, “because we’re still stuck here with no plan. And nothing around. So I suggest you think of a plan and think fast.”

“Can you cool it for like five minutes, Y/N? You think I planned this all out-”

“Maybe this was your cheap ploy to try and get me,” you put your hands on your hips as you raised an eyebrow at him. You knew it wasn’t anywhere near the truth, but just wanted to take out your frustration somehow. Besides you both knew, even if you wouldn’t admit it, that he could have easily had you. He’d just never asked...so far, nerves and his surprisingly timid nature getting the better of him.

“Please,” he said as he scanned over your form, feeling hot under the collar as he tried to keep himself composed. You hadn’t totally just put the thought of him taking you then and there into his mind. Totally not at all, he tried to convince himself, “as if I actually needed to try.”

“Whatever,” you scoffed at him, trying away from him so he wouldn’t see your rapidly reddening cheeks. He had you, he totally knew it and you hated how it was for him to get you so flustered. You rubbed at your temple before poking at his beskar covered chest, “just fix this and get us out of here. There’s plenty of viable work we’re missing out on.”

“Would you just....look we’re stranded here together, so we may as well work together to get off this rock alive,” he tried a more gentle approach but the look on your face suggested that his idea wasn’t real received on your end.

“You got us into this mess, Din Djarin, you get us out of this mess,” you sighed as you pushed past him, holding up your binoculars to try and scope out the area, seeing if there’ anything nearby. Much to your chagrin there was nothing nearby, not even a single lonely hut, “you should have your pilots’ license revoked.”

“You don’t need a license for that,” he smarted back at you, causing you to roll your eyes and shove the binoculars into his chest. You decided that since he appeared not to care about what was going on, it was up to you to find some way. Typical, you thought to yourself, always cleaning up the messes, “where are you going?”

“I don’t know,” you shouted as ducked into the ship and grabbed your bag out of it. It had a few essentials that you figured might come in handy; and besides that your trusty blaster almost never left your side, “to find something to help, or anyone. Keep comms on and if I find anything I’ll let you know. Try and sort out this flying hunk of junk in the meantime.”

“She’s not junk!”

“Tell that to the ship that’s falling apart,” you spat at him, giving him the bird as you headed off in the only direction that looked promising. How it looked promising, you weren’t sure, but you figured it was something.

“Wait,” he quickly made his way over to you, effortlessly closing the distance with his long legs, “just stay here. Don’t go.”

“Tell me why I should stay,” you crossed you arms over you chest and waited for him to give you some sort of viable answer. In reality, you knew you were being much more dramatic than you needed to be, but you didn’t care in the moment. He almost never listened to you, and this time you were both paying for it. Maybe this would teach him a much needed lesson.

“Because I need you...I...I’m not good with this sort of stuff,” he said, adopting a more gentle tone; you knew that tone, he usually reserved it for when he wanted something from you, or needed you to fix some type of situation. If you were being honest, it got under your skin, but only in the best ways, and you found yourself wondering what that tone sounded like whispering other things in your ear. You snapped yourself out of your little daydream fantasy and back in the bleak reality of your current situation.

“With what kind of stuff?” you sighed at him, holding your hands up in anticipation of his response, “please enlighten me.”

“I...with...with things,” he said lamely, shrugged his shoulders. It was weak, but he was willing to try anything to get you to stay, “stay?”

“You’re an idiot,” you sighed at him, “I am leaving to try and find some sort of anything can help us. You stay here and see if you can fix the problem. Okay? Okay.”

You didn’t wait around for him to respond, instead turning on your heel and throwing your bag over your shoulder and stomping off. You could hear him calling your name, growing more and more annoyed until you could no longer hear him. Shaking your head as you got further and further away from the ship, praying to the Maker that you’d fine something out in the middle of the desolate desert.

»»————-　♡　————-««

After walking for what seemed like a small eternity, your heart completed a series of flips as you realized you had stumbled up on something that would ever help you, or perhaps be the death of you.

“Jawas,” you groaned to yourself, “of course it’s Jawas.”

You walked up to their travelling fortress, finding a group of them looking at a new haul of parts. They turned to you and started yelling as soon as they saw you, so you help up your hands above your head to show them that you meant them no harm. Of course, given the choice you would have punted each and every one of them off into the distance, but right now they were your best bet.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” you did as best as you could in your broken Jawaese. You understood the basics at least, picking up little bits here and there in your years of being a bounty hunter, “I may need some parts.”

They looked at you suspiciously but didn’t seem to be scared. One of them walked to the front and quickly asked, “what kind of parts?”

That’s how you ended up in their rolling home, trying your best to strike a deal with them. They were driving a hard bargain, but you tried your best to keep your temper in check, especially since you knew that they had exactly what you needed. They had demanded almost everything from you, and you were willing to trade it all except for -

“Not the blaster,”  you shook your head fervently, ready to chew them out when you heard Din over your comms system. You groaned as you held up a finger to signal that you needed a moment, “not now, you fool. I was just about to get us what we needed!”

“Where are you?” he sounded concerned, and he had right to be, you’d been gone for several hours and the sun was slowly starting to set, “answer me, Y/N.”

“I’m with the Jawas,” you said quickly, turning to the small creatures and giving them a smile, “these lovely friends have what we need and I’m about to acquire it so let me handle this.”

“Y/N-”

You shut off your comms device and turned back to your hosts, internally sighing as they looked between your blaster and you. You weren’t going to give it up, you just weren’t, and you were willing to wait and bargain until the banthas came home.

Din realized after several moments of silence on your end that either something was wrong or that you were ignoring him. He knew it was most likely the latter, but he wasn’t willing to take the chance. Not now, and most definitely not with you.

»»————-　♡　————-««

You weren’t sure how much time had passed since you’d first started negotiating with your Jawaese hosts, but you were getting tired and seemed to be getting nowhere. You were sure you could have offered them a sacrifice of any children you had one day, and they still wouldn’t budge. You just couldn’t give up your blaster, it had too much sentimental value...plus it had been gifted to you by your bullheaded Mandalorian partner. You just couldn’t part with it.

“Listen here you little-”

“If you don’t let her go right now, I swear I will break every bone in your body!” the door to the Jawa’s refuge was knocked down and in tumbled the Mandalorian, blasters raised and ready to shoot anything on sight. You looked at him and hung your head, ready to curse him out.

“I’m not being held hostage, you idiot!” you almost shouted at him as the Jawas started shouting and panicking at the two of you, “I had this under control!”

“You weren’t responding and I had to make sure you were alright!” he countered as he lowered his blasters, “are you really going to blame for making sure you were alright? You could have been dead!”

“Well I wasn’t,” you said as you stood up, trying to get away from the prying hands and shouts of the Jawas, “and you’ve messed up everything I’ve been working on for hours!”

“Well excuse me for caring!”

“Not excused,” you said as you pushed past him, closely followed the little screaming creatures. You pushed a few of them out of the way as you made your way back outside, the Mandalorian following closely behind you.

»»————-　♡��————-««

It was silent for a while as the two of you trekked back to the ship, side by side. You could tell he was eager to say something, unspoken words threatening to fall out of his mouth, you knew him well enough for that by now. You stopped suddenly and turned to him, “what? Out with it.”

“Nothing...”

“I know you better than that,” you narrowed your eyes at him, “now just say it.”

“Oh you think you just know-”

“Out with it!”

“Fine, you want to know? Fine,” he paused for a moment as he searched for the right words, “I’m sorry I ruined whatever you were doing, but I’m not sorry I did it because I’m glad to know you’re okay and not out dead somewhere in this maker forsaken desert.”

You were mildly taken aback by what he said, so much that you couldn’t help the smile that started stretching across your features. There he went again, doing that subtle but not subtle at all, flirting. Before saying anything you reached into your bag, digging around for a moment before pulling out a small silver item, “lucky for you, I managed to grab what we need while those weird creatures were busy freaking out at you.”

“You did it,” he said, as he took the part from your hand, examining it closely. He looked at you and let out a small laugh, shaking his head in amusement, “I guess I should have know better than to ever doubt you.”

“Uh yeah, duh,” you stuck your tongue out at him, “we’ve been partners for how long now? I know a thing or two, Mando. After all, I’m the one who’s always cleaning up your messes.”

“Well thank you,” he said gratefully as you grabbed the part back and put it in the safety of your bag, “at least we’ll be able to get off this rock now.”

“Yes,” you agreed before deciding to tease him a little more, seeing how far you could manage to push him. If there was one thing you liked, it was pushing his buttons, you thoroughly enjoyed your little back and forth with Din, “you like me!”

“You’re my partner,” his voice went up about an octave as he tried to keep himself composed, “of course I care about you. I need to make you’re safe so we can continue working.”

“Ohhh, sure,” you said as you skipped away, giving him a wink, feeling more bold than you had imagined you would have been when it came to confessing your feelings for him, “that’s all. But I know better, I can see through that cool facade, you like me Din. Like me, like me.”

“What are we? Children?” was his only response, but it came out broken and ragged as he tried to play it cool, “besides, it’s not like you don’t feel the same.”

“You wish,” you almost stopped dead in your tracks as he called you out, “there is no way I would ever fancy a fool like you!”

“Is that why you think about me at night?” he didn’t know where it came from suddenly, but the words were flowing freely, coming out before he could fully think them through. Your heart dropped as you realized he knew; apparently you weren’t being subtle or quiet at all as you thought of him late at night in the privacy of your own bedroom, “I can hear you, you know.”

“I-I have no clue what you’re talking about,” you lied, trying to keep a level head, “just because you wish it were true, doesn’t mean it is.”

“Y/N...”

“Din...”

“You’re a horrible liar.”

“Well, you’re horrible at a lot of things,” you were getting trapped in a corner, but didn’t want to go down without a fight, “so there.”

“There’s one thing I’m not horrible at,” there was a lilt to voice that kept you intrigued and you wanted him to keep going, but a part of you was nervous as all hell. He took a step closer to you as he put a gloved hand under chin turned your face towards his, “and I bet you’d like to find out, wouldn’t you?”

“Din,” you raised your eyes to where you were sure his were, “don’t start what you can’t finish. That’s your biggest downfall.”

“I intend to finish this,” his voice was barely audible as he trailed a finger to the corner of your mouth, “if that’s what you want.”

“What I want,” you grabbed his wrist with your hand and pulled him off of you. You needed to keep a clear and focused mind, and right now that didn’t include getting distracted by your lust (and love) for him, “is to get out of this place. Now let’s go back and fix the ship so we can leave.”

“This isn’t finished,” he insisted as he followed after you, already knowing that this was going to be hard, in more ways than one. You just smirked at him and shrugged your shoulders innocently.

“Whatever you say,” you giggled as you started running from him, the ship in site on the horizon, “come and catch me then!”

“Maker,” Din picked up the pace as he started after you, “you’ll be the death of me, Y/N.”

[thebibliomancer]

Essential Avengers: Hawkeye #1-4

September, 1983

Listen to the Mockingbird

Now for something completely different.

-OR- Further justifying why the posts are titled Essential Avengers when I’m just going to put a colon and then an Avengers to get Essential Avengers: Avengers. Its because sometimes its not Avengers!

Sometimes its Hawkeye.

Since I’m doing four issues in one post, I’m not going to go as in-depth as I usually do.

So, last times on Avengers as related to Hawkeye: Hawkeye was cut from the Avengers due to a limited roster. He eventually got a job as the security chief at Cross Technological Enterprises with the same lack of restraint that got him a job with the Avengers. He’s been doing that for a while, since pre-200. Recently the Avengers needed beef up their roster and Cap and Iron Man convinced him to rejoin, which Hawkeye has done while also keeping his security chief job.

During an Avengers mission TO RESCUE THE PRESIDENT, he broke his leg and was put on medical leave from the team. He got one of the CTE people to build him a rocket-sled that he could putt around in. Judging by the lack of cast, his leg is better but he’s still using the cool rocket-sled.

And that’s where we are. Hawkeye has a cool rocket-sled and is actually holding down an actual job at Cross Technological Enterprises. He’s seems to still be on leave from the team despite his leg being better.

The miniseries starts with Hawkeye congratulating himself on getting a cool rocket-sled, even though it cost all of his money.

Hawkeye: “‘Bad guys beware -- Hawkeye’s in the air!’ Hmmm, not the worst slogan an aerial archer could have... but close.”

At least he’s self-aware. Some days that’s all you can ask of Hawkeye!

He spots three suspicious characters suspiciously sneaking and swoops down on the rocket-sled, taking them out with ease with his totally sweet trick arrows.

Hey, note to comic makers of our modern day. Trick arrows are sweet. I don’t need to see people getting shot in the eyes with arrows when I can see like a net arrow or whatever.

The three suspicious characters are actually CTE employees that Hawkeye asked to come in on their off time to help him get a hang of archering from the rocket-sled. Including the scientist, Jorge, who built it for him!

Wow, Hawkeye!

Jorge at least was happy to do build the thing because he feels like his talents are wasted at CTE and Hawkeye encourages him to go into business for himself.

Which is probably the kind of thing that’s going to get Hawkeye a reprimand but hey, good looking out, Hawkguy.

One of the other CTE employees asks why Hawkeye uses a bow and arrow instead of... a gun. Why not just shoot people with a gun.

Hawkeye: “The bow is quieter, more versatile, and in my hands the deadliest weapon in the state. Or hadn’t you noticed, Howie?”

He doesn’t mention that its also more believably non-lethal than if he were going around with a gun. Because Hawkeye says its the deadliest weapon in the state but he’s also a huge proponent of “superheroes don’t kill!”

But point being, you can buy a comic book guy pinning people to walls with arrows or using trick arrows or shooting weapons out of their hands without killing anyone way more than you could if Hawkeye was just using a magnum.

Also, this:

I believe he is literally flexing on that dude.

CTE’s new public relations lady Sheila Danning shows up for a date with Hawkeye because I guess there’s no rule about dating co-workers. Or at least if they’re not in the same department?

Having a woman showing positive attention to Hawkeye is his cue to have a little internal monologue that’s a little bit sad.

Hawkeye: Man, this is the life! A ridiculously high-paying job, a fast machine between my legs, and a foxy lady who’s nuts about me. What more could a guy want? Until Sheila came along, I thought I was put on this world for women to dump on. Women... like the Black Widow and Scarlet Witch. No matter what I did, I just couldn’t get them to care for me like I did for them. Sheila’s different. Even though we’ve been seeing each other for only a month, what we have is special, real, like nothing I’ve ever known.

I don’t want to ruin his good times but I will remind the audience that he once rage-quit the Avengers because Scarlet Witch didn’t want to kiss him.

Anyway, Hawkeye is pretty enamored. He’s even thinking maybe it’s time he settles down.

He takes her back to his place and they start dancing to some Mantovani as he recaps his entire backstory to her.

In fairness. In faiiiirness. She asked.

But you should know the drill. Clint and Barney ran away from the orphanage to join the circus. Swordsman saw potential in Clint and trained him in archery and Clint began seeing Swordsman as a father figure so threw himself into training in hopes that Swordsman would be proud of him.

Which is funny in an odd way because there’s some same-face going on and Swordsman looks just like Tony Stark!

I wonder if Clint ever slipped up and called Tony dad and had to cover it up by continuing into a daddio.

Anyway, he caught Swordsman with stolen money and Swordmaster left him in a broken heap and skipped town when Clint wouldn’t promise to keep quiet.

Later, he saw the adulation that Iron Man got when he flew over the circus and thought wait I can do that. Got a costume and tried to become a hero. Oops, tripped into being a supervillain and enemy of Iron Man. Annd then joined the Avengers.

Hawkeye: “I’ve done many a stint with my Avenging buddies, but I think I’m finally ready to wing it solo for good. Much as I like ‘em, they cramp my style a bit too much.”

Sheila: “Fascinating story, Clint. Looks like I’ve got a real self-made man. How about if I try to unmake you a little?”

And then they’re about to do sexy times when Clint’s emergency beeper goes off. Because somehow the emergency always knows when you’re horny or mid-ablution.

Hawkeye has to suit back up and head out back to work

Hah.

But anyway, he catches a lady in a very sleevesy costume prowling around and during some back and forth and further back and forth pinned you no pinned you action, she introduces herself as Mockingbird, an ex-shield agent and freelance crimebuster (I think that means superhero?).

Some underworld contacts of hers led her to investigate Cross Technological Enterprises under suspicion that CTE is manufacturing mass mind control technology right under a certain Avenger slash archer’s nose. I.e., Hawkeye.

She wants him to lead her to warehouse 10 but their conversation is interrupted by a security night shift who rush in and surround Mockingbird despite Hawkeye ordering prior to the action scene to let him handle it.

They cuff Mockingbird and take her away but oddly claim that they thought Hawkeye sent the signal for them to charge in.

Hawkeye is perplexed and vexed wondering if there’s anything to Mockingbird’s story. He doesn’t know the full extent of what CTE manufactures and there was some shady business in Marvel Fanfare #3 where a vice-president was using CTE facilities to manufacture a bomb.

Mockingbird’s story bugs him so much that he returns home to Sheila and tells her that there’s something he has to take care of and sends her home in a cab.

He returns to Cross on his sweet rocket-sled and investigates warehouse 10, finding it empty but with a lot of fresh tracks in the dust, like something was moved in only the past hour or so.

Also, a bunch of security staff show up and point guns at him.

That’s also a red flag.

When reminding them he’s their boss doesn’t settle them down, he rolls to the floor to shoot out the lights like a cool action guy and then starts taking them out in the dark just by shooting whenever he hears one of the idiots make a sound.

But one of the guards has Sheila hostage even though she was supposed to have gone home so Hawkeye has to surrender.

The guards toss him into a pit with Mockingbird. Just an oubliette that CTE has on premise, as ya do.

Hawkeye demands to speak with Sheila so he knows she’s alright and whoops she’s in on it.

Sheila Danning, heartbreaker: “Barton -- you stupid fool! Why did you have to be so conscientious? It was my job to keep you distracted so you’d have no time to notice the operation Cross had been contracted for -- a very costly, deadly operation.”

Hawkeye, heartbroken: “What are you talking about, Sheila? Are you saying they paid you to -- to --”

Sheila: “Yes, they paid me. I was pretty convincing, wasn’t I? You never had the slightest idea that I could sooner love a dog than a cornball Romeo with delusions of adequacy like you.”

Hawkeye: “You can’t mean that! They must’ve brainwashed you, poisoned your mind against me! Or -- or maybe you’re not Sheila at all, an imposter, or a robot -- !”

Sheila: “Don’t kid yourself, Barton. I’m the one and only. The woman who could barely keep from snickering when you told her your carnival story this evening.”

Ouch.

I like to mock Hawkeye because he deserves some light ribbing but ouch, she slipped a knife right between those ribbings.

That poor dolt was thinking about proposing and she was paid to distract him by feigning interest. Oof ouch.

Anyway, since CTE has suddenly become Bond-esque, they start dumping liquid industrial waste into the pit to drown and/or melt Hawkeye and Mockingbird.

The stuff is like acid but Hawkeye is kind of wallowing in being dumped and doesn’t care.

Hawkeye: “I ain’t moving. All my life I’ve been dumped on. I’m beginning to enjoy it.”

Mockingbird tells him that if he lets himself be melted by industrial waste because he feels sorry for himself, his ex wins. But that doesn’t move him so she has to mock him into action. This is what she was named for!

Mockingbird: “So this is what they taught you in the Avengers? What a bunch of jerks! They should see you now. I’ll bet you let them down in a pinch, too. Whenever your feelings get hurt.”

Hawkeye: “SHUT UP! I’m gonna get us out of here, lady. Then I’m going to kill Sheila for what she did to me. Then you’ll get yours, too.”

Mockingbird: “Sure, sure. Get us out first.”

Hah, I like Mockingbird.

And I like Hawkeye too. He makes good use of what he has to escape this Bond-esque trap. He doesn’t have his bow or his arrows but he keeps a fifty foot length of cord in his boot and spare arrowheads in his tunic. He calls his rocket-sled with the remote control, ties the cord to a spare rocket arrow-tip and rockets himself and Mockingbird out of the pit and up to his rocket-sled.

Then Hawkeye says he has to go attend some private business and Mockingbird is like cool, I’ll wait for you and hops onto a roof.

Hawkeye rams the rocket-sled through the window of Sheila Danning’s office and jump kicks the guards she has with her and confronts her.

Hawkeye: “You hurt me, Sheila... More than anything ever hurt in my life.”

Sheila: “Stay back, Hawkeye! I - I --”

Hawkeye: “I could kill you for what you did to me. But I won’t. I... can’t. I just don’t care anymore... about you or about whatever scheme Cross is up to! Give me my bow and quiver back and I’ll go.”

Tangentially, like an anime, his shirt is a lot flimsier than his pants and melted off in the acid while his pants are tattered but intact. If only they made shirts out of pants...

And if only they made any outfit out of lady outfit. Mockingbird’s outfit has a few holes and tatters but her whole top didn’t dissolve like Hawkeye’s did!

Sheila does give Hawkeye his archery stuff but warns him that he Knows Too Much and Cross will come after him.

Kind of a weird flex to pull on AN AVENGER WHO KNOWS THOR but you do you, Cross Technological Enterprises.

Hawkeye just takes off on his sweet rocket-sled without responding, zooming past where he left Mockingbird who has to jump onto the moving rocket-sled because he does not slow down for her.

Mockingbird: “Got your business taken care of, sport?”

Hawkeye, crying a little: “Shut up, just shut up. If you hadn’t shown up, none of this could have happened.”

Oof.

That’s the hurt speaking buddy. Ignorance wouldn’t have been bliss here because as soon as Cross didn’t need to distract you any longer, Sheila probably would have found some excuse to dump you.

Also, their scheme was asinine! They don’t have other facilities? Just build the mind control doohickey somewhere else instead of paying someone to distract Hawkeye with horny!

October, 1983

POINT BLANK!

So after having his heart broken and wallowing in some acid sludge in the last issue, Hawkeye is in a bad place. Emotionally. And also geographically.

He’s standing on some abandoned railroad tracks under the West Side Highway and shooting arrows at a bullseye he crudely drew on a cement block.

And Good Archer Hawkeye has not hit a single bullseye because of all the emotional turmoil. Also, since he’s shooting at concrete, he’s breaking all of his arrows.

He’s also wearing his no-shirt acid-tattered costume.

And he’s been here for 42 hours without sleeping, eating, or managing to hit a bullseye.

He’s in a bad place.

So he passes out and he’s eventually found by some random street toughs who recognize him as an Avenger (although they think his name is Nighthawk womp womp) and decide ‘hey lets kick his ass and do him a murder maybe.’

Hawkeye comes to, as one might when people are kicking them in the head, and manages to nail three bullseyes on the three toughs he didn’t kick unconscious.

Hawkeye: Three bullseyes. Two kayos. Five sleezos in dreamland. Thanks, creeps. You gave me a reason to go on living. I’m just not sure what it is!

But now Hawkeye is at a loss of what to actually do. He refuses to go to the Avengers for help because blah blah blah muh pride. He can’t go and “mooch” off of them. So he decides to go check out the apartment he had through Cross Technological Enterprises and see whether they’ve cleared him out or not.

They have.

Everything he had to his name except the clothes on his back and bow in his hand gone. Arrow-making tools and spare costumes gone too.

But he also finds Mockingbird waiting for him.

Mockingbird: “Hello, Hawk. Can I buy you some breakfast?”

Hawkeye: “MOCKINGBIRD! Lady, you’re not one of my favorite people, but I know a good offer when I hear one.”

A free breakfast is a free breakfast.

Mockingbird takes Hawkeye back to her apartment and apologizes for blowing up his life but also says that it would have happened eventually anyway even had she never come along.

Which, yeah, you can only pay a person to pretend to love someone they hate for so long before the mask slips.

She also offers to mend his costume. Not sure how she’s thinking. Its not torn. Its half gone.

Hawkeye says yeah sure but hey why don’t you narrate your ENTIRE BACKSTORY.

So Mockingbird introduces herself as Barbara Morse, Bobbi to her friends.

She was a biology whiz at Georgia Tech and went with her favorite professor when she signed on to a government project to recover the super-soldier serum that made Captain America so super.

SHIELD was one of the sponsors of the project so Bobbi got to know several SHIELD agents and realized ‘hey being a spy sounds AMAZING’ and signed up with SHIELD’s spy school.

She graduated top of her class and was sent on a mission to track down Ka-Zar who SHIELD wanted to hire.

Mockingbird: “I found the jungle man all right. Even got involved with him, if you know what I mean. But things never quite worked out between us.”

Oh my god, what a power move to brag about nailing discount-Tarzan while recapping your life story.

Later, she investigated SHIELD itself at the request of a Congressman under the identity as the Huntress. But not the crossbow one. But because of her actions, she gained the reputation as a traitor to SHIELD.

So she changed her name to Mockingbird and took the evidence of corrupt agents to Nick Fury. And got shot a couple times in the attempt.

She had to spend six months recovering and after turned down a SHIELD promotion to go solo.

Mockingbird: “Not that I had anything against S.H.I.E.L.D... I just got used to operating alone. It wasn’t long after I got back into circulation that I came across the lead that took me to Cross Tech and I bumped into you. So that’s my lifestory in a nutshell, Hawk.”

I don’t know why I thought Mockingbird debuted in this series because she has a lot of backstory here. She showed up in Astonishing Tales #6 unnamed, was introduced as Dr. Barbara Morse in Astonishing Tales #12, was introduced in her Huntress (but not that one) identity in Marvel Super Action #1, and even Mockingbird debuted in Marvel Team-Up #95! Geez, Bobbi!

Annnnnd then Mockingbird realizes that Hawkeye fell asleep on her while she was recapping her entire life!

Bobbi doesn’t hold it against him, realizing how exhausted he must have been.

She tucks him in and heads off to go pick up some supplies to fix his costume.

Later, someone picks the locks to the apartment door and silently comes up and puts a gun to the sleeping Hawkeye’s head.

Perhaps it is instinct -- a survival sense honed in hundreds of life-and-death struggles... But somehow Clint Barton feels the cool gun metal at his temple, instantly recognizes it for what it is -- and reacts.

(We actually see a hint of this dingus at Hawkeye’s apartment when he meets Mockingbird there. Implying that he somehow followed them from there to Bobbi’s apartment. Somehow. Even though Hawkeye and Bobbi took Hawkeye’s sweet rocket-sled. Good tracking, this guy.)

Hawkeye manages to dive away from the guy’s gunfire and hide behind one of those tables that looks like a giant spool. He weirdly realizes that the assassin’s gun isn’t making any sound when he fires and the bullets aren’t making any noise when they hit.

He’s in a tough spot unable to reach his bow in time when Mockingbird comes back to save Hawkeye, flipping the assassin and telling Hawkeye to grab his gun.

The assassin jumps out the window rather than deal with the both of them (Bobbi speculates its because she’s not on his hit list).

Hawkeye tests the gun after and discovers that its not silenced which means that the silencer was all in the guy’s suit, muting all the sounds he makes.

He dubs the guy Silencer and he has a pretty neat gimmick but doesn’t seem to ever appear again after this issue.

Shame. Imagine this guy against Daredevil.

Anyway, Mockingbird also managed to make Hawkeye a new outfit while she was gone.

Mockingbird: “Here -- better put this on. Half-naked men with guns make it hard for me to concentrate.”

Hawkeye: “Sure.”

God. Hawkeye’s non-reaction to that blatant flirt makes me laugh. He may as well have Saitama meme’d.

So the new outfit.

The blue is a lot darker now. The dangly part of the tunic is a lot less dangly now. And the outfit has some asymmetrical sleeves. Also, its not entirely clear on this shot but the gloves are weird. They don’t cover the sides of his fingers. I don’t know if that’s an archery thing or what and I don’t know if that’s going to be a detail that lasts once other artists start drawing this costume.

All in all, not a bad looking new outfit. Its better than that time he didn’t wear pants.

Later that night, Hawkeye figures that they need to return to Cross and figure out who hired them to build that mind-control thing. But, they’ll need help getting back into Cross.

(Hey, I just realized. Hawkeye was double Cross’d by his employer. Hah.)

They go to visit Jorge Latham, the guy who built a sweet rocket-sled for Hawkeye so probably the guy he trusts the most now.

Jorge: “What happened to you, man? We got a memo two days ago that you were fired for incompetency, and I haven’t seen you since!”

Aw man, insult to injury! They told everyone that Hawkeye was fired because he sucked too hard!

Hawkeye tells Jorge the story, in brief, about how Cross is up to something, gets information on where the special projects are done, and tells Jorge to maybe get his resume in order in case he accidentally shuts the whole company down in the course of blowing this thing wide open.

Jorge is a lot more chill about learning he might be unemployed soon than I think a lot of other people would be. Although he had already expressed he wasn’t really satisfied in his job.

Hawkeye: “The info he gave us is going to save us a lot of hassle. Sure is good to have a few folks you can trust.”

Mockingbird: “You still don’t quite trust me, do you, Hawkeye? Even after I saved your life.”

Hawkeye: “No offense, lady. But it’s going to take me a while before I can fully trust any woman again.”

Geez, really hope that doesn’t last. He already teetered into disrespect of women without becoming a full-on misogynist.

Drink your respect women juice, Hawkeye.

The two return to Cross Technological Enterprises and Hawkeye uses his electronic security neutralizer arrowhead to neutralize the security on a window so they can jimmy it open and get inside.

.... Why do you need an electronic security neutralizer arrow? The way he uses it is tracing the circuit in the window and I don’t think you could shoot an arrow in a way that did that. And if you did shoot an arrow at a security system in a window, I think you’d break the window and set off the alarm?

What a mystery.

Hawkeye has never been in the special projects department but it doesn’t take a genius to find some filing cabinets.

Mockingbird: “Locked, of course. It also doesn’t take an electronic gizmo to open a locked file. Just a hairpin. See?”

Hawkeye: “Showoff.”

This would be banter if Hawkeye didn’t look so somber.

But Hawkeye gets to be useful too when he pulls out his....... penlight arrowhead?

WHY WOULD YOU EVER NEED TO FIRE A FLASHLIGHT? WHAT PURPOSE DOES THAT SERVE??

Mockingbird: “I just don’t know how I ever got along without you and your handy tools, Mr. H.”

DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM

The Silencer guy sneaks up on the duo as they’re snooping the files and something cues Hawkeye in to swivel around and fire an electro-stun arrow. Couldn’t have been a sound so lets say air flow?

The electro-stun doesn’t stun the Silencer so him and Hawkeye end up grappling right out the window. Because that’s the kind of life Hawkeye leads.

Luckily the rocket-sled (although he’s changed the name to sky-mobile by this point) was hovering right outside so the two wind up grappling on it as it rockets around the CTE compound.

The two wind up falling off the sky-mobile and onto a smokestack... God, its starting to be like one of those giant chicken fights...

Anyway, the Silencer catches the edge but Hawkeye misses and goes plummeting into a smokestack, hopefully not to find a Spider-Man skeleton.

The Silencer drops his guard to try to figure out how the heck he’s going to get down from here and Hawkeye reemerges, yanking the Silencer down and pulling himself back up.

Not sure if the implication is that Hawkeye killed him. Hawkeye is famously vehemently ‘Avengers don’t kill!’ and the Silencer isn’t confirmed dead but also never shows up again.

Hawkeye summons the sky-sled (the caption changed the name on me again) and rockets back to where he left Mockingbird and in the meantime she’s found all the information they need to find who hired Cross to build the thing.

Hawkeye: “Run into any trouble?”

Mockingbird: “Not really.”

Hah. Apparently she beat up a room full of guards while he was gone. Good on you, Mockingbird.

November, 1983

Beating the ODDS

Pretty neat cover.

Also, pretty neat logo. I didn’t mention it earlier but yeah you have a neat logo, Hawkeye.

Mockingbird and Hawkeye return to her apartment after breaking into Cross Technological last issue.

Something that they may have done well to ponder is whether maybe it wasn’t a safe HQ anymore if that Silencer guy was able to track them there.

What I’m getting at is that there are two more assassins - Oddball and Bombshell - watching from an adjacent rooftop as the heroes head inside.

And then the apartment explodes.

Hawkey and Mockingbird manage to escape the explosion though because Mockingbird never sweeps and noticed footprints in the dust and Hawkeye used a thermite-tipped bomb-sniffing arrow.

... Okay, that gimmick arrow is valid.

Mockingbird watches her apartment burn “in increasingly sullen fascination” for two hours before Hawkeye suggests maybe coming back after everything is cooled down.

Alas, the sky-mobile was destroyed in the explosion. Alas, alas, we barely knew ye and now you’re gone.

Mockingbird has an odd sense of what’s romantic because she decides that her apartment burning down and losing all of her possessions is.

Wow, she’s been friendly and flirty with Hawkeye but she’s downright into the lug. Right during the one period in his life when he wouldn’t enjoy that. How’s that for bad timing?

Also, someone is clearly shipping these two.

Mockingbird has assorted appearances before this miniseries so I wonder who got the idea to throw her together with Hawkeye. I’ve heard rumors that it was to copy the Green Arrow/Black Canary pairing. I don’t know if that’s true or just an assumption.

Anyway, Hawkeye also finds an 8-ball in the wreckage which is odd and a clue because Mockingbird didn’t have one of those.

The two heroes realize that Cross obviously sent more hitmen after them so they got to figure out this plot before they get got.

Mockingbird withdraws the rest of her money from an ATM (only $97. Freelance superheroing just doesn’t pay...) and Hawkeye insists on spending some of that money on some arrows since he’s down to his last one.

Mockingbird: “I thought you needed specially made arrows.”

Hawkeye: “My new modular arrowheads fit on any target arrow... get ‘em at any sporting-goods store.”

This issue is a gift.

And since they now don’t have enough money to take a cab to where they’re going, they get on the subway.

Where in one of those amazingly contrived comic coincidences, Steve Rogers Captain America happens to be riding the same car!

Cap recognizes that Hawkeye is on a mission and offers to drop everything to help him.

You’re a cool guy, Cap.

Hawkeye has concerns.

Hawkeye: Aw, no. Cap is Mr. Avengers himself. I know I’m at the end of my resources, maybe way out of my depth, but if I let Cap in on it, he’ll wind up running the show... and I’ll end up on the sidelines again, just like it was back in the Avengers.

Pride goeth before something, Hawks.

Although, knowing vaguely what I know is soon upcoming, its a very timely time for Hawkeye to worry about running the show.

Hawkeye: “Ah, it’s nothing I can’t handle, old timer. Just the same old bopping the bad guys stuff.”

Cap: “I read you, soldier. Anyway, you know how to reach me if you get in a jam.”

You’re a really cool guy, Cap.

Hawkeye and Mockingbird get off at the next stop and Mockingbird grills Hawkeye about the hunky stranger, recognizing that he was probably in the superhero biz. Adding some context to Hawkeye not wanting Cap involved perhaps. Although its still a lot of dumb pride.

Hawkeye: She meets Cap in his civvies and is bowled over. No wonder I always looked like a piker around him. You know, I never realized how second rate Cap makes me feel. I’ve just go to solve this whole mess on my own. If I don’t, I may never be able to stand on my own two feet.

Anyway, then an 8-ball rolls and bonks into Hawkeye’s feet and he sees one of the assassins lurking around the corner doing him a taunt.

This issue is a gift for out of context panels. I swear.

Hawkeye realizes Oddball is baiting him but also is the exact kind of impulsive person who takes the bait. So he runs off after Oddball.

Oddball is..... apparently a juggling based assassin. Dunno why that’s such a common thing in comics. But here we are. He’s a juggling based assassin.

Hawkeye runs on ahead after Oddball and Mockingbird gets ambushed by a nun as she follows.

Its that kind of book, I guess.

Also, the nun is the other assassin Bombshell.

She’s got a Black Widow style wrist launcher for incendiary charges.

Hawkeye and Oddball get into an archery vs juggling based standoff, yes really, and then Oddball jumps onto a subway train, further luring Hawkeye. Who should really know better but ignores the part of his brain that some call common sense.

Oddball, by the by, is somewhat of an oddball. He’s just giggling and joking his way through this mission to kill an Avenger. He’s definitely following the maxim that if you do what you love, you don’t kill for money a day of your life. Or something.

When he jumps on the train he goes with “We’re having fun now, all rightee! Care for another shot, sport? I’ll match my speed to yours anyday and twice on Sunday. Time’s up, gotta go. Ta-ta!”

Hawkeye jumps onto the back of a departing subway train to keep up the pursuit and you know what, he seems like he’s having a good time too?

Hawkeye: Man, there’s nothing like a good chase to make me feel great about myself again. Wonder if Oddball would consent to be my regular sparring partner? Cap’s got the Red Skull, Iron Man has the Mandarin. Me, I never had anybody all my own.

He must be feeling some chemistry with this dude if he wants to make him his archnemesis after only one fight.

Although after this

Hawkeye decides that Oddball is way too much to be his nemesis. He’s got standards, dammit!

Oddball runs off the train, pursued by archer.

Oddball: “I could pick him off any time I want. I know I can throw faster than he can shoot. But I’m having just plain too much fun to cut it short.”

Sure, guy.

Oddball and Hawkeye wind up having a stand-off in the rafters of the subway station because that’s the kind of guy Oddball is.

Hawkeye manages to pin the guy down with an arrow to his throat but while he’s been chasing an oddball, Mockingbird got her ass kicked by a bombshell.

So a distracted Hawkeye gets knocked out via bomb to the back of the head.

Bombshell catches Hawkeye as he falls from the rafters and Oddball wonders why not just let him die.

Bombshell: “I just got a call from [the boss]. He wants these two birds brought to him to use in some kind of experiment.”

And so the third issue ends with Hawkeye and Mockingbird being carried off to the perpetrators which saves some time but being brought in as prisoners is less than ideal.

Shoulda taken up Steve on his offer, Clint.

December, 1983

“TILL DEATH DO US PART...”

I guess Hawkeye fuckin’ dies.

He sure has a lot of friends but Johnny Storm looks like he’s annoyed that he has to attend. ‘What the heck, I barely knew the guy!’

Anyway, between issues, Oddball and Bombshell have dragged Hawkeye and Mockingbird to a place and strung them up on a thing.

The place is apparently a mortuary.

And they’ve been strung up for hours judging by how their limbs feel.

The man behind it all shows himself and guy knows how to make an impression.

Not necessarily a good one.

The cross shaped codpiece is killing me.

As is Oddball juggling in the background to remind us that he is a juggler.

Crossfire: “I am Crossfire -- master subversive, brainwasher, and entrepreneur.”

Credit where its due, that’s a funny line.

Crossfire: “In the typical fashion of someone who holds all the cards, I’m going to divulge to you more than you will need to know about me and my business...”

I want to question this but he’s too self-aware about how stupid it is. I have no room to operate here.

Here is something I WILL make fun of.

Crossfire’s real name is William Cross. He is related to the guy that founded Cross Technological Enterprises. So them screwing over Hawkeye was like a family activity.

But he’s using Cross in his codename. Like if Hawkeye was instead Bartonman. It’s a choice.

Anyway, Crossfire was a CIA agent but when he realized that his real interest lie in fomenting disorder for profit, he decided him and the CIA weren’t on the same path.

Which. Guy. Dude. Fella. No.

Crossfire also realized that superheroes would eventually get in his way so he decided that his first goal is to eliminate all costumed superheroes.

Moon Knight and the Thing thwarted a prototype over in Marvel Two-in-One #52 but Crossfire managed to get away to refine his plan.

(For bigger)

His plan is pretty ingenious actually.

He’s going to kill Hawkeye. So far so good. Then dump his body in Central Park where it will be easily found.

The Avengers will find out about his death and have a funeral for him. And Crossfire made sure they’ll use Restwell Funeral because it has the best name! But more seriously because its the funeral parlor the superheroes used for Whizzer’s funeral and because Crossfire will make sure every other mortuary is booked.

HE’S PLANNING EVERY ANGLE.

Then at the service, he’ll activate the Undertaker machine which will send a subliminal RAGE signal to all the superheroes and they’ll fight to the death.

Crossfire: “Yes, I fully expect my lovely chapel to be thoroughly demolished. Don’t worry -- insurance will cover it.”

This is such a hilariously mundane concern.

Anyway, probably the whole funeral party won’t kill each other but it’ll thin the numbers, the survivors will forever be traumatized at what they did, and the government will crack down on superheroes.

And as for why he chose Hawkeye?

Crossfire: “I would think it was obvious, Hawkeye. You are the weakest, most vulnerable known costumed crimefighter in town.”

Ouch.

There’s planning to kill a guy as part of a larger scheme to kill all his friends and then there’s just being hurtful.

Further insulting injury? Crossfire is not just going to kill them. He’s going to make Hawkeye and Mockingbird kill each other by testing the Undertaker device on them.

That settles it. This guy is a dick.

The Restwell mortuary has a super sealed room for testing the device. Twelve inch thick concrete and steel walls and a door sealed with electronic lock. It would take even the Hulk some effort and Hawkeye and Mockingbird don’t even have their weapons.

Plus, there’s three cameras watching the room and the Undertaker speakers are hidden and durable.

Alas, Crossfire wouldn’t make a good Bond villain. He’s too not leaving a blatant way out of his death trap out of arrogance.

Hawkeye and Mockingbird get up close with their backs to the camera so they can whisper and make a plan.

Unfortunately, they can’t really think of a plan other than ‘try to resist brainwashing I guess?’

Mockingbird knows some SHIELD techniques and Hawkeye just promises he’ll try really hard to resist.

Hawkeye: “I really don’t want to hurt you. In the last couple days, I’ve actually kind of started, well, liking you.”

Aw.

Aww.

But Crossfire is a dick still and activates THE UNDERTAKER right after they kiss.

They try to resist but yeah that plan wasn’t a plan and wasn’t even a concept. They start fighting to the death. Ironically, Bobbi “I know SHIELD techniques” Morse throws the first kick while Hawkeye is still trying to resist.

And Mockingbird is a lot better at martial arts than Hawkeye whose muscle memory keeps tripping him up into using a bow that he doesn’t actually have.

This issue is a gift.

But yeah, Mockingbird beats the crap out of Hawkeye. Not that he doesn’t get some hits in. He even manages to surprise Crossfire who was heavily betting on Mockingbird to easily trounce his ass.

Also, during the fighting, Mockingbird manages to kick one of the cameras, jarring it so it points at the ceiling.

And then double kicks Hawkeye in the dick.

Oof.

Watching two people fight to the death, Oddball has a question. How long does the brainwashing sound effect last after being turned off?

Crossfire decides hey actually that’s an interesting thought and turns off the machine to see. Plus, for dick reasons, giving them a brief respite will “make their plight all the more poignant.”

What a dick.

The brainwashing ends almost as soon as the sound does and the two heroes stop beating the crap out of each other to be disgusted by what they were doing.

In desperation, Hawkeye finally comes up with a plan.

It’s not a good plan but he had only a couple seconds and its impressive that he has a plan at all in that brief period of lucidity.

Hawkeye huddles into the corner that the jarred camera no longer covers and goes through his spare (mispelled as space for some reason, shrug) arrowheads and finds a hypersonic arrowhead.

And if he puts the arrowhead in his mouth and activates it, it will be really loud and drown out the ultrasound! Also, shooting hypersonic frequencies INSIDE HIS SKULL will probably be bad for his hearing but what can ya do.

Crossfire reactivates THE UNDERTAKER and Hawkeye activates the mouth arrowhead with his tongue. Which feels like a “dull knife lacerating [his] brain” but at least he doesn’t want to murder all the time.

That’s something!

(Also, it’s a neat touch but the EEEEEE of the hypersonic arrowhead covers the NNNN of the ultrasonic signal. Good SFXing.)

With his wits about him, he can actually beat Mockingbird by using his strength advantage, closing in, and not letting her use her fancier jumpy techniques.

After beating the shit out of Mockingbird and feeling like shit for having to do it, Hawkeye tosses her to misalign another camera, and then feigns that he collapses from exhaustion.

Crossfire thinks that there’s no way that Hawkeye could play dead under the effect of the RAGE NOISE so he’s really down. He sends Oddball and Bombshell to retrieve the two heroes to examine.

While being carried like a potato sack, Hawkeye grabs one of Oddball’s odd balls and knocks out the juggler and then bonks Bombshell unconscious as well before she has a chance to react.

Then, he runs to get Crossfire before the guy has a chance to figure out what’s going on.

Except, Crossfire has cameras all over the dang place and knows what happened and decides that Hawkeye is such a resourceful, worthy foe that he deserves to die by irony.

(Hawkeye has no idea what the guy is saying because he can’t hear a thing after sticking a hypersonic arrowhead in his mouth)

Crossfire tries to kill Hawkeye with his own bow but whoops, remember when Hawkeye was flexing on that guy earlier about his bowstring having an absurd draw weight?

Yeah.

The dingus got irony’d by his own ploy at irony.

Hawkeye ties up Crossfire, grabs his bow and arrows because they make him happy, and runs back to check on Mockingbird.

Hawkeye: “Mockingbird -- ? You with me, sweetheart? We won. I beat them. Every last bloody oen of them. Mock -- ?” She’s not breathing. I - I killed her...!

Mockingbird: “Those tears for me, sport? Aw, shucks.”

Even beaten to hell, Mockingbird gonna sass.

And then they kiss. Which strikes me as... not a good time for it? Her face is all bruised up and she’s got a little blood going on. Ah, whatever.

Awww.

An hour later, the police show up to arrest Crossfire, Oddball, and Bombshell. Presumably Mockingbird called them as Clint still cannot hear a single thing.

Which is unfortunate because Mockingbird comes over to talk and Hawkeye is like ‘geez what is she saying right now? I hope it’s not important’ and decides to get out of the conversation ASAP before she finds out he’s gone deaf and gasp pities him!

Mockingbird: “Look, I’m not much of a joiner or anything. But I must admit that the two of us made one heckuva team. I was thinking... maybe we ought to become an item, you know what I mean? After all, you are one of the cutest --”

Hawkeye: “Yeah, well, see you around then.”

Hawkeye, you absolute fool.

THANKFULLY

Thankfully, Mockingbird isn’t the type to just go ‘wow what a jerk’ without going and ripping a person a new asshole, verbally.

So she did do that. She ran after Hawkeye and ripped him a new asshole, verbally, forced him to explain himself, probably rolled her eyes, and then dragged him to get a hearing aid.

And one week later, they’re married and relaxing in a heart-shaped tub!

Wow, they operate fast!

I mean, in fairness, we knew Hawkeye was like that. He’d known Sheila Danning for like a month before he was contemplating marriage. And we can assume Mockingbird was like that too considering she knew Hawkeye like a minute before waggling her eyebrows and insinuating sex at him.

Mockingbird: “You owe me, pal. Sure, you saved my life. But what I’m going to do to your life is more than just a one-shot deal. I’m not just talking about helping you get a hearing aid. Or the blood test, or the license, or even arranging for a quaint little cottage in the woods. I’m talking about the rest of your life, and the difference having me around is going to make in it. Maybe eloping was my idea, but I’m going to see to it that for the rest of your life, you believe that it was the best idea you didn’t quite hear.”

Hawkeye: “I hear you, Mrs. Hawkeye. I hear you.”

Awwww. They’re a cute couple. And I do like their chemistry.

So that was the Hawkeye limited series. And it was pretty good!

It introduces some lasting changes like ‘being deaf’ and ‘being married’ to the character. Of course, because comics, both of those things will come and go. And in some cases come back. Lets enjoy them while they last.

Next time on liveblogging: something a little different.

Follow @essential-avengers​ because I just covered a miniseries. And then I had to redo the fourth issue in just an hour because tumblr didn’t save it. Please reward me. Also, like and reblog if you’d like to reblog.

[bave-de-crapaud]

Forbidden

PART FOUR - FINAL PART

Sirius x reader Post-azkaban Sirius Lives Word count: 7900+

Warnings: swearing, smut, 18+ NSFW Disclaimer: all characters are assumed 18+

A/N: WOWEE! Apologies if you were expecting a ‘quick’ read. I loved writing this and workplace romances gahhh! as always feedback is most welcome. I hope you enjoy my loves. xx

A workplace romance cannot possibly go awry, can it?

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

The next few weeks followed a similar pattern for you and Sirius. You both acted polite and professionally towards each other at work, saving all your pent up frustration for the evenings.  

It was glorious. Sirius was not as disciplined as you at keeping his hands to himself. He was often stealing kisses behind closed doors, letting his fingers brush across your arms, waist, arse, whatever he could reach as he passed you in the corridor even circling your thighs with his thumb under the table as you were seated next to each other in a meeting.  

You were fairly ‘harsh’ on him regarding these indiscretions, saving his punishments for the evening by teasing him relentlessly and holding out until you literally had him on his knees begging.  

You had a sneaking suspicion that he quietly enjoyed this due to the fact these ‘punishments’ did not stop him pushing boundaries at work.  

~~~  

Things at work weren’t all rosy however. Antheia was getting suspicious. You never had time after work anymore and she was closing in to the fact you must be dating someone. She was also complaining that Sirius always seemed to choose you to to come to first for questions, issues, PR briefs even though you had requested he do the opposite.  

You almost told her countless times, always faltering at the final moment. It had gone too far and nothing you thought could soften the blow that you were sleeping with Sirius.  

Truth be told you weren’t only sleeping with him, you had been on dinner dates, weekend activities and spent a few Saturday nights getting to know his friends.  

However hiding the truth from Antheia was eating you up. It all came to a head one evening at your flat. The guilt had turned to anger at yourself and with no one to take your anger out on you turned to the nearest person: Sirius.  

It was a stupid argument, the catalyst: his toothbrush. You found it in your bathroom and realised he must have brought it intending to leave it here.  

Filled with mixed emotions of longing and turmoil at what was essentially turning into a forbidden relationship you picked a fight, did your best at pushing him away suggesting things were moving too fast and you think you should slow down and see other people, Antheia being the subtext of that argument. It was an avalanche of irrationality. It started small but the more you got going the bigger your argument became until you couldn’t see what you were saying or what it meant – you were blind to your pain and just wanted it out.  

“What do you mean?” Sirius had sat up, stiff backed and turned white.  

“I don’t know!” You huffed out. “I mean you are still free to see other people, this can’t last whatever it is – we are just work colleagues after all.” You could see that had stung him.  

“Just work colleagues? If this is about the toothbrush I can remove it?”

“No it’s not about the stupid toothbrush!” You were in full flight now – tears streaming down your cheeks, he tried to reach you but you shook him off.  

“This fucking hurts Sirius.”

“What does, I don’t understand?”

“You, me, us! We are not supposed to be together!”

“What, why?

You were shaking with sobs now. You couldn’t tell him why - the karma of hiding this from your friend had finally turned up and it was a big one. Anguished and thinking of Antheia you yelled, “I wasn’t supposed to be with you, I have ruined everything!”

Blanching and swallowing  hard Sirius scrapped together the only conclusion that made sense to him, “Is there someone else?”

Technically there was: Antheia but not in the way he was thinking however you nodded sadly not registering that colossal mistake.  

“Right.” He said his lips tight.  

Waiting for a berating you deserved you closed your eyes. Instead Sirius got up walked out the front door slamming it shut. You heard the roar of his motorbike as he sped off into the night.  

~~~  

You didn’t sleep a lot over the next few weeks, and from the looks Antheia gave you across the board room table each morning, your heavy concealer was not doing anything to dampen the dark circles under your eyes.

It was killing you to stay away from him and stomach this hurt but part of you knew that this is what you deserved for getting into a forbidden situation.  

To dilute the pain you focused on work , turning up early after not enough sleep and staying late. Your boss was delighted but stopped by your desk more than necessary for ‘a quick chat’ you knew she had noticed your change in demeanour  and was checking up on you. This would have made you smile if you weren’t so numb.  

“Y/N?” She cautiously approached your desk. You looked up and saw her eyes, a maternal concern in them. “Not that I’m not grateful for all the long hours you are putting in but I seem to be missing some reports for the Auror office?”

“Oh.” You stumbled. “Those are with Antheia, I gave her the briefs I had in exchange for finishing the budgeting quarter.”

“Got it, but now that you have finished the budget could you please help Perenna with the Auror briefs? They have been piling up this week.”

Oh shit.  

“Yes sure, happy to.” You gave her an exhausted smile.  

You stood up. Ok. It’s ok you can do this. Yes you have probably, definitely, irreparably broken any kind of friendship, camaraderie, or rapport with Sirius but you had to put work first. You couldn’t very well get a new job, could you? Or could you? No! No, don’t be dramatic.  

You were brought out of your inner monologue by Antheia calling your name, “Y/N! Guess what?!”

“Shoot.” Feigning interest you turned to her.  

“I’m going out for drinks with Sirius tonight!” She looked ecstatic.  

Your stomach dropped to the floor and you were barely able to squeak out an “Oh…ok you are… that’s…great…”

She shook your shoulder too excited to see the blood draining from your face.  

“Yes I took the bull by the horns and asked him.”

“Oh you did? I thought you wanted to play it coy?” You needed to sit down soon.  

“I did but if I don’t go for it I will never have the chance, he’s cutting his contract short – just heard it from Moody this morning.”

Ok you really needed to sit down.  

“He’s what??” Feeling the room spin now.

Oh no no no no no was this because of you?

~Yes of course stupid! What else would it be?~  

Your conscience was really not holding back.

“Yeah Moody tried to talk him out of it, has asked him to take the weekend to think it over.” She gave you a soft smile and moved over to her desk.  

Before you could control it, your legs were walking you towards the elevator and your fingers were pushing the buttons directing the lift to Sirius’ floor.  

The Sirius you know wouldn’t give up so easily but then again, he did have a dramatic streak. You had only found that out during one of the weekends you met his friends and a tipsy Remus Lupin had told you what he was like when he lost any kind of card game. Wanting to see this for yourself, the next day you suggested a game of poker and boy the man could pout!

His office door was open and he was sitting at his desk reading a memo. You knocked and he looked up. His expression was unreadable – he didn’t invite you in let alone utter a greeting so you hesitantly entered, moving tentatively towards his desk.  

“I heard you are leaving.” Breaking the silence you stood before him willing him to speak.  

He nodded so quickly, if you had blinked you would have missed it.  

“I hope that is not because of me, Sirius?”

He said nothing and continued to stare at you.  

“Because if it is, I think I need to tell you something…” oh how to even begin. You stared at the floor and when he didn’t tell you to leave you took that as a sign to continue.  

“I am so sorry if I disappointed you…no I know I did – you don’t deserve it – I definitely do….and being with you had been the best months of my life. You really, you made me… no make me…” you collected yourself clearing your throat to stop your cracking voice and corrected yourself.

“You make me…” Argh, you closed your eyes hating the words for making you stumble.  

“But I shouldn’t have…it wasn’t right – not you!” You hastily added. “You were so right but it was killing me.”

“Because you are seeing someone else, I get it.” Sirius had finally spoken and his voice was soft and clear.  

“What? No!” You so desperately wanted him to understand but for all the wrong you had felt you had done to Antheia you couldn’t and wouldn’t break at least one promise to her by telling Sirius she likes him.  

“I’m not seeing anyone else.”

He looked genuinely very confused at this point. “But you said there was someone else?” Sirius’ voice was rushed now, he had stood up behind his desk and looked at you intently, eyebrows furrowed. God he was sexy when he was stern.  

“There is but not in the way you are thinking.” You ran your hands through your hair in frustration. Why? WHY! You should have told Antheia all along and save yourself, but mainly him, from this torture.  

“Y/N, I’m not here to play games, are you or are you not seeing someone?” Sirius had moved round his desk towards you.  

“No…but I” But you never finished your sentence. A piercing alarm went off signalling an emergency situation and all Aurors needed to move and be briefed.  

Sirius gave you one last look before shaking his head and saying: “I can’t, I’ve got to go.”

Holding back tears you nodded swallowing a sob.  

~~~  

“AH FUCK IT!” Antheia was fuming when you returned to your office.  

“Typical! I finally get a date with Sirius and suddenly a dragon gets loose in Shoreditch dragging all the Aurors away!” If you weren’t so upset you would have laughed at her enraged face.  

“A dragon? Surely that’s Magi-Creatures department?” You questioned.  

“It is but the Aurors have to go check for foul play.”

“How do you know this anyway?” You asked her.  

Strangely, Antheia blushed before answering. “Melvin told me, he just sent a message – he was there before dealing with a mishap – apparently that’s how the dragon got out.”

“What’s going on with you two?”

“Well nothing, we have caught up a few times and I guess we talk a lot…he’s nice.”

You looked at her, “then why do you want to go out with Sirius, sounds like you have a dreamboat already?”

She looked down at her desk and shrugged. “ I don’t know, I’ve lusted over Sirius since Christmas I guess, before I met Melvin, I didn’t really think about it.”

You sighed smiling at her, “Well, lucky you having two men to choose from.”

Antheia frowned at you. “Aren’t you dating someone?”

“No, no one.” You responded sadly.  

“You’ve been MIA of late, I thought you were seeing someone?”

You just smiled weakly at her,  turning back to your desk and said over your shoulder: “Don’t worry, you’ll still have your date – I’ll take care of any PR situation for today.” Godric, it was the least you could do you thought to yourself.  

~~~  

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Mmfph.” You rolled over in your sleep.  

BANG! BANG! BANG!

It was getting louder. You rubbed your eyes and looked at the clock: 1230am

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Someone was knocking, none too gently, on your front door.

“I’m coming! I’m COMING ahhh.” You yelled as you fumbled around in the dark looking for clothes. Since you and Sirius had started to sleep in the nude, you continued to do so liking how the sheets felt over your skin.  

Stubbing your toe twice and hitting your head on the bed post you managed to pull on an over-sized shirt of sorts as you made your way downstairs to the front door.  

It had occurred to you that the bagging could be from burglars or bad wizards but what kind of thieves or nefarious characters announce themselves before they rob you? Curiosity got the better of you and rubbing your sore head you opened the door to see Sirius, clearly drunk, leaning against the doorway, his hand steadying him.  

Seeing you he moved his hand to your shoulder shifting you aside as he stumbled into your flat.

“Wherrriss he?” He slurred.

“Where is who?” Fuck he was drunk.  

“Your ‘fancy man!’” He said the words ‘fancy man’ in a high pitched Victorian accent before hiccuping twice.  

“Sirius What?” You held your hands out to try and steady him but he pushed you away and made to move upstairs.  

“I wanna word.”

“Sirius, there is no one here!”

“Yiss theris look! You’re even wearing hisss SHIRT!” He yelled the last word while making a swiping gesture at the air in front of you and stumbling back into the banister then trying to find the start of the staircase.  

“Oh Merlin…” You palmed your face, trying to reason with a drunk person was a nightmare you best just follow him and try to make sure he doesn’t hurt himself.  

“C’mere!” Sirius was climbing the stairs two at a time looking like a baby gazelle. If you weren’t so shocked at his sudden appearance you would have found the sight of Sirius Black casing your flat, pissed as a fart, looking for a mystery man rather funny.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date with Antheia?” You called out after him following his route into the bathroom.  

“Don’t change the subject!” Sirius called back, looking around finding the bathroom empty and moving towards your bedroom. He burst through the door and yelled ‘Expelliarmus!’ at your bed.  

Turning on the light you folded your arms leaning against the door while you waited for his eyes to adjust to the brightness. “When you have finished disarming my bed, can you please sit down? I’m worried you are going to fall over and hurt yourself..or worse, break something of mine…”

“Ha. Ha. Ha.” He deadpanned “there is s’mone here, you’re wearing hisss shirt. Wherisss ‘he?’” Sirius sat, unceremoniously, on your bed looking up at you.  

“Ok first of all, you and I are the only ones here, this is YOUR shirt – you must have left it here, and ‘he’ is nowhere because he doesn’t exist.” You paused looking at Sirius’ softening expression. “I meant what I said, I am not and have not been seeing anyone else but you.”

Sirius screwed up his face like the act of thinking was painful.  

“But then why did you break up with me?”  

As soon as he said that you realised that clearly, whatever it was between you and Sirius was more important to him than you originally thought.  

“It hurt, it hurt so fucking much Y/N!”

You sat next to him and rubbed his back. You were just starting to understand that you had kept the wrong secret and not told the correct one. Taking a deep breath you turned his face towards you and said: “I didn’t do it because I wanted to Sirius, I did it because I am a terrible friend.”

Seeing him open his mouth to query you, you pressed on, “Antheia Sirius, Antheia! She has gone on about how much she likes you basically since you arrived. I was supposed to help her date you, instead…” you swallowed. “Instead I fell for you and dated you myself.” Looking down you clasped your hands together. “I couldn’t take it anymore- things were starting to get serious and I panicked. The guilt flooded in and I felt so wretched. I’m so sorry for hurting you – I understand if you never want to see me again but please don’t leave work, you are so good at what you do and you have made it better for all of us. If it’s that bad I’ll ask to move departments.” You looked at him frantically, willing him to understand.  

Sirius’ face had not changed from that of shocked confusion since you had started talking. Now you had stopped and looked at him he opened his mouth to speak.

“Y/N?”

“Yes Sirius.”

“Y/N…I” he lifted his hand to reach for you, then dropped it adding “Y/N I think I need to lie down.”

You sighed helping him on the bed. You removed his shoes and placed your duvet over him. Turning off the light you climbed in beside him and closed your eyes. It had felt good to let all that had eaten you up out. Wondering foolishly if adding the part about falling for Sirius was a mistake, you listened to Sirius’ drunken snores, doubting if he would remember anything in the morning.

~~~  

When you woke the memory of last night and Sirius’ visit came crashing down. You turned over quietly so as not to wake him only to find the other side of the bed empty. On further inspection he was not in the bathroom nor in any other room of the flat. No note, just emptiness that the lack of his presence caused.  

You wandered aimlessly around you flat for the next hour –  too early to get ready for work and too late to go back to sleep.  

You wondered what Sirius was thinking; was he embarrassed about his outburst or just disgusted at finding himself in your bed? Did he remember anything? Not paying attention to how you were dressing yourself you half heartedly made an effort to finally get ready for work not distinguishing clothing items as you dragged them over your body. You were focusing on what you had to do – finish the confessions of last night and tell Antheia.

~~~  

“Antheia, can I have a word please?”

She looked up at you as you stood in front of her desk. “Yes sure…are you ok?”

“Just come with me.” You turned and led her towards the supply closet at the end of the hallway. Opening the door you gestured for her to follow you.  

“Y/N I repeat, are you ok? I’m only asking this because you look like you haven’t slept in eight years, you’ve just lead me to the stationery closet and you are wearing two shirts.”

“Ah shit.” You replied noticing she was right – two items of the same piece of clothing was becoming a trend for you.  

“I got dressed in the dark, there are no meeting rooms free, no I’m not ok and I don’t want anyone to overhear us.” You pinched your nose between your fingers and took a deep breath.

“Antheia, I have been seeing Sirius, it started a few months ago when we went home together after the Christmas party. I tried not to get involved but I did and I couldn’t tell you.”

Antheia lifted her eyebrows her mouth opening slightly.

You bulldozed on wanting to get the confession out of you like spitting poison, not stopping to let her speak. You told her everything right down to the part where you expected her to disown you and how truly awful you feel. “I fought against it since you told me you were interested and I was doing well until well that night then it sort of snowballed. I’m so sorry – for what it’s worth, I haven’t ever felt this bad.”

Antheia considered you for a moment. “I know.”

“You..What?” You spluttered, appalled.

“I mean, I figured. The way he looks at you and last night, our ‘date’” She signed quotation marks with her hands as you rushed, “oh my gosh yes, you had a date – listen I won’t stand in the way -I hope you can be happy and have fun…” She silenced you, waving her hands in front of your face in a ‘shushing’ gesture.

“As I was saying our ‘date’ he mainly talked about you. It was clear he is into you…if not love.”

“I’m so sorry Antheia, I ruined your date, I know you were looking forward to this.” You started to silently cry. Antheia’s face softened and she placed a hand on your shoulder.  

“Y/N, you had every right to like him but you should have told me, I went on about him and now I feel a fool.” She shook her head. “If you had told me I could have figured out sooner that the spark wasn’t there between Sirius and I…maybe I could have perused other interests.” Her eyes glazed over at this point until you sniffed bringing her back to the reality of you both standing quite close in a small store cupboard at work.

“It’s ok.” She looked at your tear stained face, “I will get over this but I may be a little annoyed for a while – you really should have just told me.” You nodded dropping your head.

“Is there anything else? I have a coffee date ahhh meeting with Melvin.” She corrected herself and blushed quickly opening the door and stepping back into the hallway.

You knew Antheia, she didn’t hold grudges but you could tell she was disappointed in you – that stung far more and you had half hoped for an angry outburst.  

Wiping your face, you brushed the front of your two shirts smoothing them out as an act of collecting yourself to head back to work.

Antheia turned back to you and caught your wrist. “For what it’s worth I think you should see Sirius, he really likes you. Drinks a bit though?” She hummed curiously before striding off.  

~~~  

“He’s not here.” Moody abruptly told you when you found Sirius’ office empty, moving to Moody’s to ask where he was.  

“Well right, I did work that part out Madeye. Judging by his empty office. When will he be in?” You smiled sweetly and a little dangerously at Moody subtly telling him not to fuck with you today. Moody eyed you for a brief second then said, “he won’t be, called in sick.” Before swiftly turning away leaving you confused and slightly panicked alone on the second floor corridor.

Your mind worked in overdrive: -no no no he can’t leave this is your fault -did Moody say he was leaving though or just not in today -he has until Monday to decide -has he decided already and written his job off? -no he is hungover, remember -but he can take a draught for that -what if he’s mortally injured? -then he wouldn’t be calling in sick would he? -well then why…?  

Your whole body sagged as the awful and most likely reason zinged through your brain: he just doesn’t want to see you.

The day moved on so slowly it was almost If the clock was in slow motion. You had performed all of your assignments, tripping through meetings, breaks, and tasks on auto pilot. All with one confused dilemma bouncing around your head: You needed to see Sirius, but you were sure he didn’t want to see you.  

By the time the clock finally hit 5pm you were out of the office like a shot, dodging colleagues and questions of Friday night pints as you raced out the door and onto the street. Too bad if Sirius didn’t want to see you, you wanted to explain how much he meant to you and how idiotic you had been so at least he didn’t leave his contract thinking you were someone you were not. Hopefully he would hear you out.

You had decided to call round to his house and ask to see him knowing that if Sirius refused to come to the door, Remus who was staying with him as he did once every month, would.

Remus indeed answered the door, appearing with a pallid complexion causing you to wince at his obvious illness. “Hi Remus, how are you? You look….well…” you trailed off.  

He smiled kindly, “nice to see you, Y/N what can I do for you?”

“I’ve come to speak with Sirius, May I?” You pointed inside; wordlessly asking entry to the house.

“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Remus looked at you with a strange expression, was it pity? You looked away before it could fully form on his face not wanting to break down in front of him.

Oh. So he didn’t want to speak with you.  

You dropped your head for the second time that day, nodding slowly and turning to leave. Before you had taken a step, Remus added “he mentioned something about visiting a haunt from last night.” Remus winked at your hopeful expression. You replied a quick thanks before rushing off.  

Which bar was Sirius at last night? Antheia had asked him so perhaps she had suggested the bar? You knew of three favourite watering holes of hers and set off to the first as fast as you could.

After several hours of aparating to every possible establishment Antheia could have taken him too last night with no luck you trudged slowly home. It was dark, cold, and you were near starving having not eaten all day.

Shoulders drooping slowly with no energy to apparate inside your flat you dragged your feet around the corner of your street and headed towards home.

As you lifted your head, nearing your house, street lamps illuminating only a few metres in front of you, you saw a figure sitting on your stoop watching you.

Hand on your wand you drew nearer, eyes adjusting to the sight you stopped and your breathing hitched.

There, sitting patiently in his black leather jacket was Sirius Black.

“Hullo Y/N.” Your legs had moved of their own accord again, you stood before him taking in his features as he stood drawing up his full height: his dark wavy hair, grey penetrating eyes, stubble rough on his sharp jaw, chest hair peeking out from his shirt which was undone quite low for an autumn night. Tight jeans shaping his athletic legs…realising you were literally looking him up and down you blushed, forming words of hopefully a greeting, “Sirius…I..I’ve been looking all over for you. Remus said you were…” his smile took you off guard, “I know, he sent me a message – he’s too cryptic sometimes he knew I was here.” He continued to look at you waiting for you to speak.

You had spent the entire day overrun with things you wanted to tell Sirius but at the moment he stood before you, everything shed from your mind and you continued to stare at his beautiful form.

Finally mustering some sort of cognitive control you muttered, “you weren’t at work today?”

“Ah yeah.” He ran his hands through his hair looking bashful. “I wasn’t feeling great and Remus had a bit of a bad night, I wasn’t there for him and he needed some help. He actually ended up helping me.”  

“Oh.” You replied eloquently.  

You both stared at each other again.

Sirius broke the silence, “what did you want to tell me?”

What you were going to say to Sirius was to explain again now he was sober, why you behaved that way you did that night. At best you hoped for Sirius to know how wonderful he is and how much he deserved. At worst, well that didn’t bear thinking about, but now him looking at you intently with his beautiful face captured in the moonlight, lips drawing you in you could only stare at him in awe. However a thought had just occurred to you: “why are you here?”

“You went looking for me everywhere to ask me why am I here?” He looked slightly amused at your confused expression.

“No I wanted to tell you, to explain to you that…well…I need you to know that…I love you.”

His eyebrows almost disappeared into his hairline as he opened his mouth in shock.

“No, wait, what?!” You were scrambling.  

What the actual fuck! After hours of going over everything you wanted to say to him you went with: I love you???

Your brain was smoking, you love him? Well sure you admire him, he’s kind and clever and funny, the best shag you’ve ever had but love him? Well of course you only want to see him happy but that’s normal right? And ultimately he has made you the happiest you’d been in a long time and you couldn’t picture your future without a Sirius figure popping up…ahhh. Yep love. Great.  

“You love me?” Sirius whispered.  

Bloody heck, timing Y/N! “Yeah about that, look can we go inside please and I’ll explain?” You didn’t give him a chance to answer, and swiftly moved past him opening your front door and crossing the threshold before he had even turned around.  

You decided to stand in the kitchen fumbling with cups and a kettle.

“Y/N” Sirius called softly moving slowly towards you,

“Tea?” Not looking at him you switched the kettle on and searched for tea bags in your kitchen cupboards.

“Y/N.” He was right behind you now. You dropped your hands and let him steer your shoulders, turning you round to face him.

You stole a glance at him. He was looking at you so tenderly, a look that held compassion and kindness deep in his gaze. He opened his mouth to speak but you deftly pressed a finger to his lips halting his speech.

“Don’t.” You couldn’t take the rejection right now. Not before he knew how sorry you were for this whole mess. “Don’t speak, I know.”

“You know?” He muffled onto your finger. The vibration of his voice and friction on your skin from his stubble opened a flood gate in your nether regions which were obviously not picking up the severity of this situation.  

“I know you don’t feel the same. You can’t possibly! I have caused too much turmoil already.” You took a deep breath.

“You told me last night I hurt you and I am so sorry for that. I didn’t think you would be hurt and I certainly never assumed you would want to leave your job. I have admired you from a far ever since we met. I never imagined that you could possibly have any interest in me so I kept my feelings hidden. By the time you did, Antheia had talked my ear off about you and you were essentially forbidden, but I kept going because I started falling for you. I fell hard and when I thought about the future everything exploded, I didn’t want to start a relationship lying to you or my friend…it felt wrong and I thought the only way was to end it but you have left a gaping whole in my life and it hurts every time I move…I mean” You screwed up your eyes in pain. You didn’t want to guilt him into loving you. “…no I It doesn’t matter how I feel argh all I want you to know is that you are the most amazing, loving, incredible man, you changed my life and I will always be so grateful to have known you.” Exhaling with the effort it took to try and coerce your feelings into any semblance of meaning.

Sirius had not looked away during your admittance and he didn’t now. The seconds ticking as the silence grew was palpable.

You allowed yourself to search his eyes and found a multitude of emotions swirling: fear, surprise, lust, surety.

You had dropped your hand from his lips during your speech and in an absent-minded way lain it against his chest.

“You want me to go?” It was a question, he asked as he cupped your hand in his own holding it in place, not letting it move from his chest.

“No! No Sirius not at all, unless you want to?” He shook his head.

“I came here to apologise for my behaviour last night.” He paused looking at you. “I thought about apologising this morning but I couldn’t bear facing you so I left as soon as the dawn appeared.”

“Sirius do you remember what we talked about”

“I do.”

“So you are aware that there isn’t  and never was another man, just you…and I guess Antheia who I was referring to.”

“Yes. I am sorry for barging in. I don’t know what came over me.” He gave a side smile at this.  

“It’s fine, I deserved it.”

“You really believe that don’t you?” He asked concerned.

You didn’t reply, just nodded tears forming in your eyes.

“Ok, come with me.” Sirius took your hand and rushed out the door.

“Sirius, where are we going?”

“Last night I accepted a date with Antheia but I was not on my best behaviour…I drank too much as you soon found out.” You smiled at this remembering him attempting to climb your stairs.

“I was still upset with you and wanted to drown my sorrows. It wasn’t fair on Antheia but I don’t think she really cared.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparate us to Antheia’s house and I’ll tell you.”

“What?”

“Come on.” He nudged you playfully. “I don’t know the address so hurry up!”

Nothing but the twinkle in his eye could have convinced you – it was addicting and right now you would do just about anything to keep it sparkling.

Appearing with a pop on Antheia’s doorstep you watched Sirius walk towards the door and knock loudly.

There was movement inside and some scrambling before Antheia opened her door looking startled. “Y/N! Sirius! Ah how can I help?”

“Y/N here still feels compelled to get you and I together even though I told her our date didn’t go well.”

What the fuck was Sirius saying?

Antheia laughed and replied “Y/N I told you today that it’s fine, I’m a big girl, you can stop punishing yourself over this if you are.” You shook your head sadly and she continued.  “You are not a bad person just be open about it – and be honest with your feelings and your friends. You know for a communications executive you aren’t very good at communicating!” She laughed at you opening and closing your mouth at this jab.  

“But you’re…” your thought had died in your mind as you became distracted at movement inside Antheia’s flat. “…you’re not alone?” Looking at Antheia fully you just realised she was wearing little clothing, a mere tee shirt over bare legs on a cool April evening.  

Antheia rolled her eyes and opened the door wider to reveal another scantily clad person.  “Melvin!” You yelled in surprise.  

“Hi Y/N, Sirius.” blushing red, Melvin moved out of sight and you looked back at Antheia.

“Yes Y/N my date didn’t go well with Sirius because I actually didn’t have feelings for him, I like Melvin – it took for our date for me to realise that and now, we’ll I don’t intend to hold back.”

Sirius chuckled and winked at Antheia.

“Ok Y/N, Sirius it’s been lovely but I have to go now, I’m…busy.”

Laughing at your perplexed face she added: “I can see this is going to take some time. We’ll talk about it Monday morning Y/N – you’re buying the coffee Ok?”

You nodded eagerly as Antheia returned Sirius’ wink and gave you a genuine smile before closing the door.

You turned to Sirius, “you knew Melvin was there? How?”  

Sirius chuckled again, grabbing your arm and disapparating you back to your living room. “Lucky guess- last night I mentioned I had seen her with Melvin a few times, she blushed so red I almost asked her if she was choking! It only took a bit of prodding from there for her to start realising her feelings for him are real and for me just a self made ideal. She seemed excited at the prospect of telling him this the next day: today.”

He looked at you intently.

“You see that’s what has happened on all of my dates after Azkaban. Everyone was expecting the idea of the me they made up in their head, no one took the time to see the reality inside and couldn’t understand when they didn’t feel the spark.” He paused and ran his finger down your cheek. “It was different with you, you see me the real me and still stick around. That’s why I decided not to give up on you even when I thought you were with someone else.”

“What are you saying Sirius?” Feeling lighter that you had in months, hope lifted its head in your mind and created flickering waves of shocks rooting you in place unable to look away from him.

“I’m saying I think I love you too, or at the very least am truly. Madly. Deeply. Falling for you.” He punctuated each word with a kiss on your cheek, neck, and jawline as he removed your coat.

Eyelids threatening to flutter shut in divine bliss and happiness at his words, it took great effort to keep them open to smile at him, cheekily saying,” I think those are song lyrics, Sirius!”

“Bugger.” He breathed. “Here I was thinking that was so smooth.” He had taken your waist in his hands and dropped more kisses on your collarbone and shoulder. You tilted your head allowing him more access as the kisses turned to licks and bites.  

Your response to his words was a loving, slow moan and he smiled into your neck uttering, “I’ll just have to prove how smooth I am in another way.”

He ran his hand down your stomach and moved it under your shirts faltering only for a split second as he noticed the double layer then shaking it from his mind. Softly stroking your abdomen, he undid your pants and inched his hand lower and lower until it came into contact with your clit. Hearing your sharp intake of breath, he circled the sensitive bead with his thumb as he pressed his middle finger against your perineum sliding it forward into you and back.  

“Fuck Sirius!” You gasped. How did he hit the right buttons every time? He quickened his pace biting your neck in the process then licking the spot he bit.  

“Godric Y/N, how are you so wet for me?” He moaned into your neck.  

Feeling alive at his touch you purred, “Oh Sirius, trust me it is never dry when you are around.”

He growled removing his hand picking  you up and placing you on the kitchen table as he feverishly devoured your mouth. Hungry, panting kisses, tongues swirling while his hands worked quickly taking off every piece of clothing in sight; yours and his.  

He gripped you to him like you were his life raft and he was a drowning man, lost at sea.

Your hands ran all over him, tracing his pectorals, his muscled biceps, scars and lines as you explored him dropping your hands down to feel his erection; hard as a rock and already dripping with desire.

He let out a sharp hiss as you took him in your hand and began to massage slowly along his shaft.

“Two can play that game, Y/N.” He growled looking at you before reaching down and resuming his touch on your clit, adding a long finger inside you and curling it at just the right angle. “God you are beautiful.” He was one had holding your waist, the other quickly bringing you to the brink. He twitched every now and then as your hand on his cock was revving him up in the most incredibly way.

You noticed he was holding himself back. You had had enough experience with Sirius to tell. He was teasing you, torturing you slowly. He had twice now got you to the edge of orgasm only to stop his movements on your clit to pause and kiss you or flick your nipples with his tongue. The third time he did this you caught a mysterious glint in his eye and he couldn’t quite suppress a tell tale smirk. He was ruining you and enjoying every second of it. A sweet, excruciating punishment perhaps for time spent apart.

You loved it when he did this. When he took control, he was a natural dominant and you were only too happy to play subservient, especially when his role sent you to heaven and back often three times a night.

But tonight, you decided, was the night to turn this arrangement on its head.

“Stop!” You cried.

Sirius let go of your nipple from between his teeth, looking up at you with concern.

“Y/N is everything alright?”

“No Sirius! But it will be if you follow me.” The dominant tone in your voice got his attention but before he could say anything you took his hand, placed it firmly on your arse and squeezed it forcing him to grip you painfully. Merlin, it felt good.

“I want you to stop teasing me or I will make this very very hard for you.” You firmly gripped his cock as you said this and it throbbed beautifully.

“What do you want me to do?” Sirius’ voice came out as a rasp and looking into his eyes you could see the pupils dilate until his eyes were almost black with desire.

“I want you to take me right here, right now. I want to feel you deep inside me as I know only you can go. I want to rock against you as you fill me up taking every inch of me with you and I want you to come inside me as you scream my name.”

If there was any grey left  in his eyes it was gone now, they had blown dark with incredible desire. Sirius had always relished being loved by women but never had someone nearly made him come with just words. He so rarely was not in control during sex and the fact that you were reducing him to a dripping, shaking mess was thrilling.

Giving him a helpful nudge you guided him by his cock closer to you, tilting your hips upwards. His actions were instant; the hand gripping your arse pulled you to the edge of the table and your folds to the tip of his cock which was aching.

Leaning up to lick his earlobe you whispered: “now fuck me, Sirius.”

He slammed into you, gripping both you and the table for resistance.

“Oh fuck!”

You loved the exquisite feeling of Sirius being inside you, the way he pumped in and out, touching you everywhere and completely satisfying you.

When he wasn’t kissing you sloppily he was panting in your ear telling you how tight you were, how good you felt, and how much he missed you.

“I missed you too Sirius, oh Godric you feel good!” You clenched your walls around him as he thrust, rocking back matching his rhythm. “Yes keep doing that, right there!” He was hitting a spot that was building inside of you. Growing stronger and stronger, higher and higher until…

“OH FUCK! SIRIUS!” You came, sparks flashing in front of you as you clung to him experiencing a climax that wasn’t stopping. “Oh God, Sirius it’s still going…” knowing how your pleasure turns him on and that this might push him over the edge too, you kept talking, your words barely distinguishable amongst a nonsense of moans until he heard you say: “please come for me Sirius, I love it when you come.” Hearing your voice seductively encouraging him mixed with the motions of your body, and your mouth on his neck threw him over the edge. He gripped your body, causing what you were sure would be delicious marks on your skin.  He couldn’t hold you close enough when he stilled inside you yelling your name as he came.

He was still coming seconds later when you clenched, tightening your walls around his cock causing him to jolt, groan, and bite your neck as the last spurts of his come stopped.

He stayed there, biting and kissing your neck, hands still clutching you as he rocked slightly inside of you before pulling out.

Panting heavily, not trusting your legs to hold you up, you stayed seated on the table. Sirius had his head resting on your shoulder, arms propping  him up either side of you as he shook away the spots dancing in front of his eyes.

Breathing slowly coming back he looked up at you, your glistening forehead, chest rising and falling with every pant, you looked like a dream.

“Y/N, that was…Oh wow…it was…”

“Fuck!” You exhaled.

“Yes!” He laughed, straightening up and only wobbling slightly.

He took your hand and you jumped off the table as he pulled you to him. Holding you tightly and kissing your head.

You were both still standing like that several minutes later and would have continued to do so had your leg not started to cramp.

Breaking apart and rubbing your thigh you announced: “I need tea, Sirius tea?”

“Sure.” He walked slowly around the room picking up various items of clothing until he found his jeans and shirt popping them on.

Excusing yourself to the bathroom you returned in new underwear and a tee shirt to find him splayed out on your couch, two teas on the coffee table, hot and steaming.

Looking at the strip of abdomen visible as his shirt rode up and following that to the obvious bulge in his pants you licked your lips. God! You had just had sex, mind blowing sex and here you were still longing for the man.

He noticed and smirked, “like what you see Y/N?”

“You know it.” You winked at him, grabbing a tea and situating yourself half on his lap and half on the couch. “If you lose the pants and shirt I could possibly be persuaded to letting you stay the night!”

He laughed, sat up and placed his arms around you kissing you deeply before looking at you and clearing his throat.

“I meant what I said Y/N, I am falling for you,  if I haven’t already. It wasn’t said to make you feel better, I really meant it.”

You stroked his hair. “I know and I meant what I said, I love you. It feels good to say how I feel so I’m not taking it back. Hmmm…” You sipped your tea, contemplating, “being open when you are scared of the reaction is actually quite liberating.”  

“Mmmm you should do it more!” Sirius teased you.

“Well Ok then…” you also cleared your throat: “Sirius, that was the best sex of my life and I would quite like it to happen again and again for the foreseeable future as well as seeing you, but first…” there was a knock at the door. “Excellent timing, first we need to eat so I ordered us some food.”

A huge grin broke out on Sirius’ face as he watched you get up and make your way to the door, “Oh Merlin Y/N, if I didn’t love you before this would do it!”

You laughed as you opened the door and accepted the order, not noticing you were still in your underwear and giving the delivery man an indecent view.

You were so happy however that even if you had noticed, you wouldn’t have cared.

---

Tag list: @evyiione @belladonnarey @virgilwrites @emmamass24 @sirius-lysad @riddikuluslypotter @mylovelykelsifer @sly-vixen-up2nogood @ashkuuuu

[oghoneytryst]

winter flakes.

UPDATED

request: harry is upset when he takes his love to meet his family, but they end up not liking her

or

where the holiday season brings upon a terrible first impression

a/n: yo pls read this is I M P O R T A N T lol ok so I'm trash. I wanted to write so many xmas one shots since I had time but now I just ... don’t. I wanted to finish this one before Christmas Eve bUT that didn’t happen so here’s an essential *part one*. I won’t make another post for part two, I'll just update it on here since I wanted it to be a one-shot and nothing more. 

I just wanted to post this in case I actually don’t finish the rest tmrrw (today) but hopefully I get myself in check.

The second part has been added to this post, thus making this one-shot finished. Happy reading!

--------

She hides in plain sight, where fragments of white winter flakes sink from the clouds.

The sky is in full gloom, a gray nature that flawlessly exhibits her most inner emotions. A frown etches her face as powdery snow decorates the roofless patio, the couch cushions as stiff as ice. Behind her numb face is the infinite chatter of her teeth; her fists in the pockets of her creamy coat begin to lose feeling.

Somehow, it is warmer out here than it is inside.

She yawns silently, blinks away the icicles of fallen tears from her sad and wandering eyes. She knows she will fall ill soon, but perhaps it is in everyone’s best interest. She – sick in bed as the holidays go on without her. An absence in the family pictures is favorable over having to eventually cut her out with precision and an open-mind.

A reasonable part of her wishes she had declined Harry’s invitation to visit his family this holiday season. She would have had to spend Christmas and New Year’s alone, but she imagines it is better to be in her lonesome than in the company of people who dislike her.

It no longer matters. By some chance, it is better this way. At least now she can prepare for the meek outcome of her relationship’s future – or rather, a lack thereof. 

Through the harsh yet whispering winds, she fails to hear the patio door slide open. With her back to her visitor, she stares out at the hibernating greenery, entirely entranced by the Earth’s chaotic intricacy.

“Baby,” Harry’s voice calls out. “What’re ya doing out here?”

She manages to shrug despite the startle that Harry gives her. “Needed some air.” Tiny inhalations temporarily sniffle the coldness away. She tugs her arms together in an empty self-embrace, hoping that it will still the shivers of her body.

Harry appears behind her, peeling the blanket he had stolen from inside so that it may envelope her entire frame with its great quilted pattern. She senses this added warmth and looks up to her right, gracious of Harry and his proud smile that peers down at her. 

“Better?” he asks, long legs moving him around from behind the patio couch.

It is better, very much so. Yet, when he flumps down on the cushion next to her, she responds with a frown. “Now you’re going to be cold,” she reprimands. He wears nothing more than a puffy sweater, trousers, gingerbread socks, and slippers.

Harry leans forward, slim fingers switching the controls of the sleek fire pit table in front of them. “Why didn’t you turn this on then?” he asks, chuckling when she tries to pull him into the warmth of the blanket for two.

He allows her to wrap him up, two lovers cocooned with legs in a knot and hearts beating as one. His left arm slides around her, lazily squeezing her into his chest. She encloses his waist in a hug, slips a hand underneath his sweater and over his hip. She rubs tenderly with frozen fingers that make his skin tingle, not a single complaint hanging off of his tongue.

“Didn’t want to mess with it,” she answers, snuggling the tip of her nose deeper into his sweater. “Knowing me, I’d figure out a way to break it.”

“So, you’d rather freeze to death?”

“Better than having your mother angry at me.”

“She’d never.” His chin meets with his chest, lump limps against her head. It isn’t so much a kiss, rather a little something that lets her know he’s there. “You should be inside, having a little girls’ talk or wha’ever. Mum’s made some hot chocolate, said she’ll start on the cookies soon.”

“It’s okay. I’m fine out here.”

It is important to note that only a handful of months into their relationship and already does Harry adore her so much. A handful of months in and he has already studied and learned the shifting features of her strongest emotions.

Ecstatic is when her eyes crinkle. They practically disappear behind her happy cheeks, front teeth blossoming with power.

Angry is when she appears neutral. If not for the haunting flare of her nostrils, he would end up playing a dangerous game between his oblivion and her temper. 

Hungry – yes, to her it is an emotion. Apart from her rumbling tummy, she has this certain pout that his lips find irresistible.

Whether her demeanors are bold and obvious or faint and unnoticeable, he is aware of them all. Whether he can see her face or not, he knows. It is in the way she speaks, the way she holds onto him as though he is only possible thing that can calm her mind.

He asks then, “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” because she is sad, in the simplest of terms. He doesn’t quite know why – figuring it out on his own requires a little more patience and expertise. For the moment being, he only focuses on her sullen blue mood.

“What do you mean?”

Harry expects her dumbfounded response, along with the slight stiffening of her body. “You trust me, yeah?” he tries instead, eyes to the crackling wisp of the fire.

She raises her head to him, an instant, “Yeah,” as her answer. She doesn’t doubt the confidence she has in him.

Harry pouts with a now delicate grip on her chin. “Then be truthful with me, please?” He loves this position they’re in, where two bodies connect in such an innocent way, an invisible link between their loving eyes. “I don’t want you alone in whatever’s bothering you. You and me, that’s us, alright? No exceptions.”

Her lover seals this promise with a spongy kiss. She admires the way he breathes her in and out, specifically because she likes that certain smell of his. Their mouths melt as one; his tastes of that delicious chocolate liquid that lingers on his lips.

When he pulls away – and god, she doesn’t ever want him to – his green eyes glaze with the upmost sincerity that has her sighing in his arms. From this he knows that he has won, but her prefers to consider it as earning her vulnerability.

He is patient with her, but even then, she is wary. No exceptions, he had said. None, unless it concerns the people most important in his life.

“I kind of ... I didn’t want to start anything,” she begins, evidently avoiding those piercing eyes of his. “Still don’t. Even mentioning it might ... I don’t know, ruin something? And that’s not what I want, because you’re so content right now and I want you to stay that way. I don’t want to be a trouble.”

“Are you trying to say that you’re some kind of burden?” Harry quizzes, suspicious of her spiel’s direction. “Cos’, honest, whatever concerns you is my problem too. If you’re not happy with something, neither am I.”

“That’s the reason, baby!” She sits up straighter, and he tries his hardest not to melt around his girlfriend. For her to call him such an endearment is something he truly loves. It is thick like honey, dripping down the chambers of his heart. “I don’t want you to be upset. If I don’t tell you, at least for the time being, then it won’t affect you. At a time like this, I think that’s pretty important.”

“No!” he argues, eyebrows knitted like the sweater he wears. “No, that’s ... what’s important is that you’re honest with me. ‘Bout anything, at any time. Still don’t even know why you’re upset. You just gotta tell me, I’ll help you. If I didn’t care about you all the time, then I’d hope you’d break up with me for being a dickhead.”

“It won’t be on my part,” she says under her breath, never intending for him to hear. To her dismay, the winter winds are not nearly loud enough to mask her voice.

“S’cuse me?” Harry raises, no longer slouch against the couch. “What do you mean by that? Are you saying that I’m just going to date and dump ya?”

“No.” She shakes her head, repetitively, as if to further deny his assumption. “You know I don’t think of you that way.”

“Alright, then what is it?”

“It’s ... it’s complicated. More than you think, or maybe not ... can we just talk about it later?”

Harry states her name in such a way that is frightening, serious, even emotionless. This is a first in their relationship – the first time he’s ever been so strict with her. 

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to call my mum and sister out here to drag it out of you.”

His darling’s face expresses shock up to her eyebrows and down to her chin. She shakes her head again, this time more frantic and desperate. “No,” she pleas, gripping onto his cold hands. “Please don’t. Harry, I swear I will never forgive you.”

A spontaneous spill of words conceives her threat. Her bottom lip quivers, her rapid tongue suddenly dry as she waits for Harry to settle back against the couch.

Harry, however, is frozen. He doesn’t know if he is hurt; if he is, he doesn’t know what for. It is just something about this warning of hers that makes him feel weird.

“Forgive me?” he questions, his voice now smaller than hers. “Forgive me for what? Have I done something? Am I the reason you’re upset?”

The look on his face is heartbreaking. She frowns at him again, gently smoothening her fingers over his hands to explain to him, silently, that no, he is not the reason. While in their future – if there even is one – they will have many arguments where he is the one at fault, or she is the one to blame, he currently does nothing to make her feel this way.

For this reason alone, she knows she has to tell him. He is here for her in this blistering cold. He had promised he would be. In such an unfamiliar place as his mother’s home, he is her common, her serenity. This is something that she has to trust in.

“It’s not you,” she confesses, nervous as her eyes begin to dart from side to side. “It’s because ... your family. They hate me.”

Silence. Her heart beat ironically aches in her chest. She tries to find a reaction in his body language; a head tilt in her peripheral, a twitch in his fingers. Instead, there is nothing, which only makes her want to scream.

“Hate you?” Harry blinks, cautious about whether or not she kids with him.

“Hate, dislike ... does it really matter?”

“...No. You’re right, no, it doesn’t matter.” Harry is unyielding, which makes his girlfriend raise her head with surprise. He leans forward, green eyes burning into hers. “Cos’ they don’t feel either way about you. Why would you even say something so ridiculous?”

She cranes her neck up a little, eyebrows soaring in defense. “Have you even been paying attention the entire time since we’ve gotten here?”

“Of course, I have. Haven’t seen anything less than a smile directed toward you.”

“It’s not that hard to fake a smile out of kindness.”

“This is my family we’re talking about. The people who raised me.”

“You don’t think I know that?”

“Alright, so trust me then. They’d never hate the person I’m dating, ‘specially not after just a few hours of knowing them.”

“Seems like there’s a first for everything.”

“Or you’re just being extremely paranoid.”

At this, it is her turn to feel hurt. The word stings a little, especially since she knows she’s right. It is an intuitive gut-feeling; a negative energy surrounds her all afternoon. Harry somehow foreshadows his fate. She is upset, but now it is all because of him.

In an impulsive tantrum, she throws his hands down to his lap. Her body turns away, arms crossing over her chest like a grumpy child. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you,” she grumbles, ignoring the burn she begins to feel in her nose.

Harry knows his family. He knows these accusations of hers are nearly impossible. Though, he also knows that his love had been nervous to come here – and this gesture of hers! It is so harsh and abrupt; it is very unlike her. Harry hates that he only notices her distress over his unintentional name-calling after the damage had already been done. He had promised to be tender, but now his guilt overpowers every fiber in his foolish being.

“Hey ... none o’ that,” he mumbles, reaching out to sling an arm around her shoulder, a gentle hand on her knee. He is afraid that she will push him away, a dent in their relationship that is entirely his fault. To his relief, she actually allows him to pull her in, even turns toward him a little. “M’sorry,” he coos. “So sorry, baby. I didn’t mean that.” 

Harry presses his freezing dry lips to her temple, further murmuring his apologies. She is stubborn with where she is now, but rightfully so. Still, it is nice to have him so close.

“You can tell me anything,” he assures her. “You’re not being paranoid, I’m just ... being a dickhead.” Harry laughs, cursing the universe for this clever turn of events. “I’ll listen, alright? Please, talk to me.”

“You don’t believe me.” She rolls her eyes, hating how instantly she complies to his touch.

“Okay...” His face scrunches as he tries to work his way around this one. “But you’ve got to understand why I’m a little hesitant about it. Look, doesn’t matter. How ‘bout you explain to me why you think that way, hmm?”

His love begins to ease up a little in his arms. She reluctantly turns her head to him; an angry frown still taints her pretty face. In contrast, he smiles warmly, never once loosening his grip.

“...Gemma answered the door,” she explains, making Harry contently sigh.

“Uh huh,” he presses on. He prepares his ears to catch onto any faint detail that he can use to dissect her version of their visit.

“And she was really happy at first because, you know, you.”

“Right.”

“But she kind of like ... interrupted us? Because she opened the door without us even knocking. So, you were whispering in my ear about ... things and because of that, her sudden presence took me by surprise.”

Harry smirks. He had been whispering to her, alright. Whispering about things that his sister definitely doesn’t want to hear.

“So, when she came to hug me, I was still in that sort of shock, y’know? So, I was really stiff and I didn’t even hug her back. It was terrible! When she pulled away, she had this awkward look on her face.”

“I don’t think that means anything. She was probably just taken aback, same as you. Doesn’t mean that it was bad or that she hates you.” 

His girlfriend scoffs. This is how he knows she has much more to say.

“That was nothing compared to your mother. I didn’t even hug her, Harry! She came in for one, or maybe just a kiss on the cheek, and I was so nervous that I just ... turned away! Do you realize how bad that is? Everyone in the kitchen just looked at me like ... like I was some kind of spoiled brat.” 

“But you said it yourself,” Harry rebuttals. “You were nervous. I’m sure my mother understood that. She knows I wouldn’t date someone so self-absorbed.”

“Oh really? Is that why I keep seeing them whispering to each other? Even worse, when they instantly stop once they see that I’m in the room?”

“Alright!” Harry stands up from the patio couch. “I’m going to settle this, and when I’m right, I want a cuddle.”

Her eyes bulge out of her head when she sees her boyfriend rise. She leaps to his side, holding onto his hand as though she is clinging onto the last bit of life.

“What are you doing?” she cries. “Please, don’t say anything. Don’t you dare say anything, are you crazy?”

“How do you expect this to be resolved if I don’t bring it up to them?”

“I am begging you not to. Please ... don’t.”

Harry pauses, staring into her anxious eyes and then to the skin-tight grip she has on him.

He sighs. “Okay. I won’t mention anything, but I am going to figure this out. Whether that means bringing you into the conversation or not.”

“That’s ... fine,” she settles, though she is a little wary of how he will manage to fix any of this. “Can I just ... hold your hand for a little longer?” 

Her beloved smirks, taking his rightful place next to her on the couch. He lets her wrap his larger hands in hers, a tick that he now learns is what she does when she’s nervous. She’d done it when they had first arrived, and she does it now.

“You’re gonna have to let go some time,” he points out, though smitten with the peace she finds in him.

“I know, just ... a little longer, okay?” 

He nods, raising their clump for hands to press a kiss on her knuckles. “Tha’s fine with me.”

~~~

In the face of her reluctant separation of hand-holding, Harry is content when he persuades his girlfriend back into the warm confinements of his mother’s house. 

The two of them walk past the sliding patio door, shuffling away the snow in a living room exuding lively chatter. There are family friends in the mix, extrovertly stunning individuals who sit on cozy cushions with fishbowls of wine in their grips. They’re kind people, a hilarious lot, although she fears their previous talk in these walls.

For a short moment, the queasy uproar in her chest subdues. Anne and Gemma are missing from the bunch. The most vital of Harry’s blood and bones whom she cannot blame for any of this. In actuality, it is she who is the root of the problem. Her mannerisms, her presentation – she has failed herself. She has failed Harry. 

“Alright.” Harry folds the quilted blanket upon locking the sliding glass door. “I think they’re in the kitchen. Would you like to come with?”

She takes a studious gander at the living room. The other guests had only spared the couple a glance upon hearing them walk in. Besides that, they had returned to their chirpy conversations with ease. Their laughs bounce off the walls; the couples discreet chat goes unnoticed.

“N-No.” She shakes her head. Here, in a room full of persons, she is practically invisible. She is safe.

Harry nods, hanging the blanket over the back of the couch. “Okay.” He slips his hand right underneath the side of her jaw, puckering his lips on her forehead. “I’ll be right back then.”

She is frantic again when he says this, pulls him back by the arm as he begins to walk away. “Don’t say anything,” she warns him once more, this time with much more intensity. It is clearly moot to him how ashamed she will feel if he so much as even mentions her sad emotions. 

“I won’t!” he whisper-yells, mimicking her look of absurdity with nothing but loving intentions. “Why don’t you sit down, eh?” He flicks his head to the opposite end of the couch where an entire cushion is available to her. “Next to Michal. Y’think you’ll be okay with that?”

She grimaces, side-eyeing the man’s harmless appearance. “Gemma’s boyfriend ... he probably hates me by default.”

Harry snickers, unable to resist another kiss on her sweet face. “Adorable.”

He backs away from her reach in dance: bends his arms and sways his hips. The glare she sends contrasts his cheeky wink, and he is off to the kitchen.

It is true that he doesn’t want to lie to his darling. It is obvious how in distress she is over this, but he believes that it is nothing more than a mild illusion, a product of her nerves. Surely his mother and sister will find it endearing that she worries so much over their approval. He can fix all of this in a matter of minutes.

“...not know what he’s thinking.”

Harry’s stroll comes to a halt in the hallway, the light of the kitchen cutting diagonally across the floor. He hides in the shadows, up against a wall where his mother and sister cannot see him. Eavesdropping is a dirty thing, but something about his mother’s voice is strange.

Curiosity killed the cat.

“He’s blind to it,” Gemma adds in, a hint of secrecy in her tone. “But that’s him. He grows obsessed, then he gets ... I don’t know, bored?”

Harry narrows his eyes. Are they speaking of him?

“A simple and kind person,” Anne tuts. He can hear her place batter on the cookie sheet. “That’s all I want for him. Why is it so hard?”

“Why don’t you tell him then?” Gemma asks, then pauses. He can imagine her sipping on her wine, licking the elegant flavor off her lips. “Maybe he’ll be open to the idea of you setting him up. He trusts your word more than anyone else.”

“I do have a couple of people in mind that I’d like him to meet, but it’s as you said. He’s obsessed. He won’t listen now. We’ll just have to ... wait it out, see how long it goes for.”

Wait it out? He’s utterly lost, but at the same time, he fears what he already knows.

“Do you think...” Gemma begins, “Okay, this might be a tad harsh, but do you imagine she’s here because her own family didn’t want to spend the holidays with her?”

The question is a bullet to his heart. He blinks rapidly with a face that twists; disbelief washes over all of his senses. Had he heard it wrong? His lovely sister would never be so cruel. Is this all a misunderstanding solely on his part?

His mother. Oh, his dear mother. Her response is the icing on the cake.

“Poor girl. I can’t even begin to think what family must have raised her.” 

He won’t lie – it hurts. Their gossip hadn’t meant to belittle him or his decision making. In a strange type of way, he understands where they’re coming from. They love him. They want what’s best for him.

Nonetheless, understanding doesn’t make him any less upset. It doesn’t make him any less confused, overwhelmed, absolutely livid. This side of his family is a disappointing shock and it makes him a little sick.

Of anything else, he feels for his lovey. While this mess concerns him, it is not about him. In the end, she had been right, and he had been selfish. He had dismissed her, had disregarded her intuition and her discomfort, all because he had much more faith in his family than in her.

His mother and sister’s conversation becomes a jumble, not as if it matters much anyway. He had heard what he had heard, and they had moved onto a new, safer topic as unbothered as one would be flipping through the channels on the telly.

He takes a minute to calm himself, inhaling and exhaling before pushing himself off the wall. A few nervous clicks of his knuckles and he stumbles into the light with more to prove than before. His heavy footsteps garner their attention mid-conversation. 

They greet him with twin smiles, but he responds in a boiling, amusing stare. Leaning against the counter opposite to the island, he crosses his arms and nibbles inside his cheek.

“Everything alright?” Gemma asks, noticing his stare-down with the tile floors. He is in thought, a distracting amount of it, and it is concerning to his sister – his sister that knows him so well.

Harry opens his mouth, lips silently stuttering over infinite responses. How could he go about this in a way that is civil amid his lingering vexation?

“Mother o’ mine,” he comically says, full out ignoring his sister’s question.

The pair of ladies look at him with curiosity, but it is not in an eager or silly way. It is tense. Stiff. Suspicious. 

“Darling?” She smiles, setting the batter aside. Her chin tilts up, her soft features almost overpowering his will. How could he possibly be mad at the woman who’d given him everything? 

He wants to give her a chance. He wants to believe that he’d been right. Very casually does he mention the chat he’d had with his girlfriend, her name that twitches the gleam in their faces. Though it is only a slight falter, a millisecond of a reaction, he had seen it.

“It’s funny.” He laughs, raising his head in the gravity of his words. “She’d said something to me that I found quite ... mmm, ridiculous, I’d say. Unbelievable, even. I couldn’t quite believe it myself, but for her sake, I listened. That’s what a person in a relationship does, after all. So, she’d said to me that she was, ehm, she was feeling a bit down.” 

Anne frowns. “Oh no, darling. What about?”

“What about? Well, she’d said ... hmm, how did it go? In her words, as best as I can remember it anyway, she’d said, your family hates me. Yeah, tha’s what I heard.”

At this sated accusation, the faces of the two women grow paler. Gemma freezes, while Anne swallows in discomfort. Her eyes search for a way out of this maze, but her beautiful son does not allow it. 

“Doesn’t that sound ridiculous, mum?”

“It does,” Gemma answers. She easily catches onto how they have to team up against Harry’s spontaneous quips.

He smiles again. “Right. After all, she’d been devastated to find out that she couldn’t travel to spend the holidays with her family. The snow just wouldn’t allow it. Cancelled her flight and everything.” He steps up, leans forwards now with his palm gripping the edge of the island. “And you had been so kind as to welcome her into your home. So, really, how could you possibly hate her?”

His gaze is unbearable. His mother feels as if she had committed a crime.

“Of course,” Anne chuckles, “that’s – it is ridiculous. I don’t ... hate her.”

“And you, Gem,” he switches his interrogation. “Of all the ... questionable people I’ve been obsessed with, it doesn’t seem sensible that the one simple and kind person I’ve finally ended up with, turns out to be someone you hate, right?”

Gemma raises a brow as the intensity of his stare increases. Their eyes – her dark ones, his light ones – from the same genes collide in a battle. Together, in a team setting, they are competitive, supportive, and practically unstoppable. Apart, in a duel against each other, it is an all-out war.

She never gives in, no matter how grueling. She is as stubborn as he is, but this time, she knows. She knows that the longer she plays this game of his, the winner he will become.

“Oh, stop it!” She folds the towel and turns away from his mocking smirk. “I’m not doing this!”

“Gemma!”

“What? I’m not going to sit here and lie to him.”

“Oh really?” Harry asks, hands on his hips. “Just like you two have done all evening?”

“We haven’t lied!” she defends in a high-pitch.

“You said you didn’t hate her!”

“We don’t!” Gemma sips her wine, commenting very quietly that: “We just don’t like her.”

“Gemma!” Anne repeats. It astounds her that her daughter would be so blunt, but she can’t bring herself to disagree.

Harry shakes his head in shame. Not of his own, nor for bringing his love to this place, but for the distaste of his own blood. “Unbelievable,” he mutters. “It is actually unbelievable. And after all of the boyfriends of yours I defended.”

“Oh, don’t be such a knob.” His sister glares. Her wine glass is lonely on the island counter. “Anyone in my past hadn’t nearly been as impolite as her.” 

“Impolite? Wh—” Harry turns his head from side-to-side. He wonders if anyone else can hear the absurdities. “When has she ever been impolite?”

“Darling,” Anne speaks up. She’d been quiet, nervous about where this sensitive topic would end up going. It had not finished well. “Why don’t we just leave this as it is?”

“No! No, I will not—”

“Harry, please, it’s just not worth it.”

“Not worth it?” He questions, a pattern of the sorts ensuing. Every ridiculous thing they say, he has to repeat. They have to hear it again, from his opposing tongue, and maybe then they will come to terms with how unreasonable they’re being.

“Can you honestly tell us that she’ll be here in a year’s time?” Gemma says, a bit sincerer than she’s been.

“I ... how am I supposed to know that?”

The two women give each other a look. It only boils his blood more.

“Don’t do that!”

“It’s a simple question, Harry.”

“It’s not so simple to answer given that you two don’t even like her! I mean, what – what could you possibly not like about her? What has she done?”

“She’s just ... rude,” his sister answers, his mother nodding in agreement. “Reserved, but in a bad way.”

“She’s nervous!” he retorts, hands twitched out in frustration. “And rightfully so, given how you two are behaving. You’d think, that with all I have to go through in the media, you’d know better than to judge someone off of one unjust impression.” 

“It’s has more to do than that,” Anne says, her tone so sweet that it makes his tummy ache. “It’s just a feeling.”

“A feeling? A hunch then?” He waits for her to nod, and then he nods, and suddenly no one is quite certain where this will go next. “Right. I’ve got one of those myself. I have a feeling, a very strong one at that, that I do want her to be here in a year’s time. But do I see her here, in another 365 days? No.” 

The women are silent, this unexpected sincerity captivates them. Still, there is something circulating the air. It is thick and unsettling, the loud chatter from the living room beginning to echo into their private area.

“She won’t be, because who in their right mind would willing endure this kind of treatment? Oh, the family doesn’t like her. Big shame. There’ll always be another one ready to take her in with open arms. She’ll realize that eventually, and she’ll go. None of this is worth it, as you’ve said, ‘specially not for me.”

The ticking of the wall clock has never sounded so ardent and bold. The more it ticks, the more of Harry’s vulnerability unravels from his monologue – his deepest fear. Tick, tick, tick. Seconds pass, but they are as torturous as lightyears. The trio grows weaker, the team of two at a loss for words. This steady beat in time makes no progress at all.

Harry sighs, a long one that devours them all. He steps around the island, throws an arm around his mother’s shoulders, the opposite hand on the crown of his sister’s head.

“I love you,” he says to Anne, then looks to Gemma. “Both of you. And I respect that this is your house. It’s your decision, I can’t change that. But I can’t stay here and pretend that it’s not a problem. It’s not fair to her.”

He finishes his sentence by giving them both a respective kiss on the head. They don’t respond, emotionless even, and he walks back into the hallway where the light does not blanket his creamy skin.

The guests are even chattier when he walks into the living room. He can easily spot his love on the couch, just as he had suggested. She scoots up against the end, the nearest person not even an arm’s length into her personal bubble of space. A majestic black dog is in front of her legs, head resting on her lap as she gives gentle rubs to his ears.

Harry smiles sadly. He had wanted to fix this for her. He had wanted to enjoy these days with her, to begin a tradition that everyone would be more than in favor of. He feels now as if he has done her wrong. Maybe there was more that he could have done, but she deserves better either way.

He walks over, opting to crouch down to her eye level next to the arm of the couch. She senses Harry, relieved to see his face of tranquility. She offers him a smile, but it shapes oddly at his less than neutral expression.

“M’sorry I didn’t believe you,” he says, with the softest eyes that had ever existed. He hopes that she can trust in his sincerity, that he truly is sorry for all that has happened. He doesn’t want her to hurt; he doesn’t want her to go through this mess when it clearly isn’t her fault. He adores her; hopefully that is enough for her.

She quizzes over his out-of-context statement, but when it does eventually hit her, it drowns her in deepest ocean. Her mouth gapes, wrinkles on her forehead, and the smallest, most innocent shake of her head.

“I told you not to say anything,” she remarks in the most precious voice. That is when his heart finally breaks. 

“I know, baby.” His own voice is a little croaky. He pouts, and it isn’t exaggerated or playful. It is a genuine representation of his dismay. “M’ so sorry. You can have all the cuddles you want.”

A makeshift laugh exhales through her nostrils, but she sucks a meager amount back in when her vision glasses up. She won’t cry – although it is a very strong possibility despite her rapid blinks – but her entire mind, body, and soul reacts to this quite negatively.

Over all, this sucks. This holiday sucks and while Harry’s cuddles are therapeutic, she wants to revert to the darkness of the universe where the stars had first gathered her.

“C’mon.” Harry pulls her head down, sponging his lips right over the crease on her brow. It softens and smoothens, but she is still uncertain on the edge. “Let’s go.”

“What?” she questions, allowing him to clasp their hands tight. He pulls her up from the couch, murmuring his condolences to the large dog who sighs and trots away. “Wait, what are you – go where?”

She splits herself in two opposing halves: one follows Harry, but the other resists with heels dug in the floor. He directs her to the Christmas tree, where his path ceases in determination.

“Home,” he answers, freeing his hand to sift through the boxes of gifts. “We’re taking the presents with us.”

“What?” she whisper-yells, same as he had done to her, only hers is much more severe. “Are you out of your mind? W-we can’t just leave! Our bags!”

“Still in the car ... didn’t take them out.”

He can sense her glare burning on the back of his head. “I told you to take them out.”

“It was snowing hard, I was cold ... but now look ... didn’t even need to go through all the hassle.”

She grimaces at the pile that begins to appear at his side. Decorative paper seals all of the presents, wrapped by the two of them weeks prior. She feels useless in this situation, but he resembles something of a champion, a hard-headed competitor sprinting to his goal.

“Harry...” she whines, sneaking glances back at the oblivious guests. She hopes that they remain blind to the commotion he causes. “Please think this through.” 

“I did,” he insists. “We’re not staying.”

“We can’t just leave.”

“You’re not comfortable here. We can spend the holidays by ourselves. Tha’s all we need anyway, right?” 

Her mouth opens to protest his name again, but another voice calls out to him instead.

It causes him to tense up, a first in his life. He rises from his bent position and turns to find his mother and sister now present, with a certain concern scribbling their faces. He notices the obvious distance between them and his girlfriend, and it only increases as she takes discreet steps back in oblivious fear. 

“Harry,” Anne tries again, smiling to his love the way a mother would smile to a stranger when her child misbehaves in public. “Please, don’t be ridiculous. You don’t have to leave.”

“We’re not staying,” he announces, a repeat in only a mere minute. 

“Harry...” his girlfriend mumbles, to which sets an alarm off inside of him. In a second, he has her by the arm, pulling her behind him in protection.

“Harry, let’s talk about this,” Gemma offers, her once confident tone now lacking clarity. “For everyone’s sake, please.” 

“M’sorry, but there’s been enough talking for now. I’ve heard everything I needed to. We’d like to spend the rest of the holidays in peace.” 

She tugs on his arm now. “Harry...”

“By the way, mother...” Harry points up, reaching for the smallest box on his pile. He hands it to his bewildered mother, who takes it hesitantly. “You can keep that. It’s from her. She spent weeks worrying about what to get you, said she had to get you a gift on her own rather than just writing her name on mine. Said it was really important to her.”

Anne frowns, fingers still as ice on the square box. “Sweetheart...”

“It’s a lovely pair of earrings,” he reveals with a shrug. “Wouldn’t let me pay for it either. Cost her a few paychecks.”

“Listen to us, we’re really sorry—”

“No, m’sorry, but I really don’t want to hear it.”

“It’s our tradition to spend the holidays together!”

“Harry...”

“I thought it was our tradition to be kind to people.”

“Harry...”

“Stop it, we haven’t done anything!”

“That is just laughable, Gem—”

“Baby...” she states, her voice still soft but more stern than previous.

The instant clench of his heart causes his lips to seal; his ears open up to the sound that he had been accidentally ignoring in the midst of his defense. He looks to his love, who has found enough courage to step beside him than hide in the privacy of his tall frame.

“Give me the keys to the car.”

Harry twists his face. “What?”

“Give me the keys,” she repeats, eyebrow shooting up for emphasis.

“What for?”

She looks to the floor, her hand still firm in his. She feels their eyes on her, but she can’t seem to figure out if it is in envy or curiosity.

“You obviously don’t want me to stay here,” she confesses, “So I’ll just go back home and you can spend this time with your family.”

The silence that follows her quiet explanation is almost like a near-death experience. She doesn’t know what will happen, but in a millisecond, it feels as if the end awaits her.

Harry chuckles. “No. Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be fine—”

“You are not spending the holidays by yourself!”

“You are not leaving,” she persists, and there he sees it: the flare of her nostrils. “This is your family, Harry.”

“And you’re my girlfriend,” he retaliates, the word ever-so loving on his tongue.

She smiles, but it is sorrow in every way. “Doesn’t nearly compare.”

“That’s not—”

“Look, we can talk about it ... we’ll talk about it next year,” she tries as a joke, but it sounds disgustingly distant. “Just give me the keys—”

“No, no,” interrupts her command, not from Harry, but from the woman who loves him more than she’s ever loved anything, alongside his sister. 

The couple turn to Anne, who shakes her head at the both of them.

“No one is leaving.” Anne looks at her, whose blood freezes in circulation. “Darling ... I’m sorry about all of this. I didn’t mean for us to so clearly start on the wrong foot. It’s just...” she pauses, then reaches up to touch the side of her son’s tense face. “He’s my baby. I ... admittedly, might strive too hard over what’s best for him.” 

“He’s very special to us,” Gemma adds, with a warm smile to her brother’s companion. “No matter how annoying he may be.”

“Hey...” Harry glares, but it’s with pure intentions alongside his growing grin.

“We’re not ones to assume so quickly,” Anne continues, “but I just couldn’t help myself this time. That was wrong of me, and I hope you can understand how sorry I am. If you’re still willing, I still need to go finish up the cookies. I’d love to get to know you better, putting all of this behind us, of course.”

She is speechless, to say the least. She hadn’t known how much she had wanted this approval until her offer opens up a gate of relief in her chest. “Y-Yes,” she agrees, a bit of a falter in her voice. She embarrassingly clears her throat. “Yes. That would ... be great. I um ... accept ... uh, your apology?”

She looks up to Harry, begging with her eyes to help her.

He smiles at her, kissing the top of her head with the upmost glee he’s ever had. “She’s shy.”

[firebirdsdaughter]

Random Writing Tidbit This is Bad…

… New discovery. If you try to edit a ‘read more’ post on mobile? Tumblr erases the whole post.

Okay. Let’s try this again. I still blame this on @thornstone8773 for giving me the idea.

This partially heavily based on a scene from Killjoys. Yes, I am still thinking about Killjoys.

This is set in the ‘human Jin raised by HumaGear Horobi’ AU, and deals w/ after the end, so I kinda inserted general, hazy epilogues for everyone:

In this version, Thouser was the big bad, so after they took him down, Yua took over ZAIA. Fuwa started working w/ Aruto as part of Hiden’s security (partially bc of a comment I saw about him becoming Aruto’s bodyguard and it stuck). Aruto keeps running Hiden Intelligence. Jin and Horobi kinda help him out/are both in rehab/are under his supervision. The promise Horobi mentions later in this essentially boils down to ‘stop trying to cause human extinction/killing humans = BAD.’

You know, the usual.

This comes across as pretty sad… Kinda. Maybe it is.

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

For a while after, things were difficult.

He found himself answering the same questions over and over, weathering the same suspicious stares. He didn’t like how people looked at Horobi—like he was was a bomb that they expected to go off at any moment. Aruto had to remind him often that the transition was as hard for everyone else as it was for them. Trust was hard to relearn, for both sides.

For his part, Horobi made an effort. He was generally indifferent to his infamy, already long accustomed to suspicion and coldness from humans—but for his adopted son’s sake, he made deliberate attempts to assuage their fears and fit in. Even when it was clear to anyone who knew he’d rather be in the company of Fuwa—one of the few to whom he felt he had nothing to prove—he’d put on a face to try and keep others at ease. He even tried to smile a  few times, though that rarely went over well.

As time went on, however, people stopped staring so much. Months fell away, turning into years. Memory didn’t exactly fade, but altered. There was less fear and more marvel. But that wasn’t the only things that changed.

People who didn’t recognise them would ask if Horobi was his brother, starting at some point in his thirties. Horobi had never paid much mind to such questions to begin with, so Jin often found himself recounting the explanation multiple times, while Horobi hovered like a ghost at his elbow. Out of all of them, Horobi and Izu remained the same; timeless while the humans around them steadily altered. Aruto had to politely force Fuwa, the eldest of them, to retire from his new position as Hiden’s security head when it was clear the demands were too much for him—even after that, though, Fuwa stayed close, watching the Hiden CEO like an unofficial bodyguard. Yaiba was up and about even longer, rustling around ZAIA’s offices like a queen, not slowing down at all. She laughed and said it was because women lived longer—Fuwa shot back that it was because it was her.

Horobi said nothing about the expanding differences in their appearances, merely retuning his hyper awareness of his adoptive son to look for new things, always already offering help before Jin would even know he needed it. He even offered to carry Jin a few times, like he had was Jin was small, but Jin put a stop to that in his early fifties. Horobi was strong enough, but it didn’t seem right anymore. Around then, he also stopped giving proper answers when people misinterpreted their relationship.

When he was in his sixties, he slipped on the sidewalk, and though some passersby rushed forward to help, it was, as always, Horobi who caught him instantly, gently pulling him back up.

“Such a dutiful son!” A woman nearby had exclaimed.

Horobi ignored her, but Jin couldn’t resist glancing over and giving her a small smile. “Yes.” He said, “I am.” Her eyes had bugged out. Later, Horobi hadn’t understood why it was funny—but Horobi never understood why anything was funny.

As he got even older, there was an unspoken tension in the air. For the first time, they were both confronting something neither had considered before; being separated. Horobi, he knew, wouldn’t say anything, still so afraid of accidentally pressuring Jin into something, constantly doubting himself. That meant it fell upon Jin to broker the conversation, something he made plans to do.

Until he started getting sick, and their balance shattered.

The doctors the others dragged him to concluded it was some sort of delayed response to exposure to radiation. Something that had been building in his body all those years at Daybreak that was finally breaking free as he got older and weaker. He considered trying to hide it from Horobi, until Izu looked him in the eye and informed him that if she had noticed, there was no way Horobi hadn’t.

He was quickly confined to a hospital—moving hurt, and he was tired all the. Horobi was, s always, never far away, and the others came to visit often. Yaiba had finally retired—partially, Fuwa would always add with a chuckle until she smacked him with something. Aruto was starting to ease out of his duties as CEO, needing to lean more and more on Izu just to get around. Jin didn’t know what Aruto was planning to do—but he knew the idea he had had, even before the illness set in, and he knew Aruto still had the power to make it happen.

“… It’s possible.” The Hiden CEO admittedly, slowly. “My father…” Aruto trailed off there, and Jin waited patiently for him to find his voice again. Aruto didn’t really talk about his father—at least, not to anyone other than Izu or Fuwa—and it was better not to push him. “… It’s possible.” He finally continued, sighing slightly. “And we’ve made even more advancements in the field. But…” He looked sideways at Jin then. “Are you sure? It’s not exactly something you can take back.” Speaking was effort, but Jin carefully met Aruto’s eyes and nodded. Aruto studied him, then sighed again. “Alright. But there’s someone who wants to talk to you first.” The Hiden CEO shifted his seat to reveal the doorway.

Horobi was standing by Izu’s shoulder, looking distraught, for him.

Jin looked back at Aruto accusingly, dragging his voice out to demand, “You told Horobi?”

A small smile flitted across Aruto’s face. “Well, see, I need parental permission on the form…” He stopped when he saw Jin’s incredulous look. “… You should have told him.” Turning his head, Aruto signalled Izu, who came over and helped him up. “I’ll let you two discuss this,” He told them, “Call me if there’s a decision.” Then he and his secretary made their way out, with his arm around her shoulders, slipping past Horobi and out the door.

For a long time, silence filled the room. Then, slowly, Horobi crossed the floor, sitting beside his bed, and taking Jin’s nearest hand in both of his.

“You don’t have to do this for me.” Horobi’s hands were actually warm on his, unlike the usual room temperature, the HumaGear putting conscious effort into trying to make him as comfortable as possible. “I will stay by your side until the very end, hold your hand when you pass on.” The hold on his hand tightened, though the pressure was, as always, carefully measured so as not to hurt him. “I will remember my promise—I will watch over them, guard them. Justice will be done, cities built, and a future made in your name.” One of the perfectly temperature-controlled hands moved to tenderly touch his cheek. “You are my son. I will be your legacy, and you will not be forgotten.”

He looked back into the HumaGear’s eternally weary eyes. It was hard to remember his younger days, when Horobi had been so hard to read, all blank and ominous. Now detecting the sorrow in those eyes was as natural as breathing—perhaps even more so, by this point. There was also something else there, hiding just behind the thick curtains of forlorn affection; guilt. The like of which he had seen before. “But…?” He prompted softly, voice even hoarser than usual.

Horobi’s gaze faltered, flicking downward.

A laugh bubbled from him, one that even almost sounded like his old childish giggles, just a little more breathless. Even as tired as he was, his lips pulled into a smile. Slowly, he freed one arm from the blankets, reaching over to cup Horobi’s face and gently lift it back up to meet his eyes again. “… But if I leave…” He whispered, running his thumb across the HumaGear’s cheek, “… Horobi will be lonely again.”

Horobi still couldn’t weep—but Jin knew for certain he heard his adoptive father’s breathing hitch.

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

… Or, maybe it isn’t.

At least, that ending is supposed to be kinda hopeful. Kinda.

Hopefully it’s also at least kinda clear what Jin’s idea is. I may have made it rather obvious. ^^;

[zetalial]

Maria Ross (FMA 2003)

Hey, there’s nothing I love more than being requested to talk about FMA. This post is for @thornstone8773, who believes that Maria Ross needs some more love from the fandom. I agree.

Maria Ross is lovely. She’s introduced in Episode 18, which is while Ed’s studying Marcoh’s notes and she immediately gets into conflict with him. She sees Ed’s complete lack of concern for his own safety to be an issue when she’s been tasked with protecting him. 

But it’s not just her job that compels her to care for the Elric brothers. She sees them as lost children getting in over their heads and needing someone to look after them. And she’s fully prepared to step into the role herself - whether Ed likes it or not.

Throughout this episode, she and Ed conflict with each other, Ross gets irritated at his impulsiveness and gets angry when he insists on working in the library where she isn’t able to provide him proper protection. Ed refuses to listen to her and he’s not obliged to (due to his rank as State Alchemist). He’s been dismissing her and Denny Broche repeatedly and very much sees bodyguards as another hindrance to his goals - another thing forced on him. (Ed sees the Military as a necessary evil.)

 So, Maria talks to Hughes about it instead. And nice as Hughes might be towards Ed, consistently helping him where others wouldn’t, Hughes takes Ross’s side in their argument. 

Hughes is often bending the rules for Ed and Al, he told them about how Scar killed Nina, offered him case files when Ed was investigating Barry, and helped him fight the terrorists on the train. Ed was fully expecting Hughes to be on his side. And Hughes knows it too - he doesn’t like denying them. But he cares about their safety too and recognises that Maria Ross cares.

Ross inquires about why Hughes would let them chase after the Philosopher’s stone at all and Hughes offers some nice insight. Ed and Al would chase after it regardless of whether he let them or not. By helping them, he is able to better protect them and, uniquely among the military, has Ed and Al’s trust. (Because Ed certainly doesn’t trust Mustang at this point in the series.) 

Additionally, Hughes says that the State’s future is in their hands. That he and Ross have a duty to enable them to research into the Philosopher’s stone. Clearly, Hughes recognises the importance of their quest and is already looking into the bigger picture. Looking into it further is dangerous, as Hughes will soon learn though. Ross doesn’t like this but accepts it. From here, she’s more actively supporting their endeavours.

In the next episode, the Truth behind Truths, Ed has found out the secret of the Philosopher’s stone and wants to just give up. It’s practically what Ross was aiming for an episode ago but now she actively encourages him to continue searching, citing the importance of it, how it goes beyond their own personal goals.  

Like, Ed wanted to make a stone to save his brother but after learning the cost, he realises he can’t go through with this any more. But he’s also finding out a lot about the military’s corruption and how the stone has been used in Ishval. There is more to look into, namely Lab 5 and what lies at the heart of this conspiracy. Ross encourages Ed to continue looking even if they themselves won’t gain anything from it because there is more to learn. He can’t let himself be turned away because he doesn’t like the answers he’s getting. Ross recognises he’s scared and still essentially a child, but encourages him anyway. It’s a great scene.

When Ed finds his determination once more, Ross gives this smile, like she’s proud of them.

‘Course Ed and Al still don’t trust her fully yet, though he did share his conclusions concerning Lab 5 with her. Ross promised to use the military to look into it but Ed and Al decide to sneak out. 

I try not to bring up BH too much in comparison so... sorry. But the two different responses from their respective Maria Ross’s highlight their differences. When BH Broche and Ross discover the boys have snuck out, they’re comically worried and don’t want anyone to find out they lost track of the boys as it might get them into trouble. They’re concerned about the Elrics too, yes, but also themselves. 

Maria Ross in 03, meanwhile, looks betrayed to find they’ve snuck out and informs Hughes. He agrees to authorise a military sweep of the abandoned Laboratory, getting a bunch of other soldiers, including Armstrong involved even though it’s the middle of the night. Fuhrer Bradley actually runs into them and goes along with it (likely realising it would be too suspicious to deny their operation.) 

Upon entering Lab 5, Ross finds Ed in the red room and bravely wades into the room to calm him down. He had absorbed incomplete stone material and was in great danger of some sort of alchemic backlash as he was unable to control all that energy. Even Armstrong seemed to think it was too dangerous to go near him. Maria Ross calms him with a motherly hug, likely the first Ed had received in a long time. 

In the aftermath of Lab 5, Ross confronts Ed, slapping him when he tries to brush the whole incident off. She asks him to try and start trusting adults more and he agrees, apologising for some of his reckless behaviour. It’s a good start to an episode about opening up emotionally. 

Ed and Al leave for Dublith so Ross doesn’t show up much more for a while. In Episode 38, she spots Winry and Sheska eavesdropping in Central and helps them out against Sloth, where they reveal some of what they’re learning to them. Ross is quite observant to have noticed Winry there and this nicely leads into Ross’s next significant appearance.

When she hears Ed and Al are on the run from the military, she and Broche decide to have an abrupt ‘vacation’ in Risembool. She tells Winry and Sheska how Ed and Al are wanted by the military and how she doesn’t believe it. Here we see Ross actively going against the military she’s a part of. 

And then again, when she hears news that Ed and Al have been arrested by the military, she goes to break them out. That’s direct action against the military. It’s really the Tringham brothers she ends up saving but they run into Ed and Izumi again anyway and Maria ends up actively fighting against Archer, who pretty much represents some of the worst of the Military while she’s basically become a rebel.

The epilogue shows her working in the new Government now that the Military state has been overthrown. She seems fairly busy so there’s a lot being done. She’s clearly doing the best for the State’s future.

So, all in all, Maria Ross is a character who has the Elric brother’s best interests at heart. She’s a part of the military but she’s nice and goes beyond her duty for them. She represents the best parts of it - the good people working within it who care and want to protect others. Unlike everyone else, she still sees the Elrics as children and tries to encourage Edward to trust her. 

She is very principled and when she disagrees with something she will not stand for it. She does not let Edward get away with whatever he wants, she’s ready to question Hughes and she’s ready to question the Military too. Ultimately, her intentions are good and it’s a greatly encouraging sign to see her and Broche and Sheska working in the reformed State.   

[movedvalkyriesryde]

Masked Man Part Two

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Summary: An assassination attempt on who was thought to be her father’s killer brings information to light that could tear apart Y/N’s only family. The only one who seems to be able to help her is the man who her brother seemingly wants killed.

Word count: 2011

Warnings: Post Endgame (RIP faves), abusive family, violence, mention of suicide (just this part), brainwashing

Author’s Note: So I didn’t expect to get as much attention as I did with this but dang ya’ll like it so I’m just gonna keep going. I’m sorry if the taglist doesn’t work I am very bad at this lmao. Fixing up the masterlist and it should be up and updated tonight :D Feedback is appreciated as well as where you want the story to go!

A/N 2: its a bit of a filler and explanatory part, but a long one and we get to see the first proper interaction between Bucky and Y/N yayyyy

Masterlist

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five

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"Bruce I need you to pretend I'm a five year old." Sam leaned his hands against the table. Bruce sat in the lab of the Avengers compound, one of five, Y/N's mask sat on the table in front of him and Wanda, Sam and Bucky stood opposite.

"Essentially, these little ridges and needles produce minuscule vibrations that reprogram the brain. The strap, when connected, acts as an activation key. When Bucky untied the mask it turned off." He looked at them, waiting for a response. Sam stood with his mouth half open wondering how anyone would do that. Bucky stood with his arms crossed hoping that this had nothing to do with the Winter Soldier. Wanda was actually listening.

"So its brainwashing her? But who gave her the mask?" Wanda reached for the mask but quickly changed her mind.

"That's the million dollar question, there’s nothing on the mask that hints to who is actually controlling her."

"Well I want to know who is trying to kill me do we know who she is?" Bucky asked, pushy the hair from his face. Sam grabbed a remote, facing the screen on the wall.

"Actually we do. Y/N Y/L/N. Born in Dublin, Ireland. Mother died in childbirth and grandmother died when she was eight." He flicked through her file, showing her passport photo and available documents. "She was then adopted at nine by this guy, Otto Müller, now deceased." The screen changed to a picture of a man, mid 50s, standing in a lab.

"German?" Bucky question, Sam nodded, continuing his presentation. That explains her speaking German he thought.

"Müller took Y/N to Nuremberg, north of Munich. He was a biochemist but there isn't much on him. Had a son a couple years older than Y/N but he went missing about twelve years ago." Sam finished turning to the group, Bruce had already heard this but the information was new to Bucky and Wanda.

"Do we know when she came to the US?" Wanda asked sitting on a stool. Bruce spoke.

"About eight years ago, a couple years after Müller died."

"Is any of this familiar Buck?" Wanda turned to the quiet man standing next to her.

"No, but I'm gonna find out because we're obviously missing something!" He moved to leave, nodding at Sam who he knew would be close behind him. He needed answers.

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Y/N felt well rested, waking up in an unfamiliar room. But God her face was sore. She rubbed her eyes as she sat up, groaning at the pain that shot across her temples as she did so. She didn't notice the dry flecks of blood fall from her face onto the blanket, but she did notice two men standing to the side of the room. She knew them both from surveillance footage. Bucky stood closest to her, hair pulled back, arms crossed, he had a bruise on his right bicep and a brooding look on his face directed at her. Sam stood a few steps behind him, leaning against the wall while he scrolled through his phone. She took a deep breath, if James Barnes was here, it wasn't good news.

"Do you know where you are?" He asked, no change in expression. This caught Sam's attention as he took a step closer to the others.

"Looking around I assume a hospital. What happened to me? Why does my head hurt so much?" The two men glanced at each other, they weren't prepared for that. Sam decided as he was the calmer of the two, to take the lead.

"Can you tell me your name?" He asked. Y/N noticed her right hand cuffed to the bed frame. What did she do?

"Y/N Y/L/N sir" she answered. "Did I do something wrong?"

Bucky scoffed, earning a glare from Sam.

"This is ridiculous. Who are you working for and why did you attack me?" Bucky spoke up, he wasn't believing this, he wasn't fully convinced of the brainwashing either. A mask that brainwashed people? Things may have changed since his time but not that much.

"I'm sorry I did what now? I swear to you I'm not a violent person, I put that behind me when my father died!" Y/N wasn't as confused now that she knew what she had done. Will must have done this to her, he had the knowledge and resources to do so.

"Buck, let me." Sam put a hand on Bucky's shoulder trying to calm him even a little.

"Has this ever happened to you before? Where you've had gaps in your memory?" Sam was calm, much calmer than Bucky...and Y/N. She nodded slightly. Bucky's eyes softened and his arms fell to his sides. He knew that feeling all too well. Waking up and having no recollection of what you had been doing. He knew that look on her face, shame, fear, he was so familiar with those feelings he began to feel sorry for the girl.

"Sam, can we have a minute?" He turned to Sam who gaped at him. Y/N was terrified to be alone with Bucky, she prayed Sam would refuse.

"Hell no!! I'm not leaving the assassin with the other assassin! No!" Sam didn't think he'd ever heard something so stupid come out of Bucky's mouth before, and that was hard. But he saw the pleading in Bucky's eyes and he knew if anyone could relate to Y/N it was him.

"God fine but I'll be right outside. I'm watching you." Sam backed out of the room pointing from his eyes to Bucky. Y/N was too frightened to even speak, she stared at her lap, watching her fingers picking at the threads of the blanket. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Bucky pulling a chair to her side and sit down. If he was going to kill me, she thought, he better make it quick.

"I'm going to ask you some questions. I need you to answer them in as much detail as you can okay?" Bucky looked at the girl sitting in front of him. She has no family, she never finished high school, she was the perfect target to be a brainwashed soldier, not to mention her powers.

"Okay." She simple agreed deciding that at least this means he won't straight up kill her right?

"What's the last thing you remember? The last vivid memory you have?" His voice was low and calm, he leaned his chin on his hands waiting for her answer. She thought very carefully, not wanting to throw her brother under the bus but her promise to her father bore into her mind. Bucky was on Captain America's side. I'm on the wrong side she thought.

"I was playing darts." Short and sweet, nothing suspicious.

"Were with anyone? Which part of town were you in?" Bucky continued staring at her, trying to find any changes in expression. He noticed her hands beginning to shake, the way she sucked in air and held it before speaking.

"Yes, Will, my brother. We were at home playing darts together." Bucky looked down, moving to lean on his elbows, scratching his palm. A not so missing brother, guess she has one family.

"Documents said your brother was missing." If you're opposite Cap you're on the wrong side. She kept that phrase in her mind, it made her feel guilty and scared. Will had said that they were doing this for her father, that this is what he would have wanted. Yet here she is, on the opposite side of Captain America, being questioned by his second in command. Not at all what he wanted for her.

"He was, but after my father past he found me, looked after me. We came to America to get away from our past." She was telling the truth, Bucky knew this, he also knew her brother was someone to be suspicious of.

"Do you have any friends?" He asked sitting up and leaning against the chair. She shook her head, no, definitely the brother then.

"He didn't - you wouldn't understand - he thinks -" she fumbled over her words growing more and more agitated by the second. Her hands continued to shake and her breathing became uneven. Bucky kept his cool, he was almost there, he'd almost found what he was looking for.

Sam stood outside the room, watching through the window. He was weary, not knowing what was being said, but she was talking to Bucky and neither had launched at the other yet so that was a positive.

"Explain it to me then. Tell me so I can understand. We're not here to punish you Y/N, we're here to help you." Bucky reached for her hand that fumbled with the blanket, gripping onto it. "Make me understand."

Y/N took a deep breath, her chest hurt, he head hurt. It was two kinds of pain, one was the same as when she woke up, then there was a deeper pain, betrayal and guilt. She knew that she had to do this but she didn’t fully want to.

"He thinks you killed his father, burned our home with his body inside. He’s convinced it was you, created this world in his head that you shot him and set the house on fire because he used to work for Hydra." She looked at Bucky for any indication of emotion. He looked up from their hands, nodding for her to continue. All of this was possible given the time period. It could have been him. "Hes wrong though, he wasn't there, he didn't see dad lying there, gun in hand, bookcase behind him burning. But he is so convinced it was you, that you need to die too. Anything I say is pushed aside and punished." Bucky squeezed her hand while poppy sat there silently crying. It was so nice to tell someone the truth. Bucky was trying to find the best thing to say, never good with comforting people.

"He found me on the street in Munich a year later, Will did. He took me in, told me he was going to protect me. Please don't hurt him, he's sick." Y/N pleaded for Bucky to understand. She wished she didn't have to do this but he was right. She was a victim of her brother's abuse and she wanted out. He was still her brother though. Bucky nodded softly, letting go of Y/N's hand. Every bone in his body wanted to tear this Will's throat out, not only for putting a target on his back but for putting this innocent girl through so much pain.

He stood up, turning to walk out. Sam watched on.

"Please Bucky! He’s weak, he has no powers! Please just don't hurt him! Please he's my brother, he's all I have." Y/N whispered the last sentence. Bucky halted his steps, catching Sam's eye. He wanted to do as she asked, he also wanted her to be safe. No one should have to go through what he did and Y/N was on her way to doing just that. That's why Bucky didn't turn around, he didn't want to promise her anything, especially something he couldn’t keep. He kept walking out of the room, closing the door behind him.

"So? What did she say?" Same spoke just above a whisper, not wanted anyone to hear the two's conversation.

"Its her brother. Thinks I killed his father. I think he's sick, that's what she kept saying. Sounds like mentally and physically. He's hurting her and I'm gonna tear his spine out." Bucky stated matter of factly, as if there was nothing wrong with his last comment. Sam pinched the bridge of his nose.

"No, you won't. We’ll post outside of her apartment. When it's safe, she can go in, with someone, and retrieve her things. Then we get her out of there and wait for her brother. That's when we make the arrest like we should do." Sam moved to walk towards the nurse's station to find out when Y/N would leave. Bucky groaned loudly.

"Fine, but I'm coming."

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Taglist

@no-regrets-just-confusion @rebeccawozwhere

[moiraineswife]

Between The Boundaries Of Control - A Clayleb Fic

back at it with the Sad Caleb fics, this time with our good soft tea-making cow cleric!! first attempt at clayleb so be gentle please! 

Thanks to my Clayleb discord buddies for encouraging the writing and then posting of this, it wouldn’t exist without y’all <3 

Title: Between The Boundaries Of Control 

Summary: Episode 49-50 missing scene. Since Caduceus was a little preoccupied during Caleb’s confession to the party about his past as Bren, and his relationship with Trent Ikithon, Caleb thought it was only fair to sit him down and catch him up on what he missed. 

The drinking of tea, the exorcising of demons, and the discussing of theology transpires as a result. Hurt/Comfort. Angst. Pain. General tws applicable to Trent. There’d be some heavy stuff ahead, beware. Split POV. 

Teaser: For all the mud, and clothes, and bandages he was hidden behind, Caleb had rarely felt as naked as he did standing alone in a room with Caduceus Clay. There had been a time that realisation would have terrified him. Now, faced with someone it was impossible to lie to, he found a different way to be, and breathed for the first time since he’d woken. There was some magic to the firbolg, a quiet, hidden kind, perhaps gifted to him by his goddess. It was the magic of hidden pools in deep, ancient forests, older than the world itself, and seemingly untouched by any until the finder’s eyes alighted upon it. The magic of the tall, swaying Zemnian fields he had played in as a child, the stalks towering above him, surrounding him, swaying above him. They had seemed so giant to such a small boy. In that moment, they had filled the entire world for him. Nothing existed but their smell, the sight of them dancing before him, the soft whispering music they played with the wind, and the blanketing sky that lay heavy above them. Yet he had never been afraid there. He had had every right to have felt fear. But he never had. They were his. They were safe. They were home. Somehow, Caduceus made him feel the same way. 

Link: AO3 

“Mister Clay?”

Caleb had knocked gently on Fjord and Caduceus’ door and pushed it open after hovering there, preparing himself, for several minutes. Given how perceptive the firbolg was, he was fairly certain he knew that, but he was polite enough to give a little start of surprise before turning to face him.

“Hi,” he said, face relaxing into that comfortable smile, his voice its usual slow, calming tone.

He didn’t bother lowering the volume of it, despite the hour, or the fact the rest of the nein were now asleep. Both of them knew that Fjord slept as soundly as the dead of Caduceus’ graveyard. And rather more so than Caleb’s.

Caleb tried to open his mouth, but something seemed to have stolen his voice between being behind the closed door to having opened it. In the dark quiet stillness of the corridor, all inside his head, the words he had planned to say had felt possible. Now, with Caduceus’ almost eerie pale eyes and soft smile on him, with a living person he was supposed to speak those sins to, he wasn’t sure he could do it.

“If you need some time you just go ahead and take it,” Caduceus said softly, seemingly knowing exactly when to fill the silence.

A moment sooner, and Caleb would have felt pressured and clammed up, a moment later, he would have apologised for bothering him and left. Now, he just stood there, stuck, as though the firbolg had used magic to bind him in place.

“It’s alright,” Caduceus continued in that steady, measured voice he had, nodding a little. Strangely, for half a heartbeat, Caleb almost believed him.

Then he cleared his throat, took a breath, and clung to the words he had prepared while standing outside, “If you are not too tired, I would appreciate it if you could join me downstairs. I promise |I will not take up too much of your time.”

“Oh, that’s very thoughtful of you,” Caduceus said, pleasantly, “But you can if you need to, I haven’t got anything more important to do tonight as it happens.”

Everything with Caduceus seemed so...Simple to Caleb. So easy. The firbolg was arguably one of the deepest, and by far the most insightful person he had ever met. But for all that, his thought processes were always so straightforward, his words genuine and direct.

Perhaps that is what you could have been, he thought, had you not fucked up so badly you needed a thousand secrets cloaking you just to justify continuing to breathe.

“You head down now,” Caduceus said, interrupting, probably deliberately, Caleb’s increasingly darkening thoughts. “I’ll join you in a few moments, just need to grab a few essentials first.” He nodded at his teapot and cups which, now Caleb looked, were suspiciously handy, as though he had known this meeting was coming, and had prepared for it.

There was something distinctly disarming about Caduceus. He was so polite, and agreeable, and quietly charming in his own soft, slow way, that it was easy to forget how perceptive he could be. Caleb feared being alone with him, when all the things he had worked so carefully to conceal beneath the mask of dirt and obscurity became an open book before his piercing eyes.

Reading the look on Caleb’s face he gave a half shrug and said, “Just kind of figured this would be the kind of talk it’s best to have over some tea.”

“You are not wrong,” Caleb mumbled, though privately feeling he would like to add some of Nott’s liquor to the tea.

Caduceus was watching him as though he knew that, too, and had considered the wisdom of it and decided against.

For all the mud, and clothes, and bandages he was hidden behind, Caleb had rarely felt as naked as he did standing alone in a room with Caduceus Clay.

There had been a time that realisation would have terrified him.

Now, faced with someone it was impossible to lie to, he found a different way to be, and breathed for the first time since he’d woken.

There was some magic to the firbolg, a quiet, hidden kind, perhaps gifted to him by his goddess. It was the magic of hidden pools in deep, ancient forests, older than the world itself, and seemingly untouched by any until the finder’s eyes alighted upon it.

The magic of the tall, swaying Zemnian fields he had played in as a child, the stalks towering above him, surrounding him, swaying above him. They had seemed so giant to such a small boy. In that moment, they had filled the entire world for him.

Nothing existed but their smell, the sight of them dancing before him, the soft whispering music they played with the wind, and the blanketing sky that lay heavy above them.

Yet he had never been afraid there. He had had every right to have felt fear. But he never had. They were his. They were safe. They were home.

Somehow, Caduceus made him feel the same way.

He held out his hand and accepted the cups Caduceus wordlessly passed to him. They headed downstairs to the now empty common room. For someone so large, Caleb noted, Caduceus moved almost entirely silently, especially out of his armour, stripped down to only loose trousers and shirt.

Glancing down, Caleb saw, instead of the feet he expected, large, soft padded paws, entirely bare, save for the light dusting of fur.

“Aren’t you cold?” Caleb blurted out, unable to banish memories of his frozen fingers and feet on the many nights he’d slept out in the freezing air alone.

Caduceus blinked and followed Caleb’s gaze then smiled slightly, “Can’t say I really notice. I suppose if I were, I’d have put shoes on.”

Caleb couldn’t argue with that, and couldn’t think of any kind of response, so he just turned round and continued walking down the stairs.

The common room was almost completely dark, and Caleb automatically sent a few globules of light into the air before sinking into the deep recesses of a sagging couch and watching Caduceus stoke the fire for their tea.

Sparks burst like constellations of stars tossed casually into the waiting darkness, snuffed out again as quickly as they appeared. They burned so brightly, so beautifully, but in the end, they were meaningless and cold.

Like me.

He watched in silence as Caduceus took his time brewing their tea. The longer he could stall, could allow this good man to believe he was in the company of an equal, the better.

Finally, Caduceus had lifted the pot from the fire, poured the steaming tea into both cups, and handed one to Caleb.

There was nothing to hide behind anymore. Nothing to delay him.

Caduceus sat down beside him and waited patiently, legs crossed, tail curled neatly around him.

“I thought,” Caleb said, forcing each word out as though it was his last before his execution, “That I should also share with you what I told the others earlier today, which I think you missed.”

“I caught bits and pieces,” Caduceus nodded, “But I will admit, I was more focused on keeping us on the road, stopping us being attacked by giant worm creatures. It’s okay, though,” he added, “Seemed like some heavy stuff, you don’t have to go through it all again on my account.”

“I think that I do,” Caleb replied, stiffly, “You have the right to know exactly who, exactly what,” he added, jerkily, “You are travelling with.”

“Oh, I’m pretty comfy with that,” Cad replied agreeably, smiling a little.

“You might not be if you knew what I had done,” he said, voice brittle.

Of all the ways he had expected this conversation to go, Caduceus fighting with him about hearing it in the first place hadn’t factored into any of his preparations.

“I don’t know if that’s really that important,” Caduceus said, mildly, a slight frown creasing his soft, broad face, “I know what you do, that’s enough for me to understand you as a fundamentally good person.”

“The world is larger than your graveyard,” Caleb snapped, “It will not coddle you forever, let you believe the best in people because you did not want to probe beneath their surface and get to know them. It will punish you for that, and soon.”

He didn’t know where this was coming from, but it was bubbling out of him in the face of Caduceus’ calm idealism as surely as oil would draw a spark to burn.

“The world is filled with dark, and horrible things,” he told him, “You are looking at one of them now. It’s time you learned to see them.”

Caduceus cocked his head slightly to one side, his ears flicking, as though bothered by a fly, and considered Caleb. He considered him for so long in patient silence that Caleb felt shame and regret for his words creeping into him, sending a red flush from his neck into his cheeks.

He cursed softly in Zemnian, then apologised.

“It’s alright,” Caduceus said, comfortably.

Caleb wondered, fleetingly, what it would take to rouse any kind of anger in the mild-mannered firbolg. He doubted any of them could ever say anything to push him away.

“You say what you need to say, Mister Caleb,” Caduceus said placidly.

Caleb took a shaky breath, lacing his fingers together in his lap and stared into the still flickering fire. Even after all the damage he had done with it, he still found a fascinating beauty in the endless, undulating shapes.

And it felt so much easier to cast the darker spots of his soul into the ravaging heat than Caduceus’ ghostly eyes.

“You know me as Caleb Widogast, but before, when the world had big plans for me to be something, to do something important,” he took a deep, trembling breath, then said, “My name was Bren Aldric Ermendrud.”

***

Caduceus nodded evenly, his ears flicking.

Finally, when it became clear that Caleb expected some sort of response, he said, “D’you want me to call you Bren, or is Caleb still good?”

“I- Caleb, Caleb is fine, for now.”

He was squinting almost suspiciously at Caduceus, as though he felt he was lulling him into a false sense of security. He couldn’t think what purpose he’d have for that, but people thought strange things sometimes.

Caduceus maintained his polite silence, peering pleasantly at Caleb as he did so. He’d found, often, that silence often brought more answers than nettling. He didn’t think Caleb’s restraint would last long in his present state.

After a few more tense, pregnant seconds, Caleb burst out, “Don’t you have questions?”

“Not really,” Caduceus shrugged mildly.

He was sure there was a reason, probably a very good one, now called himself Caleb, but it didn’t much matter to him at the moment.

Caleb stared at him as though he’d just grown an extra head. He checked, just to be sure, then said, “Should I?”

Caleb watched him for a long moment, apparently trying to decide if he was mocking him. He wasn’t.

Caleb seemed to come to that conclusion, too, because he said at last, “You are a very strange man, Caduceus Clay.”

Caduceus smiled pleasantly at that. “Oh, I think we’re all strange in our own way. You see that a lot, where I’m from.”

“A graveyard?” Caleb said, his face scrunching up in that way it did when he was confused, his words lightly touched with scepticism.

“Sure,” Caduceus replied easily, “Death has a way of making people vulnerable.”

“In my experience, it simply makes them dead,” Caleb muttered drily under his breath.

“That too,” Caduceus agreed, seriously, “But the people they leave behind,” Caleb twitched uncomfortably, but didn’t speak. Caduceus shifted into a more comfortable position, letting Caleb gather himself without eyes on him for a moment, then he said, “Grief makes everyone look different on the outside, but I think it affects everyone just the same. There’s no magic, or potion, or spell that will make a person half as honest or genuine as true grief.”

“I...Am not sure where you are going with all of this,” Caleb said, slowly.

Caduceus smiled again, “You’re blunt. I like that,” he informed him, nodding. “A person’s soul is seen most clearly when they’re in pain,” he said, quietly.

No doubt, that was why he’d always been able to see right through Caleb, regardless of how hard he tried to hide himself. Caleb seemed to sense the truth of that himself, because he caught Caduceus’ eyes then looked away again.

“Some of them try to hide it,” he went on, “They put up walls, and masks, and all sorts, but you can always see, can always tell who they are underneath it all. Whatever they try to hide can sometimes tell you more about them than the thing they’ve hidden.”

Caleb shivered slightly, and Frumpkin appeared, trotting around the edge of his chair, winding his way comfortingly around Caleb’s legs.

Caduceus looked right at him, then said quietly, “You’ve suffered your own grief, your own pain. I can see that. The world can see that. You can hide exactly what it is but...Everyone knows all the same.”

Caleb swallowed, shifting uncomfortably. A moment later, Frumpkin leapt lightly onto his lap, and Caleb buried his hands in his thick fur, seeking the reassurance of his familiar.

“Caleb Widogast is just the mask you made to protect yourself from the world, and the world from you. But it’s still you. It’s not my place to judge you for that, or to know exactly why Caleb came to be in the first place.”

Caleb blinked at him, a faint crease between his eyes, as though he had never thought of this before.

“I met a wizard called Caleb one day. Since then, he’s been kind to me, and he’s tried to do good. I think after everything I’ve seen, all the people I’ve met, I think I’m a pretty good judge of character. I trust my gut, and I trust you, Caleb. I don’t need to know anymore than that to think you’re a good person.”

They were quiet for a long time, Caduceus smiling pleasantly, Caleb gazing down at his tea, Frumpkin kneading his coat, processing.

“Most people want to know,” Caleb said, finally. “Everyone you meet, everyone you ever will, and all those you never do, they al have a story. Parts of mine are written on me. On my skin,” his fingers brushed unconsciously over the bandaging on his arms, “On my face. In my eyes.”

Caduceus nodded gently. It was rare that a person who hid themselves as completely as Caleb, and weren’t aware of what showed through the cracks in their mask.

“When you give a person half a story, natural curiosity leads them to want to know the rest.”

Caduceus smiled rather sadly at that. “My life has been filled with sad, unfinished stories from the day I was born. Every body in our graveyard was once a person with memories, and dreams, and mistakes, and stories I can never know. They might have been good people, or bad people, or more likely somewhere in between. They might have been rich, they might have been beggars. I’ll never know. None of that matters. We look after them all just the same, and the earth they’re laid in does likewise.”

Caleb was watching him with a quiet thoughtfulness, soaking in his words the way he would sit and focus on his books and drink in their words.

“People come to us every day, to bury, or grieve, or just remember. They come with their souls bared, and carry the darkest parts of their stories in their eyes. I can’t know them all. I can’t carry all their stories, and all their sadness. I’d have gone mad a long time ago if I’d even tried.”

Caleb nodded vaguely, “I understand,” he muttered, more to himself than to Caduceus.

That was okay.

When he prepared to rise from his chair, however, Caduceus went on, stalling him.

“There are some people, though, with stories that they show because they’re tearing them apart from the inside. Some people need to talk, need to tell, and share their burdens because they can’t carry them alone anymore.”

He met Caleb’s flickering gaze with his own steady one. Then he pushed the cup towards him and said, simply, “That’s what the tea is for.”

Caleb stared at him for a long time before a hoarse laugh huffed from him. It was quickly stifled, but left behind a faint half-smile.

He peered into his tea again, then asked with a twist of ironic humour, “Do you ever serve relatives tea made from their families?”

“Sure,” Caduceus said comfortably, smiling a little at the start of surprise in Caleb, who had obviously expected him to say no. “That’s their right. It usually seems appropriate,” he trailed off, considering, then added in a low mumble, “Not always appropriate to tell them that, though.”

“Who am I drinking?” Caleb asked with an open, genuine curiosity that was slightly marred by a grimace a moment later as he seemed to hear exactly what he’d just said.

“Mm,” Caduceus said, considering, having a sip and sucking in the right flavour. He had picked by smell, what had felt right when Caleb had knocked on his door. “This is Briarwood tea, if I’m not much mistaken,” he said, taking another drink. “Old family,” he mumbled, nodding slowly, “Not had any new ones for a while.”

“They make good tea,” Caleb observed lightly.

“They sure do,” Caduceus agreed with another slow smile. “Horrible people though, so I’ve heard.”

Once again, they sat together in companionable silence, sipping their tea.

Caduceus broke it by nudging, gently, “So, uh, what plans did the world have for Bren?”

Caleb stiffened, fingers flexing instinctively, as though he had to hold on to the chair to keep himself in it. He took another shaky sip of tea, then said, “There is an elite school of magic known as the Soltryce Academy in Rexxentrum. I was educated there as a young man.”

Caduceus nodded encouragingly to show he was listening, but didn’t speak. He had seen the blank, wide-eyed look on Caleb’s face before. It was the look of someone who was both here and a thousand miles and several decades away at the same time.

Any interruption would clam him up and cause damage that would be very difficult to fix. This kind of thing was like purging a poison. The important thing was to get it out before it killed him.

That was why Caduceus was here, to help guide it out.

***

“I had only been at the Academy for a few months when an older mage, a teacher, and member of the Cerberus Assembly named Trent Ikithon took an interest in me.”

Caleb tensed instinctively, and for a moment he froze and closed his eyes. Then he regretted it, and snapped them open. But not quickly enough to avoid the bursting image of the face he thought would haunt him long after Caduceus’ earth had turned his body to fungus.

“He was...Charming,” he said, breathless, “Always, very charming,” he said, his words starting to slip just a little, coming faster than he’d intended.

He’d always thought he had good self-control, that Trent had trained him better than this. Lies. All of that was lies. Everything he had ever seen in himself, everything anyone had ever seen, it had all been a lie.

“He was a very talented mage, a master of his craft. I was a nothing,” he gave a little twitchy shrug, shaking his head. “One step above a beggar, from a nothing town. I was young. I had stood out among my peers, he said. I thought then that I was invincible, and fabulously intelligent, and that the world was mine for the taking.” He trailed off, sinking into a pit of self-disgust.

He coughed a little clearing his throat and continuing as though he could be calm when talking about this, “His interest in me was flattering. The idea that someone like him could be interested in someone like me...” He shook his head.

He had chosen him well. At that age, he had had just enough innate talent and confidence in himself to believe he could be special, while still needing the validation and encouragement Trent provided.

And ambition. Yes. He’d had just enough ambition to see the opportunity to be better, better than where he had come from. As if he could ever be better than the best people he had ever known.

He had been stupid. Stupid, and greedy, and weak.

Caleb jumped slightly as Caduceus patted his arm with a huge but gentle hand, “Drink your tea before it gets cold,” he said softly, and Caleb realised he had gotten lost in the twisted mess that was his mind again.

He did as Caduceus suggested and took another sip of tea. It warmed him, and soothed him at once.

“Anyway,” he muttered, determined to finish what he’d started now. “He called me in to meet him privately. He asked me many questions and he, he seemed genuinely curious, genuinely interested in me, and proud of what I had learned and achieved.”

He had always been proud. Even when he had failed, let him down. Sometimes he would be angry, and rightly so, given how badly he’d fucked up. But once his anger, and the punishments it had made him give out, passed he had always told Caleb that he was proud of him, and that he just had to try a little harder next time.

He had always promised that he would.

“Eventually,” Caleb said, drawing in a rough, rattling breath with difficulty, “He took me, and two others, into his own private classes. He trained us and he, he experimented on us,” he shivered at the memories.

The pains still woke him in the night. The screams...

“Experimented?” Caduceus prompted him gently.

He realised he’d been staring into the fire, reliving the sessions, for how long, he didn’t know.

Clearing his throat, he said, “He, ah, put crystals into our skin. Like this,” he gently tapped the large pink crystal at the top of Caduceus’ staff.

“Into you?”Caduceus repeated, brow furrowing.

“Ja,” Caleb said, a little hoarsely.

Unable to find the words, again, he unwrapped one of his bandages to show Caduceus. The firbolg stared at him with sad eyes, reached out, then stopped himself.

“May I?”

Caleb nodded wordlessly.

Caduceus gently brushed his fingers over the pale scars, bumping over some of the more pronounced ones. Most of them were nearly invisible, he doubted that anyone who didn’t know to look for them would notice them. But he knew. And he could never not stare at them, feel them, and the memories that connected to them when they were uncovered.

“I’m sorry this happened to you, Caleb,” Caduceus said, solemnly.

Caleb opened his mouth to protest, but the big firbolg continued, “If you want I could, uh, try and do something about these,” he said, blinking with concern, “I’m not sure if any of my magic could help, but a cream, an oil, or-“

“No,” Caleb said, too quickly. “No,” he repeated, more calmly this time. His fingers ghosted absently over one of the exposed scars as he spoke. “I- Thank you, Caduceus, it is a kind offer but no that, that is not necessary.”

If the scars were removed he would feel too...Too clean, too perfect. It would be unreal and, strangely, would feel the same as destroying an ancient and unique historical text. The marks were painful, and he did not want to look at them, or have others look at them. But they were a part of him. An ugly, broken part, but a part all the same. He would feel wrong without them.

Caduceus made him jump as he reached over and patted Caleb gently on the shoulder, nearly causing him to pour his tea all over himself.

“He was a monster, you know,” he said, solemnly.

“There are a lot of monsters in this world,” he said seriously, “And the real ones are never what we warn our children about.” Caleb shook his head jerkily and said, feeling suddenly a little breathless, “He was not a monster, not truly. He was just a man, a man in the middle of a war with, with a lot of responsibilities. He had to make difficult decisions for the good of the empire and...And he did.”

He could sense Caduceus looking at him and deliberately stared into the fire to avoid his gaze, swallowing hard. He did not want to see the disgust or pity he would find there. He did not deserve it.

“He hurt you,” Caduceus said, carefully, “maybe he had a duty to protect Wildemount, but he had a duty to protect you, too, surely, as your mentor. And he hurt you instead. That was wrong.”

Caleb let out an involuntary snort of humourless laughter, “Me?” he said. “What was I to him? I was a nothing, an o-one, a stupid peasant boy with dreams too big for his station. I did not matter compared to a continent, a war. What was I to an empire?”

“A person,” Caduceus said, with that simple, blunt honesty of his. “You were a person.”

Caleb scoffed again at that and muttered under his breath, “Not a very good one.”

“You didn’t deserve that,” he said quietly, “No-one deserves that,” he said, glancing towards Caleb’s arms again. He shook his big head sadly, ears drooping, his voice low and heavy.

“I agreed to it, you know,” Caleb said, suddenly, inexplicably defensive, “I needed to be stronger. He needed me to be stronger. He needed me, and I, I said yes.”

Take them out! Take them out!

He had screamed that, had begged him over and over and over again. But of course, he had not taken them out. Not in the middle of it all.

He had held him, though, afterwards. He had held him, and stroked his hair, the way his mother used to do. He had told him how well he’d done, what a good boy he had been, how proud he was of him.

Just like that, all of the pain had been worth it.

Now, in the flickering semi-darkness of the inn’s common room, the memory made him feel slightly sick.

“It didn’t pan out you know, at the Academy,” he said mechanically, feeling some kind of compulsion to just keep talking, to not let the silence close in on him now, as it so often had, knowing what would come from it. “Things...Happened,” he muttered, evasively, and Caduceus just nodded, apparently not even considering pushing him. “And I went a little crazy for a while there. Then I met Nott, then the rest of them, and then you.”

Caduceus was quiet for so long, periodically sipping his tea that, had it not been for that, Caleb might have thought he had fallen asleep. Yet his eyes remained open, looking down into his tea.

At last, he said, slowly, “What now, then? I mean,” he added, seeing the sight frown of confusion on Caleb’s face, “With Trent, and the Academy, and everything. Do you want revenge, or-“

Caleb shook his head violently at that, his hands flexing convulsively again.

“I,” he rasped, hoarsely, “I do not ever want to see that man again as long as I live,” he whispered fervently.

He remembered only too well the sheer, blinding terror that had possessed him when he had realised he was there at the Victory Pit in Zadash. He never wanted to feel that again, that frozen, paralysing fear. All he wanted was to be invisible. To get more powerful, quietly. To put right the terrible things he had done and then...Then finally get what he deserved.

“Because you’re afraid of what you might do?” Caduceus prompted gently.

“No,” Caleb replied. He was staring into the fire once more, allowing the hypnotic power of the flames to draw him in. Almost trance-like, he said, “Because I know exactly what I will do if I ever come face to face with that man again.”

He could see it. He could picture it so clearly he swore he could almost feel it. As though it was a memory, not a fantasy.

He drew in a deep, shuddering breath and said, voice wavering between the boundaries of his control, “I would get down on my knees in the dirt in front of him. And I would look up at him, and beg for his forgiveness, and promise to do better for him in the future.”

His voice broke. He closed his eyes and buried his fingers into Frumpkin’s thick, soft fur.

He was shaking so violently he felt as he had on the streets that winter, shivering and freezing, on the verge of death. But he would sooner go back to that than the Academy. To Trent. He couldn’t go back there. He had failed. He had fucked it all up. He was weak, and he was stupid, and scared, and pathetic.

He could not go back.

They would kill him, and he couldn’t die until he had fixed what he’d done, he’d decided that.

With a start, he looked up at Caduceus whom he’d almost forgotten was there as he said, “Huh.”

“What?” Caleb snapped, a little more sharply than he’d intended because of how much he’d managed to work himself up, and because Caduceus’ final reaction seemed so inadequate in terms of everything else that he had confessed to him.

“I think I’m finally starting to understand why the Wildmother sent me to you.”

Caleb stared blankly at him before managing to get out, jerkily, “I don’t understand.”

“Well,” Caduceus began, politely, “You’re maybe going to wind up in a bad situation down the road, one that could lead you into making some very bad decisions, and I figure, with the way things are going, I’ll be there to help stop that from happening.”

He said all of this so simply, as though it was as plain and obvious as adding two and two and coming out with four.

Caleb stared incredulously at him, sure he had misunderstood, despite Caduceus’ very clear explanation.

“You believe,” he said, trying, and largely failing, to keep any hint of sarcasm from his voice. “That your goddess thinks so little of you that she sent you out with a bunch of arseholes like us because your destiny is to protect me from getting exactly what I deserve?”

“Sure,” Caduceus said, nodding comfortably.

If he had been anyone else, Caleb would have been sure he was mocking him, but he couldn’t bring himself to really believe that Caduceus had it in him to even consider that, especially in a situation like this.

“Destiny is a funny thing, at least the way I think of it,” he explained evenly. “It’s not so much a singular goal that your entire life is driven towards. I figure it’s more a kind of path you’re supposed to go down. Sometimes we get a little lost, and that’s when the Wildmother just gives me just a little nudge in the right direction.” He smiled placidly at Caleb, gave a little half-shrug and added, “On this path she’s put me down, I’ll be there when you have that moment of confrontation and I’ll be able to protect you from yourself. And him.”

There was a long, heavy silence, in which Caleb stared into Caduceus’ pale, guileless eyes, and tried, almost desperately, to wring some kind of lie or judgement from them. When he couldn’t, he crumbled.

“Why?” he said, hoarsely, “Why would you want to do that? Protect me of all people when there are others out there much more deserving of your time and help?”

“It’s not always a case of want, you know,” Caduceus replied, frowning a little as though he hadn’t really ever stopped to consider what he wanted when it came to his goddess. ��I trust the Wildmother, for myself, and for all the things that are much bigger than me. I follow where she leads.”

“Wherever she leads?” Caleb pressed him, pointedly. “What if she led you to do something terrible that was entirely against your own moral beliefs?”

He expected Caduceus to argue that the Wildmother would never ask anything like that of him, and that was why he trusted her so completely. But the big firbolg just smiled gently and said, “I guess that’s why it’s faith.”

Caleb didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing.

“And secondly, not a lot of people get what they deserve in my experience. I’ve buried good people before, young people, even children, and I’ve heard that bad people, sometimes the ones that put them there, live long, full, happy lives. I’m not a very smart person,”

Caleb opened his mouth automatically to protest, but Caduceus didn’t seem particularly bothered by it. It was merely a simple statement, like most everything else.

“I don’t really know, but I don’t think life is about getting what we deserve, good or bad.” He frowned slightly, then added, as an afterthought, “Not too sure what it is about, but I don’t think it’s that.”  

Caleb sat in stunned silence for a moment, then he said quietly, “How can you have faith in your goddess when she allows you to live in a world like that?” he said, voice brittle. “If she was worth following and believing in, wouldn’t she try to fix that injustice? To bring some more order to the world?”

Caduceus didn’t seem in the least offended by these brusque comments. On the contrary, he chuckled in a low, bass rumble.

“Oh, no, that’s not really what she does. She’s more concerned with nature, and keeping that right. Things live, and then they die. Big things eat little things so they can survive. Seasons come, and go. And there’s a little chaos in there, too, because you can never really control nature. That’s why it’s there. Keeps us all humble. Whether you’re a god, or a beetle, you can’t stop the rain from falling, or the winds from blowing. And the earth will outlast you. Best you can do is try and make sure that it remembers you fondly once you’re gone.”

Caleb studied him a long time before saying quietly, “I think you are wrong about one thing, my friend. I think you are a very smart person.”

“Oh,” Caduceus’ big face split suddenly in a wide smile. “Well thank you, that’s very kind of you to say that.”

“I do not think your earth will remember me kindly,” Caleb muttered without thinking, gazing into the depths of his tea. “I don’t really think anything will.”

“I would,” Caduceus replied, so simply it was impossible for the words to be anything but sincere. “I think a lot of people would. One of the saddest things about dying is that, a lot of the time, people don’t realise the impact they have until they’re gone. And then they’re not around to realise it anymore.”

“I can assure you,” Caleb said, voice shaking despite his best efforts to keep it steady, “I have not had any kind of impact on anything that will be missed.”

“If you think about it, I think you know that’s not true,” he said quietly.

Caduceus fixed him with that eerie, ghostly pale gaze that made Caleb feel as though he was peering beyond skin, and flesh, and bone, into the very soul of him. What little he had left.

He squirmed uncomfortably.

“Perhaps if I were to drop dead this very moment-“

“I mean, I wouldn’t let that happen. I’m pretty good about that. But go on.”

“Perhaps I would be truly missed by this little group of ours,” he grimaced and took a deep breath. “But that is because none of you have been with me long enough to realise I will hurt you all in the end. I am a poison that eats away at you, and by the time you realise that, it is too late.”

“Well, that’s an unpleasant idea, certainly,” Caduceus muttered, shaking his head slightly, with water trapped in its ears. “But you don’t get to decide the effect you have on people. And you might be smart, much smarter than me, but you aren’t always the smartest person in the room, and you’re not always right. ‘Specially about things like this.”

“Well, we will see,” Caleb muttered darkly, now staring at his hands.

“We will,” Caduceus agreed.

He patted Caleb gently on the shoulder, “You can’t see the truth of what happened before right now, and that’s okay. But someday, hopefully someday soon, you’ll be ready, and you will. It’ll hurt you. It’ll come close to ruining you. If you survive it, you won’t be the same person anymore. But you’ll be able to start moving on, and letting scars form where you don’t even see wounds yet, ‘cause they’re ones you have to make yourself to get this out of you. But you will.”

He smiled and got to his feet unexpectedly.

“I’ve got a good feeling about you, Caleb Widogast. Yeah. A good feeling.”

He turned and began to amble back towards the stairs.

“You speak as though you have some experience with this,” Caleb said, needing to say something instead of facing what Caduceus had just laid bare before him, and fell back on deflecting it back towards him.

“Yeah. I do know some things,” Caduceus replied with a strange, agreeable vagueness that was so unique to him. “And I’ll be there for you when this all hits you. And I think the rest of them, they’ll be there too, even if you don’t want them. Maybe especially if you don’t want them,” he added, after a short pause, “Because that means you need them.”

Nodding to himself, he continued to pad up the stairs, humming gently to himself, leaving Caleb alone by the fire in the empty common room, absently petting the quietly purring Frumpkin.

He watched the fire until it burned down to embers and finally to ash, leaving the room in darkness.

If Caduceus knew what he had done, he might feel less comfortable in helping him. Maybe that was all Caleb would be to him, in the end, a test of faith. A task so repulsive it made him question his Wildmother.

Yet, somehow, he couldn’t banish the thought that perhaps Caduceus could be right. Perhaps there was something more to the two of them being on this path together. After everything that had happened, he didn’t believe in fate or destiny. He didn’t believe in anything.

But, he thought as he slowly climbed the stairs following the ghosts of Caduceus’ footsteps, if he ever was to believe anyone, or anything again, he could do a lot worse than Caduceus Clay.

***

[plagueamon]

Code Geass MBTI Challenge Turn 6: Rolo Lamperouge - ISTP

While he is commonly seen as a controversial character, Rolo Lamperouge has always been one of my personal favourites in the show because of the amount of development he makes as a person (much like Jeremiah) in the relatively short screen time given to him and the kind of life he was forced to lead. And while he still remains unhealthy in the end, I still think that his character arc is very interesting to explore and that it provides a fresh perspective on the otherwise heavily-stereotyped-to-be-a-craftsman ISTP type. Before I start explaining this character’s functions, please keep in mind, that this post will contain heavy Code Geass spoilers, so consider yourself warned. With that out of the way, let us analyse why Rolo Lamperouge is an ISTP.

Dominant Introverted Thinking/Ti

Considering that we just finished analysing Nina, this would be a good opportunity to compare the thinking mechanisms of INTP and ISTP, as both use Ti as their dominant, yet in slightly different ways due to their auxiliary and tertiary function influencing them. We can see that, much like with Nina, Rolo’s logic is very situational and based on experience: having been trained as an assassin and an assassin only since early childhood, he is an expert in his field of work and almost nothing else. He does not comprehend the aspects of life that have little to do with whatever his Ti is currently involved in. This is a bit of an extreme example of how dominant Ti works, but it’s also good at highlighting the kind of specialist mindset that comes with this function and how far it can go for underdeveloped Ti-doms.

We see that Rolo has a strong focus on whatever his current mission may be, approaching each assignment on a case-by-case basis - he basically adapts to the “logic” needed for every job he has to carry out without really relying on previously established logical systems, like a Te-dom would. The most noticeable example of this is how well he manages to play the part of Lelouch’s brother despite never having a family of his own and hence any experience at naturally acting as someone’s family member.

At the same time Rolo bases his judgements on personal experience and is most comfortable with sticking to the methods he’s more skilled in. Because he is a rather underdeveloped ISTP however, this often leads to him making harmful decisions, as his basic response to any potential threat is to murder it as quickly as possible, especially later on in the series when his motivation becomes the protection of his new brother. It is also important to note that Rolo only really starts to develop once his Ti is used in a way that is meaningful to him, which is exactly why it was so easy for him to defect to Lelouch’s side: using dominant Ti in favour of one’s passions or interests is key to using it healthily.

Auxiliary Extroverted Sensing/Se

Rolo is a very practically-minded person and deals only in what he considers to be observable or factually proven, showing early on that he doesn’t like to leave things up to chance, which is why he always tries to finish his missions as quickly and efficiently as possible, as seen by his reluctance to let Lelouch live after cornering him. Even with the possibility of Lelouch drawing out C.C. letting him go seems like too much of a gamble for him and it takes a lot of convincing on Lelouch’s part before Rolo decides to take his bait.

Rolo’s Se also contributes to how he treats his missions, preferring to be personally involved in all important matters (instead of relying on others) and to primarily focus on short-term concerns, making him good at improvising in unexpected situations (this kind of skill does not necessarily apply to all high Se users, however it can occur due to Se’s nature as a function with a focus on the present).

However, while Rolo uses his auxiliary function to aid him practically, he has not developed it in a way that would support his personal growth (the development of the auxiliary function is key to the maturity of a person of any type). Perhaps mostly due to his “upbringing” as an assassin he does not use it to see what kind of activities/sensory involvement he actually enjoys doing or finds meaning in, instead only applying it in a very limited way to accomplish goals, which he has no stake in, even considering his own life to be expendable and claiming that it does not need to contain any meaning. Only after he joins Lelouch does Rolo actually understand that protecting his brother is what gives his life purpose (a concept that is still flawed due to how unhealthy he is, but still better than what he started with), which fills him with motivation and loyalty and even allows him to die a happy, albeit delusional, death.

Tertiary Introverted Intuition/Ni

Throughout all of Code Geass Rolo can be seen having an unhealthy relationship with his tertiary Ni (although the views supporting that relationship and even its very nature change dramatically), which again can mostly be traced back to the kind of brainwashing he was probably subjected to as a child by the Geass Order. Ni is a function that deals with ideological organisation (as in organisation of ideas and not necessarily ideologies), introspection and meaning. The latter is especially important in Rolo’s case, as for most of his life he had been convinced that it doesn’t have any worth and doesn’t need to have any meaning. He believes that he can simply exist by blindly following orders without once asking himself why he does what he does, even comparing his assassination jobs to “brushing his teeth”. At that point he is effectively ignoring his Ni.

Lelouch, however, forces Rolo to confront his tertiary function, by promising him the purpose that he never knew he needed. When Lelouch “sacrifices” himself to save Rolo’s life, the boy doesn’t have a choice but to question where he belongs and whether he should start thinking for himself. We can actually see him panicking, because the simple life he was used to has essentially been exposed as a lie that is falling apart in front of his eyes, which leaves a permanent change in his personality.

But this kind of sudden burst of introspection soon backfires, as Rolo switches from underusing his Ni to overusing it (looping). Given that a tertiary function performs worse than, say, a dominant or auxiliary would, this kind of thinking leaves Rolo with a very simplified picture: his purpose in life now is being Lelouch’s little brother and he is willing to sacrifice anything to fulfil it, leading to several tragic mistake on his part (more about that below). Rolo’s transformation is a very good example of how easily ignoring your tertiary function can eventually result in looping and other kinds of unhealthy thinking.

Inferior Extroverted Feeling/Fe

Having been raised by the Geass Order, Rolo never had a family, and hence any kind of social values or needs in him have been repressed very early on in order to effectively create a perfect killing machine. However, Rolo is still a human, and this kind of severe social deprivation has neither left his mind in good health, nor has it erased his actual need for any kind of social interaction.

Before his change we see that Rolo heavily avoids any actions that would lead him to cooperate with others, sacrificing the people he works with for the good of the mission without thinking twice about it. He rationalises these kinds of actions as being the most efficient and reliable way to complete a task, but in actuality this gives away a hidden insecurity - Rolo simply does not know how to deal with other people or even try to convince them of anything and the possibility of doing so elicits fear in him. 

Because the inferior function is the one people have the least control over, having inferior Fe means that the user has low awareness and/or control over their social needs and that they may run into problems when dealing with societal norms and ethics (that’s not to say that Ti-doms are amoral, but a universal moral system can be difficult for them to deal with). Rolo checks all of these boxes, first convincing himself about not needing any kind of social aspect in his life and later, when he’s offered the opportunity to actually be part of a family, entering a Fe-grip and serving this new family unconditionally without understanding that his thinking is unhealthy for him. Even when he feels happy and is serving Lelouch, he’s constantly suspicious and afraid of losing his brother, which causes him to overreact on several occasions, causing the death of Shirley and almost killing Lelouch’s actual sister.

While he ends up dying with a smile on his face, Rolo was ultimately unhealthy for his entire life, following people who only looked to use him as a tool in their plans and never letting him grow as a person (both the Geass Order and Lelouch end up suffering for these decisions). In terms of MBTI his story is one that shows the importance of not neglecting one’s lower functions, as doing so will likely result in overindulging in them later.

However, please keep in mind that this is only my opinion on the matter and I will welcome any criticisms or alternative opinions to discuss them. If this article was interesting for you, stay prepared for next time, when I shall discuss the MBTI type of Kallen Kōzuki.

[wroughtbetwixtfanfic]

Stamped Into Memory, Ch 1.

Fandom: The Society.

Summary: One night is all it takes to throw Campbell's carefully maintained control into chaos. Caught in a downward spiral and once again public enemy #1, he struggles to keep those around him safe-- from a killer on the loose, and from himself.

Rating: Mature.

Tags: Major Character Death, Canon Divergence, Mental Health Issues, Family Issues, Substance Abuse, Slow Burn, Dubcon Kissing, Romantic Friendship, Mild Sexual Content, Hurt/Comfort, Unhealthy Relationships, Canonical Character Death, Fix-It, implied animal death, the dog lives, Antisocial Personality Disorder, ASPD, Campbell has mild ASPD and is actively trying to not be awful

Word Count: 5436

Part Two, Ch 1 || Ch 2 || AO3

Disclaimer: This is part three of a series. Reading the first two parts is more-or-less essential.

This is a canon divergent storyline for Campbell, using (in my experience) a realistic take on conduct disorder and ASPD instead of Hollywood "psychopath" stereotypes. While people with conduct disorder can be violent and abusive, the diagnosis exists on a spectrum, and neither ASPD nor "psychopathy" should be diagnosed before the age of 18; this is one thing that rubbed me the wrong way on The Society. Campbell's power will be more in his ability to manipulate-- not "being crazy". Hopefully I can succeed in presenting a more understandable and less sensationalized vision of his behavior. Please note that while I present his relationships as unhealthy and his behavior as questionable, I don't intend to make him a violent abuser, to bring his character more in line with my experiences of how an emotionally neglected teen with moderately reduced empathy would behave, provided they were trying to be better (and seeking outside help).

AO3 updates will be on Sunday, unless otherwise noted! The entire part-- all five chapters--have already been posted to my Patreon. Thank you for reading, and leaving kudos/comments. They matter so much to me. <3

///

When a gun goes off, there are only two moments-- before, and after. Shootings were something Campbell, and others his age, had grown up with. It was an ever-present specter, where you held your breath every day you went to school and didn't let it out until you were home again. Slammed doors, dropped books, even the pop of a can of soda, caused people to flinch. But they all knew what a gunshot sounded like. They had seen the videos. They had been through the drills. They knew, if something like that ever happened in West Ham, nothing would be the same again. He knew, at 12:35, that something had changed. He knew that before he even turned the corner. Someone had a gun, and they had used it. The barking had stopped. The street was silent, empty, as Campbell turned the corner. Empty, except for Cassandra laying on the ground.

Campbell rushed over, kneeling beside her. Was she breathing? He couldn't tell, but there was blood pooling around her, and her eyes weren't opening. "Cassandra, come on," he pleaded, searching for her pulse. "Don't you fucking dare, Cassie, don't you dare." Nothing. She was dead. His throat squeezed shut. Campbell fumbled with his phone, but the blood on his hands made it impossible to grip properly. Gordie, or Allie. He had to call someone, anyone. But then he stopped, chaotic impulse shifting into cold logic. Campbell was the only one in town who had openly used a gun. His friendship with Cassandra was, aside from a few people, not widely known. Worse, Campbell had held Cassandra at gunpoint before. If anyone saw him there, he was fucked. He had to get the hell out of there before someone else came to investigate the noise. It felt wrong to walk away, but he forced his feet to keep going. There was nothing he could do. Nothing he did would bring her back. It was a finality, and she would be just as gone no matter what. Campbell wasn't sure how he got home. It was a blur, and for a moment he'd hoped it had all been some sort of weird hallucination, but then he got inside the house and turned on the lights. His hands were still covered in blood. He stared at the sticky, copper-scented mess. She was gone. Cassandra was really gone. "Campbell?" He looked up, staring at Elle as she came down the stairs in a bathrobe. She stopped halfway, her gaze locking onto his hands. Campbell tried to speak, but nothing came out. He couldn't move. He couldn't breath. All he could smell was blood, and see Cassandra's eyes staring lifelessly, and he felt like he was going to throw up. Oh, god, Cassandra. Witty, ruthless Cassandra, who had been at his side when no one else had been and had promised to always be there, and-- "She's dead," Campbell said. His voice was flat, distant, strange in his own ears. He waited for some sort of sorrow. Tears. Something. But there was nothing except the truth of it, clinical and straightforward. "The damn dog was out there barking and I went to look for them, and there was a gunshot and Cassandra's dead." Elle came down the stairs and moved towards him. "Dead? You're sure?" "I..." He gestured with his gory hands. "She didn't have a pulse." "Okay. Okay, breathe. Come on, come with me." He hadn't realized he'd been hyperventilating. Campbell forced himself to take a long, slow breath and follow Elle to the bathroom. She helped him out of his clothes, and got him into the shower. He scrubbed until his skin was red and raw; it still didn't feel like enough, but the blood was gone. When he got out, Elle was waiting with clean clothes. His phone and old clothes were gone. Campbell didn't ask questions, and got dressed. Elle was in the living room by the time he was finished, wrapping his clothes in plastic bags. "We can burn these later," she said quietly as he sat down on the sofa next to her. His phone was on the coffee table, completely wiped down. "In a few days, when it's less suspicious." "I didn't do it, Elle. You have to believe me." "I believe you, but we both know how it'll go if the rest of the town thinks you did it." Well, he could appreciate the matter-of-fact logic there. Campbell sat down and stared at his hands. He couldn't feel anything. It almost felt like his mind was racing, but not with thoughts or emotions. Just static. White noise. Like a broken down robot. Still, his heart was beating so fast, and Campbell felt like it was hard to swallow. He was shaking. It was summer, warm, but it felt like someone had drenched him in ice water. What was this? What was happening? It didn't make sense. None of it. How was this happening? How could Cassandra be dead? When she was done, Elle hid the clothes somewhere in the house, bringing a blanket back with her; they curled up on the sofa together, with Campbell tucked into Elle's lap. She stroked his hair until he fell asleep, the weird twisted and rushing feeling in his body guttering into a deep, terrible ache in his muscles. Rest was impossible. He kept startling awake, and even when he managed to drift off, his dreams were filled with Cassandra staring at him, soaked in blood and flipping a coin. The phone rang at 5am. Bean was on the other end, crying so hard Campbell could barely make out what she was saying. "Allie wants family to come to the hospital," she choked. "There's been an accident." It only took ten minutes to drive to the hospital. Campbell parked by the entrance, but when he went to get out, he just... couldn't. Elle sat in the passenger seat, silent. She didn't ask what was wrong. Thank fuck for that, because Campbell wouldn't have known what to tell her. He didn't want to go in. He didn't want to see their faces or deal with their crying. He didn't want to hear their questions. Was her body there? Would they make him see it? They would expect him to cry, too, but Campbell couldn't. He couldn't, and he didn't want to, because behind that padlocked door there was something dark and he didn't want to set it free. Not like this. Not yet. Not until they found Cassandra's killer. Elle's hand rested on his, and he realized he was breathing too fast again. Anxiety wouldn't help anyone. What would Cassandra do, in all this? She'd be strong, and try to help others. Campbell didn't give a shit about most of them, but he cared about Sam, and he knew Sam would be in there somewhere. He couldn't let Sam go through that alone. Maybe Campbell couldn't cry with them, but he could try to help them. The lobby of the hospital was eerily silent, save for the sound of people weeping. Allie was standing by the front desk and crying into Will's shoulder, while Kelly and Bean held each other. Sam was off to the side, his face in his hands. He bit back the bubble of loathing that rose in his chest when Kelly and Allie's eyes turned to glower at him. Campbell stood there for a moment, trying to decide which move to make first. He wanted to go to Sam, but if he breezed past Allie then she'd be even more of a problem than she was already. What did he really care about that, though? She should have fucking been there with Cassandra. She should have been there, but because she was a fucking whiny baby, Cassandra had died alone. Fuck her opinions. Campbell sat next to Sam, nudging Sam's shoulder with his own. "Hey," he signed when Sam looked up. "Is there anything I can do?" Sam searched Campbell's face. His eyes welled up, and at first he shook his head, but then he signed fast and messily, like he didn't want to say it at all. "I need you to be here. I need my brother." Something lanced through Campbell's stomach, fleeting but painful. This wasn't how they were supposed to fix things. This wasn't how they were supposed to come back together. Campbell put his arm around Sam's shoulders, and after a brief hesitation, Sam leaned against him; Campbell could be whatever Sam needed him to be, put on whatever mask Sam expected Campbell to wear, but Campbell wished he could cry with Sam. Show Sam that he felt it, too. That he understood. But the best he could do was hold Sam as he wept, rocking him until Sam was too exhausted to cry anymore. One by one, the people around them fell quiet, too. Now and then there'd be a sniffle, a raspy cough, or someone blowing their nose. Everyone looked listless. Worn. At some point, Becca arrived. She ground to a halt when she saw Campbell, and he noticed her expression turn icy. Whatever. Campbell didn't care. Whatever her problem with him was, it paled compared to what was happening. Luckily, Sam noticed her arrival, and pulled away to go to her; at least that would keep that conflict at bay, for now. "Does anyone need something to eat or drink?" Elle asked softly. A few people muttered an affirmative. "I don't think anyone checked the cafeteria here. There might be something." Bean dried her eyes and stood up. "That's a good idea. I'll come with you." Campbell stood and gave Elle a kiss on the cheek before she left. Bean glanced at him, but said nothing. Suspicion was already stirring, and why wouldn't it? Even knowing that, though, he wasn't quite ready for Allie's reaction once Elle was out of earshot. "You." Allie spat the word out like his mere presence was revolting. She grit her teeth, her voice accusing as her face contorted in rage. "Where were you last night? Where were you when Cassandra was killed?" Sam, who had been watching the exchange, stepped in between them ever so slightly. "Don't do this. He didn't kill Cassandra." "How do you know? Answer the fucking question, Campbell." Campbell blinked at Sam's reaction, but he shook his head. "It's fine, Sam. Look, Elle and I left prom a little early. I drove Dillon, Harry, and a couple other people home, and then we went home and stayed there all night." Allie opened her mouth, then closed it again. Anger gave way to loss as her lip quivered. "Do you know anyone who would have? Did... did anyone tell you anything? Maybe she told you about someone threatening her?" "No. I swear to you, Allie, I have no idea what did this. If I did, I'd have dragged them in here by their balls. I'm sorry." "Fine. Okay." Pressing a hand to her mouth, Allie took a step towards Campbell, but then backed away again and shook her head when her phone buzzed. "I gotta go. Gordie's doing the..." She didn't finish the sentence, but she didn't need to. Allie turned and walked off, with Will following silently behind her. Fuck. Campbell kicked a chair and sent it skittering across the floor; everyone but Sam jumped. "What happened?" Campbell asked, raising his voice to address the entire room. "How long have you all been here?" At first, there was silence, but then Kelly spoke. "Gordie was waiting for her, but she never came home. He found her laying outside the inn a little before one." Becca went over and curled her arms around Kelly as she began to cry again. "Why was she alone? Gwen was supposed to be there. Gwen should have been there with her." So, Gwen had been AWOL at the time it happened. Campbell made a mental note. Gwen had always been a heinous twat to Cassandra, and she was friends with Lexie, who wasn't much better. Elle and Bean came back with little bags of chips and boxes of juice. Everyone took something, but no one actually ate. They all just sat and stood around like ill-tempered children on the worst camping trip of their lives. And wasn't that the truth? They were still so young. They should have been worrying about graduation and dating and jobs, not murder. Helena walked through the doors, her face perfectly neutral. "Grizz and a couple other guys are working on a grave. The rest of the guard are at the scene until Gordie gets done. They'll make sure no one tampers with it." Campbell growled. "Yeah, unless one of them did it." "Are you accusing one of them of murder?" Helena demanded, crossing her arms. "Keep in mind, my boyfriend is one of them, and I know him." "Oh, I'm sure you do." Sam knocked on a chair to get their attention. "Let's not argue right now. We don't know who did this. We won't know without evidence. But the guard doesn't seem like the type." "Yeah, you're right." Campbell fixed his gaze on Helena. "Grizz is too much of a kitten, and the rest of them can't tie their fucking shoes without a how-to video, so my mistake." Helena started towards him, but Bean grabbed her arm and whispered something to her. The edge of Helena's nose twitched up in a barely suppressed sneer. Helena started to say something, but Gordie, Allie, and Will came back just then and everyone else turned their attention to Gordie. He looked ill, clutching a folder tight in his hands. "I know you all want answers. But I... I think I should take some time to look for more evidence, and talk to Allie, before I share my findings. I think you all should go home. If you hear anything, please call me or Allie right away. The funeral will be around noon." Everyone filtered out of the hospital, some starting to cry again. Elle hadn't shed a single tear, though her face was solemn as they got back to the car. When they got in, she touched his knee, her eyebrows furrowed. "I know this is such a pointless question, but are you okay? I mean, how can anyone be, but..." "I don't know." He threw the car into drive and peeled out of the parking lot, focusing on the road. "I mean, I'm not going to do anything to myself if that's what you mean, but I don't know. I have to just focus on one step at a time. I can't afford to lose it." "It's okay to lose it a little. Pretty sure you almost did on Helena." "She thinks Luke shits glitter. I just can't fucking stand that mentality. Just because you love someone doesn't mean they can't do fucked up things." "Tell me about it." "What do you mean?" Elle laughed, but it was devoid of humor. "You're not the only one with secrets, Campbell. Let's just say I know all too well that people can surprise you in the worst ways." But then they were home, and the conversation felt over. They stepped inside the home, and it just felt... different. Strange. So, this was the after in the before and after. Campbell looked at the pictures he'd left hanging on the walls. One was of him, Cassandra, Allie, and Sam when they were younger. Before. And now, now they were in the after, and he had to find some way to pretend like the word wasn't falling down around their heads. Like shit wasn't going to fall apart without her. "I need to go see Harry," Campbell said suddenly. "Now." Frowning, Elle sat down on a stool in the kitchen. "You haven't had breakfast. Why do you need to go see him?" "Because I'm ninety percent sure he knows who did it. Stay here." It was no secret that Harry disliked Cassandra. Hate was probably a strong word; they got along, sometimes, but their rivalry was the stuff of legends. Campbell knew that Harry would be the number one suspect. The fact was, though, that Harry didn't have the guts to do something like that. Harry had a big mouth and the usual rich boy complex, but he was also fragile. Not in the sense of his masculinity, but mentally. Emotionally. He was needy, hated to confront anything that was serious, and was a follower more than a leader. No. He didn't kill Cassandra, either. But he was friends with the guard, and was familiar with some other sniveling brats who had hated-- actually hated-- Cassandra. Clingy little cockroaches that hung around Harry for the drugs and booze, who thought Harry was something special and wanted to snap up little scraps of whatever shine he had left. Parasites. And because Harry craved attention, he let them hang on. One of them? One of them definitely did it. Campbell felt it in his gut. Harry's home looked like a garbage pit. Campbell walked right in, since apparently no one locked the door anymore, and stared at the sheer amount of crap laying around. Dirty dishes stacked up, clothes everywhere, clutter on every visible surface. The place smelled vaguely like garbage. No wonder Harry was freaking out. There was faint weeping coming from various corners of the house. News must have spread. Interesting, Campbell thought as he climbed the stairs, coming from people who had looked down on Cassandra and had made her a social pariah while she was alive. It would only be a matter of time before they started claiming that they had been her friends, or had admired her, or whatever drivel people said when someone they'd ignored for eighteen years suddenly died. Curled up in bed, Harry was wrapped in blankets like some sort of sentient burrito. There were a few other people there, whispering among themselves, but they scrambled out when Campbell walked in. Good. They didn't need an audience for this. "Hey. Rise and shine." Harry's voice was muffled. He didn't move. "Is it true?" "My sex tape is just a rumor. Oh, wait. Do you mean someone murdering Cassandra?" "Fuck you, Campbell." Peeling his blanket off, Harry sat up and burrowed his hand into his hands. "How the fuck can you joke at a time like this?" "Oh, Harry, it's cute that you think I'm being funny." "What--" But Harry didn't get a chance to finish whatever he was going to say. Campbell grabbed Harry by the shirt and hauled him out of bed, slamming him up against the support post in the middle of the room. Campbell pinned him, hard. "Who did it? Huh? Which one of your little groupies killed my cousin?" "I don't know! I don't know who did it, I swear!" "Bullshit, Harry! Use your goddamn brain. People don't just go shooting someone. Did anyone say something? Was someone pissed off at her?" Harry squirmed in his grip. "A lot of people were pissed off at her, Cam, including me. But no one said anything about..." Suddenly, Harry stopped struggling. His eyes widened as his body went slack. "Oh. Oh fuck." "What? What is it?" "I... Oh god, I didn't mean to." "Mean to what? Spit it the fuck out." "It was at the party I had before prom. We were all drunk already, and I just. I was mad, okay? I was mad and the guys were talking shit about Cassandra, and I just. I didn't mean it, but I said that if she were dead we'd have some peace and quiet." Fury moved through him faster than he could think, and oh he wanted to hurt Harry. His hands tightened on Harry's shoulders, and he felt that urge start to crest, but he could see the fear in Harry's eyes; it gave him just a split second of clarity. Campbell let go of Harry and turned his back to him, taking deep breaths. Back away, back away. Get out of the situation before that anger returned. "This conversation is over," he hissed between clenched teeth. "Get dressed. You're going to make a list of everyone who was there when you said that, and we're going to give that list to Gordie when we go to the funeral." Sinking onto his bed, Harry flinched as Campbell tossed him a pad of paper and a pen; he obeyed and began to scribble down names. In the meantime, Campbell began to clean up the garbage around Harry's bedroom. As pissed off as Campbell was, he knew Harry hadn't meant any harm to come to Cassandra, and Let's Clean Up Harry's Home! was a familiar way to blow off steam. If he crushed a few soda cans with his foot or threw the garbage into a bag a little harder than necessary when no one was looking, well, that was better than the alternative. He shouldn't have done what he did. Campbell knew that. Hurting Harry, scaring him, wouldn't solve anything. If something Harry said got Cassandra killed, it still hadn't been Harry's fault. Murder was a choice, just like shoving someone around was a choice. Fuck. He sighed as he took the trash outside, then came in and stood in the kitchen. His hand moved towards his phone on instinct; whenever he felt like this, like a tornado about to touch down, he would call Cassandra. For a tiny, tiny fraction of a second, he had forgotten. Cassandra had helped him learn to control his rage, and it usually worked, but now she was about to be put under a few feet of dirt. She'd never answer his calls again. Instead, he began washing the dishes. They needed to be scrubbed at that point, and it helped get rid of the remaining urge to break things. Soft footsteps came up behind him. Campbell could smell Harry's cologne, light and floral. Guilty, by Gucci. Fitting. He braced for some sort of fight, but Harry just rested his forehead against the back of Campbell's shoulder. Campbell sighed, but didn't shrug him off. What good would it do? Harry took a towel and began to dry the plates. They worked in silence, until Harry stared down at the towel in his hands and let out a heaving, rattling sigh. His eyes were red and puffy; maybe he hadn't hated Cassandra as much as he'd always pretended, after all, but it was too late for that now and they both knew it. "What do we do?" "Go to the funeral, say our goodbyes, and then wait." "Wait for what?" "To see how bad things get." "We're fucked, aren't we?" He didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to think about anything. But maybe there was still a chance, if someone who knew what they were doing took control. Who? Campbell had no idea. His thoughts were running too fast to puzzle it out. He didn't want to talk anymore; he just wanted to get through the fucking day before whatever was keeping him held together fell apart. Setting the last dish down, Harry sunk down onto a kitchen chair and brought out a slip of paper from his pocket; he set it on the counter, and Campbell picked it up. Jason, Greg, Scott, Travis, Mark. A bunch of jerks, mostly. Travis was alright, and Jason seemed too much like a big doof to kill anyone, even if he was a creep. Campbell put the list in a pocket and gestured towards the door. "Come on. You're going with me." "What? No." "Yes, you are. You're gonna come over and hang with me and Elle for a while, and then we're all going to go. Being here moping isn't going to help either of us." Harry gave up in the end, like always, and followed Campbell home. Elle seemed surprised to see him, but they made a light lunch and sat around the living room doing their own things. Campbell played a video game, Elle read, Harry laid down and pretended to be a rock. Whatever. At least Campbell could keep an eye on him that way. Once it was close to noon, the three of them arrived at the church. They were almost at the door when Harry stopped, staring up at the door like a man about to be hanged. Campbell looked to Elle. "Hey, babe? Can you go inside and save us a seat?" Elle glanced between them, then nodded. He waited until she was inside before turning back to Harry. "What are you doing?" "I can't go in. Allie will be there. She'll think I did it." "She'll think that if you don't go in, too. Okay? Don't bail on me." Harry bit his bottom lip, but he didn't argue; he followed Campbell into the church without protest, keeping his head down and sticking close to Campbell. They made it a few paces in when Campbell spotted Will walking towards them, eyes narrowed and anger coming off him in waves. "You guys have a lot of balls," Will seethed. "Showing up here. We all know how you felt about Cassandra, Harry. You were super fucking clear." Campbell stepped between him and Harry, holding firm. "Will, don't do this." "You think you have any room to speak? You, you pointed a fucking gun at her. Both of you, get out. Now." "Go to hell. I'm family. I loved Cassandra, and I'm not leaving." Will's voice raised to a growling shout. "Get the fuck out!" Before Campbell could speak, Gordie zipped up and grabbed Will by the shoulder. "What the hell is going on? What are you doing, Will?" "Taking out the trash." "Isn't this bad enough already?" "Allie doesn't need to see them here." Campbell pulled the list of names from his jacket, holding it up to Gordie. "Harry and I came up with a list of guys that were shittalking Cassandra at his party the night she was killed. Brought it as a peace offering." Will opened his mouth, then stopped. He looked back and forth between them, then over to Gordie, who took the paper and read it over. Gordie gave Will a look, and Will let out a short, quick breath. "Fine. But you don't talk to Allie." That wasn't going to be a problem. Campbell put a hand on Harry's back and guided him to where Elle was sitting; she took Campbell's hand as he sat between her and Harry, and he squeezed it. Luckily, no one else spoke to any of them. Campbell didn't need the confrontation. He didn't want it. Allie walked to the front of the church and cleared her throat. Whatever small amount of talking there had been quieted down. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, but to her credit, she managed to keep it held to together. "My sister, Cassandra, was good," she started. "She was a good person. She was captain of the debate team. You didn't want to argue with her." There were a few scattered laughs. Even Allie managed a tiny smile. But then she continued, and that smile turned into a darker expression, and her composed mask crumbled. "Who did this? Huh?" She looked around the room. Her gaze briefly stopped on Harry. "Who shot my sister? Why did you do that? We needed her!" she shouted. Allie began to cry, and Will came up to lead her off the stage. "I needed her!" Campbell bowed his head at that last wrenching, despondent wail. No one else spoke, and after a few minutes, the guard gathered at the front of the church. Cassandra's body lay there. "We thought we'd give people a few minutes to come say goodbye," Grizz said softly. "In case it'd help anyone." A few wandered up and formed a small line. Sam was one of the last; Campbell stood and walked down the aisle, ignoring the glares and whispers around him. Sam gave Campbell a grateful look as he approached and stood at his side. They went up together. Someone had pulled back the sheet Cassandra's body was wrapped in, just enough to catch a glimpse of her face. She was pale, eyes closed, clean of blood. "She looks peaceful," Sam signed. "Like she's sleeping." Campbell lifted his hands to sign back, but they just fluttered there uselessly. "She's free from pain now," he finally managed to sign. He leaned down and kissed Cassandra's forehead, his touch lingering for just one more moment before he turned and headed back to his seat without a word. If he opened his mouth again, he had no idea what would happen. The guard waited a moment, then wrapped the body back up and carried her out to the yard. She was buried next to Emily, with nothing but a crude wooden cross marking her final resting place. Cassandra would have laughed at the irony. Campbell wasn't laughing. "Eternal rest, grant her O Lord," Helena spoke, "and let perpetual light shine upon her. May her soul, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen." Some of the others echoed the amen. Biting his tongue, Campbell resisted the urge to just scream. Elle took his hand as they headed home, her eyebrows knitted together in worry as they walked in silence. When they returned home, Campbell took off his jacket and threw it onto the sofa. "Fuck, what a joke. She would have hated that shit," he said as he ran his hands through his hair. "She hated Christianity." "I think it was more for everyone else." "Must have been, because goddamn Helena didn't even ask what Cassandra believed or would have wanted." Campbell couldn't sit still. He needed to move. He needed to get the feeling in his body out of it. "You know, when she was younger and thought about dying, she talked about how she wanted her funeral to be. She wanted to be cremated and scattered at the ocean. She wanted Beatles music, and for people to dance. She..." Tears made his vision swim, and suddenly that wall that he'd been keeping up all day crumbled. He'd barely cried his entire fucking life, and now it was the second, third time since they'd arrived in their new hellscape. Weak. He was going weak, and if he did, how could he protect anyone? The one good thing about his fucked up brain had been that he could disconnect at will. And this, he couldn't make it stop. All he could do was stand there and sob, like the night he thought his disorder would push people away. Now reality set in even harder-- the people closest to him could die, and he truly would be alone, no matter how good or bad he was. It wasn't fair. It wasn't the least bit fair. Sudden pressure on his arm made Campbell yank back. "Don't fucking touch me!" he snapped, his head immediately going to when his father would grab him whenever Campbell would cry as a child. But then he stopped, remembering where he was and with who, and he felt a new wave of grief at the stunned look on Elle's face. "Elle, I'm sorry." "I didn't mean to upset you." "No, no. It's not your fault. I'm just... I need a moment." Campbell went upstairs and shut the door. He picked up his pillow and just stopped fighting it; he hit it against the wall, punched it, cursing his head off at it. He kept going until his arms and throat were sore, and he was curled up in the bed, hugging the pillow and shaking. She was dead, gone, buried, and the one person who understood and accepted him completely had been stolen from him. From her entire family. Something that happened every day, he knew, but it had never happened to him. Not in any way that had mattered. It wasn't even two o'clock, but he was already more tired than he could ever remember being in his life. He heard the door click open, and a moment later, the mattress dipped behind him. Elle nestled against his back; she didn't touch him exactly, but she was there, and her presence soothed some little part of him. "We'll find the person who did this, Campbell," she said as he dozed off. "Sooner or later, someone will slip up." "Yeah, and when we do, I'm going to make the fucker suffer." He was asleep before he could feel Elle stiffen, just a little.

[daresplaining]

Alexandra drones on and on about how Elektra being the Black Sky is of utmost importance. Yet, for whatever reason, I don't feel like (aside from the costume change) there's much difference between Elektra pre-resurrection and Elektra post-resurrection. What exactly IS a Black Sky and what does it do?

    Thank you for giving us an excuse to talk about our favorite Defenders theory! We had the exact same reaction– considering how hyped up the Black Sky concept was, and how much suspense was built around it, we were hugely disappointed by the fact that not only did we never learn what it actually was, but there was no clear indication of how it affected Elektra post-activation. This has led us to believe that Alexandra made the whole thing up.

    We get who different pieces of the Hand’s origin story over the course of two different shows. In The Defenders, we learn that the five leaders of the group were trained in K’un-Lun, then got kicked out for having worrisome opinions about immortality. In Daredevil Season 2, we learn that at a certain point afterward they became aware of the Black Sky, which is some kind of weapon. We learn that they want one, but have never managed to actually use one before. It’s all very vague and mysterious.

    Upon meeting all five fingers of the Hand, we learn that the only one actually interested in or informed about the Black Sky is Alexandra. In fact, she seems a little bit obsessed. She has apparently been talking her Hand peers’ ears off about it for centuries and, much to their alarm, is now willing to risk all of their permanent deaths to acquire one.  

    Why?

    Alexandra claims that having the Black Sky on their side is essential, and will allow them to return to K’un-Lun (and presumably conquer it). The Black Sky will give them the power they need to last another fifteen years, to acquire more of the substance, and to overcome their enemies. However, there’s a logical fallacy here. Thanks to the events of Daredevil Season 1 the Hand already own Midland Circle, and thus have access to the dragon bones underneath. (They don’t discover the sealed door until the second Defenders episode; at the time when Alexandra was actively pursuing El, she had no clear need of extra firepower in order to access the substance.) And more to the point, if she hadn’t used the substance on Elektra– who, again, wasn’t necessary for the Hand’s goals at the time– the Hand wouldn’t have been in such dire straits. Alexandra, in fact, helps create the mortality problem– something her colleagues soon realize.

    So does the Hand actually need a new weapon? It doesn’t seem so. They’ve defended themselves for centuries, and are willing and likely capable of capturing Danny on their own. But Alexandra does. She needs power, by any means possible. We see throughout the show that her leadership is faltering, and she is losing control of the rest of the Hand. She needs to cement her authority, to show them that only she is capable of keeping them alive and giving them what they need. And coincidentally, she is the only one who knows what’s up with the Black Sky. She personally oversees Elektra’s training with no input or oversight from the other four. She makes sure that she is the only one to build a bond with Elektra, or to spend any real time with her. And she emphasizes the necessity and power of the Black Sky (in suspiciously vague terms) at every opportunity… but particularly when her colleagues start acting rebellious.    

    By dangling the promise of this super powerful weapon in front of the other fingers, and insisting that they need it before they can carry out their plans, while also keeping all of the practical information about what the Black Sky does to herself, Alexandra has managed to hold her leadership position over the centuries. They need the Black Sky, and in order to acquire one they need Alexandra. But once they finally get one… nothing changes. Yes, Elektra is a good fighter, but she was always a good fighter, and her combat prowess speaks more to the intensity of her training in both lifetimes than to anything supernatural. And more to the point, she doesn’t do much to help the Hand. Alexandra’s colleagues are baffled, annoyed, and frightened by what looks like a severe lapse of judgement from their leader.

    As Alexandra grows weaker over the course of The Defenders, both in physical health and influence over the Hand, she becomes more and more adamant about how great her new weapon is. Elektra is a tool for Alexandra– a power play, a weapon to hold in front of her enemies, maybe even a replacement for her dead daughter. But does she have any actual powers, beyond those Alexandra projects onto her? Maybe. There are moments when she displays possible super-strength and super-speed. But a strong argument could be made that she does not, and that the only new power she acquires as the Black Sky is the false significance that Alexandra places on her. 

    All of this may be just extreme No-Prizing to cover sloppy writing. We don’t know, and if we subscribe to the “death of the author” concept (which we do), it  doesn’t matter whether this was intended or not. If it’s true, it would be a really cool twist on the whole situation, and an interesting addition to the self-determination vs. destiny conversation that has so far characterized MCU Elektra’s arc. 

[rosezure]

Angel of Darkness Pt.2

Welcome to Part 2 of Angel of Darkness. First of all, thank you so so much for reading, it means a lot to me. Second of all (idk if this expression exists but oh well!), I hope you enjoy this part.

Summary: A year after the Accords fiasco, Tony reaches for the phone Steve had given him and dials the number he had memorized during sleepless nights. As much as he hated to admit it, only he could help them now. A new threat had appeared and he knew they would need all the help they could get.

Warning: Swearing, violence, mentions of rape and molestation, blood and gore, mentions of panic attacks, depression, suicide, and anxiety.

Disclaimer: I used Google Translate for the Russian words so they may be wrong. I apologize in advance.

I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING MARVEL RELATED.

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Tony tried using whatever information the UN provided, but nothing came up. That is, until he thought enough was enough and hacked their system to search for files containing any suspicious data.

Once inside their main system, he froze completely as his eyes landed on a file named Nazi Germany- Science Projects. Why would the UN keep a file on all the science projects led by Nazi scientists? As far as he knew about scientific ethics, these files shouldn’t even exist anymore.

Nonetheless, his curiosity got the best of him and he opened the file to read through every one of their documents.

The content Tony read about could be used for over hundreds of R rated horror movies. He felt sick just by the prospect of these experiments actually having been conducted on innocent people. Hell, he couldn’t even imagine the world’s worst criminal going through that sort of pain and torture.

It was inhumane beyond belief.

His eyes stopped at an encrypted file. He narrowed his eyes and ordered F.R.I.D.A.Y to break into it. The AI successfully managed to overpower the file’s firewalls, but had some trouble bypassing the codes. Tony had to do it manually.

Once they had managed to open it up, Tony froze once again.

The file was named Shadow Project. There was a picture of a petite young woman with wide, fearful eyes, pouty lips, freckles, high cheek bones and wild curly hair. His eyes widened in horror at the information he read:

Subject: Luz Vitória Sousa.

Objetive: Produce the perfect asset.

Head of Experiment: Doctor Johann Schmidt.

Experiment Procedure:

Subject was submitted to hypnosis and psychological conditioning in order to be under complete control of its handlers.

A new machinery developed by Doctor Zola was used during the procedure. Its neuro-electric waves erased all emotionally linked memories, leaving behind only the essential and necessary ones to be then molded to the handlers needs.

Subject was then submitted to intense physical training. It was taught hand to hand combat, various forms of martial arts and knife throwing. The Subject’s petite body demonstrated great flexibility and balance.

It was also noted that the Subject’s weaknesses were near impossible to notice. However, all signs of weaknesses were extracted by Doctor Zola’s machine.

Subject was successfully induced with Doctor Zola’s super-serum. The Subject possesses enhanced senses, super-human strength, stamina, and immunity to 95% of the known diseases.

In addition to the serum, Doctor Zola and Doctor Schmidt created a serum that enabled the Subject to produce and control a substance known as Dark Myst. Subject’s body was injected with the serum and successfully accepted it.

Subject’s Triggers for Compliance:

The Subject is conditioned to comply after triggered by a series of words and circumstances. To achieve maximum cooperation, follow the instructions bellow.

The handler should recite the following sequence of words, each one perfectly pronounced:

1- помощь (aid)

2- призрак (ghost)

3- восемнадцать (18)

4- наступление ночи (night fall)

5- маяк (Lighthouse)

6- девять (9)

7- надежный (trustworthy)

8- семья (family)

9- один (one)

10- убийство (murder)

The asset must be kept in a locked up room with loud music playing during the entire compliance procedure.

Asset will say Я готов ответить (I am ready to answer) when ready to comply.

If the handler chooses to only say the words, the asset will only comply to simple orders. If the handler chooses to only provide the correct environment, the asset will be set on a blind killing spree, taking down targets that would be considered threats to its dormant conscious.

Results of Experiment:

Subject has been successfully transformed into the perfect asset. All tests have shown it can no longer age or degenerate.

Tony continued looking through all the available files that made reference to this Luz Vitória Sousa. He was determined to learn as much as he could about this mysterious young woman.

Tony Stark would bet one of his suits that the woman in the files and the woman they were told to hunt were the same people.

That is until one of the files seemed to be abruptly cut off. He was taken back, to say the least. He read it over and over again, making sure he didn’t miss a single detail. Unfortunately, the file simply ended mid-sentence. Whatever this project was, it had clearly been stopped by some superior force.

Something in his gut told him the woman had something to do with it.

Surely enough, the incomplete file was the very last one inside the Shadow Project archive. This couldn’t be a coincidence. And so, Tony’s brain began working in overload, running various scans on the picture of the enigmatic woman to see if anything popped up.

A teenager named Luz Vitória Sousa appeared on one of his screens, but the picture looked slightly older than the one he saw on the file. The girl looked like a younger version of the frightened woman he read about.

What seemed strange was that Luz Vitória Sousa was a bright Brazilian student who had mysteriously disappeared during her exchange program in the US. The files he read indicated that the woman they experimented on was found in a small village in Germany.

The teenager’s picture was attached to a news article.

Luz Vitória Sousa was an exchange student at George Washington High School, Brooklyn, New York City, from November 1934 to May 1935, when she disappeared under mysterious circumstances and was never found.

A body was never found and her family made no attempt to search for her. What caused even more suspicions was the fact that there was no diplomatic discussion concerning the case between The United States of America and The Federative Republic of Brazil.

Until this day, her case remains open in the State Police Department of New York City.

The news article was from 10 years ago, meaning her case was open for 71 years. How was that even legal? Tony asked himself. He read it again, pausing once something clicked inside his genius brain.

Brooklyn.

Steve Rogers was not expecting his (ex) friend Tony Stark to call him so soon. Sure it had been a full year since the political disagreement they had- more like war -but if he knew Tony, and he knew him, it would have taken him more than a year to make contact.

So, when the old piece of technology beeped to life, he couldn’t help but be startled. Who wouldn’t?

“Hello?” He answered gingerly.

“I need your help.”

A/N: DUN-DUN-DUN! Ooooh! A cliffhanger (sort of)!

I know it’s really late since I had basically promised I would post this part some time during the weekend (which was almost a week ago, yikes!). Uni has been just eating up my time, my professors need to chill and I need vacations.

I hope you guys enjoyed this. There wasn’t much action, but there was a lot more of Tony and his endless research, which I found quite entertaining to write, surprisingly. Anyways….

Thank you for reading! Stay tuned for Part 3!