#and in a instant this thing crawled out of him screamed at the sky cleared gotham of it's pollution and clouds for at least a week

[regonold]

This sounds like it could lead to mpreg however i much prefer a more eldrich version instead

Like jason whos finally gotten all the cult members and hunted some random billionaire funding in and he swears he picked up a shard of something as evidence but when he went to get it it was no longer there

So jason continues to go about his day and nights with something feeling off but he can't quite put his finger on it until one night as he was heading to one of his many safehouses to sleep he stumbled

He felt... something indescribable he flet something moving in his chest and it wasn't good nor bad it just... felt alien before it happened

In a flash a arm of blackness topped with a brilliant white hand tore through his chest or so he thought looking down his chest is fin it just has an arm out of it

At that thought the arm lurches forward bright whote claws effortlessly gouging the ground and it started to pull and jason felt it this feeling hes had since killing that first cult member moving

In a instant a second arm burst out clutching a nearby wall slowly pulling this THING out of him slowly almost carefully this being materialised out of his chest

He had to look away almost immediately once the hair poked out it flet like looking at concentrated starlight eventually whatever this thing was was fully out and it stood towering over jason skin pitch black like the emptyness of space dotted with pinpicks of light he some how knew were universes in their own right

This thing whatever it was stood tall looking up to the overcast and polluted gotham sky opened it's mouth

And it

SCREAMED

Jason realed back at the scream because he could feel it... it felt wrong it felt like the whirl of a machine the smell of ozone the feeling of volts cascading up is arm petanrating end killing him it felt of death of... of rebirth of balance of space

And in an instant for the first time since the sailors fist settled gotham the sky and pollution was cleared away showing above gotham the true beauty of the universe

The being looked smiled and wept at the sky at the stars at everything jason took a step back kicking a can in a instant the creature turned locking eyes to hemet and it smiled at him a cruel smiled of teath

Jason flinched back overwhelmed with this instinct of fear prey run hin worship

At his reaction the being blinked before it started to change it's towering form shrunk still taller but no longer drlwarfing jason it's arms and legs shrunk to a normal size

It's skin lightend as a hasmat suit stitched into existence around it a stylied D standing proudly on it's chest smiling at it's now more human appearance it approached jason

Backing up overwhelmed with everything unable to stop it it pressed a hand to Jason's chest causing a searing pain inside himself

"There" the thing spoke "a reward for my saviour" it spoke with a sort of echo sounding from everywhere "no longer shall you be burdened by the corruption plaguing your soul, i cant fully remove it but I have locked it away, with time it shall shrivel up and cause no more problems" the being stated smiling proudly "though i wouldn't go near whatever gave you that corruption in the first place it could loosen the binding making all that for naught" it joked before settling on a more serious face "know this jason todd-wayne" it intoned "you have freed me from those who trapped and shattered me, should you have need of me simply speak my name and i shall appear" it turned to leave

"WAIT" Jason shouted body still screaming to run "who are you" he asked voice hoarse the being smiled gently "i am phantom ancient of space" it stated before it shot straight up presumably to space

Blinking in shock behind his helmet jason sighed heavily before stating "i need a drink" looking up to the still oddly clear sky he just knew bruce was gonna pry for answers he didn't have

Danny Phantom was not used to fighting magic users. Ghosts, yes. But humans with powers? No.

So when a cult managed to successfully summon and bind him, he lacked the knowledge of how to stop them.

And they tore him apart.

His core was broken into pieces, each one then implanted into one of the most loyal cult members (or potentially sold off to another person to use…) to grant them a portion of Phantom’s many powers.

However, the cult didn’t entirely know what they were doing either. You see, it turns out that shattering Danny’s core in that manner didn’t truly end him. His soul still persisted, still refused to die even as it was trapped amongst the disparate shards. Though each individual piece lacked the strength of mind or power to affect their hosts, they would gradually forge themselves together anew should they ever be gathered back together.

And after Red Hood killed several of the cult’s members, that process began. Their shards, now freed, transferred to the vigilante, instinctively latching onto his proto-core. Though still not yet whole enough to form a truly conscious fragment of Danny, they are enough to start to nudge Hood in the right direction (bolstered in effectiveness by Jason’s connection to death)

Jason can feel it deep within his soul. There’s something more to this cult’s powers than just normal magic, and he has a growing need to find out what that is. To stop them. To burn them all down and dig their secrets from the ashes.

[miistymemorii]

I could not stop thinking about Lawrence going back for Adam so...

hey guys, I was really depressed last night and got really drunk and this is the result. I haven't sat down and written anything in A WHILE (and I wrote this at like 4 am) so please be gentle with any grammar mistakes lol. Thank you and enjoy xoxo

Lawrence Gordon’s body was on fire.

It had started in his leg, of course, the burning that comes when you tear away at your own flesh and bone with a rusty saw. That pain had been reduced to a nagging ebbing, however, the rest of his remaining limbs working in overdrive as he desperately dragged his body through the corridors of the hellscape he had been dragged into. Lawrence swore he could hear the blood rushing through his own veins, his head throbbing, adrenaline surging through his entire body. He could still hear the sound of Adam screaming, which only fueled his desire for escape. THe sounds, the rancid smells, the decrepit surroundings, everything equated to an environment that he wanted to get the Hell out of. His arms and remaining leg helped him scuttle along, and he tried to push any feelings of exhaustion to the back of his head. He had only one priority, based on a promise he was determined to keep.

“I will come back for you.”

Lawrence was far from an honest man, something he had been forced to come to terms with while he was in his game. He had lied to Allison, lied to Diana, lied to almost everyone in his life, but he wanted to be cleansed of his lies. He was determined to be a new man, a “reborn” man, one that kept his promises, especially to those he loved. He had wasted his life in a sea of insincerity and guilt, but he was damned if he was going to let a serial killer decide his fate. He knew he wasn’t a good man. 

“I can do this one thing right”, he kept telling himself, clenching his jaw as he continued his aimless crawling. If he could do this one thing, keep his promise and save Adam, he could prove to himself that he had, as twisted as John  Kramer’s methods were, learned something. It didn’t matter that he had met the man today, he had made a promise, and good men kept their promises. 

The corridor was coming to an end, and Lawrence lifted his head up, squinting through the low lighting to see that there was a door at the end. His lungs felt like they would explode, his remaining limbs threatening to give out, but he let out a low groan before continuing on. The door was a gamble, because Lawrence knew exactly how much more travel his body could handle before it ultimately gave out, trapping him in this sick prison forever. His promise gave him strength, however, as he swung his arm up at the door, latching onto the handle with a tight fist and pulling himself up as much as he could, leaning his weight on the door and flinging it open. His body instantly fell back down, much to Lawrence’s dismay, but a familiar sound gave him instant relief.

When he stumbled through that door, his eyes had instinctively closed as he braced himself to lose his balance, so rather than seeing the outside, he heard it. He didn’t know where he was, but wherever it was, a large truck drove by, honking his horn. It didn’t matter if that truck driver didn’t see Lawrence, because when he opened his eyes and saw the night sky above him, he almost began to cry. 

He was out.

Lawrence was desperately trying to catch his breath, but he knew time was of the essence. His eyes scanned the street, desperate for a passerby to make contact with. He could hear a sound in the distance, a rythmic thumping sound that he concluded was a jogger. He took a moment to really listen, coming to the conclusion that the sound was getting closer. As he laid there at the exit of the building, the pain in his leg began to come back, a nagging reminder that he was losing blood, but that wasn’t his priority. Lawrence cleared his throat, which was a painful act in itself, but when that jogger rounded the corner of the building across the street, officially in Lawrence’s view, he used the last of his strength to call out to them. Of course,a  stranger writhing and calling out in the middle of the night was a terrifying concept, but he prayed that the bystander would take pity on him, or see his condition, and help him.

Lawrence Gordon was a lucky bastard. 

The jogger was a kind woman named Sara, who assessed Lawrence’s decrepit state and saw that he meant no harm but was harmed, and quickly made her way over to him. He croaked out praises and thanks to her as she quickly dialed 911, hooking her arm under his shoulder to drag him away. Lawrence could feel reality slipping away at this point, his eyes growing tired as he staved off unconsciousness. The last thing he saw was police lights before he succumbed to the loss of blood, passing out in his stranger-savior’s arms. 

Lawrence had been outside, but it had been dark, so when he woke up to bright lights, he was something beyond disoriented. His eyes opened, then immediately shut, a headache already beginning to settle in. He tried to focus on the sounds, and let out a small sigh when he heard the familiar sounds of the hospital. It took him a few moments, but he eventually managed to open his eyes and keep them open. Allison and Diana were at his side, and he burst into tears at the reminder that he was safe. Diana provided a warmer presence than Allison, but Lawrence understood, and was ready to beg for his wife’s forgiveness.

Diana called him a hero, which Lawrence questioned, causing Diana to point over to the bed next to Lawrence’s. In the bed lay Adam, his face pale and his body rigid, but Lawrence could tell from Adam’s vitals monitor that he was, in fact, alive. He had fulfilled his promise. 

Eventually, Allison pulled Diana away, allowing for a quick goodbye before stating that she needed to be put to bed. Lawrence reached out for his wife, but she turned away from him, prompting him to think, “Fair”, as he had had plenty of time to reconsider his marriage and all the pain he had caused his wife while in the trap. He was alone in the room, well, with Adam, who had still been asleep after several hours. Doctors checked on Lawrence, and Adam, but it seemed that the younger man was knocked out. Lawrence couldn’t help but continuously glance over at him, afraid that if he stopped monitoring him, Adam wouldn’t even be in that bed next to him, the idea that his own rescue might be some sick nightmare plaguing Lawrence’s mind. Lawrence fell asleep, but only for a few hours before he was violently snapped back to reality after a nightmare in which he hadn’t escaped. In his nightmare, he was still wandering through endless halls, blood slowly leaving his body as Adam’s screams played over and over in his head. 

Lawrence’s eyes snapped open, his chest heaving and his throat raw again from crying out in his sleep. His heart racing, he turned his head to Adam, who, to Lawrence’s surprise, was now awake. Adam’s face was visibly tired, but when he made eye contact with Lawrence, his face twitched into something close to a smile, the best he could give under the circumstances. 

“You look like shit.”

Lawrence let out a small laugh, something that he thought he could never do again. “I was about to say the same thing about you,” Lawrence shot back hoarsely.

Adam looked away, scanning as much as the hallway as he could see through the room’s windows. “How much do you wanna bet I could get a nurse to bum me a smoke?” It was a joke, but Lawrence could tell by how quiet Adam’s usually boisterous voice was that it was a half-assed attempt at denying the severity of the situation they were in. 

“Well, as someone who works in a hospital, I can safely say that most nurses don’t encourage smoking.” Lawrence pointed out. There was an odd sense of pain settling in his chest, a bit hurt that Adam wouldn’t look him in the eyes. 

Adam sighed, turning his head only slightly in Lawrence’s direction. His eyes were darting around the room, fixating on random items. Lawrence remembered this behavior from when they were stuck in the bathroom, coming to the conclusion that Adam was still in a state of nervousness. Lawrence felt another pang of pain in his chest; did Adam still not trust him?

“How did you get out?”

Lawrence sighed. “I crawled like Hell until I found a door. There was a jogger and she called the cops, that’s all I remember.”

Adam was quiet for a moment, before he finally turned his head to look at Lawrence. The two held a gaze for a moment, before Adam let out an almost silent, “thank you”. When Lawrence smiled at him and opened his mouth to speak, Adam looked away once again, causing Lawrence’s thoughts, and heartbeat, to falter. The two men let a silence hang over them, the events of the past few hours really starting to settle in. 

“I don’t want us to forget each other.” Adam said quietly, his eyes still refusing to meet Lawrence’s. 

Of course, Lawrence didn’t want that either. He understood that people who share traumatic events often find solace in each other, and thought he had Allison and Diana, who had both gone through a traumatic experience that night, he knew that the bond he and Adam now shared was special. Lawrence knew there was something about Adam that had struck Lawrence so deeply that it had fueled him to survive, for once, for someone besides himself. 

Lawrence cleared his throat before replying, “I don’t think I will ever forget you, Adam.”

Adam turned his gaze back to Lawrence, cracking a small smile. “Do ya promise?”

Again, Lawrence let out a small laugh, a feeling close to joy filling him that only Adam could provide in this situation, because for the rest of his life, he knew that Adam would be the only person to understand the pain he was feeling.

“I promise.”

[lucycola]

The Lone Survivor; Spock x Fem!Reader

Premise: Fem!Reader accidentally bonds with Spock when rescued from her own starship crash. Hijinks and unbelievable plot points ensue for my own pleasure. Not sure if I’m writing mind melds right but eff it.

WARNINGS: Mentions of bodies and blood. Movie amnesia. Paternal Bones figure to reader. You get the drift. Movie sci-fi healing and medical procedures. It’s StarTrek, what do you expect.

Part 1: There Was Something In Everything About You

You still felt the cold from the tundra below enveloping your body. Your little body shivered under the thermal blanket and a calloused, albeit gentle touch sponged your forehead. Your eyes fluttered open and you half expected your vision to still be clouded with harsh whiteness.

Why? you thought. There’s no snow, Why would there be? You didn’t know where you were.

Soft, faded blue eyes smiled gravely in your blurred line of vision. “Welcome back,” said a weathered voice. “Take it easy now,” it instructed firmly as you moved to sit up right. Your whole body roared in ache, especially in your left leg.

“I’m your doctor, Doctor McCoy,” said the man in blue, his hand moving to your shoulder. A woman, donned in blue as well, hovered behind him with a curious expression. “You’re on the Enterprise.”

Your voice was scratchy at first, but found itself buried in the base of your throat, tumbling out sloppily. “Hello, my doctor, Doctor McCoy.”

He smiled gingerly, “Do you remember what happened?” It was the first of a long line of question that only rendered blank stares and subtle shakings of the head. ”You were found near the wreckage of the starship the U.S.S Calvary.”

No, you didn’t know what happened or what happened to your ship the U.S.S. Calvary.

The name felt like a knife in your chest and you could only give your doctor, Doctor McCoy, and his nurse, Christine Chapel, watery blinks.

Hell. You didn’t even know your own name.

x

A long series of tests and more questions continued. Your leg had been broken in three places (to which your doctor, Doctor McCoy, had expertly mended shortly after your arrival) and you were suffering from an awful concussion resulting in-

“-acute post traumatic amnesia, Jim,” your doctor’s voice rattled you from a sticky, uncomfortable slumber. “I don’t think you’ll be getting much from her.”

“The crew is still salvaging data from the wreckage. There’s no telling what’s been lost or if we’ll even find out the cause of the wreck,” said the other. “It’s worth a shot.”

A golden man approached you with sunshine behind his expression, and along something a little sad. Like the doctor he interrogated you with similar questions, some a little trickier than earlier. Thought provoking and pressing. Desperation. However, his voice was soft and made you feel welcome. 

“If there’s anything you can think of or if you remember something please send for me right away-” the golden man’s brow furrowed, “Still no name, Bones?”

“Not yet.”

“He’s been calling her kitty,” Christine said.

The doctor grumbled, “Well, she’s got big cat eyes. Looks a lot like my Jo.”

“Jo?” you inquired innocently.

“His daughter,” replied the golden man.

You hummed sweetly.

“If you remember anything,” the golden man said in response with his own dazzling smile, “Please. You are the only one.”

The realization hadn’t yet touched you and you only offered a dizzy smile, “Yes, Captain Kirk of the starship Enterprise. I will.”

He exchanged an amused look with his ‘bones’ and turned on his heel to leave.

You still felt cold. The palm of your right hand itched. Neither of the man, blue or gold, were the right one. You could feel a tiny pull in the back of your head. A warm place, away from the tundra or the medbay, both stark white and freezing.

Where was the right one? What an odd thought. What even was the right one? You didn’t even understand your own thoughts. Everything was foggy and heavy. You struggled to be alert, at least of all receptive to everyone’s courtesy. They wanted to know so much and you wanted to help, but you knew nothing. You were an empty cannister of what you used to be.

Except that pull, that sensation in the back of your brain. It was a palm, bigger than your own, waiting for you somewhere on the ship.

“She’s shivering again, Doctor. And crying.”

“Take it easy now, kitty cat,” he said quietly, “This will help you sleep.”

“Yes, Doctor Bones.”

x

The hypo didn’t help you sleep. You tossed and wracked in a freezing sweat, crying, still stuck in the tundra. Masses of dark, solid ice surrounded you, in bellies of red and pink snow.

You are the only one.

Funny, twisted shapes of dark ice with bulging eyes and gaping mouths.

How? How did you only survive with a broken leg and a bruised head? Luck?

A hand reached out, to you, anchoring onto your right. An angel. 

You could hear his own self, humming in the back of your mind - a explosion of foreign presence. He had moved closer and you were pulled from sleep once again.

“...a few of the logs have been retrieved, but have sustained partial damage that can be corrected. A personnel roster has yet to be obtained from the data. It is imperative that such data is retrieved before Starfleet launches an official investigation.”

A warmth enveloped your entire bodily, tingling and washing away the tundra.

“And why is that, Mister Spock?” the captain asked, suspicion lining his inquiry.

“When I came into tactile contact with the survivor I was able to acquire personal information,” the angel replied in turn, “Lieutenant Y/N L/N of the botanical division.”

“L/N,” the captain hummed in assent. The name felt shapeless and empty in your mouth. It was yours, but still didn’t feel like it.

“Anything else?”

“ I was able to retrieve memory fragments from the lieutenant as well. I read large amounts of the human emotions guilt and fear. It can be deducted the lieutenant may have had some indirect involvement with the crash.”

“Why is it crucial to launch our investigation before Starfleet?” the captain asked with a forming smirk .

There was a pregnant pause.

Mister Spock had noticed you finally, sitting up right staring widely at the both of them. The warmth intensified in your right hand. A muted sensation creeped in the back of your mind, barely tasting of curiosity and embarrassment?

You could remember it. The ship. The crew. The ship crashing into the icy tundra below, hundreds of bodies being ripped from the deck and into the sky. You had held on somehow, strapping yourself in right before contact.

You awoke to blistering cold and sharp wind, tangling your hair. You crawled.

Twisting angles of dark, icy shapes dotted the snow like landmarks. White snow. Red snow.

The crew. Four-hundred men crewmen dead.  

Your scream was silent, wrenching in anguish. How could this happen?

“...located another crewmember for corpse retrieval.”

You moved to scream again, still silent, croaking in the back of your throat. You reached out.

“I negate my last statement, Captain.”

“Why is that, Mister Spock?”

“She is alive.”

You could only see a blurred version of your savior hovering behind your outstretched limb. 

“Do not be afraid,” he had said, hand enclosing around your iced one, red and raw.

You knew him in an instant.

Do not be afraid. The Lord has great favour with thee, whispered in the back of your mind. A loose memory.

Despite the terrible memory you smiled at him now, eyes big with awe and yet still fear.

“T’hy’la,” he said in a sharp tone, almost reprimanding.

The word was foreign to you, but it felt like an insult and your brow creased.

“I must remove myself immediately,” the monotone voice of your savior said almost hastily. His statement felt like a slap in the face. 

“Doctor Bones, I want to go back to sleep now.” Your voice was broken, your face buried in your hands. Two sets of hands braces themselves on your wracking body, emitting little sobs.

“Kitty, what’s wrong? Did that hobgoblin upset you?” Bones asked.

Nurse Chapel patted your shoulder, “Now, now, Y/N take some deep breaths. Mister Spock is the one who found you. There’s no need to be scared of him.”

“I want to see Mister Spock,” you said, between each little hiccup, “I need to-”

“Jim, I don’t know what he’s done, but-” Bones began.

“I’ll go...” Kirk looked down at you, befuddled by both of your reactions,”...investigate, Bones. Hold down the fort.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Bones retorted.

x

“I want to get up now.”

“It’s only been forty-eight hours, Y/N,” Bones replied, residing as his chair across from your bed. “Your tibia, fibula, and femur were all broken. I’m a doctor, not a magician. You can start on crutches tomorrow.”

“I don’t like that.”

“Like what?”

“Y/N,” you stuck out your tongue, “It doesn’t sound right. I liked kitty better.”

He chuckled, “Like I said, we’ll get you walking tomorrow. After the investigation clears we can take you to the nearest starbase and contact your family.”

You frowned, “And leave the ship?”

“That’s the idea,” he replied, “We’ve already been contacted a recovery crew. After they salvage what they can and help us with-” He winced, “With funeral proceedings we can help you along. We’ve got a number of wonderful psychologists on the ship. You can speak to on if you’d like. Might even help you regain some of that memory.”

Anyone who even spent a day on board the Enterprise and partook in any of its zany adventures would need to speak to a therapist. Bones had meant to say ‘body retrieval’, but after seeing you cry many times he had learned to be careful with his words. Poor, poor thing. 

“What will happen to my crew? They will have a funeral?”

“I’m sure Starfleet will do something to honor them once the investigation is over.”

“Investigation?”

“Yes,” he treaded carefully, knowing you were already suspect at this point, “A crash like that so unpreceded without...any malfunction is strange. Especially with only one survivor.”

Your brow furrowed, “I know it’s strange, Doctor Bones. I wish I could remember. I remember their faces. And-”

Mister Spock. 

“I want to see him.”

It was the fifth time you pressed the issue and Bones internally sighed. “I know. Spock is busy at the moment trying to clear your name and I’ll be busy trying to clear your health. I prescribe no stressful situations or conversations-and trust me, he can be very vexing. Now, it’s time for your dinner.”

x

You had slept often during your time in the medbay and faking it wasn’t difficult. You had long noticed the nurse working your bed had long dosed at his stations and the others were few, far in-between. 

With eyes still softly closed, you in-took an even breath. 

I want to see you, you whispered inside. 

You felt the warm lull in your right palm intensify, matching the newly occupied space in your mind. 

I must know what’s going on. Mister Spock, see me, please, sir. 

The warmth grew to an unbearable itch and you figured to follow its meaning. With a gentle form you moved up, careful not to stir the nurse and reached for the crutches. 

It was hard to hobble along at first, but you found you way slowly, the warmth in your brain egging you on in the right direction-at least you hoped it was.

The end of that tunnel was waiting for you somewhere-a subside to that itch. A sleek, silver door with a doorbell of sorts. You rang it. 

It was waiting for you on the other side.

The door slid open.

He was indeed waiting for you, standing in the middle of his quarters. His his left hand was a little orange bar. Recovered.

“Lieutenant,” he greeted evenly.

“Mister Spock,” you looked at his left hand, “Are you still mad at me?”

“Negative. I believe I was never, as you humans put it, mad at you.”

You didn’t press further. You felt a trembling igniting in your ankles. The thing in back of your mind clutched at the orange tape in his hand. A look. A see. 

Guilty, guilty guilty, the thoughts tore anxiously.

“Do you have something you want to show me?” you asked.

He nodded curtly and took long strides with his long, long legs, to the computer and slipped the tape in. “This was only recoverable footage from the Calvary. Unfortunately for your case it happens to also be the most damning. I’ve been working most of the day and night cycle to piece it together.”

The screen spit static to life as it conjured up the Calvary’s bridge and you. You were in what you were found in: your blue uniform dress with long sleeved black fatigues underneath. You suddenly remembered being cold that day-even though you had no reason to be.

Something in your hand was slender and long. A large pipet and you jammed the glass into the neck of your Captain before firing your phaser at another crewmember.

Your brain felt light and frothy and you were caught by a steel grip before making friends with the floor.

“It wasn’t me,” you heard someone say groggily.

Spock steadied his grip, “Explain, Lieutenant, when it is you that the film portrays. His voice felt icy.

“I don’t know how,” you whispered.

It was silent a moment.

“I can look. But it will intensify the bond already at present and in the future that may prove unsatisfactory for you.”

You didn’t understand, offering a furrowed brow, but nodded to give him permission.

With his left arm anchored underneath you, his right hand featherily skimmed the side of your face. 

“Our minds...are now one.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Indeed,” he whispered in a strained voice, dipping further into your conscious. “It was not.”

PART TWO

[reinerispretty]

rotations. (zuko x f!reader) pt18

hello everyone!! i hope you’re having a wonderful day :) thank you so much for reading my lil story, i hope you have a great day!! pls share if you can!!

pt1

pt17

pt19

She looked back at Katara and saw the sky behind her turn to a brilliant red color. In the distance, the comet shined brilliantly. “It’s started,” Katara said. For her sake and the entire world’s, (Y/N) hoped that Aang was on his way to fight Ozai. 

(Y/N) opened her eyes just as the sun was rising over the horizon, far too groggy to notice that she had awoken in Zuko’s arms. She crawled from the tent and rubbed her eyes as she walked down to the river. Members of the Order were starting to rise and grunted at her in acknowledgement as she walked past. She gave them sleepy smiles in return. 

Her knees sank into the soft bank of the river as she leaned down into the water to wipe her face. The coldness helped wake her up fully. She undid her topknot and wet her hands, combing them through her hair. The events that would happen today lingered in the back of her mind, but she was trying to take the day a moment at a time. She would just get herself worked up if she thought too much about what she, Zuko, and Katara were about to do. 

Sokka appeared beside her at the riverbank. He cupped his hands in the water and sipped from them. “How’d you sleep?” (Y/N) asked. 

“Like a baby, surprisingly,” Sokka said with a half-hearted smile. 

“Right? I slept pretty well considering the circumstances.” 

“Are you ready for today?” (Y/N) shook her head. 

“I don’t think I could ever be ready for what we’re about to do.” She crossed her legs and sat down. “Be honest, Sokka. Do you think I can take down Azula?” 

Sokka blue eyes stared into her own. One of the things (Y/N) admired about Sokka was his honesty. He was always truthful with her, regardless of the circumstances. “I’ve seen you fight against everything you used to love. You’re one of the strongest people I know, (Y/N), and you have two of the other strongest people I know going with you. I know you can do it.” He stood up and patted her on the shoulder before walking away. 

After taking a few more moments to herself, (Y/N) rejoined her friends in the middle of camp. Zuko and Katara already sat on Appa. “There you are!” Katara said, offering her hand to help (Y/N) climb up. She hesitated and turned around, giving Iroh one last hug before taking Katara’s hand. 

“Next stop, Fire Nation,” (Y/N) said as she settled into Appa’s saddle. 

“Yip yip!” Zuko called out, and then they were in the air. (Y/N) crawled to where Zuko sat on Appa’s back. His companionship gave her a sense of comfort. 

He glanced at her as she sat next to him, his face deadly serious. (Y/N) nudged him with her elbow. “What’s your deal?” 

“Uncle told me that after I defeat Azula, I have to become Fire Lord.” 

“Zuko! That’s amazing!” (Y/N) cheered. Her smile was bright, but fell as Zuko didn’t return her excitement. 

“How do I know if I can do it?” 

“You don’t,” (Y/N) said simply. “But I believe there’s no one else in the world that should be Fire Lord.” 

“You’re my friend, you have to say that.” 

“No, I don’t. I’ve said some pretty harsh things to you before.” Zuko let out a small chuckle. “Believe me, Zuko, you’ll make a great Fire Lord.” 

They were silent for a few moments before Zuko spoke again. “What will you do after all of this?” (Y/N) shrugged. She hadn’t really thought that far ahead. Her father had come to visit her in prison to make sure she knew how much he loathed her and she doubted her mother would put up much of a fight to have her back. She supposed that she didn’t really have anywhere to go. 

“I don’t really have a home to go to anymore. I could go back to the Earth Kingdom with Toph, or the Water Tribe with Katara.” She smiled softly. “I’ve got options.” (Y/N) was confident she’d find somewhere to be. 

“Would you stay in the Fire Nation with me? To help me bring back peace, of course,” He said, a blush apparent on his face. (Y/N) smiled widely. 

“If we make it out alive, I’d be more than happy to stay and boss you around some more.” 

(Y/N) felt the comet before she saw it. She felt its power flowing through her veins. Every inch of her felt more than alive. She felt...electric. She turned to Zuko and he nodded. He felt it too. 

She looked back at Katara and saw the sky behind her turn to a brilliant red color. In the distance, the comet shined brilliantly. “It’s started,” Katara said. For her sake and the entire world’s, (Y/N) hoped that Aang was on his way to fight Ozai. 

They reached the Fire Nation in record time, landing Appa in the courtyard of the Royal Palace. Fire Sages surrounded Azula, one of them holding the headpiece of the Fire Lord in his hands. They had interrupted her coronation. 

The trio hopped off of Appa and stood to face Azula. “Sorry,” Zuko said, “But you’re not going to become Fire Lord today. I am.” 

The princess laughed. “You’re hilarious.” (Y/N) noticed the haphazard way her outfit was put together and how choppy and sloppily her hair was placed in its topknot. Everything about Azula screamed unhinged. 

“Oh, Azula,” (Y/N) sighed sadly to herself. The princess turned to her and glared. 

“Dearest (Y/N), so nice of you to make it to my coronation.” 

“You’re going down,” Katara growled, narrowing her eyes at Azula. She stood, her cape falling off of one of her shoulders. 

“You want to be Fire Lord, Zuko? Fine. Let’s settle this the way we were always supposed to. Agni Kai.” 

(Y/N) and Katara both turned to stare at Zuko. “You’re on,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Zuko, no,” (Y/N) pleaded. The last Agni Kai she had watched had had disastrous consequences. Ozai had been horribly evil, but he was controlled. She didn’t know what Azula was capable of. 

“I can do this,” Zuko said to the both of them. “I can take her this time. There’s something off about her.”  (Y/N) gulped and turned back to Azula. They had been great friends, once, so (Y/N) couldn’t help but feel her heart break as she stared at the stranger before her. Azula had lost a lot, none without good reason, but it had hurt and affected her tremendously. 

“Azula, this isn’t what you want,” (Y/N) reasoned. “We can talk about this. You can right your wrongs, right here and right now.” 

“Careful now, (Y/N),” Azula chided. “I might challenge you after I’ve finished with Zuko.” 

“(Y/N), it’s alright.” Zuko grabbed her hand and squeezed. “This way, no one else has to get hurt.” (Y/N) frowned and let her hand slip out of his. 

The Fire Sages cleared the courtyard, leaving only Azula and Zuko standing just a few yards away from each other. (Y/N) and Katara stood off to the side, both feeling absolutely helpless. It wasn’t in their nature to just let a fight happen in front of them. 

“I hate this!” (Y/N) whispered to Katara. “The last time...” 

“Zuko’s changed,” Katara tried to reassure her. “He’s stronger now.” 

“She knows she can’t take all of us, that’s why she wanted to separate us. With the comet, Zuko and I are stronger than ever.” 

“You can tell something’s wrong with her. It’ll be okay.” But Katara’s own voice shook as she finished her sentence. 

Azula shot the first blast of blue fire, with Zuko retaliating with his own red-hot flames. Their fires collided and shot up into the air. If the circumstances weren’t so dire, (Y/N) might have thought them beautiful. 

Despite her current mental state, Azula’s moves were as coldblooded as they ever were. She spun into the air, her fire propelling quickly toward Zuko. Their flames funneled around each other, and both (Y/N) and Katara had to turn away from their heat. 

Azula launched herself into the air, bringing a huge whip of blue fire down to the ground. Zuko parted it with his own orange flames. For the first time ever, (Y/N) saw Azula look exhausted. Despite the girl’s break, Zuko did not hold back. He shot fire from his fists once more and Azula was barely able to jump out of the way of his flames. She flew across the ground as her fire propelled her forward and from her fists shot the biggest fireballs (Y/N) had ever seen. Zuko leapt upward, cutting through Azula’s fire with his. As he came falling to the ground, he widened his stance and aimed his flames at his sister.

(Y/N) knew it must be hard, being on both the offense and defense with no one to assist. It took every bit of her to watch the siblings she had grown to love try to fight to the death. Her inner nine-year-old wished it could be handled literally any other way. 

Zuko dropped to the ground and spun, kicking a circle of fire around him and out at Azula. She broke through it quickly but fell to the ground with a shout. Her hair had fallen from its bun, allowing (Y/N) to see how the girl had cut it. Azula rose, her chest heaving from anger. 

“No lightning today?” Zuko shouted. “What’s the matter? Afraid I’ll redirect it?”

“I’ll show you lightning!” Azula shouted back, conjuring lightning from thin air. (Y/N) watched as Zuko took a deep breath and prepared to take the lightning into his own body and shoot it back at his sister. 

Azula’s body moved with the lightning. From its crackles of electricity, it was hard for (Y/N) to see just what Azula was thinking. Before she knew it, the lightning was headed toward her and Katara. She barely had time to register what was happening before Zuko jumped in front of the electricity and let his own body take the blow. His body crumpled to the ground and convulsed as the lightning still pulsed through his veins. 

In that instant, every ounce of sympathy that (Y/N) held for Azula, every childhood memory that they had shared, faded into nothingness. 

“No!” (Y/N) screamed. Her body moved on its own and charged at Azula. (Y/N) dodged her lightning attacks and swung her arms back, sending big plumes of white-hot fire at her childhood friend. Azula’s eyes widened at the heat of (Y/N’s) flames. She staggered back, but managed to cut through them. 

(Y/N) knew what it meant to be hit by lightning. The likelihood of Zuko surviving something like that was slim to none. He had been trying to protect his friends and that is what made him vulnerable to Azula’s attack. He lay behind (Y/N), slowly dying, and there was nothing she could do about it. 

And to watch Azula, the person she had always tried to see the good in, mortally wound the person she loved, made her angrier than she had ever been in her entire life. All the anger she had ever felt, like when Ozai banished Zuko, when her father had mistreated the people of the Earth Kingdom, even when she had challenged Zuko to an Agni Kai, combined as she shot fire blast after fire blast at Azula. There would be no excuses this time.

While (Y/N) attacked Azula with a ferocity that rivaled her own, Azula tried her best to aim her fire at Katara, the person who was the weakest in their group. While Katara was a master water bender, she had no powerful source to draw from today. Katara ran and hid behind the pillars of the courtyard to protect herself. 

(Y/N) knew she had to close the distance between her and Azula if they had any chance at winning. She ran toward her, flipping off the ground and in the air to dodge Azula’s attacks. The skin of her arms sizzled as Azula’s flames burned them, but she couldn’t care less. (Y/N) came back to the ground and ran sideways across the pillars, launching herself off of them and kicking Azula in the stomach. The power of her strike sent her flying across the courtyard where Katara lie in wait. She suspended the two of them in ice and (Y/N) watched as Katara moved through the water and chained Azula to the grates they were standing above. Azula began to thrash at her chains as soon as she was released from the water. She screamed and sobbed but (Y/N) ignored her. 

Her own chest heaving, (Y/N) stumbled over to Zuko. She helped Katara flip him over and placed his head in her lap so Katara could begin working on his wounds. (Y/N) ran her fingers through Zuko’s hair, fighting back tears as Katara’s healing water glowed blue. 

Zuko groaned and his face contorted in pain, but it soon broke into a smile. He looked up at (Y/N) and turned his head to the side. “You’re hurt,” He said quietly as he stared at the burns Azula had caused. (Y/N) laughed and let her tears flow freely. She touched her forehead to Zuko’s and smiled. 

“I don’t care. As long as you’re okay.” 

---

Tag List!

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[emerald-amidst-gold]

WIP Wednesday

Thank you for the tag @dreadfutures! I really appreciate it! <3

Still working on the never-ending snippet (they’re chapters, really XD)! To be fair, this is a great exercise because it’s helping me utilize dialogue more! So, without further ado...

...The Anchor being a buzz kill. :3

---

“Fane..”, Solas said, slightly breathless as Fane explored and showed the warmth of a balm.

“Hm,”, Fane hummed as he finally found Solas’ pulse, fluttering and skipping. He pulled away a bit, eyes hooded as he watched the beating patch. “You’re getting excited already. Dangerous, my sky. Very, very dangerous.”

Solas let out an airy laugh, turning in his embrace a bit to rest his side against Fane’s front. He had to adjust his hold a bit and take his hand holding the mage’s jaw away, but he kept his eyes on the butterfly before him. It was tempting to...well, snatch it from the air, but Fane kept himself in control, even as he felt the sky begin to lay kisses along his neck. They were as light as air and near reverent, but no less hot with their underlying heat. It was making his mind haze with a different kind of smoke this time.  

“Ma’isenatha,” Solas murmured against where he was kissing, tender and sweet, but there was a note of...concern in its cadence? “...May I see your hand?”

What?

Fane blinked, the smoke clearing a bit. “Huh?”, he uttered in question, shifting his gaze away from the steadying butterfly to glistening orbs--lavender branching out from where the pupil was. Oh, he loved that hue. That hue, that very few saw…

Solas offered him a tiny smile. “Your hand.”, he repeated, a tentative touch appearing against an...oddly warm, blazingly warm, palm. Why was his hand so damn hot? It almost burned.

Fane drew his brows together, confused. “...My hand? Why do you--?”

Suddenly and before he could get the words out, the Anchor cracked within his palm--ancient magic still very much volatile from his earlier outburst. Fane hissed sharply. Damn it all! He forgot all about the Void-taken thing! Fuck! Just when he had been sure everything was as it should be again! Foolish! Foolish!

“Easy, vhenan,”, Solas soothed, one hand appearing upon his cheek and the other within his spasming hand. Within an instant, their fingers wound together, interlocking like a masterwork latch. “Breathe, and let us move from the floor. I can examine your hand better that way.” Blue orbs connected with his own, questioning and full of tender concern, even if they were a bit hard to make out from the suddenness of sharp daggers under his skin. “...Can you do that for me?”

Fane gritted his teeth at another pulse, growling deep in his chest, but he managed to jerkily nod. He could move, but by anything that was holy, he didn’t want to. The damned Anchor tended to skyrocket in its anger every time he jolted it, but...he could endure it. He could endure it if it meant it would just stop.

Solas gave him another reassuring smile, gingerly lifting himself off of where he was leaning against Fane’s front to stand. Fane nearly dragged the elf back down when another deep pulse of magic shot up his arm, but thankfully, not his head. It fucking burned like acid, however. The magic was less than it had been earlier, but it was still managing to seep from the slit and snake up his arm like ethereal vines.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,”, Fane cursed over and over, growling and snarling in the interim. “Fuuuck!”

He sucked in a deep breath and let it out shakily, trying to fight through the pain and nausea as he, none too gracefully, pushed himself off the floor with his free hand. To Fane’s surprise, the Anchor didn’t protest too awfully, only snapping against his wrist like a hand slapped another in reprimand. Still, it ached, burned, and screamed.

Solas’ hands appeared on him the moment he stood at full height, using both to lift the acid spewing hand up to his line of vision. Fane swallowed hard around pooling saliva and took in deep breaths through his nose as he let the mage work his magic. 

He watched as a slender finger glided along the brightly glowing opening, testing, teasing the familiar magic out with a gentle blue glow. The tendrils came outwards, but then abated minimally, cowing at calming blue, but they still carried fury underneath--pulsing and crawling. Fane grimaced at the sensation, stifling a pained growl. It would never end unless he chopped his arm off, would it? Or, well, if Solas took it away. Sadly, his sky didn’t have the capability or power to do that yet. Fane would be both relieved and not relieved the day that he did. For various reasons. Reasons they also needed to discuss sometime, but not right now. Not when his fucking arm was feeling like it was getting pulled through a rift!

Solas gave him a tiny smile, glancing up from his work. “You are doing well, my dragon.”, he praised before concentration hardened features that held the shadows and dual glow of magic, eyes going back down to focus. “What do you feel right now? Describe the sensations for me.”

Fane took in another deep breath. “Uh, c-crawling. F-Feels like there’s worms under my skin. Worms that are--are on fire.”, he tried to explain as best he could, but those blazing worms were wriggling, writhing as Solas gingerly ushered more of his magic into the mark. “I-It keeps knocking against that f-fucking ward, too.”

Solas glanced up again, but didn’t halt his ministrations. “It has not pierced through, correct?”

Fane shook his head with a shaky sigh. “No, but that’s because I’m…” He gasped a bit, a hard pound slamming into the walls of his mind like a drum. “...fighting it.”

That seemed to be all Solas needed him to say, going back to his task with a furrowed brow and a determined look in his sky-line eyes.

Slowly but surely, the Anchor began to die down as the more Solas guided his magic to make the more volatile counterpart heel. The tendrils of sickly, but sparkling green abated, the ever present glow dimmed, and best of all, the pain ebbed away like a lazy wave. Fane sucked in a deep, deep breath as that reprieved was granted to him. He still felt nauseous as all got out, but the worms were dying down, the knock upon a locked door floating away as chaotic magic slithered back down his arm. He could honestly sob from relief. Truly, he could. 

Solas let out a quiet sigh of his own, tired and relieved all in one, as his eyes met Fane’s own again and for good this time. They were speaking to him, asking a typical question and it filled Fane’s heart with tender affection.

Fane smiled tiredly. “Better. Thank you.”, he said. He was utterly exhausted, stomach tender and head aching duly, but the pain had stopped, the magic driven back to the hole it crawled out of.

Solas let out another relieved sigh at his words, a tired smile of his own appearing, cracking the mask of concentration, and giving his marked hand a gentle squeeze with the two still holding it.

“It’s nothing.”, the mage downplayed, shifting tender eyes down to gaze upon the Anchor forlornly. “I simply wish I could rid you of this burden, to wipe away this pain. If I had known it would be you who would somehow pick the orb up, I would have been--”

Fane sighed softly as he tapped the underneath of Solas’ chin with a few fingers of the hand he was holding. The elf blinked, steely orbs snapping up to him instantly and that only made Fane smirk more. How the sky heeded a dragon’s call. It should be the reverse, but this world continued to show how much it defied itself.

“Stop. Observe and accept. Observe what happened, and accept that it was beyond your control to predict. You will fix things, Solas. We will fix things.”, Fane assured as he leaned in to lay a light kiss against the mage’s lips. It was reciprocated with ease, a tiny hum escaping from his sky and it made him reluctant to pull back, but he did to murmur, “All of it will come in time, ma tarasyl. You know that. I know that. Be patient.”

Solas let out a chuckle. “Using my own words against me? Wisdom is a concept in you, I see.”, he teased.

Fane sneered a bit. “Cute.”, he replied dryly before shrugging. “I only used them because you used my own earlier, and I figured you’d be more amenable listening to yourself when in concern to what happened at the Conclave and whatnot. You do like to hear yourself talk, after all.”, he teased with a growing smirk. They were coming full circle now, and hopefully, his jokes would land more gently this time.

“Insufferable.”, Solas quipped with an exasperated sigh, but it was fond underneath, he knew. “Why do I--?”

Fane blinked as Solas suddenly froze up, face going blank and glittering eyes staring at him, but not registering. He furrowed his brow at that, pulling his head back a bit to get a better look at blue and grey. Now, that wasn’t normal. The hues were still bright, aware, blue with lavender branching from the middle, but Solas’ face and posture screamed, ‘disconnected’. Fane felt himself grow more worried at that. Had he fucked up again?

“Solas? Are you--?”

He went to ask after the man, thinking his joke had hit a nerve yet again, but a slender finger suddenly darted up to his lips, stilling them. It was telling him to wait, to be silent. Fane blinked. Well, at least the mage was responsive? Yes...a corner of a mouth was moving a bit, eyes were blinking slowly, and a…

...nose was twitching?

Before any more questions could be voiced or even thought up, Fane saw Solas’ face pinch a bit, nose screwing up before sucking in a slow, deep breath, and then…

“Achoo!”

We have it all in this story! Pain, sadness, Solas tears, Fane rage, fluff, cockblocking magic, and sniffles~ >:3 Watch this turn into a sick fic now. XD

Tagging forth (with love and potions to ward against sniffles!)

@oxygenforthewicked @noire-pandora @the-dreadful-canine @little-lightning-lavellan @aymayzing @dungeons-and-dragon-age @hoochieblues @whataboutbugs @1000generations @blueheaded @cartadwarfwithaheartofgold and anyone else who’d like to share! It’s Wednesday~! X3 (no pressure, of course! <3)

[windless-hurricane]

Sparks

Chapter Two: Orientation and the Crazed Potato Girl

A Reiner x Reader x (Eventual) Jean Fanfic

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

SUMMARY: After the fall of Shiganshina, you joined the military along with your brother. You had hoped to bring peace to the world by doing so, but the world was a cruel place. You seemed to lose more than you gained, but there was always someone - someone who made losing just a bit…easier. You hoped you could keep them forever, but was there a guarantee in this world?

AUTHOR’S NOTE: *SPOILER ALERT*

I was originally going to cut this chapter, but I just couldn’t after what happened a few episodes ago... 🥺 Sasha, you will forever be in our hearts!

WARNINGS (for entire series): Language, explicit violence, talks of death, suicide, trauma, and mental illness, graphic scenes involving blood and/or death, and sexuality.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

TAGLIST: @flowersgirl02 @noodlenerd101 @nekohwa @drowned-pathetic-rat @bestgirlb​ @bleepop​

SPARKS MASTERLIST

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• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

• ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ •

“You, cadet! What’s your name?!”

“(Y/N) Bauer, sir,” you shouted back with an angered look in your eyes.

If he hadn’t told you that you stuck out like a sore thumb moments before, you wouldn’t be as angry as you were now.

You knew your hair was quite...white for you being a teenager, but it wasn’t your fault. The last few years have been hell for you, especially since the Titans broke through the wall and destroyed your hometown. It hadn’t been easy, but for this man to come at you for it, it was unforgivable.

You wanted to snap at him, but you caught the eyes of your brother from afar. They were stern and told you exactly what not to do. So, you simply took to answering Shadis’s questions as fast as you could.

As a few cadets watched, Reiner did the same. However, something was eating at him. ‘Bauer, where have I heard that name before,’ he thought to himself.

Shadis hummed. “Would you happen to be related to Kurt Bauer?”

“Yes, sir,” you confirmed. “He was my father.”

Reiner’s eyes widened. White hair, Kurt Bauer. He knew exactly who you were.

“Ah, no wonder you looked so familiar. Your father had a full head of white hair when he was your age too.” He grabbed a strand of your hair, examining it, before nudging your head back roughly. It took everything in you to not retaliate.

“Well, do you hear that, maggots,” he shouted. “You have someone from the esteemed Bauer family here, the family of humanity’s best and strongest soldiers.”

In a split second, everyone turned their gazes to you and ogled you from afar.

You and your brother were from a very popular family, the Bauers to be exact. While you were proud of it, you were always embarrassed at how much attention it brought you. You already felt your ears burning as Shadis spoke again.

“I trained with your father and mother and trained your eldest brother. All real talents. Such a shame they didn’t put it to use though…”

You froze at his statement. What?

“...They all joined the Garrison Regiment.”

They did, you knew they did, but it was all for a reason and he didn’t know anything about it. No one did. No one had the room to talk about them.

Your jaw clenched from anger as your body trembled. No one...

“Hopefully you don’t make the same mistake,” he remarked, finally taking a few steps past you. However, he didn’t get far.

Right behind his feet, you hawked up a loogie and spat it out. He came to an abrupt stop as a few of the cadets surrounding you gasped.

He turned around slower than death and looked straight into your eyes.

“Cadet, could you tell me what you did just now?” His voice was menacing and low, and it made you smirk.

“I apologize, sir,” you saluted with an ever growing smile on your face. “It was just so dusty, I had to clear my throat.”

He lunged toward you in an instant and if anyone was watching from afar, they would say you were about to take your last breath because the man in front of you was going to slaughter you worse than any Titan ever could.

However, you grinned.

Everyone was looking at you like you had a death wish, while your brother simply slapped his hand onto his forehead. Reiner, on the other hand, grinned along with you.

“I know a great place where you wouldn’t have to worry about dust,” he mentioned and your eyebrow shifted.

“Care to show me,” you asked sarcastically.

You hadn’t expected him to show you the lake after orientation and you certainly hadn’t expected him to tell you to jump in and swim past sunset.

Yet, there you were. Still in full uniform, swimming your ass off.

Your entire body burned as you spent hours swimming laps in the lake. Your lungs were on fire and your vision was beginning to blur. If it wasn't for the cold breeze that hit the half of your face as you lifted it for air, you would’ve passed out a while ago.

As you looked into the distance past the splashing water, the orange mass was setting. Thank goodness, you thought.

You kept pushing for what felt like five more hours until the darkness completely overwhelmed the sky. The blackness made you want to close your eyes and drift to sleep, but drowning wasn’t an option now.

So, you used whatever was left of your might to swim to shore and pull yourself out of the lake.

You were drenched, exhausted, and crawling onto the sand with blurry vision. The last thing you were able to do was turn onto your back before collapsing entirely. You panted heavily, your cloudy breath staining the air.

You wanted to strip of your uniform, but couldn’t lift a finger to do so.

You smirked to yourself. ‘I’m going to die out here,’ you thought. ‘I’m going to get hyperthermia and die. Then, Shadis can get fired.’

As you hoped for Shadis’s firing, a pair of footsteps made their way over to you and stopped by your head. You attempted to look, but even that hurt you. So, you simply waited for them to move.

They knelt down beside you and wiped your forehead with a handkerchief. The closer they got, you realized who it was.

“Vik...tor,” you panted and he looked down at you with a confused look on his face.

“Why are you smiling,” he questioned, still wiping your face. You chuckled.

“Just...thinking about Shadis…getting fired...if I die.”

“Tch, you’re not going to die.”

“Well...he still...deserves it,” you remarked, causing him to roll his eyes.

“You’re really unbelievable, sister. C’mon.”

He wrapped his arm around the back of your shoulders and sat you up as slowly as he could. You still groaned in pain however and threw a coughing fit shortly after.

Your brother patted your back as he sighed, “There you go, just let it all out.”

Once you were done, you let out a huge exhale and felt slightly rejuvenated. “Shit, Shadis is a bastard.”

“Did you learn your lesson,” he questioned with a quirked eyebrow and you simply chuckled.

“No.”

“Tch,” he shook his head. “Maybe you really do take after dad.”

“Do you see this hair,” you snorted and he smirked faintly.

“Fair point.”

“I still don’t understand how you only got away with a streak of white hair,” you pointed out, causing him to shrug.

“Well, our family isn't lucky when it comes to stress,” he remarked. “Guess you just got the unluckier side of things.”

“Maybe.”

“Anyways, you need to eat.”

He unexpectedly pulled out a loaf of bread from his pocket and offered it to you. However, your eyes widened in panic.

“But isn’t the mess house still open?” He shook his head.

“This was all I was able to get.” You sighed, but were still content with what your brother had brought you.

So, you nodded thankfully before wrapping your hand around the loaf. However, the moment you did, you both heard growling from afar and froze. You looked to your right and saw a girl in the distance. She was on all fours and watched the both of you with glowing eyes. You squinted harder, trying to make out who it was.

“Wait a minute, isn’t that…” right as you trailed off, she ran toward the both of you at an inhuman speed. “Potato girl?!”

In an instant, her jaw was latched onto the loaf of bread and you and your brother shrieked in fear. He fell back, while you still clung to your bread. You were still very confused as to what was going on, but were deathly hungry. You didn’t even care if you were in pain. You wanted your bread.

You leaned forward determinedly and grabbed her face with one hand.

“Stop acting crazy, potato girl! It’s my bread,” you yelled, attempting to push her off, but her bite was relentless.

You kept pushing on her face as she started doing the same to you and you would have succeeded if your arm didn’t give out from exhaustion.

You fell back in annoyance and watched as she ravaged your poor loaf. Then, she screamed, causing you to flinch.

“Hey, what’re you-“ but she cut you off.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried. “I didn’t mean to. I was just so hungry.” Her mouth was full of chewed up bread and you would’ve been disgusted, if you weren’t more surprised by the fact that she wasn’t acting like an animal anymore.

“It’s whatever,” you pouted.

“Here,” she motioned and you looked down at her hand. There was still a piece of bread in it. While it wasn’t much, your mouth still watered.

“It’s fine,” you cooed. “You can eat it.”

“No, please,” she pleaded, taking your hands abruptly into hers and forcing the bread into them. “Eat it!”

You blushed in embarrassment before pulling away, “Fine, um, thank you...Sa-”

“Sasha,” she nodded. “Sasha Blouse.”

“(Y/N) Bauer,” you gestured to Viktor. “My brother.”

He was still gazing at Sasha nervously, but managed to smile, “Viktor Bauer.”

“Hey, is everything okay out here? I thought I heard screaming,” a new voice asked and you all looked to the owner of it. She was a small blonde girl, stopping once she neared the three of you.

“Yes,” your brother reassured, standing up quickly. If it wasn’t so dark, you would’ve seen the blush on his cheek.

“Oh, that’s good,” she smiled sweetly. “I just wanted to give you bread.” She held out two loaves and your mouth along with Sasha’s began to water. “I know you were running all day and you were swimming, so I thought you might be hungry.”

You and Sasha both looked at each other with wide eyes before looking back at the girl whose name you could’ve sworn was Krista.

“Are you…” you started to say.

“A goddess,” Sasha finished and you looked at her in disbelief.

This really was going to be a long three years.

[polaroid15]

Febuwhump day 9 - Buried alive

Summary: Peter wakes up with grave dirt in his mouth. Will Tony reach him in time? 

Ao3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72004143

---

Peter wakes up with gravedirt in his mouth.

He chokes when he realizes and tries turning to dispel it. His shoulder hits something solid above him, his fingers brush against smooth satin, and he in the next horrifying second he realizes.

A coffin.

He coughs, spitting out the taste of death into the darkness. When it’s gone, the phantom of the feeling lingers, crawling down his throat and paralyzing his lungs. He gasps, unable to breathe, and raises his shaking hands, reaching for an exit, an escape.

He can’t breathe. Oh man. Oh god. He can’t breathe-

His fingers dig into the satin and the wood, curling weakly against his prison. He needs to get out. There’s no air in here-

“Kid? Peter?”

He sobs, convinced he’s dying. The voice belongs to Tony, but he’s certain he’s alone.

“PETER. Can you hear me? Are you there?”

In his frantic searching, his hand nudges against a small rectangle by his thigh. He twists his fingers around it and brings it up to his face, though he can’t see the device at all through the pitch black of his environment. He rubs it between his hands, feeling thin grates of plastic and an antenna.

“Peter?”

The voice comes louder now, right in front of his face. He drops the device in surprise, head spinning from his panic. With the grace of a toddler, he pulls it back into his hands, feeling the device for a button.

He still can’t seem to pull in air. Talking should be impossible, he thinks, but in some miracle the words come. “T-Tony?”

A beat of darkness, of silence, and the walkie talkie comes alive in his hand. “Oh thank God. You can hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good. Wow is it sure good to hear your voice. How’re you feeling kiddo?”

“I-” Peter releases the button, a sob he doesn’t want Tony to hear scraping past his vocal chords. When it dies, he tries again. “I don’t know what’s happening. I- I can’t breathe.”

There’s a longer silence this time and Peter stifles another cry, clutching the walkie talkie to his chest. He kicks up at the coffin, praying for it to give. Tries again, and his toes go numb.

“You’re panicking, Pete. There’s still air. And I know this is scary,” Tony’s say calmly, filling the space around him and giving the cold earth some warmth, “but it’s going to be okay. We’re working on getting you now, okay?”

“I’m in a coffin.”

He can still taste dirt under his tongue, can practically feel the weight stacked above him.

“I know, Pete. I know. But we’re going to get you out. It’s going to take a little while though, okay? I need you to breathe nice and slow. Buy us some time.”

Oh.

Oh.

Feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner in his panic, Peter clamps his hand over his mouth and nose as if to keep the air contained. He holds his breath until his chest burns, until he can’t anymore.

As if sensing it, Tony’s voice crackles back. “Don’t hold your breath Peter.”

“How did- how did you?”

“I know you.”

More tears collect in his eyes. He tries to blink them away but they fall hot down the side of his face.

“Talk to me,” Peter whispers.

“Did I tell you that Ned called me the other day?”

“N-no. He did?”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “He wanted to ask me a favour.”

“Oh. What was it?”

“Promise to keep it a secret?”

Peter nods, feeling lightheaded. After a moment he realizes Tony can’t see him and clicks the button back down. “Yeah. Promise.”

“He wants to throw you a surprise party. For your birthday coming up. Wanted to have it at the Tower.”

Peter cries again. His fingers are cold as ice.

“And I said yes,” Tony says, his voice loud and clear. After a pause it returns, wavering. “So you need to stay awake, okay? We can’t have our guest of honour missing out on all the fun. Ted will never forgive me.”

“Y-you know his name is Ned.”

“Just wanted to make sure you were paying attention.”

He is.

Or, he wants to. The next thing he registers is a block of white noise, screaming in his ears and making his head spin. He realizes he had closed his eyes, not noticing before the difference in the darkness, and tries to crawl back to reality.

“Peter? Answer me!”

Tony sounds scared. Frantic, even. And Tony Stark is never frantic.

“S-sorry.”

“Lordy. Stop scaring me, kid. How’s the air down there?”

“Mmm. Light.”

“Light?”

“Light.”

He tries not to drift again, to stay tethered.

“Alright Pete. Ready for your pop quiz?”

“Quiz?”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Tony says. “You go to a genius school, after all. What’s nine multiplied by nine?”

Easy. “81”

“Good job, kiddo. That’s great. How about thirteen minus five?”

This one is harder. Peter squints at the lid of the coffin, hoping it will hold the answers. The earth above him shakes and dirt falls into his face. “Seven.”

“That- that was close, buddy. Real close.”

Peter abandons his grip on the walkie talkie to wipe the dirt off his face. It turns to mud against his tears.

“What about the colours in the rainbow? What are those?”

A rainbow. The sky. A whole open world above him.

“Peter?”

“Uh. Red.” He swallows, trying to picture it in his mind. “Orange. Blue.”

“Right,” Tony encourages. “What else?”

“R-red.”

He doesn’t feel strong enough to press down the button anymore, wants nothing more than to drift off, to rest.

He’s so tired.

A sudden twist of nausea runs through him and he turns to his side instinctively, crying again when sharp acid spills out of his throat. When it’s over, he slumps back, shaking. A thought crosses his mind and he reaches back for the walkie talkie.

“Tony?”

“Yeah kid? We’re almost there.”

“Remember when I rode that donut to space?”

“Yeah. Kinda hard to forget.”

“Feels like that,” he decides, the sting of acid still burning on his tongue. “Feels like space.”

He’s floating, falling.

Tony always catches him.

“Don’t let go, Pete.” It’s strong, an order. “Stay awake. We’re so damn close.”

He wishes he could see the stars.

“Tony.”

“Tony.”

“Tony I love you, okay? Tell May- tell May too.”

There’s no response, and Peter realizes in detachment that he had never pressed the button. He’s not strong enough.

Tony hadn’t heard him.

His eyes close again.

There’s a harsh vibration that shakes his casket. He feels it in his bones, in his blood.

“Peter? We see the coffin. We’re here. We’re here-”

His head lolls, unable to hold it. His hand rests on the walkie talkie, his hand buzzing from Tony’s voice. Air is impossible now.

In an instant, the darkness is transformed into blinding light. A gust of air rushes in to meet him, but his lungs have forgotten how to take it in. He hears more static, feels hands on his arms and legs, hoisting him out of the ground to rest on top of it. He feels fingers on his throat, on his chest, on his face. He feels hard plastic slip over his mouth and nose, oxygen forcing its way into his body.

He gasps and chokes and cries, tries to sit up and finds himself in Tony’s arms. The man’s hands are in his hair. He’s shaking. Peter tries to return the hug, but his arms are dead.

“Found me,” he whispers instead.

“Always,” Tony whispers in his hair. Soft and gentle. Filled with a thousand other words. “Always.”

[buckysrighthanddoll]

Bad Guy

Pairing: Loki x enhanced!Reader

Warnings: swearing, drinking, fluff, a lil angst, and some of the team realizing that Loki isn’t as bad as they thought he was

When you were left to babysit the God of Mischief, you weren’t phased in the slightest. Sure, there were some nerves involved; Loki was the self-proclaimed bad guy. He was the cause for countless deaths in the Battle of New York, he seemed to have minimal morals, and he had a particular distaste for humanity.

Thor brought him to earth--or Midgard, as they called it--so that Loki couldn’t wreak havoc on Asgard. He thought that his brother could use a fresh start. Loki claimed that he was sick of vying for more extraordinary things, which you believed was bullshit. This was Loki--his entire life was nothing but lies and tricks.

But, nevertheless, Tony agreed to keep him holed up in the tower. Loki was never to be alone, but that spelled bad news for anybody who wasn’t busy. More specifically, you; you weren’t the newest to the team, but you were the most humane Avenger who also had a lot of free time. You showed compassion beyond the other members, and therefore were a perfect fit for the job.

Loki mainly kept to himself. He was always in his room, but occasionally he snuck off to different areas of the compound. He always told someone beforehand, which made the team feel better, but the cameras were always kept trained on him.

The first time you were introduced to Loki, your enhanced eyes picked up on his aura. It was a dark indigo color, not too bright and not too dull. You sensed isolation and a looming sense of self-hatred. This was the first reason you took a liking to the prince. The indigo hue also meant that he was hyperaware of people’s intentions, especially the unspoken ones.

And the first time you watched over Loki, you sat in the living room with him and turned on some music while he read and you wrote. He hardly said a word, although you caught him staring at you occasionally. He would just smirk a little and look back down to his book, and you would furrow your eyebrows and continue writing.

You weren’t intimidated by Loki. No, you weren’t as powerful as him, but you could see things that others couldn’t. Auras were the easy part, but you also felt a person’s emotions (no matter how well they were hiding them), and you could sometimes hear a person’s thoughts and see their dreams.

At first, Loki saw you as weak and naive. How else could somebody be so open to dealing with him?

The next several times you watched over Loki, you found yourself getting more attached to him. The conversations weren’t deep, but they left your mind reeling. His head was hard to get into, but you still tried.

One night, Tony said to take over Sam’s shift while he went to a mission debriefing. You weren’t feeling well on a mental level, yet you agreed.

You got to Loki’s door and let Sam go, and then you knocked. Loki opened the door with a smug smirk, but it was quickly wiped away when he saw how you looked. Sweatpants and a hoodie weren’t exactly a rarity for you, but your eyes were red, and you had dark circles and messier-than-normal hair.

His eyebrows furrowed as he shifts his weight. “Can we just go lay outside or something?”

“Of course, love,” Loki responded. If you weren’t so preoccupied with dark thoughts, you’d have questioned the pet name. Loki snaps his fingers, and suddenly he’s out of his black suit and in a pair of grey sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He walked beside you to the roof, where the stars were shining as brightly as they could within New York’s light pollution. Loki remained silent as you laid your back against the cold concrete, and then he followed your actions.

“I’m sorry this isn’t our normal babysitting routine,” You said, laughing drily.

“Don’t apologize; this is quite relaxing,” He responded. You turned your head to face him, only to find that he was already looking at you. “Do you do this often? Look at the stars, I mean?”

“Only when I need perspective,” You shrugged.

“How so?”

You turned your head toward the sky, admiring the twinkling lights. “It’s easy to see the night sky as two-dimensional. It looks like someone covered the earth with a black piece of paper and poked holes in it to let the light through. But each one of those stars is millions of lightyears away. Billions, even. Humans could never even hope to travel to one of them or the solar systems that orbit.” You point out one of the stars--not that it mattered which one. “That star right there doesn’t give two shits about our problems. We are as indistinguishable to them as ants are to us. Sometimes I feel like the world is falling apart, but then I come up here, and I remember that the universe was fine without humans--and it will be fine without us once we go extinct.”

“You speak so beautifully,” Loki starts, sighing as he turns onto his side. “Your mind must be a terribly dark place.”

A scoff erupts from you, and then you’re looking at the god. “Am I that easy to read?”

“Not at all,” Loki says. “You’re always wearing a mask around the team--around me. But this is unadulterated emotion. It’s quite admirable.”

You didn’t notice it until now, but his aura has shifted. It was still a deep indigo blue, but it seemed as though his walls were let down. His emotions were more apparent than they had ever been, and his thoughts nearly screamed at you. He thought about your strength and resilience--how you’ve fought through more shit than many could handle. Yet, here you were, breathing and having philosophical conversations with a god from another world.

“You know,” You start, sitting up. “Everyone keeps telling me you’re the bad guy.”

“And you don’t see it?”

“I see what’s inside. I see so much self-hatred that you’ve turned yourself into the monster others believed you were.” A short pause ensues as you allow Loki to interpret what you’re saying. “You’re not a monster, Loki.”

“I’ve killed thousands of people. I’m the prophetical cause of Ragnarok. I’m--”

“A misunderstood being who found that his whole life was a lie, and therefore became what others said you were. That’s not a monster. That’s a mask.”

“You’ve been in my mind, haven’t you?” He smirked.

You laid back down, shoulder to shoulder with the man beside you. “Only just now. Your walls are damn near impenetrable.”

“Good,” He quips jokingly. Silence falls between you, and all you can hear is the traffic from the city that never sleeps. You both resume staring at the stars until you’ve fallen asleep, and Loki carries you inside.

As Loki exits the elevator, Steve is scared to see you limp in Loki’s arms. Nat is on the defense until she sees that you didn’t pass out or die--you were leaning into Loki, an arm propped against his chest and your head in the crook of his neck.

“Loki what the--”

“Shh,” Loki interjects, making Steve even more upset. Natasha places a hand on his shoulder as a warning to calm down, and the three of them witness you stir a bit in your slumber and bury yourself deeper into Loki’s grasp. “She fell asleep on the rooftop; I’m just putting her in her bed.”

Steve fails to find words as Loki quietly walks down the hallway to your room. Once he gets Friday to let him in, he sets you on the bed. You wake up momentarily, only to ask him to stay with you for a bit. He supposed twenty minutes wouldn’t hurt, so he crawled under the sheets and laid next to you.

The instant you felt Loki’s coolness, you cuddled right into him. Your head rested on his chest, and your arm went around his torso to hold him tighter. What Loki didn’t expect was how warm this made him feel. He rests his arm around you and brings you in even closer. The twenty minutes he had planned on spending with you turned into an overnight stay; he fell asleep with you in his arms.

From then on, you were the only one to watch Loki when the team needed it. You were kind of bummed out that you were taken off missions, but the serenity of watching him made it okay. You watched movies together, stayed in your rooms and talked for hours on end, cooked together, and took naps together.

You hated to say it, but you were falling for Loki. He was respectful, and he was slowly (but surely) growing to tolerate humans and treat them as if they weren’t beneath him.

Tony had announced he would be throwing a party for Natasha’s birthday. He was going all-out and using the entire party deck--four floors included. You showed up late due to a doctor’s appointment earlier on, so the party was lively, and everybody was intoxicated.

You had on a little black dress, and you put effort into your hair and makeup. This was Nat’s birthday, after all, and you respected her a lot. You stayed by the bar area when you arrived to catch up to everybody else’s level of inebriation.

Loki found you less than ten minutes later. There was a clear connection between the two of you, to the point that you had considered that he was listening for your thoughts. “You look amazing, love,” He said, taking a seat next to you.

“You don’t look too bad yourself,” You quipped, watching as the bartender placed five shots on the bar for you.

“Those for some friends?”

“No, they’re for me,” You responded, taking one after another. “I gotta catch up to the crowd.”

Loki chuckles, but then it drops when he sees the liquor cascading down your throat as if it’s water. “Dear, perhaps you should pace yourself.”

You shrugged and ordered a few more shots, and then a mixed drink to sip on. “I’ll be fine, Loki,” You started. You picked up the cup and chugged it back, going against the initial plan of taking it slow. Within minutes, you’re feeling the alcohol’s effects. Your mind goes fuzzy, as do your senses, and the world around you feels lighter. You decided to stop at this level for now since everything was pleasant. The loud music enticed you, and as you looked around, you saw Natasha dancing with Wanda. “And that is my cue,” You smiled, standing up. You wobbled slightly, but quickly caught yourself and briskly walked over to your teammates.

“Took you long enough,” Wanda laughed as you started dancing with them. Little conversation followed that, mostly dancing and singing to the songs.

A slower song came on, and the three of you groaned as you stepped away from the dancing crowd. Natasha and Wanda’s faces hardened as they looked just past you, which immediately told you that Loki was approaching. You turned around as he got next to you, holding out his hand.

“Would you do me the honor of sharing a dance with me?” He asked, his tone as elegant as ever. You smiled and nodded, grabbing on to his cold hand and letting him lead you a few feet over to the crowd’s edge. One of his hands settle at your waist, and yours goes to rest on his chest. He holds your other hand, and then the two of you are swaying to the beat. “They don’t like me, do they?” He asked.

You give a small smile. “It’s less that they don’t like you, and more that they don’t like you with me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame them.”

“Why’s that?” You asked. Your eyebrows turn up slightly as you gaze up to him. Loki can’t help but think that you looked more beautiful than any goddess he had ever met.

“I’m the bad guy, remember?”

“That’s what people want you to be,” You remind him. He extends his arm to twirl you and then pull you close to him--chest to chest, face to face. “You aren’t a bad person. You put up a wall so that people can’t get close to you. When will you let them down, Loki?”

Loki looks like an angel with the aura surrounding him. It changed right in front of your eyes. Where it was once dark indigo, now it was a clear and bright red. It meant that he could overcome any obstacle and sincerely wanted to change his life for the better. It nearly took your breath away.

“Perhaps now would be a good time,” He whispered. His eyes danced from your eyes to your lips, giving a physical hint to something that you knew just from reading his thoughts. He leans down slightly to gauge your reaction; he finds you also leaning in slowly. Your lips meet somewhere in the middle, and you can just feel the energy that surrounded you both.

His lips, like the rest of his body, were cool to the touch. Yet, they welcomed the heat of your body, like two opposite ends of a magnet meeting. You slowed to a stop in your dance, focusing on the euphoria that a simple kiss brought you. Loki cups your cheek to pull you even closer. The kiss feels like it lasts years, but it was only a few seconds. Your eyes flutter open as you pull away, and a smile spreads across your face.

Nat and Wanda watch with dropped jaws from ten feet away. “I’m gonna kill him,” Wanda states.

“No, Wanda, look at her,” Nat says, directing her friend’s attention to you. “She’s smiling--she’s happy.”

“Maybe she’s faking it.”

“She isn’t faking it,” Natasha responds. “The look in her eyes gives it away. She loves him.” She adjusts her stance and focuses on Loki. “And look at Loki’s face. It has genuine emotion. It isn’t stoic; it isn’t sarcastic--he’s letting her in.”

“Well, I’ll be damned. Why didn’t she tell us?”

“She knows that nobody else trusts him.”

You could hear the conversation despite their hushed words. It was one of the perks of your enhancements. Loki could hear their thoughts, too, which caused him to smile even more. “Would you like to go to bed?” Loki asks you. You nod your head and let him lead you away from the party, into the elevator, and down to the residence levels.

You take off your makeup and change into comfortable clothes, and Loki does the same. It was routine now to hop into the bed together and immediately hold each other. This time, though, when the movie is turned on, neither of you focus on the plot. You’re too wrapped up in each other, kissing whenever one of you felt like it, talking here and there, and just being absorbed into each other’s consciousness.

Loki was the proverbial bad guy. He had done horrible things in his past, and he had turned himself into a monster because his father had told him he was one. But Loki wasn’t bad at all; he was misunderstood, yes, but not evil. This was a man that you could spend all of your days with, and who wouldn’t drain you. He was not a monster. He could never be a monster.

[queenrose730]

Reckless

Part Six

Master List

Steve had taken over the landing procedure since you were still down an arm. You and Bucky panicked for a moment when it looked like you jet was going to run right though the side of a tree covered mountain. Instead, the mountain dissolved to reveal a large city. It was impressive. It was nothing like you were expecting. Up until know all you knew of Wakanda was that it was a struggling poor country. Seeing it now. That was all a lie. Steve guided the jet down onto a platform where several people stood in waiting for the three of you.

 “This place is incredible.” You didn’t know where to look as Steve was landing. Everything was a beautiful mix of technology and tradition.

 “Come on yn. Let’s go meet our hosts.” Steve helped you stand. All the pain meds had worn of by now and you were definitely feeling everything.

 “God. I hope they have a hot bath I can crawl in for the next week.” Even though you were trying to hide the pain as not to worry either men, it was getting hard to hide.

 “I can carry you if you want?”

 “No Steve. I can walk.” He held you steady for a moment before he decided not to fight over it right now.

 Introductions didn’t take long. Unfortunately, it was hard for you to pay attention. Steve held onto tightly so you wouldn’t stumble. Even then it took everything you had just to stay upright. Steve was talking to a younger woman about living arrangements for the night and when T’challa was to be expected back. There was also some talk about what their rough plan was for Bucky. Finally, attention was turned to you.

 “We should get her to medical.” The young girl pointed out to the men on either side of you. You tried to remember what she said her name was, Shuri?

 “Shit. Yn.” Bucky positioned himself the best could to help Steve hold you up.

 “Yea, I don’t think I’m doing too hot over here boys.” Steve held on a little tighter.

 “Why didn’t you say something?” You shrugged at Steve’s question.

 “Y’all were busy.”

 “Yn.” He was stern with you name. “Come on.” Both Steve and Bucky helped you into the building and down the elevator. From what you saw of the building so far, it put the Avengers compound to shame. Tony would have been a kid in a candy store with all this tech. The door of the elevator opened as your heart was hurting again for everything that had gone on.

 “This way Agent yn.” Shuri lead the way for you to lay down on the bed. Several people moved forward helping you to undress so they could better treat your injuries.

 “Gentlemen, if you wouldn’t mind.” Shuri motioned for them to leave the room.

 “Only one show for you guys today.” You gave your best grin to Steve and Bucky as they left. Both shaking their heads at you.

 You weren’t sure how long you have been in medical. Each of your cuts had been cleaned and rewrapped. They even removed Steve awful stitches from your thigh. Instead they just applied an ointment to it and wrapped it back up. You wanted to question them but chose not to. You were just grateful for their care. They also double check the setting of you shoulder. Satisfied with how it was sitting, they injected something. You assumed it was pain meds because almost immediately the pain was receding. After a few more injections you felt damn near back to normal.

 “What kind of meds are you using? I feel almost good as new, but I’m not groggy like regular pain meds?” Shuri looked up from where she was sitting at a desk typing.

 “That’s because it wasn’t pain meds. Things heal very differently here in Wakanda.” She walked over to where you were still lying on the bed. “You’ll want to take it easy for a day or so, but you are healed.”

 “What?” Your eyes were wide at your statement. She just laughed.

 “I’m sure we will have plenty of time to answer all your questions later. But Captain Rogers wanted you to join him as soon as you were able to.” You nodded and slowly at up from the bed. A few hours earlier you would be in too much pain to even think of moving like that without help. Standing up you tested your shoulder. Rotating in slightly. It felt fine. This place was crazy. You were definitely going to take Shuri up on her question answering.

 “Where are they?”

 “Right this way.” Shuri lead you to where Steve and Bucky were at. It was a small apartment on one of the upper floors of the building. Both men stood when you walked in.

 “Thank you Shuri. Thank you.”

 “You are very welcome Agent yn.” She closed the door behind her. You turned to face the men before you. They had changed and been cleaned up.

 “You boys clean up well.” You glanced around the room. There was small kitchen area to you right. The table was full of the most delicious looking food. In the center of the room was a couch and a couple chairs setting around a low coffee table. The left wall was solid windows. It was night and the city outside sparkled with life. You had seen a city at night before, but there was something different about it. It didn’t feel intimidating like the New York night sky could be. Instead it was inviting, it felt alive in the best way.

 “You look better yn.” Steve walk over to you. He placed his hands on your shoulders. You could tell he wanted to give you a hug. Closing the space between the two of you, you wrapped your arms around him.

 “I feel better Steve.” You squeezed him with all the strength you could to let him know that you weren’t lying. He pulled you back to look at you. “Shuri says I’m all healed. Just got to take it easy for a couple days.”

 “Good.” He pulled you back to him and gave you a tighter hug. Bucky cleared his throat behind the two of you. You felt Steve chuckle. He released you from his arms.

 “Glad to see your better yn.”

 “Thanks Bucky.” Steve raised an eyebrow at you. “What?” You questioned him. Turning though before he could say anything. “So what’s good?” You walked over to the table. Your eyes moving over all the food that had been set out.

  “Just about everything. We tried to leave you a good selection.” Bucky joined you standing at the table. He pointed out the different foods. What he and Steve liked the best. You mainly stuck to the fruits and lighter dishes. You were starving but didn’t want to overdo it and get sick. Once your plate was loaded up, you joined Steve on the couch. Bucky took one of the chairs on the other side of the coffee table. As you ate they explained about how Shuri and the other scientists might be able to remove the programming in his brain. You partly paid attention. To engrossed in the food to give all your attention to the men. There was something about Bucky going back on ice and doing scans. You nodded and agreed when it seemed appropriate in the conversation. Steve finally caught your full attention when he mentioned the Raft.

 “What a minute. Run that by me again.” You had nearly choked on your food.

 “I’m going to get Sam and everyone out else out tomorrow night.”

 “How? What’s the plan?” You set down your plate turning to face him in on the couch. Bucky leaned back in his seat.

 “You’re not coming with me yn.” Steve didn’t make eye contact with you.

 “The hell I am not Steve. They are my friends too!”

 “Yn. I’m not going to let you risk getting caught.” He still wasn’t making eye contact.

 “I don’t give a fuck! I’m going with you!” In an instant Steve was standing. Towering over you as you sat on the couch.

 “You. Are. Not. Coming.” He punctuated each word through gritted teeth. “There is no more to discuss. I want you here. Safe.” It had been so long since you had seen him this angry. It took so much to get him to that place and honestly it scared you. You quickly nodded in agreement. Not trusting your voice. Steve gave a sharp nod back and left the room. Heading down a hall and slamming a door. Letting out the breath you had been holding you looked over to Bucky. He looked just as surprised as you did with Steve’s outburst. As soon as his eyes meet yours he spoke.

 “I don’t think I have ever seen him like that. Are you ok?”

 “Yea.” Bucky nodded then got up to sit by you. Loosely placing his arm around you.

 “I’ll still be here doll”

 “Oh fuck you.” You pushed his arm off and stood up. Just like Steve was moments ago. “You’re going to be in a fucking tube. You don’t even try.” He stared blankly back at you. You looked down the hall where Steve had gone down. “Bedrooms down there?”

 “Uh yea. One on the left is set you for you. Steve and I thought you might like it better. It has a private bathroom.” He was trying to make up for his comments but you didn’t care.

 “Good.” You headed down the hall quickly. Leaving Bucky sitting in the living room by himself.  You wanted nothing more than to scream. But you also didn’t want Steve to be worried. It made you even angrier that after what he just pulled, you still didn’t want to worry him.

 “Fuck him.” You mumbled to yourself. Walking around the room you found that it had been stocked with clothing and toiletries. You sighed, running your hand over your face. This was a much better situation than any other options. Not that you had options at this point. You sat down on the bed, staring at the door across from you. Everything inside you wanted to head across the hall. To fight with Steve. To tell him exactly where to stick his plan of leaving you here. You knew though that if you did, it would end the way it always did. That is the last thing you wanted. Not only because you wanted to keep hating him, but you were guests and there was someone else in the suite with you two.

The next best option was a hot shower. Silently thanking the men for giving you the room with its own bathroom. You rifled through the clothes that were given to you. Finding something comfortable to wear to bed and laying it out on the bed. You walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Setting the water as hot as you could. It didn’t take long for steam to fill the bathroom. Stepping in you let out a small hiss at the sting of the water. It turning your skin pink almost immediately. Once your body adjusted, you began to clean yourself off. Washing away all the stress from the past few days. You had gently passing over each spot that had been healed just hours before. A thousand questions came to mind. You tried to commit them to memory so you could ask Shuri.

 After a long while the water started to cool. Your hands were pruned and skin bring hot red in spots. You turned the water off and reach out for a towel. Wrapping one around your body and other twisted in your hair. The temperature changes from the shower to the room air caused goosebumps to raise on your arms and legs. You made quick work of drying off and changed into the clothes you had laid out. Climbing into the big bed and wrapping yourself up in the blankets. You let your thoughts drift and soothe you to sleep.

Tags- @ginger-swag-rapunzel

[every-aj-needs-an-angel]

So last week was a particularly tough one for me, one of the rubbish things about getting older is that everyone I used to rely on now has their own lives. I’m no longer the practice baby because they all have their own so when life hits like a ton of bricks, I’m usually just left to crawl through it alone but this time I had help here. I could log in and there’d be a beautiful piece of artwork, a mind blowing gif, some incredible writing or a fun ask game going on and long story short it all just helped so much that I wanted to give something back, even if it pales in comparison its the thought that counts right? Anyway this little sort of AU idea has been floating around my head for a while so I decided to try to write it out as an ode to all the lovely blogs, just for being their wonderful selves. @yusufnicolo @ssungods @marwankenzari @nicolodigenovas @noenoaholi @aliceblakeart @ahkaraii @fereldenturnip @hachinana87 @luminarai @mannadraws @tiups @monicashipsnickyjoe @nico-di-genova @nilefreemans @quyhns @fantasticbeastsandheretofindthem @leanconnoli @pirateladyoftherbbc @spearmintthief @starsisbig @stuart-littles-gay-attorney Thank you so much and sorry in advance.

I’ve Been Dreaming Of You My Whole Life.

A Joe/Nicky tale.

When Yusuf was finally born there was no wailing, no snuffling, no hiccuping sobs, just silence. His mother wasn’t surprised, it had been a long and arduous labour and she was too numb to be sad or disappointed yet. No one tried to save little Yusuf, he was born in a different time, no one yet knew how or that it was even possible. Although a short time later when baby Yusuf not only started to breathe, but scream as healthily as any other baby, all on his own, they were all delighted by their miracle. No one questioned it, just grateful for their beautiful bundle of joy, especially when their first born turned out to be their only child.

Little Nicolò was a surprise, born as the third child to parents thought too old to have another, his elder siblings taking care of him when he would become too fussy and restless. Ten year old, Lucia would take her baby brother on long walks to entertain him, fashioning a sling to carry him on her back when his little legs grew tired of walking. Thirteen year old, Ermo on his way back from town, caught up to his younger siblings on the road leading back to their home. Nico was tiring of being carried, kicking and whining, but the sun was starting to set and not wanting to stop so close to home, Ermo agreed to hold Nicolò steady while he was released from his sling. Disaster struck, however, when the teen was distracted by their neighbours daughter waving enthusiastically and shouting his name, Ermo turned his back on his siblings to return her attentions and Nicolò fell from the sling hitting the ground with a dull thud. An impassioned argument started between the two siblings until they realised with horror that for the first time in his life Nicolò was completely silent and frighteningly still. Ermo sprinted home to fetch their parents but by the time the family arrived back to where the accident had happened, Nicolò was up and wandering around, babbling to his sobbing sister. Their father checked Nicolò over and they went home, not thinking too much of it, just happy that the littlest member was unharmed but the two older siblings learned to be much more careful with their baby brother.

Yusuf had always dreamed of three people, always the same three people, until one day he started to dream of a little boy as well. Unfortunately for Yusuf he didn’t have any real friends, other children were always mean to him even though he was always kind, he didn’t understand why but he didn’t mind much. Instead he kept the people from his dreams close to him, taking them into his heart, they became his friends, hoping one day the weapon wielding ladies and their battle ready companion would come and rescue him from his ordinary and lonely life. The dreams of the boy with the sky coloured eyes and the wild mop of hair started just as life became simultaneously better and worse for Yusuf, better for his new friend, worse in the way he was treated, although the other children’s scorn at a growing boy having imaginary friends did have one advantage in that, in his attempt to explain how he saw the world, Yusuf became a highly adept artist.

The dreams were interpreted differently by Nicolò, when he saw a tiny baby or a little boy with a head full of tiny ringlets, kind eyes and a dazzling smile mixed with images of three adults, always together, smiling even in battle; Nicolò thought them a calling. Visions of a numinous little boy mistaken for the Messiah and, depending on how old Nicolò was, either disciples or those known as the Three Wise Men. His family encouraged this hypothesis when he told them of the dreams, especially after a few years of the same recurring characters, even if the dreams themselves sometimes differed, no one questioned the theory that there were bigger plans for their Nico. The dreams fuelled his belief, strengthening it all throughout his life, thinking he’d been chosen for a purpose, especially as his morals wavered over a choice between leaving the priesthood or joining Ermo in going to battle. Nicolò wasn’t sure he was as brave as the three friends he saw every night but by his late teens he was sure his visions were guiding him in the right direction so he set off with his big brother.

Once word of invaders reached Yusuf’s people he suddenly became less enamoured with the idea of people who fought so easily. Images of the blue eyed boy, slowly becoming a man, were always fewer than those of the three unlikely best friends but he now woke in a cold sweat whenever he saw them. Their laughter once joyful, now seemed taunting rather than comforting. Yusuf began to wonder whether he’d known of the invasion all his life and had never heeded the warning. He offered to take night watch, learning how to fight in the day, readying himself to defend his home until bone deep exhaustion took over and he didn’t dream, just slept. He repeated this behaviour until the battle came, although he almost missed it, running into the fray in time to see sky blue eyes, that he knew better than he knew his own, staring back in disbelief.

Nicolò’s shock was quickly taken over by anger, deep rooted fear that maybe what he’d been seeing for as long as he could remember wasn’t what he thought after all, that he’d blindly walked into this life. The trust he’d put into his assumed visions shattering as he stared back into the face of the young man he should hate but knew all too well, leaving deep betrayal and visions of the horrors he’d seen since he started his journey bubbling in his mind's eye, fuelling his rage like a lightning storm, death, destruction and his big brother’s broken body and lifeless eyes causing a red mist. Nicolò was unseeing with it, could barely breathe and trembling with the need to do something.

Yusuf couldn’t quite believe his eyes, rubbing at them trying to clear what he presumed was a sleep deprived haze, those distinctive features, the azure eyes staring back, it just seemed impossible, especially when they mirrored such recognition. Surely such a kind and brilliant person couldn’t be a part of this, couldn’t be a part of the death and destruction of the reputation that preceded the invaders, eyes so beautifully blue that crinkled just so when he smiled, couldn’t hate so deeply that he would join such an unjust cause. It had to be a hallucination or maybe he was still asleep and dreaming. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d dreamed of battles, only those dreams were usually filled with laughter whereas now all he could hear was the clangs of metal and the rage of men.

Nicolò charged forward not really sure what he was doing, what he really wanted to do was run away, far away, all the way back home. He didn’t know why he was running into the mess that surrounded him, he certainly didn’t realise he was holding his sword until it was sticking in the boy he’d been dreaming of for as long as he could remember, who seemed equally shocked to have instinctively reached for his own weapon slicing blindly but precisely. The choking and lack of breath wasn’t as scary as Nico had assumed it would be. The rage he’d felt not moments ago draining from him in an instant was replaced by a deep disappointment that he’d never get to find out what the dreams meant or who the boy now in front of him was. It was a little late to ask even if they had the capacity to do so and as he sunk to the ground watching the light fade from the familiar brown eyes and from around his vision he wondered if they’d meet again, wherever it was they were going now.

Waking alone in a field full of bodies but the one you died with felt bizarre to Yusuf, he still wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming but he was quite sure his imagination wasn’t good enough to conjure the sights and smells that surrounded him, his only comfort being that there seemed to be more dead invaders than those of his people. He realised that he now had a choice, he could go home and wait for the next battle or he could leave in the hopes of catching up to the blue eyed boy, in the hopes of getting some answers. Maybe he knew that they dreamed of each other, maybe he dreamed of the three friends too and maybe he knew why they dreamed of each other. Although right now a more pressing question seemed to be why did you just stab me? but somehow Yusuf instinctively knew that he’d not really meant it, or maybe that was wishful thinking. As he checked himself for the wound he realised it was missing, he wondered again if he was just dreaming but decided either way he was going after his friend. Yusuf chuckled to himself as he realised that he still classed his murderer as his friend, maybe there was something wrong with him like the others had always said after all.

It was three days after the battle and Nicolò had never felt so alone, his brother and his battalion dead, the person he dreamed of was too. He wondered if this was his punishment for questioning his purpose, being left to roam the world alone, maybe he’d get home and find his mother and sister gone too. Nicolò just wanted to sleep but he couldn’t, images taking over his mind, the resonating metal, the taste of blood, tiny matted ringlets on a lifeless body that usually exuded vivacity, he was almost certain he’d only stopped being ill because his body had nothing left to give. At this point he really didn’t care, he would either finally get some rest or his body would give up altogether but the footsteps coming towards him had him instinctively on his feet, weapon in hand and he was reminded that he came from a long line of warriors, it’d take more than a little brooding to change who he was, who he came from, they were all a part of him whether he liked it or not.

Yusuf shuffled to a stop, three days he’d walked and now here he was with a blade sticking out of his chest, he supposed by now he shouldn’t be surprised but surprise was one of the emotions reflected back at him in the sleep deprived, manic blue eyes of the one person he was determined to find, though Yusuf’s slowly staling brain wondered if this one was real, maybe the other three were too. Consciousness flickered as he fell to his knees, concern, confusion and, going by the little crinkle in his dark eyebrows, annoyance pouring out of the blue, washing over Yusuf along with the warmth of the campfire that had led him in the right direction, the yellow light causing some of the flecks to appear green adding an ethereal aura to the one person he simultaneously knew and didn’t, who he fervently he hoped he’d wake again to see.

Present Day

“I thought you said you’d killed each other many times” Nile asked

“Oh, we did! Not always on purpose, of course,” Joe laughed

“We didn’t speak the same language, communication was difficult to start with,” Nicky elaborated, turning back to the stove.

“It sounds like there’s a story behind that!” Nile exclaimed, excitedly banging her hands on the kitchen table.

“Oh there is,” Andy sniggered, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Please, no,” Nicky whined, refusing to look at the group.

“Tell Nile what the first thing you learned to say was,” Andy tittered, Nile turning her full attention to Nicky’s back. Joe reached out to hold Nicky’s hand, rubbing his thumb back and forth as Nicky mumbles inaudibly.

“What was that?” Nile asked giddily.

“I’ve been dreaming of you my whole life,” Joe and Nicky repeat in unison, Nicky turned to look at Joe, a soft smile crinkling his eyes.

Neither man notices Nile’s revering gaze or Andy silently gaining her attention and them both sneaking out the kitchen leaving the lovers to their reminiscing.

[baoshan-sanren]

Chapter 21

of the wwx emperor au that still doesn’t have a damn title

Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 Part 1 | Chapter 8 Part 2 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 Part 1 | Chapter 15 Part 2 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Time becomes fractured and uneven.

Wei Ying is pressing his hand to the wound, the arrow in between his fingers, slick with blood. Dozens of hands are descending around him, attempting to help. A-Sang is clutching a handful of his robes, his fingers cold against Wei Ying’s skin. His face is snow white. The delicate flesh under his terrified gaze is bluish gray, the color of an overcast sky. Wei Ying knows he is screaming for Wen Qing, but he can hear nothing over the roar in his ears. He sees the flash of Jiang Cheng’s robes out of the corner of his eye. A wad of purple cloth is being pushed underneath his hand, blood immediately coloring it black.

People are trying to move him away, but he refuses to let go. Only when Nie MingJue takes a hold of his wrist, does he relinquish the pressure on the wound, letting him take over. He sees Wen Qing’s red robes, and her tight, furious expression. She is shouting orders he cannot hear. A-Sang is being lifted. He is being carried inside.

Jiang Cheng is in front of him. He does not speak, but Wei Ying knows. That expression on his face, the thunder and lightening, the eager fury, his fists clenched so tight that the skin is red from strain. He knows what Jiang Cheng wants to hear.

“Find them,” Wei Ying says, “Kill them. Bring me their head.”

Between one heartbeat and the next, Jiang Cheng is gone. There is a trail of blood leading to the palace entrance.

He does not remember following the blood. He does not remember crossing the familiar halls, but he must have done so, to find himself in A-Sang’s chambers. A pale hand clutches his, short nails digging into his flesh, breaking the skin. He can feel no pain.  

The arrow had gone almost all the way through. It has to be pushed further in. The tip has to be broken. A-Sang’s screams are blood-curdling. The moment he finally loses consciousness is almost a relief.

He sits on A-Sang’s bed and holds him, while Wen Qing cleans the wound and sows the skin back together. It is devastating, how light he feels in Wei Ying’s arms, as if all of his bones are hollow.

Wen Qing says he will be fine. She says nothing major was damaged. She says he was very lucky.

No one, not even Nie MingJue, is addressing the obvious. A-Sang was in Wei Ying’s seat. A-Sang was hurt because of him.

Wei Ying thinks, disconnectedly, that A-Sang will be furious he only got to wear these robes once. They are utterly ruined. He wants to cry, but he cannot. There are too many people here, watching him carefully, waiting for something.

“Your Majesty,” Nie MigJue says, “we cannot delay any longer.”

He has not the slightest idea what those words mean. Had the man been talking to Wei Ying all along? It feels as if everything around him is happening under water, muffled and slow. The only thing that is starkly present, inescapable, is the bandage around A-Sang’s shoulder, blood already seeping through.

His blood is everywhere. A smear of it on the pillow, on the bed covers, on the delicate silk canopy.

Wen Qing touches his arm.

“You can let him go now,” she says gently, “Granny and I will get him cleaned up. Let him rest.”

Is Granny here? Wei Ying had not noticed her arrive. He sees her now, putting away the needle and the thread, folding the unused bandage.

Wei Ying swallows heavily. His throat feels raw.

“His sleep robes are in the trunk at the bottom of the bed,” he rasps, “He likes the gray silk with the green flowers. When he does not feel well.”

“I will take care of it,” Wen Qing says, “They need you outside. Go now. I will come and find you if anything changes.”

It takes him a few moments to be able to stand up, but Nie MingJue waits patiently, hovering right by his shoulder, in case he cannot manage on his own.

Now he can feel pain. His ribs are throbbing. Every muscle in his body feels too tight, as if on the verge of tearing. There is a dull pain at the back of his head.

A-Sang’s receiving chamber is crowded. Shijie and uncle are there, and Nie ZongHui, and ten men of the Emperor’s guard. Inexplicably, Jin GuangShan is there as well, Jin ZiXuan and two other disciples by his side.

And all three of the Lan Sect members, all three kneeling, their heads bowed.

“What--?” Wei Ying says.

He is still covered in blood. He can feel a streak of it drying on his face. Shijie looks as if she wants to cry.

He should have cleaned up before letting her see him.

Nie MingJue is talking, and it takes Wei Ying a few moments for his mind to catch up. Instant fury rises in his chest, sharply clearing the fog.

“Ridiculous!” he snaps, interrupting the man mid-sentence, “They are not at fault. Get up.”

“Lan QiRen has inspected the arrow,” Jiang FengMian says carefully, “He has admitted that it belongs to the Lan Sect. The spiritual signature of the arrows forged in Cloud Recesses cannot be duplicated by an outsider.”

Wei Ying is not listening. He is reaching down to lift up Lan Zhan, but his hands are still covered with blood, and Lan Zhan’s robes are still white and spotless.

“Get up, Lan Zhan,” he says instead, “Sect leader Lan, please stand up. Lan XiChen. None of you are at fault.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” Jin GuangShan says, “the Lan Sect has a history of assassinating the rulers of Shan Dynasty. Is your decision to absolve them a little too hasty?”

His fury is a dark mass in his abdomen.

It would be so easy, to give in. So easy, to have Jin GuangShan removed from his presence forever. One order, two words. Nie MingJue would not hesitate.

“The Lan Sect knew,” he says, voice tight with suppressed rage, “long before the competition started, that the Emperor was not going to be in his seat. They knew exactly where the Emperor was going to be, and they could have had him killed a thousand times over without anyone noticing. Someone is clearly trying to eliminate the Lan Sect in any way possible, and your stupidity is helping them.”

Jin GuangShan’s face turns white. Wei Ying does not know what the man reads in his expression, but he seems to realize that this time, he has gone too far. In the next moment, he is folding to his knees.

“Please forgive my impertinence, Your Majesty. I meant no harm. I was only worried about Your Majesty.”

Jin ZiXuan and the two disciples are kneeling as well, and Wei Ying wonders about the political repercussions of individually kicking each one until they are forced to crawl out of the receiving chamber on their knees.

“High Councilor, since Sect Leader Jin wants to be helpful, please find him something productive to do. Somewhere that is not here.”

Jiang FengMian hastily pushes the Jin Sect out of the receiving hall, but Wei Ying does not see them leave.

Lan Zhan is standing in front of him. His cool expression, usually so difficult to read, is no longer there. In its place, there is a mix of worry, and sadness, and inexplicable guilt. For a moment, it looks as if he may reach out. His fingers twitch, then settle.

Wei Ying feels his fury shiver apart, fracturing into a thousand sharp pieces. He wants to take Lan Zhan’s hand. He wants it almost as badly as he wants the head of the man who had hurt A-Sang.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says, “If I may have a moment of your time. In private.”

Wei Ying exhales heavily.

He wants to sit somewhere in silence, and just breathe. But he cannot.

He can hear shijie asking MingJue if she can go in now, to see A-Sang. She touches Wei Ying’s shoulder lightly as she passes by, both a warning and a comfort.

“Nie ZongHui,” Wei Ying says, “Please escort the Young Masters back to the Peach Blossom Pavilion. Double their protection. If someone looks at the Lan Sect in a way you deem suspicious, arrest them. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Wei Ying turns to Lan QiRen the moment the others are out of earshot. The man pulls out a small piece of folded up paper from the sleeve of his robe, and hands it over.

“This was waiting at the Peach Blossom Pavilion the night we arrived,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying unfolds the paper, leaving bloody fingerprints over its surface.

The note is simple and straightforward:

“The Young Masters are in danger. Leave the Immortal Mountain.”

He frowns at the script. The characters are clumsy and crooked, as if written by a child.

“Why did you not bring this to someone’s attention earlier?” he asks.

“Your Majesty,” Lan QiRen says dryly, “If I brought each threat against the Lan Sect to your attention, you would have no time left to run the Empire.”

Wei Ying gapes at him. Was that a joke? Out of Sect Leader Lan?

He looks around, but no one else is there to witness this. No one will believe him.

“I would like the permission to take my nephews back to Cloud Recesses,” Lan QiRen says.

Wei Ying feels his heart plummet.

He folds the paper carefully, and tucks it in his own sleeve.

“No,” he says.

“Your Majesty--“

“No,” he says again, his stomach twisting, “the danger may follow you there, and if you leave, I cannot protect h-- I cannot protect you.”

“It is likely that your attention has caused the danger in the first place,” Lan QiRen says, his voice hard.

Wei Ying swallows heavily, his throat raw.

“You may be right, but the answer is still no. It has been a long and trying day for all of us,” he says, before Lan QiRen can offer any other argument, “You may go now, Sect Leader.”

Lan QiRen looks furious, but he bows, and leaves without another word.

[rorikoa-xiv]

Where There’s Smoke

The desert sun beat down on the Silver Bazaar as Talon stepped through the town gate. Adjusting his shades, he scanned the stalls and stonework for anyone of interest. He eventually settled on a black-haired midlander waving his finger at some men in wet, raggy clothing.

"I thought you sailors were supposed to have spine! Instead, you--" The furious fellow turned to see the stranger approaching him, and let out a tired sigh. "Yes? Can I help you?"

The miqo'te shrugged. "Maybe. I'm lookin' for anyone who knows about the recent sahagin sightings."

The hyur let out a bemused chuckle. "Sahagin! Don't you talk to me about sahagin! Do you have any idea how much trouble those bedeviled beastmen have made for my master's enterprise?"

"Quite a bit, I'm guessing." Talon set his hand on his hip, and cocked his head. "Care to elaborate?"

Taking a deep breath, the man bowed his head in greeting. "Aurton, servant of master Adalymo Totolymo, owner of Totolymo Munitions. And you are?"

The miqo'te straightened his posture and patted the wand on his hip. "Scorching Talon, of the Ashen Wolves. Here to solve the fishback issue."

The servant looked to the sky and clasped his hands. "Oh, thank the Traders! You must help us retrieve our grenade cores before the saha--"

"Whoa, hold up!" the Ashen Wolf threw his hands out. "Grenade cores!? Shit, I get that you're in the gunpowder business, but enough of those things can level a damn tower if you ain't careful!"

Aurton cleared his throat. "Which is precisely why we can't well leave them in the hands of their scale-skinned thieves. My men here were sailing from Vesper Bay when they were driven from their boats at spear-point. Had to swim their way to shore."

The seeker glanced at the drenched men and thumbed his chin. "Didn't occur to you to maybe take a land route?"

"And get gutted by tolls at Horizon?" The hyur crossed his arms.

One of the sailors, a dunesfolk, shook his head and muttered something obscene. The midlander shot him a look of disdain, and he zipped his lips.

"Tch, tch, tch… you know, I've monkeyed around with a grenade core once or twice." Talon rolled his shoulders, and clapped for the black-haired man's attention. "Whatever those two-legged guppies want with 'em, they must be putting 'em someplace dry. Otherwise the things'll go inert."

The hyur gave one last menacing look to his employee, then rubbed his neck. "The boats my men were on aren't meant for deep-sea travel, actually. It's unlikely they went far with their cargo."

The lalafell perked up. "A-actually, I might know where they are!"

Aurton cocked an eyebrow. "Well… go on then. Daylight's burning."

"Was sorta hopin' there'd be a bonus for telling?" the dunesfolk said with a nervous chuckle.

The servant's mouth went agape, then twisted into a sneer. "Why, yes! The bonus is, you get to keep your godsdamn job, Babayori! Now spill it!"

"A cave! A cave!" A look of terror appeared on the little man's face. "There’s some grottoes in the desert islets off the coast! I steal away to 'em now and again to catch forty winks and I, uh… that is…"

"Ohoho, you filthy little filcher!” The hyur stomped his way toward the dunesfolk. “First you try to shake me down for my own product, then you admit to napping on the job?! Well that's it! Your sorry ass is--"

"Enough!" Talon put himself between the two. "This ain't getting us anywhere. Look… Babayori, right? Can you take me to this cave where you think the sahagin're hiding?" The lalafell nodded emphatically.

The Ashen Wolf turned back to the midlander. "Then how 'bout this: let the little dude take me to the cave, and if I find the cores, we call it a job well done." He then glanced at the small sailor. "Oh, and you keep this schmuck on the payroll."

Aurton's brow twitched. "Keep him? Pah! And just what's your interest in his job security?"

"Can't really say." The mage shrugged back. "Just feelin'... generous. Alternatively, I can leave the same way I came, and you can sort this out yourselves."

A cool breeze rolled through the bazaar. The hyur inhaled, and eyed his employee. "Thank your lucky stars, Baba… you've got a deal, miqo'te. Get going."

The sailor and the seeker began making their way to the pier. With his boss well out of earshot, the dunesfolk spoke up. "Hey… thanks again, mister Talon. My family and I owe you one."

"Ah, don't mention it." the thaumaturge said with a wide smile. "Guy was a friggin' asshole. You've got my deepest sympathies." The pair laughed boisterously as they continued down the dock.

*********************************************

The nauseous scent of fungus and rot yawned out of the pitch-black cave now looming before Talon and Babayori. Just within its mouth were the stolen boats, with their cargo nowhere to be seen.

As the miqo'te began climbing off, the dunesfolk stopped him. "H-hey, just so we're clear, you're not expecting me to go with you, right?"

The thaumaturge gave a halfway grin, and shook his head. "Wasn't countin' on it, no. You just keep the boat here for when I come back with your boss's shit." He then hopped from the boat, conjured a flame for light, and headed in.

The sailor saluted him and nodded. "Come back safe, you hear?"

Deeper within, the pyromancer had to narrow his eyes. The damp air hampered his lightsource, and the skittering of vermin filled his ears. A chill ran down his spine as some unnatural growl echoed all around him.

Hurrying his pace, he stumbled upon a trail of webbed tracks leading to a tight passageway. The mage smelled something putrid coming from the other end, but it was interlaced with the scent of smoke.

"Found you." he said, and ducked into the passage. He anxiously whispered a prayer to Azeyma, and soon found himself in a dry, dimly-lit cavern.

Rotting fish and half-eaten rats littered the ground. Pinching his nose, the Ashen Wolf slowly moved forward until something caught his eye.

Several crates lay at the far end of the room. They smelled like charcoal, and had a faint glow. Talon hurried over and began inspecting them.

Finding nothing suspect, he carefully opened one of the crates. Inside were many densely packed orbs, emanating dry heat. He plucked one out, and gazed into its orange glow with a nostalgic smile. "Bee-youtiful…"

KSSHHHICK!

The thaumaturge screamed as something cold and steely plunged into the base of his back! He fumbled to try and pull whatever it was out, but a slimy foot planted itself on his back and kicked him to the floor!

His wand fell into the dirt beside him. Gritting his teeth, he crawled toward it, but a sudden stomp on his spine held him in place.

A pair of mucus-filled voices hissed above him. "Keep thisss one alive; fear will make its flesh tassstier for brothers!" laughed one voice. "No, no!" growled another. "Sssmoothskin is wielder of fire! Burning, burning! Too dangerousss!"

Talon jerked and wriggled to escape his attacker, but to no avail. He felt the weight shift above him, and could almost sense the sharpened steel hanging above his neck.

At just that moment, the pitter-patter of footsteps could be heard from the cavern's entrance. Babayori's voice echoed out, "You let 'im go, you big ugly whoreson!" The lalafell swung his oar wildly, only for it to thud against the scaly back of a sahagin thrice his size.

The creature let out two irritated grunts, and turned to the little man. In the faint light of the lantern on his hip, the sailor could make out a towering, violet monstrosity, armed with a trident. Most frightening to him, however, were its two hideous heads.

Both of its faces twisted into scowls, and roared at Babayori. He fell to the ground in terror, and crawled back. The abomination stomped toward him, preparing another thrust of its weapon.

FFFOOSH!

An orange flash filled the room. In an instant, a whip made of flame was coiling around the creature's waist, and slithering up its body. It let out a blood-curdling howl, and turned to see Talon propped against the crates, gripping his wand.

With growing fury, the beastman took several heavy steps toward the Ashen Wolf. "These onesss will eat your entrailsss!"

Babayori watched with awe and horror as the thaumaturge pulled out a grenade core and focused on it. When the sahagin had nearly reached him, the glow from the core dimmed into nothing, and the fire-whip burned even brighter.

With a yank of the wand, the coil tightened, searing through the creature's scales before tearing it into a pile of smoking chunks.

As the scent of charred flesh filled the room, the miqo’te fell to the ground and rolled onto his back. Through harsh breaths, he beckoned, "Good… work, Baba… n-now… c'mere…"

The lalafell rushed to his side, and began inspecting him for any visible injuries.

"W-wait. First… left pocket… yellow vial. Need it…" Talon shut his eyes, and felt a bitter liquid pour into his mouth. Swallowing it all, he sat up. "Alright… better. Now, I need your help to patch my wounds, but after that, we get those crates and get moving. Two hauls should be enough."

The dunesfolk's eyes widened as he poured a canteen over a makeshift binding. "Two hauls? After all that? Are you trying to kill yourself?"

The seeker's brow twitched, and he barked back. "I'm not sticking around for that… thing's friends to show up. And I'm definitely not leaving them their plunder!"

He then lifted his shirt, and cringed as a whiskey-soaked cloth was used to bind his wounds. "Fuckin' circus freak… what in the hells were these guys doing playing with that much firepower, anyway?"

"Nothing good, I'm sure." Babayori replied as he rummaged through the thaumaturge's pack. "But at least you helped stop 'em, huh?"

"No." The pyromancer grabbed the sailor's hand when he was offered a potion. "We helped stop 'em."

[shhhlikeme]

Hi there!! Welcome to the writing committee! I just wanted to say you’re so beautiful and i love what you’re doing so far! Here’s a request for you, maybe with Bokuto where him and his girlfriend sneak out for a late night snack. Thank you so much and keep it up 😊

Thank you so much babe it means a lot! 😘 Bokuto is a jewel omg. Hope this suffices!

————————————————

Bokuto & Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’

Bokuto x Reader

——————————————

“So, your code name is ‘Sexy Thighs’. And mine is ‘Thigh Guy 6000.’” Your boyfriend Bokuto whispered seriously. He easily lifted you through your ground-floor bedroom window to join him outside.

Your heart was racing due to the slight adrenaline rush. You clung to his strong arms until your feet met the ground of your backyard. You turned and stuck an arm through your window so you could cover the open space with a pillow. You had to leave the window open so you could crawl back in upon return.

“I agreed to sneak out but I draw the line at cheesy code names—“ You whispered back to him. You dusted off your outfit and finally looked up at your sulking boyfriend. Immediately, you caved.

“Fine. We can use code names.” You whispered.

A wide smile crept up on his face and he lifted both of his arms in the air in triumph. “HEY! HEY! HEY! Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ has officially commenced!”

“Shhhhhhhhhhh!” You swatted your boyfriend on the arm when he whisper-yelled his famous battle cry, glaring at him to quiet down.

You loved him, but he was sooooo loud all the time sometimes.

Bokuto nodded and grabbed your hand. Holding it tightly, he crouched down by the side of your window as he motioned for you to crouch down too.

Humouring him, you did. You followed him as he glued the side of his body to the side of your house and stealthily tip toed over to the end of the brick.

“I’m going to check if the coast is clear, and on my word we make a run for it. Got it?”

You stared up at your boyfriend in the dark and only now realized he was decked out in all black, including a black beanie that covered his familiar grey and black hair. God he’s dramatic. But you had to admit he looked super cute since his handsome face stood out more without the visuals of his unique hair. You gave him a nod letting him know you were listening to him. ‘Go.’ You mouthed.

Bokuto proceeded to peer around the corner like he was in a Spy Kids movie. He leaned slightly to check but he must have seen something because he quietly gasped and whipped his body back behind the wall. He shut his eyes in fear. In an instant, his arm jutted out in front of you like a shield, pushing you flesh against the wall too in an act of protection. You panicked.

“What?!” You whisper-yelled. “What is it Bokuto?! Do you see someone???” Your life flashed before your eyes because if your mom or dad caught you sneaking out you were DEAD dead. Bokuto didn’t respond.

“Bokuto! Who is there???”

Your boyfriend stuck his nose up in the air, turning away from you in a dismissive pout. He was purposely ignoring you.

You sighed in exasperation, pinching your nose and closing your eyes. “Boku—“

“That’s not my name.” He snapped in a whisper. He shook his head childishly.

You grit your teeth together to keep yourself from stomping on his foot. “Okay. I’m sorry, Bokut—I mean: Thigh Guy three thousand–“

“Six thousand!” He corrected you.

“Thigh Guy 6000.”

You watched Bokuto’s pout transform into an ecstatic smile. You continued. “Did you see someone over there?”

He looked down at you. “Oh.....no. I was just practicing my protection pose in case I did.”

You swat him harder on the arm than the last time and he winced.

“You know, for such a small chick you are really strong.” He rubbed where you hit him.

“Poor baby.” You whispered sarcastically. “And can I just add that you don’t need to practice a protection pose for me— if my parents really were there it’s you that would need to run for your life.”

Bokuto chuckled quietly. “Sexy Thighs, need I remind you that I’m one of the Top 5 Ace’s in the Country? I think I can handle a little dash of strict parents.....”

You rolled your eyes at your conceited boy even though he couldn’t see it in the dark at 1:30am.

You watched as he peered over the edge of your house again.

“The coast is clear, Sexy Thighs. We ride east at 0600 hours.”

“We’re going west, and that’s not how military time work—“

Your boyfriend interrupted you. “Let me live, will you?! Let’s go.”

Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ phase one: Escape was a success ✅

You and Bokuto were able to walk downtown easily in the cool night. Summer was transitioning to fall so it wasn’t cold enough for a jacket, but it definitely wasn’t warm enough for a t-shirt. Your boyfriend looked very attractive in a his hoodie, shorts and beanie while you settled for a skin tight blue thermal zip-up, and black lululemons.

Bokuto loved when you wore leggings for obvious reasons.... and he couldn’t resist smacking your ass a dozen or so times in the 15 minute walk downtown.

Barely anyone was on the street on your peaceful night walk

You both loved it. The night sky, the quiet, the fact that you felt safe pressed against your man and he felt elated whenever he got to see his girlfriend outside of your parents’ strict ‘boyfriend time’ hours

Once you both got downtown it was flooding with College Student’s leaving the bars. It was very loud and bustling

Bokuto anxiously looked around to check if the coast was clear and you were far enough from your house so he could,

“Hey! Hey! Heeeey!” He exclaimed to no one in particular. People looked at the crazy boy screaming and you put your head down from embarrassment. “Man.” He smiled. “I hated whispering that before. So I had to.”

Bokuto took your hand in his again and pulled you in the direction of the food stands.

On the way, unfortunately, you were cat-called and whistled at quite a bit by obnoxious drunk college boys leaving the clubs

Bokuto gripped your hand tighter

He wanted to rip their faces off but he knew he couldn’t risk going to jail tonight or getting you caught by your parents

He just held you closer to him and shot death glares at the guys who backed off

You loved him omg

Past the clubs, Bokuto practically skipped to a stop in a food truck line. He was smiling again and you couldn’t help but smile too

His energy was so infectious

You asked him what food you two were getting and he just told you it was a surprise and to trust the process

Bokuto was so happy to be with you he could barely contain himself. He was bursting at the seams at the fact that you actually agreed to sneak out with him. His parents were the opposite of yours and it was hard to date you when yours had such strong restrictions but he would do anything if it meant spending time with you.

In the line, he leaned down to pick you up so you both were face-to-face

“I love you, Sexy Thighs. Y’know that right?”

You squealed when he picked you up but melted at his words. You kissed his nose.

“I love you more..” You smiled.

“You love me more, what?” He waited.

“I love you more, Thigh Guy 6000. Now put me down.”

He didn’t listen to you and kept you propped up in his arms as the line started moving forward. He loved having you flushed against him like this. The guys that were cat calling you would know that you were his, and It also gave him a handful of your amazing ass.

To bystanders, the public display of affection wasn’t even that odd — you two just looked like a young couple that are very much in love

Which is true

You rested your head in the crook of your boyfriends warm neck. As much as you hated when he showed a mass amount of PDA, you were so comfortable and happy in his arms. You nuzzled into the neck and absentmindedly placed soft kisses there.

“Sexy Thighs....” Bokuto warned, holding back a groan. “You know what that does to me....”

you pulled your lips away from his neck.

“Sorry. Habit.”

Now at the front of the food stand line, Bokuto used his one strong arm to support your weight and used the other to point to the menu. You could hear him ordering

“Can we please get a number 2, a number 8, another number 2, and a number 11. Oh, and two hot chocolates please. One with extra marshmallows.”

You smiled. You’ve only mentioned that once in passing and he remembered you were a simp for hot chocolate with extra marshmallows.

He paid. 5 minutes later you heard who must be the food truck worker say,

“Here you go sir.”

Bokuto reluctantly had to put you down to collect his order.

You saw him thank the worker exuberantly and drop a great tip into the the tip jar. The worker thanked him profusely.

That’s one thing you loved about your boyfriend—his attitude was literally addicting and it spread to anyone he was near

He took your hand again and walked you to the river that was close to downtown. You noted that there were other couples here, holding hands, stargazing and talking. Bokuto found an empty bench and you both sat down

“Babe, you cold? You want my sweater?”

You shook your head. You felt absolutely fine and the hot chocolate made you feel even better. He was such a softie, always worried about you. It made you feel like royalty, honestly.

“I’m perfect.”

He smiled before unpacking the bag of late night snacks. You looked down at everything that was displayed in front of you.

You saw churros, deep friend oreo, a deep fried mars bar and caramel corn. Your favourites.

You smiled at him before leaping up to hug him. He chuckled again and ran a hand down your back.

“We don’t have a lot of time, Sexy Thighs. Your parents usually check on you at some point so we should hurry.”

Nodding, you kissed his cheek and turned your attention back to the snacks. You fed eachother and ate as much as you could until the sweets were too much.

You thanked your heaven sent bf again as you threw out all the leftovers.

You were on cloud nine it was an amazing date !!!!

Well, most of it. Bokuto tried feeding the churros to the birds who would not eat it lol

When you realized it was almost 3am the two of you rushed back to your house

Bokuto almost immediately went back into Spy Kids mode and even did a front roll to land in front of your bedroom window again.

You clasped a hand over your mouth so no one could hear you giggle.

Bokuto looked backs at you expectantly.

Knowing what he was silently asking for, you threw caution and your dignity to the wind and copied his somersault to land beside him

You beamed at eachother before Bokuto fixed your disheveled hair and leaned in kiss you—

Suddenly you were interrupted by hearing your bedroom door swing open

The two of you froze in terror as you listened to your fathers voice from outside of the bedroom window

He sounded like it was speaking from your door entryway

You both covered each other’s mouths with your hands.

“She’s dead asleep, honey.” Muttered your father tiredly. “She has the covers over her entire body like she used to do when she was a kid. She must be really tired.”

Then you heard the click of your door that signalled it was closed again.

Since you couldn’t move, Bokuto checked for you. He sighed in relief and only then did you let out the breath you’ve been holding in.

“Sexy Thighs, you are brilliant. How did you think to put pillows in your place on the bed?”

You told him you saw it in a movie and he looked at you like you were a superstar

Bokuto helped you back up into your window silently

You thanked him and you both leaned through the opening to kiss eachother goodnight.

“So I guess Operation: ‘Sneak My Girlfriend Out of Her Strict Parents House for Late Night Snacks’ was a success, huh?” He whispered onto your lips, leaning in for another kiss. He really didn’t want to leave. “I can’t wait until we move into together, Y/N. We could do this all the time.”

You smiled lovingly, kissing your boyfriends nose again. “I can’t wait either. And I also can’t wait until your next mission, Mr. Sexy Thighs 6000.”

Bokuto’s eyes lit up. “Really? Have I corrupted you?” He smirked when you mouthed ‘maybe.’

“Well I’m glad to hear that you don’t mind being my partner in crime because my next mission is called Operation: Send Your Boyfriend a Booty Pic in your Panties Because He Loves Those Leggings on You And He Wants To—“

You interrupt him with one more chaste kiss. “Goodnight, Bokuto.”

As you shut the window you can hear your boyfriend whisper-yell: “You know if you want to keep calling me ‘Sexy Thighs 6000’ I won’t complain!”

You blew a kiss his way and waved to your boyfriend through the window before shooing him away.

He salutes and you laugh as you watch him stealthily somersault out of your view.

[iatethepomegranate]

We are not alone in the dark with our demons, Chapter 7

In which Caleb buys a house in Rexxentrum with Beau and Yasha, becomes a professor, is loved a lot by the Nein (including lots of Shadowgast in most chapters), and fights to protect vulnerable people from going through what he did.

Chapter summary: Time is of the essence. Caleb cannot let it end this way. He will not let more lives be ruined by Trent Ikithon.

Notes: CW: Caleb's backstory but REALLY BAD, references to child abuse, vomiting

More detailed warnings and a chapter summary can be found in the end notes on AO3.

If you need to skip, you can probably read up to Caleb telling Beau to use Step of the Wind. There is a reference to past child abuse a few lines above that. If that's an issue, stop reading as soon as Caleb flags down a villager.

Chapter title is from Eight by Sleeping At Last again.

****

Chapter 7: For the innocent, for the vulnerable, I'll show up on the front lines with a purpose

They landed. The stormclouds were heavy overhead. Caleb hadn’t witnessed a storm in Blumenthal for a long time, and it disoriented him.

“Caleb, which way’s north?” asked Beauregard.

He grounded himself, breathed, pointed. Beauregard angled herself in a northeastern direction and started off. He followed close behind; Astrid and Wulf were half a step behind him on either side.

Caduceus had mentioned an orchard. Caleb had his head on a swivel, but he couldn’t see any fruit trees. And the buildings seemed slightly… off.

Oh. Oh no.

Caleb felt sick.

“Wait,” said Astrid. “We’re in the wrong place.”

Caleb held himself very still, silently counting eins, zwei, drei, fier, fünf… “Okay.” He breathed deeply. “Around me, please.”

Of all the times for a teleport to send them off-target. He wanted to scream, but instead, he focused hard on every little detail Caduceus had provided. And he cast again.

Again, they landed. The orchard trees were in sight. Caleb pointed them in the right direction again. The road was muddy, squelching as they ran. There were a handful of people still in the street, making last-minute preparations for the storm, and they definitely looked askance at a group of (somewhat) strangers tearing down the street.

“Astrid, what’s the name of the family?” asked Caleb.

“Baumann.”

Caleb caught the nearest villager who didn’t look too freaked out, switching to Zemnian. “Excuse me. My name is Caleb Widogast. I am a teacher at Soltryce Academy. We are looking for the Baumann family.”

The man he had stopped looked him up and down for far longer than Caleb could stand under the circumstances. “What’s your business?”

“We need to discuss Nico’s tuition this year,” said Astrid. “He was set to graduate, but the seniors may need additional support after the departure of Master Ikithon.” She held out her hand. “Archmage Astrid Beck. I am Ikithon’s replacement.”

“All right. What’s the rush?”

Caleb sighed, because he had to let something out. “I had not wanted to speak of this in public, but if we must… Master Ikithon was arrested a few months ago for abusing his students. Nico and Felix have been missing since just before the arrest. We have located Felix, but we have concerns about Nico. This is time-sensitive.”

“This Master Ikithon did something to the boys?” The man’s face didn’t give much away, but he pointed down the street. “Head to the end of the road, turn right, and keep going until you see the house with the cabbage patch.”

“Thank you.”

They ran. That had taken far too much time. Caleb should have been pulled the abusive teacher card from the beginning. Fuck.

“Beauregard, Step of the Wind? We three can fly.”

“Got it.”

Caleb, Wulf and Astrid cast Fly on themselves, and Beau began to fucking book it. She was technically faster than them, even with flight, but she only pulled a little ahead. If they were too late, there wasn’t much she could do alone.

There was an odd scent in the air. Caleb wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, until Beau yelled over her shoulder, “I smell smoke!”

They turned the corner and pushed onwards, and soon it became clear looking for cabbages was the least of their problems. There was a house on fire.

Time stretched, before Caleb breathed and it snapped like a bowstring. They were coming up fast, and there was barely any more time to think.

“Wulf, find the boy,” Caleb said. “We’ll get inside.”

“I see him.” Wulf broke off towards a barn, where there was a young man half-hidden, staring at the flames. There was no time to determine his condition; that had to be up to Wulf.

They reached the house. There was a thick plank of wood jammed against the door handle. Caleb cast Telekinesis, threw it out of the way.

Beau charged ahead.

“Wait!”

Beau stopped. Caleb used the spell to throw the door open, and there was an explosion of flame outward, which would have hurt. Belatedly, rushing to open the door may have been a mistake, but there was no time to think about it. They raced inside and crouched low, coughing from the smoke. They could barely see, aside from flickers of orange light all around them. The heat was unbearable.

“I’ll start on the fire,” said Astrid, throwing out a Ray of Frost at the staircase. Aside from the roaring of the flames, there were not the noises Caleb could remember. It was almost… too quiet.

Beau got out her fan. “Split up?”

“I’ll go upstairs.” It would be safer for him to go. He could control the flames better than she could with her limited-use fan, or her Belabour. Best to keep her close to Astrid. “Be careful of backdrafts.”

She punched his shoulder and crawled deeper into the house, while Caleb ducked towards the staircase he could barely see through the thick smoke. Nico must have expended most of his spells to have burned the house this quickly.

Caleb had to douse and climb over a fallen beam to get up the stairs, pulling his shirt over his mouth and nose for a bit of protection. He could not shake his dread.

The smoke was thicker upstairs. Caleb’s eyes watered. He tamped down what flames he could see with his Control Flames cantrip. His hand found a doorframe. Door open, no backdraft risk. He peeked inside, squinting against the roiling smoke. But he couldn’t see far enough for just a glance. He cast Control Flames again, pushing down as much flame as he could.

He crawled inside the room, his hands quickly finding the frame of a single bed. Probably Nico’s. He felt around for a moment longer to be sure, but it was unlikely anyone was here. He moved on, coughing hard enough to tear his throat. His eyes streamed from the smoke. He cast again. But it would take time for the smoke to clear, even as the flames slowly dwindled around him.

Caleb crawled down the hallway, finding another doorframe. Felt for the door. Closed. Rested the back of his hand against it. Hot. Opening it was too risky without improving the conditions up here. Even if he was safely away from the backdraft by using telekinesis, if someone was on the other side of the door, they could get hurt.

Caleb aimed a Disintegrate spell for the ceiling above him and hoped it would punch a hole all the way through. Memories of what to do in a fire were slowly filtering through his scattered mind. Vertical ventilation mattered in a building fire.

He let the spell loose, and it punched a hole the size of Caleb’s head all the way into the sky. A horrible thought occurred to him, even as smoke began to escape and oxygen equalise, slow as it was.

Caleb knew a lot about fire. In a situation where a backdraft was possible, it was highly unlikely to find survivors. Caleb tamped down the flames around him again, which had grown with the presence of more oxygen.

Then he stepped back and Disintegrated the door, taking a huge chunk of it away. He kicked the jagged remains open and crawled into the room. Control Flames once more.

He reached out, and found a shape on the floor. Edged closer. A hand. Blackened. It twitched, and then fell still. Caleb gently felt the wrist for a pulse. Couldn’t find one.

He edged around the charred body, and found a second one. There were no discernible features left. Just a vague human shape, burned to a crisp.

Caleb flung out his Control Flames cantrip again, dousing the flames in the room. Then, he pulled out his copper wire. “Beauregard, call off the search. They are dead. Get outside. Astrid and I will finish putting it out.”

Beauregard’s reply was instant, raspy. “Okay. I’ll check on Eadwulf. Don’t take too long.”

Caleb was thankful she didn’t say anything else. He kept working his way through the upper floor, snuffing the flames until all that remained was smoke slowly curling towards the hole in the roof. His throat was raw from coughing. Fire gone, he opened all the windows he could find to help ventilate the building and make it safer for Astrid downstairs.

He found her in the kitchen, icing the flames over. “I heard.” Her voice was equally shredded.

Caleb wordlessly helped her put the rest of the flames out. They stepped out of the house. Beauregard had reached Wulf by now, who was kneeling in the grass, cradling Nicolaus.

They approached. Nico’s eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and he lay limp in Wulf’s arms. Astrid twitched.

“He got a little aggressive, but I handled it,” said Wulf. “Now he’s…” He looked up at Caleb. “Like you were.”

A muscle was working in Beauregard’s jaw, but whatever was on her mind, she said something else. “Take me back to the office and bring Caduceus. I’ll watch Felix.”

“Astrid,” Caleb said flatly, “do you have any teleports left?”

“Ja.” She approached Beauregard, moving stiffly. “I’ll be back.” She and Beauregard vanished.

Wulf gazed up at Caleb, his face serious but giving little away as it often did. “Lionett told me what you said.”

Caleb took a deep breath, which itched terribly, forcing him to cough again. “We have one thing left to try. It’s… a long shot.” He knelt in front of Nico, who did not react to his presence. “Do you…” He coughed again. “In your experience with me, do you know if he might…”

“You would sometimes react to things,” said Wulf. “Not often. I don’t know if you could make sense of anything we said. Astrid said you don’t remember anything?”

“I do not.” Caleb sighed; if there was even the slightest chance Nico could hear them, he had to say something. He switched to Zemnian, in case that would be easier for him to process on the off-chance he heard anything. “Nico, my name is Caleb, or Bren. Either is fine. I know you are not well at the moment, but we are going to help you. I promise we will help you.”

There was no reaction. Caleb hadn’t really expected one. Wulf certainly hadn’t. They caught each other’s eyes again over Nico’s head. Wulf’s expression cracked, just a tiny bit. Caleb breathed deep, and Wulf did the same.

Caleb coughed again. Breathing really hurt.

Astrid appeared with Caduceus a few feet away.

Caleb got up, every part of him aching. His fingers were blistered. “Caduceus, let us walk and talk.”

“You do not have to go back in there,” Astrid said.

“I know. I am choosing to go.” Caleb pulled his Transmuter’s Stone from his pocket. “I have a trick I want to try.”

Her eyes fell to the ground. “All right.”

Caleb turned back to the house. Blackened. Smoking. But the flames were gone. He led Caduceus across the ash-spotted grass.

“Beau said it was bad,” said Caduceus.

“It is bad.” Caleb cleared his throat, painfully. “Will you be all right here?”

Caduceus nodded. “We both know I’m not the one to worry about.” He cast a low-level Cure Wounds on Caleb as they walked, and his throat and fingers felt a bit better.

Caleb went through the front door first. A fair amount of smoke had cleared by now, but the acrid scent of burnt wood remained. They headed up the stairs; Caleb used Telekinesis to move the fallen beams.

Light streamed into the upstairs from the opened windows and the hole in the roof. Caduceus looked up at the hole.

“Huh. You did that?”

“Vertical ventilation reduces backdraft risk.” Caleb led Caduceus to the second bedroom. Now that enough smoke had cleared out, he could see the reality of the room, the blackened double bed, compromised dresser, scorched mirror, the two charred human bodies on the floor, closer to the door than he had realised. And a very familiar stench of burned flesh.

Caleb swallowed against nausea, and knelt beside the smaller of the two bodies. “I can try to Raise Dead with my stone. Like Molly. I can only do it once.”

Caduceus knelt beside the larger body, taking in the damage. “Caleb.” He was about to tell Caleb how bad the chances were that they could fix this, and he really really could not handle hearing that from him. Him specifically. Caleb could not afford to break. Not yet.

“I know.” Caleb placed his stone on the woman’s chest. He had researched the Raise Dead spell since figuring out he could use his stone in this way. He knew the spell could close all mortal wounds, but would not replace body parts or organs integral to survival. If the Baumanns had died from smoke inhalation, this would have a higher chance of success. In this state…

Unlikely. But he needed to try. Caleb poured magic into the stone. Beside him, Caduceus placed a large diamond on the other body’s chest and prayed softly to the Wildmother.

Caleb’s stone shattered, and he could feel for just a moment a catch of something. Like he had snagged the corner of the woman’s soul.

“Frau Baumann,” he muttered. “I don’t know if we knew each other when we were children. My name was Bren Ermendrud, and I am here to help your son. He needs you. And this does not have to be your end. The world will be much poorer without you in it.”

The stone glowed, and he felt the soul drifting, snagged by the spell. For a moment, the soul seemed to dip, like it wanted to return. And then, as the stone shattered, it drifted away. He tried to grasp for it, but it slipped through his magic. And then it was gone.

The body was still just a body. There was not enough left of her for him to even recognise. The air was empty. Or maybe there wasn’t any air.

Caduceus sat back, shaking blackened dust of the destroyed diamond from his fingers, and raised his eyes to the window opposite them. “Wildmother, a terrible tragedy has happened here today. This is not the natural way of things. I know this is a huge ask, but… we would like to have these people back.” He waited. A full sixty seconds passed. Nothing changed. He sighed. “I’m sorry, Caleb.”

It was done. They had tried everything they could. And everything had failed.

The nausea crashed over Caleb once again. He tried to breathe, and smelled burnt flesh. He shoved a hand over his nose and mouth, swallowing hard.

Caduceus pulled him to his feet. “Let’s step outside.” He led Caleb out of the room, down the stairs, out the front door.

Caleb gulped the fresh air down. “Go to the others. I… need a… moment.”

Caduceus squeezed his shoulder and approached the barn, where a crowd was beginning to gather. Caleb walked, tightly-controlled, around the side of the house, just out of sight, and threw up on the grass. Wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. Banged the side of his fist against the charred wood until he could think again.

Then he straightened, rolled back his shoulders, and approached the slowly-building clump of people.

Caduceus was doing most of the talking, with some input from a tense Astrid. Wulf had stood up, carrying Nico, who was still unresponsive. They were all out of teleportation spells, but Caleb had brought enough chalk and ink to draw a circle to the archives.

“All right,” Caduceus was saying. “We are going to take Nicolaus to Rexxentrum for care. I think we’re all a bit out of it after all of this.”

“Our gravekeeper will take care of the Baumanns,” said an older man, who Caleb recognised as the mayor. He’d avoided speaking to him last time he visited, so he had managed to not learn his name. “You take care of Nico, and send us updates as you can.”

“That can be arranged,” Astrid said, businesslike. “Thank you.”

“I’ll start drawing a circle to Rexxentrum,” Caleb said quietly. “May I use the barn? The chalk will vanish once we are gone.”

The mayor shrugged. “I suppose.”

Caleb stepped into the barn and cleared a ten-foot circle of hay so he could draw directly on the clay. “High Curator. It’s Caleb. May I bring Astrid and Eadwulf through the Rexxentrum circle? We will have Caduceus and a sick young man with us.”

“Hello, Professor. You may do that. If you are able to update me on your search on your way through, please do.”

Caleb would probably vomit again if he had to talk about it, but Caduceus could get the point across, probably. He knelt on the floor and began to draw the circle, honing down his focus so all he thought about was the next stroke of chalk and ink, and the specific detailing for the Rexxentrum Archives.

The others entered the barn seven minutes and thirty-two seconds into the drawing. “Caduceus, can you Send to Beauregard?”

“Can do,” Caduceus replied. “Hey. We’re coming through the Archives soon.” A pause. “She says she’s gotten Felix settled in a dormitory and is headed home to prepare for our arrival.”

“We should keep Nicolaus away from the Assembly, ja,” Astrid said quietly. “Until we think of something.”

“I have a spell for this, I think. Better to get away from here first.”

“Yudala wants an update on our way,” Caleb said.

“I’ll take care of it,” said Caduceus.

Caleb finished the last few strokes of the circle in silence. It came alight, and they stepped through.

He had to fight back the nausea again once they landed. Caduceus steadied him with a hand on his shoulder. Yudala entered the circle chamber, taking in the ash-covered group and the catatonic boy in Wulf’s arms.

“The monks have informed me the other boy is safe,” they said. “Is this as bad as it looks?”

“It is,” Caduceus replied.

“Very well.” Yudala looked at Caleb specifically; they were smart enough and had enough access to Caleb’s past specifically to put it all together. “We’ll talk later. You all look exhausted.” They turned to Astrid. “I will send a formal invitation in due time.”

“We’ll see how much it panics the Martinet first,” Astrid said without inflection.

“I have my ways around him if need be.” Yudala led them through the archive personally, letting them out into the overcast afternoon. The storm was on its way here. “Get some rest. You have earned it.”

[freshneverfrozen]

Tincture - Chapter One

Or, the one where your author lets us do what Ubisoft wouldn’t. Also, the tropey one.

When her home is burned by a mad Dane, a healer must decide if her fate lies with forgiveness or revenge. 

I’m back from the dead to inflict on you all an AC Vahalla Reader fic literally no one is asking for. Is it Reader/Ivarr? Reader/Basim? Reader/Hytham? Who knows? No, like seriously, I don’t know.

Multi-chapter Fic

Pairing: Reader +...uh, Ivarr? You expect me to choose?

Rating: M for mmm, slow burn erotica.

On AO3:

Part One, Two

........................

CHAPTER ONE:

Snow burns. No one had ever told you. It is a scalding cold that stiffens your bones and cracks your teeth, and you are glad the moment the last flurries are behind you.

The people whose company you learn to keep are never as bothered by the snow as you. Their eyes shine like ice and their faces are shadowed and grim. They had not taken to you easily, a foreigner like them, but unlike them, you did not earn your place through rended flesh and broken bones.

You mend their flesh. You set their bones.

Eventually, they began to call you something other than ‘troll’ and ‘witch’. Eventually, your hut is traded for a slant-framed house at the edge of a village that survives both Saxons and Danes. 

‘Healer’ they call you, and it’s just as well. You left your name behind in a faraway place. 

You count a spring with them and then a summer. But just as the north-country snow melts, time changes all things.

One gray morning, when the mists are heavy over the moors, something besides the creeping cold wakes you. Wood creaks under a layer of furs as you sit up in your bed, rubbing sleep from your eyes and straining to hear again what drew you from sleep.

There is only yawning silence. It stretches past the walls of your house and over the hills. Beyond your walls, the wind is still, the farm animals not yet restless, and the corner fire is long dead past the comfort of crackling embers. 

No, you realize. It has not been noise that has awoken you.

A feeling swirls in your gut. That’s it. A pack-and-run instinct that you have trusted before. And just that simply, it occurs to you that life here is over. You can rebuild. But you must first survive.

‘Witch,’ they once called you. ‘Uncanny’ would be closer to the truth.

The floor is chilly beneath your bare feet as you slip from your bed. You grab nothing, not food, nor tincture. With a hand to the cord that holds the small draw-string pouch around your neck, you know you will have only a few pieces of silver. That, and your life, will be enough.

You have felt this feeling before. This knowing.

You take only your dark woolen cloak from the back of a chair and, wrapping it around your shoulders, you peek past the hung sail-cloth that serves as a door and out into the foggy blue of early morn. 

Quiet. Still. A calm before a storm.

Yes. You know this feeling. 

You melt from the shadows of your home, around the side and between the stables and granary. You know the families. Saxons on one side, Danes on the other. One has children. The other an elderly mother. She had been the first in this place to call you ‘healer’ when you eased the ache in her old bones. 

Silently, you move on swift steps until cold mud from the cart path gives way to tall grass that stings your feet. There, you crouch. You move a little further and listen for nothing. The further you go, the more guilt turns your stomach. So many are still asleep in their beds. You are their healer.

But you cannot save them. 

Near the edge of the field stands an ancient oak, out of place and far from its brethren in the forests to the east. It stands among the high grass, a field’s width from the village. You lower yourself against the gnarled base, settling down until all can see of the village are the plumes of smoke from the hearth fires drifting into the sky. Your feet are chilled to numbness, caked in mud and grit, but your hands shake too badly to massage the feeling back into them. 

Instead, you wait, and you exhale your breath between your knees so that it does not rise above the grass. 

And you do not flinch when the first of the battle cries pierce the air. You had known they were coming. Danes. Different from the peaceful breed settled here. 

Screams follow smoke, and then follows the wafting scent of blood and shit on the wind.

You had known.

You sink lower against the tree and in an awful moment, wish that you might freeze. When the wishing is unanswered, you try not to listen as the screams grow fewer and farther between. The terror of the butchered turns to gleeful cries from the invaders. How long has it taken? The sun has yet to clear the sky. Another sacking done in England. Danes killing Danes, killing Saxons, killing all. But not you. Not yet.

And then you hear it.

A sound separates itself from the victory din. It begins as a rustling through the grass, not soft as your steps had been, but moving quickly and toward you. A wayward Dane? A survivor?

Lie still, you demand of yourself as your muscles seize on instinct. You press yourself deeper into the dirt. A fool would run. A dead fool. Whatever comes, it cannot know you have hidden yourself here, tucked yourself away amid the roots and reeds.

A set of shoulders and a dark head above them glade over the tall grass. He is a Dane. You can smell the blood on him, see the gleam of it against the shaved side of his scalp. At his nearness, your heart pounds until it rattles your teeth, but you do not take your eyes from him. If he spots you, and only then, you will run. It will be the death of you.

But he cannot see you. Not here. But even as you think them, those thoughts sound like lies.

The Dane curses, and it is then that you hear the slosh of liquid against clay walls. His steps are burdened. Carrying something. He shakes the bulk in his arms and you hear the splatter of something wet over grass and smell the cloying scent of oil and pitch.

They mean to burn the fields.

And you with them.

Why harvest, when you can ransack? Why spare lives, when it is easier to take gold from a corpse? 

You are a healer, but you would kill them all if you could. 

The Dane moves off, his back to you now. His shoulders are slim, his body lightly armored. If you run, there is every likelihood this one will overtake you. But you cannot wait, not as you hear him call out in his rough language for fire. A torch. You will have to slip away or face certain death in this snare.

You shift, quiet as a hare in the underbrush, and begin to move eastward. Wet ground seeps into the thin fabric of the under-dress you had escaped in, but you ignore the spreading damp against your chest as you crawl. The sound of a horse’s braying and the noise of hooves through grass drives you forward. You know without looking that someone has brought the Dane his torch.

The crack of a mad laugh sets your teeth to grinding. The Dane shouts, “Let the ravens pick their fill through the smoke!” 

“Careful that you do not burn with the fields, Ivarr,” says another voice, too full of reason to earn anything other than ridicule.

The Dane laughs again and soon, the rush of fire catching fuel overtakes the sound of him. It spreads and crackles at your back, wind carrying the heat, carrying the flame. Toward you. 

You’ve no choice but to run now. 

You’re going to die after all. By fire or the swing of an axe, it doesn’t matter. Dead is dead. Perhaps, this is punishment for leaving the others unwarned. If that is so, you are cut by the bitter thought that the divine has been swift in retribution.

Heat licks at your calves sooner than you expect and you push to your feet. The forest is a league away, over crag and hill and the sludge of the moors. You will never outrun them. But perhaps the flame and smoke will hide you  -- 

“Aha! Look there! One last sheep left to gut!” The bark of the Dane drives the breath from you. “Give me your horse!”

“But Ivarr -- “

A snarl from the Dane is all you hear before the noise of your bare feet beating over grass drowns out the rest. The moors. You need only make it to the moors and then the muck and hollows will slow him. 

With a gasp of relief, you clear the field, legs burning and catching beneath a skirt heavy with mud. Another small hill lies ahead, this one rocky with moss-covered stones. You dart up the first slope, casting yourself over one rock just as you hear the thundering of hooves nearing. 

The Dane laughs, a hollow, delirious sound that you have heard before from madmen you could not cure. You glance back, your eyes drawn to the sheen of teeth. His is a gruesome smile, crooked and jagged like a jack o’ lantern on Samhain. Fear boils away the cold as you register just how near he is, and you spot a hand sweeping at you from the back of a dappled horse.

“Where will you go, foxling?” he jeers. “Run! Run faster! This is no chase!”

A protesting snort from the horse ruffles your hair as you near the top of the hill. The beast proves a blessing, and you throw yourself from its path just as the Dane reaches for you again. With curse, he flails at the air, and before he can turn his mount, you are struck with an idea. 

Instinct has always served you well and as it beckons, you listen. Leaping with a snarled cry, you catch hold of the Dane’s outstretched arm. Your weight and the momentum of the horse unseats him and for a moment, a very brief one, your eyes lock with his. They widen, surprise sparking behind the wild blue of them, and in the instant before he falls, you think you see a grin turn his lips. 

He strikes the ground with a thud, crying out as the horse’s hooves catch his legs. You leap over his body as it rolls, your fingers twisting into the mane of the horse. One bound and then another, and you find your purchase, swinging yourself up into the saddle. You look back over your shoulder, eyes narrowing in focus on the Dane as the horse rocks beneath you. He staggers to his feet, yards away now, and he laughs.

“Well done, little fox! Run, while I catch my breath!”

His laughs grow louder, wilder, and when you turn from him, you dare not look back again.

.

………………………………………

.

There might as well be snow. 

English nights are cold when spent in nothing but a damp shift and cloak. The horse, at least, makes good company. The village is three nights behind you now, three nights that you feel in your empty belly. On the first, you had not slept, fearing the mad Dane would appear from the shadows. The second had passed in the cradle of old ruins. The third, you had found an abandoned home.

Now, with morning blooming outside, you saddle the horse, a mare whose name you do not know. You had spent the night considering names for her, to replace whatever the Danes called her, if it had been anything at all, but in the end, you decided on nothing. You’ve little fondness for all the names given to you, so you will not do the same to her.

She is simply the mare, as anonymous as her rider.

A starving rider, you think grimly as you swing into the saddle, with your stomach growling to remind you that wild raspberries do not take the place of bread and mutton. 

“Will you share your grass?” you ask the mare as you lean forward to scratch between her ears. “You do not seem as starved as I.”

She snorts as though to say too late, and with a glance at the earth below, you see that she has eaten the greenery to nothing.

Muttering through a smile, you say, “Ah, payment for saving my hide. I understand.”

A half-day’s ride brings rain. You pull your cloak tighter around yourself and take solace in knowing bad weather means fewer travelers, and fewer travelers mean less likelihood of bandits. It is by that reasoning alone that you are surprised to see two figures crest the hilltop ahead. Both ride horses of their own and as they near, you cannot make out their faces for the sodden white hoods they wear.

Better unfriendly than dead, you adjust your own hood, and hunker lower over the saddle. You guide the mare off the path to make way for the riders. Monks? They look like men of the Cloth, perhaps on their way to one of the Saxon holdings. If so, they are riding into Dane territory. 

But that is their problem, not yours.

Your teeth grit as one slows his horse as they pass. 

“Traveler,” he says, his accent strange, as foreign as yours. “Is it this way to Fremdeleigh?”

Fremdeleigh is ash and ember now.

In your hesitation to speak, you cut your eyes upward beneath the edge of your hood. Looking at the man, a length of curling dark hair falls about a dark, trimmed beard. More than that, you cannot see. The other rider, slightly smaller, hunched as though the ride has pained him, turns his face away. Of him, you can see nothing.

The man is waiting, and should you hesitate longer, you risk more questions. “Fremdeleigh was that way, yes.”

The man is quiet for a stretch. 

“Was?” His voice...such a simple questions gives you chills. It is a dangerous voice, one that has you wishing for highwaymen rather than priests. If they are priests. The knives and daggers strapped about the men are not lost on you.

“Perhaps it is, if it still stands. Danes took it three days past.”

The men share a look, though you doubt they can see one another’s eyes. You make to move the mare forward.

“A moment,” says the man. “Do you come from Fremdeleigh?”

“Why do you ask this? What is left of it lies down this road. Brave the Danes, if you must go there.”

“Perhaps I make a habit of braving Danes?” Charm settles in the man’s voice too late. It does little soothe your wariness. “And I ask to know what sort of Danes they were.”

Needling man. You should not let his prying bother you, but Fremdeleigh is not so far behind you that the question’s answer is easy to face. 

“The wicked sort,” you reply, and at this, you think you catch a snort of agreement from the second man. “Now, safe travels to you both, strangers.” A rolling growl from your stomach accompanies your words, and you quickly turn your face away.

You have just set your heels into the mare’s sides when the first man calls out, “You’ve a hungry look about you. Perhaps you would trade answers for a meal?” 

Another dinnerless night feels more than you can stand. But a part of you would sooner starve than risk a camp alone with these men, who are perhaps not as godly as their robes would claim. 

The man seems to read your thoughts. Surely, he has figured you to be a woman by now. An easy target, if he wishes it. “We will not harm you, this we swear. We want only your time and to ask a few questions.”

“Men have done worse to women with smaller promises than that one,” you reply. 

The rain is coming harder now. The mare throws her head. If you do not get her beneath the shelter of trees, she may take herself. Your stomach growls again. The pain of emptiness is setting in. You consider your choices for a moment -- a hungry, endless ride through this weather or hooded men, armed to the teeth. Before the man can refute this -- indeed, it seems he’s rather reluctant to argue this at all -- you make up your mind. 

“Remove your hood,” you say, “I would know your eyes.”

The twitch of a smile appears beneath the beard. “As you wish.”

He raises his hand and pulls down the hood, revealing a head of thick, black hair to the elements. He is a foreigner, and farther from home than the Danes had been. His skin has the dark cast of men from the east, his eyes darker still. 

They are a killer’s eyes. You know it the moment they meet yours and a prickling begins at your neck. But this one is not rabid like the men from whom you had fled. He is a killer, but something tells you he hunts more dangerous prey than you.

“Very well,” you say when you can stand to hold his gaze no longer. “Answers for a meal.”

“You are no longer worried we will kill you?” he asks. You do not think he is as surprised as he feigns. 

“No,” you reply simply. 

The other man, smaller and quieter, shakes his head beneath his hood. This one thinks you stupid or mad, but he winces before he decides to protest, and just as silently, he settles over his saddle and looks away.

.

……………………..

.

The thick trees are shelter enough for the three of you. Several times, as you watch the men set about tying off their horses and building a small fire beneath an outcropping of rocks and a fallen log, you reconsider your foolishness. But when one of the men, the quiet one, retrieves bread from his satchel and places it before the fire, you are finally coaxed down from the mare.

“Here,” he says, handing you the bread and a helping of...dried fish, you realize as you unwrap the parcel. “It is fish.”

You know fish when you smell it. This one does think you stupid, after all. Perhaps he is right. But obvious though the words are, you are surprised to hear that his voice is softer than that of his compatriot. It is better suited to a poet than a man strapped to the teeth in blades. As he pulls away, you get a glimpse of his face, still hidden beneath the hood, and find it younger than the other man’s.

“A Dane’s meal,” you reply, glad your eyes are shielded by your own hood.

“A Dane’s meal is still a meal.” He turns away and sulks over to the far side of the fire. His movements are hitched, a hand going to his side as he lowers himself down. You see no blood on the white of his robes, so perhaps his is an old wound. The healer in you nearly as what ails him, but you hold your tongue and take a bite of bread.

The other man moves more quietly than you would like, crouching beside the fire, his eyes and expression hardly warmed by its flames. He tries to smile at you, but seems to know that will not earn him any faith, and after a moment, his expression slips back into something cold and unreadable. 

“I am Basim,” he says, “This is my...friend. You may call him Hytham, if you wish, though I cannot promise he will hear you over his groaning.”

“I am fine,” says the other man, but you know a lie when you hear it.

You swallow your mouthful. “Strange names to hear in England.”

“Strange times,” mutters Hytham. 

Basim’s eyes run from your feet -- still bare -- to your face, and you fight the urge to draw in on yourself. The urge passes as you realize there is nothing lecherous in the look; it is...appraising. It sees more than you care to reveal, and you make up your mind to eat quickly.

“You have the look of someone who is running. Can I assume it is from Danes?”

“You knew that when you offered this meal. What is it you really wish to know, Basim?”

His lips twitch again. Is it an uncontrolled tick, you wonder? A man like this strikes you as one who has very little outside his control, so perhaps the smiles, if that is what they can be called, are intended to put you at ease. 

“We are looking for our friend. We have news for her.”

Looking for a Dane.

You frown at the dried fish and cast a wary-eyed look at Hytham. “A Dane’s meal, after all. You should have just said so.”

“Would you have taken the first bite?” asks Hytham.

You make a face and it is then that you learn that Hytham does not hide his smiles so easily as Basim. You look back to the other man. “I saw little, I’m afraid. One Dane chased me. That is his horse.”

“You stole his horse?” Basim raises a brow. 

“He deserved worse. He was scarred. A bigger man than he looked. Another called him Ivarr. That is the only name I heard.”

“That is name enough,” says Basim. He sits back on his heels and gestures to you. “Please, eat.”

As you take another bite, you’ve half a mind to ask if they are friends of this Ivarr, but doing so will open the door to more questions and both these men seem the sort to prefer asking them. You have made it this far; you’ll not have your throat cut for nosiness. As you eat, the skies darken, until midday could be mistaken for night, and thunder rolls overhead.

Hytham’s voice draws your glance. You had thought the man dozing as the conversation waned, but he is awake, though his mouth is set in a bitter line. “That’ll be Thor, or so I’m told.”

“You should have stayed in Ravensthorpe,” Basim says, but his scolding is gentle. 

“I tire of four walls. I am fine.”

Liar.

He stretches out his legs, but the motion seems to pain him. He catches you looking. “It has been a long ride.”

“A long ride on an injury, even an old one, can do a man more harm than the change of scenery will do him good.” You shove the last bite of bread into your mouth and swallow. Hytham -- and Basim, too, you notice -- eyes you cautiously as you stand. Or you think he does. He tilts his head, hood slipping until you can see a little more of his cheek. You kneel beside him and ask, “What is bothering you?”

“Not an old injury,” says Basim, “but not a new one, either.”

“Let me look. It will be my thanks to you both for sharing your food, and it will pass time in this rain.”

“Are you a healer?” 

“I was. Before Fremdeleigh burned. I will be one again once I am settled.”

“I am fine.” Hytham’s jaw takes on the proud jutt of someone determined to let their pride outweigh their sense. At last, he has enough of the hood, and sweeps it back so that he can glare at you properly. You had been right. He is younger than Basim, perhaps younger than you, though the handsomeness of his features is weighed down by a pain you had only glimpsed beneath the hood. 

Despite Hytham’s potent scowl, you shake your head. “That’s the third time you have said so and each time, your whining gets louder.”

A rich crack of laughter from Basim startles you both. “Perhaps I should leave you to her and I shall ride to Fremdeleigh?”

“I should think he has learned this whining from someone,” you reply, and this quiets Basim. “Best you stay and hold him down. In case any bones need re-setting.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Hytham tells you quickly. 

“How would I know? You will not let me look.”

“I am -- “

“Fine! You are ‘fine!’” you snap. “Pass the time in pain, then. Have your raider friends look after you. Three days ride from now.”

This pales him. His eyes -- you could not name their color if you tried -- flick to Basim. “Three days? You said it was two.”

“I thought it was.” Basim holds out his hands, but somewhere in the dark of his eyes, you think he knows better. “A simple mistake.”

“You do not make mistakes,” grouses the younger man. He looks back to you. “Have a look if you wish. Or spare me the slow death and kill me now.”

You smile. “I can do either.”

“A healer and a horse-thief. Strange company to find on the road.” Basim stands, drawing his hood over his head. “Swear to me you will not kill Hytham...” He pauses, his eyes flicking to you, and you realize that he has neither asked your name, nor have you given it.

“You are leaving?” asks Hytham, voice rising above the patter of rain. “Leaving me with this stranger?”

“I am riding ahead. Something tells me I leave you in capable hands.”

“No,” protests Hytham. “I can ride.” He gets to his feet. You watch as he grits his teeth through whatever pain plagues him. He holds his ground, even as you stand to reach for him should that change. 

“Follow when you can. And you,” Basim looks to you, “If our paths do not cross again, go well. I would be careful returning to Fremdeleigh, were I you. If what I know of Ivarr is true, he will care less for his horse, and more about the woman who dared take it from him.”

Return to Fremdeleigh? The possibility had not occurred to you. Fremdeleigh is gone. 

Hytham’s protests cease as Basim reaches his horse, lifting himself into the saddle with a grace you’ve only seen in woodland creatures. He waves once and is soon vanished beneath the forest boughs. Hytham spins on his heel, brushing past you, and drops back down by the fire with less swiftness than which he had stood. You know the sight of a man wounded in more ways than one, and some wounds, even you cannot heal.

Instead, you set to business. “Off with this,” you say, tugging at his tunic. He scowls, but the fight has gone out of him. When the tunic is removed, bared skin is revealed to you. The man is, without doubt, not a priest. His chest and arms are wiry with muscle, a few faint scars marring the skin here and there. It is only a happenstance glance that you notice one of his fingers is missing, cut cleanly at the knuckle. 

“You move like a man with broken ribs,” you say, “How long ago did this happen?”

“Months.”

“And it still pains you so?”

“It is the cold.”

At this, you smile. “Foul stuff, the cold. Breeds barbarians.”

Hytham tries not to smile, but that, too, strains him. His friend’s departure -- if that is what Basim truly is to him -- has left him sullen, but he withstands your prodding well enough. Only when your hands run down his sides does he shy. 

“I am --”

“Do not say ‘fine.’” 

Instead, he says nothing.

His skin is warm to the touch, a good sign for the circulation, and you notice that your roving fingers leave gooseflesh in their wake. 

“The bones have set.” You sit back, drawing your feet under you. “Unless you would like me to break them again, this pain will revisit you. If I had my stores, I could make something to ease the burden, but those burned with Fremdeleigh. For now…” You cast your eyes about, at last coming to rest on the sash that had been removed with Hytham’s tunic. “Give me a moment.”

A moment turns into a few minutes. Hytham eyes you warily when you ask for his sash, but agrees, only to panic when you near the fire with the fabric in hand. He is quieted when he sees what you are doing. You wrap a few cooling coals in the material, testing their heat against your wrist, and returning to his side when you are finished. 

“Press this here,” you tell him, “It will soothe the ache.”

“For a time?”

“For a time.”

Bitterness clouds his expression, but it is short lived, disappearing with a nod. “Thank you, healer.”

Your fingers flex at the word. You had not thought to hear it again so soon. Last time, it had taken a year, maybe two, after you had lost everything to find yourself again. As Hytham’s eyes meet yours, you wonder if, perhaps, the Danes were not as thorough in their destruction as they had hoped.

Hytham’s eyes study your face; they are keener than you had given him credit for, and you feel them pulling at the edges of what you wish to hide. 

“What will you do?” he asks. “Could there be anything left of your home?”

“In Fremdeleigh? I doubt it. If I returned, I would likely only find Danes.”

“The Danes are not all so bad.” His smile is wry one, a little more honest than you would like. Either it or the fire has given a pretty flush to his cheeks. “You were unlucky to cross Ivarr. He is a menace.”

“You know him?”

“I know of him.”

“Will you go to Fremdeleigh? To find Basim?”

Hytham nods. “He is testing me. To see if I will return to Ravensthorpe, or follow him. I am good for more than reading scrolls and maps.”

“You look as though you are good in a fight.” You tap a finger to one scar that runs over his shoulder, paler than the rest of his skin. He glances away when you say this, like a maid who has been she is pretty. “It would be a risk to return there. Not when I’ve no promise that there is anything left to salvage.”

“A shame,” says Hytham with a smile, glancing at you, only to look away again. “All this bread and...fish,” his nose wrinkles, “is going with me.”

“Speak plainly, priest.” Your teasing is less pleasing to him than the idea of dried fish, and he waves you off with a flutter of a four-fingered hand. “If you’ve an idea, let’s hear it.”

“Return to Fremdeleigh. Recover your stores if you can. And if you can, come with us to Ravensthorpe. A healer is always welcome, especially one who is not empty-handed.”

“Healer?” You raise your brows with a laugh. “In Fremdeleigh, I am a horse-thief. What if this Ivarr recognizes me?” 

“He cannot recognize you if he does not see you.”

“Spoken like a man who watches the world from beneath a hood.”

Perhaps it is the firelight, but you think you see Hytham’s ears flush a deep red. “Do as you wish,” he says after a moment. “I ride when this rain stops.”

So it is that when the rain stops, you go with him.

[justalittletomato]

It’s just temporary..right??? (Part 4 Last one)

A/N: Yes it says the last one..but you never know epilogues might be good to use. 

Synopsis: An intruder has entered the bunker, Y/N has one thought in mind keep her son safe at any cost. Sometimes the return is worse. 

Warnings: ANGST...I AM SORRY.

Link to part 3: https://justalittlecloud.tumblr.com/post/629604572170715136/its-temporaryright-short-drabble-part-3

Metal clanked on metal, whoever had entered the bunker wanted to make themselves known. Y/N held tight to her child, her one thing left in this desolate galaxy, her other gripped the  blaster at her hip, “ STAY AWAY!!!” her scream into the dark rang in Cress’s ears, the poor thing couldn’t help but cry.

The sound echoes closer, “ I’LL KILL YOU IF YOU GET CLOSER!” She’d kill anyone who would harm her baby, she had to save him. He had to stay safe, she was the only one who could keep him safe now.

In the dark, a flicker of gold shone through, rather than feel a wave of hope Y/N only grew more distraught, “ HOW DARE YOU!? He’s gone you have no right to have his eyes!  LEAVE!!”  Maul wasn’t here anymore, he was gone and dead on Mandalore, he had left her alone. She aimed the blaster at the direction of those golden lights, the love she once had for them eroding away.

“Starlight….”  she knew that name, it had been whispered to her so many times now, sometimes angry, mostly soft and in disbelief with love, one thing was for certain it was in a voice she craved more than anything else. She didn’t want to believe it, she was not letting herself fall for this.

The child in her arms, fought against his mother’s hold, his little cry now in direction of the lights, his hands reaching out to the dark, he knew who this was. That familiar thrum in the Force  was clear, of course the child didn’t know this but he could feel it all the same.

Maul was at a loss as he entered the hanger, the familiar signatures soothed him only momentarily, even in the dark he could see the damage he had done.  Y/n holding thier son to her chest, screaming at the “intruder” to leave them be. It was when he looked more closely that he saw why, the holo-video, his obituary, he winced at the thought, had been played. His starlight thought him dead, now all she could be thinking was that the person who entered was going to destroy her, even worse harm the one thing she had left. Cress was crying, frightened by his mother’s distress and Maul couldn’t even comfort him. Her threats to kill should not go unnoticed, his starlight would kill any threat would be extinguished if she had to even him.

He could see the panic in her eyes when he drew closer, she could see his eyes in the dark, she did not put down the blaster, rather her aim became more precise. She had accepted his death, forced herself too. She would kill him.

Teeth clamped onto her hand, Y/N yelped, as Cress held tight.  His now sizable teeth had went down considerably, Y/N had to let go of her blaster.

Maul saw his chance and pushed it aside. Y/N scrambled back, still with Cress biting her hand. “NO!”

There is little light in here, but she can see the familiar crown of horns, and slowly the crimson Zabrak she thought dead in front of her. He was crouched down low trying to avoid further sending her into a scared panic.

“ DA!” Cress had let go of his hold and reached for his father. Y/N couldn’t keep her hold on him,  she felt numb staring at Maul, her feelings turbulent.

Do I reach for him or do I denounce him?

Her son had made his own choice, slipping out of his mother’s hold and crawling along the metal floor towards the person he had missed terribly.  

“Daddy!” Of course now he would say his first true word. The little one grabbed a hold of one his father’s  leg supporting himself upwards to stand upright, “Daddy!” the child said again. Cress’s eyes filled up with tears. Maul embraced his son, “ I’m here, I’m here.” his little one was crying for him. Maul just held onto to him, begging his child for forgiveness for leaving, for almost missing out on the wonderful word for the first time, and a lifetime with his child.

Y/N stood up, she  swayed back and forth as if the slightest thing could knock her over, a mere word might do the trick. Her face betrayed nothing, as she now stood before the father and son, Maul dared to look up at her, “Starlight, please, I- I assumed I would have-”

His beloved didn’t seem to be listening, she just crouched down and embraced the two.  She was only doing this for Cress, her silence was worse than her tears.

He was able to tuck Cress into the cot, the poor thing tuckered out from so many emotional upheavals, Maul kissed the child’s cheek before turning away to speak to Y/N who had yet to say a word. He saw her form walking out of the  hanger and onto the sands. Maul took one last look at the cot, Cress would stay asleep. He would, he assured himself  before following his beloved outside.

“Starlight ”

She did not turn, still walking along the shore, not caring as the waves hit her legs, the bitter cold didn’t even make her flinch.

“Starlight, please” he wanted to give her space, he truly wanted to but this silence was deafening. She did not even turn to him.

“Y/N, please!” he reached for her, Y/n ripped her arm from his hold and headed for the water. The sizable waves would quickly drag her into its depths, sweeping and pulling into the dark sea. Maul couldn’t allow that.

“ PLEASE LISTEN TO ME!” he had to do it, he pulled her back away from the cold waters , and farther onto dry land.  His arms wrapped around her as he held her to the sands, she pushed as his chest, and kicked at him blindly.  Her eyes were continually spilling with tears.

“Y/N!! STOP!” he found himself  unable to breath, his breath caught in this throat as his eyes burned.

She began screaming at him, her eyes red from crying, “YOU WANTED TO DIE?! IS THAT WHAT IT WAS?!”  

Maul could now feel tears drip down his face, as she continued to scream, each one tearing into him like stab from a saber, “ YOU MADE THOSE DAMNED HOLO-VIDS TO WHAT CONSOLE ME? WHAT WAS I GOING TO TELL OUR SON? OUR CHILD, MAUL? OH AND YOU, YOU DARE ASK ME TO FORGIVE YOU?”

Her screams reduced into broken sobs, she clutched her head the pounding of her heartbeat once again blocking out the waves, there was no serenity here,  “YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE ME ALONE, YOU WERE GOING TO LEAVE CRESS ALONE. HOW COULD YOU PLAN ON THAT?”

In perceptive of  all the occurred, Maul couldn’t answer with the steps he had taken, all he knew was his reasoning for this, “ I just wanted to make sure you were safe,” his voice sounded feeble struggling to answer the accusations that he was guilty of, “ You and Cress had to be safe that is all I wanted, even if I couldn’t be with you.”

The galaxy outside of this planet was in anguish, planets and families being torn and the Jedi all but gone, any force user or any associations to them were being extinguished, he held tighter onto his beloved,  “If they found you, Y/N. Death would be the least of our concerns.” If the Empire found Cress, he shuddered at the thought.  

His starlight was no longer fighting him she just stilled in his arms, “ I thought you were dead,” she breathed,  “In that moment I wanted you dead for what you did.”  

Maul did not blame her, his actions had caused so much pain for the only two souls he loved, it was inevitable.

“ And you have all the right too.” he whispered, Letting his arms release her and fall onto the sandy beach, with each movement the sand slipped from his hands and began to bury him, “ Just tell me now, send me off if you have to Y/N,” he had but one request before she did this, “ Just let me say goodbye to Cress.”

Y/N went quiet before whispering, “Send you off?”

“ What i did to you both is unforgivable, I don’t deserve either of you, everything we built it gone, I couldn’t keep you safe. Just allow me to say goodbye to my son please. Cast me aside it will be fine but please let me say goodbye to him.”  That child had to know he loved him, that everything he was trying to do was to protect him even if he failed miserably.

Y/N let out a shuddering breath, her shoulders shaking from the cold air and the gravity of what he had suggested, “ You can’t go,”

Maul no longer felt that he was being buried alive, “Y/N,” his voice dared to allow some hope slip in.

“ He needs you, he loves you,” her voice was sad, “But Maul..”

“ Yes, my Starlight?” again that hope in his voice.

“ I do not forgive you, I can’t.” 

It shattered in an instant, Maul deserved it.

They sat there for some time, watching the waves, “ He’ll wake soon.”  Y/N  stared out horizon unable to see the line between sea and sky, it was all blurred.

“Yes, he always searches for one of us. “ he was watching her, at least she hadn’t sent him away, as long as he was near it was enough. “ We should go back,”

He stood up and offered her his hand, Y/N shook her head and stood up, she brushed off the sand and began to move back to the ship, Maul right behind her.

Cress was still asleep, his small face serene. “It’s been a while since he’s slept like that. “ Y/N brushed Cress’s face, a small smile finally gracing her face.

Maul nodded, “ He’s very sensitive to others around him,” the pair watched over thier son, forgiveness would be a long journey, but one thing was assured Cress would have them both.