#almost trying to goad her back to consciousness

[peachdues]

Finally got to read this and —

Also, Levi, telling everyone James isn’t dead yet

FUCK I RAN OUT OF TAGS —

Anyways, Silver Underground truly leaves me breathless with every chapter. Thank you for this gift, Amy!!

silver underground. | chapter 22

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin) Word Count: 5k Summary: the past and present; levi's version Warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI - flashbacks, levi's pov, graphic imagery, sickness, medical conversations, panic / paranoia, mentions / canon divergence of the recently published 'bad boy' chapter (extra warnings under the cut)

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 22.

note: there is a presumed major character death in this chapter. please do not read if you are not in the right headspace for this content. mental health first xo

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He can’t shake the adrenaline.

Kinetic energy thrums through his veins, destroying his focus.

For the fifth time since he returned to headquarters, Levi’s hands dip generously into the pool of ice-cold sink water in the corner of his bedroom.

His wrists flick up, quick, to splash it across his face like the whiplash sting will somehow calm the fever in his heart.

A sixth time.

A seventh.

He’ll keep going until that look on your face from the forest is wiped from his mind.

(Until he stops thinking of the before, when he wasn't enough.)

His lungs constrict as he forces himself to breathe, slow and steady, though the exhales exit like strangled gasps.

White knuckles resign themselves to the mouth of the sink as he leans in. His shoulder blades detangle themselves, sorting out the tension, while his eyes wearily stare at his reflection from the watery mirror below.

I know you, you said.

Of course you know him.

You said a long time ago you’d always know him, as if he’s an extension of your arm leading directly to the beat of your very heart.

How could I forget someone like you? you'd muse. If anything, you'd forget me.

(As if that was ever a fucking option.)

When you were just kids wasting away in the bitterness of the Underground City, you likened yourself to a shadow following Levi’s every footstep.

How could you look at yourself as a shadow when you were always the only light in his goddamn life?

You may not remember everything that's happened to you, everything that's made you, but Levi has silently volunteered to carry every burden in the interim.

Yours and his.

Up a hill, down a slope, through the mud, against raging snow — he'll carry the essence of you until you come back.

Because he was there.

For most, if not all, of it, he was there.

Twin fingers, reaching high for the stream of morning sunlight.

Shoulder to shoulder in a mess of sheets; you swore you’d never get over the sensation — the warmth of the light.

He'd never forget.

Levi would come to know warmth far better than the sun above — like the ghost of smile peppered over your lips.

He rolled over to selfishly block your view.

You were better than the goddamn sun, he'd quickly come to realize for himself.

He'd never forget.

"Can you believe there's really a world out there like this that can be real?" you murmured into the hollow of his throat as he peppered a crown of kisses against your forehead.

That the two of you could lay on a mattress easily fitting the both of you, not threatening to cave in on itself.

That you both could live this secret life, as Captain and Lieutenant, until you were old and gray.

For a second he so foolishly believed you could, too.

In comparison to the Underground, the surface could be considered paradise.

Maybe still hell on earth in its own right, sure, but at least it wasn’t a life buried in a tomb.

The vibrant green of the trees. The dirt that didn’t always stink of rot. The endless blue sky above.

Warmth was a comfort so many took for granted.

You knew. You both knew.

Caked sweat and congealed blood. Green bruises and busted lips. An abyss of gray, nothingness.

That's what he understood best.

 — especially after she died.

His mother; the first concept he had of the sun.

And for the short few years she was alive, she was radiant. 

The withering city wasn’t so bad under her wing, even if the men who berated and belittled her were. 

Levi vowed he’d grow strong enough, brave enough, to make sure one day they wouldn’t have to live in a cramped space surviving on the niceties of traded goods — bodies for money, lies for survival.

Then Kenny entered his life and everything became violent.

Bared teeth and closed fists. Selfishness and territories.

Mine, mine, mine.

Except it was all his — that bastard took every damn cent he could make off of him and then some, oftentimes working him to the bone.

(You got a meanness, boy. Meanness that can’t be taught. No, that’s deep in your blood.)

And Levi believed him.

He believed him because no matter how easy it could’ve been to lie down and die, to maybe one day see his mother at the end of his dining table again, he was fully prepared to do whatever he had to in order to survive. 

To endure. 

To come out on top and never let anyone — not even Kenny the Ripper — destroy him.

Because he had memories to hold onto. 

People.

The rest of the world may have forgotten his mother, but Levi refused.

Hell, it was his only driving force.

He might have known violence, it may have infected his blood, but he wouldn’t lose his humanity and disappoint her.

And when Kenny set him up for a betting fight, usually it was with men twice his size and triple his age.

Little kids were never on the roster, but you — you were an exception.

New, but just as ferocious.

A girl, sure, but you landed the punches on him so many others couldn’t.

He remembers the way your neck felt under his bony fingers. How your teeth clenched together. How you growled like a feral animal.

One more second of that fight and you would have been able to overtake his lead — he was too busy staring, searching.

Memorizing someone who had endured, too.

You said you were a shadow.

Levi knew shadows.

If you were a shadow, then maybe he would've ignored you.

Maybe he would have left you the hell alone.

(Because at the end of the day, all of this is his fault. The memory loss, the injuries — all of it.)

After the gun fired and the crowd scrambled, Levi couldn’t leave you well-enough alone.

He couldn’t let you find your own way in the maze of a miserable mausoleum where your bodies would eventually find peace together, perhaps even side by side.

All Levi could do was selfishly keep tabs, watch your fights, see that piece of shit you called Mother berate and harass you in the comfort of alleyways hidden from plain sight.

If you didn’t die in the rings, then chances are she would have sold you off — resigning you to live out the rest of your days like his mother.

He saw the way the world was cruel to her.

He’d be damned if he didn’t stop the world from being cruel to you.

So at the end of the day, yeah, it’s all his fault.

If he hadn’t convinced you to join his two-person operation all those years ago;

If he had pushed you harder before the final job to hate him;

If he had figured out a loophole in Erwin’s ignorance of what you are to him to push you into another division that wasn’t the goddamn Scouts, claiming disruption or inciting violence—

If, if, if—

So many possibilities, so many scenarios, where he holds your fate so selfishly against his own chest in fear of dissolving it.

Yet he was so willing to finally let you go.

To do the right thing now that you’re on the surface.

Now that you are free.

An invisible string that gleams crimson is tied to his ring finger.

It dips under the sink and snakes across the wooden floorboards of his bedroom, into the hallway, and straight to you.

If only he had caught you the first time.

If only.

.

.

.

.

.

.

  In the aftermath of falling straight to the forest floor, dust kicks up all around him, invading his lungs and choking him out.

It burns, but it doesn't deter him.

Here he has only one objective.

One goal.

“James?”

He calls your name, hoping to hear something.

Anything.

The only sound that answers is the bristle of the tree branches above.

A scene so ghastly concludes with serenity and the weightless chirps of birds.

Coughing, Levi swipes at the cloud of dirt with his hands, dropping his dulled blade to the earth.

It clunks as violently as he’s moving, scrambling to find your silhouette anywhere in this goddamn mess.

"C'mon, damn it," he growls to himself, swiping at the murky air.

One step, then another.

You can't be far.

He'd fallen down with you, trying to break both of your falls, but the momentum was far too great.

At the last second, he rolled away from you thinking you'd lean in and follow.

You did not follow.

—then he sees it.

You’re not vertical, head up and feet outstretched in a daze.

You’re horizontal, lying face-down in the dirt.

Motionless.

“James?!”

Levi repeats your name, louder this time, before nearly vomiting from how much debris he’s inhaled.

He wretches, arm wrapped around his stomach, teeth grit.

He manages to get ahold of himself, to stave off the sickness, before he drops to the ground and crawls to you on hands and knees like a child.

“James, hey—”

The world stops, then and there.

You don't move. You don't respond.

His hand halts in a hover over your body, painfully aware that he cannot pull you upright carelessly.

It's so quiet down here.

Quiet, as if...

Slowly his watering eyes widen, his mind going to the place where logic can follow.

“...James,” he murmurs, voice dissolving. 

He decides to then scoop the once-hovering hand to inch it under your wrapped emerald cloak. His other hand cradles the back of your neck, mindful of the worst case scenario.

The sickening heaviness of your body greets him as he turns you over, carefully, to find your lips parted and eyes closed.

He can't tell if you're breathing.

You look like you're sleeping.

No.

No, this isn't what it looks like.

“James, shit, wake up—”

His words crack, throat dry.

“Wake up.”

Louder this time, like anger might jolt you.

Where he goes, you’re meant to follow. 

You’ll follow his voice. You’ll follow it and you’ll wake up and he’ll never forget how you scared the living shit out of him.

(Even if he will eventually forgive you for dedicating your fucking heart to a cause you didn’t even believe in.)

Logic battles with emotion.

Reality fights with fate.

Cradling the back of your head with immense care, Levi takes action and head ducks to press against your chest, desperate to find —

There.

It’s faint, but a heartbeat is still there.

“Don't do this,” he pleads under his breath. “Don’t you up and fucking quit on me now. I know you can hear me.”

The wheeze of overworked gear flies past his head in a semi-circle.

Several boots land to his west, hasty in their descent.

Luckily his head is turned to the east.

(He can hide the growing terror from his squad. He can buy himself more time to harness his panic and push it away.)

“Captain?” It’s Eld, wasting no time to rush over. He hears the quick taps of his boots running right for him. “Captain, what the hell happened?”

“James?!” Petra yelps, and he can hear Oluo gasp with finality.

No.

No, you aren’t dying.

Not today. Not tomorrow.

“Wait, don’t,” Gunther interjects suddenly.

Levi assumes it’s to keep the rest of the squad back from crowding the scene.

The blonde scout drops to his knees beside his captain, panting heavily. Levi can smell the stench of sweat and exertion radiating from his uniform.

“Captain Levi,” Eld urges once more.

“We have to get her back to the Walls," he forces himself to say, voice steady.

Levi lifts his head with practiced precision.

He meets Eld's worried gaze with a deadened stare.

"Is she...?"

"Her heartbeat is faint," Levi answers the question Eld doesn't have to finish, "but it’s there.”

Eld's face falls.

Levi hates it.

I just said it's there, damn it. Don't consider her dead. Don't.

“She saved us!”

A meek voice peeks out from behind Eld's back.

Levi Squad turns in unison — a well-oiled machine built for crisis — to find Miro Squad riding to the clearing with the extra horses.

The entire squad looks haunted, worse for wear, but they still stayed.

They still fought to the bitter end.

Like true Scouts.

Miro hops off of their horse, running over to the group first.

“Several titans attacked us. If it wasn't for the Lieutenant, we would have all been eaten alive. Please, if we can help in any way, we owe her.”

They bow as one of the other shaken Scouts pulls Levi's horse by the reins from around the back of the formation.

“Sir, Scout Rini is a doctor," Miro continues.

“A doctor?” Oluo blurts incredulously. “Out here? In the field?”

“Formerly a doctor,” Rini anxiously states while dismounting from his horse, "before I joined the cause. I — I would say I could treat her here, but there’s nothing I can do. Too much blood loss. If we can get her inside the Walls—”

“Are we going to keep wasting time talking?” Levi growls, glaring daggers at the rest of the group. “I’m not letting her bleed the hell out. Help me get her on my horse.”

No one hesitates.

Both squads rush to his aid, lifting you with utmost care.

Twenty pairs of hands and ten bodies working in tandem to make sure they don’t jostle your neck or hurt your spine.

The captain only lets go of you to hoist himself up on his black stallion, before bringing you close to his body in a side-saddle.

He can ride one-armed and keep you steady.

He refuses to believe otherwise. 

Because Levi sees it on their faces — beyond the faintest breath against his hand, there’s next to no indicators that you’ll survive.

But they don’t know you.

Not like he knows you.

“Don’t you die on me,” he murmurs against the crown of your head, lips close enough to count as a kiss.

Then he’s off.

He speeds off like a bullet on his horse, crouching over with his jaw so clenched he can feel his teeth nearly cracking.

Forward. His only goal is to push forward — past the trees, past the old villages, and doesn’t stop to look back.

“You’re not allowed to die.”

From this distance the other won't be able to hear, but you might. So he keeps talking.

Come back to me.

“Still got all that shit you wanted to do up here, right? You remember that?”

Levi wishes you could answer.

He wants to believe you would if you could.

“You still gotta get those dumbass cats of yours. You know how many of those filthy things are on the streets? You can fill an entire fucking house for all I care.”

Anything.

He’ll do anything, at this point.

“Didn’t give me a chance to… to find a damn house, to figure everything out—”

A whole world left to discover.

(You asked for his last name. A last name worth nothing, yet somehow it still held something for you. God damn it, he’d give you that last fucking name in every lifetime so long as he could still keep you in this one.)

He stops speaking when Gunther and Eld take it upon themselves to push their horses to their limits, flying past him.

They surge forward in their journey to the nearing Walls, determined to carve a seamless entrance for Levi to enter. 

Eld leans back and holds an arm up high, shooting off a red flare for the Garrison Regiment stationed at the perimeter to see:

Danger.

(Once they reached the gates, they could explain everything. A red flare is enough for now.)

Flicking his wrist to snap the reins, his horse picks up the pace and gallops harder.

Levi pulls you into his chest, ignoring the tremble in his limbs.

From fear or adrenaline. 

From both.

“We have an injured Scout, but she’s still alive!” Eld shouts to the Garrison Regiment above with an urgency Levi’s never heard from the typically stoic man. “We need a wagon and medics, now!”

Between the flare and Eld’s command, the action is already set in motion.

The gears churn, slowly opening the large stone gate just enough for humans to clear in passing. 

Eld and Gunther are first.

Levi, not far after. 

The others, including Miro Squad, arrive seconds later.

Several Garrison soldiers pull up to the gate with a wagon suitable for approximately eight, maybe ten people.

Levi continues to hold you protectively to his chest as they prepare, cradling your neck with the utmost care.

One false move and the light goes out. 

(He knows how easy it is to take a human life.)

“Levi!”

He hears the wail of Hange’s voice in the midst of the panic.

His eyes search for them in the commotion, body stonelike, only to spy their unruly ponytail flying in the wind — with Moblit not far behind.

And...

Commander Erwin?

The tall blonde causes the crowd to divide in half, shoulders adorned with the Scout emeralds.

Hange and Moblit look just as horrified as he feels.

They run right up to the side of his horse calling your name, but their voices are all but mumbles to him.

Not when Erwin’s eyes bore into his.

Although the commander's expression is one of stone, Levi can sense what Erwin wants to say.

Unspoken deja vu; they’ve seen how this played out before.

Except this time, Levi has you in one piece.

He made it back this time.

He didn't forsake you.

(And he isn’t letting a titan take you from him. Not like Isabel. Not like Furlan.)

“Levi, what happened?!”

Hange rips him out of his trance, bringing him back to gruesome reality.

Medics finally arrive on the scene. Below him he can see Scout Rini directing them, immediately stepping back into his former occupation with ease.

On the sidelines, the remainder of Miro Squad huddles together.

Eyes watery and body trembling, some cry into their hands.

Some hide their faces in the shoulders of their comrades.

She’s not dead yet, he wants to snap at them. Don’t act like she’s gone. Not yet.

(If he repeats it enough, then can he make the impossible true?)

“She played hero, that’s what fucking happened," Levi seethes after he manages to find his voice, forcing it not to crack. "Saved a goddamn squad on her own against orders. She needs a doctor. I don’t know—”

“They need to take her, Levi,” Hange interrupts with an understanding softness in their tone. “Let her go.”

The captain’s under eye trembles.

“I’m going with her on the—”

“You will,” Hange promises, nodding quickly, “but you have to let her go so they can start working — before it’s too late.”

They're right.

The medics are waiting, just on the other side to receive her.

Slowly Levi unfurls his arms, one by one, and helps gently transfer you to the people he's entrusting your life to.

As soon as you're off of his lap, however, Levi swivels his legs off of his horse to follow suit.

Hange’s eyes widen as he dismounts, but Levi’s too busy watching them set you down in a sea of blankets and gauze. 

“Levi, your shirt. It’s…”

Briefly he turns his chin to glance up at his comrade, registering what they're saying before looking down:

Maroon.

Deep, deep maroon.

His once-white button down is stained with a mixture of grimy dirt and blood.

“It isn’t mine," is all he can think of saying back.

Hange's expression shifts in seconds, a certain slant of pity he hates witnessing.

He doesn't have the energy to fight Hange, Erwin, any of them.

Not when he has to get to you.

He has to stay with you no matter what.

With that statement lingering in the air, Levi abandons Hange to trudge over to the wagon. In one swift motion, the captain hops over the siding of the transport.

His knees fall just above your head, settling in place for the ride to the hospital.

Most of the medics are too busy ripping up your uniform to check for deep gashes and broken bones, documenting them as they gear up to leave, but a few glance at Levi with uncomfortable shock.

Then one brave soul speaks.

“Sir, we’ll need you to stay back.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Levi firmly states.

“But it—”

“The wagon fits ten. If you have a problem with it, we can talk later. She's on my squad.”

She's my responsibility, damn it, and I'm failing her.

The wagon dips once again in newfound weight, and a pair of knees come into view.

On the other side of James’ head rests Hange.

“I’m going, too," Hange states firmly.

Levi can feel his expression smoothing, one of reluctant gratitude.

He catches the sentiment, buries the emotion down his throat, and drops his chin to focus on James.

“C’mon, c’mon!" they shout to the medics for him. "Let’s go! We can't waste anymore time, damn it!”

With Hange’s order, the wagon takes off. 

In the initial jolt, Levi abruptly reaches both of his bloodied palms to rest on either side of your head, keeping it in place as the horses run the wagon to the Trost hospital.

The medics and Doctor Rini continue working amongst themselves, with Hange on the ledge observing.

Seconds feel like hours.

It's agony.

“We’re almost there,” he murmurs under his breath, to you and you alone. “Just a little longer, alright? We’re in the Walls. You went back and saved almost an entire squad by yourself, you overachieving piece of shit. So don’t give up now, damn it. Keep fighting.”

Despite not being alone this time, the captain is unwilling to stop talking for a single moment.

He can sense Hange’s eyes boring down the back of his neck, but he doesn’t care for decorum.

He doesn’t give a shit if this brings more questions at his front door.

This may be your last few moments with him.

So he won’t leave.

(He never left Mom, and he sure as fuck isn’t leaving you.)

“She’ll need extensive surgery.” 

A rogue murmur catches his attention.

When Levi looks up, he sees one of the medics addressing the doctor scout. Gravity brings a grimace to her face. 

A second medic frowns. “Do you think she’s going to—”

“Don’t say it,” Rini replies softly. “What she needs is our undivided attention. This is a Lieutenant of the Scouts, and she saved my life. Treat her life as your highest priority.”

Levi decides to say nothing.

There is nothing to be said — no argument will change the outcome.

As the wagon finally arrives at Trost medical, they’re received by staff with a gurney.

They begin prepping you to be transferred, but—

In a flurry, Hange gasps and leaps out of their seat to fiddle with your neck.

The sudden touch completely throws him off, causing him to protectively curl around you.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Her necklace, Levi,” Hange swiftly states, their own voice shaking. “The doctors could break it during surgery. You know she’d never let us live it down if they destroy it.”

His heart seizes.

Hange’s act of kindness isn’t lost on him.

You loved that damn thing. 

No, you love.

You’re still there.

It isn’t just a mere memory yet.

Belatedly nodding, the dark-haired man clears his throat. "Yeah, she'd be pissed."

"I thought so," Hange exhales, finally detaching the clasps.

It's the first time he's seen you without it since you were teenagers.

(Doesn't look right, being off your neck like that.)

Eventually the medics successfully transfer you to the awaiting gurney.

Without another word to Hange or himself, the team dedicating to saving your life run into the building.

Everything was a flurry until there was nothing.

Silence.

Levi’s shoulders slump as he’s forced to watch you disappear from his sight.

There wasn’t a chance to save Furlan or Isabel.

They’d been destroyed, limb from limb, before he could stop it from happening.

He’d managed to get you this far, but…

Now it was out of his hands.

His fists clench, determined to keep your blood close, protected, in his palms.

(Helpless.)

“Do you want to hold it for her?”

Hange’s voice enters his mind as he slowly turns his chin, blue-grey eyes finding the taller scout frowning.

Their eyes are glassy in a way he refuses.

Mourning.

Slowly they extend their arm, unfurling their fingers.

A lump forms in the middle of his throat at the sight of the glittering silver in their palm, the pendant still just as beautiful as the day you accepted his gift.

“Keep it, Four Eyes, and give it back to her when she wakes up.”

(If he touches it, then you might actually disappear. He already possesses enough keepsakes from the dead with a self-inflicted burden to carry them all. The world may have forgotten them, but he hasn’t. He won’t.)

“Levi…”

“She’s going to live, Hange.” 

Whether he says it to convince Hange or himself, Levi doesn’t know. Perhaps it’s for both of them.

He knows how much they adore you.

He’s no stranger to the fact that you’ve made your own home outside of him — they love you as much as he loves you.

“She’s a fighter. Always been once, ever since we were kids.”

The lack of shock in Hange’s gaze makes him wonder how much you’ve told them about the two of you.

“She’ll fight tooth and nail to get the hell back here.”

“I know she will,” Hange laments.

A blanket of silence envelops them as they continue to wait for any news outside of the hospital, together.

The longer he waits, the closer he feels to being ten years old again.

Alone.

So fucking along and so goddamn terrified to wait for the truth.

Because it’s either one or the other.

You live, or your story ends.

Levi inhales, holding his breath.

And holds.

And holds, childishly wishing it could be enough for the both of you.

Like if he doesn’t let go until you gasp for life, then he can save you.

He can keep you.

.

.

.

.

.

.

  He finally exhales, giving in to the collapse of his shoulders.

He can’t save you, just as much as he can’t keep you.

Levi knows this.

He’s known it since the second you woke up in that hospital bed without an ounce of warmth in those eyes of yours.

That was when he made his choice to leave you be, to give you a running shot at the life the two of you had always talked about.

He thought one day was grueling.

Impossible.

One day became one week.

One week into months.

He stayed away, but at what cost?

He hasn’t slept right in this bed.

He barely eats.

He opts to show his face at the mess hall with his standard cup of black tea to keep up the appearances.

If the real you died that day, then he was certain he died right alongside you.

Now, within six agonizing months, you’ve saved yourself — chose yourself — to still somehow end up right back where he left you.

(That kiss, tattooed with the permanence of the loss of you, still burns his lips from yesterday.)

You might remember.

You might know who you really are.

You might know him.

The sink below rattles.

It takes a second, but when he shifts his dissociative stare to his thumb, he notes the tremble.

He grips tighter, squeezing, before giving up. He pushes away from it altogether, cradling his forearm to suppress it himself. 

Focus.

Find your sanity and ease it back.

Maybe you won’t say what he wants to hear, but he promised like a fool.

Don’t push me away. Don’t shut me out.

I won't, he promised. I’ll never.

Hearing the horses whinny to a halt outside, he scrubs his face with his hand and chooses to turn on a heel to stalk towards the door.

He’ll scope out how everyone’s doing, make a cup of tea, mull all this shit over—

Then he opens his door to your face.

You stand before him, hand raised like you were about to knock.

Frozen in time just like he feels.

James.

Levi can’t feign indifference when he stares back at you, not when it’s almost unsettling how much more… you, you look right now. 

Life radiates from a dead body. You’re not apologetic in getting caught, just apologetic that you nearly slammed the knuckles of your fist into his face.

For a moment, there’s silence. 

He can hear the other scouts talking amongst themselves downstairs.

And before he can say a word, you speak.

“Can we please—”

“Yeah.”

He doesn’t let you finish.

There’s no reason.

Rip the bandage off the congealed blood.

Call it a day, if he is meant to lose it all.

His hand extends the door on its hinge, inviting space for you.

“Yeah, might as well.”

You step in, and Levi prepares for the worst.

.

author's note: a lot of you had asked for levi's pov on the events that went down, and i've been waiting to get his side of the story.

thank you for reading the final few chapters of this journey. you are all so very wonderful for the encouragement, the engagement, etc. on both here and ao3. i hope all of my rebloggers have a good night's sleep and a little treat; you are the soul of this story.

[fayes-fics]

Too Much

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome), modern AU

Summary: Anthony and Benedict take on a challenge you set them.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, dom/sub dynamics, use of pet/play names/titles (baby girl, kitten, sir), dirty talk, vaginal fingering, sex toys (vibrator), oral sex (m to f), overstimulation, multiple orgasms, brief loss of consciousness.

Word Count: 4.1k

Authors Note: this is a double request fill for @demonic-black-queen and Anon (HERE and HERE). I hope you don't mind me combining your requests into this one-shot. Im not sure about it, but I hope it fits your requests. Unbetaed. Enjoy<3

“What the…?!?”

You almost jump out of your skin and spin around to find two sets of shocked eyes trained on you. You didn’t hear anyone enter the flat with your AirPods in.

“El isn’t here,” you point out once you rally from the scare. 

You decide to push through the mortification of being found dancing through your flat in your underwear on a Saturday afternoon. They are the ones who shouldn’t be here, after all, her two oldest brothers. Both look utterly delicious in faded tees and jeans, something you are trying (but failing) not to notice.

“Yes, we know she’s away for a week; that’s why we are here,” Anthony responds, steadfastly looking at your face, but you can see a vein in his temple is pulsing. 

“We came to assemble some standing desk she’s been on about,” Benedict explains, stepping out from behind his older brother. “We are so sorry to intrude; El told us you would be out this weekend too,” he adds apologetically, but you don’t miss the momentary flicker of his gaze down your body.

“I was supposed to be,” you admit with a conciliatory nod, “change of plans, useless now ex-boyfriend,” you throw your hands up in a shrugging gesture.

“What happened?” Benedict blurts out, then appears to check himself. “Sorry, ignore that; it’s none of our business.”

You decide to shock them with part of the truth. If they are going to interrupt your alone time in your own home, you are going to have a little fun. See how they react. “Couldn’t make me orgasm enough,” you twist your lips into a coquettish pout, raising an eyebrow. “Couldn’t tame me properly enough either; I need a better dom than that.”

Benedict splutters a surprised cough and then looks thoroughly entertained.

“Not surprised. You’re a total brat,” Anthony mutters under his breath.

“What was that?” you throw back boldly, wanting to see where this could go. An illicit thrill runs down your spine as you cross your arms under your breasts, knowing it frames them so well.

“I said you’re a little brat, and you need to learn when to shut up,” Anthony states louder, more intentionally, his eyes flitting down to your cleavage. You see out of the corner of your eye Benedict’s gaze ping-ponging between you, a bemused expression on his handsome features.

“You’re not the boss of me,” you volley back every cell alive at this challenge. You’ve always had this antagonistic, dangerously flirty vibe with El’s oldest brother whenever he comes to visit. It’s like he knows without saying what buttons to press to rile you up in every sense.

Anthony advances on you with a strong gait; you inhale sharply as he pulls up inches from you, so close you can feel his body heat—looking down at you with a clipped expression.

“If I were, you’d be quiet and over my knee by now,” he opines darkly, and you ripen, feeling your body readying for him. 

Please, yes, please.

Instead, you just raise an eyebrow. “I’d like to see you try,” you goad, tossing your hair a little for good measure. 

Anthony’s face morphs into a predatory smile; you have to swallow around a lump in your throat as he leans in. “You don’t stand a chance with both of us,” he cautions.

Your breath catches, your eyes flitting past him to Benedict, whose face is still one of amusement, but something else is there too, a glint, a heat in his eye you didn’t notice before. “Are you a dom too?” you ask, attempting casual. It's not even a question you bother posing to Anthony; his nose is inches from your neck, sniffing your scent, animal-like.

“I can be when the situation calls for it,” Benedict responds assuredly, pushing off where he leans nonchalantly, “and this definitely calls for it,” he adds, licking his lip and turning to face you more squarely. 

“So what say you?” Anthony prompts, his voice like velvet, a hand hovering but not touching your hip, awaiting your permission to touch, to play. Respectful in a way that makes you want this, them, even more.

“I say…” you pause for dramatic effect, meeting Benedict’s eyes as your hand lands in Anthony’s hair, and he inhales sharply at the drag of your nails on his scalp. “Try me, Bridgerton.” 

The challenge issued is the green light Anthony needs, grabbing your hips harshly, sure to leave fingerprints. 

“Limits?” he inquires as his teeth graze your neck.

“Nothing that will scar; otherwise, let’s see what you come up with,” you return, pulse racing, being intentionally vague, wanting to see how wild they can be.

“Alright then,” he huffs, amused, “safe word?”

“Blueberry,” a soft sigh escaping your lips as he bites into you harsher.

“That’s cute,” you feel his smile against your skin.

“Exactly, just like me,” you reply precociously, and there is another chuckle—from the younger brother this time, as Benedict rounds behind you and a large hand cups your entire skull, tilting it back so you look up at him through heavy lashes.

“You’ll regret riling him up,” he warns, leaning close. “Tell me, what do you like to be called when you play like this? Hmm?” His question is sweet and considerate to ask. “Little one? Kitten? Baby girl?”

“All, any of those,” you whisper, your cupid’s bow catching his lip as you do so, Anthony’s hands sweeping down to grab your buttocks and heave you against his toned body. Benedict crowds into your back, and you feel your stomach clench as you are trapped between them.

“I like a girl who gives options,” Benedict murmurs approvingly and then he captures your lips in an almost bruising kiss, those long fingers flexing against your scalp, directing you as Anthony’s mouth slides around to your throat.

Oh, this will be excellent.

“Are you both going to get as undressed as me?” you urge as Benedict breaks the kiss.

They both laugh in response, and you feel the vibration against your front and back; it's enthralling.

“It might be best if we stay dressed for today,” Benedict answers, causing you to pout at him. “You don't think we can bring you blinding pleasure without removing our clothes?” he intuits your thoughts.

“No, I don't,” you reply honestly.

Anthony pulls you towards him, his lips ghosting yours. “Oh, then you have so much to learn about what a good dom is, baby girl. I could make you pass out and not remove an ounce of clothing.”

You gasp into his bruising kiss as Benedict's hands sweep around your sides. “He's right,” Benedict gusts into your ear, his fingers tracing the notches of your spine. “We can make you come so many times you’ll beg us to stop.”

“Yeah, right,” you goad defiantly into Anthony’s mouth, and he yanks you away by the hair at the base of your scalp.

“Challenge accepted, baby girl,” he growls. 

With a nod to Benedict, you squeal as they pick you up as if you weigh nothing and move towards your bedroom, slamming open the door open so it bangs loudly against the wall and throwing you onto your bed with a force that would usually annoy you, but right now just heightens your pleasure, a little bit of rough handling sometimes increases your arousal.

They both climb onto the bed on either side of you, bracketing your body so you can't move, twining their ankles around yours so your legs are held open while guiding your hands to your headboard.

“Hold on here, and don't let go until we say so,” Anthony orders, hot in your ear. “Now, where is your vibrator?” 

“Bedside drawer,” you stutter, nodding to the one over Benedict’s shoulder.

He twists around to find it as Anthony runs a finger across your bra. “How attached are you to this underwear?” 

“Not particularly.”

“Good,” he states firmly, “because I am in the mood to rip it off your body.” the casual way he says it makes you gasp as Benedict turns back with your vibrator in hand, placing it onto the pillow above your head for now. They both run their hands over the plane of your body, landing on your underwear. “With both of us, this little scrap doesn't stand a chance, ” he warns.

Your gaze pings between them, your arousal rocketing as they grasp the fabric between their dextrous hands; the noise of fabric ripping fills the air. They remove the scraps of material from around your body, cool air swirling your soaked flesh where they hold your legs open.

Fuck, that is hot.

“Oh, this is lovely, kitten,” Benedict rumbles as his long fingers trail through your trimmed, shaped hair patch.

It's the first time someone has complimented your pubic hair, and watch wide-eyed as a smirk crawls across his face, his hand slipping lower. You gasp as he unerringly finds your clit and brushes against it, achingly light. Anthony’s hands are busy pulling your thighs even wider apart, then spidering up your inner thigh until his, too, reaches your folds.

“Baby girl, you are soaking for us,” his voice gravelly as you moan when he slips a finger inside you. “Oh, you like that, don't you?” he adds, his smile also dangerous.

You bite your lip and nod enthusiastically, still barely believing this is how the surprise encounter has turned out. With Benedict's fingers on your clit and Anthonys inside you, you know you are in trouble already. They know precisely what they are doing; Anthony slides a second finger inside, so you feel a stretch as Benedict hooks his thumb under your clitoral hood and starts to flick against your most sensitive nub.

“Jesus Christ,” you mutter, your head flopping back and then their warms lips are on your body, starting at your neck and nibbling their way down your heated collarbones to the edge of your bra.

As if timed perfectly, they each push down a cup, and their tongues swirl your nipples simultaneously; you are thrown so close to orgasm it's unbelievable. Eyes shut and crying out.

“Kitten, does it truly take so little?” Benedict laughs, trailing his nose over your nipple as he expertly teases your clit.

“I have no idea what is happening, fucking hell,” your throat dry, your mind unable to compute how quickly they are hurtling you towards an edge.

“It's evident this little brat has never had a real dom tame her before,” Anthony says airily, adding a third finger into you and wringing mortifying sounds from your body.  “Holding her down and showing her just how fast she can come with…” he pauses to hook onto a spot inside that makes you squeal, “expert hands…” he adds, bemused.

“Yes, fine, okay, you win,” you exhale shakily, your pussy burning white hot, “just please, please don't stop,” you whine, your hands curled tight around the cold metal posts of your headboard. 

With a glance at each other that you know is some silent communication, Anthonys' fingers rocking deeper into you and curling into a hook on every stroke as Benedict circles your clit at an increasing pace, all as their tongues tease your nipples incessantly, their bodies holding you down and open to their wonderful ministrations. A long low curse leaves your lips as you ratchet so high it's almost dizzying.

“Yes, that's it, baby girl, give it to us,” Anthony buzzes against your breast.

“Come on, kitten,” Benedict adds, surging up to capture your lips as he senses the tugging fluttering sensation around your clit.

And then you are breaking, your mind switching off, routed in the fireworks in your body, fighting them to buck your hips against the tide ripping through your body, but they won't let you, holding your legs down and open as you orgasm helplessly under their control. Your cunt clenching Anthonys' fingers so forcefully he growls.

“Brother, you have to have your fingers inside this little cunt when it orgasms; feel the power there; it’s quite amazing,” he comments casually as you float somewhere on a cloud. “I tell you, it must be absolute heaven to have that clenching around your cock.”

“Then I suggest we swap,” Benedict volleys back, bemused.

“Wha… what do you mean?” you slur drowsily, barely back in the room from your out-of-body and mind experience, moaning gently as Anthony’s fingers slip from inside you.

“Now you will come around his fingers, baby girl,” Anthony tutors.

“But I just came?” you frown, still confused.

Benedict chuckles, his hands trailing up your patch of hair to your dewy belly. “You think once is enough, kitten? Oh no, you will keep coming until we tell you otherwise,” an undercurrent of something dark and smokey in his cadence.

“But I…” you protest weakly.

“You thought we were joking?” Anthony responds incredulously, “No baby girl, you will come over and over and over.”  

You swallow thickly as you realise they mean it, and you cry out as Anthony’s thumb slowly circles your clit, still swollen and throbbing from your orgasm.

“Oh god…” you whisper, feeling overwrought. 

“Oh yes, come on, you should be able to come again very soon,” he lectures, “maybe harder this time.”

“Look at me,” Benedict commands, and you swing your head to the side to give him your full attention, your eyes staring into his inky blank pupils as a crooked grin claims his face, and he slips a finger inside you. Your mouth makes an undignified noise as he does, still fluttering a little from your orgasm. You feel him triumphantly studying your facial reaction as he reaches even deeper than Anthony. “Aren't you delightfully tight,” he murmurs into your cheek, and you are grateful his movements are slow, precise, gently adding a second finger and rocking into you with a rhythmic push.

“That's it, baby girl,” Anthony praises, and you sway your face towards him, letting him kiss your lips and hush you with soft brushes on your clit.

“Go easy on me,” you warn, but it's met with a hollow chuckle, and suddenly, their hands start to move faster, and you look at them in turn pleadingly.

“When will you learn, baby girl?” Anthony replies, his tone flint-edged as he flicks your clit so deftly you pant. “We are in charge here; we set the rules. The minute you tell us what to do, we will do the opposite. Until you learn not to be such… a… little… brat...” he punctuates each of the last three words with a tooth grazing around your nipple, and you are clinging to the headboard for dear life, knuckles turning white as you feel yourself pushing higher and higher. 

They aren't treating you daintily, and it's precisely what you need. Your mouth hangs open; you twist to bite your own bicep as they suckle on your breasts and twine their legs higher around yours as you start to fight their hold.

“Nuh uh uh,” Anthony clucks, “don't fight us, baby girl, you know you want this, come on break again, show him what you can do,” he dares you, as Benedict's fingers feel so powerful you can't avoid what is coming. 

“Oh my little kitten, I can feel you pulsing,” Benedict nuzzles your face with his nose, driving his fingers into you forcefully as Anthony circles your clit so fast you can't breathe. 

Your eyes roll back, emitting a noise halfway between a squeal and a shout as you feel yourself breaking again. A dam inside you gives way, a gush of wetness as you convulse vice-like around Benedict's fingers, both of them making noises of triumphant surprise as your entire body tenses under their grip. Every fibre in you feels like it snaps then pings back. You scream so loud you are grateful this converted warehouse has such thick concrete walls.

“Wow… I had to use all my strength to fight to stay inside you there, kitten; my brother was right,” Benedict murmurs, but you can barely take it on board as his fingers slip from inside you. Incapable of doing anything but whimpering, your body experiences little aftershocks that make your brain akin to static.

And then Anthony is reaching over your head, and the trademark buzz of your vibrator starts up.

“Nononono,” you protest lightly, forgetting it was there, even as you know they aren't going to heed you. Your only way out of this is your safe word, which is the very last thing you want to utter. Anthony trails the vibrating tip in a long line down the middle of your body, your whiny protest being disregarded. You scream again as the strong pulse hits your overly sensitive nub.

“Oh god, I can't. I can't; it’s too much,” you wail, your head thrashing from side to side—it's the only thing you can move with them both restraining you.

“You can, and you will, kitten,” Benedict replies, his large hand on your belly, smearing your juices across your skin.

Your whole body is overstimulated; sweat slicks your body as you flush so hot again, your nipples burning from the shadow of stubble around their mouths, your cunt still clenching in waves, your clit almost painful, distended, throbbing so hard you swear it's where your heartbeat now lives.

“I can't come again. I can't.”

“Stop whining,” Anthony barks and presses the vibe firmly into you so you feel the waves all the way up into your public bone.

“Please no…” you wail, wracking breaths, fighting air into your lungs.

“That's not your safe word, baby girl,” Anthony reminds you as you curl your lips under your teeth, not wanting to say it by accident. “Hmm, that's what I thought,” he smirks before heavily running his tongue on your breast again.

You are cursing now, panting, unable to fight the tide approaching you yet again, so fast, so strong.

“Here it is,” he gloats, and his whole leg presses harshly on yours as your hips want to cant up high off the bed. 

This time it’s a wave you feel powerless to fight, so you just let it wash over you. Every cell of your being feels electric, your body tingling as you can't stop quivering.

“Please, please, please, please,” you stutter into his lips, tears forming at the corner of your eyes, appealing for mercy, but he doesn't remove the vibrator from where it rests on your white hot clit.

“Oh baby girl, do you have any idea how beautiful you are right now?” he flatters, running a hand into your hair that is no doubt sweaty and tangled. “Kiss him,” he orders, nodding to Benedict.

Drowsily, you find yourself turning to obey.

 “Good fucking girl,” Anthony hisses a compliment in your ear as Benedict's tongue invades your mouth. “It looks like you are finally behaving for your doms.”

You feel yourself slipping away slightly as Benedict breaks the kiss, falling into a space where your mind is in the backseat, willing to follow their instructions without a thought except to please them.

“Brother, I think this kitten is finally in her little submissive state,” Benedict opines, running his hand possessively on your skin, petting you like a cat.

“You are right,” Anthony concurs, and you passively smile as they look down at you.

“One more orgasm, my baby girl, then you can rest,” Anthony whispers into your cheek, and you nod blithely.

“No vibrator, please. Tongue,” you appeal meekly, twining your fingers around the metal posts you cling to.

“Oh, kitten, you want one of us to slip between your legs and suck your swollen little clit into our mouth? Bite down until you scream?” Benedict dusks in your ear, painting a debauched picture with his words.

“Please yesss,” you implore, looking at him so beseechingly.

“Whose tongue?” Anthony inquires.

“I don't mind; you are both so wonderful, sir,” you confess with a sigh, floating away.

“This was your idea,” Benedict capitulates to his elder brother. “Go ahead; I’ll hold her down and talk to her.”

Anthony nods, and you feel a crest of victory in your veins as he swings above your body and shuffles down, ploughing his tongue into your folds without preamble. He licks a strong line up to your clit, and you cry out with the slightest nudge. His strong arms wrap around your legs and pull you obscenely wide open to his ministrations; there is no way for you to battle this hold. Then Benedict is kissing you hard again, stealing your breath, the sensation of both of their tongues inside different parts of your body utterly overwhelming.

“Does that feel good, kitten?” he nudges your head to the side to whisper in your ear as Anthony feasts on your body.

“Yes sir,” your words still slurred, drunk on sensation.

“Do you promise to always be a good obedient little one for us from now on?” he queries with a smug tone.

“Yes sir,” your heart sings that they might be willing to play more with you as Anthony’s talented tongue circles your clit teasingly, making your belly tense in anticipation. 

“Should I tell you what we plan to do to you next time?” he intones as he tugs your earlobe with his teeth.

“Please, yes sir,” you appeal.

“How about we take our clothes off?” he begins, and you bite your lip, eager at the idea, moaning loudly as Anthony sucks on your clit, flicking the nub with a speared tongue. “Will you get on your knees for us?” Again, you can only nod, under their spell entirely. “Good kitten,” he praises, running a hand over your breast and pinching the tip so hard you scream. “I love how responsive you are; I cannot wait to be inside your mouth, your cunt…” the way that word drips decadently from him makes you uncurl your hand from the headboard and grab his shoulder. “Put that hand back right now, you bad kitten,” he warns gently, and you immediately obey. You go to apologise, but it comes out a scream as Anthony flicks on the vibrator and pushes it into your cunt just an inch, but it's enough to make you light-headed.

“Yes, that's it; I want you to scream as I fuck you, just like that,” Benedict growls, his breath uneven, and you notice a teeming urgency as he thrusts his hard cock caged inside his jeans against your hip.

Something about his desperation makes you crave them, saying whatever pops into your head uncensored. “I want you both to fuck me so hard, sir… at the same time.”

Benedict growls a little and bites your earlobe again. “Yes, kitten, we will do that.”

You can sense the desperation in Anthony, too, the mattress moving slightly as he pushes his pelvis into it rhythmically. His suction and heated mouth are enough, but with a flick of his finger, he turns the vibrator to the maximum, and you start swirling a black hole of consciousness, the pleasure so intense that you let out a noise that sounds inhuman to your ears.

“Yes, that’s it, my little wild kitten. Let’s hear all those gorgeous noises,” is snarled against your damp forehead.

It's the last thing you hear as your mind yells too much, too much, and a sudden, intense, almost violent tidal wave sweeps you away, overwhelming everything, the world going dark and quiet….

…. You emerge from that inky place to gentle whispers and soft hands petting your body in soothing motions. 

“Come back to us, baby girl,” Anthony coos, and it takes you a few moments to realise he has moved from between your legs and is at your side again. You also realise your hands are no longer wrapped around the spindles behind your head but resting gently on your tummy as they rub your shoulders, relieving the slight ache there.

Their voices continue with lavishing praise as you gradually return to your senses, running your tongue over your lips, your mouth feeling full of cotton wool.

“What happened?” you croak, barely audible.

“You blacked out on us, baby girl,” Anthony giggles, “just for a few seconds,” he reassures.

They draw you into a joint comforting embrace as your blissfully fuzzy mind comes back online, your body weak from shaking so much. You feel akin to a newborn animal, learnings your limbs and blinking in the light. When their faces come into focus, their expressions are adoring, their fingers tracing gentle patterns on your body.

“Welcome back, kitten; you are amazing,” Benedict smiles sweetly.

“Thank you,” you slur in reply, sated and so happy.

You fall asleep at their encouragement, pressed between their comforting bodies. And the best part? They are still there when you wake up again a few hours later.

They may actually assemble the desk for El…. eventually. Just maybe not tonight. Or tomorrow. Before she gets back. Maybe.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: you're trapped, battered, and bruised. do you make a deal with the devil? word count: 1.7k chapter cw(s): swearing, physical violence, blood mention, gun appearance, reader does not care if she lives or dies, maybe ooc? a/n: welcome to chapter two! just so you know, ao3 has much more of the story posted there and chapters will be posted there first! i am slowly (very slowly) getting chapters queued up here.

The first thing you felt as you regained consciousness was the pounding of your head. The next thing was the raw skin on your wrists from rough rope that was a little too tight. Your vision was blurry and there was a ringing in your ears. Well, you were alive, but that wasn’t really a good thing at the present.

You stared at your lap, trying to get the world to stop spinning when you felt the baton forcing your head up. Ran was still towering over you, but Rindou was sitting backwards in a chair across from you. His arms dangled over the back of the chair as he watched you with a bored expression. You thought about spitting at him too, but the thought quickly left your head when you felt the crack of the baton across your cheek. Your head twisted violently and the chair you were bound to rocked side to side. You could taste blood in your mouth.

Ran leaned over you and pulled your head up by your hair. “What was this little mouse doing on Rokuhara Tandai territory? Is Shinjuku not enough for you?” His voice was dripping with condescension. You wished you headbutt the sneer from his face.

“My brother asked you a question,” Rindou said with a hint of warning.

“You know, we might let you live if you answer us.” You should’ve been terrified by the singsong inflection of Ran’s threat, but honestly, you didn’t care at this point.

“Kill me then,” you said. Your voice sounded foreign to you. “You’d really be doing me a favor.”

The Haitani brothers frowned.

“But, you shouldn’t do favors for your enemy, after all.” You smirked. “You’d be indebted.”

Another crack as Ran hit you. The force rattled your brain and the chair toppled over. You wheezed from the impact and sharp pain raced up your arm. Your head was throbbing at your hair roots now. You tasted iron on your tongue. Out of reflex you coughed and gasped, trying to get air into your lungs.

“That’s big talk for a little lady,” Ran said, planting a foot on your knee. He leaned forward, putting on as much weight as he could. He could probably break your legs, but that didn’t matter to you. “Everyone’s all talk until bones start snapping.”

Ah, there it was. The classic Haitani sadism. Normal people would be pissing themselves, but you weren’t normal people. You weren’t even being stubborn because you were loyal to your gang. No, Wuxing could burn for all you cared. You stayed quiet because it didn’t matter. If you lived, the brothers would beat you into next week. If you escaped, Suzaku would kick the shit out of you. If you died, you died. The outcome would be the same, but at least one of the options would put you out of your misery.

No matter what they did to you, you refused to scream. You refused to sob and beg for your life. That had never gotten you anywhere except the cold cement in a dark room.

“Go on then,” you goaded Ran. “Break my legs, shatter my fingers. I won’t say a goddamn word.”

Something akin to anger burned in the older Haitani’s cold eyes. You wanted to taunt him. If he lost control you would certainly be killed. You waited for the flurry of hits, but they never came. Instead, your chair was righted and a gloved hand gently caressed your cheek. The touch lingered a bit too long and you felt like you were going to be sick. You almost hissed at him to get his hands off you, but that would be playing right into their hands. They weren’t going to get any ammo to use against you.

Get mad. Get furious, you chanted in your mind. Go on. I know you have it in you.

You looked Ran and then Rindou dead in the eyes. You didn’t know what they saw in your eyes, but it was enough to make them pause. Then a finger lightly traced the lotus tattoo behind your ear. Against your will, you stiffened.

“Ahh, so our little mouse doesn’t like it gentle.”

You almost gagged.

Ran whispered in your ear, “You’re an insignificant bug, but you have promise. What if we made a deal?”

“And why would I do that?”

“There are certainly worse fates than death.”

You snorted. That was hardly news to you. Your current life and situation was proof of that. “Are you gonna follow through on that torture? I hate it when men are all talk,” you drawled. “I don’t have anything to offer.”

“You’re in quite an awful rush to die,” Rindou noted, running a hand through his blue and yellow locks. “Why is that?” His stare was unnerving you, like he was trying to pick your brain.

“There’s really not enough time in the world,” you shot back.

“I would love to call your bluff.”

You looked him dead in the eyes. “Then do it.”

Rindou stood from his chair and walked out of sight. Moments later, you heard the clicking of a gun and a cold barrel pressed to your temple. A manic grin spread across your face. Finally. Finally you would get put down like the dog you were. You could have a little fun before you went.

“So the famed younger Haitani is finally getting his hands dirty? What is this, baby’s first kill?”

The Haitani brothers had been arrested for killing a man, but from what you understood, it was Ran that ultimately did him in. Rindou just helped hold the guy down. The younger Haitani was just an accessory to manslaughter. He let his big brother do all the dirty work while he held the victim down. Rindou had his own reputation, but to you, he didn’t deserve the achievement of murderer.

“Not gonna let big bro hand—” The butt of the gun whipped across your face before you could finish the sentence. You smirked, clearly this was a sore spot. Rindou moved to stand in front of you, jerking your head to face him and placed the gun between your eyes. You stared him down. Unwavering. Unflinching. You grinned, showing off blood stained teeth. You watched his finger twitch on the trigger.

The door flew open and all three of you turned to look at the intruder in shock. A man with different colored eyes and a nasty scar across his face stood in the entryway. “Don’t shoot her,” he gritted out.

Man, the fates were really playing with you tonight. Rindou lowered the gun and you looked between the three men. The Haitani brothers actually deferred to this guy? Interesting.

Scar-face strode over to where you were and looked at you with the intensity of a thousand suns. You were probably bruised beyond recognition, but when he walked over to where Ran was you heard a grunt of satisfaction. “Seems we caught Suzaku’s little Lotus,” he announced.

“Who the hell is that?”

You wanted to be offended by Rindou’s outburst, but at least it meant that you could keep some part of your identity secret.

“She’s the best runner in Wuxing, working under Brahman’s name. I’ve heard that the profits she pulls are no joke.”

“I hate to inform you that that is no longer the case,” you said flippantly. “I haven’t made a good deal in a while, so I’m about as useless to you as I am Wuxing.”

“Forgive the mouth on this one, Kakucho,” Ran apologized for you, pinching your cheek. You contemplated biting his finger as your battered skin protested. “She really has a death wish.”

“That’s not surprising,” Kakucho muttered. “What if we made a deal?”

You stared at him. “They already tried that offer, and really I have no reason to accept it.”

“And if we paid off the debt you owed to Wuxing?”

For once this night, you were stunned into silence. How the hell would someone from an enemy gang know that about you? Nobody except the higher ups in Wuxing knew. But if they paid Wuxing off, you would just be indebted to Rokuhara Tandai. Not exactly the best deal you could imagine.

“So what? You pay them off and then I slave away for you? I don’t think so.”

Kakucho looked pensive before saying, “I can promise your freedom after you do two big jobs for us. They’re coming up and we need someone as crafty as you to do it. You finish those and don’t get caught? You never have to see the underbelly of Tokyo again. Everything you did here won’t follow you.”

You didn’t want to consider it, but you knew that the deal was too good to be true. “How do I know you aren’t lying right now?”

You didn’t miss the way the Haitani brothers looked at each other. They were shocked you were considering something like this, or maybe it was the offer being made. Kakucho raised a hand and said, “As a leader of Rokuhara Tendai, you have my word. We’ll pay off your debt to Wuxing when you complete the jobs you’re given. After that, we’ll make sure you don’t see anything related to gangs ever again.”

The jobs must be really important then. Could it give you leverage with Wuxing? You supposed if you betrayed Rokuhara Tandai you wouldn’t have their protection once you got out. But if you could leave before they catch wind of it? Maybe you could outfox them.

“Think about it,” Kakucho said sharply. “Come to Violet Delight in three days at midnight with an answer.” He turned heel to leave, but before he did he gave an order to the Haitani brothers. “Let her go. Even if she tried to rat us out, Wuxing would get crushed by us and they can’t involve Brahman without revealing their dirty little secrets.”

You heard the grumbles of the brothers behind you and felt the ropes binding your wrists and ankles loosen. You were gracelessly shoved out the door and into an unknown alley. The heavy metal door crashed behind you and you flinched. Early morning sunlight was trying to wake up Tokyo, and you started your trek home.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune

[dried-deep-sea]

Scrap #4

Blame Goad for this, they reblogged something about a moving underground theatre in France and I was like OH FUCK I GOTTA USE THAT, and now I have more scrap.

It wasn't long before she gave up, pulling Ayla's social's up on her phone in hopes of a new clue. Eventually she found Nino's socials and he had posted something about some movie he was going to see at the Filmothèque du Quartier Latin. The movie itself looked absurd but it was her best bet. She was annoyed that they were headed back towards her house, come to think of it her parents had been going to the Filmothèque du Quartier Latin to deliver the pastries. She groaned and slapped her head. Of course things would turn out like this.

She elected to take the bus this time, the premiere wasn't until four and it was barely half past two. Maybe she could ply some extra favor from her parents if she went and helped with the event. She snuck her hand into her left pocket, cradling Tikki closer to her body with it, pressing the Kwami's ice cold form against her own warm torso. After an hour and pacing around the streets she found the theater, things were mostly set up, but her parents were still rushing around making small adjustments here and there, changing what the other had just fixed.

"Mom! Dad!" She called as she crossed the street waving to them.

"Marinette? What on earth are you doing here?" Her mother asked, looking up from the cupcake tree she had been nudging back and forth on the table runner.

"Oh, um, I was hoping to meet up with one of my classmates and I remembered this was the catering event and thought I might stop by early to help." It had been a long time since she gave her parents an excuse that was mostly the truth. Technically yeah she was leaving out a few details, like the fact that her classmate didn't know that they were meeting here.

"Marinette did you make a new friend?" The edge of hope in her fathers voice was more nerve wracking than base jumping off the Eiffel Tower, something Claw had dared her to do when they'd first gotten their powers. Staring directly down at the ground from the highest story had made her so terrified that facing Chloe had seemed preferable at the time. Even still were few things that were scarier than letting her parents down after they had gotten their expectations up.

"No, she's just helping me with a project for school." Marinette replied a little too quickly. Her parents paused for a moment and in that second she was convinced they had seen right though her.

"Sounds like an opportunity to make a new friend, you should give it a go. Maybe wipe that scary makeup off your face and really try to be nice?" Her mother suggested, the sly remark about her makeup cutting like a knife across her confidence. Neither of her parents noticed her deflate, too caught up in tripping over each other trying to get everything in its proper place. "And I think we will be alright dear, there are already too many cooks in this kitchen- TOM! The cake does not go on this table it goes in the fridge until after the event, stop bringing it out here or the frosting will melt!" and she was off again, rejoining the hustle and bustle.

Marinette tried to keep her cool while she searched the nearby street for a bench to sit on. Hot tears were pooling in her eyes by the time she finally found a spot to rest. Her mother didn't approve of her recent style, nor did she support Marinette's affinity for fashion. It was almost hilarious how much of a hypocrite her mother was, having broken from all of her families traditions to marry a man she met in another country.

She blinked weakly at the sky, glad that the preparations kept most eyes off of her as she fought the waves of mixed emotions rocking her consciousness. It wasn't that her mother found her makeup scary, it was the tone she had used, the disapproving one that always made Marinette shrink. She always had this feeling like she wasn't good enough for her mom, as if the only thing she could do is fail. Even success was eventually punished or scrutinized so thoroughly that it never felt like succeeding. Last week, for example, Marinette had managed to get a B in science instead of her usual D, but it didn't matter because it wasn't an A. Even though she had placed in the top 5 students in her class for that term.

That was one of her favorite things about being Shadybug, she was capable, and ruthless in a way she couldn't be as Marinette. The creative freedom that her Buggy Charm gave her had left her mind in frenzied overdrive for days after the first time she used it. She had practically locked herself in her room that weekend, only leaving to feed herself before returning to the litany of project's. That was also the weekend that the project list had been born. She tried to focus on that list instead of the slice of ice in her heart, trying to pick a problem to think about while she waited for Nino to show his face, hoping that Alya was still stuck to his hip.

She didn't realize someone had sat down next to her until they waved their hand in front of her face. It was incredibly rude, and she was prepared to tell whoever it was off until she turned and was startled to see Adrien sitting next to her.

"Sorry, you were glaring into the distance and I think you scared some kids." He said, lowering his hand. "What are you doing here?" He said after a moment when she didn't reply. She wasn't going to say anything, far too emotionally frayed to put up with him. But he looked so hopeful, and the shiny new glint of happiness in his eyes swayed her.

"I need to talk to Alya, and I don't want to leave a digital trail, and it would be weird if I randomly messaged her, like what if she ignores me and something bad happens, right? So I poked around the internet for a bit and found out Nino is coming to this premiere so I'm just waiting to see if he shows." It was more than she meant to say, and she was suprised how easily he had cracked her shell. More than once now, the mangy bastard. "What about you? This doesn't feel like the place for a famous model to be hanging around."

"Honestly, I got some advice from that other me," he whispered the last two words eyes flicking out towards the slowly growing line of people waiting to get in, "And he told me about Nino's favorite movie. It doesn't exist here and this was the only project from the same director, so I was also planning on hanging around and seeing if he turned up." Adrien shrugged softly. "Maybe it's silly to think that just because we were friends over there that we will be too, but I don't think it will hurt to try." He turned his gaze back to her, and gave her a week smile.

"To think that all this time you were such a hopeful dreamer, Fleabag."

[witchcraftandburialdirt]

△ "Does it scare you knowing you're just another beings puppet? Something to play with and disscard as soon as it gets tired, that'd scare me. Maybe you you really didn't deserve what happened to you and you aren't what people forced you to fit the mold of? I've covered plenty of stories like that. People who think they're utterly irredeemable, because of how society forced them to be and how crippling it is when they realize they're not that way at all." - Sable @ dbd Robibi

✧ ━━ 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 △ 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐀𝐒𝐊 𝐀𝐍 𝐈𝐍𝐕𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 DEAD BY DAYLIGHT VERSE Difficulty Rating: 9/10

The man cast his gaze downward upon the salt circle where the girl was situated, did she hope it would offer her solace or serve as a barrier if he decided to not play nicely? Such a flimsy little thing could never be a proper bulwark, especially not when her questions itched and dug at the ever-deepening hole situated in his chest. Each one forced his mind open to memories; foggy as they were. Sable's soothing, delicate almost caring inquiries failed to provoke even a hint of warmth within him ━ instead a frigid chill penetrated his entire being. He ... didn't deserve what had happened to him? Ah ... it had been so long that it had become but a dream; a blurred reflection on the wrong side of a looking glass. Yet still somehow it blossomed into clarity.

He was suddenly dreadfully aware of how his skin sat on his bones, the damning silence within his ribcage, and how the blood barrier of his brain was beginning to bubble with uncertainties and long laid to rest horror. An image was thrust to the surface of his consciousness: his skull pulses matching the torrent of blood gushing through his wintry lashes to cast a red veil over the world. The rhythmic thudding of boots relentlessly striking his knuckles until half of his fingers were broken; the single thrust of a blade into his back forcing him to teeter on the edge of oblivion's stupor. Voices echoed in the cavernous depths of his memory, each slice trying to goad him to expose an imagined devil lurking beneath his soft spoken demeanor.

He remembered it, just for a moment; the soil beneath him whispering his name as he fell deeper into a numbing void. Robin felt himself floating deeper and deeper into the immeasurable cosmic ooze; unequivocally alone while the voices shrunk into oblivion. His body tightened into a crystalline husk ━ frozen in time with only the taste of pickling bile to comfort him. Had his tear ducts not dried up he would have wept as he ebbed in and out of existence all together. How many days had he been stuck here? Was it days? Hours? Years? Eons? No. No no no no no no no ━

I’m still alive. My body is still here.

Was it? Was he? Had he ever existed at all?

Our Lord Jesus Christ, to the world to save and to set me free. I trust in your power and grace that sustain and restore me. Loving Father, touch me now with your healing hands. Touch me, O Lord, and fill me with your light and your hope. Please Lord hear me - please save me please save me save me save me save me save me save me save me save me save me ━

Golden light flooded into his eyes and nearly blinded him, yet the burning sting across his dried cornea was one of the most wonderful things he had ever felt. The world slowly dripped into place once more and eventually color began to return, and his skin prickled with a cold breeze. The dappled sunlight flitted across his stagnant stare as the minutes ticked on, and he took the time to listen to each sound the forest produced. A thrill surged through him, as the melodic chorus of birds heralded the break of day; their nests stirring to acknowledge the rising sun. The crickets sang in brilliant unison, while the trees and foliage nearby whispered softly to him; each gentle breeze over his person felt like a wave of prayers.

For a span of three nights he stayed stuck in place, denied the bracing sensation of winter's fae dancing upon his exposed flesh. His mind was too clouded, and his thoughts meandered aimlessly through a labyrinth of questions. Something had heard his prayers and bestowed upon him this renewed opportunity, as though he were Christ. His heart wept when he witnessed the sun ascend and descend thrice in the horizon before he finally felt his nerves reignite and remind him of how he had ended up here. Verdant eyes bubbled with tears - he was far too overstimulated to do much else besides wail and dig his nails into the soil. Robin choked up as he blinked the gritty tears from his eyes in order to gaze down at his twitching fingers; he savored the brief respite and quiet before being interrupted by a nearby sound.

A dog barking and a familiar face rushing over towards him ... Who was that?

Another splinter of ice pierced his brain and began unweaving the intricate network of nerves and veins threading together the thin blanket of his current reality. And hidden beneath the layers of membrane, was a town full of living flesh gasping and retching on the fetid airs of their rotted kin. Each one bled dry and carved into grave meat; and when his cup ran dry he cleaved through the next flesh sac. Men, women, children ━ all were harvested until the village became a crypt. Snowfall that marked the end of England's winter was marred by the remains of the deceased, leaving death stains upon the pristine white landscape ... Then he saw Her.

Her coaxing fog gave rise to a pale horse that beckoned him onward into a realm awash with blood and anguished shrieks of those She deemed unworthy of Her sacred radiance. Power was given unto him ... to kill with sword, and with hunger, and with death, and with the beasts of the earth. The time of Judgement had come, had it not? In the course of his existence, a trio of horses - white, red, and black - had been by his side; it was now his time to accept the generous offer of reins extended to him by Her grace and love. To become the fourth rider with Her to walk by his side, jaws open and receiving the victims slain by Her devote servant.

"Something to discard? Oh no, my sweet ewe, you have failed utterly to see the destiny that lies before us all. Little Lamb, yours is the blood that will dye the robes of the faithful into white. Mine is the blade that will sacrifice you to our beloved God. Each one of Her creations plays a part, and She will guide us."

His body ... it was his, wasn't it? Yes. Yes. He chose to walk into the fog, he remembered that clearly; what else was there to do? Lay himself to a second final resting amongst the corpses and carrion of that accursed town? Or join in Her army of angels sent to slay and bring about the end of days? Perhaps those mangled villagers from his town had been right about his talent for sin, but his cruelty was rewarded with a Heaven of comfort and safety. He would never have to worry for his immortal soul again; God had already chosen him as Her scion.

Perhaps those mangled villagers from his town had been right about his propensity for wickedness, yet his sins were compensated with a Heaven of tranquility and security. As if something like this pathetic creature could ever hope to understand; oh well. She would know the truth soon enough; her true purpose written in red across her skin.

Robin watched her for a moment. Just one. Thereafter he slowly stepped forward and let his foot pass beyond the salt circle's protection.

[stusbunker]

Just Another Daydream

For Better or Worst: Chapter Fourteen

Featuring: Sam x Emery Simmons-Winchester OFC

Other Characters: Naomi, Bandit (dog OC)

Season 14 AU

Word Count: 2450

Summary: Someone comes to tea.

Series Masterlist

The days chugged along with little change and less news. Summer burned bright around them, cookouts, car washes, and farmers’ markets bursting with new wares every weekend. Trudy, designer stroller in tow, passed by each morning while Emery lounged thoughtfully with Bandit in the hammock on the front porch. Jason each night with the dogs’ leashes locked on his belt as Sam pulled into the driveway, blocking the meager traffic as Mox inevitably goaded Bandit through the window. The stretching days were heavy on their thoughts, which were kept mostly to themselves.

The break between semesters held little diversion for Emery, especially as Sam continued a work-week routine. Days that had been spent with video game marathons, reading lakeside, or being lost in a museum during her past life held little validation now. The once upon a time when her daily schedule was dictated by Georgie’s smile was unimaginable now. Usually the biggest perk of teaching; weeks of freedom, now only reverberated the quiet like a vacated room, emptied of purpose.

She forced herself to ignore it.

Sam had no idea what they were going to do. They waited on news from Cas, while Sam spent half of his working hours digging through the university’s limited source material. Though the digitally shared archive network was compelling, his searches remained fruitless for their current circumstances. Which wasn’t surprising, theirs was a perfect storm of unprecedented desperation. The weight of it all (the deals, Emery’s son’s soul and Dean’s mental state) was forging him into someone he didn’t quite recognize. Functionally and consciously closed off from those he loved, Sam Winchester was relearning what loneliness meant.

An aching Sam told himself he was justified in sticking his heels into.

Though he and Emery hadn’t stopped sharing a room, Sam generally slept in the den. Emery kept to her side of their bed when he came through for his clothing each morning. The space left open a reminder of the man he could have been for her. The man he almost was. The lie he had lived and had to overcome. It hadn’t gotten any easier being in their manner of partnership with their truths exposed; mix-matched baggage that only seemed to clutter the proverbial waiting room more. 

Western real estate was of little consequence to angels in general, but Naomi prided herself on the procurement of the fully updated bungalow that had been home to Sam Winchester and Emery Simmons for the past seven months. She was oddly relieved by the level of care they had taken to maintain it as she climbed the front steps one Wednesday afternoon, just before three. The dog, naturally, announced her arrival before she could knock.

Naomi straightened her shoulders and tried to calm her vessel. She wasn’t used to delivering messages to those on Earth, not that this was a grand proclamation. But overseeing the frail structure of Heaven had slowly eroded her previous righteous confidence. She still had a job to do; Naomi needed to be certain her ducks were in a row. 

The woman’s face fell the moment she opened the door, eyes aghast and chest rising with a deep inhale. Naomi wasn’t sure if fear was the appropriate response to her arrival, but humans had always been overly dramatic. 

“Good afternoon, Emery. I hope I’m not interrupting,” Naomi gave her her best mild interest.

Emery swallowed and shook her head. “Not at all, come in.”

“Thank you,” Naomi replied, bowing her head slightly as she stepped through the doorway.

“I made some sun tea, if you’d like?” Emery continued to breathe deeply, and she tripped over  the syllables.

“That sounds lovely, thank you.” Naomi smiled, trying to keep up the human pleasantries, before easing into business at hand. She followed Emery to the back of the house where a large glass pitcher waited on the kitchen island. The dog groaned from beside the refrigerator at her presence, Naomi eyed him thoughtfully. Canines were incredibly intuitive creatures, but generally left for the humans to manage. She had never understood their appeal.

“So, are you just passing through? Or is there something I should be worried about nearby?” Emery attempted humor, “Got some smiting happening? Oooo, or maybe a miracle? Is that your department?”

Naomi bit her tongue and plastered on a reassuring smile. Emery froze on the spot.

“What’s wrong?”

Naomi shook her head, keeping her expression soft, pleasant even. “I stopped by to check on things here.”

They sat at the island, a stool between them for companionable distance. Emery clutched her glass and forced a smile on her face. “Good, I mean, I’m a bit bored in the summer, but things have been--- good. Why do you ask?”

Naomi hesitated, but not long enough to draw out any alarm, just enough to gather her thoughts. “There have been some--- developments--- and I wanted to ensure that things here are stable and unencumbered.”

Emery tried to hold back her excitement. “What kind of developments?”

Naomi looked at Emery like she would her students, asking questions they should know the answer to already or those she couldn’t give them. “Sources have located your son and we are monitoring him through a network, but it appears he has been taken in by a pack.”

Emery froze, skin prickling in the dry afternoon air. Months with nothing and this news should be a blessing, but it just sits lopsided on the desktop of her mind. Sam’s distrust of Heaven fights against her relief at Georgie's safety and then the reality that her son has been adopted by another family. A family who is not her, afterlife or no, that burns through her, jealousy certainly, but also the deep unfaltering need to protect her own. That’s her job.

“A pack.”

Naomi really tried to be delicate, but she didn’t have the humanity to be. “Purgatory is a land of viciousness. The fact that he was taken in by some of his own kind gives him the best chance at survival.”

Survival. Emery could still lose Georgie. She could fail him further. “Oh. That’s--- okay, thank you. That makes more sense.”

“It’s hard for you--- without your powers,” Naomi tells her more than asks.

Bandit shifts on the floor, tags brushing against the laminate. Emery scoffs.

“I know you want to see what I’m telling you, but you need to trust me. It’s safer this way.”

‘You’re safer this way’ Emery couldn’t help but think. Brushing away the internal snark, she softened her face and nodded at Naomi. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”

Bandit stood and stretched, disrupting the intensity of the conversation as he strolled out of the kitchen and down into the den. Naomi sipped her tea, nose scrunching under the chemical combination that made up the drink. Emery looked away, taking her own drink to blatantly taste it for herself. Perfect.

“Emery, how’s Sam?”

Emery chokes on her swallow. Naomi’s stare only deepens.

Sam stepped out of the side exit and nearly collided with a pair of students vaping in the seclusion between buildings and the well trimmed bushes. The mid afternoon sun nearly blinding, Sam cleared his throat and turned in the opposite direction, keeping his thoughts and annoyance to himself. There weren’t that many summer courses, why were they even hanging around this late in the day? He straightened his shoulders, took a deep breath and upped his pace, taking the long way around to the parking lot. His arms full of books and notes, his satchel heavy at his side, he approached the car. Sam didn’t stop himself from glancing in the backseat with lingering hope of news from Cas.

Hot from the workday, Sam aired out the vehicle as he put his things in the backseat. He chose to work from home for the rest of the week, unable to gain any more information on the spell or the concept of true marriage that Cas had mentioned at the library. What he wouldn’t give to have his real books to comb through. Or, the Men of Letters’ books at least. Sam huffed at himself because he knew Dean would have teased him for that notion. It made the hole inside his chest throb with remembrance, with purpose.

He rubbed his hand down his bearded face and climbed into the driver’s seat.

Bandit wasn’t in the yard to greet him. Sam brushed off the prickle of paranoia and reminded himself that he was home earlier than usual. Overburdened, Sam walked in the backdoor, but it wasn’t until he heard voices speaking in hushed tones that he realized his instincts were right. Sam carefully unloaded his research materials onto the dryer and listened. Silently, Bandit found him, forlorn the dog accepted his pets and gave a lackluster wag of his tail. With a deep breath and a wrench from the toolbox left in the mudroom, Sam walked into the kitchen.

What he saw confused him: Emery smirking at Naomi, a plate of cookies between them and a tension so thick he could have hit with his impromptu weapon. 

“Speak of the Devil,” Emery teased, eyes wide, but smile still intact.

“I’d rather not,” Naomi muttered, tossing back the last of her tea.

Sam’s face and reasoning went through a journey, landing on confused, yet comical indignation. Was he supposed to know that jab was literal? Does Naomi know he knows who he is? The topic of Lucifer is never Sam’s favorite. But, now, he had a guest in his house. Good thing he used to lie professionally. Sam begrudgingly set the futile wrench on the counter behind the speaker dock, out of view.

“Hey! I didn’t realize you were coming over.” Sam looked to his wife as he walked around the island, planting himself in her bubble and playing nice. “What brings you?”

Naomi, clearly surprised by Sam’s warm welcome, chewed on her words.

Sam continued, arm draping over Emery’s shoulders. “I know I’m home early, but Emery didn’t mention you were in town. I’m not intruding on work talk, am I?”

The moment lengthened as Sam tried to pull up more of the false memories he had been fed. Emery and Naomi looked at each other with mutual suspicion. 

Emery laughed, patting Sam’s forearm, unable to clear the awkwardness. “You! We were, um, actually talking about you. Were your ears burning?”

Sam raised his eyebrows, taking time to tuck Emery tighter to his side. “All good things I hope?”

Emery spoke to Sam in the little alcove created by their proximity, both very aware of each other in an immediate and physical sense. “Now why would we be saying good things? That’s much too boring.”

Sam understood. “Uh-huh, well I should have known,” the tease in the inflection for their guest only. He held Emery’s eyes, squeezing her arm to reassure her the only way he could.

“You seem to be adjusting well,” Naomi interrupted their pretense of flirting. Meanwhile, Bandit slumped off to the den, feeling his people were safe enough to be left alone.

“What? Oh-- the house? Yeah, wasn’t too hard, helps to have somebody to help fill the space with,” Sam replied casually. “Bandit is an awesome roommate.”

Emery elbowed Sam. 

“What?! He is.”

Emery shook her head and muttered threats at her husband.

“I was just stopping by to check on things. Make sure you are both on track,” Naomi continued, eyes boring into the side of Sam’s face.

He turned towards the Angel, dawning confusion apparent on his features. “Is there something we should be doing?”

Naomi glanced at Emery in wistful solidarity. Sam was internally vibrating with the need to act, outside he was nearly playful. If Emery hadn’t lived with him as long as she had, she wouldn’t have been able to notice it, but his smirk was more hostile than she liked.

“You should be showering, stinky!” Emery teased. “We’re just catching up. Go on, seriously, I’ll be here when you’re presentable for dinner, young man.”

Naomi watched the humans with mild amusement, they seemed so oblivious to everything, and yet she knew what they each were capable of. She couldn’t leave without ensuring the bond was secure. She waited, watching them verbally dance around the topic at hand and through the need for personal hygiene around guests. Emery won and Sam, in mock defeat, left them to continue.

“I never thought I’d see the day when a Winchester was housebroken,” Naomi said with a hint of admiration in her tone. “Nonetheless, I want to make it clear to you, if anything happens on your end, the whole thing will fall apart. And not just your deals, with George and Dean, but Heaven itself. Keep him on his leash, or we all lose.”

Emery exhaled and looked to the stairs, where she knew Sam was still listening in, despite the shower running in their bathroom. “I don’t know what you did, Naomi. But Sam’s been… different. It’s like he was never a hunter at all. If there is a kink in the wire, it isn’t from Sam--- or me.”

Naomi bit her tongue, literally injuring her vessel as the news of Sam’s mangled memories sunk in. She knew something was off, but she didn’t know who to blame for it now. It seemed convenient, too convenient. She smiled, terrifyingly rapt, “I see. Let’s keep it that way, shall me?”

Emery agreed. The pretense of tea and cookies long over, Naomi stood. With what little niceties Emery had left, she followed the Angel back out the front door. Bandit had silently returned to their heels.

“I’ll be in touch, but if anything comes up or if Sam starts acting like himself again, call me?” Naomi produced a business card from her inside breast pocket. 

Emery took it without breaking eye contact. “I will. And I hope you will honor your promises as well.”

Naomi’s bright eyes clouded in anger. “I stand by my word. Make sure you do the same.”

Emery watched her march down the steps and back onto the sidewalk. It was oddly gratifying to watch a wingless Angel resort to human modes of transportation. Slowly she backed into the house and closed the door before bolting up the stairs to talk to Sam. She rounded the corner into their bedroom and was stopped with two large hands encasing her shoulders.

Sam looked down at her with a stern silence. Scared, Emery glanced up at him, almost in shame. She opened her mouth to speak, but Sam carefully shook his head. He tapped his watch. And she knew he was right. She nodded in agreement, yet still terrified.

The time had come.

Tell me what you think!

It’s been so long, I’m not tagging anyone.

[mymegumi]

LAST CHRISTMAS (I GAVE YOU MY HEART) ෆ GETO SUGURU

feat. geto suguru

contents. exes to lovers, not canon compliant, second chance lovers,

extra. event masterlist

this time of year was geto’s least favorite, when the holidays were getting more popular and the snow was beginning to fall. it was strange, lately, knowing that the snow flurries were later and later in the year until they were practically only ever in the new year. he sighs, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans as he tilts his head downward.

he misses you. a lot.

it’s been almost a half a year since you two had broken up, mutually—if breaking up could ever be considered mutual—and he’s been missing you ever since. he wasn’t sure when things felt wrong, he just remembers one day things were good, and then next, you were asking to leave because you couldn’t do it anymore. it being the relationship, loving him.

the holidays are making him wistful. the girls have been goading him into reaching out to you, again, and he’s had to tell them more than once that he’s not sure things are meant to work out. he’d made himself vulnerable and now he’s worried that he won’t ever be able to do it again.

“stop furrowing your brows,” nanako mutters from where she’s sitting on the park bench, waiting for her sister to come back with the hot chocolates she was ordering from the nearby cafe, “that’s how you get premature wrinkles.”

he dodges her hand as she reaches up to press against his furrowed brow, smile on his lips as relaxes consciously, “why are you so worried about my wrinkles?”

“‘cause if you get wrinkles,” she starts, putting her phone down on her lap to shake her head at him, “how will you get the ladies? they don’t love a man with wrinkles.”

“i don’t think i want any ladies.” which makes him furrow his brow again, hands wringing in his lap as he looks at his feet. he was thinking of the fact that it was this time last year that he’d told you he’d loved you for the very first time.

“okay, but what if—”

nanako’s musings are interrupted by the sounds of thundering footsteps, making both of the figures look up to see mimiko with a cup carrier full of hot chocolates running as fast as she can manage without her hands. her dark hair is flying behind her and into her face as she perks up as soon as the two of them see her.

“geto!!” she calls out, loud without cupping her hands over her mouth and the sight of her, wild and carefree, makes him smile. “i just saw your ex-girlfriend!”

“where?” it’s breathless, something he feels like he’s been since you left.

geto can’t even hear what she’s saying in response, just watching her point in a direction and before he knows it, his feet are taking him that way. his breaths are coming out in soft puffs of white mist, the cold air is burning his lungs but he can’t stop running. his feet are taking him somewhere, and he’s not even really sure where he’s going because it wasn’t as if mimiko was all that descriptive about where you were but he’d find you if his fingers froze off.

faces in the crowd begin to blur together, each one only a passing thought as geto rushes through everyone, trying to find you. he’s missed you. he misses you. you were gone and there’d been an ache in his chest he just can’t get rid of. you might turn him away as soon as you saw him, but he has to try—try to beg you to take him back.

it’s like fate, when he sees you again, because you’re turned away from him and he can’t see your face, but he knows the back of your head. it’s like he’s seen you before, been chasing you ever since you left, and for the first time ever, he can finally catch up to you. like all of the times before, he calls your name. this is the first time you actually turn around to look at him, eyes wide as you spot his figure moving through the crowd.

“geto..?” it’s a whisper, but he can see your mouth moving around his name and he can feel the constriction around his heart tighten.

slowing to a stop a few feet away from you, he gives you something of a pathetic smile. his chest is heaving, breaths coming out rapidly in small little puffs and he’s got a hand over his heart. he says your name again, quieter this time and watches as you press your hand to your own chest. his eyes rove over the planes of your face, nervous that if this is the last time he ever sees you, he’ll forget your face one day. he thinks that, really, if he were to only get this passing glimpse of you, he’d remember it for the rest of his life.

“hi.” he says, because he’s nervous and can’t think of anything else. someone bumps into his shoulder but he doesn’t even care.

you tilt your head a little—did your hair get longer or did you get it cut?—and you wave, wiggling your fingers at him. “hi, geto. did you just run here?”

he nods, laughing slightly as he walks closer, tentative but spurred on by the positive response to the sight of him—at least you didn’t burst out in curses and hex him to the next year. “yeah, i think mimiko saw you and i— i had to come find you.”

"yeah, i saw her in line when i was at the coffee shop." you flick a piece of hair out of your eyes as you look up at him, "i didn't think... i guess i should've known when i saw her get three drinks."

he can feel the conversation dying, knows that eventually you'll say goodbye and he can't even imagine the thought of you walking away from him again without him saying something, anything. it's cold, he's not really sure where he left the girls, and he wants to pull you into his arms so badly that he feels like he can't breathe.

"i'm still in love with you."

not exactly the sophisticated comment he had been hoping to make, but it's still true, and it's definitely better than saying nothing.

you blink. your eyes go wide. "you... still?"

he nods, unsure of himself and your response. "i know, it's been a year, and we broke up, but i just couldn't— i couldn't let you walk away from me like you did the first time. i can't stop thinking about you."

and he has. since the moment you'd walked out of his life, geto feels as if you're the only thing on his mind. the amount of times he'd thought about what he did wrong, what he'd done to make you want to leave, was absurd. he’s thought about what he should’ve said to make you stay, what he could’ve done differently to save the relationship, how he could’ve made things better if he just knew what to do.

“do you think you could forgive me?” you words are hushed, as if it’s taboo of you to even be thinking them, let alone saying them. “could you forgive me for walking away?”

“only if you forgive me for letting you.”

geto’s arms around you feel like home, like coming inside after a long day in the cold and standing in front of a warm fireplace. he could feel your body heat, the way your hands snaked around his sides to clasp behind his back, and he knew he was home. pressing a kiss to your temple, he sighs softly.

“i missed you.”

your words are muffled on the collar of his hoodie, but they make him smile nonetheless despite their watery tone. “i missed you, suguru.”

things won’t be perfect right away—he knows that—but he also knows he’s willing to try and put in the effort of working through the hardships. he knows what it’s like to be without you, and it felt like he had been missing a piece of himself. he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to spend another christmas alone.

[chronozen]

Inspired by this to write something:

Ahsoka Tano was now a fugitive. Framed for a crime she didn’t commit. The Togruta Padawan was now on the run from law enforcement and the Jedi Order. Searching and snaking her way down through the undercity of Coruscant. She needed to find something, anything prove that she was innocent before they found her.  

The streets were cramped and silent. Filled with unfocused, unknowing eyes, dull gunmetal buildings and a flood of neon oranges and yellows. Ahsoka moved from shadow to shadow. She could hardly believe everything that had happened to her. Calling on a friend. Running for her master. Joining with Ventress. All of it led to an abandon warehouse. Her montrals twitched. Something was off. She approached with caution.

The inside of the warehouse held no answers. Ahsoka’s muscles ached as her body began to tire. running on adrenalin alone, her mind was fearful and frantic. Looking at the sprawling mess of random crates, shelves and contained draped in shadows, she didn’t even know where to begin looking. Her energy and time were about to run out.

Everything that proceeded next felt like a blur to the young Padawan. The hiss of a lightsaber crackled as someone descended on her from above. Narrowly avoiding the attack, Ahsoka turned and saw a female dressed in a black hooded cloak. She wielded two curved red bladed lightsabers and a familiar helmet. One worn by Ventress. Her ally had a change of heart.

Igniting her own lightsaber, they clashed. Ahsoka knew she at a clear disadvantage. Ventress would strike from overhead, Ahsoka would parry. Ventress would run, Ahsoka would chase after her. However, when Ahsoka went on the offensive, Ventress would perfectly counter her with an almost elegant, refined movement. It wasn’t just her blocks, Ventress’s attacks were noticeably different. 

The style was Jar’kai, but her ferocity was gone. Her strikes were too telegraphed. It was almost like her attacker was toying with her. Ventress never uttered a word even when Ahsoka tried to goad her. That wasn’t like her. The dodging, the fleeing, sending barrels at her. Something was wrong.

Just as Ahsoka started to gain her footing and press the advantage. Ventress struck a gas barrel. Searing steam hit Ahsoka in her eyes. She couldn’t see clearly. Then Ventress turned and ran. The gas bellowed forth until it ignited, ending their duel in a fiery explosion.

Smoke filled her lungs. Ahsoka regained consciousness and realised she was trapped. Buried under a sheet of metal and rubble, her muscles ached as she struggled to budge the durasteel plate on top of her. She would either suffocate or be crushed by the massive weight.

‘Buried alive again. I had more a chance back on Geonosis.’ Ahsoka thought, her mind wandering as pain began to creep in.

Ahsoka was about to resign to her fate until the great load seemed to move. Ahsoka was stunned. Ventress was calling on the Force to lift the debris. Why would her attacker try to save her?

Coughing and gasping for air, the Padawan could only lie on the cold floor. Looking up she could she the cloaked shadow of her attacker drawing closer in a slow unflinching advance. She reached for her lightsaber. It wasn’t there. Lost over the edge. She was weaponless, disorientated, too exhausted to call upon the Force. Her only option was hand to hand combat, but she doubted it would work.

Then something changed. Ahsoka breathed in. An idea formed in her head. She eyes widened. It was a long shot but it might buy her time.

“Barriss!” Ahsoka shouted.

Ventress stopped dead in her tracks. Her face unreadable behind her mask.

“Barriss will come looking for me. All I have to do is activate my comm.” Ahsoka said, holding her hand over her communicator as if threatening to pull a trigger.

Ventress resumed her advance, tensing her arms. Her hand now hovering over the hilt of her lightsaber.

“Barriss and her master. Luminara won’t show you any mercy.”

As soon as those words left Ahsoka’s mouth, a frenzy came over Ventress. 

In a flash she drew her crimson blade and lunged towards Ahsoka, letting out a scream filled with anger.

Her voice, Ahsoka realised. Muffled from behind the helmet, it was clearly different. This wasn’t Ventress.

Ahsoka threw herself to the ground to avoid the cloaked figure’s lightsaber. She rolled, narrowly avoid a series of wild slashes from all angles. Her opponent wasn’t thinking clearly.

Now that she was up close to attacker, Ahsoka noticed her body was different. She was shorter than Ventress, but why go to such lengths to pretend to be Ventress?

Ahsoka saw an opening. As her opponent started a overhead strike, she kicked hard upwards. The kick connected to her attacker’s jaw, toppling her. She crumbled on top of her.  Not wasting any time, Ahsoka grabbed the helmet and tore it off with a free hand. Her eyes widened as she recognised her attacker.

Barriss Offee looked down at her, holding Ventress’s stolen lightsaber to her neck.

“Barriss. What did you do?”

Although Ahsoka could feel the heat coming off the lightsaber, she felt sucked in by Barriss icy stare. It was like she hadn’t even realised Ahsoka could see her. Then realisation dawned on Barriss. Her brows bended upwards as tears swelled in her eyes.

“Y-you. You shouldn’t have known it was me. You weren’t supposed to know it was me.” Barriss said.

Barriss faltered. She was confused. That confusion gave Ahsoka an opening. Calling upon the force she pushed her friend off her, getting to her feet. She used the Force again to summon the second of Ventress’s lightsabers from Barriss’s belt.

Barriss looked at Ahsoka and began her attack again. A flurry of strikes from all angles. Face contorting in a mixture of pain and anger.

Ahsoka activated Ventress lightsaber but never raised it. Barriss’s attacks were sloppy, unrefined. She actually dodged them easy enough with simple movements.

“Barriss stop now. Please. Stop”

Barriss didn't let up. She struck walls, crates and pipes more than anything near Ahsoka. Ahsoka wasn’t sure if she was missing her intentionally or not.

“You weren’t supposed to see me.” Barriis panted, exhausted. “I didn’t think it would be you with Letta. I didn’t want it.”

“The Temple. All those people. It was you.” Ahsoka said, dodging another lightsaber strike. “You were at the funeral.”

“I grieved. Tutso was my friend. He helped me so much. But I couldn’t just.”

Barriss trailed off. She stopped attacking Ahsoka, merely clenching the lightsaber tighter and tighter.

She stood still, shaking her head. Her breathing was heavy and shallow.

“I was on Geonosis when this all started. Many Jedi died that day. Then the droids started all over again. I got sent back. We got sent back.”

There was low hiss as Barriss deactivated the lightsaber. Ahsoka looked at her friend. Her hand was reaching for the front of her belt. Her fingers tracing a pattern that she didn’t have time to recognise. She didn’t seem aware of it at all.

“You and me. Crawling through tunnels. Fighting parasites. Then I fought in Umbara. I heard about what Master Krell had done. The fighting. Tutso. Letta. All this has to stop.”

Fires blazing from the explosion and smoke bellowed around them. Ahsoka reach out with one hand.

“Barriss. Let me help you.”

Barriss took a skittish step backwards towards the poisoned flames behind her. Ahsoka stepped forwards. Barriss looked at her as tears ran down her face.

“You should have listened to me. You should have killed me.”

“Barriss come with me. Stop this. We’ll go back to the Order and…”

Barriss’s back stiffened. Her voice taking on an icy tone.

“Do you honestly believe they will help me? Do you believe that they haven’t already decided your fate? They won’t take either of us back. We are a failing order serving a corrupt Republic. Do they expect us to fall in battle like soldiers?” 

Ahsoka didn’t say anything.

“Everything is falling. It’s only a matter of time.” Barriss said.

“You’re a Jedi Barriss.”

The flames burnt higher. Metal buckled. A shadow fell over Barriss as she raised her hood and turned to leave.

“No. I’m just Master Luminara’s failure.”

Ahsoka watched her former friend sink away into flames and smoke. Deactivating the red lightsaber and tossing it to the ground, she heard the rumble of engines. Blinded by spotlights, Ahsoka raised her hands above her head. She struggled to sense Barriss in the Force. 

The Clones and Master Skywalker had found her. Barriss Offee was lost.

Originally I planned this drawing for Valentines, but I only managed to finish it last month for my patrons. And it's May the Fourth so I'm posting it today.

This is a what if situation, what if Ahsoka somehow took off the helmet to finds it was Barriss she was fighting against.

[ragingpancake]

I Got You

A/N: I watched Echoes the other night and frankly, I just needed to write this. Sort of an unofficial sequel to The Road to Nowhere Leads to Me.

They’re almost back to Atlantis from the mainland when Rodney realizes that maybe something’s a bit off with Sheppard – er… John (and he has to remind himself to start calling Shep—John by his first name because this whole… thing between this is still relatively new and it’s probably not social acceptable for one to refer to one’s boyfriend by last name only). No one would ever really call him chatty, but this level of quietness is almost unsettling, especially when Rodney tries to goad him into some gentle bantering and he’s just not having it. “What’s wrong with you?” He asks finally as the city is just coming into view. “Huh?” Rodney squints, mouth turning down in a frown. “I certainly didn’t stutter, Colonel.” Maybe that’ll get his attention.

He waits a moment, and then two. Nope. Nada. The lights are on but nobody’s home. “… John.”

At that, John lifts a hand and presses the heel of it against one of his eyes, wincing and Rodney notices for the first time how not well the other actually looks. “I’ve just… got this killer headache that won’t go away,” he says and it actually sounds pained in a way that Rodney isn’t quite used to from him. He watches as John squints at the city in the distance. “Maybe I should take over?” For a split second, he thinks John might be considering it before he shakes his head. “Nah, s’alright. I know how much you struggle to fly in a straight line.” There’s the smallest hint of teasing in his voice but Rodney doesn’t rise to the challenge because it’s such a weak attempt on John’s part that he knows he’d absolutely assassinate John with a comeback and where’s the fun in that? “Are you sure? Because, because I’ve been in one of these things when it’s crashed into the water, if you remember correctly, and I really have no intention of repeating that, so if you aren’t feeling well, I’d rather just--.” “Rodney,” John says and now, there’s a trace of a bite to his tone. Wow. Hostile. “Okay, I’m just saying--.” “I know,” John says. “But it’s fine. I’ve got it.” Rodney resigns himself to believing that for about a split second until he glances over again and notices the blood dripping from John’s nose. “John--.” “Dammit, Rodney! I said I’m--.” And whatever lie John was about to tell dies on his lips as he slumps over, head smacking the console. Immediately, Rodney leaps into action, grabbing John before he slips out of the pilot’s chair to ease him down onto the floor, his head lulling to the side sickeningly. “Jumper 1, this is Atlantis, come in. Your course has drastically shifted.” Radek’s voice comes through the comm system in the jumper and Rodney suddenly realizes that no one is, you know, actually piloting. “I need a medical team to the Jumper Bay. Sheppard is down, I repeat, Sheppard is down.” He scrambles into the pilot’s chair and manages to jerk it upwards approximately three point five seconds before the jumper crashes into the ocean. “Rodney?” It’s Elizabeth’s voice now, and she sounds about as worried as Rodney feels. “Carson’s here. What happened?” “Can’t talk now! Trying to fly and not, you know, crash and send us both to our deaths in the horrifically vast ocean. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt.” “Rodney!” “Just have them standing by!” He cuts off the comm system and glances down at John who has not yet regained consciousness. “Please be okay, please be okay, please be okay.” It becomes his mantra as he somehow manages to navigate the jumper back to the city and into the bay. He barely has time to lower the door before a med team is swarming in and before Rodney has a chance to so much as breathe, they’re gone, John with them. There’s a small bit of blood on the floor from where John was laying and Rodney has to work very hard not to throw up. ---- It’s dark in the hallway, save for the faint blue glow emanating from the center of the wall closest to him. He reaches out, hand pressing against it and he can feel the thrum of hurt intensifying, adding to what’s already there in his head. He staggers at the force of it, drops to his knees and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to stave off the pounding of his head. But this isn’t his hurt, he realizes after a moment. It’s hers, and that thought alone is enough to force him back to his feet, hand reaching out to touch that blue light again. This time, he feels an almost burning heat fanning out from the center of his hand as the blue expands and he watches as it begins to creep across the wall, almost as if it’s beckoning him to follow. He’s never been good at following orders and he has the record to prove it, but he finds his feet moving, seemingly of their own accord, allowing the glow to lead him down the darkened hallway for what seems like forever until it stops, finally, at a room he doesn’t quite recognize. “Why am I here?” Because I need your help, she answers

back, the words cool and gentle within his mind. Find me, John Sheppard. Before it’s too late. “Before what’s too late? What are you trying to tell me?” But she’s already receding from his mind and all he’s left with is a light so bright that penetrates the darkness as John opens his eyes. --- Rodney’s there when John finally comes to under the bright lights of the infirmary. “Oh thank God,” he says as he slumps back into the chair, running a hand across his forehead. “Far be it from me to say I told you so, but--.” He doesn’t get a chance to finish before John is sitting up so quickly that it makes Rodney a bit dizzy, kicking the blankets off of his legs. “Whoa, whoa, whoa.” He stands up, pressing a hand to John’s shoulder to ease him back down onto the mattress and Ronon is on the other side of the bed, doing the same. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” The Satedan asks in his natural rumble. “I have to help her,” John says and Rodney suddenly finds himself a bit miffed at that. “Help who?” He asks and if he sounds a little pissy, he thinks he’s probably allowed because you know, he’s the one been sitting at John’s bedside for the last several hours, worried very much about the possibility of brain damage and now that he’s awake, the first thing he mentions is some second rate harlot and--. “The city,” he rasps and he grabs Ronon’s wrist, trying to force it off of him. “Something’s wrong with the city.” “What? The city is fine,” Rodney says, but he’s reaching for his tablet anyway, pulling up the city schematics to scan over quickly, searching for any indication that something was not right. “See?” He says, and he turns the tablet to face John so he can see for himself. “The back up teams cleaned everything up nicely, there’s absolutely nothing that would indicate--.” “Rodney,” he says and there’s an almost wild look in his eyes as he glances up at the scientist, seemingly pleading with him to just listen. “They missed something. There’s something wrong, we have to--.” “Aye,” Carson greets, a smile on his face. “There ya are. Ya had us quite worried there for a bit. I’d still like to run a few scans--.” Rodney tunes him out as he searches John’s face and he supposes that there is a possibility that something was missed. It’s a huge city, many parts that they’ve yet to explore and the Wraith attack had been devastating. He rationalizes that this could also possibly be attributed to some sort of brain injury, what with the bleeding and the passing out and everything but something in John’s eyes gives him pause. Whatever’s brought him to this conclusion, John seems to truly believe that there’s something wrong with their city, with their home and while Rodney isn’t apt to act without actual evidenced based data, he finds that he can’t quite let this go without investigating. “Stop,” he says, holding up a hand to Carson. “We need to go.” “Go? What are ye on about?” Carson asks, clearly annoyed at the interruption. “We still don’ know what caused the bleedin’ an’--.” “Something’s wrong with the city,” Rodney says, echoing John’s previous statement. “We have to go.” Ronon glances at Rodney from across John’s bed and when Rodney gives a barely there nod, Ronon crowds Carson, gently ushering him away. “Sorry, doc.” “Oh, ye can’t be serious! Rodney!” “Can you stand?” Rodney asks John, and he reaches for him, carefully like he’s not sure where it’s okay to touch, especially in public, but John’s hand grabs his wrists and he squeezes gently. “Thank you.” “If you really want to thank me,” Rodney says dryly, “you can do so by not passing out on me again during what is sure to be a long trip around the city. “I’ll do my best,” John answers solemnly and Rodney supposes that’s as good as it gets. --- It’s dark outside, the Lantean sun having set several hours ago. They’ve split up into groups, Ronon and Teyla, Lorne and McMasters, John and Rodney. They’ve had absolutely no luck in finding anything of consequence and Rodney is trying very hard not to lose his temper because he’s

tried to show John on the tablet several times now that everything still shows all is well, but John is insistent. Desperate even, only growing moreso the farther away they get from the heart of the city. “Teyla, Ronon, this is McKay. Anything?” “No, Rodney,” Teyla answers back almost immediately. “It seems as though everything is still working as it should over this way.” “Lorne?” “All good here, doc. I’m gonna suggest we call it, at least for the night. Some of these labs haven’t properly been cleared yet, I’d like to--.” “No,” John says and when Rodney glances over to give him an exasperated glare, he realizes that John’s nose is bleeding again. “John, what are you--!” “This is the hallway,” he tells Rodney, reaching up to wipe the blood away, smearing it to his cheek. “This is… she needs us…” He reaches out and touches the wall and Rodney watches as it pulsates under his hand, a blue glow flickering to life. He’s always known that Atlantis liked John better than she liked anyone else, has seen it in the way rooms light up for him, the effortless way in which John activates all her tech, but this… this is something else. She’s actually communicatingwith him, he knows it. “Three levels above the east pier,” Rodney says into his comm. “Teyla—” “We are already on our way,” and over the radio, Rodney can hear the heavy footfalls of their feet against the floor. Rodney doesn’t realize that John has walked away, not at first, until he turns to see the glow halfway down the hall, barely illuminating John’s figure as it guides him further into the darkness. Rodney follows, and suddenly, John stops outside of a door. “Is this it?” Rodney asks, but he already knows the answer to the question. He slides his hand over the crystal, but the door doesn’t budge, not that Rodney expected it to. “Okay,” he says, and his voice is gentle now, perhaps more gentle than it’s ever been, but there’s something about the pinched look on John’s face that honestly, truly worries him. It reminds him of how he looked on the jumper, right before he, you know, passed out. He checks his tablet, but he knows it’s a moot point because the city is off-line down here, which is why they never knew there was a problem. The sensors just don’t reach this far, but he thinks he should be able to still get the door open. “John,” Rodney says, and there’s no response. “John.” But John seems not to hear him as he reaches for the door, fingers gripping the edge as he tries, desperately, to pull it open. “Oh, oh. Yes.” Rodney puts the tablet down carefully and he moves to the other side, glancing at John to follow his lead and as John pulls again, the noise that escapes him sends a shiver down Rodney’s spine. He screams as the door finally slides open and now, Rodney notices the blood trickling out of John’s ear, just in time to grab John as he crumples, guiding him to the floor. “Rodney!” Teyla’s voice echoes down the hallway, and Rodney calls back, voice nearing on hystericalas he situates himself below John to pillow his head on his lap. “Here! We’re here!” Ronon comes into view first, gun aimed, followed quickly by Teyla. “We heard screaming, what—John?” “It’s Atlantis!” Rodney says, “She’s using John to communicate, there’s something--.” Ronon needs to hear no more as he slips through the opened door and a second later, there’s the sound of laser fire. Rodney’s petting over John gently, shaking him gently, pleading with him to wake up but it’s to no avail. Teyla has disappeared inside of the room that John brought them to and Rodney risks a fraction of a moment to lean down, letting his lips brush against John’s forehead. “Please, please, please wake up.” John resolutely does not. --- “Did we do it?” He’s somewhere quiet and he’s alone, but he can feel her around him, leaving him warm and comforted, reminding him very much of being wrapped up in his mother’s embrace when he was seven and had the flu. He remembers that because before coming to Atlantis, it was the last time he felt well and

truly loved because she’d died less than three weeks later. You did, and he closes his eyes, letting her warmth wash over him. The pain is gone, both his and hers, he realizes and there’s a feeling of contriteness that settles inside of him, like she’s saying she’s sorry and he guesses she means for basically hijacking his mind. But, as unsettling as it should be, he finds that he’s always known she was there, really. The gentle thrumming, the quiet humming of her power he feels tucked away somewhere in the back of his mind. She wasn’t trying to hurt him, he knows. It’s not just his found family that cares for him, not just Rodney… but her too. There will be no lasting damage, she promises him and the warmth begins to recede, just a bit. To either you or me. But please tell Doctor McKay not to be too angry with me. The darkness is fading now with her and he’s not really sure why she thinks Rodney would be upset with her. He tries to ask, but the feeling of a gentle hand in his hair, a quiet murmuring of voices, breaks through and John closes his eyes, letting it guide him out of the dark. Thank you once again, John Sheppard. You saved us all. --- “—still don’t understand how we didn’t know it was here,” Elizabeth says and Rodney has to fight not to roll his eyes because they’ve been over this, he’s explained it ad nauseum. “The life signs detector is tied in directly with the city’s power grid,” he says exasperatedly and he thinks about reaching for his tablet as a nice visual aide but somewhere along the way, his hand had settled into John’s hair and it’s so soft that he kind of doesn’t want to pull it away. He doesn’t know if it brings John any comfort, but it brings him some, feeling the warmth of the other under his hand and damn if he’ll let anyone take that away from him. Even at the sake of his own sanity for having to go through this again. “That part of the city still doesn’t get any power. No power means it can’t communicate with us. We never would’ve known.” “… never would’ve known what?” The raspy voice from the bed asks and Rodney very nearly topples out of his chair as he yanks his hand back, gaping down at John, and “oh, thank god!” “Wraith,” Ronon says by way of explanation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world and Rodney supposes maybe it is. After all, at least for right now, it’s the Wraith that’s proved to be their biggest pain in the ass. “Technically, a Wraith transmitter,” Rodney corrects and he can’t quite tear his eyes away. “The Wraith was.. well, indisposed, as it was. How are you feeling?” “What d’y’mean ‘indisposed’?” “It blew itself up when it realized that the room was heavily shielded and that the beacon couldn’t get through,” Ronon says and Rodney glares at him, because he’sthe one who likes to do all the explaining, thank you very much. “Blew a hole in the wall almost the size of a jumper.” “Yes, well,” Rodney says, steering the conversation back, “somehow, there was some sort of a fail safe built into the city’s infrastructure. There was a kind of a force field where the wall used to be, not unlike that of the cells, but with no power, it wouldn’t have held much longer. When it failed, that thing would’ve sent our coordinates to every Wraith hive ship in the galaxy and well, the ruse would’ve been up. But enough about that, how are you feeling?” “Kinda like I got hit by a truck,” John says and he shifts on the bed to sit up a bit more. “The transmitter’s been taken care of?” “Blasted into almost as many pieces as the Wraith,” Ronon says proudly and Teyla squeezes his arm gently. “We are very glad that you are awake, John,” she says diplomatically, “but perhaps it would be best if we let you rest?” “Whaddya mean? That’s all he’s been doing,” Ronon scoffs, but Teyla tugs at his arm anyway, bless her. “Come,” she says. “Elizabeth, perhaps I could help you in your office, go over the schedule for the teams set to search the rest of the city?” And whatever look she shares with Elizabeth has her nodding, turning to give them both a

smile. “Of course, thank you Teyla,” she says and she reaches out for John, squeezing his arm gently. “Good to have you back with us, John.” John lifts a hand in response as everyone filters out, leaving him and Rodney alone. “You’re an idiot,” Rodney says, just because it’s expected of him, has become part of their standard routine whenever John lands himself in the infirmary. “For what?” “Oh, I don’t know, for letting a sentient city scramble your brains.” “She said she’s sorry, you know,” John says and Rodney rolls his eyes. “Of course she did. And when did we decide that she was a sheafter all? I suppose it makes sense, what with the way women across twogalaxies fawn over you, the famous Colonel Kirk.” “It’s okay to be jealous, Rodney.” “Excuse me? I am not jealous! I just think it’s a little funny that--.” “She even said she hopes you’re not too mad at her,” John interrupts. “What? Why would she care about that?” “I dunno,” he shrugs and he lays back against the pillow, closing his eyes. “Guess she knows how important you are to me. Probably wouldn’t wanna get in your bad graces…” He still can’t get used to this, this… thing. Where they care about each other, but have finally matured enough emotionally to say it out loud. “Yes well,” Rodney sniffs, and settles his hand back against John’s hair, “I’ll forgive her this time. But you tell that harlot--!” “Rodney,” John groans, “she said she’s sorry.” “Alright, alright,” he says and he leans forward, maybe a bit hesitantly, before he presses his lips against John’s. “I’m just… glad you’re okay.” “Yeah,” John agrees. “Me too, buddy. Now how about less talking and more hair petting?” Frankly, there’s nowhere else Rodney would rather be. “Go back to sleep, dummy.” “With pleasure.”

[highqueenofprydain]

Awakened

A slice of light shifted places

with a sliver of darkness

clouds unwrapped a storm

in the unwalled meadows of air

~Cora Vail Banks

It’s only her second day at Caer Dallben, when it rains the first time.

Not the first time in her life, of course. She’s well-acquainted with rain: that cold, grey, miserable substance whose frequency had made the cheerless interior of Spiral Castle even more chill and damp, its clammy breath impossible to bar out by shuttered casements or drive away with hotter hearthfires. It was the goad that had driven away what few rays of sunlight had crept past the walls to wink timidly within the fortress’s unfriendly courtyards. It was the unbidden traveling companion on their journey to Caer Dathyl, chasing them all from open meadows to the dismal cover of dripping trees, turning the ground to slippery, squelching muck beneath their feet, their clothing to sodden, dragging weight at their backs.

So it is unwelcome now, so soon, just when she’s getting used to working in the garden. She’s been happy, blissful even, surrounded by the sharp smells of sap and root, the green, light-filtering rows of leaves, the fluttering butterflies and droning bees. It’s hot work, but satisfying, and now this: this spotting of the bare earth at her knees, a warning message from the woolly gray smudge obscuring the summer sky, which up until now had been a sea of calm blue. Straightening from her task, she looks around, sees it coming: a curtain of haze blotting out the green hills to the southwest, its surface striped with darker streaks. A damp breeze lifts the sweaty strands of hair from the edges of her face like caressing fingers, but she feels nothing but resentment.

“Rain’s coming,” she announces, preparing to rise and dust off her skirts, but her companions, working in the rows nearby, only glance up mildly. At the sight of the oncoming shower, Coll smiles, his brown face creasing like the wrinkles on a drying apple.

“Ah,” he says, “good. Days overdue, that is. It’s good luck you are, love. Must’ve brought it back with you.” His hoe ceases not in its movement, a series of pulling slices so rhythmic and gentle that they seem unconnected to the weeds scraped root-bare at the end of his blade. Taran rolls his eyes, bemused at the comment, but, seeing her watching, flashes his lopsided grin at her before returning to his work.

She waits, expectant, but there is no indication of imminent departure. “Shouldn’t we go in?”

Taran glances up again, surprised. “Go in, why?”

She’s almost too astonished to be indignant at such a foolish question, but a little ire does seep into her retort. “Because of the rain.” The spots on the earth are now joined by others, freckling the dirt; a muted percussion like hundreds of tiny footsteps has begun to tickle at her ears, layered over by the warm gravel of Coll’s sudden laugh.

“We don’t stop work for rain, cariad - not unless it’s coming down like old-women-and-sticks! We’d get little done, else.” He grounds his hoe for a moment, and bends his back at a reverse angle, working out the kinks. “Summer rain’s a gift. Cools us down, and brings life to thirsty crops. You mark it, now - smell the air as it comes on. You’ll see.”

“But,” she stammers, “we’ll be soaked.”

“We’ll dry off,” Taran grunts, “nothing to fuss over. You’ve got spare clothes.” He glances her way again, looking somewhat askance at her confusion, and his mouth twitches wryly. “Come, Princess, you who are so proud of your ancestry. No one who claims kinship with the entire sea should be put off by a bit of rain.”

He’s called her princess for the last two days whenever she’s complained or gotten upset about something, a subtle dig that irritates her beyond speech, and stings, too, somewhere deep. She scowls at him and he shrugs, chuckling, grasps the handles of the wheelbarrow and trundles off toward the barnyard for a fresh load of manure, unconcerned with the rapidly-increasing sprinkle.

Bewildered, she returns slowly to her task of turning over the spent and chopped beanstalks, raking them into the topsoil, mixing and tamping it down. The top layer is damp now, beneath the pattering drops, as are her garments and hair and her bare forearms and feet. Rain mingled with sweat makes her skin salt-sticky, and she feels herself shrink small, trying to avoid the sensation. She works doggedly, swallowing further protest in embarrassment.

But she mutters to herself as the sprinkle turns to a drizzle and the drizzle to a steady pelting, and the water skims from the curls at her temples and down her cheeks, droplets quivering at the end of her nose, at the ends of her braids, washing the salt from her skin and down, carrying it into the earth.

The smell of her own body cooling, of the upturned soil, wet and glistening, rises to her face, fills her nose and mouth and lungs, and she pauses, presently, thoughtful. Smell the air as it comes on. Well, here it is, and the air is...is...oh.

She inhales, sudden and deep, conscious of the change, her fingertips tingling. What is it? Something rising up from the quivering turnip leaves or the rich loam, or condensing itself from the very air. Something rich, and deep, and vital; if green had a smell, if good had a smell, and sprouting and beginning and growing, it might be this thing shimmering savory upon her breath right now. She shuts her eyes, turns her face up toward the giving sky, and smiles without knowing it, sensing the pulse of life in the space around her, the fluid, ripe current of the rain mingling into the open warmth of the ground.

Sweetness fills her mouth in a gush of warmth, as though she’s just crushed a ripe berry in her teeth, and for just a moment, a suspended, heart-pounding second, she can feel every raindrop, not “the rain” as a formless mass of broken water, but each individual drop, as unique and perfect as if they were solid diamonds, or bits of crystal cut from the stars and fallen to earth. It’s a rush of sensation, a glimpse of something beyond her reach, and the glittering delight of it makes her open her eyes with a gasp, swept with a perception of something somehow familiar. The droplets on her arms and hands cling like tiny sentient creatures, unwilling to be separated from her.

Coll is watching her curiously from his row, and nods when she notices. “You see,” he says simply, with a knowing smile.

“What makes it happen?” she demands breathlessly. “Is it magic?”

He laughs again. “Bless you! It’s just earth and water and sunlight, mixed up and doing what they were meant to do. But together they forge life itself, so I suppose that is magic, of a kind.”

Water and sunlight, she thinks to herself wistfully, watching a droplet tumble from her fingertip. I am fire and water. I should know these things. I should...be able to.... Another drop gathers, its bottom edge swelling and rounding and dangling, and she tries to wrap her mind around it, to recapture that tingling moment of ecstatic awareness. The sweet fluidity teases at the edges of her mouth, but she does not know the words to give it form, and the drip falls, releasing its broken fullness to the earth. To forge life. She sighs.

Taran is returning with the wheelbarrow, his wet clothes sticking to him like plaster, his dark head sleek and shining —as drenched as though he’s been drowned, yet looking elated, brimming with energy. He dumps the barrow and shakes his wet hair out of eyes glowing green in his sun-brown face and he’s all brown and green, she thinks suddenly, just like the garden, and something in her chest twists and expands open with a warm and wistful ache.

He grins at her, that crooked streak of white. “Not washed away yet, I see.”

She forces herself to make an impudent face, because it’s what he expects, and because it’s more comfortable, by far, than the face that had almost been surprised out of her, which scuttles away and buries itself behind her consciousness, not ready to be seen by anyone.

“You need washing,” she retorts, “after carting all that manure. We could smell you before we saw you, so thank goodness for rain.”

He laughs, and throws a clod at her, earning a mild reproof from Coll.

Overhead, a ray of sunlight rips through the clouds, turning the tumbling drops into stars.

[earlyaccesssuffering]

I needed a break from the horribly depressing Astarion x Wyll fic I’m currently working on and decided to wallow in fluffy purring for a bit! Please enjoy this unrepentantly unedited ramble.

It occurred to Wyll that in the weeks they had been traveling together he had never seen Astarion at rest. Astarion kept watch for most of the night—he claimed because he only needed to trance for a few hours to be fully rested, more likely because he needed the time to hunt—Tav, Lae’zel or Shadowheart typically picked up the remaining hours. Wyll had protested at first, but Tav had insisted that humans needed more sleep than the rest of them (although Wyll was suspicious that in Lae’zel’s case it wasn’t so much a lesser need for sleep as it was a lack of faith in the other’s ability to protect the camp) and that had been that.

Today, however, had been an unmitigated disaster. They had stumbled emotionally and physically drained out of the hag Ethel’s home only to run directly into a Gur hunter tasked with tracking down Astarion. Completely unable to leave well enough alone, Tav and Astarion had proceeded to goad the Gur into another fight that left Astarion with a gaping wound in his side, no healing potions, and Shadowheart too drained to heal him. The best they could do was half drag him back to camp and dump his unconscious body on a bedroll until Shadowheart regained enough energy to fix him up properly.

The five of them still up sat blearily around the fire watching Gale, who was lucky enough to be guarding their campsite when throughout the day’s mishaps, prepare a stew for dinner. Wyll sat beside Astarion, making sure the vampire didn’t bleed out to death before they could heal him properly. Even unconscious the other man appeared to be in pain, his face twisting into a grimace on every other breath. Wyll tried to remain impassive, as pathetic as he might be at this moment, it was important to keep in mind the man was a monster.

Astarion let out a pained whimper on a particularly wet sounding exhale and Wyll’s resolve quickly crumbled. He moved closer to the vampire, until his head rested against his thigh, and gave into the urge to pet his hair soothingly. He may be a monster, but they had spent enough time in close quarters that Wyll had developed some measure of fondness for Astarion. Enough at least where he didn’t enjoy seeing him in pain.

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow at him while Tav and Gale grinned. Wyll shrugged a shoulder, Shadowheart and Lae’zel may be more careful about keeping their distance, but Tav and Gale didn’t even pretend to be self-serving, it wasn’t in their nature. They could allow him a little petting.

They returned to mostly ignoring each other for a few moments before a soft rumbling coming from Astarion’s chest drew Wyll’s attention back to the unconscious vampire. His face, partially pressed against Wyll’s thigh now, had smoothed out under Wyll’s ministrations into something more content and he seemed to be almost vibrating under his hand.  

“Is he purring?” Wyll asked, incredulous.

Gale’s face lit up as he crossed around the fire to come closer to them, “He is indeed!” His hand came to rest on the center of Astarion’s chest, apparently relishing in the vibrations under his fingertips, Wyll distantly remembered Gale saying something about being a cat person, “I’ve heard that some elves do that when they’re feeling particularly happy or comfortable, but I haven’t had the pleasure of observing it myself.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet, he’s comfortable with us” the wryness of Shadowheart’s tone was undermined by the softness around the corner of her eyes, and the fact that she also moved around the fire to be closer, listening intently.

Tav crawled over excitedly, laying his head on Astarion’s chest next to Gale’s hand and humming happily, “I told him he could let his guard down around us! He acted like I was being ridiculous, but listen, proof! Lae’zel come here! Feel!”

Lae’zel scoffed from her side of the fire and made no move to leave her spot.

Wyll smirked at Tav’s exuberance, quelling the part of himself that was equally pleased at having put the normally volatile vampire spawn at ease.  

“While I would normally relish having you all over me, my darlings, I have to ask what exactly you were doing to my person while I was out”

The purring had stopped. Wyll looked down and was met with half open red eyes gazing passively back at him. Astarion had apparently regained consciousness to the sight of Tav’s head and Gale’s hand, head cushioned against Wyll’s thigh with fingers running through his hair and Shadowheart smirking at him from the periphery. Tav and Gale both withdrew, Tav sheepishly and Gale completely unrepentant.

“Why you were purring Astarion, you can hardly blame them for being curious. Tell me, do we make you feel safe?” Shadowheart asked, grin sharpening.

Astarion didn’t take the bait. He stretched out languidly, closing his eyes and shifting slightly so his head rested in Wyll’s lap opposed to against his leg.

“My dear you can hardly hold anything you degenerates cause in my sleep against me. I promise in my waking hours it would never occur to me to trust a single one of you.”  

Wyll rolled his eyes and began to move his hand, still resting in Astarion’s hair, away from his head. However, his hand had hardly moved before cold fingers wrapped around his wrist, “Now my love, finish what you’ve started.” His eyes were still closed but his grip remained tight, daring him to stop his petting.

After a beat Wyll resumed his gentle ministrations to Astarion’s hair. As the rest of their party settled back into their respective spots around the campfire, the smell of Gale’s cooking filling the air, the gentle rumbling in Astarion’s chest resumed and Wyll didn’t bother trying to mask his smile.

[manybcdthings]

Felix could reasonably see that now wasn't the time, but whenever Bella gave forth her logic he was naturally compelled to give his own and he didn't have any control over it. "I mean..." Felix was still hesitant to spark a whole debate, in case it spiraled off into a completely different topic. "I would argue that is just one thing you believe in, not several things at once. And it actually serves an ego purpose. But we can...for the sake of...you know. Tomato tomato." he remarked with no bite to his tone, although there was a faint goading grin over his lips.

It only grew when she announced her stress and began to pace, but Felix himself felt a guilt worm it's way into his consciousness. "I did notice but you're handling it well." he quipped simply in a light sarcasm. "I'm not judging that you helped them, by the way. It's just..." he shrugged a shoulder, assuming his opinion was more than obvious. "A town full of supernaturals with missing family? Torn apart by humans? Sort of doesn't read as a I should feed them moment. To me...and possibly everyone else but..." he scoffed slightly. "No big deal." in his own way, this was Felix trying to help as he watched Bella pace back towards him.

He was still stood in the very same spot when her hand almost flung to his arm, Felix's head turning to watch it before moving his glance back to Bella with a slight laugh. "Okay well, you know your mother. I can only follow your lead on that one. But, if Nadia asks me why I didn't say something, are you going to throw me under the bus?" he quizzed her with a genuine concern. "I think you're..." he noticed her stress again, and there was the guilt again but Felix could solemnly swear he had no intention of Bella having her name dragged through mud. "Sit down." he said instead, gesturing to the couch. "It's just a suspicion, not accusation. Nobody has proof of anything, you've seen the way they're just pointing fingers all over the place. It's fine."

Bella's head tilts with a deadpan expression as a response to his sarcasm, her eyes briefly flickering with a roll. "Sorry...why did I offer food and water to human beings?" she squints. "People can believe in several things at once, Felix. Just because I am terrified of what's happening out there and to my sister, doesn't mean I want to be as bad as they are." Bella speaks firmly, pointing passionately to the cabin door and to wherever the soldiers have disappeared to. A slight scoff escapes about their often similar opinions but differing approaches, and her hand then waves dismissively. "Okay I wasn't saying it in that way. I was just explaining. I'm stressed, Felix. If you haven't noticed."

As his sarcasm continues, Bella paces. She worries her lip, hands anchoring to her hips as her paces turn into slight marches while she thinks. The rhythmic back and forth helps her mind, grounding her to the natural pulse of the earth she can feel the energy from even through the cabin. "You can laugh at me if you want, but I like to ensure that I can sleep soundly at night, and look in the mirror knowing that even during a literal war, I haven't abandoned my own ethics." she speaks passionately and authoritatively to him.

But there's finally a break from Felix's dry quips and she pauses her steps, taking the final one so she is back in front of him again. Giving him a grateful nod, Bella shows a brief moment of appreciation for the support and the navigation for a more logical approach. She assumes he's about to leave the cabin. "No, that's a bad idea-" and her hand darts up to his arm but hovers, realizing quickly she doesn't need to stop him at all. "Sorry, I...I thought you were going to go right now. I erm..." her mind is in several places at once. "We can't be seen to talk to her, it will look like conspiring. I think she needs to hear it from them first so her reaction is genuine, and nobody can say they saw us weeding around through the cabins." Bella explains. "Nothing really blindsides my mom, she can handle it."

[sellyoursoulforagoodfic]

Shelbys at Somme: Chapter 5

Thomas X Reader

2389

Summary: Police interrogation turns to torture.

By: @adventuresintooblivion

While it was still late summer, hints of fall had begun appearing during the earliest hours of the morning. A crispness in the air that didn’t belong to any other time of year sent thrills through Y/N as she set out to find more work for herself.

If she was to become self sufficient she’d need a continuous flow of requests, which usually came from reputation. The only reason she’d gotten to play the other night was because the host there owed her a favor for getting rid of a clingy lover. Now with that under her belt she wouldn’t have to start at the bottom, but it wasn’t much of a head start.

She hopped from dance hall to dance hall. Without references or a traditional music background Y/N wasn’t having much luck. It wasn’t until the fifth stop that someone recognized her.

“Hey, aren’t you the girl who played the violin yesterday? You know, down at the Garrison?” a tall man asked as he sloshed his beer.

The barkeep raised his eyebrow as Y/N replied, “Yes, that was me.”

The man hiccuped, “Best music I ever heard. And I’ve heard lots of music. My mum used to play clarinet for one of those orchestras. You were better than any of those stiff necks.”

Y/N felt her face go hot but she thanked the man regardless. The barkeep on the other hand eyed the two of them.

“Is this some ploy to garner my sympathies?” he growled, scratching his beard.

“No, sir.” Y/N replied. She had considered it but if she wanted to earn a legal wage she’d have to do it on her own.

He grumbled, “Come by tomorrow. If  the customers like you then, I’ll book you again. I can’t afford every night, but you’re lucky enough getting this out of me.”

“Understood. Any requests?”

“Yeah, wear something saucy.” He winked at her like the lecher he was.

Y/N replied with a tight smile, her hand closing around the brass knuckles in her pockets. With great effort, she wrangled in her anger and left.

She made it down a couple blocks before her internal alarm went off. Something was wrong. The street that had been packed with people a couple moments before was now empty except for a handful of men. 

She froze, head whipping around as she looked for an exit. Residual pain from yesterday made her stiff and she didn’t know the town well enough to slip away unseen, but she had to try. Just as she was about to beeline for a nearby alleyway, filled with crates for cover, the click of a gun stopped her.

“Move one more inch, Ms. Y/L/N, and Thomas Shelby will be tossing pieces of you in the river.” 

Y/N lifted her hands in the air, “Well I knew Thomas had friends here, but I don’t believe we’ve met.”

A soft growl answered her, “Cuff her, men!”

The remaining people on the street began to converge on her. It was a practiced formation meant for the thinner streets of Birmingham. Y/N silently cursed as she rolled, bracing herself for the pain. 

Her body hit the ground, but the momentum carried her away. The man with the gun hadn’t expected her to run for it and shot off a round a foot above her head. She kicked at his ankle, using her heel to get the most force she could on that one spot. As he yelped in pain she got on all fours and launched herself towards the alleyway. 

Two men stood between her and escape, but she didn’t stop. Instead of leaning down and tackling them, she leapt onto a crate. The wood had enough give that she was able to propel herself into the air above their heads onto another stack of crates. She gripped the brass knuckles in her pockets and used her height to her advantage.

She swung, keeping her balance as low as possible. Y/N didn’t aim for the jaw like most people did. She aimed for the nearest man’s temple. Bone collapsed beneath her fist. Another shot fired ricocheting off the brick walls. With one man down she descended. The others were closing in, there was nothing left to do but run. So run she did.

Each step was a knife in her back. It nearly stole her breath away but she needed every ounce of oxygen she could squeeze out of her lungs. Footsteps pounded on the stone behind her. The walls closed in as the alley twisted and curved. Soon her shoulders were brushing the brick but the end was in sight. Crowds hustled by oblivious to the chase they were the key to ending.

A great shout came from behind and something hit her from behind. She fell hard, her hands scraping against the sharp stone. Her head cracked against the hard surface causing bright spots to appear in her vision. Her legs were jelly beneath her. Move. Move Goddamn you!

One of her pursuers had hucked his billy club at her in desperation. It had caught her in the knee forcing her to collapse in on herself. Only one man at a time could fit through the alley way at a time. Rough hands closed around her shoulders and hauled her to her feet. Or tried to. She couldn’t stand if she wanted. Y/N’s head lolled back fighting for consciousness. A groan escaped her as they dragged her back into darkness away from the crowd.

〜

She awoke to the sound of a cane clacking against tile. A black hood had been draped over her head to keep her from guessing the location in transit, but since they weren’t moving she assumed they had arrived. Rough rope tied her hands behind her back. It splintered and dug into her skin all at once making any movement uncomfortable. The chair she sat in had no back and wobbled even as she turned her head.

“Ms. Y/L/N, you know I could charge you with assaulting an officer at this point. Throw you in jail and let you rot. But you’ve faced the jury before haven’t you?”

Her hood was ripped off. A bright light was shining down at her causing her eyes to water. She didn’t need to see him to know the guy talking was the same one who’d pulled a gun on her. She gave a soft smile when she heard the cane make contact with the tile once again.

“No, sir.” Y/N’s voice broke. It felt like hours since she’d last spoken a word. Or had anything to drink.

“Sir? That’s such a respectful word from someone who tried to break my ankle.” 

She shrugged, wincing as the rope bit into her wrists. “Well you did pull a gun on me. So I figured fair is fair, Mister…?”

He bent down, his silhouette suddenly a dark mass against the light, “It’s Inspector actually. Inspector Chester Campbell. Matthew on the other hand didn’t have a gun.”

Y/N glanced up, “Matthew?”

“That man whose head you caved in. His name was Matthew,” he growled shoving aside the light.

Now she could get a proper look at him. Y/N felt her stomach drop out from underneath her. This was the man Grace had met at the Opera. Bile rose in Y/N’s throat; now she couldn’t play fast and loose tossing her life to the wind. Now she had to make it out of her and warn Thomas. 

Inspector Campbell leaned in close enough Y/N could smell his breath. “Is that shame I see? Or fear? What a pity. I was hoping you were the cold blooded killer your files said you were.”

Y/N tried to clear her throat, “My file?”

“Your military file. Once I realized what your name was, I had every bit of information I could dug up on you. And believe me I almost had to pay an arm and a leg to do it. Nothing creates red tape like military shame.” he slowly paced the room turning his back to her.

He sure likes to hear himself talk. “Find anything fun?” she goaded.

He raised his eyebrow, “Oh, I bet you’re used to people just being stunned that you were able to join. It was a fun story I’ll admit, but that’s not what caught my eye.”

She heard the noise before she felt it. A billy club made contact with her flesh just to the left of her spine. A thunderous crack resounded throughout the room. The sound that ripped out of her mouth wasn’t human.

 It felt as if someone had slipped a red-hot hook inside her and ripped her insides to shreds. The world went white. She couldn’t stop screaming long enough to breathe. Y/N’s skin was instantly covered in sweat as she shook.

The men around her recoiled. Some even turned green. Yet Inspector Campbell’s face remained smooth as glass as he watched the aftermath of what his men had done.

When she collapsed, doubled over and panting, he reached down and yanked her head back by her hair. Y/N could barely focus on him in the weird lighting. And quite frankly she couldn’t give two shits about how close he was.

“Look up. Look at me. You killed an officer of the law today, so I can’t just let you go. But don’t worry; you’ll make it out of here alive. I mean sure we’ll have to strike a deal first-”

Y/N spat in his face.

He sneered, letting go long enough to wipe away her saliva. Then he backhanded her with a resounding thud. Her head snapped to the side almost causing her chair to wobble dangerously. Inspector Campbell’s voice was soothing as he spoke, “Now disrespect me again and there will have to be real consequences. I want you to tell me everything you know about Thomas Shelby. Judging by the fact that you put all this work to hunt him down three years after your service ended, I’d wager to say you and he have something special.”

Y/N mulled over her options. She was in a room full of people who would face no repercussions for what they did to her. The only thing that stopped them was whatever passed for morals in a torture session. If war had taught her anything it was that good men gave way to monsters when push came to shove.

“What’s left of my platoon lives here, Inspector. The military let them think I was dead, all because of shame. I came here to tell them I was alive.”

“And now that that’s done I suppose you’ll be on your way?”

She shook her head. “Put a down payment on a place. Gotta job lined up that starts soon. I’m here to stay, my good sir, and I’ll say this is one hell of a welcome party.”

Inspector Campbell tapped his cane on the tile, “Did Thomas bring you in to deal with the guns?”

“I would’ve loved to see that seance.”

The Inspector nodded towards whomever stood behind her. His men recoiled before the blow even landed. CRACK. Pain. Blackness.

Y/N started awake sputtering as water as thrown in her face. She was somewhat aware of a clicking noise. It was the Inspector.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. I thought you were a British soldier, the best of the best. Now why is it that you black out from a couple of switches to the back?” His grin caused nausea to twist in Y/N’s gut.

She didn’t answer, only took slow deep breaths. That wasn’t going to be the last time he hit her. They all knew it.

He circled around her, using his cane to lift her shirt. “You were shot in the abdomen correct?”

When she stayed silent he cracked his cane on the tile floor. She flinched before nodding.

“Then why is there no exit wound? Did they remove the bullet through your stomach?” he continued. 

“No.” 

His eyes flashed in the dim light, a triumphant smile on his face, “So it’s still there. Tell me, Ms. Y/L/N, do you think old age will get you first or lead poisoning?”

She rolled her eyes. “My own pride is what’ll get me.”

Inspector Campbell opened a small pocket book. “And why do you say that?”

“Well for starters if this is what you call torture you’re fucking awful at it.” She slowly sat up refusing to huddle in on herself any longer. She could see a man who stood opposite her shake his head. He didn’t want to watch what was about to happen. At least someone here is smart.

“Do enlighten us Miss.”

Y/N cackled. “No. This is a beat down. You have limited time before Thomas notices I’m missing. You need to get me in and out with little to no markings as fast as possible otherwise he’ll know I got nabbed.”

He interrupted. “It’s just information we want.”

“Oh, that ‘information you want’, why haven’t you gone to his other war buddies? The town is thick with them. Oh that’s right, cause they won’t tell you jack shit. Think I’ll just spill the beans because I’m a woman? Fuck you.”

His eyes turned dark, “We can do more to you than beat you, Ms. Y/L/N.”

Then he saw it, the wild look he’d only seen in Thomas Shelby until now. A grin split her face as she snarled at him. Her gaze was that of a starving predator that had finally caught sight of food after a long winter.

Her voice was filled with venom as she spat, “Give me a reason to hang your flesh from the good ‘Ol Tower of London.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” 

Inspector Campbell raised his cane and brought it down across her back so hard it knocked over her chair. Her rage filled scream resounded off the walls as the rest of the men closed in on her. Most of them looked sick even as they beat her with their fists, their clubs, whatever they had that would bring maximum pain. Eventually, they stopped to check and make sure she was still breathing.

[sepublic]

Willow’s Unwanted Fan

While I don’t exactly think the two would be healthy unless after plenty of development... I am imagining Willow VERY hesitantly giving Boscha a chance as just an acquaintance, and... maybe Boscha makes an offhand remark or feels some frustration at Willow, who has it so easy in becoming popular once she applies herself because of how innately talented she is, how lucky she is- And meanwhile Boscha had to work so hard for fame.

Of course, Boscha doesn’t realize what this says about how toxic the coven system is, and how unfair it is because some people ARE blessed better than others; And the idea that people who are less well-off than others only have a lack of effort on their part to blame, is a faulty assumption that she defaults to, to justify cruelty and superiority. In the end, there’s a lot more to success than just hard work, there are plenty of factors that you just can’t control, so maybe a lack of success by others isn’t something you can fault them for...

Maybe Boscha accuses Willow of being ungrateful, of taking for granted the kind of power she has as a popular witch at school, citing some examples -such as herself- of how other kids really struggle to achieve this sort of fame... And Willow needs to recognize that she has a privilege, a luxury that she really needs to take advantage of and make the most of; She’s got a lot of potential, and Boscha just wants to help Willow achieve that!

Kind of like a parallel to how some kids feel pressured by parents and teachers to pursue major accomplishments in academia because of their potential, when really they’re content with the humble goal they normally desire... Perhaps Boscha will try to vicariously live out her lost power, or at least a talent and level of achievement she never had/will have, through Willow- Maybe repeating what her mother tries to do with her, even! And this’d be a particularly horrifying revelation to Boscha, who doesn’t seem to treat her mother with much respect and maybe even sees her as someone to avoid being like...

In addition, maybe Boscha is trying to replace Amity as a friend by having Willow as the powerful witch that Boscha looks up to and emulates... Though in this scenario, Boscha is almost consciously trying to mold Willow into that specific image of what she wants her role model to be, whereas with Amity she was mostly just projecting, and not recognizing Amity’s actual personality. I could see Boscha trying to get petty revenge against Amity, by making Willow so much more popular and cooler than she had ever been, especially since Willow is apparently more talented than the Blight girl,

So just as her mother uses Boscha’s achievement to show up Odalia and her kid, Boscha uses Willow to show up Amity by basically bragging about how her new friend is so much better; How Boscha is GLAD Amity left her, so the Blight girl is no longer holding her down, and Boscha can actually hang out with people who deserve it... And similarly, Amity is missing out on so much potential that Boscha could’ve supported her in reaching (just as Amity left Grudgby), and it’s all her loss!

Boscha finds an unusual resignation in not being the best, so she settles for latching onto the actual best, and making the most of them to spite those she feels ‘didn’t appreciate her enough’. Boscha is basically trying to convert Willow to be more like her, so she can actually live with Willow being better than her, and thus validate her own beliefs in a very roundabout way, by having the ‘best’ (AKA Willow) agree with them!

She can have Willow validate Boscha’s own choices and values in life, by making Willow reach the same ones... And so Boscha can have a role model who she looks up to, but also a friend who basically tells her that what she’s doing is right, and that Boscha isn’t doing anything wrong! Boscha doesn’t want to consider or self-reflect, she just wants someone to look up to, by providing a flattering world-view that isn’t challenging and only confirms what Boscha already believes in.

Regardless, Willow senses some toxicity brewing and she nopes out of there entirely, and/or completely shuts down Boscha’s train of thought. I think Boscha and Willow could have a very interesting dynamic later down the line, especially in regards to how Willow is possibly becoming more popular than Boscha, and having her greater magical strength acknowledged, particularly begrudgingly by Boscha herself... Although I hesitate to say that there’d be an outright positive relationship between the two, much less actual romance.

Goodness, what if Boscha was SO desperate to have some validation of her old role and beliefs, that she just... goads Willow into attacking her, under the satisfaction that if Willow beats her up, then it justifies her hierarchy of stronger witches being above the weaker ones! And even after being defeated, Boscha just trails behind Willow because she’s really accepting any retaliation as self-punishment for not being strong enough; That maybe she becomes SO devoted to the idea of a role model or a leader that she can follow, that she actively revels in being hurt because it’s part of some really sick and twisted concept of ‘suffering builds character’!

What I’m basically saying is, what if Boscha was like Jasper towards Lapis in Alone at Sea, fully accepting of any abuse from Lapis, because Lapis is SO strong that she’s fully justified in thrashing a weaker Jasper, and it gives Jasper some martyrdom satisfaction to serve and provide for someone who’s so much better than her, especially if it means having any taste or association of the kind of power she looks up to! Maybe Boscha just accepts, if not embraces, any retaliation from Willow as proof of her belief that strong witches should be above the weaker ones, etc., thereby validating Boscha’s loss because all IS right in the hierarchy, it just shifted!

Maybe Boscha even enjoys being hurt, because deep down it plays into some possible self-loathing at losing to Willow, while also acknowledging Willow’s victory and strength... And she keeps picking fights with Willow no matter how badly she gets hurt, because Boscha believes that with each battle, she’ll get better and better and maybe one day defeat the Park girl, so any injuries she suffers on the way are totally justifiable if it means getting back on top!

And Willow is in a dilemma where she can’t just smack Boscha away, because she doesn’t want to contribute towards that belief and justify it... She hates Boscha and won’t help her, but generally refuses to take the next step in harming the girl by entrenching her in her own ideas. Maybe we’d have a scene similar to Lapis taking her rage out on the other Lapises and thrashing them, reveling in her power over them; Only to realize that this isn’t strength, it’s just tyranny. And just as Lapis rejects Nice Lapis’ worship by admitting that her own retaliation went too far, maybe Willow does the same to Boscha...

...Of course. Even if Willow doesn’t want to outright harm Boscha, nor does she want to give her any satisfaction by playing by her game and rules; If Boscha were to threaten any of her friends, of course she’d punt Boscha into the stratosphere, no guilt nor hesitation. Because in that kind of situation, it’s just a pragmatic scenario of self-defense, where physical safety is prioritized above any ‘principles’ or ‘points’ that are trying to be made here. And Boscha is just someone Willow is going to have ignore, kick aside, and not waste time nor energy in... That yeah, if Willow hurts Boscha to defend herself, that sucks, especially if it contributes to Boscha’s toxic beliefs; But in the end, Willow’s own comfort is prioritized above all-else, and it’s Boscha engaging with Willow, that makes Willow’s happiness come at the cost of Boscha’s own recovery.

Boscha only has herself to blame for Willow choosing a painful option in that ultimatum, because she’s the one that set it down to begin with- Like when she made her friends choose between Boscha and King-Luz, and not letting them be content with both. Or of course, when Boscha makes the school choose between herself, or Willow... When both can be popular and beloved, this isn’t a pie to divvy up! Willow just might beat up Boscha regardless of whether or not she’s playing into the girl’s point or not, because Willow’s comfort comes before proving Boscha wrong- And it’s this apathetic disregard, that it’s meaningless to Willow whether or not Boscha is vindicated, that she’d rather not be bothered by the problem to begin with... That will show Boscha just how pointless her efforts have been, and how little they mean in the end.

If Boscha sometimes dismisses things or people as being ‘beneath’ her, then she’s about to be on the receiving end by none other than Willow Park herself...! It’s Willow’s out of sight, out of mind principle- Unintentionally playing by the game or not, it’s all inconsequential and interchangeable, it just. Doesn’t. Matter. Willow has more important things to worry about, because Boscha isn’t important, and she’ll do what she needs to do to get Boscha out of the way and out of her hair so she can focus on what Willow REALLY cares about. 

And knowing how little she actually means to some, that she’s not the center of other people’s world like Boscha wanted to believe, that Willow certainly has no place for her that isn’t an afterthought; It would be quite the wake-up call. People have lives beyond Boscha, they don’t need her and thus they aren’t obligated to her; So don’t act like they are, Boscha, and don’t act like you can change this and force them to reciprocate by ‘earning’ that right in a challenge they never agreed to.

[raz-b-rose]

The Secrets we Share

Part one

This is the second and (for now) final part to this AU. 

11527 words. Enjoy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737908/chapters/56487616#workskin

___________________________________________________________

Marinette pulls back from the kiss first, gazing lovingly at Damian. “I love you, sorry again for overreacting” 

“We both have weaknesses, but we have all the time to help each other” Damian kisses her forehead, taking her bag to her room. Marinette only hums in response. 

Marinette couldn't believe the changes in her life in just one week. Master Fu had passed, she was the new supreme Guardian; her parents were proud of her, and she hoped her mother understood when she told them about the wedding. She was raised within the temple's traditions after all, but she had also raised her to carve her own path despite Fu’s desire to raise her as the next supreme. 

Marinette froze for a moment, watching Damian move around her apartment with ease, grinning wildly at the thought of this becoming her everyday life. Her and Damian together, best friends and partners. Partners. Marinette focusses on that word. She thinks about her days as a vigilante. It had been two years since she had last transformed with Tiki, since she had last doned the monacer of Ladybug and assisted others. She feels something bubble up in her chest that almost matches the excitement of her future with Damian. She could become ladybug once again. 

Damina glances behind him to Marinette relaxing to the sight of her smile. She was his retreat from everything crazy and stressful in his life. No matter what happens in the field or on missions, he would always have her to return to. Her smile, her joy, and her kindness will always be there for him. 

“Hey Chéri, I should let you know that we have just one more thing in common” Marinette is still grinning wildly, coming forward to join their hand together. 

“What is that Habibti?” Damian finds himself caught up in her excitement. 

“I used to be a vigilante as well, and I had to quit when I moved here for school, didn’t want to step on any toes, but now I can help again, this is wonderful” 

Damian stiffins, varying images of all the terrible things that could happen to Marinette flying though his mind before settling on Barbra in a wheelchair. His grip tightens his breathing labored. 

“Marinette I-” She simply cups his face, eyes shining in understanding. 

“Because Tikki is effectively immortal, that trait is shared with me when I am transformed with her. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Tikki?” As if responding to the name, the same small red fairy-like creature flies up to his face, almost causing him to go cross eyed. 

“There is nothing to worry about Damian. If anything, Marinette would be better protected than you.”

“How does that work?” Marinette had moved them back to the couch, continuing to smile as though Damian was not in the middle of a panic attack thinking about how she could die horribly. He would love to have her beside him at all times, but maybe not all the time. 

Tikki only grins at him. Damian looks to Marinette to see the grin reflected on her face. They did not see the issue here. Marinette could not be in the field. She must have done community service or something. There is no way his Habibti fought crime as a teenager, right? 

“Because I am immortal, unless something were to happen to my earrings, which would be very challenging to manage mind you, when I share my powers with another that trait is shared with them as well.” 

Damian is still struggling to grasp the calming logic of her statements. “Even if she can’t die she could still be seriously hurt '' Damian doesn't want to be overprotective, but he's going to be overprotective. 

Tikki only shakes her head, the movement soft. “I absorb any damage she takes, for life threatening injuries however, i can only absorb so much,” Damian stops breathing all together, “so she would be left with anything from a bruise to a laceration.”

“Nothing a first aid kit can’t handle.” Marinette appears at his side, handing him a mug of tea. When had she moved and made tea?

“But you could still be-” He starts to argue, but Marinette's change in tone causes him pause to hear her out. 

“Damian, I have been shot on three different occasions, here, here, and here.” She points to her hip, head and finally her heart. Damian followed each movement of her finger with fascinated horror. “I was only left with a bruise for each of them, I will be ok.”

They have a stare off for what feels like hours, Damian can see another creature join the huddle on the couch, but keeps his focus on Marinette. Her eyes aren’t hard, instead they are understanding but she won't back down from this. “I also have healing magic, for the next time you get hurt”

“I don’t get hurt” Damian tries to say with an air of pride, but even to his ears he can hear the weakness of the lie. 

“Yes you do, mister I got shot and didn’t say anything” Marinette gives him a pointed look, before giggling at Damian's crestfallen face. 

“How did you know?”

“Oh please, I have been training with magic since I could walk, specifically that healing magic” She says with a wave of her hand. He closes his eyes, taking multiple deep breaths. 

What are the facts of the situation he has control over? Marinette knows magic. Marinette can bond with an immortal being effectively making her immortal while bonded. Marinette has been shot before. Marinette is here. Marinette had been a vigilante. Marinette had been a good vigilante. Nobody as far as he knew had heard of any such thing from Paris. Marinette is going to be his partner in everything. Everything. Damian opens his eyes to her sky blue ones, relaxing once again into their depths. 

“Ok, but we start slow, I need time to adjust.” She just smiles softly at him, rubbing her hand along his shoulder. 

“Of course Chéri, it's only fair,” Damian relaxes some more, thankful at her cooperation. “You don't know how amazing I am as a vigilante yet” Damian scowls at her, eyes darkening in that competitive way they always do when Marinette goads him on. 

“Is that so” He grins wickedly, carefully placing both of their cups on the coffee table. She eyes him with excited trepidation, waiting for Damian to strike. He glances behind her, tilting his head in confusion, and strikes when she also starts to turn back. 

“Are you as good as you say if you fall for such an easy trick?” He teases while he tickles her, proud at the belly laughs he is eliciting from her. 

“Stop Dami, stop” She squeals, trying desperately to put distance between them, her breaths short and joy filled. 

“I dont think I’m ready to” 

“Dami!” She laughs out, soft pawing at his face, tears of joy mixing with the tear tracks from earlier. With that Final plea, he stops kissing her quickly and gently. He doesn’t need her passing out from lack of oxygen after all. She simply pulls him down into a cuddle, humming contently. Pulling each other close, their warmth mixes together, making for a comfortable nap inducing environment, but both know they can’t take a nap, not yet after all. 

Damian glances over to see Tikki and the other one, sitting cheerfully on the window sill, observing the city streets below. 

“What,” Damian starts to ask Marinette then thinks better of it, after all they were clearly sentient beings capable of holding a conversation. 

“What exactly are you?” He sits up, facing each of the small beings. They glance between each other before coming over to sit on the coffee table. 

“We are called kwami, but to be exact we are the personification of certain ideals or desires.” The small horse looking one answers, licking away at a sugar cube. 

Damian glances to Marinette for clarification. They did answer his question but it left him blind to certain details that Marinette is sure to have. However Tikki is the one to answer his unasked inquiry. 

“We should start at the beginning, as we do with all newcomers to the Order,” Tikki sends a pointed look to Kaalki, who just rolls her eyes before focusing on her meal. 

“There was a woman named Tikki who lived in China during the Xia dynasty. She learned of magic through travelers and taught herself the most powerful form of magic at the time, creation magic. She loved to create new things, especially things to help others.”

“While she was traveling her older sister fell ill to what was an incurable disease at the time.” Marinette laughs softly into her hand as Damian leans forward, grasping his hands in front of his face in total concentration on Tikki’s history lesson. 

“She quickly switched her focus to healing magic, desperate to save her sister's life. During her quest she experimented with imbedding jewelry with healing effects to stop or even just slow the effects of the sickness.”

Tikki leaves the coffee table to continue her story next to Marinette's earrings, touching them softly. “Because of her love to create, her love for her sister, and her desire to heal I was brought into consciousness, a part of her soul, so to speak, being imbedded into the earrings.” 

“I became everything she desired and held dear. I can create as well as heal and was the first miraculous created.” 

“Do you share her memories?” 

“No, I am simply a personification of her will.”

“Is that why you are immortal, you are neither alive or dead?” Marinette is impressed that Damian was able to grasp that truth so quickly. 

“Exactly.” 

“What happened after?” He is not so much as eager to learn what happened, but rather gain the knowledge necessary to join this world of Marinettes. 

“She returned home just as the sickness was taking its final hold, we worked together to heal her, becoming Hóng fūrén.”

“Did she create the rest of the miraculous?”

“No,” Kaalki answers him this time, having finished her sugar cube she settles in on Marinette's other shoulder. “When other magicians learned of what she created, they traveled to her, eager to learn her secrets.”

“The first was a man by the name of Plagg, who had lost a loved one to the same sickness that almost took Tikki’s sister. He had heard of her miracle and hoped that she could return his loved one to him.”

“I hear a but in there,”

“Bringing people back from the dead will always have consequences, as you know” Tikki says gravely, her stare is filled both with pity and resentment. He doesn’t think that the last one is aimed at him however. Marinette stiffins. 

“Damian-”

“We can talk about that later,” She doesn’t look reassured, but nods in acceptance, “Thank you, please continue” Damian reaches up to rub his chest where the sword pierced. There was no scar, but the memory of the pain was enough for Damian.

“Even though they could not help him in his original request, he still desired to learn her new way of magic as well. He then created the ring of destruction, his desire to rid the world of the illness being his main driving force.”

“Each of the Miraculous were created by different magicians and added to the collection. Tikki and Plagg went on to be the founders of the order, seeking to use their magic to help everyone around them.”

“What caused them to hide from the world?”

“A traitor by the name of Jin Yong. He had been unsuccessful in creating anything, much less a Miraculous. He attempted to steal all of them for himself, and killed Plagg in the process.” Marinette always hated this part of the story. 

“By this time Tikki and Plagg had married, and started a family. In her rage, she wielded both the creation and destruction Miraculous. Jin yong was quickly dealt with but her rage still needed an outlet.”

“She unleashed such raw magical power, that she carved up the nearby mountain range. The other magicians feared her, quick to submit themselves to her, and follow any order she had to give. She then declared that from thereforth, all Miraculous would be kept in a box, and named herself as Supreme Guardian, who is the only person capable of opening the box.”

"She then traveled as far west as she could before stopping in what is now Tibet. There she built the temple and erased all traces of the miraculous from the world.”

Marinette plays with her fingers, small tears gathering. Damian rubs small circles in her back, quietly processing what he just heard. That much raw power in the wrong hands could be disastrous. 

“Marinette, is announcing the Order to the world the wisest idea?” He was trying to be gentle, but the idea of being incapable of fighting against such a threat scared him. 

“Yes, Supreme Guardian Tikki also placed a spell over all the miraculous. As long as I know who holds the Miraculous I can order it back to the box. Stealing one is difficult but not impossible. It has happened before.” 

“Damian,” Kaalki draws his attention away, “ Not every Miraculous can manage that kind of power. Not every person can handle that kind of power. Tikki only could because she had created the Miraculous, her bonding with it being much more intimate than can be managed today.” 

Damian frowns in confusion, “So how does this whole bonding thing work anyway?” 

Marinette seems to brighten a little, quick to answer him, “The longer you wear a miraculous the stronger the shared magic between Kwami and human become. You also have to physically fit, spiritually sound and mentally strong to even transform with a Kwami. Anyone can wear a miraculous, but not everyone can wield one.” 

“That makes me feel a little better.”

She giggles softly, sipping her tea softly. Tikki and Kaalki had moved from her shoulders now sitting softly in her lap. Marinette seems to be working herself up to say something, so he waits patiently for her to collect herself. 

“We have had this power that could be shared with the world for centuries, just sitting there in cowardice for what may or may not happen. When Plagg first convinced me to transform with him and take a run on the roof tops, and I stopped a mugging, I knew what I would do with the Order should I end up leading it. I would build a team to help the world.” 

She gives Damian a hard stare, “I will help those who need it.” He can’t help but smile at her and berate himself even further. Her heart is too good, kind, and compassionate. 

“You will accomplish all those things Marinette. I will help you any way I can.” 

“I know. Thank you Damian” Marinette feels a peace within her soul. The Order could look down on a Supreme being in a relationship all they want. She would not be as strong without Damian at her side. 

“So why have I never heard of vigilantes in Paris?” Marinette at least has the gall to look embarrassed. 

“As a part of my training, I would bond with a different miraculous every two weeks. When Plagg talked me into transforming and testing my powers in Paris, instead of at the temple, I loved the rush from pouncing on people and surprising them. Because I had a new look every few weeks, no one ever made the connection.”

“And then she had to start getting her friends in on it too,” Tikki chimes in in exasperation. “It was hard enough keeping her nightly adventures a secret, but adding more people to the mix every few months was getting challenging.” 

“And yet I built myself a good team” Marinette huffs. They went on to bicker about Marinette's youth. Damian can’t help but dread that this would also now be a part of his new life. Kwami everywhere all the time. It would definitely take some adjusting. Damian frowns at his now vibrating phone, the caller ID confusing him even more. Standing he distances himself from the others, not wanting to disturb them with his call. 

“What is it Brown?” She only ever called him when there was a daytime emergency. 

“Damian you need to talk to Tim, this isn't ok.” 

“I don't need to do anything you say” Damian feels his good mood souring quickly. 

“No, Tim is a wreck. You haven't talked to anyone for days.”

“Who I choose to speak to is none of your concern.” Stephanie tries to interrupt him but Damian speaks over her, “I am not responsible for how Drake is feeling”

“You men and hating to talk things out” She snaps, Damian only rolls his eyes, after all just what had he and Marinette been doing for the last hour? 

“There is nothing for us to talk about. He has apologized but the fact of the matter is he doesn't trust me, therefore there is no reason to speak until that is repaired first” Damian clenches his fist at admitting such a thing to Stephanie of all people. 

“Of course he trusts you Damian,” 

“If he truly trusted me, then this would not have happened” The silence on the other end is unsettling, Damian can only stand there, waiting for her to say something, but he knows she can’t find a way to refute his claim. “I believe you have no right to speak to me about such matters as well Brown, last I heard you weren’t even on speaking terms with Drake yourself”

“That was a low blow Damian” She growls out before cursing him out and hanging up. Damian trembles, Stephanie reigniting his original anger from the last week. He jumps a little, meeting Marinette's worried gaze. 

“Damian?” 

“It’s nothing, just Drakes, whatever she is right now, meddling with something she has no right to.” Marinette retakes her seat on the couch. They had talked about themselves, but not how he felt with his family. Clearly it was still unresolved and had led to a lot of stress for all parties. 

“Does Tim do things like this often?” She asks so quietly, that Damian almost missed her question, the roaring in his ears grew louder. 

“Do what?”

“Investigate people?”

“It is his prefered job. He investigates to find all the information so that we don’t have any blank spots.” 

“Then why was his investigation of me bothering you so much? He does it to other people so why can’t he do it to me?” He can tell she is playing devil's advocate, but the question still bothers him. He can feel his anger growing stronger.

“I asked him, and Todd, not to. To meet you like normal people.” She hums, nodding her head slightly in agreement. 

“That request does change everything. And why does that feel like a breach of trust to you?” Damian tightens his fists, a headache coming on from his tightened jaw. Marinette runs her thumb over the back of his hand, that's when he notices her breathing steadily. In, out. In, out. Damian starts to match her pace, his body loosening with each exhale.

“They question every choice I make. Always acting like I’m in danger. However only when I make ‘life changing decisions’” Damian states dryly, “any other time they behave as though they do not care for me.” Marinette only nods, he can tell by the look in her eye that she is processing the information, tucking it away. 

“I know I can be uncommunicative and impersonal at times,” Marinette offers a small smile, “but I thought that I had made headway in building better relationships with my brothers. Don’t tell them this but I do care for them and have come to enjoy their company” 

“This sounds like normal sibling drama then.” Marinette smiles, “No need to be angry. Tim and Jason care too, in their own way. They need to find a different way to show it though, you too mister” She runs her finger down his nose before pecking it quickly.

“I don’t know how to approach them at the moment, but I don’t want to lose them either” Damian confides in her, knowing his vulnerability is safe with her. 

“It doesn’t need to be today Damian, a lot has happened already.” She stands pulling him with her. “But it needs to be soon. It becomes harder the longer you wait.”

“I will Habibti, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“You can talk about anything at any time Damian.” She smiles softly one last time before leading them towards the door. “I am hungry, and i think food would help both of us right now” 

They enjoyed a peaceful meal, phones set on silent, just the two of them ignoring the outside world of responsibilities until a later time. Damian asked more questions, Marinette asked her own in return. The couple shared everything they hadn't before, finding solace in the fact that they truly understood the others' struggles like no one else could. 

The late afternoon sun offered a cozy setting as they returned to Marinette's place, the Kwami glad to be home for free reign once again. And the two of them did what they did best. Separate activities in the same room. 

Marinette returned to her dress, as it was still due for completion that week. Family emergency or not, fashion projects are to be completed. Damian returned to his book, quickly reimmersed in it, but even that couldn't hold off the exhaustion that builds when emotional stress is in play. Damian is stirred from sleep, Marinette giggling at him.

“Hey sleepy head, I think you need to go home to get some proper rest” She places a marker in his book, before walking away. Damian lays there for a few moments adjusting to consciousness. He sits up a little too quickly when he notices the time. He is late for patrol. 

He jumped off the couch, pulling his jacket on in a panic, cursing softly as he gathered the rest of his things. Maeinette wonders over, concerned. 

“Is everything ok? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that. I am just late for patrol” Damian pecks her cheek but the touch of her hand stops him at the door. 

“Is that a good idea? You seem really tired.” He kisses her once more, less rushed this time.

“I will be ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, promise” Marinette hugs him tightly before finally letting him leave. She stands at the door for a moment, before turning back to her dress. Damian would be ok, she could feel it. Her gut was almost never wrong anymore, Marinette frowns at her embroidery, almost. 

Tonight was not a good night. Damian scowls into the streets below. The coms were unusually silent. When he had signed onto the comms everyone gave him short crisp answers. His father, he could understand, but Todd and Drake refused to talk to him, and after the fuss Stephanie made, he expected Drake to be grovelling once again. 

“Boys, we got trouble down by the docks, looks like Penguin is making a move.” Oracle informs. Each gave a confirmation before launching to the docks. Damian moved quickly, the thought of Marinette waiting for him at the forefront of his mind more than ever. 

“Robin and Red Hood, come in from the north. Red Robin and I will come in from the west.” Batman orders before going silent once again. Damian is almost to the docks when Red Hood comes up on his right, their paths converging into one. 

“Robin, she got back today right? Did everything go alright?” Damian is caught off guard by his question and almost missteps off the roof. He opens his mouth to respond like he always had when they try to pry, but Marinette's words from that afternoon cause him pause. He needs to find a different way to show that he does care for his brothers. What better way to start then being more open about his life. 

“It went well.” 

Now it was Jason's turn to be surprised. Damian was not one to willingly give information on his personal life. It took poking and prodding with the figurative crowbar to even get him to open his mouth, and even that didn’t always guarantee you'll get what you wanted out of him. 

“That's good to hear.” He could practically feel the tension drain from the coms, Babs mutters a small praise and he winces. He knew they could feel the tension, he felt bad that Babs could as well. “Sorry Oracle”

“Refocus, now that that is out of the way, and then you can talk more.” 

“Yes Ma’am” 

Damian scowls as the distant sound of sirens grows louder. Just what they didn’t need. “Red Robin and I have converged on the smugglers. Some are trying to escape your way, be ready.” 

The boys move faster to intercept before the police arrive. Damian swings down, landing harder than intended on the pavement, bringing five men to an abrupt stop. They are all dressed in beanies and black clothes. A few have traditional guns while the others have spearguns guns.

“Evening boys, would you mind dropping the weapons and surrendering peacefully?” Red Hood saunters in from the rear, catching all the cornered men off guard. With a grunt, they all start to pull their guns. 

Without further words, the boys attack first, subduing the ones with the spearguns first, fearing the nasty wound that could leave more than that of a regular gun. After all, they have dealt with those before. One of the men, after losing his gun, tried to fare in hand to hand combat, Damian simply tripped him, knocking him out cold with an elbow to the throat. Damian turns around to find himself at the end of a gun, and no time to move. 

Red Hood bashes the man in the back of the head with his gun, simply nodding at Damian, who could only sigh in relief. It wasn’t the first time he had been in that sort of situation since meeting Marinette, where all he could think about was how upset and angry she would be to learn how he died. Now that she knew, he wondered if she would be angrier or just heartbroken. 

Red Hood walks over, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Not yet Robin, you have plenty of time ahead of you.” Damian glances at him with narrowed eyes, he can feel his mask constrict with the movement. How had he managed to glare 24/7 when he was younger? 

They boys turn at the sound of their family landing behind them. Red Robin fidgets next to the bat, their difference in height would have made it comical if not for the seriousness of the situation. Damian simply nods to him, sending a small smile his way. That was more than enough to show the young man that the blood between them had been cleared. He relaxed immediately, offering his own smirk in return. 

Bruce watched the interaction, glad that the boys had made up in their own way, but couldn’t help the roll of his eyes at the dramatics of it all. But it's your fault that they are terrible at these things his subconscious whispers to him. Bruce scowled at the intrusive thought, his pride making it difficult to admit fault. 

“The police have already started inventory on the unit of drugs they were trying to move into the city. Pick up will be here shortly, Robin come with me to oversee processing of evidence.” Both men set off, Father and Son into the night. 

Batman turns off his comm unit, motioning for Robin to do the same. While Damian’s relationship with Bruce hasn't always been the smoothest, they have both tried. Damian tried to be everything he valued in his Father, and Bruce tried to emulate the things Damian thought of as important. Unfortunately for both of them, that did not include expressing emotions or confrontation into personal issues as priority. 

“I look forward to meeting her.” Damian rolls his eyes at the attempt for normal father son bonding conversations. They had never been Bruce's forte, but he refused to cease the attempts. “She must be a wonderful woman.”

“Wonderful because she caught my attention?” 

“Wonderful because she brings out the best in you.” Bruce smiles, knowing Damian was testing his responses. He may not be the best at conventional relationships, but he picked up a thing or two from Alfred over the years. 

Damian is caught off guard at the response. “The best in me?”

“She must have said something today or performed an action in the past to influence your earlier behavior with your brothers” Damian thinks over his words, realizing the truth within the statement. He grins before voicing his next thought. 

“If she has held such an influence over me for so long, you must be slacking in your abilities, old man” Bruce simply raises his brow, a trade mark look if anyone who knows Batman were to give him one. 

“Maybe” And with that the conversation comes to an end for now, as he turns the comms back on, meeting the commissioner behind the taped off scene. Robin shadows Batman, a working system for the last few years now. Damian however is processing the day while observing the hustle and bustle of the crime scene. Once everything is settled and they are retiring for the night at the cave, suits locked up and equipment put away, Damian sends a small wave to his family before heading back to the city. 

His brain battles with itself before he finally crashes onto his bed, sleep over taking him. The night was a normal one, with the regular adrenaline. No matter how hard he tried to rethink about his afternoon, his body needed to rejuvenate itself. Thinking could wait, recharge could not. 

It is well past twelve when he finally awakens, a small headache at the front of his head. He checks his phone to find a text from Bruce, asking if they would be coming to dinner at the Manor. It was Dicks last night in town before returning to Jump City. 

Damian ended up staring at his phone for over five minutes. Finally he placed a call, hoping she was available. He chuckles as she picks up the phone, her frantic yelps coming over the line.

“Damian finally! Are you ok?”

“Yes Marinette, I am fine.” He laughs.

“Thank goodness, what's up?”

“Would you be available for dinner at the manor tonight?”

“Of course! What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty. We usually eat around four.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you soon! Love you!” Before she hangs up he hears her call for Tikki, claiming a need for her opinion on outfits. Laughing one last time, he responds to his father's text before rising to get ready. 

Now that things were mostly patched with Tim and Jason, dinner wasn’t looking to be an uncomfortable affair. He was however still apprehensive to introduce her to his family. But, if she could handle his past confessions, then she could probably handle his family just fine. If she could handle leading a whole organization at twenty-two, she could handle his family. 

After a quick walk for Titus, and running a quick errand, it was finally time to pick up Marinette. As he approaches her building once more, she waits on the sidewalk, eyes peeled for his car. Her face lights up as she spots him, her hair cascading gently around her face, framing her freckles and eyes perfectly. 

“Hey there handsome, did you have a good night?” With the click of her seat belt, Damian returns to the line of cars eager to leave the city.  

“We managed to intercept a shipment of new drugs Penguin was trying to introduce to the city. Not a standard night but not a new scenario” Damian shrugs, not finding it as weird to talk casually about his nightly activities as he thought it would be.

Marinette nods, giving him a weak smile, “That is relieving to hear, I was worried for you”

“I assume that is going to be a standard for us now” Damian scowls, thinking once again about all the horrible what-ifs and undesirable futures. 

“Yes but i feel like it's not that different from other couples” Marinette reaches over to take his hand, Damian notices she's trembling slightly, but decides not to bring attention to it. 

“What do you mean? I believe we are in a unique situation.”

“ Well what about Military, Officers, or any other profession that has a life threatening aspect to it? Any couple apart of those lives worry for safety and health just as much as we are now”

“That is a very true point, however I maintain our uniqueness with that not every couple fights crime as vigilantes together” Damain gives her a quick pointed look before returning his focus to the road. 

“And the average couple can be affected by unexpected injuries or death as well,” Marinette continues as though Damian hadn’t spoken, staring out the window as the grey and muted red buildings turn to a forest of green with the ocean peaking through, “No we are not the different after all” 

Damian doesn't respond for a moment, his mind focussing between her trembling hand, to her hyperfocus on safety and wellbeing standards in other couples, and finally on the scrunching of her face as though she is trying not to cry. 

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” His tone was gentle, and quiet; his brothers would never believe it. Damian no longer had any qualms about having Marinette by his side no matter what. He needed her, just a week of thinking he had lost her, had him in a wreck,. He doesn't know what would happen if he were to actually lose her. 

“Myself,” She continues to stare out the window, but she seemed almost calmer now, “The vigilantism aside, we would have a decreased risk of losing each other, but not a nonexistent risk.” 

Damian knows that she is processing her thoughts, and smiles to himself, waiting patiently. “I love you Damian, it's painful to think about life without you,”

“Then don’t, don’t focus on the what-ifs, the negative possibilities, or the inevitable future.” Marinette finally looks at him then, eyes narrowed but a smile beginning to form, “Focus on today, that we are together”

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” She parrots, giggling at his unimpressed look. “Empathy is so very interesting, we can so clearly see how to reassure someone else of our own fear but struggle with our own advice” 

“Never have more true words been spoken” Damian chuckles, taking her hand in his own, the car settling into silence once more. The calm atmosphere is cracked when Marinette's hands begin to tremble once again.

“Relax, Mari. They will love you”

“Yes but there has been so much drama surrounding myself that I can’t help but be a little more than nervous.” She thinks back to the phone call Damian received yesterday, unsure of how this ‘Brown’ person would receive her. 

“No reason to be unless you are truly uncomfortable with everything that happened? You never did tell me how you felt about all that?”

“Oh yea,” Damian scowls. Of course she forgot this had affected her too. Her own privacy to be exact. “Well is everything cleared up between you guys?”

Now it was Damians turn to be uncomfortable. “We haven't talked, but I let them know I was no longer upset.” Damian mumbles, thankful that he is driving so he had a reason not to meet Marinette's eyes. 

“Hmm, perhaps I should talk to the boys,”

“Why?”

“Well they did listen to my phone call, that is definitely something we need to discuss” Her tone was off. It was like she was trying to sound serious but sarcasm laced ever syllable as well. If he hadn’t glanced at her just then, he would have missed the smirk, now leaving her lips as she tried to school her expression. 

“What are you up too?” 

“I am up to nothing Damian. This is a serious conversation.” Yea no, not even Dick would fall for that. 

“I trust you will tell me what you really want to talk about with them later.” He wouldn’t pry anymore, but he wasn’t going to drop it either. Marinette only smiles softly at him, reaching her hand to trace his jaw line. The action leaving him distracted and hyper aware at the same time. 

“All in good time Love, just trust me on this one.” 

“You play dirty” He growls out, grip tightening around the wheel. Again she laughs, repeating her earlier action. 

“I know you love me” She teases cheekily, before bringing their conversation away from the topic of family and onto miscellaneous, trivial ones. Damian responds idly, enjoying having her back in his presence. Soon they reach the broad gates of Wayne manor, hidden behind the thick foliage making Marinette feel even more like an outsider. 

Damian climbs out of the car, waiting for Marinette to join him at his side. He glances behind him confused when she does not appear. A quick glance shows that she is still in the car, fists clenched as she takes a few deep breaths. Damian waits patiently for her to finish. 

When she finally climbs out of the car, her face shows confidence, while the trembling of her hands betray her nerves. Damian’s larger hand swallows her, Damian likes to think he is absorbing her nerves, and the smile she sends his way almost makes him believe that. 

“Oh I almost forgot” Damian reaches into his pocket, pulling a small box out. Marinette smiles softly at him before giving her hand to him to accept the ring. It is a simple silver band with one small pink stone embedded in the ring. It was perfect for the seamstress, nothing to snag on the fabric. 

“You didn't have to do that Damian”

“You are my fiance and tradition dictates I present you with a ring as a symbol of our status” Marinatte tries not to laugh but fails, breaking down into small giggles. 

“Also,” Damian leads her towards the ‘house’ once more, “I want to see how perceptive my family truly is” 

They walked inside, the liveliness of the manor there, but muted to the back of the house. The couple start to move to the back only to be halted when Damian is tackled to the ground. Marinette can’t help but gasp as he slides back to the front door.

“Uncle Dami! 

Damian carefully sits up, hugging the small girl to his chest. She may only be nine now, but she grew into her tamaranian strength everyday. “Hey there power-pop, stronger than the last time I see.”

The girl giggles, she lifts Damian off the ground, hugging him tightly. “Mom has been training me everyday. I can lift a small car now!” Her eyes are a bright green, alight with an energy that only a child knows. 

“Can you now power-pop? Do you mind putting me down, I would like to introduce you to someone.” Damian gasps for breath, rubbing his side. He was bound to have a few bruises by tonight, as he always did after seeing Mar’i. “This is Marinette.”

Marinette watches in temptation as the girl turns her attention to her. Her posture is relaxed, open and friendly. She was well muscled for her age, and probably the tallest as well, standing close to Marinette's shoulders, who was only 5’3’’. Marinette couldn’t help but love the contrast of her vivid green eyes to her midnight hair and sunset skin tone. She would grow to be a beautiful woman. 

“Hi I’m Mar’i.” She chirps, bouncing a little as she approaches Marinette for a hug. 

“Be gently power-pop, she's not used to your strength.” 

“Ok Uncle Dami.” Marinette gasps a little, if this was gentle, she felt bad for whatever kind of hug Damian received. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Mar’i you want to hear a secret.” The girl's eyes light up at the question. She nods eagerly, leaning in close.

“My friends call me Mari, just like your name.” Marinette whispers, side eyeing Damian with a smirk. He frowns at her, clearly put off by being out of the loop. 

“Really!?”

“Yup, do you think you could help think of another nickname for me?” Marinette continues to whisper. 

“I will think really hard! Do you have any superpowers or are you super cool like my dad?” Before Marinette can answer, a man enters behind her standing behind Mar’i with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Mar’i what have we said about asking those kinds of questions. Not everyone is Meta or comfortable admitting they are Meta. You are free to talk about yourself, but don’t ask those questions.” 

“Sorry Dad, sorry Marinette.” 

“To answer your question Mar’i, no I don't have superpowers, but I can perform magic and have magic friends. Would you like to meet them?” Marinette smiles at the girl, relaxing when the excitement returns to her eyes. 

“Can I? Where are they?” 

Tikki and Kaalki fly out of their hiding places, smiling at the girl as well. She giggles when Mar’i only grows more excited, firing off questions a mile a minute. With a defeated shake of his head, the man holds out his hand to Marinette. 

“Dick Grayson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.” He moves them off to a sitting area beside the entryway. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, likewise. Your daughter is precious, I can’t imagine how much of a handful she must be though.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles with a glance back at his daughter, “Mar’i Grayson if you want to fly, go outside.” 

“Com’on Tikki and Kaalki I want to see how high you can fly!” The adults all show variations of amusement and exasperation at Mar’i’s excitement as she darts out the front door, the kwami close behind. 

The adults left in the room jump, the sound of breaking glass and swearing echoing from down the hall. Dick only pinches the bridge of his nose muttering to himself. “I am so thankful I don’t live here anymore”

Damian only shares a look with Marinette, who is already moving down the hall to investigate. He watches as she takes quick glances at the pictures lining the walls, Alfred putting careful attention into each and everyone. Damian wasn’t fond of pictures, but had realized at a young age that they helped recreate the good memories. 

The sounds of an argument grow as they come closer to the kitchen. Damian knew what kind of scene awaited him behind the swinging door, Marinette however would be horrified. She was as meticulous in the kitchen as she was with her sewing. She cleaned as she went, and put everything away after it was used. Her kitchen was never left with a blemish, and she almost took his head off the first time he tried to help her cook dinner. 

He watched as she pushed open the door, taking in the scene in front of her. Tim stood with his back to her, a handheld broom clenched in his fist as he waved it around to emphasize his words. 

Jason stood glaring on the other side of the kitchen island yelling back. Alfred stood off to the side, exasperated at their antics, choosing to continue cooking, leaving the young men to their own devices. 

“What has Alfred been teaching you?” Jason shouts, gesturing wildly at the broken glass and pasta sauce splatter from floor to counter to ceiling.

“To cook unlike you, at least I can be in the kitchen by myself without it bursting into flames.”

“Yeah because all you know is how to use the microwave.”

“Says the king of microwavable dinners for one”

“Why you-” Jason stops from leaping over the counter at Tim, his eyes widening at the sight of Marinette standing in the doorway. Tim turns in confusion before also freezing in what could be fear or shock, Damian couldn’t tell. 

“Hello Miss Marinette, it is wonderful to meet you after all this time.” Alfred comes over, taking her hand in his own. Marinette smiles at him, his hands are soft, but not as soft as his eyes. If this man was a part of Damian’s family, then she truly had nothing to worry about. 

“I feel the same,” Marinette can feel the love he has for his family. Though he continues to age more each year, he continues to serve them with all the care he can give. “I look forward to getting to know you.” Alfread plays with Marinette’s ring, giving her a mischievous smile before turning back to the stove. 

The boys still hadn’t moved, they stood defensively, waiting for Marinette to strike. From their viewpoint they feel like cornered prey, Marinellte the Lioness, waiting for the proper moment to strike. Both men begin to sweat, the mess quickly forgotten. She gently takes the broom and dustpan from Tim, leaning down to sweep up what she can, thankful that she had not removed her shoes at the door. They watch with trepidation as she cleans their mess, until all sauce she could reach is wiped up and the kitchen just one step back into order as it was before. 

“Alfred, what are you cooking? It smells delicious.” The boys flinch as Marinette finally speaks after the long silence. 

“A simple dish for the boys to learn and Miss Mar’i’s favorite. Spaghetti with corn bread.”

“Wonderful, I have not had many dishes related to American-Italian food, I can’t wait to try it” 

“You can thank the boys here, they did most of the work” Marinette finally turned her full attention towards them, giving them a soft smile. 

“Thank you for cooking dinner for us.” Damian is trying his best to contain his laughter, they could only give her a shaking nod of their heads, eyes still wide. She only continues to smile at them, gently taking the spoon from Alfred. 

“Why don’t I help the boys finish dinner, that way you can relax for the night. Spend some time with Mar’i?” Alfred pats her cheek gently.

“Thank you Miss Marinette, the cornbread is on a timer and the noodles only need to be drained soon, vegetables are also on a timer.” Damian walks with Alfred back down the hall, smiling proudly alongside his grandfather. 

"Those boys are in for a surprise Damian" Alfred chuckles, leaning on Damians arm. 

"She's up to something, that's for sure" with one last backwards glance at the swinging door, Damian leads Alfred to the sitting Area, joining Dick and Bruce in the relaxing environment. 

Back in the kitchen Marinette hums softly, continuing dinner preparations while the boys have tried to distance themselves as far as they possibly can from the young woman. 

Jason sits stiffly on his stool, hands gripping his knees until his knuckles are white. He sends constant glances at the door, wondering if he should run or face her lecture like a man. Her humming was starting to put him on edge. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has not behaved like one would expect in this situation. Jason was flying blind. 

Tim, on the other hand, is trying to control his shaking by sitting with perfect posture for once, hands folded neatly in front of his on the marble top. With a glance you would picture him to be perfectly calm, if it were not for the beads of sweat on his brow or the constant fidgeting with his hands. He too was confused and on edge. He knew few women on a very personal level, and each and every one of them scared him, but at least he knew what to expect. Marinette being completely calm and unreactive left his head spinning. 

Both boys were used to yelling and even fist being thrown. Not gentleness and kindness. Just when the silence was getting too much to bear, she spoke again. 

"I must thank you both, you would have made a paranoid old man feel very justified" she sends another one of those smiles over her shoulder before turning back to the pasta mixture. 

“What?” They echo off each other. 

“My master saw a movie one day where they were listening in on phone calls. After that, he insisted we talked in code with each other when it related to temple business.” Content that the food was good to leave alone for a moment she turns to face the boys, almost laughing at their equally confused and tense facial expressions. 

“Glad we could help?” Tim is at a loss for how to proceed. Damian yelled at them, shouldn’t Marinette too? How would Damian even find someone this polar opposite from him? This must be a mind game, no other explanation. Tim would not lose. 

“Can you please just get this over with, we can take anything you have to say” Jason finally snaps, instantly regretting his tone but he couldn't take the drawn out punishment any longer. Hugging Bruce for twenty-four hours would be preferable to this. 

“And what, Jason, am I getting done and over with?” Damian had mentioned his brothers every so often, only in passing stories or complaints. It was quite easy to see who was who. Jason was known for being a hot head, quick to speak. Tim on the other hand, Damian had bragged about being taller than him, and well, he was clearly the shorter of the two. 

“Yelling at us for everything we did to you.” 

She smirks at them, leaning on her elbows staring at them in such a way they couldn’t help but feel as though she was searching their souls. Maybe she was; they didn’t know what kind of magic she knew afterall. 

“Oh that, I don’t care about that.” She shuts off the timer, removing the bread carefully while the boys processed her words. 

“You-you don’t care that we listened to your phone call?” Tim is the first to speak.

“Or the background check we did on you?”  Jason finishes. The boys relax a little, but again Tim is waiting for the rug to be pulled from under his feet (like that hadn’t been happening since she stepped foot in the kitchen). Jason had stopped looking at the door, hyperfocusing on Marinette body language. She was relaxed, moving about the kitchen like she had cooked within its walls her whole life. 

“Nope.” She says it with such sweet innocence, they obviously had different perceived notions on the seriousness of the topic. 

“Why?” 

“Because it's your job. How many times have you had to do something like this and it helped you save countless lives?” She easily finds the strainer in the first cabinet she checks. 

“Uh,”

“I can say I do not like or prefer my privacy being overstepped, but how can I hold that against you? How can I be upset by something that you do to protect people, especially those you love.” 

“What?” Each boy's response continues to be more intelligent than the last. 

Marinette giggles, “So no I am not mad at you guys for those actions.”

Tim narrows her eyes at her words, “That insinuates that you are upset with us about something.”

“Yes I am saddened by one thing and that is, that you don’t trust Damian.” She has stopped smiling, giving each boy a heartbroken look. She gives them time to think, finishing dinner preparations. 

“Of course we trust him,” Jason starts, offended that she would declare such a thing. Look at them with such disdain and judgment. Who was she to judge him and behave like she knows everything. 

“Yeah, he always has our backs, we would have died more times than we can count if he wasn’t there” Tim is now also on the offensive. Why did he fear her words again? She clearly knew nothing and was only on Damians side, her view of the situation had been tainted. 

Marinette watched each boy express their anger and pain. She sighs a little at their pride, but hopefully this conversation wouldn’t be too painful. 

“You trust him with those things, yes, but do you trust him with his own decisions?” Seeing that they didn’t have an immediate response, she continued on. 

“Have you ever let Damian make any decisions on his own? Even if you knew they could or would result in mistakes?”

“Of course we have, we aren’t Bruce or Alfred after all.” Jason grumbles, still put off by where the conversation was heading. He would rather she had just yelled at them by this point. 

“Then why didn’t you listen to him?” The sound of her stool scraping against the floor sends a feeling of unease through the room. 

“Because we-” Tim falters. “Because we thought we knew best” He finishes weakly.

“We just want to protect him,” Jason adds in defense, “We have been through things like this before. Better safe than sorry.”

“And is it better?” She takes a hold of their left and right hand respectively. “Is it better to lose a relationship with your brother or be there for him when he needs it?” 

She lets them process her words, their eyes are looking anywhere but at her, brows creased with thought and worry. 

“But he could have-” Jason starts angrily before glancing at Tim, the door, then Marinette. Jason couldn’t finish, she might not know, and the last thing he needed was to say something to break them up and get on Damians bad side again. 

“You were afraid he could die again?” The boys wanted to be shocked he told her, but clearly Marinette was a special woman. She squeezes their hands, the boys feeling calm and comfort now instead of anger. 

“We are all human. We all make mistakes,” Tim flinches, “But if we don’t, then how are we supposed to gain knowledge and growth?”

“But some mistakes are irreversible.” Jason mumbles.

“That is true, and those are the most painful.”

“We have made some of those mistakes, and we know how it ends, we can help stop him from living with our regrets” Tim argues, desperate to show Marinette how much good he meant, that he just wanted Damian to stay safe. 

She only smiles, “And that is a desire I never want you guys to push away, but you can’t protect him from everything. You can’t control everything, and you most certainly can’t control another person.”

Jason felt like he was slapped across the face just then. When had he started to behave like Bruce? When had he become so overbearing? 

Tim felt the knots retie in his stomach, and the constriction of his lungs retightened. He didn’t want to be controlling, but he needed to be in control. Now he was frustrated by this clear paradox. 

“Instead,” they focus in on her words, as the tone is a hopeful one, “Share with him your knowledge, give advice when he asks, and most importantly,” They are breathless now, completely captivated by her voice and eyes. Her eyes are intense, clearly this point needs to be taken to heart, while also having a soft edge to them, she isn’t angry, she is patient. 

“Be there for him when he needs you. It is better to have a relationship then a partnership isn’t it?” She waits a beat for her words to sink in before hopping off the stool to finish dinner, leaving the boys to process. 

“Thank you Marinette,” Jason is the first to speak, coming to stand beside her, helping her plate everything. “He picked a good one” She flushes at his words, flattered and embarrassed. The three adults are now content, a relationship of understanding growing between them. 

To bring a sense of normalcy, Jason launches into as many embarrassing stories of Damian he can recount while they finish dinner and set the table next door. Tim chimes in every now and then to correct him, or add detail, but otherwise stays out of the conversation. Marinette laughs heartily at each story, glad that there was still something to learn about Damian. She is glad to finally meet his family, after all she missed her own overseas. 

“And then he comes home with a cow right, don’t know how or where and he refused to tell us.” Marinette giggles at the idea of preteen Damian dragging a cow through the front doors of the Manor. They are walking the halls to retrieve the family for dinner when raised voices from the sitting area give the three adults a sense of urgency. 

Rounding the corner Marinette watches as a blond woman bares down on Damian, her finger in his face. He only looks annoyed, staring her down with narrowed eyes. Rather she would be bearing down if not for the height difference. She was almost standing on her tiptoes to get into Damian’s face. 

“You haven’t changed at all in the last decade!” The woman yells. “Stubborn and wrong to a fault again!” Her face flushed red, muscles tightened and her entire posture tense. 

Damian flinches, his body shifting only the slightest. The only outward sign that what was said hurt him. His arms wrap tighter around his body, spine straight. Marinette narrows her eyes before marching over and pushing herself into the woman's personal space. 

She takes a step back, blinking in surprise at the smaller asian woman invading her space. Her eyes widen when she finally processes who exactly is in front of her. “You-” she snaps her mouth shut however, her sentence unfinished. 

Stephanie is unsure what kind of person she is dealing with. While she stands defensively in front of Damian, her petite stature leaves her confused on whether or not she was truly a threat. However when Stephanie looks her in the eyes, she knows the answer to that question. There is more to her than there seems. Her eyes are hard in the iris, no other sign showed her clear anger at Stephanie. Or was Stephanie imagining the anger? She looked like she was going to cry more than anything.

"Steph that is enough" Tim grabs her hand, pulling her from the room. "Even I know that was uncalled for." She flinches at his quiet anger, bowing her head.Alfred continues to observe his new granddaughter. While she did well to hold herself with dignity, it was clear that she was just as upset as Damian about the words spoken. Marinette sighs deeply before turning to face the occupants of the room. Jason had taken a seat next to Dick at some point, whispering fiercely into his ear, a smug grin on his face. Marinette turns to Bruce, extending her hand. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you” 

“Likewise,” Bruce is surprised at the sight of the ring as she pulls her hand back. He was unaware that things between the two were so serious. One glance to Damian solidifies the fact in Bruce's mind. He looked so relaxed and in love, despite the tense situation just moments prior. 

Even as Damian grew up, his tough personality made it difficult for him to let people get close to him, and for people to desire to get close. Bruce thinks Damian never truly realized how lonely that was until he had graduated highschool. He was overjoyed for his son to finally let someone into his heart and to freely give his away. That was a truly proud moment for Bruce. 

“Please continue to stay by Damians side.” He does not quite know why he would request such a thing from her, just that he did not regret asking once he saw the resolve on her face. 

“I can’t imagine leaving him” Bruce nods, glad to hear her words, "and I apologize for the chaos i have brought to your home" 

"My dear, you have done no such thing. Their nightly activities have left them high strung and on edge" Alfred gently reminds her, "They get a little stuck in their heads on occasion" 

Marinette looks like she's about to argue with him, but a gentle touch to her shoulder from Damian has her smiling politely at Alfred instead. 

"Learn to accept you're not responsible for everything" Damian scowls at her, that only has her scowling right back. 

"I was just-" 

"Being ridiculous like always" Damian quickly finishes for her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. 

“What is it, my little bumgorf?" The room turns at the sound of the newcomer, Marinette gasping softly. Her skin was a glowing amber that contrasted like a sunset with her vibrant red hair. Her otherworldly green eyes were bright with joy. Marinette had never seen a more beautiful woman who would honestly make a great model for her line. That skin tone. 

 Dick rises, giving the woman a chaste kiss before settling his arm around her waist. “Marinette I would like you to meet my wife, Kori” 

“Nice to meet you” Marineete once again extends her hand but Kori pulls her into a hug, Marinette laughs. 

“Oh I’m so excited to have you join the family” 

“I can’t wait to get to know everybody”

"Mom, I'm hungry can we please eat now? Mar’i is pouting, both kwami sitting contently on her shoulders. 

"Of course my little bumgorf." The women decide to move to the dining room, the men following behind. Jason claps Damian on the back, pulling him into a hug. 

“Sorry for not trusting you. Marinette is quite the woman and you are very lucky.” Before Damian can respond, he moves ahead, cheeks flushed the slightest. 

“Wow, she can get Jason to apologize willingly” Dick laughs, before following after Jason, “Jay! Come back here” Father and son are left alone in the hall, both slowing their pace the slightest.

“I was unaware things were this serious” 

“She accepted everything about me”

“Everything?”

“She forgave me for my past actions,” Damian hesitates for a moment, but decides to push forward, “She said she loves me no matter what” 

“That is a very special trait to have” with that Bruce leaves, but not before gripping his youngest son's shoulder, the fatherly pride at his growth, both emotionally and physically. He is a fine young man. He can feel the emotions welling up, and quickly makes his leave, not comfortable with the vulnerability he associates with 'mushy' love. 

Damian smiles at his father's retreating figure and chuckles. Some things never change and he is thankful for that. Dinner goes smoothly for the rest of the night, Stephanie making up with the members of the room, the Kwamii introduced and questions answered. Dinner finished and goodbyes exchanged, Marinette promising to visit Kor’i and Mar’i soon. Damian and Marionette find themselves sitting in the car, each processing the night. Marionette seemed content with the outcome of the night humming softly to herself. The moon was still yellow and low in the sky, signifying the night had only begun. 

“So you gonna tell me what you talked to my brothers about?”

“You.”

“What about me?” 

“How sometimes the relationship is more important than the choices the other person makes.” Damian does respond right away after that, eyes narrowed in thought. 

“How did they take that?”

“Very well I think, but change doesn’t happen overnight so I’m sure their first reaction will be an overprotective one for awhile, so please be patient” 

“As long as I have you here to help me, I know I can change too” Marinette sighs happily at that, returning to watching the passing scenery out the window. Marinette watches in fascination as they approach the Wayne Tower in the middle of the city, entering the underground parking garage. Damian pulls into the secret entrance, parking the car in the large makeshift HQ. 

“Wow this is so cool. How does no one know that this is here?”

“We are very careful,” Bruce enters from a side room, already dressed for the night ahead. “Damian why did you bring Marinette here?” Bruce was already fond of his daughter-in-law to be and didn’t want her too close to the vigilante life. 

“I’m going out with you guys” She casually answers while exploring the area, looking at anything and everything. 

“What?” Jason and Tim say at the same time. One sounds incredulous while the other doesn’t seem too surprised. 

“I haven’t been out in so long, I can’t wait” She ignores the mens bewildered stares, looking towards the elevator. “Does that go all the way to the top?” 

“Yes, I’ll take you as soon as I’m ready.”

“Ok” She patiently waits for her love, continuing to examine the central computer station. “Look at this girls, isn’t this amazing. Imagine if we upgraded the temple with this stuff.”

“It would increase our appearance of wealth I guess,” Kalkki sighs, trying to not appear pleased at the obvious wealth her supreme has found herself in. 

“Come Habibti, we won't have all night,” Damian enters again in uniform this time. He wore a simple red and black ensemble, the trim of his cape and belt a muted yellow. His uniform differed from the other Robins with it being a tunic instead of a jumpsuit. His cape also had a hood and easy access to the sword on his lower back.

Marinete giggled all the way up to the top, Damian sending her questioning looks, which only made her laugh harder. Jason and Tim had decided to ride with them, curious as to why Marinette wanted to go to the roof. Exiting outside, Marinette takes a deep breath, enjoying the cityscape against the rising moon. With a quick flick of her fingers, she is engulfed in a deep red light. 

Damian admires her new look unabashedly. She wore what looked like a sleeveless tunic that went to her knees over a fully black bodysuit. Her tunic was red with black spots, trimmed in yellow with matching yellow tinted goggles. Her hair was hidden by the hood of her tunic and she had beautiful translucent wings at her back. 

“We match” She giggles again, dancing over to him on the tip of her toes. 

“At least I’ll know you’re mine” He caresses her face, hand trembling the slightest. Marinette can’t help but find the feel of his glove uncomfortable, clearly it was meant for grip, but she stayed still, letting Damian calm himself before they went out for the night. 

“Now please don’t be mad at me love, but I haven’t done this in so long” She starts after Damian had had his moment, slowly backing away  before taking a full run off the side of the tower. The boys gasp in fear, while Damian takes a deep breath through his nose. She can’t die, she can’t die. She can’t die. The mantra plays heavily in his head when he marches over the side, ready to chase after her. He watches as she free falls, her laugh ringing out through the city, possibly unnerving for the native. But to hear the joy she has behind it, he hopes everyone else is infected by it too. 

Marinette enjoys the feel of the wind around her, the hold gravity has over her stomach. She laughs at the feeling of adrenaline once again in a long time. Man she missed this. Finally she releases her wings, taking off through the Gotham air, dancing between buildings and gargoyles. 

She can feel him coming up behind her and slows herself enough for him to grab her, enjoying the sensation of being in her love's arms while swinging through the air. They touch down on a darkened rooftop, Each catching their breath. 

“You didn’t tell me you were a thrill seeker” He doesn’t sound mad, just reserved to the fact this this would be his life now. The worry and fear for her safety would never go away. But all in all, if it meant her joy and laughter, he would endure. 

“I haven’t free fell in so long, that was amazing!” She is still catching her breath, and still in his arms. As they both level out their breathing, they get lost in the other's gaze. 

“I love you Habibti,” Damian leans down to her, resting his forehead against her own, chuckling at the small antenna in the edge of her hair line. “I love you my little bug”

“And I love you my gorgeous Robin” She rises up to meet his lips, finding her home with him, and content with her choices. Ready to take on the world with him by her side. Partners in everything for the rest of their lives. Till death do they part. 

[misfits-of-zaun]

“Nope.”

Powder was grinning at him, guileless and playful. Utterly relaxed and at ease with her legs swinging out over the enormous multi-storey drop, with her back to the enemy. Because she didn't view him as the enemy. Because they weren't supposed to be enemies. Because this was supposed to be a long-awaited meetup between reunited friends.

If I push her off -

If I grab her and jump -

If she f a l l s -

If Powder knew half of the fucked up thoughts that were popping up in his head right now, she probably wouldn't be so trusting. Ekko's fingers tightened around his watch, clinging to it like a lifeline. If he kept it in his hand, he could keep calm.

“Some of ‘em.”

"That is unhelpfully vague," Ekko informed her. His own voice sounded far way, like he was hearing it through a tunnel.

Get your shit together. She's looking at you. She knows you're acting weird.

Surprisingly, Powder made no comment about his obvious balking, and didn't try convincing him to join her right at the edge again either. As if it was no big deal at all, she simply gestured to a spot further back - a midway point. Did she think he was afraid of heights? That was embarrassing.

It was still less embarrassing than the alternative, though.

Grudgingly, Ekko shuffled over and plonked himself down, sitting cross-legged on the wooden slats across from her. The sick, warped feeling refused to wane, mixing instead with his acute self-consciousness, discomfort and shame to swell into something even more potent.

But Powder's voice pushed through the building static.

“Made some for me, too. It’s kiiiind of a joint present.”

Ekko's lips twitched, in spite of himself.

"And here I thought it was all about me," he quipped almost on autopilot, eyeing her pockets with wary speculation. He still felt.. strange. Off. Part of him wondered what Powder was thinking of his quieter, suddenly less confident behaviour. Part of him didn't want to know. He hadn't expected this to happen tonight. It shouldn't have been a problem to go meet a not dead childhood friend at a neutral location with some shared history. It wasn't like anything bad had even happened here. No one had died here. What the fuck was wrong with him?

I'm ruining it already, aren’t I?

“I’ll go first… y’know, if you’re chicken.”

At the casually dropped word, something rippled across Ekko's face, like the innocuous surface disturbance of a much bigger underwater eruption. He set his jaw; his eyes ignited with fierce, stubborn resolve.

I am not chicken.

This was undoubtedly the exact reaction Powder had been trying to playfully goad out of him, but he didn't care. It was better than being seen as a coward. Whatever she had in store for him, it probably wouldn't hurt, and with the still-spacey state of his head, he probably wouldn't react to a jumpscare attempt anyway.

(Or there was a small chance he would react much worse. It was kind of a luck of the draw thing.)

Ekko's free hand snapped outwards before he could overthink the action, gloved palm raised upwards, fingers wiggling in impatient demand.

"I'll go first. Gimme."

@just--a--jinx

"Nice watch." ((@just–a–jinx))

Naturally, the change to his routine did not go unnoticed. The simple act of him leaving The Last Drop, alone and unprompted, became a spectacle that everyone seemed compelled to comment on. And for every comment, Ekko was equally compelled to snap back an acerbic retort.

"Where are you going?"

Out.

"You never go out anywhere."

How fucking observant. Being my stalker still won't get you that pay rise.

"Project going that badly, huh?"

Mind your own damn business.

With every exchange, he felt his teeth grinding harder, his shoulders inching higher with acutely self-conscious defensiveness. Why was this being made into such a big deal, anyway? There was no rule against it. He could go out, if he damn well wanted.

He just... didn't usually want to.

Now he was remembering why.

The streets were an assault on his senses - bright neon lights, loud bustling crowds, sickly incense mixed with stale sweat and a clashing cocktail of different food smells from competing stalls. Working girls waving and cooing and trying to catch any wandering eye, merchants hollering for attention and coralling any prospective prey to launch into their sales pitch. Hungry shadows flitting through the throng of people like sharks, seeking unwary pockets to pick. A veneer of vibrant colour and novelty and hedonistic temptation over a dark, dangerous cesspit.

Ekko flinched away from the cacophony of it all, and took to the rooftops. Followed the old routes he'd once known like the back of his hand. The muscle memory was still there, even if the company he'd used to climb with was not.

By the time he'd reached the looming skeleton that remained of Old Hungry - a decrepit shell of a clocktower, long past any serviceable use - a strange, seething feeling had started up under Ekko's skin. He felt twitchy, oddly on edge, as he began to climb on autopilot. Higher. Higher. Past his old perch, which had once been a boasting point. Past the foothold where Mylo had slipped and nearly broken his neck. Past the broken window where Claggor had settled, challenging Vi to try to do better. Past the spire where Vi had done better. Leaving all the ghosts behind.

Static gnawed at the edges of his thoughts, as he took a seat with his back against the clock face, surveying the world below. It was quiet at the top of Old Hungry. Too quiet.

There was no sign of Powder.

With a restless flick of his wrist, Ekko checked the time - nine bells, over an hour after the night markets had opened. Swung his watch down by the chain, then rolled it back into his hand. Release, catch, release. He shouldn't have come out here. This had been a stupid idea. Was that the thrum of a hoverboard?

"Nice watch."

He didn't flinch at the sound of Powder's voice, sudden and close. He didn't react at all, except to slowly turn his head in her direction. His expression was reticent, almost somber, with a tentative little quirk at the corner of his mouth as he drank in the sight of her.

"...You showed up." His voice was mildly surprised, and cautiously pleased.

"Y'know, I'd forgotten about this place. Kind of a shithole, isn't it?"

@just--a--jinx