#about a pretty emperor who ripped the world apart to avenge her family

[brightchrysaor]

If I could draw:

Two women seated, one standing. On the left side of the picture is Edelgard von Hresvelg, dressed in her Houses war outfit. Dimitri's knife is belted at her waist, and in her left hand she holds the hilt of Aymr. The bone axe's blade rests against the ground below her seat. Her left hand is holding the right of Baru Cormorant, wearing blue silks and trousers. Baru has her sword and her chained purse, but is holding her mask in her left hand. The outside is steel, but the mask is turned so we primarily see the inner lining, which is red silk. Behind them stands Attolia Irene, with one hand on Edelgard's shoulder and the other on Baru's. Attolia is noticeably older than the other two, with crow's feet at the corners of her eyes and silver beginning to thread the dark hair at her temples. She is dressed in her red peplos and ruby coronet, and her earrings are golden bees.

Above Attolia's head, in classic propaganda poster text, are the words "SUPPORT WOMEN'S WRONGS"

[anubislover]

A Heart to Be Used as Needed (a dark Corazon!LawxBaby 5 fic)

“Joker killed another one, huh?”

Sniffling and tearfully nodding her head, Baby 5 skulked into Trafalgar Law’s lab, the young Corazon’s afternoon coffee carefully balanced on a silver tray. “The bastard didn’t even give me enough time to set a wedding date.” The Buki Buki no Mi user was a mess; mascara blended with tears down her cheeks, her eyes were red and puffy, jet black hair tangled, and there were thin rips throughout her maid uniform. She’d clearly just come from another failed attempt at killing Doflamingo, her rage at once more being denied her dream of marital bliss no match for the shichibukai and his Ito Ito no Mi powers.

Law scoffed as he continued to dissect the man on his table. His victim was barely conscious, chest cavity wide open, any resistance he might make suppressed by restraints, a cocktail of opioids, and the fact that his limbs were in a bin on the other side of the operatory. Doflamingo had caught the guy snooping around the castle, so he’d been generously donated to the lab for the Surgeon of Death’s amusement. He’d started off using his powers, but after a while decided to practice more traditional surgery—minus the anesthesia, of course. The result was a rather bloody operating table, organs lined up in little trays encased in their own Rooms to keep his subject alive as long as possible.

Holding the man’s liver up to the light, Law tsked at the cirrhosis that had formed. “You know, they say insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.”

Grimacing at her superior’s handywork, the maid replied haughtily, “I’m pretty sure it’s also finding pleasure in playing around with a man’s organs while he watches.”

“No, that’s sadism. Completely different.” Turning around, he pulled off the bloody latex gloves and surgical mask, switching them with the coffee mug, warm viscera dripping onto the polished silver. Despite being red with tears, Baby 5’s eyes rolled heavenwards in annoyance; with his abilities, he could have easily thrown those in the trash, but he always left it to her to clean up instead. Frowning at the red stains on his dress shirt and white lab coat, she knew she’d also be spending a good hour on his laundry. Oh, well. At least it made her feel useful.

Taking a sip of the bitter beverage as he leaned against the operating table, Law quickly scanned her for injuries. Apart from a few bruises and some thin cuts, she seemed relatively unharmed, but it was still worse than Joker’s usual retaliation. Either he’d been in a bad mood, or Baby 5 had really gone all out this time. “Need me to bandage those up?” the surgeon asked, indicating the long, thin slash at her waist.

She waved of his concern as she dumped the contaminated gloves into the trash. “Oh, don’t trouble yourself; I’ll take care of them later.”

It was an expected response; heaven forbid the maid allow anyone to do something for her. Half the time he had to drug her just to fix her up after a mission, as she’d insist on not being a burden even while bleeding out. So, knowing it was a lost cause, he pointed to the sink. “Then at least wash your face; I don’t need you dripping snot and makeup all over my nice, clean lab.” It wasn’t clean, and Baby 5 would inevitably be the one to mop up the blood later, but she was smart enough not to comment.

As she dutifully bent over the sink, scrubbing away tears and reapplying her lipstick, Law diverted his gaze from her injuries to instead appreciate the way her short dress and high heels made her legs look impossibly long. He couldn’t help it; as a doctor, he enjoyed studying anatomy, and as an admitted hedonist, he loved a sexy pair of legs on anyone. The way she leaned over, arching her back and presenting her pert ass, filled his head with impure thoughts of burying his stiff cock inside her, fucking her hard and slow while she made helpless little sounds of pleasure.

Joker really was a sadist, parading a beautiful, biddable woman around in such a tempting outfit, then basically forbidding anyone from touching her. It was easier on everyone else, as most saw her as a sister or niece if they regarded her at all, but as Law’d never bought into the family crap, he lacked that barrier. Instead, his main reason for not going after the sexy little maid boiled down to the knowledge that if he did, she’d cling to him for life, and Doflamingo would be pissed.

Even the best fuck in the world wasn’t worth upending his ultimate plans.

Downing half the mug of coffee in one go to quell his urges, he said, “Not that I approve of any of the worthless peons you’re stupid enough to fall for, but if you want to get married so badly, quit telling Joker and just elope. Why ask permission when you know you’ll never get it?” Despite his harsh words, he was vaguely impressed—foolish as it was, he’d give her props for persistence. Her intense desire to get married was almost comparable to his drive to bring the Heavenly Demon’s world crashing down around him before finally crushing his heart in his bare hands.

The fact was, despite being Corazon, Law had spent the past decade plotting to destroy Joker and his sick criminal empire. It was hardly for altruistic reasons; he’d set the whole world on fire so long as Doflamingo burned with it. All that mattered was avenging Cora-san, and there was no line he wouldn’t cross. A man in his position couldn’t afford to have scruples; his job generally revolved around torture, unethical experimentation, helping enforce Joker’s rule, keeping his twisted subordinates alive and in line, and more. How could he ever hope to take down the former Celestial Dragon if he wasn’t willing to do the same for his plans?

Besides his lack of limits, Law’s greatest strength was his patience. Much as he wanted to simply rip out his still-beating heart, Doflamingo was too strong to fight directly. At least, too strong for the Surgeon of Death. At first, Law’d planned on simply earning his trust and killing him on the operating table under the guise of performing the Perennial Youth Surgery, but after seeing how monstrously powerful and resilient he was, the young doctor had been forced to figure out a new plan. Then, two years ago, he’d had an epiphany; to take out a Warlord, you needed an Emperor, and he was in the perfect position to sabotage Joker and Kaido’s partnership. He would break one of the gears that kept the New World running, then sit back and relish the beautiful storm he’d ushered in.

It wouldn’t be easy, and at the moment, his greatest challenge was gathering the right allies to help him enact his brilliant scheme. Violet used her powers and sexual relationship with Joker to keep him informed of their boss’ plans and divert any suspicions of betrayal. Law had amassed a small but devoted crew eager to follow him into Hell. Last year, he’d secretly saved the Straw Hat boy at Marineford, healing and handing him over to Silvers Rayleigh to train with the intention of calling in the life debt once he and his crew were strong enough for the New World. The young upstart’s brand of chaos would be useful for destroying Joker’s SMILE factory and invoking Kaido’s wrath.

Slowly Trafalgar D. Water Law moved the pieces into place, playing a quiet game of chess with the unwitting shichibukai while acting as his sadistic but loyal Corazon.

Perhaps it was that devotion to subtlety and meticulous planning that made him so annoyed at Baby 5’s foolishness. “Seriously, you do this every time; flounce into his office crowing about how you’re getting married, and the next day the guy’s entire town has been razed to the ground.”

“But I want the Young Master’s approval!” she declared. She simply could not understand why everyone was so against her getting married. Ever since she was a child, she’d longed to belong somewhere, to be useful and needed by someone. To be a man’s wife meant that there was someone who truly valued her, who saw how useful she was and was happy to let her tend to his every need. To be useful was to be needed, to be needed was to be loved, and a loved person would never be abandoned in the mountains, determined a burden, or forgotten.

Once more presentable, her cheeks flushed as she basked in a romantic fantasy, imagining her hypothetical wedding day. “I know he’s just being protective and doing what he feels is best, but he’s never even met my boyfriends! Once he sees how truly in love we are, he’ll walk me down the aisle and give me away to my beloved—”

“That’s just it—he doesn’t want to give you away,” the Dark Doctor interrupted sourly, running a tattooed hand through his messy hair in irritation. Really, how was he the only one who saw through their boss’ illusion of “family” for the brainwashed cult that it was? Was it because he’d witnessed first-hand what he’d done to his own brother? The volatile maid was one of the few he cut any slack; he’d spent the past twelve years watching Doflamingo cultivate her psychological need to be needed into something fanatical and horribly unhealthy, whereas the rest were just plain cruel, stupid, or greedy. That didn’t mean he wouldn’t gleefully tear into her I delusion like a pinned-down frog, though. “You’re most useful when you’re solely devoted to him. If you marry outside the Family, your loyalties will be divided.”

“No, they won’t,” she argued, clasping her hands over her heart, eyes sparkling dramatically under the cold, florescent lights. “I’ll always be loyal to the Family!”

“But what if your husband wants you to choose between us and him?” Law pressed, setting down his mug. Normally, he didn’t bother trying to reason with her, but he was feeling particularly sadistic at the moment. Such utter devotion to that monster disgusted him, and something urged him to pick at the fresh scab over the maid’s damaged psyche and watch it bleed as she was forced to face painful reality. “Your taste in men is generally atrocious, so who’s to say you wouldn’t end up falling for the enemy? Let’s say your husband needs you to shoot Joker, but Doflamingo needs you to kill your husband. Who would you obey?”

“I—I would…” she trailed off, eyes dropping to the floor and hands wringing her apron as her mind struggled. Cheeks flushed red with strain, white teeth bit into her plump, cherry red lip, and sweat started to form across her brow. The butt of her cigarette fell to the floor, slowly burning out on the white linoleum. Law didn’t need to check her pulse to know her heart was racing, and her bountiful chest heaved as panicked adrenaline raced through her veins. It was like a computer attempting to process a paradox, slowly frying its own circuits trying to figure out the unsolvable answer.

A wide, cold smirk stretched his lips, gold eyes greedily taking in her mental anguish. Really, it was quite an attractive look on her. Control freak that he was, he got a special, sick thrill from the knowledge that he could play with her emotions so easily, his words as precise and sharp as his scalpel. “Exactly. That’s why he’ll always kill your pitiful fiancés. He doesn’t trust you to make good decisions on your own, so he guards you like a dragon would a princess, incinerating any would-be knights in shining armor trying to rescue you.”

“But I don’t need to be rescued,” she insisted weakly.

“Well, that’s good, because none of those idiots cared about you enough to want to rescue you. They wanted to take advantage of your weakness, just like everyone else.”

“You’re wrong; they loved me!”

“Then tell me all about your latest ‘romantic’ proposal,” he said sarcastically, slowly circling her like a leopard sizing up a wounded doe, deciding what part of her soft, defenseless flesh he should sink his teeth into first. “Did he get down on one knee and declare his undying devotion? Whisper sweet nothings as you gazed at the stars? Give you a sparkling diamond ring and a bouquet of red roses?” he rasped in her ear as his hand teasingly stroked along her shoulders.

“He…he gave me a daisy,” she muttered, hopelessly staring at the floor.

“Ooo, a daisy! I’m sure it was the prettiest weed freshly picked from a crack in the sidewalk a woman could ask for.”

Spinning around, she struck him, the deafening slap of her open palm against his cheek echoing throughout the operatory. “Why are you such an asshole?!” she shouted, tears once again welling up in her big, dark eyes.

Even though he’d been expecting it, Law glared at her like a basilisk for her insubordination, smirk returning as she instantly cowered before him. Toying with her was so amusing, her reactions volatile yet comically predictable. Really, it was something he’d grown to enjoy over the years—seeing just how far he could push her before she snapped, only to watch her immediately regret it from nothing more than a cold look.

Relishing the power trip he got from her fear, the Corazon stalked back to the table. His victim’s eyes were becoming a bit clearer and his struggles had renewed, strained noises bubbling up in his throat as the drugs wore off. It seemed his body had processed the opioids more quickly than expected; too bad for the unlucky fool, but that just meant more fun for the Surgeon of Death.

Chuckling, Law glanced over his shoulder at Baby 5. With no one to cling to like she normally would, she’d remained frozen in place, trembling as she fearfully awaited his response. Dismemberment was his go-to punishment for her if her were in a particularly bad mood, though he always put her back together, and by the next morning she’d be back to scolding him for not showing the young master enough respect or stealing her last cigarette.

Lucky for her, this was one of his better days, so instead of having her join the man on the table, Law threw her a bone. “I need you to fetch me that gag on the counter. I don’t trust my patient not to start screaming again, and it would be rude of him to cause a racket when we’re trying to have a conversation.”

The second the word “need” had left his mouth, Baby 5 ceased her cowering, dashing over to the counter and grabbing the leather gag, nearly tripping over herself in her eagerness to be useful.

Despite himself, the Dark Doctor gave the barest hint of a smile. Much as the woman annoyed him with her fanatical devotion to Doflamingo, her desire to help was just so pure it was, at times, endearing. If he were honest, Baby 5 was probably the one he hated the least in the organization; besides being the nicest to look at, her wants and needs were simple, and she could be surprisingly compassionate in little ways. She was one of the few who, despite considering him a traitor, had acknowledged just how much Cora-san had meant to Law. Held his hand while he’d mourned for his savior after he’d been dragged kicking and screaming back to the Family. Been genuinely thrilled that his Amber Lead Disease was cured. Taken up smoking with him as a small tribute to the former Corazon, huddling behind a tree as they retched at their first taste of tobacco.

If nothing else, he always enjoyed watching her attack their boss when he murdered her fiancés. Even when she failed, Law found it to be catharsis-by-proxy, as he spent most of his days plotting how to horribly and painfully murder the shichibukai. A hell of a turn-on, too; who wouldn’t have the occasional sexual fantasy about a hot maid trying to assassinate the man you hated most?

Sparing a nod of thanks, the surgeon shoved the gag into his patient’s mouth before tightening the restraints. He prided himself on his steady hands, and he wouldn’t have his work ruined because the worthless fool couldn’t keep still. “You may call me an asshole, but I’m the only one who cares about you enough to give the cold, hard truth. Everyone else sugar-coats their words so they can keep you compliant and unwilling to think for yourself. So, you’re welcome.”

Hands fisting on her hips, Baby 5 scowled. It was remarkable how she could go from trembling before him to arguing like they were still children. “Oh, so people who are awful to me care, and yet the men you claim give such horrible proposals don’t? You’re so full of shit, Law!”

He shrugged, taking another sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. “Am I? Even when I was officially promoted to Corazon, you still treated me the same as when we were kids—slapping me when I got mouthy and refusing to kiss my ass like all the other sycophants in this shithole. Are you saying you don’t care about me?”

Her beautiful face twisted in genuine confusion. “I…well, of course I do, but…”

“I let you get away with so much more than anyone else. You hit me, insult me, order me about, and the most I’ve ever done is cut off your limbs for a few hours, and I always fix you back up good as new. Because, even though you’re a foolish, emotional pain in the ass, our little spats are the only thing that feel genuine some days. To you, I’m just Law, and I actually appreciate that.” It surprised him how honest he was being, but he supposed it was as he said; he cared enough not to bullshit her, at least compared to the others.

“You do?”

“Yeah. So that’s why I’m telling you to stop accepting every ‘proposal’ a guy throws your way. You’re famous for your eagerness to please, and men are always looking to take advantage of that. And even if you did manage to find the one decent soul in this world who genuinely loved you, Joker will never let you go. He’ll kill anyone who might take you from the Family.”

Something sparked in her eyes at his words, as if he’d given her the greatest epiphany of her life. “Maybe…maybe I could marry someone in the Family, then! Trebol nearly offered just this afternoon!”

Law gagged on his coffee at the very thought. A man like him needed a strong stomach, but perhaps he did have some limits, after all; not even he would inflict marriage to the snot-dripping freak on someone. “Please tell me you had to good sense not to accept.” He facepalmed at her embarrassed blush. How could anyone’s standards be so low? Was marriage really such an enticing concept that she’d bed that? And the risk of death aside, shouldn’t a woman as sexy and submissive as her attract better suitors?

A sudden, cruel idea popped into his head. What if he married Baby 5? A dangerous assassin and obedient maid could certainly be useful in his scheme. Doflamingo wouldn’t dare kill him for proposing; not if he wanted that Perennial Youth Surgery. He wouldn’t even have a good excuse to refuse the match, considering how it would both keep Baby in the Family and—so he’d believe—further secure his Corazon’s loyalty. After all, what better reward could Law ask for after years of faithful service than a gorgeous trophy wife?

And on the day he finally enacted his revenge against the Heavenly Demon, he’d either have a powerful, completely devoted ally in Baby 5, or she’d be too crippled by indecision to pick between them, keeping her from interfering. Either way, Joker would have lost a piece on the chessboard and not even know until it was too late.

A little voice that sounded disturbingly like Cora-san’s whispered in his ear that using Baby 5 like that made him no better than the Doflamingo, but Law brushed it away. If anything, he was being kind to the silly maid; hadn’t Rosinante wanted to keep him, Baby 5, and Buffalo out of Joker’s clutches? The Marine’s own methods of doing so hadn’t been gentle or entirely ethical, either—throwing kids out of a window wasn’t exactly a safe way to deter them from a life of piracy. Besides, even with his not-so-noble intentions towards her, Law was still a far better suitor than anyone she’d pick on her own. In fact, he was making her dream of becoming a wife a reality, and wasn’t that generous of him?

Putting his mug down, the surgeon reached out to gently rest his fingertips under her chin. Startled at the unexpected contact, Baby 5 nearly stumbled back, but he stepped closer, wrapping his arm securely around her waist to steady her. “It astounds me that a woman as beautiful as you would even consider settling for a disgusting thing such as Trebol,” he said lowly, looking deeply into her obsidian eyes. It would be easy to simply say he needed her or demand she marry him, but he wanted to be sure her loyalty fully shifted to him, otherwise, she could become a liability.

Besides, seduction was just so much more fun; since he’d hit adulthood, Law’d indulged in all manner of sexual vices with hundreds of partners, men and women alike. After all, he hadn’t expected to live past thirteen, and even with his Amber Lead Disease gone, he was on a ticking clock. Death loomed on his horizon, whether it he be killed in battle, forced to fulfill his purpose and conducting the Perennial Youth Surgery, or Joker uncovering his betrayal. So, in between plotting and research, why not make the most out of the time he had? And for all her annoying quirks, Baby 5 was a gorgeous, obedient woman, and he’d be lying if he didn’t like it when she showed her feisty side. She’d starred in many a wet dream over the years, and now he could finally justify making them a reality.

Hot, coffee-scented breath made the wispy strands of hair that framed her face flutter delicately. “You’d see you’ve got far better options if you simply opened your eyes.”

For her part, Baby 5 was utterly shocked. First, Law admitting that he cared about her, and now he was implying there was someone out there who might be interested in proposing? Was he serious, or just making fun of her like Trebol?

Slowly, the tattooed fingers at her chin journeyed south, brushing lightly down her pale throat, over her trembling heart, between her voluptuous breasts, across her trim waist, until they reached the pocket of her apron. Her eyes were fixated on his hand as he fished out a cigarette and her lighter, her breath quickening as he raised the former to her mouth. Instinctively, she opened up to take it, but with a playful smirk, he teasingly ran the filter over her bright red lips, amused at the way the cherry gloss stained the white paper.

Finally, he pushed the cigarette between her lips, murmuring, “Have you ever been kissed before, Baby-ya?”

The way her cheeks went pink was so uncharacteristically demure he had to chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest, sending strange but thrilling tingles between her legs. “N-no,” she stammered bashfully.

With a soft click, Law flicked the sparkwheel with his thumb, carefully bringing the dancing flame to light the tip of the cigarette. He could tell he was making her nervous by the way she hurriedly took several steadying puffs, embers flaring with every inhalation.

“Such a shame. I imagine there are women who would kill for lips like yours. And the way you practically suck on that cigarette,” he growled, gold eyes fixating on her mouth, “it gives a man ideas.”

“What kind of ideas?” she asked, breathless and full of wide-eyed, eager curiosity.

Unconsciously, his arm tightened around her waist at her innocence, forcing her to arch against him, soft curves molding against hard muscle. God, she didn’t even know how tempting that question made her. If he were a man with less control, she’d be on her knees learning first-hand what a mouth like hers was made for.

Plucking the cigarette from her unresisting lips, Law took a long drag before blowing the smoke out his nose as he looked down at her with hooded eyes. Licking his lips, he could taste the lingering hints of cherry gloss, sharp and sweet and delicious. “The kind a sweet little thing like you wouldn’t ever dream of.”

“Are they,” she swallowed harshly, pupils dilating as she instinctively gripped his lab coat, “the kind husbands and wives have?”

“Husbands and wives, lovers, bedmates, bored, horny teenagers; basically, anyone who likes to fuck,” he replied before taking another drag. As he leaned back his head to release the stream of smoke into the air, he smirked devilishly at her rapt expression. Oh, he was going to ruin her.

Gently tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear, he murmured, “Let me talk to Joker. Maybe I can pick his brain, figure out if there’s anyone he would consider a worthy husband for you.”

He forced himself not to laugh at the shadow of disappointment that crossed her face. Dropping her gaze, she pushed against his chest, trying to break away. “Ah…thank you, Law, but you don’t have to. I’d hate to be a burden, and you’re so busy—”

“Nonsense. A loyal, caring woman like you deserves a husband who appreciates everything you have to offer.” Deftly, he maneuvered them so her backside was pressed against the operating table, caging her in and thwarting her escape. Their legs entangled, Baby 5 had no choice but to meet his piercing gaze as he absently flicked the cigarette’s ashes onto a small puddle of blood by her hand. “I may not always agree with him, but he was right to kill the worthless bastards you were so infatuated with. Hell, my only complaint is that he always got to them before I did.”

“What?”

“I mean, if killing every man on the planet is what it takes for you to notice me…”

Baby 5 blinked blankly, mind desperately trying to process what he’d just let slip. “Law, are you…?”

“Am I what, Baby-ya?” he teased, leaning forward as he took another drag, his hot breath mingling with the sweet smoke as it fanned over her lovely face.

“Are you…proposing?”

“What if I were? Would you blindly accept like you did Trebol’s?” Putting the cigarette down, he ran the very tips of his fingers over her exposed collarbone before resting his palm over her thundering heart. He was positive if he removed it, it would jump right out of his hand. “Are you so desperate that you’d accept the proposal of a man who’s cut you apart for fun?” Roughly, his other hand buried itself in her thick, jet black hair, yanking her head back and pulling her even closer until their lips lingered barely an inch apart. “So desperate you’d give yourself over to a man covered in blood, pressed against an operating table occupied by a half-dissected idiot?”

“Yes,” she replied with bated breath, hopeful eyes sparkling.

God, she was weak. Law could pin her down and fuck her on that table, do any number of depraved things to that luscious, untouched body and she wouldn’t even complain so long as he said he needed her. The thought was tempting, but he couldn’t risk Joker refusing their union because he couldn’t control his libido. The Heavenly Demon had to feel like the surgeon genuinely desired his approval—that he wasn’t trying to go behind his back and destroy his wretched “Family.”

“Then no, I’m not.” Despair crumpled her face, tears once more welling up at how easily he’d played with her emotions. Before they could fully fall, Law released her hair to cup her chin. “Mainly because my pride would never let me give such a half-assed proposal. When I ask you to marry me, I’ll have Doflamingo’s blessing, a ring, and it’ll be somewhere far more romantic than my laboratory.”

Jaw dropping, she stared at him in disbelief. “Y-you mean that?”

“Absolutely. I can’t stand the sight of your tears; if marriage is what it takes to make you happy, I’ll do everything I can to help.”

“Thank you, Law!” she cried, flinging her arms around his neck. “You really do care about me!”

He had to chuckle as he returned her embrace; he knew she’d readily agree, but her pure joy at just the prospect of marrying him stroked his inflated ego.

“I promise I’ll be the best wife you could ask for! I’ll clean your surgical equipment twice a day, launder your lab coats by hand, give you back rubs, make onigiri for dinner every night—whatever you need!”

A tiny smile pulled at his lips. All such sweet, innocent promises from a woman who was far more sheltered than one would ever imagine from an assassin for a family of criminals. Though, he’d definitely take her up on that last one.

“Just promise me you’ll be a loyal, dutiful wife, Baby-ya, and I’ll give you a marriage unlike anything you’ve ever imagined,” he whispered intimately, cradling her cheek. His hand was so big he could fit the whole side of her face in his palm. She turned her face to nuzzle it blissfully, causing his calloused thumb to brush over her plump bottom lip.

Gold eyes darkened at the sight of her red lips against the tattooed appendage. Unconsciously, he stroked it against the seam of her mouth, gently coaxing her to open up and let it slip into her soft, hot mouth. He gave a faint moan at the sensation of her silken lips wrapping around him, molten tongue curiously stroking the rough pad. Experimentally, he gave it a few shallow thrusts, and he nearly lost his damn mind when she responded with an instinctive suck.

“Good girl,” he whispered without thinking, and the way her pupils dilated with desire at his words forced him to pull away, lest he jump the gun and the eager maid before him.

“Is…is that the kind of idea my mouth gives you?” she asked, panting faintly, her pale cheeks flushed as she nibbled on her bottom lip.

“That’s one of the tamer ideas,” he rasped, retrieving the forgotten cigarette. It had almost burnt down to the filter, but there was just enough left for a few steadying puffs. “Once we’re married, you’ll get to experience every dirty thought I’ve ever had about you. Would you like that?” he asked, unable to help himself.

Her harsh swallow was audible in the taut silence of the lab. “Yes.”

The pleasant throb between his legs urged him to start the wedding night early, but besides the logical part of his brain telling him he needed to set things in motion with Doflamingo, it was coaxing him to wait; this wasn’t the time or place to indulge in such a delicious morsel. Baby 5 needed to be savored, like a gourmet meal he’d spent hours preparing, not swallowed down in one bite. Once she was officially his, he’d have plenty of time to mold her into his perfect concubine, subordinate, secret weapon, and tool.

Desire under control, he took her hand, pressing a chaste, gentlemanly kiss to her knuckles. “I’ll meet with Joker tonight; I’m sure I can convince him we’re a match made in heaven. But I need you to not to tell anyone about us until I formally propose, alright? I want everything to be perfect, and we can’t risk Joker finding out too early and thinking we didn’t value his approval.”

Black eyes sparkled as his careful choice of words. “I promise, darling!”

“Such a good girl,” he chuckled, admiring the way her cheeks instantly flushed at his praise. How…interesting.

As Baby 5 giddily skipped out the door, the click of her heels silenced by the door slamming shut behind her, Law turned to the man bound to his table staring at him with wide-eyed shock. He’d nearly forgotten they’d had an audience, and he’d have to make sure he was properly disposed of before meeting with Joker; he couldn’t let anyone spoil his plans before he even got to the good part, after all.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” he said as he pressed the smoldering embers of the dying cigarette against his patient’s cheek, smirking as the accusing eyes watered in pain. A fresh pair of surgical gloves stretched over his long fingers, and as he selected his scalpel, he added, “Trust me—I’m still a better option than that fucking creep Trebol.”

[dotshiiki]

TBM fic (I know, what, already?)

I told you I needed to write angst. See, I read That Chapter in TBM and went to church and it was ripping up my heart the whole time and I basically wrote on my phone the entire walk home. And goodbye rest of my day because all I could do was this. Spoilers for TBM.

Sister of the Hero | Summary. Thalia gets some bad news. | 1500-ish words

(Or basically, I try and cope with the character death in TBM. Pure plotless angst.)

Her first hint that something is wrong is when Artemis shows up.

This wouldn't have been a big deal back when the goddess of the Hunt actually, you know, hunted regularly with her pack. But ever since things went pear-shaped with that Greek-Roman schism, the gods haven't exactly been flocking down to say hi. Thalia's been pretty much running the show for three years now.

It's who Artemis shows up with as well—the satyr looks hardly a day older than when Thalia last saw him at the Battle of Manhattan (well, fine, she looks exactly the same, too, but in Grover's case, it's less halted ageing and more satyrs age incredibly slowly).

Last she heard, Grover was summoned to guide Apollo and Meg through the Labyrinth in search of the third crazy emperor bent on taking over the world. The fact that he's here now, having clearly gone out of his way to find her (not to mention he's in the company of Artemis and not a blush is on his cheeks) … well, if it's to announce that all their problems have been miraculously solved, she'll eat her tiara.

'I have bad news,' Grover says.

That slight tremor in his words, borne of an attempt to keep one's voice steady that isn't quite succeeding, tells Thalia exactly what sort of bad news this is going to be. She's experienced it enough herself, after all. The Battle of Manhattan. The Battle of San Juan. The Battle of the Waystation. She's no stranger to loss. There've been too many in the past few years.

It strikes her how many more she may have to face in the centuries to come. She remembers the weary look her predecessor Zoë Nightshade used to have. Zoë led the Hunt for three thousand years. Thalia is starting to understand she was so at peace with passing on.

Then Grover says, 'It's about Jason.'

And everything stops.

It steals up on her, sometimes, these moments where the world moves in slow motion and she becomes rooted to the ground, silent and still. It must be how she experienced the world for six years (not that she actually remembers being a pine tree). She's been trying to break the habit for years now—she hates being still—but it's an insidious one.

It's actually ironic how she ended up as a tree. After L.A., after she lost Jason—after her mom failed them so badly … no, after she failed her baby brother. She ran away and never looked back and vowed she'd always keep moving. Keep moving on.

She'd never stay still.

Until she did (yeah, thanks for that, Dad).

But she's frozen now, replaying those three little words from Grover's mouth. It's about Jason.

A lot of her memories from before (she's never really sure what she means when she thinks before—before the Hunters? Before arborification? Before Luke?) are fuzzy now, but there's one that stands out clearly: the day Beryl Grace brought her children to the Wolf House in Sonoma.

'Ah, I forgot the picnic basket,' her mother said, tugging Jason away from Thalia. 'Would you get it, dear?'

And Thalia went, because Jason was hungry and if nobody fetched the food, he might try eating rocks this time (and even at nine Thalia knew a mom who managed to get wasted while her two-year-old ate a stapler was not to be trusted to keep said toddler properly fed).

When she came back, he was gone.

The hurt that ripples through her now isn't like the explosion of grief that spurred her into action back then, raging at her mom and throwing the picnic basket at her head (she thinks she may have hurled a couple of rocks as well). This is a shockwave fanning out from the site of that old wound—the one that started to scab when she met Luke (sometimes she wonders if she was so drawn to him because he reminded her of her dead brother, blond and blue-eyed and always gazing at her with those worshipful eyes … almost as though Amaltheia knew who she was missing and brought her to the closest possible substitute for family). The one that knitted into a thin scar two years ago when she found her brother at last. It is a serrated blade that digs into that closed up scar, ripping it back open.

There will be no hope of stitching it back again after this.

Thalia forces herself to move, to unroot. Her fingers uncurl one by one. When did she even clench them?

'He got dragged into your quest, didn't he?'

It was only a week ago that she told Apollo and Meg to say hi to Jason if they passed through L.A. She wishes she'd never mentioned it, never given them the slightest indication that he existed.

Hades, she wishes she'd gone and dropped in on him herself.

Anything that might have changed things.

What if, what if, what if.

The story comes out in Grover's faltering voice. Thalia touches her face. Her cheeks are dry. Where are her tears?

'Are you sure?' she hears herself say. 'Was there a—a body?'

She made that mistake once. She believed her mom when she said Hera had taken Jason. Technically it was true, but if she'd searched harder, if she'd pushed further …

More what ifs.

Did she mention, she hates what ifs, too?

'I didn't see—him,' Grover stammers. 'I wasn't with him. But it's real.'

Why weren't you there? she wants to yell. Weren't you the guide? How did it become Jason’s fight? 

But she knows the answer. She knows viscerally what must have happened. A last stand. A desperate need to save his friends. The acceptance that his life for theirs was a worthy price.

She's been there herself, after all.

Apollo, Meg, Piper—they were his Luke, Annabeth, and Grover.

The irony tastes like ash. They grew up apart, but her little brother turned out just like her anyway.

Only Dad didn't come through for Jason.

'My brother and his, ah, demigod master, are taking him to Camp Jupiter,' Artemis says gently. 'He'll get a proper Roman burial.'

Grover nods. 'I—I guess he'd want that?' He looks at her uncertainly, and Thalia realises he doesn't know. He doesn't really know the boy—the man—who sacrificed himself for his friends.

And … neither does she. For all she loves her brother … loved her brother (can she still use the present tense if he's gone?) … she doesn't know what he would have wanted, or where his real home was,  or who else he called family. She never had a chance to know him as the man he'd become.

It's Luke all over again. All those missing years and by the time she had a chance to grapple with the new person they became, she lost them. And the fact that they died as heroes isn't much comfort.

(She wasn't there when Luke died, either.)

This time, it's her own fault. She chose to become a Hunter. It's not like she regrets her decision. Not really. Mostly.

But she can't help wondering—if she'd been free of her current responsibilities, could she have spent the past three years with her brother? Would she have been with him at the end?

Could she have taken his place?

'Caligula is going there, too,' Grover says grimly. 'To—finish what he started. Apollo and Meg are going to try and stop him, but the prophecy we got from the Erythraean Oracle, it said they'd only succeed if they had help from Bellona's daughter.'

Bellona's daughter. She remembers a warehouse ambush turned quickly on its head, her knife held back at her own throat. A girl who was so much deadlier and captivating than Jason had managed to describe.

A girl who had known him better than Thalia ever had the chance to.

Thalia closes her eyes. 'I need to go there, then.'

Technically this would be dereliction of duty. They haven't found the infernal Teumessian Fox, and Camp Jupiter is in the opposite direction of their tracking. But duty pales in the face of her burning need to bring her brother's murderer to justice.

If they wanted her to put duty first, they should have made her the Roman, she thinks bitterly.

It's utter folly to challenge a goddess. Thalia does it anyway, looking up with defiance in her eyes.

But there's a funny look on Artemis's face. Part compassion, part … regret? Trepidation? Almost as if they are in the same boat.

Technically, Artemis is Thalia's sister, though she's never really thought about it that way. Now, though, the unspoken agreement that passes through them is definitely not from lady to lieutenant, but from one sister to another. She'll let Thalia make this decision for herself. She won't pass judgement.

Artemis may not get boys, but she does understand what it means to have a brother. And maybe she even gets now what it might be like to lose one.

Maybe Artemis even wants her to go. Because her hands are tied—the catch-22 of being a deity. She cannot order her Hunters to interfere even if she wants to.

But Thalia can.

And she'll go to Camp Jupiter. She'll find this Caligula and avenge Jason. She'll give her brother the farewell that twice now she's failed to say.

(There will be no third chances.)

And if Reyna Ramírez-Arellano is the key to taking down these emperors, then Thalia is damn well going to be fighting by her side.

Because she is Thalia, sister of Jason, and nobody—nobody—gets away with hurting the people she loves.

A/N: What hits me hardest about Jason’s death in TBM is imagining the others’ reactions to the awful news. And this just had to come out because I cannot deal otherwise. 

[aslightstep]

29 - Tony / ABO AU

(This is the start of how it all ever ends/They used to shout my name, now they whisper it)

Yellow Flicker Beat

When the world finds out, the people almost seem relieved. “Yes,” they breathe, laughing under their breath. Vindicated. “He’s exactly the monster we always thought he was.”

Crowds rage outside of his tower day and night while he watches them from on high. He’d had a glass of whiskey in his hand, but Clint had dashed it to the floor the moment he saw it. Clint, who had always let him be, let him cope, never treated him differently even if he was Tony Stark. Clint who was fearless, who had then shrunk back when Tony whirled on him, the remnants of the glass in between them. Normal, adjusted Omega Clint.

The Avengers are…gone now, maybe, Tony is too tired to care. (Too scared.) The big secret came out and suddenly there was a tinge of fear in Steve’s eyes, a knowing in Natasha’s glance, a shock of betrayal in the new set of Bruce’s worry lines. If Thor had been here…well, perhaps he could have kept Thor. Thor had been greatly confused by Earth’s gender dynamics when he first arrived and once they were explained, had been even more greatly discomfited.

“A warrior should be judged by his mettle,” Thor had protested. “His honor.”

“And they are,” Natasha had replied smoothly. Betas were always smooth, but Natasha was like silk. “As long as they’re in control.” 

The glass is still on the floor, the crowds are still outside, and there’s a strange beeping echoing through the floor. “J,” Tony croaks. “What is that?”

“A reminder, sir. It is time for you to take your suppressants.”

Oh, God. That had been the first thing he had ever taught JARVIS to do, over twenty years ago. Not once had it ever been needed, not after nearly a decade of ruthless conditioning by Howard and his teachers on their necessity. 

Not once, until now.

“Cancel it, J. No point now.” Tony leans into the cold glass. He can’t see the signs that people are waving from up here, but he can imagine what more than a few of them say. It’s a slogan ingrained in every child’s mind.

TRUST NO ALPHA 

Once upon a time, Alphas had ruled the world. They were leaders, kings, emperors. Strong and quick, amassing great packs filled with loyal Betas and Omegas that bent to their will. Alphas were strong, quick, and fiercely protective.

They waged wars over great swaths of land, gobbling up whatever fell in their path and making it their own. There was no individuality. There was only Pack. You were in it or you were dead.

And in the pack, there was only Alpha.

But over time, things changed. Rulers became dictators. Kings became tyrants. Protection became possession. And the loyalty of those Omegas and Betas became slavery. 

Alphas were rare, even back then. The masses rose up and cast the Alphas down. A new world order arose. Betas were so much more even-keeled, after all, and omegas just as fierce and loyal without riding the razor’s edge of madness. What did Alphas provide anyone but a lifetime of unwanted devotion and terror, never-ending instability in their constant need for control?

Alphas were dangerous. Alphas were unstable. Alphas were intrinsically inferior from the moment they were born. Trust No Alpha. They were only good for fighting and fucking. 

No one wanted them. Parents in third-world countries drowned their Alpha babies, not wanting to risk a new Pack rising up. Developed countries sent their Alphas to faraway, isolated schools with the same fear. Because no matter what Omegas and Betas told themselves, the awful truth was that an Alpha demanded Pack by sheer virtue of his or her existence. They were scared. Letting any Alpha roam free was a chance that at any moment, it could all be undone. A new Pack could be born.

They had tracked down one out on tundras of Russia just last year. Shot them all dead to a man. Tony was still surprised to this day that Howard hadn’t done the same the moment he presented. Instead, Howard had traced his mother’s lineage. Found more than a few Alphas in her line. Beat her black and blue. 

That, more than anything, proved to Tony exactly what he was worth.

“The board’s vote was unanimous, Tony,” Pepper whispers, barely audible as she chokes back her tears. She’s known what Tony was since the moment a bond almost formed between them when the dosage for his suppressants needed a re-up and his hormones had gone out of whack. Tony had torn it apart quickly and efficiently but she had still felt it. “I’m so sorry.”

His company. His legacy. Gone, just like that. Because his DNA did this, instead of that. “It’s not your fault, Pep.” Tony hangs up the call. He’s been drunk for days. There’s a Stark-issue pistol sitting pretty on the coffee table, calling his name. “Any word from the team, J?”

“No, sir.” And why would there be? He was an Alpha in their midst. Hadn’t SHIELD warned them how out of control Tony could be? He could’ve formed Pack at any moment if he’d gone off the suppressants. Could’ve bent them to his will, unmade and remade them to his liking. 

But he didn’t. Doesn’t that - doesn’t that count? He didn’t. He never would have. He didn’t want a pack. He wanted a family.

And he’d had it, for one brief shining moment. One rogue hacker with an agenda going through his medical records and in an instant it was all gone. “Try their cells, every four hours, alternating, J.” He’s past caring about appearing clingy or pushy. He just wants to talk to them.

“Is there a message you would like to leave?”

Tony looks down at the crowd outside. Hears the round table going on the news. Rhodey’s phone call from yesterday evening echoing in his head. “Tell them I’m sorry. Tell them there’s not much time.”

He picks the gun up. Puts it down. He doesn’t want to die like this. Like an Alpha. He wants to be Tony Stark.

“Tony, they’re coming for you.”

“They’re not getting their hands on the suit.”

“They’re coming for you. You’re an unbonded Alpha with more power than most of the free world. They won’t allow you to…”

“Live?”

“Tones. I’m coming, okay? Get your suit ready, we’ll make a run for Finland. Their Alpha laws aren’t so insane.”

“I’m not making you a fugitive, Rhodey.”

“Tony-”

“I love you, okay? You saved my life. Think of this as me returning the favor.”

“Sir. They are shutting down power to the building.”

“Initiate Project Nuketown, J,” Tony says. The lights go out, but Tony’s not an idiot. His penthouse and lab have their own generator. “JARVIS?”

“Sir?” JARVIS sounds almost scared now, as the sound of boots echo in their stairwell from a long ways away.

“Look for me. This isn’t the end, alright? I’m not going out like this - okay, I totally am, but it’s like the song says-”

There are soldiers in the living room. Tony grins at them, full-grown Alpha snarl, teeth bared, relishing in the collective flinch.

“’Iron Man lives again.’”

When they lead him out in a hood (to decrease sensory overload) and handcuffs that would probably keep Steve Rogers in check (never underestimate an Alpha’s strength) the crowd that has been protesting at the base of the tower goes strangely quiet. He can hear their feet move as they shuffle aside, letting them pass. High up above in the labs, a special corrosive liquid developed by him is eating away at the suits while the bots lock themselves away in a private room and JARVIS retreats deep into the Internet to hide and bide.

Tony Stark is disappearing before their eyes. Iron Man is no more.

They take him to a prison called 42. A sneering government agent tells Tony that he can go free if he bonds, which Tony refuses. “I’ll rip out the gland if you try to force it,” he tells them. “Don’t think that I can’t.” Alphas are devoted to the Omegas they bond with, on occasion to the point of obsession. They can’t think of anything but providing and protecting for their Omega. Nowadays, that kind of mental imbalance is encouraged - to keep the Alphas in line and under control. 

Tony imagines that it used to be a very profound thing, the Bond. An Alpha’s body yearns for one their whole life. But a smart Alpha is careful to let that be the only thing that does. Keep your heart and your mind safe. They are the only things you will own.

Tony is stuck in a dark cell, alone, always cold. He dreams about life before constantly. Even with years of suppressants destroying his body and his mind always screaming as its most base part was ruthlessly shut down, Tony had been so happy. He’d had Pepper, and Rhodey. He’d had the Avengers. No one knew his secret; it had died with those men in the cave and Obie. He was going to live an incomplete life, but that had just made what he did have all the more sweet.

He was warm, and respected, and maybe even loved. They’d make Pack, and gender dynamics could go fuck themselves. It had been all their own.

Now it’s all gone. 

They, of course, want him to make weapons.

“You’re smart. Amazingly smart, for an Alpha. It’d be a shame to let that go to waste.”

And Tony agrees.

They lead him into a room with all sorts of metal and chemicals and tools and he smiles. The guards are watching him at all times. But they’re watching out for an Alpha. That is their mistake.

It was never being an Alpha that saved him. It was being Tony Stark. And they can take away his money, and his toys, his friends and his team, but at the end of the day, he is what he made himself, not what his biology dictated. He is Iron Man.

It doesn’t take three months this time.

Three months later, Bruce Banner is awakened by a beeping sound. He sits up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. They had been pulling so many long nights lately. The world insisted that Tony Stark had died in the Prison 42 explosion, but the Avengers didn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe it. 

“JARVIS? What is it?” 

“I have located him,” the AI answers, clearly overjoyed. The audio seems to cut out and quietly, Black Sabbath’s ‘Iron Man’ begins to play. “It is on a loop. Repeating for over three weeks.”

Bruce laughs disbelievingly. “Oh, Tony,” he whispers, a fierce wave of longing rising up in him. He’d missed his friend. “Are you able to contact him?”

“Yes, I am. Would you like to pass on a message?”

“Tell him his apology is accepted. And we’ll give our own in person.” He stands, yanking the cricks out of his back, and heads for the elevator. “And tell the team to Assemble. Our Alpha needs us.”