#and it’s impossible to mute so i just have to deal with the knowledge that 15 and 40 year olds would rather cyber bully each other

[doomboogie]

If everyone could stop moral grandstanding based off their media tastes that would be fantastic

[elslittlestories]

The Bad Autistic Batch

I've had this in the back of my head for a while and finaly took the time to write it down. It's a mix of observtions and headcanons I guess? On how I feel like the 4 original members of the Bad Batch are all autistic af!

Tech

The obvious one. He said it himself, his brain doesn’t process thoughts and moments the way most people do.

He has a hard time identifying his feelings and therefore tends to push them away and rely on logic and rational thoughts, which always come easy and loud in his mind.

Very gifted, he’s too smart to care about social rules and never bothered to learn cues and small talk. He was created to solve problems, people shouldn’t expect anything else from him. He comes off as cold and obnoxious to most people, always speaks bluntly without thinking of the effect of his words on the person opposite him. Simply because it doesn’t occur naturally to him that some truth might need sugarcoating.

He’s a self-taught everything, with infinite curiosity and thirst for knowledge. He gets bored fast though and will skip from one subject to another as soon as he feels like he’s mastered it. He’ll get REALLY excited if you ask him questions about anything.

He doesn’t care about his looks, as long as it’s practical, he’s good with any outfits. Although, he’ll wear comfy clothes whenever he can. His hair is kept just long enough so that he can slick them back with gel and get them stuck with his goggles’ headband.

To self-sooth, he relies on his sound databank—he can listen to a record on a loop for hours—and mental games such as counting backward from 1 million with only prime numbers. Tapping on his datapad is probably also a sort of stimming.

Outside of his brothers, he has a hard time maintaining a relationship, may they be platonic or not. To start, he doesn’t really understand the concept of different types of relationships. He’s oblivious to most hints of interest and needs someone—Wrecker—to point it out. He’ll panic, be really awkward about it, overshare to hide his fluster…until he figures out what makes you tick and weaponizes it!

Crosshair

In case there were any doubt, he’s a neat freak. He NEEDS his stuff to be in the right place, as much as he needs routine and discipline to control his stress level. Even though his military training has taught him how to deal with the unexpected, he has a hard time dealing with change.

If given the choice, he’d only wear his blacks. The tightness of the fabric is comforting and he doesn’t have to think about assembling an outfit or whatever. He cuts his hair every week, the same exact way, from left to right, then the backside of his head.

He won’t eat new food unless his hunger is life threatening, not because of sensory issues but because his transit is a bigger drama queen than he is!

He’s the most emotionally immature of the squad and used to have the wildest mood swings. He became good at keeping a stern straight face once he realized people would use it as a way to arm him. He’s also the most stubborn: good luck trying to change his mind on anything.

On a general basis, he hates people. Especially the one that wants to touch him! The only person allowed to hug him is Wrecker, because there’s no stopping him anyway. He may go mute when overwhelmed, hence the number of fights he got himself into rather than have a talk. With time and around the right people, he might get better at dealing with his feelings, but for now it’s easier to just avoid people, since they’re the one causing said feelings.

Maintaining any sort of relationship is close to impossible outside of his brothers. It takes a very special person—like Echo—to get his affection and respect. Romantic feeling are out of his bucket list, he finds the concept of flirting ridiculous anyway. If you want to be with him, just say it! He’ll probably reject you, the man has some heavy attachment/abandonment issues to sort out first. Trust Omega to help with that, so maybe one day…

Wrecker

THE emotionally mature one of the squad! Feelings are always intense for him and he wears them on his face. He’ll cry for anything, but since he can break your spine with his bare hands, people usually don’t make fun of him out loud.

He has huge difficulties in learning practical stuff—he was the last to speak clearly and read—and won’t do anything good with verbal instructions if they go longer than 5 to 10 words. He’s good with his hands, though, and once Tech got him into the marvelous world of explosives, he became unstoppable. Even Tech will admit Wrecker is the expert in the matter.

Another thing he was quick to learn, thanks to his emotional awareness and Hunter’s help, was how to read people. If only to stop being played! It might also be the secret to their squad sticking together despite their differences and hot temper.

He’s very open about needing "autistic joy", such as eating his favorite snack, listening to a song on a loop and watching things blow up. It tends to make him look childish. His brothers are very protective over this and make sure nothing prevents Wrecker to enjoying his sweet nothings.

He loves to isolates for an hour or two, to watch his favorite holovids, but is otherwise very touchy feely. Hugs sooth him a lot when he’s stressed out. If he can’t get one, he’ll rely on singing his favorite tune or repeating a word in his head. He used to do it out loud when he was a kid but it drove his brothers mad so he internalized it.

He can handle a flirt, although he has a hard time catching a hint. It’s easier to notice someone’s interest on others than himself, probably because of his lack of self-esteem. He’d most likely be a very clingy partner.

Hunter

AKA the king of masking. He may look as close to normal as a defective clone can be, in control of himself, but take a step into his mind and you’ll be surprised.

First of all, he has HUGE sensory issues, no doubt worsened by his genetic enhancement. He has learned to tough it out and ignore the strong reaction some textures or smell or sounds causes him to experience. But they tend to turn into stress. He’s constantly devoured by anxiety and fear—of anything from touching that one thing that will overstimulate him so much he won’t be able to function, to making a bad call that cause one of his brother’s death—and there’s no amount of spinning his knife that can sooth it.

He relies on rules and discipline to get a sense of control, even though one might argue his sense of both those concepts is not exactly by the book. It tends to help with tuning down his emotions as well. Just like every sensory input is loud to him, his feeling can be deafening and mastering them was mandatory to become the squad leader.

It was with that in mind that he became an expert in social behaviors. Mostly unconsciously, he studied everyone around him to learn how to hold himself and how to read the room. Despite him being naturally introverted, you’ll often find him chatting with the various captains his squad was assigned to work with. Told you, he’s a king of masking.

On the rare occasions he failed to contain his emotions—bursts of anger on the battlefield aside—it came out loud and violent. Took Wrecker to squeeze him in his arms for Hunter to calm down.

One thing he couldn’t learn this way is flirting. He can’t do it for his life, despite being the receiver of numerous attempts from various species. Maybe it’s because of his sensory issues, but the idea of sex is of no appeal to him and he has never felt something strong enough to be called romantic love. That stuff is just not for him, he feels contempt with his brothers and Omega.

Oh, and the bandana is just an excuse for no easy hair routine. Give him one reason to get out of his armor and blacks, and he’ll slip into floppy clothes in a heartbeat.

Last but not least, all four of them have a STRONG sens of justice—although sometime missplaced—and prefers staying home rather than being anywhere else, wherever home may be.

[bluezenzennie]

To heal, is to take your time.

Pairing: Irmo/Estë/Kalla ( oc )

Characters: Irmo, Estë, Kalla, Námo, mentioned: Ruinë ( @edensrose 's muse ), Melkor, Mairon, Nienna, Aurëlius ( My other muse ).

Synopsis: After the war of wrath, Estë and Irmo keep a close eye on Kalla's continuous self isolation and silence, which seems to have no end.

They decide to take matters into their own hands, when nobody else does, and make a deal with Námo to send them to Lorien, so they can take care of them until they're fully healed.

Themes: Angst, Hurt comfort.

Warnings: Detailed desc of a meltdown | Exhaustion | Survivors guilt | Guilt in general | Crying | Lightly detailed vomiting | Yelling is written in caps.

Wordcount: 20k

"They've been so quiet, my dreamer." Estë murmurs, her soft breath fanning against Irmo's exposed neck, as the two of them cling to one another in a tight embrace.

"We should seek them out, speak with them."

Another hopeless attempt is made to push Irmo to talk, and help her decide, but he seems so lost, it's impossible to pull him out of his thoughts nevermind how hard she tries.

The silence is heavy when even Estë grows quiet, and all she does is sway around the fëantur in her arms gently for another minute or so, before he finally, finally, decides to speak his mind.

"I fear that we'll lose them..." That single sentence, that passes through Irmo's plush lips is quiet, soft, and full of an unmistakable grief, that swallows him whole and threatens to claw at his insides, to tear through flesh and break bone, to create a nest, a void of sadness, within his usually beautiful and vibrant fëa.

It still bore his beautiful song, yet there were changes to it - a faint hymn, so full of sorrow and pain, and, it only seemed to grow the longer he held back his emotions.

"We won't lose them if we confront them. Our little lily needs our help." Soft and dainty fingers dry tear stained cheeks and eyes. One thumb brushes over a tired eyelid whilst the other strokes the white haired vala's cheek carefully, before Estë continues her best to pull him out of this state.

She doesn't remember the last time she saw him this shattered and broken - had she ever?

"You have to understand this my love, we can't keep fearing for the worst and not take action, the worst will be the outcome if we do not... I am not as knowledgeable on topics like these as your sister, perhaps... but what I do know is, that we have to be brave and take them with us here - letting them rot in the halls of Mandos until they've fully healed, will do no good."

"I cannot look at them when I was among the valar who chose them to go shelter the wounded and scared in middle-earth." Irmo whimpers shakily.

He claws at his wife's dress and doubles over, resting his forehead against her shoulder.

"They begged, cried, did everything in their power to prove that this was not a mission fit for them- and yet we sent them away, only for them to come back mute, emotionless and shattered. I'm ashamed of myself for ever agreeing to sending them away, I doubt Nienna is proud of making the final choice too, despite all of us agreeing it was a good idea... I think Kalla's name just popped out of her mouth during that meeting, without actually meaning to suggest them." The cracks in his usually warm and smooth voice become increasingly louder, sadness so prominent you could almost see the blue aura around his fána.

It was painful to witness him in such a despairing state, truly, but Estë grew irritated and stubborn.

She loved the man with her whole fëa and fána, she adored him to her very core, and would always love and support him unconditionally.

Which is why it hurt her so much to seem him like this.

Though perhaps blunt when she speaks again, it is by no means meant with intentions to hurt him whatsoever.

Her words come out as stern and full of emotion: "My love, if you do not stop wallowing in self pity and guilt, I will go myself and drag Kalla back here, no questions asked and I will make you talk to them, there is no way out of this. They need you, they need me, us." She moves both of her hands to cup his chin, gently removing him from her shoulder, and looking into his tear filled eyes, before placing a small kiss on his forehead.

"But Est-"

"I will not tolerate anymore excuses, Irmo. Now listen to me."

There's a long silence between the two, as Irmo lowers his head further, a small whine threatens to rumble in his throat.

Alas, he nods, listening to his wife as she resumes speaking.

"You cannot continue to do this to yourself. You are hurting yourself by letting the guilt swallow you whole- as well as they are hurting themself by isolation and complete silence. You are leaving a wound untreated, dirty and prone to infection if not tended to soon enough."

Amethyst irises move to look directly into pools of deep emerald green, that stare into his, half lidded and full of stubborn confidence.

A fond hum fills the small grove the two lovers find themself within, slithering it's way through his post-cry swollen lips- an amused, fond, and sad hum.

He leans forward to place a soft kiss upon Estë's lips, brushing them against each other before pressing them together for a short moment.

Pulling away and wiping the rest of his tears away with the long purple sleeves of his robe, a sigh escapes his nostrils as he takes a few deep breaths.

"What would I do without you, darling?" He ponders.

"Oh Irmo, a whole lot." The lady of the hurt and weary chuckles, and takes her husband's hand.

"Come now, my dreamer, hand in hand."

"Hand in hand..." Irmo mutters, inhaling a last big gulp of air before exhaling, as they begin the journey to his brother's halls.

Mandos is in chaos when the two arrive, chairs have been thrown across viridian carpets, ruined and in splinters, while vases are shattered and scattered across the floors.

Loud screaming echoes throughout the doomsman's abode, bouncing off of pillars and obsidian walls, directing themself through the rest of Mandos.

No fëar are around to be seen, and it's quiet, aside from the loud crashing ruckus echoing from the corridor to the right of the two.

They exchange worried looks and with haste, they make their way towards the chaos.

Already now do they have an idea of who it is, that is screaming their head off.

"Olothëra, I need you to calm down." Námo professionally, yet quite panickedly attempts, trying to snap Kalla out of their meltdown and reason with them.

Usually he would be calm, collected and would keep up his "stoic" facade, however, it was hard not to panic, when the small maia of his sister, had been running around and screaming on and on without giving their vocal cords a break, ruining everything piece of furniture that blocked their path, for hours on end.

It had come to a point where even he had become deeply concerned and started to feel slightly on edge.

"I DO NOT CARE WHAT YOU NEED." They screech, eyes flashing with searing blue light, as they throw a vase his way, only for him to dodge it and give them a stern stare, although, the sadness behind his viridian eyes betrays him and his expression.

Kalla has never behaved like this, they've always been quiet, reserved, caring- always accepting people who need to talk, with open arms, a warm smile on their red stained lips.

Yet, now, with the intense emotions rushing through them; Anger, grief, revenge, guilt, pain- they had snapped.

After everything, bottling up and repressing their feelings, emotions and trauma- it all came tumbling down. Nobody truly knows what triggered this event.

Kalla hadn't spoken ever since their fëa had arrived in the halls of Mandos. They had but only cried or slept, and food wasn't something they interacted with much either.

The rumors of their death had been passed from hall to hall, even outside the walls of Mandos it would seem.

They whispered of Sauron kidnapping them, holding caged within the cells of angband, only to be thrown into a pit of fire by Melkor, after they had refused to crackle under his persuasion and corruption.

Those were the rumors, and what was worse? It was all the truth.

Perhaps this was why they had snapped? From discovering that the truth was out? That people now knew; they failed their mission, that they were weak and could not even keep up the duty of protecting and comforting those weaker than them.

Námo watches helplessly as they claw at the permanent scar left on their throat from years ago, when they were assaulted by the dark lord in their slumber, screaming that he had taken something from them, and how they could feel it.

They were smashing vases with dark magenta roses in them into the floor as the flashbacks of Ruinë, looking back at them with her magenta eyes, as they arrived in angband, shackled and being shoved back and forth by Melkor's followers and servants, flash before their eyes when they spot the color.

And they screamed, as loud as they possibly could, until they'd lose their voice, for all those they had failed to save.

Kalla stands in the middle of a small lounge, where fëar usually rest and collect themselves.

Crying and screeching angrily.

"IT'S MY FAULT THEY DIED- AND YOU DARE HAVE THE NERVE TO TELL ME TO CALM DOWN?!"

With spasming hands, they reach out towards Námo, as if to take ahold of his robes and shake him, but pull back and pick up another chair instead, smashing it against the floor, the splinters flying to all corners of the room.

"IT'S ALL MY FAULT, I SHOULDN'T HAVE SURVIVED THAT, THEY SHOULD'VE, NOT ME, nOt mE."

They tug and rip at their white tresses, hyperventilating and grinding their teeth together as the tears continue to spill from their eyes, seemingly never ending.

They're still screaming, their voice slowly progressing into crackling and at times fading into a whisper. It's the early signs of their vocal cords giving in, after so much strain and stress.

They could fill whole oceans with their silver tears, if they wanted, and yet, it was keeping all of these memories buried deep within and never speaking out, that was the reason they ended up here today after all, getting lost in their meltdown, so full of anger and grief, and even if their muscles grew sore and began pulsing, they didn't care- if there was something they could tear apart and destroy, just to get the frustration out, they'd find it and do it.

Consequences of their actions would have to be later, they needed to let this rage out, lest they wished to combust with other unwanted episodes like these for the future to come.

They felt their heart clench and scrunch in pain, the way grief stabbed at their gut and how the anger fried their brain, the extreme emotions too much to handle, too overwhelming.

They felt like they were freefalling into the abyss, stomach hurting from the rush of the fall, the slight feeling of nausea slithering its way to their throat, itching and burning, demanding they barf up the lunch from earlier.

They didn't want to hurt anyone, they held themself strong enough to not do so, at least, not physically.

Yelled they had, at anyone who had tried getting in their way, even now at Námo, a man they have deep respect for and will always look up to, now a victim of their wrath and suppressed trauma.

They did not notice the two faces staring at them with shock standing in the doorway to the lounge.

It was a risky move to put a hand on their shoulder, Estë knew that. They easily flinch, she might receive an arm around her waist that'll push her away gently, to protect her from their anger, but to her, it was certainly better for that to happen, than to let them continue to ruin the furniture of the lounge and hurt themself even more on the shattered clay vases, that made their ankles and feet bleed.

So she reaches out, and places the hand on the maia's shoulder, hushing softly into their ear, and speaking before they can react:

"Kalla- Breathe." She demands, sternly, yet with soft undertones laced to her warm voice.

Námo's eyes snap towards the entrance of the lounge, only to meet eyes with his younger brother, who seems to be too lost in thought to speak.

Viridian eyes move back to Estë, the confusion in them evident.

When did they arrive, how did I not notice? He wonders.

Yet as a few moments pass, his eyes grow soft with relief and flutter closed as he takes a deep breath, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

The storm is over.

The room grows quiet and the maia breathes in and out frantically, doing their best to steady their breaths.

Instead of pushing Estë away, or flinching, Kalla turns around and pulls her in, crying into her shoulder, all whilst weeping hoarse apologies to Námo for making his halls look as if a monster had walked in and smashed it to ruins.

They told him to lock them up for all eternity- that they did not deserve anyone's mercy nor pity for what had happened back in middle-earth.

They're clawing at Estë's dress as they cage her in a tight embrace, and despite the violent shake of their body, they manage to keep the hug tight, feeling her warmth move to their cold body.

They grip at the soft fabric of her dress, the cold and faint hands of their half transparent fána clawing into it, scared that she'll fade away if they let go. Another deep breath fills the silence of the room and ruby irises move from the oldest fëantur, to the youngest, who can't seem to find any words to share with the world, too overwhelmed.

Námo reaches out and places a careful hand in Kalla's soft white hair, ruffling it slowly, but remaining quiet even as he pulls away.

He wouldn't want to say something that could potentially trigger a relapse, sending them back into their raging meltdown.

So he decided to let Estë and his brother take over, whenever he was ready as well, and while the lady of the gentle takes care of them, the older brother moves towards the younger, placing a gentle and firm hand on his shoulder to snap him out of the state he finds himself in.

"Kalla my dearest- no, you've done nothing wrong- this is, we can fix the damages here- you did your very best protecting those creatures, elves, dwarves and mortals as well- you need not worry dear, you will not be punished."

Estë murmurs softly and sways them from side to side, unintentionally increasing their nausea.

"I think I'm going to vomit." They manage to just whisper, before the nausea surges through their system and they let go of Estë, pushing her away before turning around and vomiting on the floor, their whole body doubling over and cracking.

The wet sounds of vomit pattering against stone floor fills the silent room, alongside Kalla's uncomfortable cries as they cough up their lunch until they're done vomiting.

"Eru- I'm so sorry Námo. Oh I'm messing everything up, what would my lady think if she saw me in such a state..."

They cry, their voice barely a whisper.

"You needn't be, and I have no doubts that my sister would only understand and comfort you, Olothëra, have some faith in your lady." The doomsman reassures firmly, whilst rubbing Irmo's shoulder comfortingly.

Estë sighs and reaches out to Kalla, pulling back into her arms and wiping their eyes, nose and mouth from spit, snot, vomit and tears with a sage green handkerchief, soft and warm hands moving up to cup cold cheeks covered in a thin layer of cold sweat.

"It is a common reaction from people who have been through such circumstances and events as you, Nityamorco ( Little bear ). I am beyond surprised that this did not happen earlier, Nienna did mention you had a habit of keeping things on the inside, but I was not aware it was this bad."

Deep inhales and exhales fill the room again as everyone grows quiet, the three valar allowing Kalla to slowly pick up and collect themself before allowing the two fëanturi and the vala of the gentle to help.

"Irmo."

The youngest fëantur's shoulders shift up to his ears as his whole being grows stiff.

His breathing halts, as he readies himself to take the verbal punches from the small maia.

"Irmo, I don't want you to be sad. Don't forget I see through you, your eyes have never look so blue." They croak and look at the vala a few feet away from them.

Amethyst eyes now turned a deep ocean blue, that had been focused on the floor widen slowly and glide across the room and up Kalla's small form, until he meets their eyes.

"Hm?" He hums out in utter confusion.

"I don't want you to be sad, you 'nd the other valar- chose me because you were sure that the task would be one I could handle... Despite my pleas and begs, I learnt a lot from this mission...

I believe that we can learn from these mistakes, that have been made. They can never be changed, so, instead, let us accept them to be a part of us..."

"I was never mad at you. I can feel it, you think I'm mad at you, but I'm not. I could never be mad at you, not you Irmo... I'd betray my own heart."

Their tired eyes close, as a small yawn interrupts their words.

"The final decision was not your choice, that was my lady's, you and the other valar's votes only counted based on who agreed whether I was strong enough to go- I was, in reality, but... I refuse to use my power, you are well aware of this and so is she.

Why she thought I was fit for this, I still do not understand. I've a feeling it was the slip of her tongue though, a rare thing...

I only proved myself to be worthless. I could never have been prepared for what I witnessed- experienced in middle earth, I proved myself to be completely, and utterly, useless."

Flushed ears twitch slightly at the muttered words from the exhausted maia in front of Irmo, and in mere seconds the fëantur has made his way over to his wife and their friend, grabbing their hand and giving them an almost childish, angry and stubborn stare.

"Stop calling yourself such hurtful things, good Eru- You're going to drive yourself mad, little moon."

"But-"

"Mm, no." The white haired vala wraps his arm around his spouse and Kalla, shoving their face into Estë's shoulder gently.

Soft sighs escape Kalla, as the tears tumble down their face once again, the silvery droplets landing on the shoulder fabric of Estë's dress, but she cares not.

In fact, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, while her hand moves to brush through their messy hair.

"You must be so exhausted... Our little lily bear." She mutters.

"I am." They reply, quietly and hoarsely, nails digging into Estë's back as they take in the familiar and comforting scent of warm nights, visiting her and Irmo and drinking the man's homebrewed tea, surrounded by lilies, roses and hyacinths.

"I am... really, really, tired Estë..."

Warmth tugs at the hearts of the three in their embrace, Kalla's fëa slightly passing through Irmo and Estë's fánar and merging with their fëar for but a moment, it's such a beautiful feeling.

Oh and tears are shed, though this time, they are not of sadness, nor of joy, but simple relief and the comforting sense of safety.

It's like a breath of fresh air, passing through the body and soul and cleansing it.

Námo clears his throat awkwardly and huffs in hidden amusement when 6 eyes snap towards his direction in synched unison, waiting in silence for the words directed at Irmo:

"... Well, I suppose I cannot stop you from taking them back to Lórien, can I?"

"Oh, Absolutely not. We're taking them."

A cheshire grin forms on Irmo's lips, his eyes flashing with a flurry of color, before changing back to his amethyst hues, his emotions settling once again.

"Very well..." The older hums, staying silent for a minute, scanning his surroundings. The cluttered mess around him of broken chairs and shattered vases- the vomit on the floor- is enough to call forth a slow headache, that's taking its sweet time to slither its way to his eyes and forehead and pulse uncomfortably. This wasn't the only room that had fallen victim to Kalla's destructive meltdown, however... Perhaps there were some good things this event.

Long had the doomsman and and his spouse discussed changing up the interior of the halls, as the leaves of the trees had begun to shift in color, turning orange and red, resembling Arien's beautiful fire and light, and the smell of pumpkin pies filled the air around Vána and Oromë's cottage, whilst the breeze slowly became crisp and began to bite and nip softly at sensitive skin.

"There's so much that needs to be cleaned and fixed..."

"Námo!" Irmo exasperatedly huffs out, cheeks puffed and lips pouted, as a deeper red mixes with his amethyst irises, gaze shifting between Kalla and him, scared his little moon will start feeling guilty again.

"What? Excuse me, mr. mothmorien, Is it not the truth? Look around, I am not trying to make anyone feel bad- but look at this place, it's a mess, no?" He chuckles, a rare thing to catch the doomsman allowing himself to do around most.

He flips his hands around, gesturing to the clutter surrounding the 4 of them.

"I must say Olothëra, your work is impressive. For someone so small, you sure can turn the whole of my domain upside down with no hardships. Are you sure you're not one of Tulkas' reckless maiar?" Námo huffs, drawing a smile from of them.

The room goes quiet for a minute, before the sound of restrained snorts fill the silence, which shifts into small snickers and suddenly bursts out into loud and tired laughter.

"Never let them know your next move, or- or whatever it is Aurëlius usually says."

They laugh and wipe the tears from their eyes, pressing their hand against Irmo's face to get him to look at them and not his brother.

"Tell your maiar I said hi and I'm sorry for giving them more work and"

A pale hand full of silver rings on each finger and chains wrapped around the wrist delicately is raised, silencing the maia.

"Worry not, I'm sure they'd count redecorating the halls as a break from all the- well- death, and if it would be a relief to you, then your punishment shall be that you join them." He hums, letting a small smile flash on his features before switching up to his poker face once again.

"Now go, rest."

With those three simple words from the doomsman, Estë grins throws Kalla over her shoulder, chuckling at the squeak that escapes their lips.

The vala of dreams follows behind the two, halting for a moment to look at his brother, only to blink and give him a bright smile.

"I should send you and Vairë a bouquet as thanks!"

"I'd rather you not." Námo sighs and shoos his brother out of the lounges doorway, shaking his head with a smile threatening to claw its way back onto his face as he watches the three go.

"... What will I tell Vairë when she gets back with her new silks and sees this mess."

A/N: Ah ( Slams head onto table )

I'm so sorry if some characters seemed ooc you guys, I'm trying my best to put myself into the shoes of characters, it also really depends on the bonds of the Canon characters and the muses.

Taglist: @edensrose

Want to get tagged on my fics?

Clickie here dear.

( Hi, if you were not tagged, it is because I am a little unsure whether this would be dark content that was not wanted to be read. I will update my taglist soon, where it will have another box where you can specify what you can and cannot read. Thank you for reading )

[theharrowing]

"writing some of the darker themes is always going to evoke some negative feelings and invite controversy, but for those of us who find it cathartic, i think it can be very warm and healing."

wow lol what a playful way to say you like to write about rape, murder and abuse. please seek therapy.

friends, sorry i can’t post content warnings before messages, but you can see what this one deals with. my response doesn’t have such blatant language, but feel free to skip this post if it makes you uncomfortable. 

hello, darling anon! thank you for taking the time to write such a concise, thoughtful message! it always brightens my day to hear from strangers online who clearly have no experience with my actual body of work, nor knowledge of who i am as a person, and who hide behind anonymity and self-righteousness.

funny you should assume that i have not sought therapy, but you may be surprised to find that those from whom i have turned to for counsel have told me the very opposite, and have had some pretty interesting, deep conversations with me about catharsis and nuance.

writing and reading about darker topics is cathartic to some, whether you like it or not. it's fine if you disagree, but you can literally just scroll on without complaining. it's actually free of cost to curate your space in a way that feels safe for you and only engage in content that you feel safe engaging with.

i am reminded of a really thoughtful twitter thread on this topic, and i will post some individual tweets from that thread here, with links to each tweet, starting with this graphic:

(image link)

You do not "own" trauma. Some random stranger is NOT "romanticizing (your) trauma" when they write about or draw fictional characters in a traumatic situation. In many cases, the person is writing about THEIR OWN trauma using fictional characters. It has nothing to do with you. (link)

You're gonna see triggering things online. That's how the internet works. It's like Russian Roulette. Even if you utilize mute and block features, sometimes things still slip through the cracks and you see triggering stuff anyway. It's a risk that comes with using the internet. (link)

So the fact that people are complaining about fanart and fanfic - THINGS THAT ARE USUALLY TAGGED - is infuriating to me. You see that the fanfic has triggering tropes in the tag? Don't read it. You see an art tag that upsets you? Mute the tag so you won't see it on your tl. (link)

The internet is not a true "safe space." There's no way to 100% safety proof the internet to your specific comforts. I'm not saying this to be cruel. I'm just being realistic and practical. You can't blame others because your personal trauma was triggered by a random thing online (link)

If you see triggering content online on accident, that sucks and I'm so sorry that you experienced that. But it is not anyone's fault. People are allowed to post (nearly) anything they want online (especially in fandom spaces when fictional characters are involved)- (link)

It's not your fault either, especially when you take precautions like using muted terms. It's just an accident and the nature of the internet. And getting angry and upset at random strangers isn't going to help anything. (link)

You're allowed to feel discomfort ofc. But this misplaced... entitlement? Anger at others for posting fictional content? That isn't it. That's not the way to deal with that. (link)

It's a waste of energy, first of all. Good luck trying to get people to stop posting things that upset you. It's a lost cause. No matter how much I dislike (certain tropes), this is the World Wide Web that billions of people have access to and people will post that thing anyway- (link)

So it's better to just - as best as you can - let it roll of your shoulders. It is literally impossible to stop people from posting the thing (especially in fandom) so instead, switch your energy to seeking out things that you know appeal to you and bring you good feelings. (link)

You see something triggering? You close the window, take a moment to yourself, start fresh and find something that is more appealing or healing to you. Feeling discomfort or being upset is fine. Trying to go on some crusade to stop it? It's just not practical, I'm sorry. (link)

Being angry about others posting certain fictional content is like being disgusted by seafood and going to a restaurant and getting angry and upset because the diner the table next to you ordered fish. You are at a place that can and does serve fish. (link)

It's not practical to get upset at them about it. You can be annoyed or irritated that now you had to smell fish during your dinner. But you can't be angry at the restaurant or the servers or the other person for doing what they are allowed to do in that space. (link)

Also - you can complain about it, I guess! My issue is y'all need to stop demonizing people who are into darker FICTIONAL themes and who tag their content. You can dislike their crap yeah but stop acting like they're literally Satan and stop blaming them and fiction for abuse. (link)

...i think that sums up, pretty well, my thoughts on the matter. and, again, if you disagree, that is perfectly within your rights. but accusing folks of romanticizing something awful (which is what your message felt like) is...silly. grow up. hide tags, mute words, block me! it's really so easy.

thanks for the message, sweetie! have a great night!

[aohendo]

Find the Word

Thanks for the tag, @houndsofcorduff​!! My words were collide, wings, eventually, stand, and fate.

Sending this towards @ezestreet​, @cactusmotif​, @on-noon​, @aschlindartroom​, and @avrablake​. Your words are math, write, read, spell, and logic.

Once again, we almost had that full page thing going on (I really thought I would find “stand” in that snippet), but alas. Not quite.

Collide

n/a. Fun fact! The Turre were able to conquer the land they now possess through use of war hawks. Literally, hawks with bodies the size of hippos. The Novgor Plateau does not have any native creature (or defense) capable of dealing with giant war hawks, however, they do have giant pelicans they have domesticated for mail!

Wings and eventually

“Good math,” he muttered, and wrestled his back straight. He still kept a hand on the bookshelf, his balance as fuzzy as his hearing, but—there. If he focused, hard, he could faintly hear the curses of the Boots. Behind them, just barely, like a breeze from a distant memory, was the comforting ringing of the Other. Like this, it was easy to tune out. It was easy to forget about. It was difficult to remember how to exist, but the longer he waited, the more put-together he felt.

He wasn’t sure how long—his sense of time so connected to the Other—but eventually, his grip on the bookshelf loosened, each breath deepened, the wet-blanket weight shifted to the movable heft of a winter coat. Whomever the Turre had commissioned for these proofs was worth their life in gold.

The room rang in silence. Yes, he was half-deafened, ears deadened from the removal of the Other, now solely listening to the human, but even the ambient bass of a large building felt muted. It made each breath louder, each creak of his joints chaotic, the pounds of his heart a pelican’s wingbeats. It made the whisper of clothes, the shiver of pages turning, that much more impossible to ignore.

Although his ears spoke of a person, his eyes found something far more exciting. Wall to wall, the room was filled in books. Thousands of tomes at least, each shelf stacked full and raising from floor to ceiling. As if he were in a tunnel of knowledge, the literature bowed over him. He took a deep breath through his nose: dust, and old paper, and even older ink, and the faintly sour smell the Scholars’ copy machines left on books.

Stand (bit of a stretch, I’ll admit)

“You know exactly what I mean, my Prince.”

“I’m not sure I do,” Kiris said, carefully, and it was as if he had summoned winter within the dressing room. He smiled, pointed, just as implacable as any of the rest of this farce, although he didn’t bother twisting it kind. This wasn’t Prince Yphant na Suem, Strauv; this was Kiris Avkonin, Prophet. “You should consider your explanation wisely, Aris.”

Equally frigid, Aris pressed on. “Were you in the Temples, your understanding of Empathic Projection would qualify you as a Professor.”

Fate

“Nothing?” ni Musyr scoffed, the weight of the sword digging into his neck. Warmth leaked from him; when he shifted his gaze, a thin roll of blood drooped from where she threatened him.

Behind her, Aris slowly stood. He had no sword, but a hunting dagger rested in his hand. And it would be so easy to let the future fall where it desires, one of an infinite number of probabilities, of lesser prophecies. Kiris had no power over the future. What he could do, was affix it.

Kiris’ fate ni Musyr had decided. Aris’, no one had.

“Stay out of this,” Kiris ordered, softly.

[legendsofmyriad]

Legends of Myriad: Arc One - Chapter 18: Helping Hand

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

Arc One Masterlist

-- -- -- -- --

Seedy didn’t even begin to define the hotel lounge Esther found herself in. Despite the smudgeless reflective walls and intricate golden rivers running geometric patterns on the surfaces, the stench of dirty dealings and dodgy trades was impossible to mask. Passing by, shadowed faces glimpsed her with disinterest, and smirks of satisfaction sealed agreements. At a booth, a poor soul wept while the perfumed suit facing him reclined to watch the spectacle he had orchestrated. Esther heard a stream of pleas, but they were swiftly muted. 

Mechanised servers on squeaky wheels delivered drinks, navigating the cluster of central tables and chairs. A spitting threat followed the clatter of a tray as a grizzled customer shoved at the unlucky assistant, and the silver machine behind the bar cocked his head to the others before returning to his tap-cleaning duties. 

At least I’m not the only one involved in shifty business, Esther thought to herself. Her guide led her to a private booth at the far end of the lounge and waved a flat palm to the plump seats. 

“Please, sit,” he said. “Unless you would like to conduct our conversation standing. It wouldn’t be the strangest request I’ve had, but I’m more than happy to comply.” 

“You’re happy to comply because you assume you’ll get what you want,” Esther asserted, perching herself on the velvet bench and locking her stony gaze onto him. 

He held the contact with a cold, unwavering stare while giving his commands to the bodyguards, captivated by the faint flecks of amber in the sage green. Her eyes glimmered with vibrancy, exuding an energy and life that he rarely witnessed in Lumen. There was certainly an otherworldly essence to her. In that respect, his employers were correct. But everything else seemed exaggerated. Contrary to the whispers, it was not a supernatural entity in their midst, but a mere young woman. Steadfast, perhaps, but not incorruptible. Resolved, but not wholly out of reach for his talents. 

Esther scoffed at his attempt to intimidate her and noticed her reflection in the ceiling. She had been so consumed by her work she hadn’t even thought to check a mirror in weeks. The woman staring back at her appeared persistent and unpolished, a complete contrast to the poised and put-together girl who had first entered through the gateways all those months ago. 

She couldn’t help but admire her new image. A thrill kindled within her at the dirt on her face, the grime in her fingernails, and the steeled intensity that could have fought off a thousand battle-hardened warriors. Hours of intense study in the academy library convinced her she knew what focus was, but now she truly understood what forms it took and what it tasted like. It wasn’t just the acquisition of knowledge; it was the strength to use it. 

The slick-haired man sat down with a flourish, unbuttoning his blazer and fanning out the sides like a peacock on display. “Apologies, but protocol needs to be adhered to, and my bodyguards must have their orders.” 

“Makes me wonder who the robots are,” Esther mused, resting her forearms on the glossy table. “The servers or your guards. Seems nobody around here dares to move an inch without explicit instruction.”

“That is how structure is kept,” the man replied, amused by her astute observations. “I am Ralph Gridley, representative of the industry families.” He extended a hand and withdrew it again when she pointedly refused to entertain his civility. “And your name is?”

Esther’s eyebrow quirked, and she sank into the firm cushions behind her, crossing one leg over the other and tapping her foot as though she had somewhere else to be. “If you’re going to arrest me, or attempt to use some barbaric practice, I would advise you not to.”

A server approached their table with a squeak and set down two glasses of a clear, fizzing liquid. Ralph mopped the beads of condensation from his glass with a napkin and took a sip.

“While we are aware of your vigilante activities,” he said as he dabbed at the corner of his mouth, “that is not why I have brought you here.” 

“If it’s friendly conversation you’re looking for, then I get plenty of that in town.” 

Ralph snorted bitterly. “You will be searching for centuries if you wish to find friendly conversation among the lower classes.”

“That’s funny,” Esther said. With a delicate hand, she picked up the second glass and swirled the drink within. The bubbles popped into miniscule droplets and hissed in protest at the rude disturbance, ice cubes chiming against the rim. “I’ve had many pleasant conversations with the hard workers of Lumen. They are good people.” 

“I’ll take your word for it, but I had more refined company in mind for you.” 

The carbonated concoction left a vile aftertaste in her mouth as it slid down her throat. “In exchange for what?” she questioned, setting the drink aside. “If it is one thing I have learned about Lumen, it is that you don’t get something for nothing. So what do you want?” 

Ralph scrutinised her with a keen eye. While he hadn’t been working for the industry families long compared to his more experienced colleagues, he had ascended the ranks to rub shoulders with the elite and the accomplished. Yet he had never encountered someone like her. Something percolated from her very being, something he both feared and found intrinsically fascinating. Deep down, he craved to speak with her on a more personal level, to unravel the layers that she so carefully guarded and see what lay within. 

“I have been made privy to some rather disturbing news about an organisation planning to assassinate one of the heads of the industry families,” he explained. “Unfortunately, we do not know who the intended target is. I am tracking down suitable protectors with exceptional skills beyond that of a bodyguard to monitor them. You will be compensated, obviously. It is imperative we keep the order. Without order, there is only chaos. I’m sure you understand that this is in everybody’s best interest.” 

If a glance could kill, Esther’s razor gaze would have brutally disembowelled him multiple times over. Her first intention was to refuse him, but part of her advised her to reconsider. She had the opportunity to wriggle her way in and help the people of Lumen from inside the belly of the beast. But would they misunderstand and spread a distrust of her? Would they see her standing side by side with them and consider their Green Flame lost? 

“I will be here at the hotel for three more days,” Ralph told her as she mulled over her options. “You may return here once you have made your decision. A car shall take you back to wherever you are currently staying.” 

“No need,” Esther said, rising from the comfortable cushions. “I’ll walk.” 

Drawing her hood up, she scurried under the hotel’s striped overhang to avoid the deluge battering everything unfortunate enough to be caught outside. Speedy droplets smacked into the dipped fabric like a rumbling drumbeat and rolled off into the ducts below the city. 

As she gazed out at the oil-smeared roads and the thin fog, she tried to imagine how the place would look during the sunnier months. Do they even get summers here? she wondered, stepping out after the last rushing car and dashing across the street. Does the sky ever clear? Have the people of Delorem seen the sun or is that property of the industry families too? 

Summers on Solgarde were vibrant, full of warmth, and hope, and laughter. The fields of Cavell would bloom, filling the breeze with the powdery, floral scent of wildflowers and buzzing insects as they hopped within the vegetation. Evenings drew in late and the sky blazed with a riot of orange and lilac hues to drive away the wispy clouds. She’d never experienced a peace like those packed summer days. And now here she was, soaked, saddened, and desperate to feel the mercy of the sun again. 

Factory horns blared a deafening roar over the howling rain and the city’s foundations shuddered as its workforce was released from their duties. Vibrations accompanied each blast, and a flock of birds nearby shot into the clouds with a screech and a flutter of wet wings. 

At the rounded corner of the main street, a hunched woman scrambled to retrieve a scattering of boxes. Instinctively, Esther hurried to help. Scooping them out of the rain, she managed to save the majority from total disintegration. 

“Thank you,” the woman panted, coughing the rasp from her voice. “Wind this time of year is awful. Mixes with the toxins and carries them further than the factories.” 

“Just catch your breath,” Esther encouraged, shifting the weight of the boxes under her arm. “And when you’re ready, you can tell me where we’re heading.”

The woman’s shock slowly dissolved at the friendly smile on her helper’s face and she bowed her head north. “Kingsrose district. But it’s a fair walk.”

“I don’t mind,” Esther assured her. She crooked her elbow for the woman to hold on to and they gradually crossed into the northern reaches of Lumen, avoiding the open areas and staying under cover until the torrent petered out into a light drizzle.

The bustle of the commercial avenues eventually gave way to the residential quarters of Kingsrose Plaza. At the major intersection, golden vines coiled around a sleeping metal stag. Cascades of clean water splashed from the structure and collected in the basin below. 

“I fell in that fountain when I was a girl,” the stooped woman chortled. “My older brothers were running on the wall and I was so eager to join their fun that I jumped up and slipped right in.” 

“I can’t imagine the Kingsrose family took kindly to that.”

“Oh, they didn’t mind. I got a stern telling off for being so reckless, but they just sent someone out to filter the water.”

“There were no punishments?” 

“Of course there weren’t. We were children.” 

It dawned on Esther that she had only picked up on vague rumours about the Kingsrose family and knew nothing concrete. She observed the familiar uniforms and glum faces of those working for the other four families, but the flower and crown emblems were a unique sight. Since most of her research had been conducted in the city centre, she’d never had cause to visit other territories or speak to any of their workers. 

“I’d have happily worked for Miss Penelope all my life,” she continued, “but my joints aren’t what they used to be and I had to retire.” 

That word knocked Esther off guard. Retirement seemed to be an unfamiliar concept on Delorem, and she had not heard of anyone retiring during her months there. “You’re retired?” 

The woman lifted her left sleeve to show her the Kingsrose emblem on her arm. A bold black trail encircled the design, standing out against the faded colours of the original tattoo. “Some years ago now,” she said, shuffling the elastic cuff back down to her wrist. “A bit of advice for you: your curiosity is a wonderful thing, but it will get you caught, Green Flame.” 

Esther’s eyes widened in horror as she stumbled away, almost dropping the parcels. “What?” she squeaked. “What are you talking about?” 

“Only outsider we’ve had in three hundred years is this Green Flame,” the woman explained, taking the packages from her one by one. “Everyone around here knows how things work, and your questions make you stick out. Oh, don’t look at me like that. I could have turned you in while we were walking, yet here you stand, free as you were when you took those boxes.”

Esther reeled. Rain droplets trickled from her bottom lip as she stood with her mouth hanging open. As the adrenaline ebbed, a wave of foolishness washed over her. Even though she didn’t want to believe it, there were people in Lumen who would betray her to the authorities for a meal or a better life. “I… It didn’t occur to me that…” 

“Course it wouldn’t,” the woman said, her kind eyes turning steely and determined. “You’re not from round here so you won’t know not to ask questions, but let me tell you something; if you want to survive here, act and think like us. And not just the decent folk trying to make ends meet. Think like the industry families, and the middlemen in suits and the well-to-do, but do not allow them any opportunity to figure out who you are. You are the first shred of hope we have had in a long while. Don’t you let that flame go out.”

Too late, Esther thought, recalling her conversation with Ralph Gridley and his proposition. They already know.

* * *

By the time Ether arrived at the Silver Smoke Club, her cloak hung lopsided and a trail of water painted a puddle in the musty carpet. Fume-infused droplets stung her eyes, and she blinked until the blaring blue and purple lights sunk into their bulbs. The smattering of patrons threw her disinterested glances before returning to their drinks. 

With a rusted squeak and a click, the double doors behind her locked out the howl of the elements, and she traipsed to the glowing bar top.

“Have you taken a dip in the river?” Lucy, the owner, jested, biting her cheek to stop herself from laughing as the dishevelled woman grappled to get onto a barstool without getting it wet. “Here. Let me help.” She leaned over the surface to unclip her cloak and wrung it out in the sink. Once the worst of the oily rainwater had been removed, she left it over the steel basin to dry.

“Thanks.” With a groan, Esther pushed herself up onto the stool closest to the radiator and let the blasting warmth ease her shivers. The heat blanketed her within minutes, and the drained flush in her cheeks settled. “I’ve seen drowned sewer rats that aren’t as soggy as this.” 

Lucy set a glass of sapphire liquid and a pristine napkin on the countertop. The bubbles rushed to the surface and popped to release the tantalising aroma of fresh blueberries. “Get that down you.” 

The mellow refreshment tingled on Esther’s tongue and she savoured every sip. Rain on Delorem wasn’t like at home. It bit, and it corroded, and the first couple of times she’d been caught out, she’d been left with a barking cough and a sore throat for days. But Lucy had taken care of her, imparting knowledge on how to traverse the city in a downpour and ensuring she had a drink ready to relieve any lasting discomfort. 

The clinking of glasses and the laughter of patrons consumed the bar area, and as she watched the bartender she had befriended expertly mix drinks and chat with customers, she wondered if the thought of turning her over to the authorities had ever crossed her mind. She knew who she was and what she had undertaken while in Lumen. Given the frequent visits by officers and authority personnel, she could easily slip a note with their drink or ask for a quiet word. 

What would it take for that trust to break? What would the industry families offer Lucy if they tracked her down to the club? All that was needed was a whispered name, a jab of a finger in her direction…

“Hey.”

Blinking away her doubts, Esther straightened up in her seat, tapping her nails on the side of her glass. “Sorry. Did you say something?”

“Are you all right?” Lucy asked. “You’ve gone pale.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. I was thinking.” 

“Must have been some thought. I clicked in front of your face and everything.” 

“It’s nothing. Just…” 

“Just?” 

Esther’s mouth opened to respond, but the words stuck. Instead, she sighed and mumbled, “just stuff.” She swilled her drink and drained the rest. 

She was determined to provide some help to the overworked souls of Lumen, but she had to be cautious about who she trusted. Even those known for their sympathy and compassion might be swayed by the right offer. And where would she be then? A prison cell? In the rain facing death by electric current? Or worse? 

Yet, amidst the misery and distrust, there were those who remained kind. People who deserved better than forced servitude and a life locked in a struggle to make ends meet. 

“Do you know how much longer you’re planning on staying?” Lucy queried. “Not that I’m trying to get rid of you. You are way quieter than most and you always pay on time.”

“When my research is done, I suppose.” 

“Lets hope it takes a few more months. It’s been nice having you here.” The bar manager went to refill Esther’s glass, but she declined the offer with a shake of her head. “Looks like this place is taking its toll. You sure you don’t want another?” 

“I’m certain, but thank you,” Esther replied, stifling a yawn with the back of her wrist. An exhausted ache idled under her eyes. If it hadn’t been for the raucous buzz, she may have fallen asleep where she sat. But she still had work to do. Information to gather. An offer to consider.

No, she told herself decisively. I won’t do it. If an organisation is planning to assassinate members of the industry families, then good. Someone needs to rip them down, and it’s better coming from one of their own people than an outsider. 

Lucy ruffled her dark auburn undercut and tucked the stray strands in place, stretching the rivers of purple and silver that glittered down her neck and disappeared beneath the collar of her shirt. When she first arrived, Esther had been captivated by her tattoos. After discovering she was from another world, Lucy made it her responsibility to support her, teaching her about some of Lumen’s customs and how their society functioned. She had done as much as possible to help her, but each day the weary researcher returned more drained and disheartened than the last, recalling the day’s incidents over a drink and a discouraged sigh. 

“Perhaps a couple of days off will help clear your mind?” Lucy suggested. “Ever since you got here, you’ve been running around doing your research. I understand you’ve got a job to do, but you need to take care of yourself.”

“Wish I could, but my work is rather time sensitive. And considering how things are here, the sooner I’m done, the better.”

“At least let me send up some warm water so you can have a bath. Can’t have you catching a cold.” 

“Thanks, Lu,” Esther said as she hopped off the barstool with a tired smile. “You’re an angel.”

-- -- -- -- --

If you enjoyed this chapter, please consider reblogging. Reblogging helps to get work out there and seen.

[genshinlover101]

May I get Hu Tao, Yanfei, and Ningguang’s reaction to a selective mute reader saying their first words to them? Bonus points if it’s something completely random and out of context like “hey look at those finches”

Her with a Selectively Mute S/O

Characters: Hu Tao, Yanfei, Ningguang

Warnings: none

A/n: ah I wanted to write more for Hu Tao but I also didn’t want to neglect Yanfei and Ningguang 🥲

• Hu Tao didn't mind that you never talked. She adopted the mindset that if you were silent, then she’d just have to talk enough for the both of you. Everyday was full of noise with Hu tao around.

• She was insensitive at first because she didn’t know any better. She never considered the fact that you might be mute, she always assumed it was by choice. After a couple of weeks, her antics died down but continued to hang around you by habit.

• Hu Tao was initially drawn in by you because you were so quiet and seemingly unaffected by her pranks. Someone immune to her tricks was impossible so she made it her goal to infiltrate your social bubble.

• Little did she know she ended up in a relationship with you because you were the only one who could tolerate her.

You grew accustomed to your odd relationship with Hu Tao. She would find you on the streets and follow you for hours, chatting about anything and everything. You allowed it because sometimes the silence was lonely, and Hu Tao made you feel all bubbly inside. 

“So today there was this unbelievable dude. Ayaaa~ he just makes me mad thinking about him. He slammed the door on my face and everything,” She told you an unworldly story that sounded almost unbelievable. “I wish you were there, you could’ve defended me right?”

You just sat there in silence staring at your feet. “Ah- that’s what I expected,” Hu Tao almost sounded somber at your unresponsiveness. “I guess it can’t be helped, you accept me for who I am at least and that’s all that matters. I mean, that’s a pretty big feat. not that many can stand my big personality.” She tried cheering herself up. 

“Wow look at those finches.” You said nonchalantly pointing at a nearby pond. Hu Tao interrupted her own thoughts, not even paying attention to what you said, just that you said something in general. She was in absolute shock, you won’t speak to her after all the awful pranks, but you would speak for a bird?

“What the-! You just spoke didn’t you?!” She was in disbelief. “I knew you could speak, you were just shy! Say can you speak again? Say ‘Hu Tao’ for me.” She wouldn’t stop talking at a raised volume, you honestly didn’t see the big deal.

• Yanfei wasn't the most talkative, so you'd have some holes of silence in your conversations. But she was willing to keep up with you even if she was the only one talking.

• You had a knack for pissing off the people of Liyue because you never responded. Yanfei being a legal advisor, heard quite a bit of negative rumors about you. She thought maybe she could break your shell and prevent anymore legal catastrophes caused by your silence.

• Yanfei began randomly making appearances in your life. Once she got to know you, she knew you were nothing but a gentle soul. She became your guardian angel in a way, and with her loud mouth and knowledge would defend you if anyone spoke poorly on your name.

• Her protective instinct over you became second nature. And spending that much time with you on her mind made her develop feelings for you via proximity.

Yanfei had a spare key to your home, sometimes she would just visit to rant to you about people who wouldn’t follow her advice. She found it nice that you just listened and never talked back or put your two cents to the matter.

She lounged on the same couch as you, sitting on the opposite end resting her legs on your lap. You merely listened to her like always like her little therapist. “You won’t believe this one guy. Ah, I can’t stand how stupid some of my clients can be.” She seemed stressed. 

“I mean seriously? I tell them one simple instruction to remain silent and you know what they do?” She waited as if she were going to receive a response. “Go straight and report everything to the Millelth... How can they expect me to get them out of that? All I can do now is try to lighten their sentence.”

“Wow, that guy is seriously dumb.” You said interrupting Yanfei’s story. It took her a moment of silence to process what you had said.

“Ah- you spoke,” Yanfei had a contorted face of confusion. “Wait a minute, you spoke!” She was freaking out. She immediately sat up from her position, all over you in curiosity. She had an undying quench to learn every detail about you, and to find out you can speak? Mindblowing.

“Wait so have you been able to speak this entire time? Why did you decide to speak now after all this time? Can you speak now? Are you afraid to speak?” She asked you a barrage of nonstop questions. To tease her more, you chose to not answer any of them.

• Ningguang was silent with you, only talking when necessary. This lady specialized in haggling, so when there was no voice of response it made it somewhat awkward for her.

• Ningguang honestly found your silence charming. It prevented you from saying stupid quips which were her pet peeve. But your silence was a double-edged sword as you often got taken advantage of.

• Ningguang would often speak on your behalf. If someone tried to verbally assault you she would bring her reign of terror on them. The condescending words from the Tianquan hurt them like poison.

• Ningguang admitted she took more than just a liking to your presence even if it were uneventful. You were a source of comfort for her.

Ningguang treated you like a puppy. You followed her around like a loyal dog because she defended you. However, It was a mutual commitment, only because she secretly enjoyed the power she had over you.

You sat beside her while she processed some paperwork, a cup full of tea beside her. Sometimes she would ask common questions such as what food you’d like for tonight. But otherwise, it was dead silent.

Not that you didn’t appreciate spending time in her office, it’s just that it occasionally got boring just watching Ningguang do her paperwork. It was quiet, away from the noise on Liyue’s streets, but too quiet. You could almost hear the echo of your breathing.

“Say, do you want me to preorder something from Wanmin? I’m getting hungry,” You said. Ningguang almost dropped her feathered pen at the sound of your voice. She looked at you fascinated, but it quickly died down.

“Wow, so you can talk?” She yawned, her maturity level not willing to overreact at the revelation. She didn’t even answer your question. “Well you could’ve fooled me. I won’t pressure you to continue but you have a lovely voice, it would be nice to hear it more often.”

[lyrabythelake]

This one is a prompt from @pokegeek151:

‘Time is exhausted and finally falls asleep. Everyone is running in circles to make sure he gets to stay asleep’

I crown you queen of writing prompts, Latte, the ones you gave me were all marvellous! I might put a couple of the others on the back-burner for another time, but this one was my favourite :)) Thanks so much!

“SHHHH!”

Sky and Four stop both mid-stride and mid-conversation at Warriors’ less than warm welcome into camp.

“What?” Four whispers, a little affronted.

Warriors widens his eyes expressly and gestures to a person shaped lump on the ground under what seems like every blanket they collectively own. Four’s irritation fades as he spots a tuft of sandy-blond hair poking out of the top.

“Time’s finally asleep?” Sky whispers.

“He conked out about half an hour ago,” says Hyrule in a low voice as Sky and Four walk past him to deposit the logs they had collected for the fire. Four lets out a relieved breath.

“Thank the Goddesses.”

Time‘s insomnia had gotten so bad over the past few days that the eight of him had taken to walking subtly close behind him lest he collapse in the middle of the path. Legend had even started talking about slipping him a sleeping potion without his knowledge. They are all very thankful they won’t have to take that particular route now he’s finally asleep; who knows what he would have done when he found out.

Wind watches him worriedly.

“Do you think he’ll sleep through the night?” 

“Not if you don’t manage to lower your voice,” Legend hisses indignantly.

“I am lowering my voice!” he argues, to which several people tell him to “Shhh!”

“No offence, Sailor,” whispers Wild, who is in the process of adding various spices to the cooking pot, “but you haven’t exactly mastered the art of volume control. Maybe you should just… not speak for a little while.”

Wind’s eyes go as wide as saucers.

“What?!”

Another round of “Shhh”-ing.

“You can’t just tell me to not speak, Wild,” he says, ever so slightly quieter. Legend shoots a nervous look at Time who seems not to have stirred in the slightest. “It’s rude. And impossible!”

Wild shrugs and throws some beans into the pot.

“Sorry. I didn’t think it was that big a deal.”

“Not everyone’s like you, Cub,” Twilight says in an undertone. “I bet Wind couldn’t go an hour without making some kind of noise.”

“Hey, that’s not true!”

“Really?” Twilight grins. “Prove it, then.”

Wind narrows his eyes.

“Oh, I see what you’re doing. As if I’m going to fall for—”

“Ah, ah. All I hear is you demonstrating my point,” Twilight interrupts. Wind scowls and opens his mouth to retort, then pauses. Visibly coming to the sudden, internal realisation that he has no way of winning, he wrinkles his nose, crosses his arms and sits back on the log behind him, mouth set in a straight line. Wild stifles a snigger.

The quiet that follows is a peaceful one. Nothing but the sizzling of the cooking pot, the steady hollow sound of Sky’s knife against his wooden carving block, and the muted rustle of Hyrule and Legend sorting through their belongings on either end of the camp. It’s almost enough to send some of the rest of them into a sleepy daze.

Unfortunately, the peace lasts all of five minutes before a loud CLANG rings out across the camp. Everyone freezes and snaps their heads round to look at Time who luckily, and perhaps a little miraculously, still seems to be fast asleep.

“Sorry!” Wild whispers, shoulders hunched sheepishly as he holds his ladle with a strong grip. He must have knocked it against the side of the cooking pot.

“Goddess Almighty, you would’ve thought a group of seasoned heroes like us would be able to stay quiet for more than a few minutes,” mumbles Twilight. 

They make it approximately two minutes this time before there’s a sound like cracking glass. It probably wouldn’t have been too loud on its own, except Legend immediately lets out a vehement string of swear words.

“Vet!” Warriors hisses reprovingly, and once again, everybody turns to check on Time. They collectively relax when he remains still and quiet.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Legend whispers guiltily. “My ice-rod went off in my bag.”

His hand emerges from his satchel holding a large chunk of ice with what seems to be half his belongings encased within. Warriors barely represses a snort.

“I thought you were supposed to be the Veteran. That’s the most rookie mistake I’ve seen any of us make.”

“You say that like I wasn’t rehemming your tunic last night after you singed it with the fire-rod,” Legend says coolly. Warriors turns slightly pink.

“For the love of Ordona!” Twilight hisses. “Would everyone please shut u—”

An explosion sounds from near the cooking pot. The effect is instantaneous; half of them scramble to draw their swords and the other half practically fall off their makeshift seats, frantically trying to find where the explosion came from.

It doesn’t take long for them to notice Hyrule, hair smoking, the lines and creases of his face blackened with soot, sitting stock still in front of a small, smouldering crater in the ground. His expression is fixed somewhere between astonishment and utter mortification.

“Whoops,” he says quietly, as if whispering will do anything at this point.

“What did you do?!” hisses Legend, eyes practically bulging.

“I thought that bomb was a dud,” he replies hesitantly. Then adds, “Turns out it wasn’t, though.”

“Yeah, I think we all got that!”

A tired groan comes from Time’s pile of blankets and everyone audibly holds their breath as he shifts to lie on his back.

“Time?” Warriors asks softly. “Are you awake?”

“Yes,” Time says wearily, muffled by the layers on top of him. Twilight buries his head in his hands and Wind silently glares at Hyrule who looks extremely guilty.

Warriors sighs resignedly.

“…You’ve been awake this whole time, haven’t you?” 

“Yep.”

[sylverstorms]

Cassandra x Maiden ----Anonymity Ch. 8

Ch.1      Ch.2      Ch.3      Ch.4      Ch.5      Ch.6      Ch.7

It has come to a point where you can’t even pretend to yourself that you don’t care for her.

All the time you spend with Cassandra every evening has made certain feelings impossible to deny, though you are too scared to name them all.

You don’t name the smile you can’t contain when she excitedly pulls you to the armory to show you her collection of blades –and explains, in a very animated fashion, about the optimal use for each one. You don’t want to know what the stutter in your heartbeat means, every time she genuinely laughs, pale neck thrown back, nose slightly scrunched and all. 

And it’s not just Cassandra you grow a tad closer to.  

Bela comes to you whenever the two of them have argued and goes ‘Tell my sister’ this or that. Daniela is apparently not allowed within a twenty meter radius of you, but she approaches to poke and prod at you whenever she wants to annoy Cassandra. She never manages to do either, because the middle sister always swoops in, fuming, dragging her away by the hood of her robes like a kitten.

Lady Dimitrescu is the only one as distant as the day you first saw her –and it’s probably for the better. You don’t see her much, anyway, not with how Cassandra takes you to empty castle wings to have you all to herself.

Tonight is different.

After dinner, Bela leaves with her mother and you go to help the other maids present clean the table. But your lover steps in the way and grabs your elbow, instead, hurriedly pulling you along.

“Do not tell me you’re seriously thinking to make me wait longer.” she says.

Of course, you promised to watch a movie you found on your phone with her and she’s been buzzing with impatience since.

That is, until a certain redhead blocks your way. 

“Daniela, move.” Cassandra huffs. 

“What are you doing? Take me with you.” the younger sister replies, brimming with childlike curiosity. 

“No. Go bother Bela.” A shooing motion is made. 

“Bela’s no fun. I wanna come with you and Alexia.” she drops your name so casually it’s startling.

“Wait give me a moment to think about it –moment over. No.” Cassandra states, fast.

But Daniela shoots forward and grabs your arm like a koala. Your eyes go wide at the same time as Cassandra’s, for different reasons.

The brunette immediately grips her sister’s robes, none-too-gently. “Don’t touch her, she’s mine!”

“If you don’t take me along I’m telling mother where you found that music player and phone!” Daniela answers, her hold enough to cut off your blood flow.

You send Cassandra a pleading look before they break your arms with how they’re tugging at you.

“On one condition.” the elder sister holds a finger up to her sibling’s face. “You sit next to me and you don’t move around.”

“…she’s warm, though.” Daniela says, all but pouting. “Mother says sharing is caring~”

“Find your own human.” Cassandra growls out as the three of you make your way to the main hall and the couch adjacent to the fireplace there.

“You and Bela have gotten the prettier ones!”

“You snooze, you lose.”

Cassandra quite literally pins you to the arm of the couch with her body, to keep Daniela as far away from you as possible. Even as the movie starts, you can feel her sulking by your neck for not being able to touch you the way she wants.

You are not as focused on the movie as you are cute way she plays with your hand throughout its duration.

-

-

It’s getting harder and harder to remind yourself of what they are.

Especially when, ten minutes after the credits have rolled, Daniela is still crying over the death of the protagonist. Even Bela comes to the hall and asks Cassandra what she did to her.

By the time she’s done dealing with her sisters, your lover comes to you sporting a headache.

“We’re leaving this wing right now.” Cassandra says and that is about all the warning you get.

The next second you feel a rush of air and your stomach leaping to where your heart is supposed to be; Your eyes only make out a blur and an augur of black flies.

When she comes to a halt you crash into Cassandra’s side with a gasp. Your arm aches from the pull. The world spins for ten solid seconds.

She laughs by your ear. Low and satisfied as it is at your disorientation –it reminds you of drinking wine by a fire in the heart of winter— you can’t help but bask in the timbre of her voice so close.

“Ugh, why is it so cold in here?” she complains in that same quiet tone you love.

It is very cold compared to the more lived in parts of the castle, but your body is warm enough from your sustained proximity and the rush of adrenaline she always causes in you.

“Oh, well, I can bear it for a little while if it means we won’t be interrupted.” Cassandra trails off and lifts your chin with a chilled finger.

Your lips meet and slide together in a practiced tango. Her manicured nails run over your throat and shoulders, making you shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the temperature.

Both of you are starting to get really into it when Cassandra walks you back into the nearest wall. It happens to be a window, covered by a flimsy curtain. You have half a mind to realize it’s probably been forgotten slightly ajar, judging from the frost that graces your shoulder, but you have more important matters to focus on, like the brush of her tongue over your bottom lip.

Until Cassandra braces her bare hand over the unseen opening, to box you in like she usually does.

And-

She shrieks.

She jerks away so powerfully her back crash-lands into the painting on the far wall, knocking it down with its frame broken. You’re left there still and mute, watching in frozen horror as her face distorts into pure, raw anguish.

“Shut it!” Cassandra screams at you. “Shut it now, now!”

Your nerves suddenly kick into overdrive and you pull the window closed like your life depends on it.

What just… happened...?

In slow, cautious steps, you approach her. She’s clutching her hand like a wounded animal, baring its teeth to hide its vulnerability. It is the first time you see her like this. Void of control, bent over in hurt. Gasping.

Something in your chest breaks.

You look at her hand, to find her pale skin nearly crystallized, grey and breaking apart —like cheap china, like weak porcelain— into flies that drop to the floor, faintly twitching.

You thought… you thought they could just control the insects. That dissipating into swarms was just a trick allowed by their mutation. But now you realize, the flies are her body.

All this time trapped under the looming terror of the daughters… and escape was as easy as opening a window on them.

“Cassandra…?” you ask in a wavering voice when the initial burst of rage leaves her form.

She looks up at you, torn, when you hear the heavy sound of heels rapidly approaching.

“Cassandra?!” a different voice calls, this time, deep and authoritative. When Lady Dimitrescu rounds the corner in her immense height, your instincts scream to run.

But one look at Cassandra makes you stay.

Alcina halts for a moment to take in the scene. Then her lips curl downwards and bladed claws extend from her gloves, easily half your body in length. 

Oh my… God…

“What did you do to my daughter?!” she demands and advances on you, but Cassandra gets in front of you before she can truly threaten your life.

“I brought her here, mother. It’s my fault.” she hurries to explain.

Alcina stares at you like she wants to crush you underfoot… but then softens, somewhat, at the look her daughter is giving her.

“Come with me. Now.” She says in a stern motherly tone that leaves no room for objections.

You clutch Cassandra’s uninjured hand, silently asking if she’ll be alright. She turns, looks at you for a moment, then nudges your head with hers.

“...I’ll see you later, Alexia.”

But, as it turns out... “later” is subjective.

 -

-

 In Alcina’s Private Chambers…

It is not often that Cassandra is reprimanded by herself. 

She has never before been the only one at fault. She’s used to having her sisters beside her while Alcina scolds the three of them… except this time they’re outside the closed door and she is there to face their mother’s ire alone.

She can’t stay still under that yellowish-grey, narrowed gaze. Her fingers fidget with the edge of her robes’ sleeve to keep occupied, while Alcina takes that deep, calming breath she knows heralds no good things. Ever.

“Cassandra. Do you understand the severity of the situation?”

“Yes, mother.” She keeps her gaze downcast.

“Even if the maid didn’t harm you on purpose, she now knows your weakness. Yours and your sisters’. You were careless to allow this.” Cassandra feels anxiety rise up from the pit of her stomach and threaten to swallow her whole at that tone.

“I know, mother. Forgive me.” she replies quietly.

She wants to say that Alexia won’t use this knowledge against any of them, but she cannot bring herself to lie to Alcina. Because the truth is, Cassandra doesn’t know for a fact that she will not.

Why was that window open? Why?!

“You didn’t let me fix your mistake. I assume that means you will do it yourself?” her mother asks and Cassandra’s gaze snaps up.

What…?

At first, the temptation to chain Alexia up and watch as her blood drained from her lithe body had been sweet and strong. But now, at the thought of killing her –losing her— in whichever way, Cassandra is sick to her stomach. It is strange, because she feels like she is hyperventilating when she isn’t breathing at all and the world has tilted and—

Please don’t.

“Since when did you ever hesitate to kill, Cassandra?”

“…If.. that is what you ask of me…” she replies but she doesn’t sound like herself at all, not even to her own ears.

“How can I ask that of you and break your heart?” Alcina throws her arms up in exasperation. “I should have stopped this months ago but I thought it a fleeting fancy. I never imagined you would end up so attached.”

“I’m- I’m not-” she tries to protest, but her mother is having none of it.

“You’re not? You’re with her every day and she barely sports scratches anymore. Your eyes follow her everywhere when she’s in the same room. You instinctively lean closer whenever she comes over to refill your wine. Do you think I do not notice?” Of course. Of course she noticed.

Cassandra swallows, silent.

The memory of laying, too weak to move a single finger, on her deathbed along with Bela and Daniela pierces through Cassandra’s brain like a bullet. Her hand gives a violent spasm and flies break off to buzz frantically around her as she drops her forehead into her palm.

She’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown and it’s just so difficult without her sisters there. They’ve always been together, since the very beginning.

They were born together, learned to control their powers together, they died together-

Alcina is on one knee in front of her the next millisecond, stroking her hair and gathering her into her arms.

“Shh, calm down, my love.” she coos. “I’m sorry to be so harsh on you. I only want the best for you three.”

Cassandra doesn’t talk because she can’t, because she cannot wrap her head around what that flash inside her brain was.

“Oh, my Cassandra. I will not harm the maid if it will harm you, too.”

She waits for the eventual ‘but’.

“But I cannot let this dalliance continue any longer.”

It’s probably for the best. Her mother knows best. It is true, after all, that she has not been acting like herself, lately. So, yes, this decision is for her own good.

But.

Cassandra’s heart has the same reaction upon hearing it as being exposed to sub-zero winter air.

[poptod]

hey there ☺ do you think you can write a soulmate au with ahk where you hear each other's thoughts? and ahk thought he didn't have one all these years only to hear you while he's at the museum and then you try to find each other?

notes: wonderful idea. also i noticed my method of doing requests is do it almost immediately after i get it or wait four months before i get it done so sorry about that, but i hope you enjoy this!

WC: 1.5k +

There are many versions of yourself, all talking over one another in an attempt to control your mind for once. Sometimes it's hard to decipher if your actions are the result of someone in your head tugging you in a different direction. There is the person you believe yourself to be––what you imagine you come off to people as. There is also the person you truly are, and what people actually perceive you to be. So despite there being several voices, they are all reiterations of yourself in some way.

Except for one.

One of them speaks in a voice that is not your own, in a voice you've never heard anywhere but echoing in your skull. Since you despised asking questions as a child, it took you until you were twelve to realize that no, you weren't insane. It was someone who would love you, who had the potential to grow close to you simply by the strings of fate. Your soulmate. 

Someone who gave you nightmares for years.

'Get me out of here!' He would scream, sending your heart pounding while you tried to sleep as a child. 'Please, please, I need to see the stars,' he sobbed, 'I did nothing to deserve this!'

Once you grew old enough to deal with the screaming beyond what you thought was a schizophrenia disorder, nighttime brought a deep sadness to you. For some reason, your soulmate would never think during the day––which was incredibly odd––and during the night, the only time he was awake, he would scream and beg and cry until you could feel the hoarseness in your own throat. For your entire childhood, you stared up at your ceiling at night, eyes burning as you tried to calm the screaming.

It was all you could think about, as though the screams had muted your connection to him and strengthened his connection to you. Every now and then you would try to think, try to calm him down, but he never quite heard.

Then, one evening in winter, it stopped.

You were lying in bed, rolled onto your side as you once again listened to the man's yelling thoughts. But then he stopped, and both your hearts skipped a beat, followed by an incredibly clear thought: Thank the Gods, blessed Ra and Khonsu.

That evening you darted out of bed, jumping to your desk where you typed in with slamming, lightning-fast fingers, "khonsu." Ra you already knew––everyone knew Ra, and by connection Khonsu would probably also be a God. The only question you were left with was why you were hearing the thoughts of someone who worshipped Egyptian gods two thousand years after that civilization died.

As you continued your research, his thoughts continued.

They took my tablet?

Who are these people?

This man has no idea what he's doing, does he?

Why is he screaming at the Hun?

He's got my tablet.

About halfway into the night you gave up on your research, instead listening intently to the thoughts. With you entirely absorbed in your soulmates thoughts, you had little room to send your own words to him, which unbeknownst to you, would've reached him if you tried.

You weren't quite sure what to think of him for the following couple weeks. At first your assumption was that he was the insane one projecting his insane thoughts to you, but his quieter thoughts led you to believe there was something different in him. It is true what they say––geniuses are often tortured minds, and though you wouldn't classify your soulmate as a genius, he was clearly a knowledgeable philosopher of sorts.

He thought often of the human condition––the rise and fall of civilizations, the cruelty and the mercy of men that began the stories of bloodstained battlefields. Most of the time you just listened. Now that he wasn't screaming, his voice was soft and more of a comfort than you ever thought it would be.

Sometimes he got very sad. After a while you learned to not question the logic of his thoughts. Instead, you simply tried to understand what he meant, accepting him for where he was in his life.

I miss my brother.

I wonder what happened to my best friend.

I didn't think I would ever be this far from the Nile and the sun.

I abandoned my people, didn't I?

If only I could find where my sister was buried. Would that even make me feel better, though? What closure will I gain from seeing her tomb?

... if she even had one.

There's a melody going on in his head, right now. Something that could put you to sleep if you weren't currently working. It's nothing you've heard before, that you're certain of, and judging by the tone of it and your soulmate's previous thoughts, it sounds Egyptian.

Despite the museum being closed, most of the lights are still on. One of the night guards had a very strange insistence about it, but wouldn't tell you why. Oh well––questioning people is above your paygrade, since you aren't getting paid for this. It is volunteer work. Not that you mind; ever since realizing the voice in your head was Egyptian, you've gotten a palate for history. Currently, however, you're dealing less with history and more with files. The curator at this museum asked you to sort through the records of all the different exhibits that are here, or were once here at some point, which made a very large collection. Massive, actually––you're only sorting through A, and it's going to take you a couple weeks.

He's humming softly to himself. The tune carries into your work, and you allow yourself to enjoy his voice as you sort, going over every record to look for exhibits no longer displayed. For this you have a chart in your other hand––a log of all the exhibits currently public in the museum.

Although you're supposed to be concentrated on your sorting, you find yourself more entranced with the melody in your head, and the clearest thought that rings in your mind is, 'that is beautiful.'

The humming stops. Dead in its' tracks, about to reach its' peak, and it stops.

'My mother sang it to me,' he says, 'before I slept as a child.'

"Holy shit, are you talking to me?" You say out loud with bulging eyes before you can stop yourself. The moment you realize what you said, a bright blush coats your cheeks and you slap your hand over your mouth. But he doesn't seem to mind––actually, he laughs, and it's sweeter than summer sugar.

'You must be my heart,' he says in an astounded tone, and you can practically see his dream-filled eyes. You sit puzzled for a second before replying.

"Do you mean your soulmate?"

'Well... I suppose yes, that could be one of the names,' he says, and it only adds more onto the lists of questions you have for him.

"What is your name?" You ask first, hardly realizing you're still talking aloud to yourself.

'My name is Ahkmenrah," he tells you, and it takes less than a millisecond before the dots connect in your head. Instantly your eyes dart to the sheet in your hand, and near the top of the list, there it sits––Ahkmenrah.

'I know this must be confusing for you,' he continues, 'but I am from another time. While I lived then, I dreaded that I didn't have a heart, as I heard no voice. That fear has carried on into my next life, but now that you're here –'

"Oh I'm here alright," you say, unbelieving of both your circumstances and your unblinking acceptance at them. "I'm, like, two floors below you."

"WHAT?!"

A voice from above catches you, but as the same word rings in your mind, you realize with great glee that he instinctively yelled 'what' without thinking. You laugh, and the thought of your laughter reaches him.

Less than a minute later you can hear footsteps pounding down the stairs, landing at the closed door before the handle wrenches open. You quickly move to your feet, facing the man whose voice you know so well, who haunted your childhood and enchanted your adulthood. You can barely hide the grin that spreads across your face––whatever magic has brought you to this moment, you thank everything you can for it, your attention ensnared by the soft features of a 4,000 year old Pharaoh.

He pauses once he enters the archive, eyes finding yours immediately. His mouth hangs open slightly as he scans you, absorbs every feature on your body and face, and barely moves even to breathe for a good minute or two.

"I – I'm sorry, I j – I just realized I didn't ask your name," he says quietly, a small, ginger smile growing on his lips.

"(Y/N)," you say, but you don't quite know how your brain worked to make the word. You certainly didn't consciously choose to speak.

"I have waited thousands of years for you," he says, impossibly softer as he steps forward. He's really quite harmless, you realize––for all the fear you had of him as a child, he's nothing but a sweet-faced boy.

"Was it worth it?" You ask, and your voice cracks ever so slightly.

"My heart," he breathes out, affection lacing his name for you, "it was worth every second."

[justimajin]

Til Death Do Us Part♜Pt.11

➟ Pairing: Namjoon x Reader

➟ Genre: Angst & Fluff

↳ (6.8k), Arranged Marriage AU

➟ Summary: If someone told you that you’d be marrying the Kim Namjoon, you would think you were being lied to, or worse, that you were hallucinating. However, fate seems to have it’s own ways of making the impossible possible and before you even know it, the title of Mrs. Kim is bestowed onto you. There’s just one problem: you’re not sure if Kim Namjoon is the person he says he is and the truth of your own identity is dangling by the strength of a mere thread.

➟ Warnings: 18+ rating, graphic descriptions of violence, blood and death, character death

➟ A/N: This is the final part! Thank you all for reading this series and for giving it so much love <3

gif credit.

➟ Full Series: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10[M] Part 11

“You saw someone outside the house last night?” 

Seokjin’s arms are crossed, wide eyes swaying from you to Namjoon. 

You nod in response, “The way they were dressed, it really blended them into their surroundings. I thought maybe the lack of sleep was playing with me, but then Namjoon saw it too…” 

You peer over at your husband, who hums. “We couldn’t find them afterwards.” 

Seokjin shakes his head, appearing to still be caught within bafflement. Jimin suddenly emerges, his eyes drinking in the distress in the room. 

“I’m assuming there’s no good news?” He wonders, and Namjoon turns, raising an eyebrow in his direction. 

“Nothing?” 

“Nothing.” He sighs, roughly running a hand through his locks, “He keeps saying it over and over again, that we’re fools to think he’s pulling the strings…” 

Namjoon lets out a deep exhale, back sinking against the wall. That’s when he catches it, a sharp glint residing behind Seokjin’s glasses. 

“What?” He immediately asks as the man raises his head, shaking his head. 

“He wasn’t too forthcoming with me either, but….” His eyes suddenly sway and Namjoon follows the gesture, “He seems to really hate you.” 

You stare at Seokjin wide-eyed. 

Before you have a chance to retaliate, he beats you to it. “I’m not saying that it’s because of you per say, but more so because of your lineage….” 

“Being a L/N?” Jimin ponders, and Seokjin hums, furrowing his brows. 

“It seems he wasn’t quite happy with your marriage to Namjoon and from the looks of it, Taehyung wasn’t either.” 

Although you can somewhat grasp what Seokjin is implying, his next question catches you off guard. 

“How was Yonghwa killed, Y/N?” 

Your mouth opens and closes from the straightforwardness, but you can see Seokjin’s gears turning, so you ultimately decide not to hesitate. 

The history of your families is known to many. Trade and manufacturing seeking to forge a union between their two sectors. Yonghwa and Namjung were supposed to go through with the deal, but all hell broke loose on the fateful day when Yonghwa was found on the ground in a pool of his own blood with Namjung being visibly shaken. Revenge was rampant between the two families, your marriage to Namjoon ultimately becoming the peace offering to end years of hatred. 

“Yonghwa was murdered.” You state in a monotone voice, as if told the story numerous times, “The day he and Namjung seeked a union, Yonghwa found out that the Kim’s were building weapons they hadn’t agreed upon.”

“Yonghwa therefore decided not to go through with the union, but was murdered by Namjung who wanted to cover up his tracks.” 

After you finish explaining, your eyes drift up. Namjoon is staring at you in disbelief, orbs oscillating. 

“What is it?” You immediately ask. 

Seokjin relaxes his narrowed eyes and clears his throat, “Yonghwa was killed...but not at the hands of Namjung.” 

Namjoon continues, “The L/N’s were involved in illegal exchange through their trades, and Namjung found out during the time he was making a deal with Yonghwa. He attempted to reason with Yonghwa, but he was held at gunpoint.” 

“Through the scuffle they had, Yonghwa ended up accidentally shooting himself.” Jimin finishes, confusion drawing from your eyes. 

“W-What?” Your eyes glance at the two of them frantically, “But there’s no way, Yonghwa was found in a pool of his own blood.” 

“And Namjung was left shaken.” Namjoon adds, “He meant to forge a union, not kill the head.” 

“That’s‒….” You shake your head, utterly lost from the conclusion. It seems too foreign to you, like someone has erased years of history from your book and shoved something else in instead.

A thought lingers in your mind and your eyes snap up, gazing at Seokjin, “Why are you asking me about Yonghwa?” 

Namjoon glances up at him as well, confused from the inquires. Seokjin smiles, crossing his arms. 

“I have a hunch that I need to confirm,” He eyes you, “‒and what if I said that the two of you are telling the truth?” 

You and Namjoon share a glance, the latter speaking, “How so?” 

“Yonghwa was killed. This is the one point in your stories that stays constant,” He begins, “But the part where your stories diverge is the reasoning behind his demise.” 

“Y/N said the Kim’s were building weapons that Yonghwa didn’t agree with, and Namjoon said that Namjung found out about the L/N’s illegal activities. This led to both parties disagreeing with each other, and it wouldn't be so surprising for a fight to ensue, with both taking rightful actions to prevent themselves any harm.” 

“Yonghwa was prepared to kill Namjung at the cost of saving his business while Namjung needed to get rid of Yonghwa’s knowledge.” 

Seokjin pauses for a moment as you and Namjoon nod in response. His smile widens, curling at the corner of his lips. 

“Now the reason why I brought this up.” He clears his throat, a playful look in his eyes, “The moral of this story is that there seems to be no victor and no loser. Both families were involved in things they shouldn’t have been and were prepared to take lethal actions to protect that information, even to the extent of making the other family look historically bad in comparison.” 

Your eyes widen and Seokjin asks the question that has you stumbling for an answer. 

“So why the need for a union?” He wonders, “What was the point for such a union, when both families were already so against each other to the extent of making up false tales?” 

“Why look for peace when there’s no room for it to begin with?” Namjoon replies, and Seokjin nods. 

“Your company’s visible shareholders seem to despise the fact that you married Y/N, and I’m sure other members of the company weren’t thrilled from hearing about her lineage.” He honestly professes, “So why would they suddenly be okay with you marrying a L/N for the sake of a union?” 

“It would have to do something other than their hatred for each other….” Namjoon mumbles, squinting his eyes, “Something important enough that they would purposely need a marriage between me and Y/N.” 

Seokjin hums and Jimin abruptly sputters out an answer. 

“Something like a liability!” 

Namjoon glances at him appalled and he hurriedly rambles before he loses the thought, “Going based off of Seokjin’s theory, Namjoon would be wedded to a L/N, someone who would have created stained connections with her own family because of the marriage and be resented by members of the Kim family.” 

Jimin huffs, “Essentially she would be nothing but a liability to Namjoon’s title as the next heir…..” 

Three sets of eyes stare at him in bewilderment, and Jimin sheepishly smiles from the attention. Seokjin’s pupils light up again, a spark residing within them. 

“But who would benefit from all this?” He mumbles, “Who would benefit most from seeing you fail, Namjoon?” 

Namjoon stares at Seokjin as silence reigns heavy in the room, no clear answer forming within his mind. 

Your lids slowly flutter open. 

The entire room is dark and murky, night long having fallen within a couple of hours. You had long spent hours conversing with the others about Hoseok before ultimately deciding to question him more the next day, with Namjoon coaxing you that all of you weren’t far from understanding his intent. 

Yet your eyes squint through the dark, peering around the room in confusion. There’s sounds of feet shuffling against the hardwood of the floors, faint voices growing louder and louder with their shouting, some tinged with urgency while others not being able to fathom disbelief. 

It doesn’t take long for you to immediately reach for Namjoon, jostling him awake. Once he’s conscious, the two of you are scrambling out of the sheets in an instant, his hand wrapping around yours as you head towards the commotion. 

His backside suddenly halts, freezing in place. 

You catch onto the scent right away. 

It’s putrid and familiar….too familiar. 

Shifting forward, horror sinks into your eyes at the source.

Hoseok’s form is slumped against the front door, eyes lulled back and red soaking the outskirts of his clothes. A trail of scarlet follows him, leading up into the torn apart room he was residing in. 

***

Silence lingers uncomfortably long in the room. 

It’s stifling, tension feeling heavy on your shoulders and muting your words. Slightly fumbling with your hands, your eyes flicker up for the briefest of moments. 

Seokjin is against the wall, arms crossed against the blood stains that litter his torso. He stands opposite from where you and Namjoon are seated, adjacent from where Jimin leans against a table, in a similar condition as his hand balances against his cheek. 

Hoseok’s corpse has been removed, but you wrenched your eyes away from the multiple gash wounds that littered his torso, the overwhelming scent of blood bringing a rise of nausea to surface from your lips. 

Jimin is the first to clear his throat, peering over at you and Namjoon. “You were right, there was someone roaming outside.” 

“He was silenced.” Seokjin sighs, unraveling his arms and placing his hands in his pocket. You catch the slightest hint of remorse in his features, wondering if he was too late in arriving at the incident.  

Jimin shakes his head, “But why….?” 

“And why make it so brutal?” Namjoon’s deep voice cuts in, making Seokjin hum with a grimace. 

“This just proves that he knew something important….” You whisper. 

Seokjin hums, planting an exasperated hand against his temples. Although somewhat cruel, you understand his frustration. 

Hoseok was the only link in finding out who wanted Namjoon killed and sought out for your marriage, and now that he’s gone, you’ve hit a complete dead end. 

There’s a soft knock against the door that results in all of your eyes hiking up. Jimin steps forward, gesturing for you to be at ease as he answers. 

As the door closes, Jimin abruptly blinks, before snapping his eyes up. 

“Namjoon.” 

He stands up right away and Seokjin curiously leans over, “What is it?” 

“It’s a picture…” He states, “A picture of the weapon assumed to be used on Hoseok….”

Seokjin suddenly leans even closer, carefully plucking it out of Jimin’s fingers. He holds the same astonished expression, eyes flickering over in Namjoon’s direction. 

“I think we know who was after you, Namjoon…” 

The picture is passed over to him and you sweep your irises over it too. It’s a simple picture of a knife, but it’s one that has your eyes narrowing. 

“I’ve seen this knife before…” You whisper, mind scattering around for an answer. The intricate details and the curved edge seemed far too familiar, but you can’t wrap your finger on it. 

Your eyes flicker, recognition suddenly dawning upon you. 

“Taehyung!” You snap your fingers, recalling the time he attempted to take your life, “That’s the knife Taehyung had....” 

“It’s a custom knife.” Namjoon states, his gaze steadily hardening, “Only a few were manufactured by the Kim’s.” 

Your eyes threaten to fall out from their sockets. Your gaze oscillates from Namjoon to Jimin and then Seokjin, realizing they’ve already connected all the dots.  

“H-How does this make sense?” You shake your head, “That would mean that someone from your family i-is trying to….” 

Namjoon hums, gaze connecting with your own. There’s something unsettling brewing in his orbs, a fine line between anguish and pure rage. 

“I now understand why Hoseok decided to keep quiet.” He grits, “And why we haven’t been safe here.”

***

Your footsteps are hectic, nearly sprinting through the walls. Your hands shove against your bedroom’s door, eyes falling upon your husband’s turned back right away. 

The sound of a gun cocking has your eyes widening and you immediately scramble forward, hand wrapping around his shoulder. 

“Namjoon.” You softly call out. His brows are still intensely furrowed and jaw tensed, his gaze focused on filling the cartilage to the handgun til it’s stuffed to the brim. 

Concern drips from your stare, and you shake his shoulder again, voice firmer, “Namjoon.” 

He spins around, rummaging through his bag for another gun. You huff, grasping onto him and knocking the weapon out of his hands. 

You force him to look at you. “Namjoon!” 

“What?!” He sharply snarls, but you are unfazed. It’s obvious to you ‒ the way his form is seething with anger, the way his hands tremble as he shoves bullets into his gun, the way there’s an inkling of pain residing within his irises, begging to release him from his torment. 

You don’t say anything, simply softly shake your head in response. Namjoon lets out a scoff, a strained laugh escaping his throat. 

Your arms loop around him, resting your head against his chest. 

“I’m a tool, Y/N.” His shoulders crumble down, “Just a tool.” 

“I know.” You whisper, noticing how his anger dissolves into anguish, his form no longer tensing underneath your hold. He raises his hands to embrace you back, breaths steadying. 

With a deep sigh, he breaks away from you, an appreciative smile looping on his lips. 

You return it, but a new voice draws your attention. 

“You won’t accomplish anything going there like this, Namjoon.” Seokjin leans against the doorframe as Jimin draws closer behind him. You assume they must have followed after you when Namjoon suddenly left the room in a fit of anger, declaring that he was leaving to settle things once and for all with his father. 

His father, who eventually decided that Namjoon wasn’t good enough to be the next heir, who wanted him to be wed to you, placing a heavy liability on his ties and waiting for him to crumble underneath the title so he could have a new heir. 

But he wasn’t able to anticipate that you would turn out to be a spy, and that Namjoon would refuse to leave you, fed up with being used solely for the family business. 

You sigh, keeping a gentle hand on his back. 

“We need to think this through.” Seokjin reminds. 

“But how?” Namjoon shakes his head, “I’ll constantly be in danger‒ all of you will be in danger.” 

He glances between you and Seokjin, with the latter humming, “You’re not wrong about that, but we have to play our cards right.” 

“So what‒” Namjoon jokes, “I should just wait to be killed first?” 

There’s a twinkle in Seokjin’s eyes, a smile widening all the way to his cheeks. 

The moon rises, casting a shadow against the isolated building’s walls. 

You carefully thread through the empty hallway, pacing back and forth. A gun remains strapped to your waist, hidden underneath your clothing as your alert eyes sweep through the vicinity. 

It’s a small building, one that is barely guarded and nearly hidden compared to the others. It carries two floors, one of which contains the norm of offices, only a mere handful of workers that rigorously work throughout the day, but the numbers dwell during the peak of the night, barely a hushed murmur coming across from the doors or walls. 

Namjoon has informed his father that you and him will be temporarily staying in the building for safety reasons after Hoseok’s incident, and that tonight is the night that you’ll be staying in the reclusive area. 

Prior to figuring out pieces of the puzzle, Seokjin had come up with the plan of making you and Namjoon come off as vulnerable, essentially luring his father into the building. Upon Namjoon’s slight persistence, he had suggested that the former confront him about the entire matter. 

You had thought it was risky, too risky in fact ‒ but when Seokjin and Namjoon had abruptly shared a glance through your discussion, you knew there was more to the story than they were letting on. 

Trusting them with the matter, you agreed with the notion and were assigned to guard the area under the pretense of Jimin’s suspicions. You couldn’t figure out who the woman was that Hoseok interacted with, so alongside with ensuring no one gets in, you have the task of keeping an eye out for any unwelcomed surprises. 

It’s dead silent and pitch dark, the majority of the light sources cut off. Your footsteps make no sound against the soft wood, long having trained yourself to go unheard in case you were caught as a spy. 

Your eyes continue to sweep around the area, looking around for movement. 

You suddenly freeze. 

Creak.

Head snapping up, you carefully press your ear against one of the doors in the hallway, listening in again. 

Creak.

Your eyes widen. 

Feet quietly gliding against the ground, you carefully peer into the room through the glass opening, noticing an open window and someone fumbling around with the walls. They seem to stumble as they do, almost seeming lost until you realize that the lack of light source makes it incredibly hard to see. 

Biting your lower lip, you shuffle closer to the door, carefully waiting. 

Light pours through the room. 

Your pupils enlarge, mouth falling agape. A smile curve on her lips as she reaches for the door, but you’re close enough to reach out for her by the time it yanks open. 

Your hand meets her shoulder. 

She jolts, a gasp escaping her lips as she swivels, the light illuminating her fear-stricken features. 

You innocently quirk your head to the side, brows knitting together. 

“Geongmin?”

“Y-Y/N!” She stammers, swallowing hard as if she had seen a ghost. 

“What are you doing here?” 

Although naively surprised, there’s a cutting edge to your tone, taking advantage of her terror. 

“I‒uh, my father!” She hastily says, as if nearly forgotten the answer, “H-He needed me to bring his forgotten briefcase back home.” 

For the briefest of moments, you narrow your eyes. 

You hum understandably, “I see….” 

Granting her a small smile that she hesitantly returns, you take a clueless step back, whirling around. 

You glance around, “I can offer you some help in finding it, if it’s somewhere nearby then‒” 

The sound of a trigger cocking halts your steps. 

Although your voice is laced with tender surprise, your expression says otherwise. “Geongmin?” 

“W-Where is he?” She sputters. You casually swivel around to face her, barely flinching at the gun that is inches away from your eyes. 

“Who is he?” You press forward. 

“My brother!” She nearly yells, your blank expression drawing more unease from her, “Where is he?!” 

A long exhale leaves your lips, “About that….” 

It happens within a flash. Your fist slams into her arm, a cry slipping from her lips and the gun dropping from her hands. You swoop it up in an instant, pinning her against the wall as she’s distracted from the pain. 

You tightly hold her hands within one of your hands, the other pointing the gun at the back of her head. 

Your fingers curve around the trigger, “What has he promised you?” 

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about!” 

You angle the gun so that it presses lightly against her scalp, her entire form jolting from the action.

Your voice is firm as you ask again, “What has your father promised you, Geongmin?” 

Her breaths are ragged, “H-Heir! The title of h-heir!” 

Tilting your head to the side, you listen to her intently, “M-My father said Namjoon was weak! That he couldn’t handle being the next heir, especially after being married to someone like you!” 

Your shoulders slump down, a deep sigh leaving you. Although her declaration is vile, her words sound confusing, as if fear was taking over her mind completely. 

There’s suddenly a flicker in your eyes, recognition filling you. 

It’s a mere gamble, but you loosen your grip on her, taking a step back. She watches you in astonishment and you drop the gun to the ground, kicking it to the side and away from you. 

The fear doesn’t leave her form in the slightest. 

“Do you desire being the heir?” Your voice has become soft. 

“W-What?” Your question seems to confuse her even more, her mind spinning, “What kind of question is that?!” 

You pursue your lips, noticing how for someone that should desire to kill you, she doesn’t rush towards the fallen gun. 

“Do you want to inherit the business?” 

It’s almost like she wants to break into a fit, tell you that you’re wrong and that you’re merely some spy that’s in the way. 

But the words don’t manage to leave her. 

“What is it that you want to do, Geongmin?” You gently ponder. 

“Why are you asking me all these questions?!” She repeats, sounding frustrated beyond belief. Streaks of tears are streaming down her eyes, her hands trembling. 

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. 

“Because I know obligation when I see it.”

The confusion doesn’t leave her as you step over to pick up the gun again, handing it to her. 

“Here.” You merely say, looking at her puzzled gaze she sends at the weapon, “Finish the mission you were sent on.”

You stand back, right in her aim of fire. Although your expression is confident, you hope she doesn’t notice the faint tremble lodged within your hands, inches away from the gun submerged within your clothing. 

Her eyes are completely blown out, still swimming with confusion. It’s not long before she points it right at you, rage consuming her features in an instant. 

You stare right back at her. 

The gun never fires. 

It slips from her hands, crashing onto the ground as more tears pool from her eyes. 

“I-I c-can’t….” She weakly mumbles, shaking her head. A low sigh of relief leaves you before you bend down, picking up the fallen gun.

Your eyes flicker, “You regret killing him….don’t you?” 

She nods weakly, and a smile curls on your lips. 

“I’m glad you made this choice on your own, Geongmin.” 

You extend your hand towards her, granting her the chance to choose again. She stares at it for a moment, a million thoughts racing through her head. 

She reaches out, clasping onto it. 

Heavy footsteps pound into the room. 

The door is securely locked, before he treads closer, eyes narrowing. 

Namjoon sits in a large chair, his eyes focused onto the table before him. At the sound of footsteps he snaps up, a smirk curving on his lips. 

“Father.” He remarks, “I’m surprised to see you here.” 

His father doesn’t return his smile, simply humming in response. 

“Hoseok was killed recently. You need to be more careful from now on.” He snides, standing across from him, “Especially with that pesky spy living in your quarters.” 

“That is my wife you are speaking about.” Namjoon sharply interjects, voice no longer holding warmth. His father sends him a seething glare, reminding him of the time he declared he wasn’t going to get rid of you. 

“How long do you expect to keep her around? She’s a L/N, for all you know she could have dug around all of our secrets and exploited the information.” He hisses, planting his hands against Namjoon’s table, “She’ll be nothing but a burden to you in the future, you’ll be mocked by her lineage and she’ll destroy your business.”

Namjoon furrows his brows, an amused smile wanting to etch onto his lips. He’s aching to spew his knowledge about how his sister was likely pressured into taking over his space as heir, her mind filled with twisted information about the two of you by the person standing directly in front of him. 

But he keeps it together, intrigue swirling in his orbs instead, “Who would you think was attempting to take my life then? Y/N?” 

“Of course it’s her!” His father roars, “She’s been feeding her family information about us, and now she wants to take over the business by having you killed!” 

“Really?” 

His father stares at him like the simple question in itself was ridiculous. “You should have listened to me before and gotten rid of her.” 

“But my answer wouldn’t change.” He smiles, pressing his buttons further, “She was my wife then, and she is now. What will you do if I wish to stay married to her?” 

His smile doesn’t waver. It seems to do the trick, his father’s face colouring into a shade of red at his son’s stubbornness and only serving to heighten his fear. The notion should fuel his need to get rid of Namjoon, to realize that the son sitting before him isn’t made out to be the tool that he’s always wanted. 

Namjoon’s smile barely moves, even when a gun is pointed in his direction. 

“Then this will be farewell.” 

Two guns aim for him on either side. 

In an instant, his father’s eyes widen. Namjoon continues to smile, watching Seokjin and Jimin step closer. 

Rising from his seat, he clears his throat. 

“I’m not a pawn, father.” He states, “I have my own wishes, and they won’t always line up with my role as heir.” 

He shakes his head, “The hatred between us and the L/N’s is just two families blaming each other to cover up their own tracks, and should have ended ages ago, even before I married Y/N.” 

He walks over to where his father glares at him, “Now it’s time you make a decision too.” 

Namjoon raises his arm as Jimin hands him a computer and Seokjin brings a chair, planting his father down onto it. Opening the screen right in front of the man, his eyes are met with a list of endless codes, but what’s most prominent are the ones that would surely infiltrate into an extensive database. 

His father’s eyes hold terror in them, “This is….” 

“The company.” Namjoon finishes, pointing to the screen, “These codes are functional on many bases and can hack into anything, even something as highly secured as the company’s database.” 

“You’re going to destroy everything.” 

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle, “I’m going to destroy what’s left of it.” 

“You’re insane.” His father snarls, “You’re going to ruin the Kim empire and throw away this goldmine for what?!” 

“My freedom.” Namjoon simply replies, his dark eyes pushing the computer closer to him.  

His father’s face is an angry shade of scarlet, but as metal presses further into his skull, his fingers press against the keys and allow the authorization. At the sight of the last code unlocking, Namjoon’s shoulders visibly relax, an exhale of relief leaving him. 

Seokjin quickly takes it away, packing away the computer into a bag before peering at Namjoon. 

They share the same thought, “We need to find Y/N.” 

Namjoon hums, preparing to leave the area as fast as possible. 

However, he doesn’t notice how his father’s face twitches at the mere mention of you, eyes boring daggers into his son’s skull. 

Namjoon turns and it happens within a flash. 

Jimin is on the ground, scarlet hands clutching onto his leg as a gun is pointed in Namjoon’s direction. Seokjin’s eyes widen in an instant, but he’s too late when multiple bullets are fired, all lodging into Namjoon’s chest. 

There’s no way to describe the terror that strikes you. 

Tears unconsciously roll down your features, a hard knot constricting around your throat. You can only watch in horror as a staggering Jimin and Seokjin huff, dragging Namjoon’s limp form onto a bed. 

Streams of red are dripping down his black suit, three pieces of metal embedded within his chest. Your trembling hands come closer, noticing that he was luckily still breathing. 

“His lungs haven’t been damaged.” Jimin doesn’t hesitate to speak as you peer up at him, “We’re going to need to take the bullets out.” 

Seokjin quickly filters around the room, searching for supplies as Jimin leans against the bed. You notice the trail of blood beneath his legs, eyes widening. 

“Jimin, you’re‒” 

He simply shakes his head, gesturing towards Namjoon first. You hesitantly nod, taking a couple of steps back as Seokjin returns. 

A shaky exhale leaves your lips when Seokjin opens up Namjoon’s shirt, your quivering hands coming up to cover your mouth as you spin away from the sight. 

“Y/N…” Jimin’s gentle voice beckons, but you can’t seem to look behind you. “Y/N, why don’t you wait outside?” 

Although concern is flooding through every fiber of your form, you solemnly nod without hesitation. 

Exiting the room at once, you attempt to calm yourself down, eyes flickering up to see Geongmin staring at you with a troubled gaze. 

She sits with you throughout the silence, your mind completely numbing from the recent events. 

***

Over the course of the next few days, you are dangling between concern and worry. 

You’ve been residing within the Kim household in the duration and haven’t spoken to yet even seen Namjoon during that time. Although relieved that his wounds weren’t fatal, you were told that he was still unconscious and that healing from them would take considerable time. 

In the meanwhile, Seokjin and Jimin had informed you that the person responsible for his state was his father. After getting rid of the remains from the company, something Namjoon had always planned to do, his father had shot Jimin and intended to kill Namjoon. 

In response, Seokjin was forced to take immediate action. 

You took in the news with a bitter taste in your mouth, but were glad to see Jimin slowly recover from the incident. 

Upon returning and being in the household that you and Namjoon had eventually abandoned, you were confronted with the presence of his mother. At first, you were unsure of what to say, not comprehending if she knew about the prior incidents, or if like Namjoon’s father, she held a deep scorn for the two of you. 

However to your surprise, she hadn’t seemed taken aback, instead appearing fatigued, dark circles beginning to round her eyes and creases maring her forehead. It made you think back to the first time you had met the women, her elegance and straightforwardness towards you always catching you off guard. 

She had asked you about how Namjoon was doing and you had given a simple direct response, but there was a sad smile on her lips, one that had made your chest tighten. 

“I don’t hate you, Y/N. If that’s what you’re thinking.” At your perplexment, she continued, “I think it was for the best to let go of the company...at least now we can move on from holding up this Empire with our lives.” 

She faintly chuckled as you remained next to her, silently listening.

A sigh leaves her, “I’m in pain not because of my husband’s death, but because I let it get to this point. To the point where I would have lost my entire family for a mere business.” 

She softly shook her head, “I’m tired, Y/N. I’m very tired of all this.”

Her words had echoed in your mind. She hadn’t spoken to you after that, but Geongmin had soon informed you that she had never seen her mother express so much remorse before. 

With the entire Kim Empire now gone, they were simply just a broken family left behind. 

The breeze blows against your hair, the flowers underneath your toes brushing against your skin. 

Night has fallen and for a considerable amount of tossing and turning, sleep hasn't welcomed you throughout the evening. You ultimately decided it would be best to get some fresh air, desperately needing to relieve some of the restlessness you were facing. 

The pale moonlight shines down on the bed of flowers, the wind whisking past you more crisp during the night. A warm smile tugs on the corner of your lips as you kneel down, gently touching the array of white, lilac purple and petal pink flowers beneath your feet. 

Running your fingers through the stems your hand halts, circling around a certain white flower. You pursue your lips, reaching out and cautiously wrapping your fingers around the base, squeezing it tightly for a moment. 

“I don’t think my mother will be fond of the idea that you stole one of her flowers.” 

You nearly jolt, breath hitching at the sudden voice behind you. That’s when your eyes enlarge, grip loosening immediately. 

Swiveling around, the astonishment doesn’t leave your form as you rise up onto your feet. 

Namjoon stands before you, leaning against a wall with a hand pressed against his chest. He sheepishly smiles when your eyes connect, briefly glancing at the ground for a moment before looking up. 

“You know, these flowers have a history of blooming in the seasons of‒oof!”

He doesn’t get a chance to enlighten you about his knowledge of the plants, your form crashing right against his as you wrap your arms around him. Namjoon lightly chuckles, pushing your strands back and slowly circling his arm around you. Your grip on him only tightens, a fact that he’s quick to remind you of. 

“Y/N.” He strains. 

You suddenly realize your husband had recently suffered having multiple bullets penetrate through his chest cavity. Immediately stepping back, a string of apologies tumble from your lips. 

“I-I’m so sorry!” He grimaces while holding onto the wounds, but still continues to smile at you. Your eyes are drawn to the thick strips of cloth wrapped around the area, tucked underneath the button-down shirt he had clumsily through on around his shoulders.

Your eyes suddenly narrow, “If I didn’t know any better, it would seem that you’re still healing‒…” 

Namjoon sheepishly smiles and your eyes widen. Before you can say anything, Namjoon steps forward and places a finger against his lips. 

“You need to go back.” You hurriedly coax, voice dropping down into a whisper. Namjoon continues to smile, not moving the slightest. 

You press your hands against him, slowly pushing him, “Namjoon, you need rest and‒” 

“I know.” He whispers, grasping onto your hands right away. “I came here to see you.” 

“You were worried...weren’t you?” You flush underneath his gaze, averting your eyes. His smile widens for a brief second, before it drops down and he leans closer to you. 

“Y/N.” 

You look up, eyes connecting with his. You’re taken aback with the stern appearance they take on, narrowing with intent. 

When he speaks, they’re of mere facts, “I’m conscious again, and I’m able to walk…..” 

You hum, not quite understanding what he was intending to say to you. “The company...I’m sure Seokjin and Jimin told you what I did.” 

“You destroyed it.” You state and he nods, “It’s gone now and the Kim’s don’t have any means of continuing on with their busine‒” 

Life flickers into your eyes and at the sight of recognition in your eyes, Namjoon solemnly smiles. 

“You want to leave….” You whisper and he hums. 

“It’s been on my mind ever since, I wanted to ask you in a better manner but given the circumstance…” He glances down at his injury. 

“The moment I woke up, I needed to talk to you about it.” 

“I see….” You mutter, staring down at the ground. Namjoon continues to gaze at you, concern in his eyes. 

At your silence, he ponders, “What are you thinking?” 

“I don’t know, truthfully.” You whisper, “It sounds….wonderful, incredible actually‒ but….” You stare at him, “Can we do that...? Have a fresh new start?”

For some reason, you almost want to laugh, “Are people like us even allowed to have something like that?”

“Maybe not.” Namjoon truthfully says, and you peer up, taken aback from the grim in his voice, “But I don’t see any harm in trying.” 

You silently stare at him. 

You’re not a spy anymore ‒ and Namjoon is no longer the heir. 

You’re finally free, no longer someone else's tools to use. You can be whoever and decide to do whatever you want, no family history dictating it for you anymore. 

The carefree thought brings a smile to your lips, and when you look up to see Namjoon softly smiling, you wonder if he’s pieced it together too. 

Without hesitation, you take Namjoon’s hand. 

Epilogue

The sun brightly shines in between the clouds, spreading across the expansive field. 

It reaches your skin as you bend down, a small basket in your hand as you rummage around for the potatoes you recall planting somewhere. 

There’s a faint rustle from behind you and you blink for a moment, turning around with narrowed eyes. You hear it again, but this time you can see two small legs running towards you. 

A tender smile spread across your features. 

The rustling abruptly cuts off, the sound of loud thud replacing it and low cries begin to echo out instead. 

You rush forward, the basket in your hands long abandoned. 

“Seokmin!” 

The young boy continues to cry, large tears leaving his wide eyes until you bend down, scooping him up into your arms. His cries subside a little by the action and you muse at his clumsiness, acknowledging that it was a particular trait he surely hadn’t gotten from you.

Namjoon emerges seconds later, planting his hands against his knees as deeply heaves.  

“I’m sorry, he was excited to see you and‒” He pants, drawing closer to see Seokmin tucked away in your embrace with dried streaks down his cheeks. “Is he alright?”

You nod, attempting to brush away the hair from the boy’s eyes. Namjoon reaches out and you hand him over, bending down to retrieve your basket. 

You look up to see Namjoon playfully poking one of his cheeks, your son squirming around his arms as small giggles leaves him. 

The display has a smile curving on your lips. 

There was a time when you dreamed about being happy, to live a life on your terms without being at someone’s beck and call, every decision being fueled by your own conscious thought rather than programmed and ingrained obligation. 

However, that’s all it ever was ‒ a dream, a mere fantasy tucked away in the corners of your mind that you had long forgotten about. Yet somehow in some way, you and Namjoon managed to fulfill it. 

It didn’t come to you all at once, a normal life being far from the reality you were uncomfortably close to. That type of life was something that never quite suited the two of you and as a result, you had your fair share of struggles. 

You can still remember the nights you had spent with vicious nightmares, old memories plaguing you and not letting you forget that you still had marks littering your body, your own two hands long having been tainted. It would make you question if you even deserved any of this, deserved to actually be content with what you have. 

You would like to say that the adjusting process was easier for Namjoon, but there were a handful of times where he would wake up in a cold sweat, his whole form quivering next to you. It was those days you truly learned about Namjoon’s past for the first time, of the things he did or more so, was forced to do. 

You started to wholeheartedly believe it, that this ‘life’ you wanted to build together could never be possible and that a part of you will always unconsciously remember times you wanted to forget. 

That was until your son was born. 

At first, it was a whirlwind. You hadn’t expected to get pregnant so soon and you weren’t sure of how Namjoon would react to the sudden news. Fortunately he was ecstatic once you told him and it granted you some sense of reassurance, but you could clearly see it within his warm eyes and you know he could see it reflected in yours. 

Was it even possible for people like the two of you to bring another life into the world? 

You had attempted to push that thought away as far as you could during the process and luckily when Seokmin was born, something had changed within you. 

“Y/N?” 

You blink, noticing Namjoon was staring at you with concern. Seokmin is looking over as well, appearing much better compared to when you found him. 

You shake your head with a soft smile. Leaning down, you redirect your gaze towards your son. 

It still astonishes you that aside from the eyes and the hair, he appears to be an exact replica of his father, “Are you feeling okay?” 

Your son nods, a spark lighting in his eyes. 

“Mom!” He excitedly says, “Dad said‒ Dad said you were a spy!” 

You stare at Namjoon wide-eyed, who looks at his son with the same expression. 

A low chuckle leaves you, “Um, he did…?” 

Namjoon puts Seokmin on the ground and gestures for him to continue playing, turning around to you. 

“Namjoon, we said we would wait.” You whisper. 

“I know‒” He squeezes his eyes shut, “It was just a slip of the tongue.” 

You stare at him for a moment, before letting out a sigh, “It’s alright...he’ll have to find out someday.” 

“Are you referring to the time we’ll give him the chance to choose his own last name?” 

Namjoon gazes at you amused and you share a smile with him. 

“You know, Seokjin and Jimin have been wanting to see him.” He reminds you, “They still can’t believe we named our son after them.” 

“Seokmin is a nice name.” Namjoon raises a brow like he doesn’t believe you and you laugh at his expression, “We should visit sometime soon, especially because….” 

You lean closer to him and Namjoon can only stare in confusion when you whisper in his ear. Immediately, he jolts back from you, staring at you in astonishment. 

“R-Really? Are you being serious?” You nod with a smile and Namjoon is brimming with ecstasy, “Y/N, that’s amazing!” 

You point a finger towards him, “But I want to name this one.”

Namjoon chuckles, pulling you into his embrace, “Of course.” 

[anakinisvaderisanakin]

Seeds of the Past (aka Ahsoka and Luke FINALLY Meet) Fic

She’d waited too long to approach, long enough to make the encounter more awkward than it had to be. He didn’t know her, and she technically didn’t know him either. But she had to know, she had so many questions. She had to speak to him, to confirm the rumors, to put a face to the name that had haunted her so. She hadn’t given the kid much thought when mentioned in passing, had simply celebrated the fact that another talented young pilot had joined the ranks of the Rebellion. She’d already mostly phased out of the Alliance’s radar at that point. Then, she’d caught wind of his last name.

A Jedi, they said. Rebuilding the order, walking in his father’s footsteps. A kind, good hearted, brave young man. The phrasing sounded eerily close to the way in which she had once heard his father described. His father, the only thing they had in common. As she resolutely strode up to the boy, standing not much taller than herself - a slight build, much like his petite mother - she braced herself. All she saw was the back of a black cloak with its hood down, revealing an unruly mop of dark blonde hair. That, too, brought back memories. She took a deep breath, and opened her mouth.

“Are you Luke Skywalker?”

Ahsoka’s tone was a bit harsher than she would have liked, mostly due to a hoarse nervousness. It spurred a reaction though, as the man immediately turned to face her. Her eyes widened, as a familiar shade of blue stared back at her. The man bore a few distinct battle scars, but his face was youthful, his jaw square, his chin dimpled. His expression was surprised but gentle, sweet in its polite greeting. He raised his eyebrows for a split second, before responding with a shy smile and a nod.

“I am. Can I help you, ma’am?”

His voice was soft, and warm, and welcoming. He spoke with an inherent dignity, carried himself with grace, words slow and deliberate and neatly aligned as he spoke. But all Ahsoka could pay attention to was the fact that he had his father’s features. Anakin Skywalker’s features. Blue eyes, sandy blonde hair, boyishly handsome. Clad in black, muted colours.

But Anakin’s son, Luke, had a sweeter disposition. Luke may look like the splitting image of Anakin, but he bore his mother’s fierce, yet restrained edge. The glow in his eyes was hers, the tilt of his chin. Luke was calm, collected, and his small half smile gave off a curious, yet knowing impression. It suited him, and Ahsoka realized she was blatantly staring. She realized she hadn’t even answered his question in turn.

“No. I mean, yes. It’s complicated. I only wanted to see you in person,” she finally said, her sincere tone earning her a perplexed pout.

“See me? Well, I’m afraid I’m not much to look at,” said Luke, another genuine smile gracing his features and Ahsoka recognized Anakin’s sarcasm, his rambunctious sense of humor in the boy - although Luke’s sarcasm was much more mellow and humble than overtly smarmy.

“You look so much like Anakin,” she blurted out without thinking.

Ahsoka had initially wanted to ease Luke into breaching the subject of his paternal legacy, but found it impossible to restrain herself. His expression conveyed some shock, followed by a forlorn sadness as a sombre sense of understanding came over him. Ahsoka gave him an apologetic look, but sensed no emotional discomfort from the boy. It gave her enough courage to continue.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to spring that on you.”

Luke shook his head, still clearly taken aback but his posture was just as inviting as before.

“It’s alright. I’m kind of used to it,” he shrugged and grimaced a bit, then the prevalent curiosity Ahsoka had noticed previously bubbled back up to the surface. “You knew my father?”

“I did, many years ago.”

Ahsoka hoped it came off right. She’d sometimes found herself questioning whether she ever truly knew Anakin at all. The man she had looked up to and admired as an older brother had been jovial, carefree, easy going. Not the sort of man who would fall to the Dark Side, not the sort of man who would committ genocide and murder children. None of the brooding, budding darkness within Anakin that she had come to realize must always have lay dormant.

Anakin had been a perpetual optimist, in her eyes. The Anakin she had seen, the Anakin she had felt but refused to acknowledge until the truth was staring in her right in the face was anything but. Luke had gone to face him and Palpatine alone, how had he lived to tell the tale? Luke seemed so pure and innocent, incorruptible even - but so had Anakin.

“He was my master,” Ahsoka added after some deliberation.

Luke nodded, sharing her grieved expression.

“You’re Ahsoka Tano, aren’t you?”

This time it was Ahsoka’s turn to be surprised, and she tilted her head to the side, scrutinizing the boy’s friendly disposition.

“You’ve heard of me?”

“Just a bit. Father has… spoken of you. Not much, but enough for me to know who you are and what you meant to him,” Luke admitted, and his expression mirrored the apologetic look Ahsoka had shot him earlier. “You and Obi-Wan were such important parts of his life.”

Still visibly sad, there was a jagged edge to Luke’s Force signature upon being reminded of his father’s legacy and the monster he had become - the monster who was thankfully remembered as a separate entity in the wake of his death. Ahsoka furrowed her brow, not understanding what Luke was hinting at, but she accepted it for now. Somewhere deep inside, the knowledge that Anakin had spoken fondly of her and Obi-Wan even whilst overtaken by darkness soothed her. In her youth, Ahsoka may have found it impossible to bide her time and patiently wait for Luke to open up, but now, a kinship needed to be established first hand. She wanted to learn more about Luke, where he had been all this time, and she could sense he wanted to find out what her past held as well.

“I… have so many questions for you, Luke. And hopefully some answers to the questions you wish to ask me, in turn,” she said, almost amused by how similar to Obi-Wan her phrasing came off.

Luke appeared to catch the same vibe, as the corner of his lips twisted slightly upwards. He looked bashful, almost, like a small child. Then again, he was barely more than a child. When Ahsoka was his age, she had already seen war and death for one lifetime - and it was only the beginning. It pained her to know Luke may be dealing with a similarly difficult burden.

“I’m certain you’re right, Ahsoka. Can I call you that?”

Luke’s eyes were questioning her with a hopeful yet timid reverence.

“Yes, of course,” was all she could reply, offering him a warm smile as she reached out by habit and squeezed his shoulder for encouragement.

“In that case, let us talk about it,” Luke said as soon as he was given the go ahead, and Ahsoka could do nothing but agree with the statement.

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

Because we all want this to happen in canon, and I can't wait for the moment when it eventually does. I imagine it might go a bit like this, when Ahsoka and Luke finally do get to share the screen together and discuss Anakin's impact on their lives past and present.

Ao3 link below:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/31695377 

[jamie-leah]

War of Wolves (21)

Season 1

Episode 21 - Kill Them All

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You have been on the streets for the past two years, ever since your accident that left you with the ability to tell if someone is lying. You work as an informant for the white wolf and his mob but you had never met him…until you overhear a phone call that leads you to saving his life. Now he wants you to work for him. Its an offer you couldn’t refuse…right?

Word Count: 2160

Warnings: Violence, death, injury, hospitals, swearing

A/N: Well Lovelies this is the penultimate episode. There is only 1 more after this. I feel this part is a little rushed, but the season can't last forever. Enjoy Lovelies and see you on the last one!

<---Previous Episode Next Episode--->

WoW Masterlist. Series Masterlist. Oneshot Masterlist

BUCKY’S POV

All the plans had been made. They had touched down last night and had made it to one of Bucky’s smaller estates.

The plan was to storm the castle. Noah had provided detailed plans of the place and more of Darren’s and Bucky’s men touched down a few hours ago.

The only thing now was timing. Bucky was waiting on a call from Noah to tell them when the best time to strike was. The waiting was killing him.

Agonising hours passed until Bucky got a call from Noah, “tonight. Strike tonight. Harry is gone on business and he’s taken a bunch of men. This is the best you’ll get numbers wise”.

Bucky shakes his head, looking at Steve, “I want Harry there, I can’t let him get away-“.

Steve cuts him off, “if we have a good chance to get her now, take it Buck. We’ll get Harry another time”.

Bucky stares at his friend a little longer before talking to Noah again, “okay. We’ll be there tonight, as soon as its dark. I’ll keep you posted”.

After Bucky hung up that call, he was nonstop, making sure everyone knew what they were doing and where they had to be.

It was pitch black outside when Bucky and his men arrived at the imposing stone structure. It took Bucky no time at all to disable the men posted outside.

Then once everyone was in place at entrance points around the building, he gave the signal. Everyone breached the castle together, Bucky, Steve, and Sam taking the front door.

They enter to find men already taken out and Noah waiting by a set of double wooden doors and knights armour.

Some men came down the stairs, but Bucky left them to Steve and Sam as he strides over to Noah. His only mission was finding you.

Noah guides him over to a knight’s armour and the door behind it. Bucky barely hears Noah over the chaos in the background, “go, I’ll cover the entrance”.

Bucky pats him on the shoulder briefly before stepping over the threshold. The gunfire and shouting sounds muted between the stone walls.

Bucky moves quickly, but quietly, ears straining, and eyes peeled for even a glimpse of you. It had only been a week, but it was the longest of his life. He might as well have gone without breathing for that long.

Urgency danced along every nerve ending and heightened his senses. Something was compelling him to go deeper, further. He could feel you here, somewhere.

As Bucky kept creeping along, he could see what looked like a few cells down the end of the hall. His gut clenched not only at the thought of you being in there for a week but as if he just knew you were there.

Bucky jogs past all the doors in the corridor until he’s standing in front of the cells. They were dark but he could make out a lump on a cot in the first cell.

He strides up to the door and uses his metal arm to rip the lock that was in place, letting the door swing open. He makes his way over quickly but pulls up short at just how small and fragile you look, worse than when he first saw you from the streets.

He almost hesitates to touch you for fear of breaking you. He gently pulls the thin blanket from you and hears you murmur. He released a breath he didn’t know he was holding at the knowledge you were still alive.

As he gets closer, he whispers, “Y/N, doll, it’s me, it’s Bucky”.

He hears you murmur again, “go away”.

Hurt blossoms in his chest at your words but they soon die when he hears you again, “I know it’s not you, you’re in my head. Please go away, it hurts too much to see that it’s not you”.

Bucky gently pulls on your shoulder until you twist. Anger spikes at seeing how hollow you look but he smiles at you softly as he watches you taking him in. He waits, noticing how you linger on his eyes before saying, “Bucky?”.

“Yeah, doll”.

A ghost of a smile graces your lips, but it changes just as Bucky feels a blow to the head. It doesn’t knock him out though as he rolls with the impact further into the cell. He sees stars as he hears you scream from your cot.

He shakes his head to clear his vision in time to see a blonde guy punch you in the face, knocking you out cold. Red is all he sees, fury and rage propelling him to tackle the guy to the ground.

They hit the stone ground hard, rolling with fists flying. Bucky barely even registers the blows as he finally stops the momentum. He grabs the guy by the shirt with his flesh hand and uses his metal hand to keep punching.

Bucky keeps going until he hears bone crunching, until all he can see is the dark red covering his face, until the man stops moving.

Bucky pushes the guy away as he gets up to go to you. He notices how impossibly still you are and the trickle of blood coming from your nose. Bucky lays two fingers on your throat softly. He can feel a pulse but its faint.

He wastes no more time, scooping you up into his arms, holding you close to his body as he practically runs down the hall, urgency nipping at his heels.

As Bucky gets closer to the double doors back to the main foyer, he doesn’t hear anymore gunfire. The battle obviously won.

Noah is still standing by the door, his eyes looking like saucers when they fall onto you.

Steve and Sam hide their emotions better, as Steve says, “some surrendered, what do you want us to-“.

“Kill them”, Bucky doesn’t even stop his stride to the door.

“Buck-“, Sam this time.

Bucky turns to look at the men standing around him. His men. He looks at all of them before saying, “Kill. Them. All. I will not give that order again, are we clear?”.

Bucky doesn’t wait to hear their answers. The sound of gunshots was answer enough.

*2 Days Later*

Bucky had just hung up the phone when Steve walks into the hospital room, “who was that?”.

Bucky scrapes a hand down his face as he sits in the chair next to you again, “it was the doc back home, said he would have a look over Y/N’s medical notes and see if it was safe enough for her to fly back. I want her home when she wakes up”.

Bucky sighs before looking over at Steve, “any sign?”.

Steve shakes his head, “nothing, both of them are in the wind”.

Bucky resists the urge to break things in the hospital. He watches your face, peaceful in the afternoon light to calm down instead. All he could feel was one failure after another for you. The car crashing, letting you get taken, not finding you for a week, and now letting Harry and Isaac disappear.

“It’s not your fault Buck”, Steve says, somehow always reading the thoughts in his head.

Bucky replies, still looking at you, “tell that to her when she wakes up”.

“I won’t have to because she will tell you the exact same thing”, Steve says firmly.

“What am I meant to say to her Steve? That I let that fucker get away? Me? The man that swore to protect her?”, Bucky scoffs.

Steve shuffles until he can look Bucky in the eyes, “you haven’t failed her Bucky. You’re human-“

“Well, I can’t afford to be!”, Bucky roars.

Bucky clenches his fist, biting his tongue until he continues between clenched teeth, “I have too many people counting on me. We may have won the battle this time Steve, but it’s far from over. This is a war and I fully intend to win at any cost. This is a war and I want them all dead. Every last single one of them”.

The silence stretched. Steve didn’t disagree, especially since they went after Peggy and the kids. Bucky sighs again, as if he was being crushed under the weight of everything he insisted he would carry himself, “go home Steve”.

“I’ll head back to the hotel-“.

“No. Home. Go home Steve. Go and see your wife and your kids. Take some time, because it won’t get any easier from here. Not only will we have Harry and Isaac to deal with, but we took a hit. People will be talking, and we need to get a hold of that shit. I don’t want anyone thinking they can take us. I’m still the White fucking Wolf and I need everyone to remember why. So, go home Steve. I’ll be back soon with Y/N”.

Bucky registers Steve’s shoes against the floor, and the click of the door opening. It was a few minutes of silence before Steve murmurs, “you are the White Wolf…but you’re also Bucky Barnes, my best friend, Sam’s best friend. You’re godfather to my children and practically a brother to Peggy. And Y/N? She might as well already be your wife. What I’m saying Punk is, don’t lose sight of who you really are in the midst of this war”.

He lets the words sink in before Bucky hears the click of the door closing. Bucky goes back to studying your face. His eyes tracing the bruises changing colour over your sharp angles. The rise and fall of your chest.

He lets a tear fall as he lays his head lightly on your stomach, hugging you like a lost child would their teddy. This was the first time he ever felt, he ever wished that he was anyone other than a mob boss.

YOUR POV

You come back slowly. To the sound of beeping and the feel of a soft, slightly ridged bed beneath you.

You keep your eyes closed, trying to get a sense with your body if someone is in the room.

When it feels safe enough you open your eyes slowly, not having a choice against the lights in the room. Your eyes water and you let the tears travel down your cheeks as you try not to move.

A quick scan of the room shows there is no one around and the longer you look around the faster memory comes back. You don’t want to believe your eyes. You don’t want to believe that you’re in the med wing of your home, with the thought of Bucky somewhere within. You didn’t want to believe it for fear that you will wake up back in the cell or in that room with Isaac.

But the longer you lay there, staring at every piece of the room, focusing on your breathing the more you realised this isn’t a dream or a hallucination.

You sit up, muscles protesting the movement. It takes you longer to swing your legs out of bed and even longer to stand on your feet.

The first time you try, you crumple like a fawn on new legs, the bed the only thing stopping you from hitting the floor.

Your chest heaving, you try again, standing in one place a little longer before feeling your legs buckle again. You repeat the process a few times, until your shaky legs are strong enough to carry you.

That is when you decide to take everything out. The machines start beeping and you know your time is limited now, people will crowd the room within minutes, but you have to find Bucky first. You have to know this is real.

You hold onto the bed for as long as possible as you let your legs remember how to walk on their own. When you run out of bed you grab a hold of the door, letting it swing out as you follow the wall with your hands.

The halls are empty, and you couldn’t be more grateful as you start to take easier steps closer and closer to Bucky’s office.

As the office comes within sight you hear the door open and he steps out, looking one way and then the other, his eyes landing on you. He was holding a phone to his ear but the moment he sees you he hangs up.

You take him in, both in disbelief at either ends of the hall staring. Your lips part, “Bucky?”.

He strides towards you at the sound of his name, purpose filling every step. He doesn’t hesitate as he reaches you. His hands gentle against your skin as he sweeps you up bridal style. The smell of him fills your nose as you bring your hands up to cup his face.

You stare at him for the longest time, focusing on his eyes and you finally accept that its him as your eyes well up, “Bucky”.

WoW Taglist: @a-really-bi-girl @crazyblonde124 @summerwelsh @scuzmunkie @loving-life-my-way @pequenaguaxinim @paranoid-borderline-insane @lilsonbucky @somanyfandomsblog @broco8 @inquisitor-selvala @mad-red @k-n-e @rinkashirikitateku @duhh-danielly @boundtomyfate @kalesrebellion @booktease21 @whatinthyworld @flyingbabyunicornnamedangel @asapkyndall @yaszx @amoredashley @aveatquevale- @putinovertime @melimelbean @valsworldofcreativity @lokilokilokilokilokilokilo-blog1 @vesper852 @littlenerdgirl16 @wiccanmetallicrose @aya-fay

[albino-whumpee]

The wishing well

Anonymous asked:

Astral for the word drabbles?

This has been on my drafts for so long ahh sorry;;;

CW// Pet whump, mentioned past torture and noncon body modifications, grief and death mention, identity crisis, trauma recovery, trauma survivors navigating relationships, mute whumpee, whumpee caretaker and emotional whump, but honestly this is mostly fluff.

Tag list: asked to be tagged or taken off it!

@castielamigos-whump-side-blog @giggly-evil-puppy @cowboysrappin @haro-whumps @burtlederp @neuro-whump @comfortforthepain @whumps-the-word @whole-and-apart-and-between @broken-horn @rosesareviolentlyread @ashintheairlikesnow @starnight-whump @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @as-a-matter-of-whump  @whumpasaurus101 @grizzlie70 @boxboysandotherwhump @unicornscotty

Hope you like it~

It was a quiet, particularly warm night when Albus woke up alone. His eyes were unfocused while his hand searched for the now familiar warmth of the other boy, only to find his spot growing colder. Half asleep, Albus lifted his eyes to the door leading to the garden. A cold breeze leaked through the open door.

It wasn’t unusual for Sann to wake up in the middle of the night and finding impossible to go back to sleep. Shifting on the bed aimlessly until he woke up and he could tuck himself under his chin for a few minutes, finding the albino’s gentle hand, as he listened to a lullaby. The soothing humming was the only thing that got him to finally sleep, before Albus kissed him goodbye and went to work.

It wasn’t the first time Sann had walked outside to lay at the edge of the pool with his legs on the water to stargaze, either.

As far away as they were, the city lights couldn´t taint the sky a dirty gray. The vast black was filled with small strokes of white glowing as they ran down in quick succession. One after the other. Some spots vibrating in bright red and greens, as they disappeared into the shadows. 

Laying down with his arms to the side the boy that told him this specific shower was called the Quadrantids, looked at the sky with empty eyes. Albus didn´t have to look up to know where his eyes were.

Just as back then, when looking through searched images of the night sky, the Sirius star always quieted his excited signing that usually took less than a few minutes to trail off about the wonders of the universe and how humans had barely even scrapped its secrets thanks to science. More often than not, Albus could barely and would have to resort to the notebook to understand what he was trying to say, earning him a little annoyed pout when the albino handed him the pen. Curiously enough, as his knowledge began to come back, Sann was also starting up to use signs Zarai had told him sounded more like an Spanish word.

Albus was so happy to see him remember something from his past that filled him with happiness, but every time, every single time his eyes fell on the Sirius star, the glow in his eyes would dim, casting a quiet, but vicious, tempest inside his mind that forced him to stillness.

Albus could see that same storm in his eyes that night, but he had his fair share of rain to not share his umbrella.

“It’s a bit cold today” he said as he laid down next to the other boy, covering both of them with the blanket before looking up, exhaling a small awe at the show above. He kept staring for a while until a thought rolled out of his tongue “It’s like a wishing well with infinite gold”

“What?” Sann tweaked his lips up and then down with a slight frown.

“Y-You know those! Toss a coin down the well and your wish will come true, deal” he turned to find Sann staring at him blinking owlishly “ok, look. All this stars?” He waved his hand across the sky “your coins. All of them. How many wishes are there? You can wish for whatever you want!” He said thankful the dark of the night didn’t let Sann see his cheeks going red.

Sann took a deep breath before looking at the night sky again. His eyes gaining that shine again “Anything?”

Albus hummed as reply “Anything” quickly his eyes followed an especially bright star on the sky “It´s red! Look! Quick! Make a wish!”

“There’s literally a thousand falling!” Sann signed with an ironic smile in his face as Albus pressed his eyes closed, barely holding down a giggle.

Sann sighed shaking his head lightly. After a second, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes. For a hot second he racked his brain in search of something to wish for, but everything was so different than the year before. He had more than he had ever dreamed of with his Master.

He was about to give up, until Sirius crossed his mind.

The person in the photos, the owner of the collar he wore for two years and the man that had left a scar on his Master’s heart that wouldn´t ever heal.

Sann took a deep breath. 

“I wish you knew how hard I tried to be you” he said in the most private corner of his mind.

As soon as he opened his eyes again, Al was pointing at another star and encouraging him to make yet another wish. Over and over again.

“I wish you had not let that man whip me”

“I wish Claude had taken me out earlier”

“I wish I hadn’t signed the contract”

“I wish he could tell me what he’s saving so much money for” he thought, remembering the stash of bills hidden next to his shoes in a plastic bag, the playful smile he had as he put the shoebox back in the closet.

“I wish he had never signed the contract either”

“I wish… I could take off his collar at night and I didn’t have to buckle it back up ever again”

“I wish…this wasn’t the life we had to live”

Sann opened his eyes before quickly wiping the tears off his face with his other hand. The other boy gently took his hand and soothed it with his thumb.

“Did you let it out?” He asked cautiously, his feet moving in the water with soft waves “Do you…wanna talk about it, Sann?”

The young man stared deep into the albino’s red eyes and intertwined his fingers with his for a moment.

“Was that your wish?”

Albus gave him a cheeky smile “Will it be granted?”

The other boy giggled, a smile dimpling his cheeks that quickly got washed with overwhelming melancholy.

“How do you always see right through me?”

“I wonder why… For some reason I can’t take my eyes off you. I made an effort but nope” he explained “When you´re focused on something you can stay hours in the same position, however uncomfortable it looks, because you will leave “the zone” if you do, you get annoyed. You´ve got the habit to go curl in small cold places when you need to think and when you need a hug but don´t wanna ask, you will bring Momo with you” Albus said with a little smile on his face as he heard Sann´s chuckled giggles “Also you sway on your heels when we wait in line at the market and you chew on my pens when you´re feeling petty” Sann couldn’t help to pout at it, making the albino give him one of his wide smiles “You´re easy to read. You’re an open book of expressions! An encyclopedia maybe! You wear your feelings like a crown…shamelessly.” he pressed himself closer to him “It makes one want to be honest too”

Sann breathed out and stared above for a long moment before his hands moved again and Albus lifted himself on his elbows.

“You don´t have to tell me if you don´t want to, but just making sure you know you can” Albus asked, gently rubbing his thumb on his hand. It took a moment of reflective silence before Sann pulled his hands up.

“I was a replacement. His name was Sirius Langbroek” Sann signed his name slowly, remembering how many times he had whispered those words. How useless that was “Claude´s brother and Ma-” His hands cringed frozen before he continued “His partner. You saw the photos right? We´ve got the exact same face. So I was supposed to…I just…I was just…a fake to fill the space he left…but I-” His hands stuttered but he pulled himself together, tighter “I could never be him. He made sure I never forgot that” he finished touching his throat, fingers tracing the elongated scars.

The albino swallowed “Did you ever…wanted to be him?”

Sann fixed his eyes above, on all the tiny smeared whites passing over the star. The meteors didn´t cease to fall.

“Yes” he signed. “Many times”

He felt a tug on his chest when Albus sighed slowly after a moment.

“Nobody can replace the people we love. Not even if they look exactly the same” he said as Sann´s eyes widened bewildered at the albino, not believing what he heard.

“Yeah, I got that clear now, thanks.” Sann signed with a wrinkled nose, straightening up and pulling his feet out of the water. Albus pulled himself up as well, his hands suddenly slippery with sweat.

“Shit, I´m sorry, I didn´t explain myself correctly. C-Can I try again? Please?” Sann turned after a minute, his eyebrows pulled into a tight knot “I´m sorry, that´s not what I meant…”

“Then what?”

Albus gulped down his nervousness and looked down at their feet on the pool, the stars reflected on them like a mirror when he stayed still. It took him a moment to speak but he hoped this time he could get his intentions across. 

“I meant that when people are gone, no matter how much we wish for them to come back, or how we try to twist our reality to find them again, even if you somehow find a way to live in that mirrored reflection…” he cut himself leaning forward on the edge of the pool. Sann noticed what a beautiful mirror it was of the sky above, right before he saw the albino tap the surface and break the image with the waves “just the smallest discrepancy breaks that lie”

Sann clenched his jaw as Albus looked back at him shaking off the water. 

“Lies are unsustainable” Sann signed with a heaviness on his chest.

“Yeah, and… You can never be someone you´re not” Sann stared at the mirrored sky, the image forming back after the waves vanished. Albus nervously soothed the back of his neck “You would end up betraying yourself and…and insulting the people that remember them” he said before his hands travelled down to pull knots on his fingers at Sann´s stillness “T-There´re no stars that are the same, right? Do you know that one´s name?” 

Sann looked on the direction Albus finger pointed to: a barely visible dot next to Betelgeuse. “Aldebaran” 

Albus nodded and moved his finger slightly to the Northeast. “And that one?” 

Sann looked at it for a second and then shaped his fingers one by one to say “Mira”. 

“Ah, wait isn´t that one Rigel?” 

Sann shook his head and took his hand to point where the star was, exactly on the foot of Orion. 

“That is Rigel. You can tell because it is close to Betelgeuse” Sann let go to sign, shorting up the name by shaping only the B and G before noticing the pleased look on the other´s face. 

“I bet Sirius wasn´t as knowledgeable on stars as you are”

Sann blinked at the sudden response before lowering his eyes “I don´t know. I was told he was a biologist and that he…” his hands curled into fists before he slowly soothed his wrists. Albus wrapped his hand around his wrist and soothed it with his thumbs.

“I bet he didn´t play the guitar as well as you did, either”

Sann took back his hands to sign “Claude told you?”

A nod.

“I shouldn´t have touched it. But I thought… but I just wanted to...” Sann couldn´t help the tears slipping down his cheeks. “I just wanted to make him happy”

Sann´s chest heaved in the strain to keep the lump on his throat from turning into a full scream. Not that he could, but he could try. Before that could happen, however, Albus cupped the boy´s face.

“It´s not your responsibility to make him happy anymore. You don´t have to be anyone else for any of us. For me. I love you just as you are, Sann. Because it´s you” Albus told him as the tears kept rolling down Sann´s cheeks.

“…Sann isn´t even my real name” he signed with an awkward smile.

“Then choose one!”

“That´s not how it works, Al”

“I know” the albino said, smile faltering before pulling him slightly closer “But if you could choose a name for yourself, what would it be?” he asked, rubbing the tear tracks with his thumb “You don´t have to answer now. I don´t have one yet either, but when we come up with them, I will call you by it” Sann sniffed back a sob as Albus nuzzled his face “We´re allowed to wish of better times, Sann. Even we pets have that freedom”

Sann stared at him. His eyes never ceased to move. From side to side, endlessly. But they were always so clear, so sure, Sann could believe he was talking the truth.

“Al, w-would you…try to run away?” Sann asked, worried.

It took the other a moment to answer, barely above a whisper.

“…Only if you came with me”

Conflict broke loose inside Sann´s head, twisting his stomach and hardening his face slightly.

“If you were free…if you weren´t a pet anymore, could I be yours?” Sann asked lifting his eyes to find a widened eyed Albus, whose cheeks flared up immediately, but then unexpectedly, he smiled wide before pulling him into a hug Sann melted into.

“Would you be mine if I was yours?” he whispered into his ear.

As his ears and cheeks burnt, Sann incorporated to see his boyfriend´s face equally red and joyful.

“Be mine” Albus signed before pulling him back to lay under the stars.

Sann stayed still staring at the albino for a second before smiling with a light frown. He would´ve done anything to hear that coming from someone else´s mouth before, but now, they had a different feeling that what he expected. 

It made him feel light.

“You know there´s stars for sale? You can name them and all” Sann said before leaning on his shoulder. His always comforting warmth doubled by the blanket pulled over them by the other. Sure to cover them both perfectly.

“Really? Well, we have infinite gold tonight, choose your pick” Albus said vaguely waving his hand across the sky. 

“Do you see that one?” Sann signed before pointing at a tiny shining spot close to Rigel. Too small and far away to have a proper name, Sann thought to himself, not caring if it was the truth or not.

“Marvelous choice. Any names for the little twinkle star?” Albus giggled when Sann rolled his eyes.

Sann stared at it for a moment before putting his hand up.

“A-L-B-A-N-N?” Albus asked a tiny hesitation at the end exposing his embarrassment before he sighed it out. “I like it”

Sann chuckled, “The first ever star owned by pets”

“I like it more than Sirius” Albus said suddenly. Sann´s attention got back to the star, but he stopped himself from looking at it.

Now, there was a part of him, of each other, he could look at before his eyes fell on Sirius. Only then he would realize his plan was that all along and couldn´t help but laugh again.

Albus joined him a second later, wrapping him in his arms until dawn.

After watching the meteors fall, they sneaked back into their room. Then Albus curled behind him, his small body making the best to cover him fully and snuggle him close.

But before they lifted themselves up and warmed up their cold legs, joking about why Sann didn´t use longer pants, Sann looked up to the sky above. To Sirius and then saw one last shooting star.

“I wish you hadn’t taken my voice” he thought to himself as Albus gripped tight on his hand in his sleep “I wish I still had it, so I could tell this guy holding my hand, how much I love him”.

[flames-bring-a-ton-of-ash]

Every Breath You Take - Loki x Reader

Summary: Loki has been stalking you for weeks, and you have no idea why. One night, he decides to claim what is his.

Characters: Loki x female reader

Words: ~6300

PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS!!!

Warnings: Explicit smut, explicit language, stalking, dub-con and/or non-con smut (depending where you draw the line between those), breaking and entering, choking/breath play, fear kink, power dynamics, humiliation, praise kink, basically Loki being a dominant mother fucker

Author’s Note: Major song inspiration for this is “Every Breath You Take” by Devil + Winter. Yes, I know it’s a remake of an older song, but I looove that specific cover so much.

This might officially be my favorite oneshot I’ve written thus far, so I hope y’all enjoy!

Every Breath You Take

Glancing at the clock, you puffed out a breath at the late hour. It might be Friday, but you had refused to leave the office until all weekly projects were completed by their deadline, as well as a few extras that you wanted to finish ahead of schedule. You had snagged a government job, and there was no way in hell that you were going to slack off or cause anyone to second guess whether you were the most qualified choice. 

Sending off an email to your supervisor with the attached completed work, you gave a triumphant grin before logging out of the computer system, grabbing your purse, and hightailing it for the elevators. Thoughts of a long, hot bath followed by curling up on the couch with delivery pizza and a sappy movie were beckoning, and after a week full of working early mornings and even later evenings, you deserved it. 

Exiting the elevator and crossing the lobby, you waved and said goodnight to the evening security guard. He was unsurprised to see you leaving so late and wished you a good weekend. The sun had set hours ago, but the street was still semi-lit from the city lights, sections of darkness broken by circles of lamp light, car headlights, and the muted glow of lit windows. 

And yet, he still managed to hide within the shadows. 

You wouldn’t have even noticed, if it weren’t for the fact that he had been an unfailing constant lately. Each time you exited the office, even if it was just to run down the street to the nearest food truck, he was there. Standing right across the street from your work building, intense stare fixed in your direction, tonight was no exception. 

The first time it had happened, you had been sure you were hallucinating. Especially because no one else seemed to notice the tall figure, pedestrians passing by with no acknowledgement. It was as if he didn’t allow anyone to see him. Just you. 

Habit made you glance across the street again, and sure enough, the shadowed outline of his lean form was still waiting between the patches of light. It was as if he had molded them to his own benefit, wrapping the night around himself so that only the inhuman flicker of his eyes glinted at you out of the darkness. 

Loki, the God of Mischief, had been silently stalking you for weeks. And you had absolutely no idea why. 

Starting down the street, you felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. He was there as you walked a block over to the bus stop, and it was only when you were safely on board and in a seat that the sensation disappeared. You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, knowing he was gone. The reprieve was short-lived, since you also knew that he’d already be there when you got home. 

Sure enough, once the bus exited the city and stopped near your block, the sensation of being followed returned. You walked quickly up the front path of your suburban home, hands shaking slightly as they fit the key into the front door. He never came too close, never followed you across the threshold, but the idea that he could made your mouth run dry. Once you were inside with the door closed and deadbolted, you went around double checking all the windows and the back door. Yep, still locked. 

Peeking out between the blinds in the living room, your eyes scanned the moonlit yard, looking for movement. You didn’t see any, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t out there, lurking. For the millionth time you contemplated reporting him, but also for the millionth time you had no idea who exactly to tell. It wasn’t like you were highly-ranked enough to have Mr. Fury or the Avengers on speed dial. And the police would think you were having a mental break, since it seemed as though Loki could cloak himself from being noticed, even when in the middle of a crowd. 

You had just started working for S.H.I.E.L.D a couple of months ago, as a low-level data interpreter. To say you were at the bottom of the totem pole was accurate, but you were prepared to work hard to elevate yourself within the organization. Sure, you’d never be an actual agent or spy, but there were upper level positions within your department that would one day have your name on them. You weren’t about to jeopardize those possibilities by creating waves while still in your probationary period, especially since you doubted your by-the-book, no-nonsense supervisor would do anything other than laugh in your face if you tried to tell him that a friggin god had chosen to follow you around. Hell, even your own family would probably assume you were overworked and delusional.  

Which meant that you were stuck dealing with the issue of Loki yourself...and so far your grand master plan had been trying to ignore him in the fervent hopes that he would get bored and leave you alone. 

Though he was impossible to totally ignore, you had made some progress with not lying in bed awake all night, staring at the ceiling and fearing the moment he’d decide to come inside the house. You still did this for about half of the night, but hey, progress. When he had shown no interest in crossing that boundary, you wondered if you were supposed to feel more terrified at his lack of intent, or safe with the knowledge that he was lurking around the house like your own personal security system. 

And while you had at first been too scared to leave the office for lunch knowing he was out there, after a week of huddling in your cubicle you had been furious with yourself. It had been a piss-poor day anyways, and you had barely made it to an 8am meeting on time thanks to forgetting to set your alarm the night before (probably because you had been too busy stressing over the god lurking outside). Deciding that enough was enough, you had walked outside with head held high, ready to march down the street to the nearby deli. He had been there, of course he had, piercing gaze immediately zeroed in on you the moment you exited the building’s doors. 

Lack of sleep and frustration making you feel bold, you had actually stopped and glared black at him. It was the first time you had been assertive enough to acknowledge him without any visible fear, and you were damn proud of yourself. 

That pride had quickly turned to ash when the corners of his mouth curved slowly upwards, lips parting to showcase a sadistic smirk that caused your heart to drop into your ass, legs doing a 180 and practically sprinting you back into the building. Turns out you hadn’t been that hungry, after all. You had left the office for lunch a few times since then, but always kept your eyes pointed down at the sidewalk, never daring to nonverbally challenge him again.

Now, after checking for the umpteenth time that all the blinds were closed, you went through with your evening plans, the hot bath relaxing tense muscles and greasy pizza filling your soul as much as your stomach. And when you crawled into bed a few hours later and drifted off to sleep, you almost forgot about the powerful god who was stalking your every move. Almost…

~  ~  ~

Startling awake a few hours later, you sat up in bed and grabbed for the bedside lamp, flicking it on. Eyes squinting at the sudden brightness, you scanned the room with a pounding heart, relief washing over you at seeing that the corners were empty. It was just a dream, you soothed. It wasn’t real…

Said dream had been filled with flashing green eyes, lips twisted into a cruel grin, and a large, powerful form pinning you to the bed. 

Licking bone-dry lips, you got out of bed and headed down to the kitchen for a glass of water. You didn’t turn on any other lights, both because you knew the layout of the house well enough to navigate it in the dark, and in hopes that your movement wouldn’t alert a certain visitor who might still be in the vicinity. 

The microwave clock showed that it was a little after 3am, which meant you had only gotten a couple hours of sleep before the raven-haired god had once again disrupted your life. There were enough windows with moonlight streaming in through the blinds that you had no trouble navigating the kitchen. Not wanting to open the fridge and risk him seeing the light, you grabbed a glass out of the cabinet and went over to the sink, glancing out the small window above it but seeing only an empty yard. 

The glass was half full when you felt every hair on your body stand up in warning. All those blinds had been shut earlier. You had checked them multiple times before going to bed. Your eyes flew back up, breath catching in your throat at the sight. Only seconds ago the view of the yard had been empty, but now…

Loki was standing mere feet away, on the other side of the glass. Moonlight lit up his features, the pale unblemished skin giving off an eerie glow as his emerald eyes burned into you through what, suddenly, felt like a pathetic excuse of a barrier. Shock and fear made your suddenly shaky fingers loosen their grip on the fragile water glass, causing it to fall into the sink and shatter. The noise was like a gunshot to your frozen state; you jumped and screamed in alarm before realizing the sound wasn’t from the window. Eyes jerked down to the sink, where pieces of glass lay scattered and sparkling in the dim moonlight. When you looked back up again, Loki was gone. 

Suddenly, a wave of anger flowed through you, heating your blood and overtaking the fear long enough for you to make what, looking back, was a really fucking stupid decision.

You were so done with his shit, done with living in constant hypervigilance and fear because some god had decided to play with you like a bug in a jar. Without allowing yourself to fully process the stupidity of what you were about to do, you went over to the back door, opened it, and stormed out onto the porch. 

Breath puffing with adrenaline, you glanced to your right, where Loki had previously been standing. Instead, there was only empty air. This served to piss you off more, as it was obvious that he was just toying with you. Well, you were done with the games. 

“Listen up, asshole!” you shrieked at the empty yard. “I don’t know what your problem is, but-” you cut off abruptly as logic finally caught up to anger. Your brain was frantically waving a big, red ‘this is a really stupid idea’ sign and telling you to get back inside. 

The flames of rage quickly fizzled out, replaced by an icy wave of fear when the asshole in question suddenly appeared in the middle of the yard, seemingly out of thin air. He stood silent and still as the night, all-black Asgardian clothing molded to his tall and proud form so that he blended in with the shadows.

You felt, more than saw, his eyes trail slowly down over your body, expression unreadable in the dim moonlight. You were suddenly very aware that you were only wearing a lavender tank top and grey sleep shorts, bare toes curling against the cool wood of the porch. The sheer vulnerability of your situation kicked-started the flight response, and you took a slow step backwards, not wanting to lose sight of what your survival instinct classified as a wild and unpredictable predator. 

The plan failed instantly when Loki burst forward, black cape fluttering out around his form as he strode across the yard. You weren’t sure if he looked more like a fallen angel or avenging demon, but the effect was enough to jolt your body into motion as you turned and sprinted for the still-open back door. 

Crossing the threshold, you felt a small spark of relief, thinking how he never came inside, that you just needed to get the door closed and…

He hit the wood with such force that you were thrown into the kitchen, stumbling back against the opposite wall when he stepped inside. His gaze zeroed in on you as he lifted one booted foot and kicked the door shut.

The loud slam made you jump, vocal cords suddenly coming back online as you opened your mouth to scream. He moved so fast that you didn’t even have time to consider fleeing, his hand cutting off the scream before it even left your throat. He slammed you into the wall, his palm so large that it covered the entire bottom half of your face and effectively cut off your oxygen. His other arm caged you in, palm flat against the wall right beside your head, making you feel utterly trapped. Eyes widening with terror, you clawed at his hand, fighting to breathe. You might as well have been an insect trying to stop an incoming shoe with all the difference your struggles made. 

“You will be silent. Attempt to scream again, and I will choke the life out of you. Understood?” 

His low, dark voice made you shiver with fear, but you were so desperate for air that you would agree to almost anything at this point, and so nodded frantically up at him. His eyes narrowed for a few moments, as if assessing your reliability, before sliding his hand down so that it lightly encircled your throat and anchored you to the wall.

Gasping in blessed oxygen, you panted up at him with heaving breaths, eyes shifting back and forth as you tried, and failed, to come up with an escape plan. If you thought he had been intimidating from a distance these past few weeks, it was nothing compared to the vision of him up close. He practically buzzed with power as his lean, muscular frame towered over you, the ebony-clad chest and shoulders blocking any view of the kitchen and back door. The fingers at your throat flexed slightly in silent warning, as if he could read your thoughts and was reminding you that escape was futile. 

You looked up at him, still in shock and trying to process the fact that a literal god was in your kitchen. And not just any god, but one who had terrorized your city, made a crowd kneel at his feet, and declared his intent to rule the planet. His arrogance was legendary, his powers terrifying. And you were so, so fucked. 

Glancing up, you took in his face, semi-shadowed in the moonlit kitchen. Flawless porcelain skin showcased features sharp enough to cut glass, your eyes scanning over his sternly clenched jaw and lips pressed into a tight grimace. They gave off a coldness that sent a shiver down your spine, but then you looked up past his straight, regal nose and found the blazing heat of his gaze. He was watching you intently, those cruel lips curving up the slightest bit at your obvious perusal.

Horrified to have been caught staring, your eyes quickly lowered, taking in the expensive fabric that covered his tall, powerful body. You felt him bend down, every muscle tensed in fearful anticipation when his face stopped right beside your own. You could practically feel the effort he made to reign in his strength, the capability for violence coiled tightly right below the surface of his skin. Still too scared to lift your eyes, you heard as he slowly inhaled through his nose before exhaling through his mouth, so that warm breath ghosted over the side of your neck and caused goosebumps to erupt across your flesh. 

Holy crap, had he just sniffed you?!

He gave a dark chuckle at the noticeable shudder that ran through your body in response to his actions. The hand at your throat moved up to tightly grip your chin, tipping it upwards until your eyes fluttered up as well and were ensnared by his gaze. 

He was taking you in, noting your eyes dilated with fear and mouth slightly parted as your chest heaved to take in panicked breaths. He seemed to catalog all of your reactions with a piercing intelligence, as if storing away the knowledge for later. 

“Do you fear me, human?”

The low, rumbled words shouldn’t have been enticing, but you’d be lying to deny the stirring low in your gut that resulted from his voice whispering in your ear. It actually took a few seconds for the question itself to filter through your brain. Unable to nod with his fingers still gripping your chin, you instead gave a soft, breathy, “Yes,” which caused him to smirk.

“Good girl.”

Okay, now that definitely caused a reaction, your body heating up at the mixture of fear and praise he provided. Dear god, what is wrong with you?! Scream, fight, do something!

As if he could read the thoughts in your gaze, he clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “Ah ah, little one. You’re not getting away until I allow it.” 

Attempting one last ounce of bravery, you asked in a pleading voice, “Why are you doing this?”

His eyes lit up, as if he were impressed that you dared to question his motives. The fingers at your chin loosened slightly, his eyes watching as he moved a thumb slowly back and forth across your lower lip.

“This planet is exceedingly uninspiring, and I have found humans to be particularly boring. So I had to obtain entertainment in one form or another, didn’t I?”

Well that sure wasn’t the answer you had been expecting. All the weeks of following you around, scaring you to within an inch of your life as you tried to figure out what reasons he had for singling you out, and it was all because he was bored?

You were grateful to feel a spark of anger return at his callous response and utter disregard for what he had put you through these past weeks. Looking back later, you’d think that he had verbally poked at you on purpose, had wanted you to showcase a bit more fight to add to his entertainment of the situation. 

Through gritted teeth, you said, “If we’re so boring, then why waste your time following me around?”

His fingers trailed back down over your throat, and for a moment you thought that your words had been a fatal mistake, that this was when he decided you weren’t worth the trouble and strangled you. Instead, his fingers flitted over the pulse in your neck, pausing there as if to measure its beating, before gliding further down and across your delicate collarbone. 

“I said humans were boring.” The tips of his long, cool fingers slid underneath the right strap of your tank top, pushing it towards your shoulder. “I didn’t say that you were boring.” 

Shocked into silence, you felt the fabric being dragged down over your arm, the neckline lowering with it so that the top swells of your breasts were visible. You felt like a rabbit caught in the hunter’s crosshairs, too scared to move outside the involuntary trembling that started in your knees and traveled up the length of your legs and torso. 

“Please,” you whispered, staring up at him helplessly, beseeching him to let you go. Wanting this to all just be a dream in which he would suddenly disappear and you would wake up in your warm bed. 

“Begging already?” he taunted. “But we’ve barely begun.”

With that, he grabbed the neckline of the tank top and yanked, the fabric no match for his inhuman strength as he literally tore it from your body. The cool air hitting your bare nipples was what thrust you into action, as you reached up to shove against his shoulders with all your might, hoping to make him stumble back long enough so that you could dart to the side and make a run for it. 

Instead, you might as well have pushed against a stone wall, even the adrenaline-laced strength not making him retreat so much as an inch. The only reaction your action caused was him to huff out a dark laugh of amusement before he flung the tatters of the tank top to the side and leered down at your exposed flesh. 

You watched, wide-eyed, as a large and surprisingly warm palm cupped your breast, testing the weight of it. The whimper that left your throat was purely out of fear, you told yourself, and had nothing to do with the sensation of him pinching your nipple between two of those slender and graceful, yet powerfully masculine, fingers. 

“What delightful noises you make, pet. I’m eager to learn how many others I can wring from your lips.”

Oh god, this couldn’t be happening. The whole situation was too surreal, too overwhelming. Your brain couldn’t compute all the mixed signals it was getting from the rest of your body. Thighs trembled with fear and the desire to run, but your traitorous nipples were hard as stone, and not just from the chilly air. 

Loki noticed as well, of course he did. He was a master of lies, and of reading them in others, so there was no way your body was going to fool him. A pleased look lit up his eyes, and the emerald blaze was too much, causing your own to squeeze tightly shut when he leaned in close. 

The words were whispered from mere inches away, and they brought with them a pang of arousal that shocked you to the core. “Don’t fight it, girl. You were made to be ruled, to be owned. And I’m going to make you mine.”

You gave a little sob in response, but didn’t argue, didn’t struggle. Not even when the hand at your breast continued its pleasurable torment while his other hand left the wall to trail down over your ribs and waist until it met the top of your sleep shorts. The tips of his fingers hooked inside the fabric, and with one graceful movement he shoved both shorts and panties down over your hips, so that they fell in a pile at your feet and left your body completely bare. 

“Step out of them,” he commanded, fingers dancing softly along your hip bone. 

Frozen with indecision, your breath came in audible gasps as the mixture of fear, anxiety, and burgeoning desire made your head spin. The headstrong and independent mentality that was so self-ingrained insisted that you fight him to the very end. But there was another part of you, a hidden and previously unknown part, that wanted to do as he said. Wanted to give in and submit. 

Before you could find out which side would win, the hand at your breasts leapt back up to your throat, the movement so quick that you barely had time to register it before your oxygen was cut off. Eyes flew back open in panic, but before you could even attempt to struggle, the long fingers of his other hand caught and held your wrists tightly together, effectively trapping you once again.

His face lowered directly in front of your own, his straight, white teeth bared as he snarled, “I said step. Out. Of. Them.”

At this point, you’d do just about anything he asked if it meant being able to breathe, and so obediently lifted first one foot and then the other out of the shorts and underwear. He used his own booted foot to shove the fabric so that it slid across the floor off to the side, but didn’t yet let up his grip on your throat. 

Your vision was growing spotty from lack of oxygen as you choked and squirmed in his grip. He looked delighted at this, his gaze dropping down to watch your body’s involuntary twists and jerks before lifting back to your face. 

“You’re a willful little human, I’ll give you that. But from now on, when I give an order, I expect you to obey. Do I make myself clear?”

You nodded desperately, and when that didn’t seem to satisfy him, sputtered out a barely audible, “Yes”. 

“Sorry, pet, I didn’t quite catch that. Try again.” 

Certain you were about to pass out, you put all remaining energy into gurgling out another attempt of the word. It must’ve been enough, because he whispered ‘good girl’ at the same time his grip loosened, allowing you to cough and gag as your lungs frantically filled with air. 

His hand stayed in place this time, splayed across your throat in silent warning, as his other palm released your wrists, coasted down the front of your body and, without any hesitation, delved between your thighs. When you tried to close them, he used his own leg to wedge yours back open, pressing his erection into your hip and making it clear where this was heading. 

Those cruel yet seductive fingertips ran along your slit before dipping into the humiliatingly apparent wetness and spreading it up to your clit. He gave a hum of male satisfaction at your pleasured gasp, exploring your body in a way that made both shame and desire heat your skin. The tip of his finger teased at your wet opening, barely dipping inside. Your hips bucked, and you didn’t know whether it was an attempt to get away or move closer. 

His voice was more raspy than before, when he asked in a condescending tone, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you, my pretty little girl?”

You hoped he didn’t notice the way your pussy clenched onto the tip of his finger when he called you ‘his’, but judging by his groan, he had. 

Slow, achingly slow, he pushed his finger inside you, the long digit reaching places that your own hands never could. Your head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, baring your throat to him, as desire officially overtook the will to escape. 

“Yes, that’s it,” he cooed, the thumb of his other hand tracing over the rapid pulse that beat in the side of your throat. “Show how you belong to me.”

His words should’ve scared you, and they did in a far-off and hazy kind of way, but you were more focused on how he was pushing a second finger inside you. He rubbed them with knowledgeable precision against the sensitive front wall, making you cry out when they found your g-spot. And when his thumb also started rubbing quick little circles on your clit, you decided that maybe belonging to him wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. 

He continued that way, relentless, his breaths coming in heavy puffs against your cheek as he finger fucked you roughly until the tension between your thighs coiled into a tight spring of need. Whimpering, you dimly realized that your hands were grasping desperately at his arms and your thighs had fallen open wide of their own accord. 

“There you go, pet. Take your pleasure, be a good little girl.” The hand at your throat tightened slightly, just enough to make you have to work a bit harder to draw breath. “And then, I’m going to fuck you...and I’m not going to be gentle about it.”

The orgasm slammed into you unexpectedly, and it was unlike any you had previously experienced. The combination of his praise and threat, along with the motions of both his hands, sent your body soaring. Your cries were hoarse and strained from his grip at your throat, and your legs shook as you came all over his hand, his eyes flaring down at you with delight as your body convulsed against him. 

He removed the hand from between your thighs, lifting his wet fingers to your lips and ordering you to open them. Still drunk off the orgasm, you did so without hesitation. 

“Suck them clean. Taste your own desperation,” he purred, teeth nipping sharply at your ear as he ground his hips against you.  

Once he was satisfied with your work, he removed his fingers from your mouth with a pop before reaching down to his crotch and starting to undo the fabric. You watched in silent awe as he removed just enough of the unearthly clothing to release his thick cock, the head a dark red and already glistening with precum. Despite your recent orgasm, you still felt a bit of apprehension, knowing it was going to be a tight fit. He gave it a few firm strokes with his fist before he grabbed your hips and twirled you around so that you were facing the wall, his feet pushing your legs open even wider, spreading you out for him. 

It felt so taboo, his still fully-dressed, muscular body pressing into your naked back, his bare erection bobbing between your spread thighs. He was so tall that when the hand at your throat pushed upward, forcing your head to tip back until your face was parallel with the ceiling, he was able to lean down over you and make eye contact. You tried to look away, but his fingers pressed into your windpipe in retaliation. 

“Eyes on me, girl. I want to see that little look of pain in your eyes when I press into you.”

Your eyes widened at that, causing him to chuckle. The tip of his cock notched at your opening, but he didn’t press forward, drawing out the tension of the moment. 

“Who do you belong to?” he taunted. 

Licking your lips with both anticipation and nervousness, you whispered, “You.” 

He made a deep, approving noise in his throat. “Yes. Say it. Say my name.” 

“Loki,” you answered with a cry, as he started to press his cock forward, your body twisting as it struggled to adjust to the wide head. 

“No no, don’t tense up,” he hissed. “Take it. Take it all.” 

With that, he pushed inside you with one long, slow thrust. You felt the slight burn as your body stretched to accommodate every thick inch. It must’ve shown in your face, because his lips curled into a smirk at the same time as he groaned deep in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back. 

“Mmm, you suffer so beautifully for me. Look at you, taking all of my cock like a good little girl.”

The bastard knew what his words did to you, panting out a chuckle when he felt you involuntarily clench around him in response. Your hands were braced against the wall, back arched as he grasped your throat and hip with his hands and impaled you on his cock. You felt so full, so utterly overtaken when he ground his hips into your ass, as if to see just how deep he could go. 

He withdrew slowly before thrusting back in, quick and harsh, causing you to cry out with the sharp pleasure-pain. He did it again, pulling his hips back agonizingly slow until the tip of his cock was resting at your entrance. He paused for a moment before pushing back inside, as if to recreate that initial claiming thrust. After doing this about half a dozen times, he stopped teasing and set up a steady and deep rhythm, each thrust sending sparks throughout your entire body. 

Your eyes had started to flutter shut, but his hand cutting off your air caused them to reopen and focus up at him, his chiseled features hovering over you in the dim light, gaze searing down into your own. This time, you didn’t panic, didn’t tug at his arm, just stared up at him with desire-glazed eyes and let him do as he wished. You could practically feel his approval of your surrender, his fingers loosening long enough for you to draw a few breaths before tightening again. 

“You’re so pretty like this, surrendering to me,” he growled through bared teeth, once again letting up on your throat so that you could gasp in air and let it out with a moan. “Every breath you take is mine. Every gasp from your lips, every flutter of your pulse...it’s because I allow it. And now, I’m going to fill up this cunt and claim it as mine.”

Your whimper was cut off as his hand tightened once more, hips picking up the pace as he thrust brutally into you, his balls smacking your clit and fingers pressing so deeply into your hip that you knew there would be bruises to match the ones at your throat. The edges of your vision were starting to become fuzzy when he let up for the last time, his hand lowering from your neck to run over your breasts, tweaking the nipples until you whined before continuing downward. 

When his fingertips zeroed in on your clit, you let out a pleading noise which, under other circumstances, would’ve made you ashamed at how needy it sounded. You weren’t sure what exactly you were begging for, but you did know that he was the only one who could give it to you. The harsh bite of his cock dragging against your sensitive inner walls combined with the fast and skilled movements of his fingers drove you up to the edge, forehead dropping to the wall as you moaned uncontrollably, his answering grunts sending shivers through you. 

The hand gripping your hip came up to wrap in your hair, pulling your head back so that you were once again looking up at him, and you couldn’t help but think that he was one of the most glorious creatures you had ever seen. His features looked as wrecked as you felt, cords in his neck standing out with stark relief in his pale, moonlit skin as his jaw clenched tightly, eyes focused unwaveringly on you. It was one of the most intensely intimate moments of your life, his piercing gaze breaking you wide open with nowhere to hide. 

You started shaking uncontrollably, body balanced right on the knife’s edge of pleasure and wanting so badly to fall over into the abyss. His lips twisted knowingly as your pussy started to flutter around his cock. 

“Yes, that’s it. Come for me.” The hand between your legs pressed in harder, moved faster. “Come for your god.”

As if the words were the final push your body needed, the orgasm flowed through you. It wasn’t as volatile a punch as the first one; instead, it drowned you in waves of blissfully intense pleasure that drew soft cries from your lips, the sound mingling with his own strangled groan. Leaning down, hand still fisted in your hair, he bit into your shoulder as he came. You felt his warm cum filling you as he did just as he promised, and claimed you as his. 

Mind floating from the high of your orgasm and body trembling with little aftershocks, you felt his hips slow then still, his mouth moving from your shoulder to lick a trail of sweat that was running down the side of your neck. Whimpering, you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back into his, grinding onto the softening cock that was still buried deep. 

He hummed with approval, his hands running up over your sides, tracing your body with possession for a few long moments as both of your bodies calmed. Taking your earlobe gently between his teeth, he whispered, “You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. Is that clear, kitten?” 

Part of you wanted to deny him, wanted to find the strength to fight back, now that the orgasmic stupor was starting to lift. Instead, your body responded of its own accord, head nodding with submission. 

His lips pressed softly to your temple, making you gasp at the gentle touch. You realized dazedly that it was the first kiss he’d given you all night. 

“Good girl.”

The words were said a moment before his body moved away, his cock slipping wetly from your body. The cool air hitting your back made you immediately miss his body heat. You turned around, unsure what to do or say next…

But he was gone.

The back door was slightly ajar from him disappearing into the night, leaving you standing there, naked and shivering, his cum starting to trickle down the inside of your thigh. Grabbing your shorts and panties, you put them on before finding the tatters of your tank top and holding it to the front of your chest. Walking over to the door, you closed it with a click that sounded unnaturally loud in the empty kitchen. 

You went around to the windows and re-closed the blinds, stopping at the last one to glance out into the yard. It was empty, completely undisturbed, but you knew he hadn’t gone far...and that he wouldn’t be gone for long. 

Leaving the broken glass in the sink to deal with in the morning, you grabbed another one, filled it with water, and headed for the staircase. As you tucked back into bed, body already sore in places that made your skin heat with the memory, you thought back over his final words. 

You’re mine now. Anytime I want you, anywhere I choose. 

You wondered when he’d return to make good on his promise...and as you drifted off to sleep, tried to ignore the dark part of you that hoped it would be soon.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Afterword: This is meant to be only a one shot. I know, I know, I left it very open-ended. But I like to leave something to the imagination, so y’all can create your own fantasy idea of what might happen to “you” next ;)

[dream-wreck]

So Neo.

Neo is canonically mute. She doesn’t have a voice, the irony of which cannot escape us since she is probably one of the most capable, deadly, and expressive characters in the show.

Additionally ironic is that despite her talents, Neo’s identity as a character has always* been dependent on her relationships with other characters (*for as long as we’ve known her/she has been shown on screen).

She begins as Roman’s right hand; now she’s one of Cinder’s lackeys. Both Roman and Cinder call the shots on her behalf. Even in 6x05, when Roman is dead and Neo works for no one but herself, she strikes out to avenge him. As far as we’ve seen, this is the only scene where she operates independently, but her motivation is directly tied to and influenced by another character.

Whatever the nature of Neo and Roman’s relationship, they each respected the other (apparently the manga would say otherwise, but I have not read it and therefore Do Not See It). Neo worked for him gleefully, and Roman always “heard” and understood Neo. They functioned synchronously, as reflected in their fighting style. 

But Cinder has shown only to respect Neo as a tool. On the promise that she will eventually get her revenge against Ruby, Cinder uses her as a free ride to Atlas. Once there, Neo overachieves in her role, hand delivering the Relic of Knowledge to Cinder with little to no thanks in return. Then, Cinder uses Neo as a token to return to Salem’s good graces.

In that scene (8x01), the fact is all over Neo’s face: she never agreed to enlist. There had been no prior discussion about joining Team Apocalypse, and I think Cinder counted on Neo having no immediate, reliable, or safe way to protest the decision made on her behalf. She’d been repeatedly strung along until she was finally pulled in way over her head. She was recruited for Salem’s war by proxy. A war in which she has no personal stake.

When Maria Calavera asks what Neo wants, she immediately takes Ruby’s form. So just because we see her kneeling at Salem’s throne in 8x06, make no mistake: her goals have not changed.

But because she made a deal, and because she doesn’t have a prayer of beating Cinder or Salem in a fight, she can’t pursue her goals without first accommodating someone else’s.

And Neo is getting so tired of it. Of Cinder blatantly taking advantage of her. Of having to wait. Of serving someone else rather than herself. It’s a waste of her time, her talents, and her efforts.

People need Neopolitan to reach their own ends, but I don’t think Neo truly needs to rely on anyone for anything. I think she is perfectly capable of navigating the world and achieving her goals by herself. She’s a capable fighter. She’s an impossible survivor. She doesn’t need a literal voice to make herself understood and to get what she wants.

But she’s been forced into a position where she has less of a voice than ever. 

Personally, I don’t think she’s going to put up with much more for much longer. With Salem’s invasion underway, she can easily break off and finally accomplish what she set out to in the first place.

What I want to know is what was so special about Roman Torchwick that Neo would play the painful long con to avenge him? 

And with Cinder’s backstory finally provided, and Miles saying he can’t talk about how Roman built his criminal empire, is there hope for a Neo backstory reveal before it’s all over?